As I go about these busy days leading up to the 25th, my mind keeps going back to earlier Christmases. We all have our favorites, don’t we? And even though I didn’t have a minute of time to spare for such nostalgia, I couldn’t resist looking at some old pictures. Though the color is faded and the resolution grainy, how thankful I am for these tangible reminders of happy days.

I couldn’t find the photo that told this story. You’ll have to picture it for yourself. We had moved to Mississippi from Missouri in October, 1974. And beginning on December 1, it rained. Every day. It just poured and poured. Everyone said it was typical Mississippi winter weather. Living out on the prairie, there was nowhere for the water to go, so it just stood, in the yard, in the ditches, everywhere, puddles, pools and lakes of it.The 1 1/2-mile lane to our new home was a dirt farm road, and the red Mississippi clay turned into a glue that stuck tight to every surface it encountered. When I tried to wash our little white car, the paint literally was pulled off by that sticky stuff. And since the rain never stopped, there was never any drying out. The mud was there to stay.

Homesick for our families and the blessed rocks in the soil that keep you from sinking to China when it is muddy, we loaded our two little ones into our abused little car and headed for the hills early on December 24. And when we woke up Christmas morning, Santa had brought us a delightful surprise! (The weather forecasts were just hit-or-miss, back then…we truly weren’t expecting it.). Six inches of heavy, wet snow was falling, blanketing the hillsides, weighing down the cedars, and turning the landscape into a true winter wonderland! It was the perfect Christmas of Christmas cards, snow globes and memories. 

The next Christmas, we headed back to MO again. This year, our good friend Larry Wade, home from med school and visiting his family, agreed to be Santa for Matt and Sarah. We borrowed Dr. Hoerman’s old Santa suit and the 6 ft. 4, 170-lb Larry, with lots of strategically placed pillows, was transformed into the jolly old fellow. The kids weren’t quite sure what to make of him. That tradition continued a couple more years until Matt recognized Larry’s distinctive voice and the jig was up.

Another fond memory was triggered by this picture. As the kids got older, it became harder to keep them occupied on Christmas Eve, leading up to the family party that night. So it was decided that a skit would be performed. Matt, our intrepid, on-the-scene reporter, caught up with Rudolph (Sarah), just before (s)he was set to head out with Santa. The family got to hear just what it was like when the red-nosed reindeer was called upon to guide the sleigh through a foggy Christmas Eve, with all the hopes and dreams of the world’s little children weighing heavily on his narrow shoulders. I must say, Rudolph had a most positive outlook. Best I can recall, (s)he was successful. I don’t believe we heard of any disappointed kiddies that year.

One year we tried buying a live Christmas tree, a deodar cedar that we would plant after the holiday. But, lo and behold, it SNOWED IN MISSISSIPPI early that January! We managed to get the tree’s burlap-ball-covered roots into the frozen ground, but alas, the tree did not survive the shock. The kids, however, loved having snow in the South!

My best Merry Christmas wishes to all of you out there in xanga-land. May it be a bright, memory-making time for all of you!

There will be no photos to go with this post….just use your imagination.

We are both sound asleep on a cold winter’s night. This is a GOOD thing because it is not something that happens often; I am just not much of a sleeper. Coyotes howling across the creek from the horse pasture, Chip barking to drive them away, a hyperactive bladder, a brain that is set on cruise control at a very high speed, frequent leg cramps, crazy dreams beyond description … all of these conspire to see that AmericanJanet gets very little uninterrupted sleep. I tend to do my best sleeping between 4:00 a.m. and whenever farmboy decides to arise. Which means I don’t do enough of it.

Ozarksfarmboy, on the other hand, is one of those blessed folks who can place his head on the pillow at night and immediately be in dreamland. He rarely dreams, and when I try to share my extremely interesting ones with him, he isn’t the tiniest bit interested. When bedtime comes, I’m still brushing my teeth, and he is already sawing on logs. Does he know what a gift this is?  He can even close his eyes in the car, lean his head back, and sleep…or nap in his recliner on Sunday afternoon. I’m endlessly jealous of this seemingly effortless sleeping ability. Lucky guy.

Meanwhile, I settle in with my heating pad and my book; the light doesn’t bother him because he is far, far away. An hour later, I finally begin to feel the eyelids droop and it’s time for the “up and down” to begin. But tonight, after a long day with plenty of physical and mental activity, I really do go to sleep. This is a GOOD night! For a little while.

Midnight rolls around, and the land is still. I’m someplace where there’s a bridge and my grandmother and perhaps a picnic and my brothers are young and…. Then suddenly, I’m being pulled back from that faraway place by a flushing sound…followed by a song. What is it? “Row, row, row your boat, gently down the stream…” My mind struggles to make sense of the sounds, and I decide it was just part of my dreams. They’re always too weird. I begin to drift back to that bridge, when there it goes again…that flushing sound, like a quick toilet flush, followed by “Row, row, row your boat…” What in the world?

Farmboy heard it this time, and he turned toward me and, echoing my thoughts, whispered, “What in the world was that?” I’m awake now, my mind is beginning to function, and I realize what it was.

“It was the potty chair,” I groan. No need to whisper; no one is in the bathroom.

“What do you mean, the ‘potty chair?’ he asks grumpily and unbelieving.

“The potty chair I got for the kids,” I explain. “When you do what you’re supposed to do in it, there’s a little handle to push, and it sounds like flushing. Then it plays that song. It’s to encourage them.”

And, as if to demonstrate for him, there is goes again! He does not care for its midnight performance one little bit and says, “Shut the &%# thing off!”

But where is it? I can’t think, and I roll out of bed trying to remember where I put it, a couple of years ago when Wyatt and Lucy graduated to the big people potty. Luckily, it goes off again and I follow the sound to ozarksfarmboy’s closet. There, in the far reaches, behind the suitcases and other assorted stuff, is the culprit. I dig it out and see that the little flushing handle is NOT engaged. What is making it go off???? I turn it upside down and see where the battery fits into a little case, but it needs a screwdriver to open it so I give up. I don’t think I can handle a screwdriver at this hour. I go into the bathroom, grab a armful of bath towels, and come back and smother the thing.

An hour of so later, because I was, of course, wide awake, I heard a muffled, far-away-sounding flush and then that familiar refrain…”Row, row, row your boat…”  But the farmboy, slumbering away peacefully beside me, hears nothing. Wonder if he’s dreaming about rowing across a beautiful lake somewhere?

It’s an anniversary, of sorts. As I came over to xanga to see about y’all, I noticed that it has been three years today since I joined this site. I began as ozarksfarmgirl, and a while ago I changed my name to AmericanJanet. Cyberspace is the only place I inhabit where this sort of identity change can take place so easily. Kind of a make-believe land, where we can be anyone we choose….

But changed names aside, I’m still the same…an ozarksfarmgirl who loves to share my slice of the world with you. And if you’ve been visiting me for a while, you’ll recognize some of the places in the pictures I’m posting today, because they are right in my own back yard. They’ve been featured before, in other seasons and other times. As familiar as they are to me, they are still intriguing.

Yesterday was a cattle-working day, and I was called upon to help gather up the herd. It was a frosty morning…my father-in-law used to call this sort of icy accumulation “jack frost”.

On my way to the corral, I encountered this lucky survivor of our recent deer season.

This fellow has a very important job on our place. He (along with others similar to him) is responsible for being the sire of our “crop” of baby calves. If he fails, we have nothing to sell. No pressure, Bully…but DO YOUR JOB!

My favorite cowboy, doing what he loves best. Today he’s riding Tex across a frosty pasture.

After the cows and calves were securely in the corral, I walked back to my truck and found someone else was here before me.

Now let’s take the long way home. This little cemetery always makes me want to stop for another visit. Someone, a couple of years ago, took the time to build the low, split-rail fence around it. And flowers, though never real, always adorn the graves.

 Only two have “real” markers; the others are marked by fieldstones. One of the markers designates that a Civil War veteran lies here. He was a member of an Iowa unit.

This bluff towers above the creek and always makes me think that it would be a good lookout for injuns.

An old cellar was commonplace and necessary on Ozarks’ homesteads. Imagine this one filled with baskets of sweet and irish potatoes and onions, enough to see a big family through the winter.

Our creeks are beautiful in all seasons.

My mother-in-law remembers, as a very little girl, her family visiting the German man who built this barn. She thought he was very strange, speaking with a thick accent.

Another of my favorite old barns, fronted by a wonderful stacked-stone fence. Think of the work that went into building it!

Blue Boy checks out some berries on a deciduous holly.

This is my favorite bluff in the whole world. It’s not as dramatic as some others, but it is special because of the masses of maidenhair fern that exist on its face. This time of year they are brown, and today they have a few icicles hanging on them. My photos never do this place justice. Wish you all could see it for yourselves.

Back at home, the chix are hungry…”Why is breakfast so late???”

It’s a busy Friday, in a busy season. Better get to work. Hope y’all have a good weekend…and come back soon, hear?

Hiking in the woods on a clear autumn day….    

…was the perfect way to walk off some of Thursday’s turkey and dressing and giblet gravy and sweet potatoes and pumpkin pie with real whipped cream…oh, my, let’s go!

On this day we chose a hike that began with a visit to a grave. How many children in today’s mobile society know the burial site of a great-great-great-great grandmother? 

Sarah, Emma and Lucy beside the grave of Amanda Little, 1834-1914. 

Following the holler east from the old burial ground on our farm, a spring branch flows clear and pure. Walking a log is one way across…

Lined with enormous boulders, this is a great place for exploring.

The clear blue sky is a beautiful backdrop for towering pines up above…

and down below, all kinds of fungi live on fallen logs.

                   Wonder who lives down here?

               Bluff-climbing for sure-footed souls…

Home for a lunch of leftovers and then the rest of the family arrived…cousins! They clamored for a hike, too, so off we went in search of an afternoon adventure.

This time we climbed a stone fence, crossed another spring branch…

and found an old, abandoned homestead. It’s fun to make up stories about the people who once lived here. What did they do for fun? Did they ever see bears or mountain lions? How did they stay warm in winter? What did they grow in their garden?

Evening arrives, and back at home, cousins played and played…

                          …and even Poppy played!

Thanksgiving…when we count our blessings, these are the richest ones.

Hope your Thanksgiving was meaningful and rich with family and friends.

One day of Thanksgiving is simply not enough. As CHO of our household (Chief Holiday-Appointing Officer) I officially declare that, from this day forward, “EVERY DAY SHALL BE A DAY OF THANKSGIVING.” For how in the world can we be expected to give thanks for all of our blessings in one single day, when each new day presents us with a whole set of new blessings?

Today, for example, the morning began with clouds, rain and general drear in place. Not such a blessing? Maybe, but as I looked out, I could see the swirling mist, softening all the hard edges, adding an aura of dreaminess to the very ordinary.

It’s November, yes, and most everything is looking brown and drab. But, sheltered by some lingering hollyhocks, this purple coneflower offered a last taste of summer to a fellow who seems to have missed an earlier flight. He was heartened when the sun peeked out.

The chickens have been protesting the advent of winter by refusing to lay eggs…all except for this lovely lady, Miss Ruby Yellowlegs. Miss Ruby stands by me, giving me one perfect brown egg each and every day, rain or shine. She does seem to prefer shine, though. The egg, on sunny days, seems a touch smoother, a little browner and more oval-ly perfect. 

And even on the darkest days, when the work is grungy, the hours long and the cattle uncooperative, I can count on this…a cheerful smile from my faithful farmhand. He had a birthday last week. It was the 40-eth time we’ve celebrated his birthday together as partners in this life we share. Wonder what the record for longest-married is? I think we’re shooting to set a new one. Guinness, give us a little time…we’re on a roll.

These are some of the simple blessings I’ve encountered in my life today. The longer I live, the more I KNOW (inside, where it counts) that the simple blessings are the very best ones. Lord, help me to never take them for granted.

What are you thankful for tonight? Right this minute?

What does 5 days without internet give you??? A sore back, three clean rooms and closets upstairs, bruises (don’t ask), a pickup load of stuff for the food pantry’s thrift shop, a roaring blaze in the burn pit (trash!), leg cramps, several trips down Memory Lane, a few tears and a lot of laughs, some cozy moments sharing a very small upstairs bathroom with my patient husband, and an intense determination to NEVER bring any more junk into this house!

On Monday, when my dear friends, the floor-covering boys showed up, it was time to turn off the Dell (so they could rip up the carpet in my office) and turn on all the burners…in other words, get to work! While they ripped up vinyl flooring, subflooring, carpets, pads, tack strips, baseboards, toilets, and everything else in their way, I headed upstairs. For how could I enjoy the eventual fruits of their labors (nice, new, clean floors downstairs to go with freshly painted walls throughout), knowing what lurked above. I tackled it with a vengeance. Every day this week, I emptied closets, sorted through the bins, boxes and tubs accumulated through the years, tossed out junk and gave away anything that anyone would take. Woodwork and windows were washed. The fabric stash was organized, the yarn stash minimized. Books, magazines, toys…I was ruthless (never mind that Ruth is my middle name….I forgot her this week!)

I called Susannah, asking if she would mind my removing the dusty, faded posters from her closet walls. Sarah doesn’t yet know that her 3rd-grade valentine box is no longer on her closet shelf. Stan’s FFA awards (from 1968) were lovingly dusted and put back in the plastic tub to await a grandchild’s discovery at some distant future date. Matt’s freshman creative writing journal (with encouraging, positive notes from AnnieMockingbird, his wonderful teacher) went into MY keepsake box. Thirty-seven strings of Christmas lights have been reduced to…a few.

Those sweet boys (Dave, Jeff and Jason) ALMOST finished the floor covering…they’ll be back Monday morning to complete the job. It will take all of next week for me to finish what I’ve begun….this isn’t a job that can be rushed. But I’m hoping that by the time Thanksgiving rolls around I can give thanks for a home that’s cleaner, healthier and more organized, top to bottom.

No pics to go with this post…I can’t find my camera…hope I didn’t throw it out!

Forget Dear Abby. Forget the best friend, the psychotherapist or whoever else you tell your troubles to. It is the carpet laying guys who know your dirty little secrets.

Dirty carpet is what started this mess (and ”mess” is a mild word for what is in our house right now.) Yes, I had looked at flowerdy wallpaper for 22 1/2 years, and it still looked just the same as when it was hung. Floorcovering is a different breed of cat altogether. Our family had WALKED, CRAWLED, SCOOTED, SLID, RUN, DRIBBLED, SPILLED…the list of verbs that could be inserted here is about endless and I will spare you some of them…on the same carpet those 22 1/2 years. I could vacuum every day (I didn’t but I thought about it) and still have dirty carpet. I could (but didn’t) shampoo till suds came out my ears and still have dirty carpet. It’s a FARM, remember? There’s only one solution for this dirty carpet…take it out.

Well, one thing leads to another and suddenly a major renovation is under way. Walls must be painted and wallpaper given an extreme makeover. Old carpet and vinyl must be removed, which means that every square inch of floor must be cleared, even the stuff in the back of the closets that haven’t seen the light of day in decades. Under bed storage? Out it comes. YIKES!!!! 

And what is under the old carpet…..oh, my! Let’s not go there….I’m so thankful for a shop vac right now.

Just don’t think you’re going to get the names or numbers of these guys who are suddenly my closest friends…

Dear Wallpaper,

This is very hard for me to write, but the time has come. Believe me when I say this is going to hurt me more than it hurts you…really…but the truth can no longer be denied. It’s time for us to split.

What’s it been… 22 1/2 years? That’s, like, a bunch of my life. Guess you could say we’ve had a long-term relationship. And gosh, wallpaper, we’ve had some good times together. And I admit that I’m going to miss you. Even though you’ve caused me trouble sometimes….like when your seams came unstuck…I liked you so much that I was determined to make it work. I just rolled up my sleeves and got busy and soon, with a little stick-to-it-iveness, we were right back the way we started…tight, you know? But this time is different.

Before you go chastising yourself, let me just confess that this really isn’t your fault. I take all the blame. Call me fickle, if you like, but I am just tired of this relationship. I guess it’s just the sameness, day in and day out, of looking at your same old stripes and your same old faded flowers, and you just sitting there looking back at me. I feel the need for something new….something different…something fresh!

If it is any comfort at all, let me just say that I’m NOT going to rip you off. When I was a younger woman, living in other houses, that’s what I would have done. Out would come the water and the stinking vinegar and the putty knife and the fingernails, and I’d go at you with a vengeance, peeling you apart, piece by piece. But trying to go back and start over, with a bare slate, just isn’t something I crave any longer. No, this time I’m going to just leave you there. So, maybe breaking up won’t be so hard on you, after all! You’ll still be here; you just won’t be able to see me…and (thank goodness) I won’t be able to see you.

Hey, it just hit me! We’re not really breaking up….you’re just getting a makeover! A little paint here, a little putty there, cover it all with a nice new glaze and voila! Once you’re wearing your new look, I just know the love will be back. We’ll pick right up where we left off, cooking breakfast together, hanging around in the kitchen and the dining room…but it will feel good again.

Oh, I feel so much better about this now. Forget all that stuff I said, wallpaper….we’ll be together forever!

Love,

Me

So here’s a liddle riddle for you: she ate lunch in Paris, then spent the night in Peru. She found no watercraft in ship-she-wana, tho she wanna one real bad. The tunnel she went through had holes in the top, and the straits led to crooked falls. Where was she? She’ll share a few visual clues.

She loves quilts, painted on barns…

or hanging in restaurants…

or planted in flower beds!

 She loves tidy farms…

and beautiful old barns…

…and admires the simpler nature of this lifestyle.

She loves to see children hurrying into one-room schools…

and historic old mills…

and log cabins with pumpkins, and carts filled with flowers.

She loves gardens, both cultivated and wild.

She is drawn, as if by a magnet, to country churches…

and quirky restaurants, like the Legs Inn (those white things are many, many old stove legs, turned upside down, on the roof…and the Polish food was fabulous!)

and quirky mooses.

.

She loves, loves, loves lighthouses, on anywhere shores…

the older, the better.

And when the view is of this bridge…

…it’s just so blue! Fifteen minutes on a jet ferry to visit an island…

…home of this historic hotel, only to learn that one must pay $10 to walk across the famous front porch…hmmm,  better to enjoy it from a distance.

That bridge eventually brought her to a wilder, more remote place….

of falls, falls and more falls.  While hiking down to the water’s edge, this sign bore a prayer that she had seen, just a few weeks ago, inscribed on the soaring lobby of the Lied Lodge in Nebraska City…wonderfully stated. It makes her want to hug a tree.

Hikes turn up coincidences, too. She never saw a stranger, so was delighted to learn that the couple with whom she struck up a conversation here (1500 miles away from home) lived just 75 miles from her, back down in the hills; she loves those small-world experiences, wherever she finds them.

Did you solve her riddle? Paris is in IL and Peru is in IN, just south of the pristine Amish farms near Goshen and Nappannee and Shipshewana. She loves saying those names out loud. Land o’ Goshen, it sure was nice to visit there and encounter the friendliness and openness of the folks who make that place their home.

The “tunnel” is Michigan’s Tunnel of Trees scenic byway, along the shore of Lake Michigan, around Little Traverse Bay. The churches were there, too, along with a (what superlative can she use here to emphasize the neatness of this?) WONDERFUL rug-making co-op, where 20 women are apprenticed to learn to weave and hook rugs. They buy their wool from local shepherdesses. She decided to come home and learn to be a shepherdess. Alas and alack, no sheep in yon pasture, yet. 

The Straits of Mackinac took her to the UP across the long bridge, where she found the Tauquamenon Falls to be crooked and lovely and natural. The moose met her there.

She decided that it is a very good thing to live in the heartland of America, where she can hop in a car and find extraordinary beauty just a day or two away. She realizes it is a privlege to do so.

When the weather is rainy, dark and dreary, what better day-brightener can you think of than a treasure that arrives in the mail box? Yesterday, I received a hand-written letter from Emma, who was home sick with a cold.

Thankfully, she was not too sick to write to me, and it was a bright spot in this not-so-bright week.

One of my favorite images of Emma will always be this one….

as she played the wedding march at her Aunt Buzz’s wedding two weeks ago. Smiling, confident, poised….Emma didn’t miss a note. Not on the recessional, either, as these two happy people exited as husband and wife.

The wedding was at the Arbor Day Farm in Nebraska City, NE, a beautiful, idyllic, natural place.

This wonderful old historic barn was the site.

Our Sarah was the beautiful matron of honor, and Lucy was flower girl.

After the ceremony and dinner, it was time to Par-Tay!

Farfar gave Lucy a spin.

We walked through the Tree Adventure with the four-year-olds, and together we explored…

….and laughed….

and made some happy memories. What a great weekend at Arbor Day Farm!

Last Friday, our good friend, Larry Wade spent the day. Although Larry grew up in Ozark County, it tickled me to show him a few places in our part of the world that he’d not seen.

Topaz is a marvelous gem, preserved and idyllic.

At Betty Henson’s old store at Champion, you feel exactly as if you’d stepped back in time. She keeps it preserved and well-stocked, and people come from all over the country to have a bottle of pop and sit a spell on the liar’s bench inside.

On Sunday, we celebrated with this little cutie-pie who had a birthday! Cousins and friends came to join in the fun. Happy first birthday, Addie Dear!

I don’t have a photo, but yesterday as I was driving home from town a huge flock of pelicans went overhead. They were circling and obviously looking for a watery landing place. I pulled over and sat and watched. It was an awesome experience, another unexpected gift in the middle of a seemingly dreary day.

May you find the gifts in your day today!