June 1, 2009….not just an ordinary day, but one for celebration around our place. The reason? It’s the 10th birthday of someone very dear to us….Happy Birthday, Chocolate Chip Taber!

He came to us at just six weeks,

a cuddly, placid, sleepy puppy. Then something happened. By the time he was four months old, Chip was nearly grown and we were aware of his true nature….hyper, excited, happy, fun-loving, needing LOTS of attention and exercise.

Chip, an English springer spaniel, has his idiosyncrasies.

I believe I’ve told you about his penchant for playing in the snow….he loves to ride down our steep hill on *his* saucer and even brings it back up for another run.

He likes to play with the horses behind our house. One day, he somehow got a big ball down the hill and into the horse pasture, and he and Lucky had a real ballgame, Chip pushing it with his nose, then giving Lucky a turn while he barked excitedly. Chip does know how to share.

              (riding in the boat on the lake)

Chip will befriend anyone, even strangers walking by. One time he followed a fellow who was walking down our road with a pack on his back for 25 miles, with the guy yelling at him and telling him to go home. Finally, the man gave up, and the two of them walked to the nearest town where Chip was taken in by the city policeman. Thankfully, Chip was wearing a collar with our name and phone number on it, and I raced to town to bring him home. How do you tell a friendly boy like Chip to leave strangers alone….he has never seen one!

We’ve had our ups and downs, as all friends do. One questionable incident occurred when I first brought home my chickens. When I opened the cage and ten feathery creatures plopped out one by one, Chip thought they were special toys just for him to play with. He flew into their midst, scattering the terrified critters to kingdom come. In the end, ten became four. But after a stern scolding, Chip never bothered my chickens again, and now he will even tolerate them when they come to his water bucket for a drink.

His best four-legged buddy is our strange feline, Justacat.

 Although Justy will have nothing to do with humans, he and Chip are tight…when Justy isn’t wandering off somewhere getting into trouble (notice the cat has no ears….they’ve been chewed off too many times.)

I wish I had some idea of how many miles Chip and I have logged together through the years, walking all over the farm.

He gets in many more miles than me since his duty is to run ahead and look for wildlife or other exciting discoveries and periodically come back to check on me. Sometimes his discoveries are TOO exciting, such as the time he flushed a defensive skunk out of tall pasture grass. We HURRIED back home from that walk! P-U!

One never knows how a pet will respond to new family members, but Chip has accepted each of our grandchildren, loving them as much as we do. Last weekend, Addie’s giggles as Chip licked her bare feet were a delight to this Mimi’s ears. Chip knows that babies are precious and to be careful with them.

Ten years is getting up there for a dog. Chip can no longer hear very well, and he takes a little longer to get up after a snooze. But he still adores a swim in the creek, 

will still *speak* for a treat, and loves to go for a ride in the back of my truck.

I think we still have some good years together ahead of us….I sure hope so, because I can’t imagine life without faithful, loving Chip! Happy birthday, dear friend!

After nearly three months of not posting on xanga, of feeling frustrated with being too busy to write, and then of feeling unspired when I did find the time, I now feel a strong urge to make a change. Did you ever just want to be someone else, to leave your old skin behind and start fresh? In our dreams and in this cyber-place we call xanga, we have that option! So I’m starting over, with a fresh new identity. From now one, you can call me American Janet…if you want to call me.   :)   I’m taking my name from a cheery, fresh fabric line called American Jane, sort of based on the old Dick and Jane books.

It reminds me of how exciting that time was…to watch letters turn into words and to match those words with charming pictures….and then, to have the words tell a story!

The Dick and Jane books started it all. How I wish I could see a list of all the books that followed, down through the years! The good ones, the sorry ones, even the ho-hum ones….I wish I could remember them. I think of all those millions of words, being absorbed by my brain, filling it up with images, dreams, conversations….words, magical words.

When I was a kid, I remember spending time thinking about this question: What would I keep if I knew I had to give up everything except one special thing? If someone came to me and said, “Pack one suitcase; you’re going to a desert island and can only take what will fit inside,” what would I pack? Several changes of clothes? Who would care, if I was the only one there. Photographs to remind me of home? They’d just make me homesick. A radio to keep me company? Probably no signal out there in the South Pacific.

The answer for me would always be straightforward: I’d have to negotiate for a steamer trunk because my bag needed to hold my books. I can imagine life without many of its pleasures, but books are the one thing I would truly hate to give up. So my new identity is simply a salute to the start of a lifelong love of reading.

So what has American Janet been up to lately? She still lives on the Ozarks farm, and this is a busy season.

We had a terrific storm a couple of weeks ago that reminded us of how closely our lives are connected to nature. Thankfully, the damage was minimal, but cleanup is still underway.

When life gets a bit ho-hum, some special visitors are sure to enliven things.

When things are calm and peaceful, we enjoy watching the birds outside our kitchen window.

I was thrilled when this rose-breasted grosbeak came to breakfast two days in a row. And although I was unable to capture an image, a painted bunting made a brief, colorful visit.

One magical evening just before dark we were able to get up close and personal to an owl who was sitting in a tree beside the road. How fascinating to see his head pivot 180 degrees and to have him look us right in the eye!

We call it Decoration Day here in the Ozarks, and I like going to the cemeteries, walking around and reading the monuments. With roots deep in this place, it is possible to find five or more generations of my family buried in one cemetery.

This stone marks the burial place of my paternal great-great-grandparents, Dr. George and Sarah Ebrite, who began life in Lancaster County, PA. They made their way to Ozark County via Illinois. George was a surgeon in the Civil War and left his family a valuable legacy, a letter he wrote in 1885 detailing much family history. In it, he described both of his grandfathers who were soldiers in the Revolutionary War. I’m remembering these (and other) ancestors on this day of remembrance.

An unwelcome visitor recently came calling; he took the form of a wily coyote, and he managed to carry off four of the “girls,” almost before we knew what was happening. Sadly, as a result the flock is now confined to their chicken yard, and they have let me know of their displeasure with the state of things.

Delbert defied confinement by flying out and encouraging his girls to follow his lead, so one morning his wings were clipped; it was a painless procedure but his pride was greatly injured. I’m now in the market for some young hens if one can guarantee they are hens and not roosters. Somehow, I just cannot tell the difference. Perhaps that is because I choose to not look very closely.

In the meantime, Bertha, Twin, Speckle and Ruby are still giving us enough eggs to eat.

I have joined Facebook recently, and I’d be happy to have you visit me there (Janet Taber). But somehow, the brief entries just are not as satisfying as the ones I find on Xanga, so I will be making a new effort, along with my new identity, to keep this connection strong. I’ve missed you all, and it feels good to be back….hope you’ll find something fresh and new here when American Janet speaks!

…it’s almost spring, and what does that mean?

Never mind that two days after I snapped these pictures we awoke to heavily falling snow. These hardy survivors will bloom right through it!

And what else does spring mean?

                          (Sue Ann Jones and daughter Reagan)

For Miss Reagan Jones, bride-elect of Mr. Neil Herrington, it means it’s time for a BRIDAL SHOWER! On June 6, the two will wed, and this gave us a reason for a party.  Reagan is not only cute, sweet, caring and the daughter of a very special friend to so many, she is also very smart. She will graduate from medical school in May, just before her wedding. Lots of cause for celebration!

First, the invitations went out, giving a clue as to the theme of the party.

(See the snowflakes in Kaki’s hair? That’s my Sus with her.)

(Silver sisters–Pam and me)                        (Real sisters–Judy and Gay)

As guests arrived, there were lots of hugs and happy exchanges.

The first order of business was introductions all around. Although Reagan’s mama grew up in our little community, the bride-to-be has never lived here, so she needed to know who we all were and our connection to her family. This was, of course, the perfect opportunity for funny stories about Sue Ann, and Reagan relished the tales of her mom’s younger days.

Then, we tackled the array of food. The cake, created by a very talented lady who is known far and wide for her “Sharon Cakes,” was especially pretty and continued the theme for our day.

After eating, we set to work. The task at hand was to stitch together 4-patch quilt blocks, and since some of the attendees had never held a needle before, there were basic instructions given.

Also, assistance was offered from experienced stitchers. At the end of the session, I believe everyone had sewn at least one block.

Some novices are less adept than others….Angie turned her project into a little pillow after sewing all the way around the square. Seams are as easily removed as sewn!

Being an experienced stitcher did not prevent Becki from sewing right through her finger…how did this happen to a home-ec major?!

A label will go on the completed quilt bearing the signatures of all the party-goers.

A stack of completed quilt blocks….

Then there were presents! Such a wide array of useful and charming gifts….we have some really clever women in our midst.

Pam, whose crowning achievement in cooking is her Cheerio casserole, is also known for her utter lack of needle skills. So when Reagan unwrapped this fleece throw that Pam created all by herself, she got a standing ovation! Just goes to show you CAN teach an old dog new tricks.

This cute combo, created by Doris from tea towels, caused Heather to quip, “That’s what you get at an Ozark County lingerie shower!”

There was a bit of romancing going on over in a corner by this cute couple: Cutter gave Addie her first kiss!

What a memorable and fun day it was, in spite of a snowstorm. Thirty braved the elements and helped us shower Reagan with lots of love and good wishes. And every time she pulls a tea towel out of the kitchen drawer or dons a cute apron or snuggles under a cuddly throw, I hope she’ll feel that all over again.

Best wishes, Reagan, for many long and happy years of wedded bliss with Neil! 

…I’ve been having an ear problem. More specifically, it’s an earring problem. I keep losing them. Seems like it is always one of a pair that I really love, and here’s the puzzler…the earring manages to disappear while in use. I go into the bedroom at night and when I reach up to take off my jewelry, I discover a missing earring. This bugs me, since my ears are pierced and the little trinkets should not be going anyplace! Doesn’t this sound like the start of a good book… The Mystery of the Missing Earring.

Puzzling over lost earrings made me remember when I got my ears pierced. The circumstances surrounding my ear-piecing adventure seem odd today, in light of the fact that nearly every little girl who can waddle around, and even some who aren’t ready for waddling, have a least one pair of earrings in their tiny lobes. Then there are the multiple body piercings that so many young folks exhibit…we won’t even go there. But this was way back in 1968, and at the ripe old age of 16, I was nearly an old maid as far as earrings were concerned.

ALL my friends had their ears pierced, and most had done it the courageous way, which was a routine not unlike Chinese water torture. First you talked about it for days, gaining fortitude for the trial ahead. But the encouragement from friends could be a bit unsettling. “If Judy could do it, anyone can. She only fainted for a few seconds.” “It really doesn’t hurt bad, and there’s not much blood. Just don’t look.” “The swelling doesn’t last long, and when it goes down, you get to see your earrings.” “Use real gold posts. I didn’t, and my ears were infected for three weeks.” “Try to sit really still so the needle goes through straight, even when it seems to get stuck.” “It helps to put an ink dot to mark the spot. Carol forgot to do that, and her earrings will always look crooked.”

The process employed an ice cube to freeze-deaden the tender, innocent lobe. When the victim could no longer feel it, she closed her eyes, gritted her teeth and hung on tight to the arms of the chair and hoped and prayed that her best friend had good aim, strength and a really sharp needle. The real problem arose with the second ear, because by then she knew exactly what was coming. Only the bravest girls got through this.

I’d broached the subject, but my dad was outspoken in his disapproval. His opinion was well-known in the family: pierced ears were equal to big, gold hoop earrings worn by gypsies. Cheap. Somehow, it was all right for Mom to wear big, fancy clip-ons, with lots of rhinestones and glitter, with a lovely big necklace and heavy bracelet to match. But pierced ears were a no-no.

It rarely occurred to me to defy Dad, but this time I had an ally. Mom wanted her ears pierced, too. She was tired of those heavy, uncomfortable clip-ons and longed to wear the new, delicate studs that looked so graceful and becoming. So she and I came to an agreement. If I would do it her way, she’d pave the way with Dad, and then eventually she’d have the job done, too. She insisted I go to a doctor for the procedure.

We lived in a tiny town that was without a doctor at that time, so my best friend and I headed to Mountain Home on a summer afternoon. Our first stop was the jewelry store on the square, where I purchased a pair of tiny round jade stud earrings on gold posts. Then we found the doctor’s office. It also was on the square; a wooden door with his name etched on it opened to a set of stairs that carried you up to his second-floor office, which was over a clothing store.

When we timidly opened the door at the top of the wooden steps, a huge mongrel-dog was sleeping across the threshold. He glanced up at us but didn’t bother to move, so we gingerly stepped over him. The doctor didn’t seem to have a lot of business. In fact, he didn’t even have a nurse or receptionist. Besides the dog, we were the only ones there.

After a little while, the good doctor came into the stuffy, creepy waiting room. He laughed when I told him why I was there and led me back to a treatment room. Picking up a huge hypodermic needle, he proceeded to deaden my earlobes with enough Novocain to keep them numb for a week. After that I didn’t feel a thing…but I could hear. He took something and probed and poked and prodded it through my gristly earlobes for several minutes, making all sorts of tearing, crackling sounds. Eventually the job was done, the earrings were in place and we were on our way, less his $10 fee. I’m not sure but I think mine were the first ears the doctor had ever pierced. Sue Ann had to drive home.

The hard part came next…going home to face Dad. He stared as I pulled my straight hair back and revealed the deed. “See, Dad, you can hardly see them, they’re so small, and I promise I’ll never wear gold hoops or dangly earrings. Please don’t be mad at me, Dad,” I pleaded.

Dad didn’t say a word, but with Mom’s help, he got over it. Six months later, she had her ears pierced, and we were on the plateau of earring happiness.

When my daughters came along, I remembered how badly I had wanted pierced ears. But I guess Dad’s opinions still influenced me, for both girls had to wait until they were 13 to get the job done. And by then it was a piece of cake….go to a department store, get the earrings inserted at the same time the piercing was done with a nifty gun-thing. Viola! Painless and easy. Except that Susannah had a big scar on one earlobe from an early dog bite and her body simply refused pierced earrings. To this day, she must search out clip-ons and rues the fact that the rest of us enjoy the simplicity of pierced ears.

(Current favorites: in the center are some given to me by my co-grandmother, Lynn. They are made from circa 1915 silverplate, pattern Primrose. The pearls came from Sue Ann’s husband, the late Dave Jones, who carried them home from China. The blackberry earrings were from a friend who loved it when I gave her some of my blackberry jelly. The red beaded ones were made by daughter Sarah, who is becoming quite a talented jewelry artisan. The tiny diamond studs came from my hubby one Christmas. Hammered silver ones are just some I like, as are the red and silver ones. I love anything monogrammed, and those came from Susannah.)

On the subject of earrings, I love that my mother-in-law and her family all call them “ear-bobs.” Perhaps that is a more apt description of the jewelry….they really aren’t rings. But aren’t they fun? Although I tend to choose simple, small ones, I admire women who can comfortably wear the bigger styles.

What kind of earrings do you wear and like? Any earring stories out there? And if you find a stray coral drop….or a silver hoop about the size of a quarter….or a black beaded drop….maybe you can help me solve a mystery.

…I have a special Valentine. No, it is not one given to me by an adoring suitor, but it does tell of a love story that is dear to my heart.

When my paternal grandfather died, I received a box of his personal possessions.

 This card was among them, and can you imagine how I loved reading the inscription on the front, written in Grandad’s handwriting: “This was the first valentine given to my darling Fay.” Then on the back he wrote, “This card was handed to Fay one morning behind the old round heater in the old block high school–perhaps 1922 or 1923. I was too backward to give it to her in public. Leonard” Above this note is Grandad’s original inscription, simply “Fay from Leonard.”

My grandparents grew up and went through school together, and then continued on at the State Teachers’ College together.

They married in 1928, just before the Depression; my dad, their only child, was born on Christmas Day, 1929, when there was a big snow on the ground. Grandmother’s father was a country doctor, and he delivered Dad while Grandad was out turkey hunting. He came in, proudly displaying a nice wild turkey, which the family ate that evening to celebrate the birth of the Savior and the birth of their son.

Both of my grandparents were teachers, and Grandad was eventually the superintendent of the school where he gave Grandmother the card, in the 1930s. He spent two terms in the Missouri state legislature in the mid-1940s and then they moved to California because of the promise of better pay for teachers in that progressive state.

I continue to be inspired by things they taught me, even though I was only 13 when Grandmother passed away. They believed in travel and took me on a wonderful trip when I was 11, camping our way across the Northwest and Canada. While I spent two months with my grandparents that summer, I had several opportunities to witness their still-fresh love for each other. One Sunday morning, Grandad and I were ready for church and had gone outside to bring the car around to the end of the front walk.

When Grandmother stepped out of the front door, she looked at us and smiled radiantly, and Grandad whispered to me, “Isn’t she the prettiest thing you ever saw?” I can still see the look on his face as he watched Grandmother walk toward us. There was no mistaking the depth of their affection for each other.

Only two short years later, my 62-year-old vibrant grandmother was walking down a sidewalk in Pasadena when she passed out. A brain tumor was discovered and surgery was attempted. Grandmother must have known that her condition was grave, because before she left for the hospital, she wrote a letter to my grandfather, telling him of simple, everyday things to be taken care of, and she ended by reminding him of her love for him. She never awoke from the surgery and lived only six months.The letter was also in the box with the valentine, treasured by Grandad until he died. They had enjoyed 36 years of marriage before Grandmother’s too-early death. The letter and the valentine are now my treasures, reminders of their long-ago love.

For Valentine’s Day, 2009, we traveled to visit our little granddaughters, to get a dose of their love.

Poppy took us out for breakfast that morning to a wonderful place called Eggtc. Sarah and I loved the spinach crepes, and the little girls had pancakes. Poppy had a traditional ham and eggs plate. Then we got to see Emma’s Y team play basketball.

It just so happens that we also know the coach, for it is none other than our own Sarah.

                           (Emma, far lower left, Sarah upper right!)

The little girls of both teams gathered on the court and recited the YMCA’s rules of sportsmanship before play began, and then they ran up and down for an hour. Emma is good at defense!

And earlier last week, we enjoyed our other two little valentines who spent a couple of days with us while their mommy attended a meeting in St. Louis.

Addie Dear is almost 5 months. and I wish I could just keep her at this darling stage a little longer….she’s at the perfect age for cuddling, smiling and cooing.

Wyatt took a break from playing with his machinery to investigate my set of little Russian nesting dolls.

With valentines like these, who needs hearts and roses???? Hope your Valentine’s Day was sweet!

…a couple of weeks ago,

(it feels like ages ago!) we took a nice Saturday drive. It was a beautiful, blue-sky, winter’s day, much too nice to stay indoors. I told my driver (he’s such a good sport!) that I wanted to photograph some old country stores. At times like this, our southern neighbor beckons, so off we went, down into Arkansas.

This was my first big score, the old store at Elizabeth, just south of Gepp, which is pronounced Jeep. And that reminds me of a little tidbit that has nothing to do with our drive. My dear friend, anniemockingbird, told me that when she first moved to Arkansas, she was told that if she wanted to work at the paper, she’d have to learn how to pronounce local names. Our conversation came about when I went to visit her and commented on a road sign that led to Eros. I wondered how that place came by such a remarkable name, and she laughingly informed me it was pronounced “EE-ross.” Hmmm…

Anyway, I’ll get back on track. The old store at Elizabeth sure grabbed my attention. It was white-washed all over, had a great stone foundation, and was completely charming.

The back showed that the original building was constructed of logs. How I wished that I could go inside and get a bottle of cold Orange Crush from one of those old ice coolers, the ones with the opener bolted onto the side. Remember collecting bottle tops? Wonder who this settlement was named for?

On down the road a piece we came to Wild Cherry and were rewarded with the sight of this old store. Isn’t it great? Ozarks rockwork done by a gifted stonemason. Some of these old buildings are referred to as zebra rock because the design resembles a zebra’s markings. In the case of this old store building, the mortar and stone work are nicely intact and look as if they will stand another hundred years. Wouldn’t it be a great antique shop?

By now it was almost lunchtime, and we were coming up on Pineville, where we found a little country cafe. Stan had the catfish plate and I got the pork tenderloin sandwich. The atmosphere wasn’t exactly posh, (in fact, I won’t show pictures) but the food was good. And what did we find almost next door?

Just this really wonderful old church, which is truly unusual in these parts. I’ve only seen one other two-story country church, and that one is in Boxley. This one was extremely well preserved and obviously used on a regular basis.

Pineville is a “suburb” of Calico Rock. Now, what quilter/needlewoman wouldn’t just be completely taken with a town by the name of Calico? I’ve always loved it, even though I know the name has nothing at all to do with fabric and everything to do

with the colors of the big bluff upon which the town is perched, high above the majestic White River. Downtown, the old buildings are set up high above the highway which

 follows the main street right through the center of town and on across the bridge above the river. A couple of years ago when we drove through Calico Rock, the White River was on a rampage, and the water level was nearly up to the floor of the bridge. It’s much nicer when NOT at flood stage.

Heading on south, we followed Sylamore Creek, which joins the White River just above Mountain View.

Can you tell that I just love creeks of all kinds (only Yankees call them a “crick” which is what you get in your neck) and this one is so pretty, especially when viewed from above.

Mountain View is a pretty famous little place, known as home to the Ozark Folk Center. It attracts old-time musicians year-round, and when the weather is nice, they gather on the square to sit around and play their fiddles, banjos, and guitars.

This old house has been turned into a bed and breakfast and is usually full on weekends in spring, summer and fall.

Even though we were still plumb full from lunch, who could resist the old soda fountain in Woods Pharmacy? It is simply the neatest place, and so we agreed to share a milk shake.

While the young man made our shake,

I admired the old stuff back in the pharmacy (which is quite modern) 

the wonderful displays over the windows,

and the ice-cream-related collectibles.

And notice the tile floor….there’s a quilt pattern there, made of little one-inch squares.

Driving west out of Mountain View, we followed the Sylamore Scenic Byway,

passing through this little burg. Just after going through Fifty Six, we turned off the highway and went down a steep dirt road to our old friend, Sylamore Creek, where we found a lovely campground.

It was the site of a CCC camp back in the ‘30s, Camp Hedges, and the men who worked there constructed a dam on the spring branch feeding the creek, creating Gunner Pool.

The color of the water was an amazing green! What a perfect swimmin’ hole in warmer weather….we vowed to return.

Back up on the Byway, I begged Stan to stop for this picture. Often seen growing in fencerows, possom haw (officially known as deciduous holly) provides some of the only vibrant color in winter’s landscape in the Ozarks. I always gather some branches for decorating at Christmas time. It’s so pretty mixed with our eastern red cedar and white pine. A few years ago, I ordered a bundle of these plants from our state nursery, and after about seven years in the ground, we had berries for the first time this winter! My bushes aren’t nearly this big, though.

We made our way on up to Rush, which is a true ghost town. There are hundreds of little villages through the Ozarks that have died out through the years, but Rush is unusual. As part of the National Buffalo River property, it has been preserved and some of the structures still stand. Back in the early part of the 20th century, it was a very busy place, the site of an active zinc mine. Thousands of men were employed there, especially during World War I, when zinc was in great demand. Soon after the end of the war, the mine was closed.

This is all that remains of the smelter.

Evidently, a fine house must have stood here because this is a really nice stone fence and steps.

We found another good example of a general merchandise store (mercantile)

 and wondered about the families who used to live in these tiny houses.

It was so quiet on this day that we could almost hear the echoes of the men who worked in the mines

and their children who must have played in this little creek.

The sun was just about to set when we came up out of the valley where Rush sleeps.

It had already dipped behind the hills when we passed the beautiful and stately Red Raven Inn beside Crooked Creek in Yellville. I’ve always wanted to spend the night there, but it’s too close to home. And in just a little while, we were back in Missouri and then turning into our driveway and closing the chickens up for the night.

Let’s see….Elizabeth, Wild Cherry, the old mercantile at Rush….I’d say we did pretty well in our search for old country stores. And the old church at Pineville was icing on the cake, with some pretty little creeks to go with it…a nice drive, indeed!

…yesterday we hunkered down and waited.

On Monday, with a virtual promise of impending bad weather, company arrived. Daddy is gone to school in Kansas, so Sus and kiddies came to be with us, just in case.

The ice and sleet and snow came late that afternoon, just as the weatherman said it would, and we watched from inside as the world changed outside. We thought we would lose power, but we were among the fortunate ones…it remained on, and we stayed warm and snug and so very thankful for our shelter from the storm.

We found plenty of ways to fill the hours.

Dominoes on the floor was one afternoon favorite.

Napping was also a pastime of choice, especially after a cold, blustery morning outdoors (by Pops, not Addie, although they both have rosy cheeks.)

It was a good afternoon to get all the ‘quipment out and get it serviced before the busy spring season arrives. Did you know that some of the tractors have special “metachments” that do amazing things?

We kept plenty of seed out for the hungry birds, and in return, they kept us entertained. 

The birds had help from the acrobatic squirrel who had no trouble figuring out the best way to grab corn.

Some people have only to smile to entertain their adoring fans.

When someone lost a game piece, there was an intense search. The big basket of longleaf pinecones was pulled out from under the table, and what do you suppose turned up from deep inside?

A long-lost Easter egg! (Yikes…is this an indictment of my house-keeping skills???)Wyatt couldn’t believe it….and, against our protests, couldn’t wait to crack it…and we all held our noses and rushed it down the garbage disposal. Yuck!

After more than 36 hours of continuous sleet, freezing rain and then an icing of snow, the sun came out this morning.

It revealed a winter wonderland (although those who listened to ice-laden limbs come crashing down during the night would not name it that!) And after 48 hours of being housebound, a certain little lad needed to get outdoors.

Meems (that’s his new name for me, shortened from Mimi) and Wyatt bundled up and took a look around. The horses were happy to see us.

We found these nandina berries encased in a solid covering, but they are still pretty.

The steep hill in our yard is the perfect place for man and beast to give the sled a run. We were happy to see that Chip still has his good form.

After checking out the tracks around the yard, we decided to go for a walk.

The country lane was so pretty.

We saw a pileated woodpecker (Pops always calls them “Indian-head woodpeckers”) darting through the woods in front of us.

When we came to this dead tree, we knew who had been working on it.

With thousands of our neighbors without electricity, we feel humble that we have not had to make that sacrifice. Winter can be brutal, but it has its pleasures, too. Being cooped up inside gave us a memory-making time….time to cook together, read together, knit or just talk and plan. We’ll remember these few days of “intense fellowship” during the icy January of 2009 and see it as a special gift.

What was my day like, you asked?

 Well, if you really want to know, it was just an average, ordinary day in the life of ozarksfarmgirl.

I got up early, about 9:00 a.m., because I had lots of things planned. Stepped on the scales to check the progress of my diet…uh-oh, lost two more pounds. Yikes! This isn’t going well. Who knew gaining weight could be so difficult? I’m doing my best, but sometimes I am just not hungry.

Had a light breakfast…a sizable hunk of the chocolate cake left from supper last night, which went well with my latte. Just then the phone rang, and it was my doctor’s office, calling to say that my cholesterol was too low, and the good doctor suggested I try and build it up some by eating richer, fattier foods. Not sure I can manage that but I’ll give it a go. Back to the kitchen to polish off the rest of that cake.

After I was fortified, it was off to the spa for a rigorous workout. I was able to endure a whole hour of full-body massage this morning…hooray for me! That’s my new personal best! To reward myself, I stayed for an extra 30-minute foot rub, since I was feeling quite worn out from all the activity.

Physical activity always makes me hungry, so I called my daughters and we met for an early lunch at 11. I insisted on that little Italian place downtown where they serve tiramisu for an appetizer, since I hadn’t been there this week. The girls’ little ones were all invited for playdates with friends today, so we had time to squeeze in a little shopping after we ate. Good timing, too, because all the antique malls, book stores, flea markets, yarn shops, quilt shops and garden centers in the area were having a half-of-half-price sale! What goodies we found! Got all my birthday and Christmas shopping done for this year, in one fell swoop (and it’s still January!)

After the girls headed off to pick up the grandkiddies, it was time for me to head home and see what I could rustle up for supper. Lo and behold, guess what greeted me at the door? A delicious aroma…what could it be? Dear husband had come home early, just to cook a divine dinner for little bitty me! And because today is my one-twelfth-birthday (and he NEVER forgets a special occasion!), what else do you suppose he did today? Only called a cleaning service to do the whole house, top to bottom, windows, walls, floors and all! Isn’t he just the sweetest sweetheart a girl could have?

After hubby cleaned up the dishes from dinner ( I was beginning to sag from such a whirlwind day), we turned on some soft romantic music, turned down the lights and snuggled in front of the flickering fireplace for a little one-on-one…and that’s when he presented me with my first birthday gift of this year, the piece de resistance: tickets for a unhurried, two-week trip to the British Isles, scheduled for June, right when the flowers in all those sweet English cottage gardens are at their peak. I was speechless. Really. And it got me to wondering what he’ll do for the rest of my birthdays this year. There’s February 12, March 12, April 12….wow! I just know this is gonna be a great year!

As I rested my head on my crisp, ironed pillowcase tonight, I yawned and thought about the day. It was fairly good, maybe even a tic above average, but as always, things could have been better…Publishers’ Clearinghouse could have knocked at my door….

What!? You don’t believe that was my day? Well, if the guys can have fantasy football, can’t we girls have a little fantasy, too?

(Sorry I don’t have photos to go with this blog….it took every bit of my imagination to come up with this much!)

…farmwives sometimes do their spring cleaning in winter,

because that is the season when they are indoors. So that’s what I’m spending some of these cold wintry days doing. And as I work my way through the rooms, closets and cupboards with vacuum, mop, dust cloth and trash can, I think of how much I love old stuff. All my life I have liked old things, and I am really not discriminating about it. I like the old furniture, dishes, quilts and aprons, books and photographs throughout our home.

Music? Play me the ‘50s and ‘60s any day; as I’m dusting the furniture, my radio is set to the oldies station. Old places are good to visit, like towns, stores, historic sites and even cemeteries. Old ideas? In Ecclisiastes 1:9, Solomon said, “There is nothing new under the sun,” and that was written nearly 3000 years ago! Old-fashioned traits, such as common sense, good manners and a sense of decency, would be welcome additions to modern society, from which they seem to generally be missing. My favorite old saying is, “If all our troubles were hung on the line, you would take yours and I would take mine.”

Outside in the garden, old dependable plants, such as lilacs, day lilies, iris, heirloom tomatoes and pole beans, outperform new varieties. Old sports heroes, such as Wilma Rudolph, Eric Liddell, Walter Payton, Lou Gehrig and Jackie Robinson, somehow seemed more heroic than modern icons. And if people can be considered “stuff,” well, I’ve always liked old people, too. They have so much to teach us, if only we take the time to listen.

I rarely buy new stuff; only things like mattresses and appliances come into our home bearing new labels. I have no use for furniture stores full of fine new furnishings. Flea markets and second hand stores are my favorite shopping centers. I’m just drawn to those places like a hummingbird to sweet honeysuckle. And the sweetest draw of all are antique shops.

One of my hangouts when I was a kid was Wayne and Necie Clark’s second hand store, just off the square in our little town of 600. It was full of junk, used stuff, and antiques. I’d pilfer around in there for hours, picking up and examining all manner of old and odd things. How interesting it all was to me, from old farm implements to ‘30s-era kitchen gadgets! I loved to have Wayne explain what an old tool was used for or how a harness fit on a team of plow horses. Necie loved old churns and had quite a collection. When my grandmother gave me her mother’s old churn, I knew just how it had been used and how valuable it was, thanks to Necie’s interest. Of course, that churn is one of my most treasured possessions today.

One of the first old things I ever bought was a teapot, found in Springfield when I was 14 years old. My mom didn’t like old stuff, but I persistently pestered her until she finally stopped at a promising-looking junk store on West Main. It was a hot summer day, and the door to the shop was standing open, with piles of delightfully worn old things on the sidewalk out front.

Inside, the place was dark and musty smelling, and an old man was snoozing in an old chair. He startled when we went in, then resumed his rest while my eyes adjusted to the dim light. In a minute Mom had seen enough and went back out to the car, but I poked around, looking in overflowing cupboards and on stacked tabletops. Boxes under the tables were spilling out into the aisles. It was a veritable Old Curiosity Shop, right out of Dickens!

In an old oak kitchen cupboard I found my treasure. The little teapot had a broken lid that had been glued back together, so the price was right for my limited budget (I earned 35 cents an hour baby-sitting in that era, so my purse wasn’t very heavy.) I made my purchase, took it home and proudly set it on my bookshelf, alongside my collection of Nancy Drew books and glass dog figurines. That teapot felt like such a grownup thing to me! I still love it, after all these years.

Through the years, I’ve been given old things from family members that are not valuable in a monetary sense but are high in sentimental value. My great-grandmother’s locket and thimble, my grandfather’s Bible with family births, marriages and deaths entered in his handwriting, Grandmother’s china-head doll, Granny’s glasses, Stan’s great-grandmother’s china cake plate, quilts made by three of my great-grandmothers, many old family photographs. Treasures all, these things have pride of place in our home.

A new word being used today is “repurpose.” It’s a verb, and it means to find a new use for something. Repurposing fits in with today’s emphasis on recycling, and it is fun to take something old and give it new life by using it in a unique way. I’ve seen many clever ideas, such as making a bench from an old bed or turning an old outhouse into a garden shed. My favorite repurposed item is an old hardware store table that I put on casters and use as a cutting table for sewing. Why buy something new? This piece has character!

Today’s new stuff will be tomorrow’s old stuff. So there is one thing of which we can be sure: there will always be old stuff. What is your favorite old thing? What is your favorite idea for repurposing something?

…I’ve been tagged.

Usually, I ignore these sort of things, but today it gave me a topic for a post. After an entire week of cleaning the house, closets and cupboards especially, my brain seems a bit numb. Nothing exciting to report, only how many boxes of trash and giveaway I’ve managed to stack up on the garage and how many times I’ve emptied the canister on my WONDERFUL Dyson sweeper (purchased last year upon recommendation of a wise xangan.) Winter has me in its grasp!

But this tag was to choose the place on my desktop where I store photos, then choose the fourth folder, then choose the fourth photo.

So, here you see a place on our farm that I just love! It is on what we call the Van Voris Place, so named for the man who owned the property before us. When my husband was in high school, his family purchased this land when it was completed wooded. No one else would have seen the potential, but Stan and his dad cleared and sowed it into pasture, and it is one of the prettiest places around. See the way that hill slopes up, just to the right of center…there’s a tiny notch in the trees at the top? It doesn’t look like it from this angle, but it is VERY steep driving up to that spot! In fact, it takes all a four-wheel-drive can do to get up there. And once you are on top, you are rewarded with a hundred-mile view that is amazing!

I took this photo back in the early fall, when we were there one day gathering up cattle for Stan and the guys to work. You can see the tinge of early color in the hardwoods.

An interesting place lies just to the right and back through those trees of that “V.” Owned by a man who is a retired history teacher, it is the location of some sort of strange, as-yet-unexplained “calendar,” constructed of stones arranged in a huge circle. Archaelogists from the University of Missouri have studied it and believe that is what it is, but there is no way to know for sure.

One thing that IS sure is that native Americans were all over this place, camping near the springs. My brother found some perfect arrowheads there one day, and I’ve found broken pieces near one spring.

Today, the VV place is the happy home of one of our herds of black Angus cows, where they contentedly graze and raise their babies in solitude, far from the noise and stress of modern society. Going up there is like a retreat, a place to enjoy the beauty and tranquility of the rugged Ozarks.

If you’re reading this, consider yourself tagged and share your fourth photo in your fourth folder with the rest of us!

Happy Saturday!