....a warm, sunny late afternoon on the very first day of spring just invited us to go on an adventure! And since Wyatt had come to visit, Mimi and Poppy were happy to oblige. But first, Wyatt and Poppy (who has had a busy day of hard work, as his clothes attest) had some chores to finish up…

…then, off we went, in search of waterfalls! The recent heavy rains created lots of runoff so every little stream, gulley and rivulet was running. Our water is of the nicest things about the Ozarks. On the drive over to the Honeycutt Place (our farm is made up of a lot of these old “places,” named for original owners), we saw some wildlife. I couldn’t capture the deer that ran across our path…too quick for my camera!

This armadillo turned and ran, but not before I got a shot of his rear.

This was our first find…I’d score it a “double.”

A treasure….some kind of old bone with a hole clear through. Poppy guessed it was the knee from some unfortunate critter.

Aren’t we daring, walking this log over the creek?

The next place was a bit too challenging for little legs to climb down into the steep gulley. Poppy stayed up top with Wyatt while Mimi scrambled down into the valley. Then she looked back up at them safely on top….

Mimi’s reward was this up-close view of the bluff.

Sometimes these are referred to as bluffhouses because native Americans often used them as shelter when they moved from place to place.

Can you see this waterfall, above? It is a big one, a real dandy, but it is nearly hidden by the tangle of brush. I wish you could have seen and heard this! Simply beautiful!

Another shot of the bluffhouse where a trickle ran over .

Mimi is ready to climb back up to the men on top.

Layers of rock

Wonder why this tree is so crooked?

While waiting for me, Poppy and Wyatt found a fossil.

Our third waterfall is not as dramatic as the first two but equally pretty.

The streambed leading to it is solid rock. Wyatt enjoyed jumping all around this place, over the little rivulets of water.

Hiking back out of the gully, we were amazed at the size of this granddaddy grapevine (the “trunk” is darker than the bark of the oak trees through which it twines.) Its diameter is as big as Wyatt, himself!

The adventure is drawing to a close, but not before we check out some more “wildlife.”

These are our bread and butter. “Tis the season for lots of new babies, and they are loving the feel of the late afternoon sunshine on their backs.

I think I could handle an adventure like this, in the company of my two favorite men, every afternoon!

…only I am nuts enough to spend an hour blowing the innards out of eggs!

No one else would think it fun or rewarding to poke teeninetsy holes in the ends, suck up all the air she could muster, put her mouth over one end and then blow like crazy, hoping to see a trickle of raw egg come out of the other hole. At the end of that breathless hour of huffing and puffing, I had eight delicate, intact egg shells for my reward.

And then what to do with the results? Make a little nest in a glass compote for the Easter dining table and place the empty shells inside. I do love my brown eggs, all shades, from lightest beige to dark brown. One hen even lays freckled eggs! And then there are the ones laid by Arrie, my only araucauna, already nicely dyed for our Easter pleasure…a perfect greenish-blue.

But there was another reward, too….those eggs baked up into a nice pound cake

that will go in the freezer tonight and be ready for our family to enjoy, smothered in fresh strawberries and whipped cream, come Easter Sunday!

Earlier this week, we did something that we haven’t done in forever…we went fishing! Back at Christmas time, my husband mentioned that he’d like a fishing trip. We live near Cotter, Arkansas, which bills itself as the trout capital of the U.S.A., but we’d never gone trout fishing! Right on the banks of the White River, the little town is just downstream from Bull Shoals Dam and attracts trout fisherman from all over the country, with March being one of the best months to fish. So I asked around and found the name of a guy who has the reputation of being a very good guide. We needed someone with a boat and the proper equipment, since we aren’t dedicated fisherpeople. A little trout-fishing know-how would be a bonus, too.

In December, who knew that March 11 would be the perfect early-spring day? It was a lucky guess on my part and turned out to be the first really nice, warm, sunny day we’ve had in months!

We met Dave at 7:00 a.m. and were soon on the water, but not before he strongly suggested I put on a pair of insulated coveralls

(I thought my longjohns, jeans, fleece jacket and hot flashes would keep me warm, but I was soon glad that Dave insisted. It was cold!)

We enjoyed watching the sun rise above the bluffs and the mist rise off the frigid water, as we sped upstream.

 And it was only minutes after we started fishing that we began to catch trout.

It really makes a fishing trip fun if you can catch fish, and we caught fish all day! We didn’t hook any lunkers, but we brought home our limit and threw back many, many more. And we enjoyed the scenery surrounding us, every minute of the day.

   Dave was so professional..he knew exactly how to deftly remove the hook from the trout’s lip to release it in good shape to live on. And he was particularly good at helping me keep my bait on right and my line untangled. He handled the boat like it was an extension of his body, so easily and skillfully. And he easily shared stories of funny or unusual experiences he had in his 30-plus years of guiding. He was just down-home nice. Dave really made our trip a success.

Oh,yes, there was one more very important thing that he was really good at…cooking. We had a delicious shore lunch, and all I had to do was sit back and watch Dave work. Talk about feeling luxurious! This was new territory for me, to watch a man cook. He first put a pound of thick-sliced bacon in his well-seasoned cast iron skillet, and when I asked why, he said we’d start with a bacon and tomato sandwich (just a nice, little appetizer!) That sandwich was the best I’ve ever had, and I suspect it was because he cooked it, we ate it outdoors, and we were starved after four hours of riding in the boat, in the crisp morning air with the wind in our faces.

There was another reason for the bacon: he used that grease to fry up a skillet-ful of potatoes, to go with the fish we’d just caught an hour earlier, which he cooked in a second skillet. And he slipped a pan of beans onto the fire, too. I just blocked out of my mind all nagging thoughts of calories, fat grams, and artery-clogging plaque and the fact that I was actually eating two meals and simply enjoyed it!

It will probably be years before we do that again, but it’s an experience I’d recommend to anyone coming to the Ozarks for a visit. The rivers and streams were the real attraction to our forebears when they settled this land, and they continue to be the prime draw for so many who come here to enjoy recreation and relaxation. I’m glad we played tourist for a day and got to find out why they keep coming back, year after year. I would, too, if I was you…

Have a real nice weekend!

… “It is the first mild day of March:

Today was actually the second mild day of March, and I think I know just how Wordsworth felt.  Today would have been, indeed, a good day from which to date the opening of the year. Now, if we can just avoid the forecast for tomorrow night…5-6 inches of snow…surely not!!!

I’m counting the days until this scene from last March unfolds again:

Hope you all have a wonderful, each-minute-sweeter-than-before first week in March!

…I watched a wonderful movie!

Yesterday I drug ironing board, iron, extension cord, spray bottle, hangers and a huge mound of unironed garments into our living room, along with my determination to finish this job that, for some reason unknown to me, I put off until it is of monstrous proportions. I never mind the actual ironing, once I get started. In fact, I kind of like it, seeing the wrinkles smooth away and blouses and shirts made to look nice again. But for some reason that I cannot explain, I put it off. Each time, I vow that this will never happen again, that I will set aside a couple of hours one morning each week and do what needs to be done. But I never do it. Never. Weeks pass, the pile grows, and with it the dread.

So I decided to try a new tactic. I moved from the utility room to the living room. Who wants to be confronted with an ironing board in their living room? Certainly no one that comes into my living room. Once moved, the job had to be completed and everything put away before the day waned.

Also, the living room is home to our newest possession, a wide-screen television purchased on sale after Christmas by my beloved who considers television something to love. On any given day, the television is on from 6:00 a.m. until 7:00 a.m., and then again in the evening from 7:00 p.m. until someone falls asleep in his chair, usually before 9:00 p.m. I don’t think we watch as much television as the average American family, especially me.

Yesterday, though, ironing gave me a good excuse to check out our new toy. What could I find to watch, though? No soaps for me, no game shows, no Food Channel (Please! I’m trying to count calories!), and no, not even Oprah. Classic movie channels seemed my only resource. I found that “I Am David” happened to be coming on, and what a fortuitous choice!

If you have the chance, watch this delightful, moving movie. It is about a young boy who has lived his entire life in a Stalinist work camp and manages to escape. The actors are superb, and the acting and dialogue are very understated…quite European feeling. I loved it!

And the movie got me to thinking about why I liked it. I think it is because it fit into one of my “themes.” I read in themes. One of my all-time favorite themes has been the Holocaust, especially first-hand accounts. Starting with Corrie ten Boom’s The Hiding Place, which I read 35 years ago, I’ve gravitated to these startling, often horrific stories that usually manage to end with some sort of message of hope. Seed of Sarah, To See You Again, All But My Life….these are all good. I’m intrigued with people who are survivors. They make me wonder if I could be one, if I could have the kind of courage, determination, grit and faith exhibited by survivors of attrocities. The movie I watched yesterday would fit into this category.

On the whole, I love books far better than movies and could talk about them all day. Other book themes I choose are based on places. I’ve read lots and lots of books about Africa, and again, they are usually autobiographical. I loved Out of Africa, West with the Night (the story of Beryl Markham’s life) Don’t Let’s Go to the Dogs Tonight, and the unforgettable, intense The Power of One. While not true stories, Alexander McCall Smith’s series about lady detectives are pure delight and so entertaining!

There must be something about the letter A, for I love books about Alaska. Long, long ago I fell in love with Tisha, and that was the beginning of this theme. Two Old Women, Arctic Homestead, A Schoolteacher in Old Alaska, and Ada Blackjack are other good ones. I can read and reread Shadows on the Koyukuk, which is even better than the very good On the Edge of Nowhere, written by brothers who lived absolutely amazing lives.

Perhaps the most enduring theme for me has been stories dealing with pioneer women. Willa Cather ignited this flame with O Pioneers and My Antonia, and it continues to burn brightly. I love the series of books, Covered Wagon Women, which are compilations of western women’s journals and letters, as well as Susan G. Butruille’s books which include Women’s Voices from the Oregon Trail and others. Jane Kirkpatrick’s Sweetness to the Soul is so very good, much, much better than her more recent fiction. A Quilt of Words, Westward the Women, and One Woman’s West are all good. Runner-up to the best is A Lantern in Her Hand by Bess Streeter Aldrich, but my absolute favorite is Letters of a Woman Homesteader by Elinore Pruitt Stewart. I so wish I could have known Elinore.

Even modern-day pioneering intrigues me. Helen Hoover’s books about homesteading (sort of) in northern Minnesota in the 1940s are nature books at their best. Similar are Louise Dickinson Rich’s books about living in the north Maine woods. I’d love to have a conversation with either of those women about their experiencese of moving from city life to the remotest places…what gumption! Helen Hoover actually inspired our trip to northern Minnesota last fall.

All these books I’ve mentioned are about or by women, but I don’t discriminate, for James Herriot’s books are some of my very most favorites. In fact, that’s another theme, for I’m a confirmed anglophile. Dear old Miss Read, the Brontes, Jane Austen, Dickens, Wilkie Collins….that list could grow like Topsy!

My list of themes would not be complete without mentioning books about regions. When traveling, I’m always drawn to books about the places we visit. A good place for finding these books of regional interest are the shops inside state or national parks. When we were in Arizona, I loved reading Sandra Day O’Conner’s Lazy B, in Wyoming I got The Log of a Cowboy, and in Montana I found Girl from the Gulches and Up on the Rim. A trip to Tennessee inspired The Education of Little Tree, and while visiting in Kentucky one week I discovered Janice Holt Giles’ many wonderful books, as well as Eliza Calvert Hall’s Aunt Jane of Kentucky. What a treasure! You other quilters would love that one.

It’s always a sad day when I finish a simply wonderful book, for invariably I’m tempted to think that I won’t ever find another book as good, that I’m doomed to read ho-hum, humdrum books the rest of my life. But of course, that is never the case. For out there are just thousands of other good books waiting for me to discover them, in various and sundry ways, like I Am David, by Anne Holm, the inspiration for the movie I enjoyed so much yesterday.

If you’ve stayed with me throughout this very long post, let me hear what you’re reading right now. I’m thinking it’s time for a new theme….any ideas?

…it’s a holiday? What holiday? And for whom?

It’s one of the facts of farm life with which I’ve had to come to terms, and it has taken me 38 years to do so. There really is no such thing as a holiday when you operate a farm, no sure-nuf, all-day, 24-hour, don’t-do-any-work, forget-your-deadlines holiday. They just don’t happen. Why? Because livestock are like children: they must be fed and tended every day.  They could NOT care less that most Americans see Thanksgiving as a day to spend with family. That Christmas and the 4th of July are automatic don’t-think-about-responsibilities days. That Americans still celebrate the man who centuries ago happened to discover America or the one who dared to have a dream. And New Year’s Day? Why in the world would someone think that just because the calendar says January 1, it’s an automatic sleep-in, laze-around, kick-back-and-watch-a-parade day?

Why, cattle don’t even recognize Sunday as being different from Thursday! They are hungry every morning, get sick on any old day they feel like it, and still must be able to get a drink, even with 8 inches of ice on the pond. They take particular pleasure in giving birth in the middle of the winter’s worst blizzard, especially the heifers who tend to need assistance of the physical kind.

Here’s a mystery to contemplate: cattle have some innate sense that tells them it’s the biggest THRILL of all to break down the fence and everyone run out on the road just at dark, just when the farmer finally sits down for the nice meal his wife has spent hours slaving over…”Let’s let him have his shower, and then just when he begins to warm up, just as he finally sits down to eat, let’s make him get all bundled up in four layers again, drive all the way over here, and we’ll mysteriously get back inside the fence and act all innocent, like ‘Who, us? Do we look like we’re out there on the road? Must have been some other steers.’ ” Yeah, right. Wife holds flashlight while husband stretches and fastens wire, the wind blows a veritable gale through them and coyotes howl hungrily in the near woods…and back home, dinner congeals on the kitchen table. 

There’s also this thing about machinery. There must be some means of communication between tractors, trucks and other motorized things: they gang up on us and all break down at the same time. If one silo unloader breaks, then another one, three miles down the road, wants to be in on the fun. If one well pump decides to go on strike, there’s usually another one feeling lazy, too. Multiple batteries eerily give up the ghost on the very same morning, and just don’t even get me started on all that can happen to trucks. Brakes, water pumps, head gaskets….misery loves company, they say. It must never feel lonely around here.

Which brings me to the telephone. Sometimes you just don’t want it to ring, such as when you coughed all last night, have near-pneumonia and have taken a big dose of Nyquil and want only to sleep, uninterrupted, for as long as it is dark outside and the medicine works. This is PRECISELY the night everyone who has ever known you or even wanted to know you calls. There’s some guy you met at the sale barn last year and mentioned that you might be looking for a horse, the neighbor who might be interested in sharing the cost of building a fence if you’ll do all the work and pay for half the supplies, the woman who hopes you’ll support the politician you decidedly detest, the kid who might want to help haul hay this summer if it isn’t too hot, and the cake-taker of them all: ”this isn’t a sales call, we just need a few minutes of your time.” Nope, no sales, not to us, not now, not EVER! The phone rings incessantly, idle barely long enough to allow you to hang up between calls. They say a watched phone never rings…HA! You can give it the evil eye all you want…on this night, no offense is being taken. Somehow, the jingle of the bell sounds annoyingly merrier and jauntier than ever.

Can a telephone take pleasure in driving someone crazy? Yes, I believe it can. Just like the cattle smirk behind their cud-chewing facade when they bring us out into the cold winter’s night, the truck lurches purposefully onto the sharp stob and releases all air from the front passenger tire, rendering us afoot on the very backside of the place, and the silo smiles as its unloader belches one last time and then pauses, precisely one hour before Sunday school starts, with a hundred calves standing there bawling, starving, pitiful…

No, there is no such thing as a true holiday for farmers. Your Presidents’ Day is, for us, like any other, full of its worries and stresses and headaches. Thank goodness for homemade chicken noodle soup that warms back up in a jiffy, cold medicine which quiets the common cough…and a wife who will spend an hour posting silliness on her xanga site. Said wife may not have any control over calendar designations, silos, cattle or mechanized equipment, but she knows there is one little thing she can do. That guy who MIGHT want to trade his 4WD tractor for your old one can just hit redial all he wants…this line is BUSY!!!

edit: For anyone who cares, it is Husband with near-pneumonia…wife just kept the phone line busy to allow him to sleep!

…we’re in an icebox!

But today things are warming up, and the thick coating that is on every single outdoor surface is beginning to drip…hopefully, soon to disappear. As I sat down at my computer, I heard a groan and then a rumbling…a huge sheet of ice slid off the roof and hit the ground, shattering into thousands of glittering pieces.

Even these little sure-footed fellows have to navigate a slippery slope!

In my last post, this view was snow-covered…

And these nandinas had fluffy frosting back then…

But even as we wait out winter, there is a stirring under the ground….

Green shoots that promise a change are bravely beginning to poke their noses up! And it won’t be long till Easter is here! But before that, we must have Valentine’s Day…

…and speaking of valentines, I got to see all three of my little ones last week. On Wednesday and Thursday, Wyatt stayed with us while Mommy went to a meeting. We had a tent in the living room,

and both of us spent a good deal of time in there.

When it was time to go home, Daddy took him in the truck…

Wyatt’s first ride in the big rig was exciting, and it’s good to know the car seat works just fine in it!

On Friday and Saturday, I made a quick trip to KC to see the little girls. Emma is playing basketball this year, and it was great fun to see second graders out on the court, all arms and legs and enthusiasm.

(What memories this rekindled for me! Sarah is coaching Emma’s team now, but it seems like only yesterday that she was the littlest one out there, dribbling like crazy and never afraid to mix it up with bigger kids!)

It was the final game for Emma’s YMCA team, so she got a nice medal…

Lucy is feeling girly these days and loves her fancy slip…

Who says an undergarment can’t be worn as an outer garment?

Stickers on the nose and ears just add to the natural beauty of this little two-year-old.

Meanwhile, today seems like a good day to cook. Cold weather makes me hungry, and I just love to spend the morning in the kitchen. I just took six cups of baked custard out of the oven; they’re just like my grandmother used to make for my brothers and me when we were little…pure comfort food. And do you see the jar of beans in this picture?

The label says “anasazi beans,” given to us by friends who traveled to Colorado last fall. The beans are raised out there, and Lynn found two of these vintage jars to put them in, making a really neat Christmas gift. So today I’m going to cook a pot of anasazi beans. I’m expecting them to be similar to pinto beans….and I’ll make some cornbread to go with them.

Before I sign off, can I rant just a little bit? I wonder if I’m the only person who does NOT think the “rebate” or “relief” check the government is going to give us is a good idea? I appreciate the idea of some extra money…but money must come from somewhere. And with the national debt running into the trillions, why would we want to add to it, just to give people money to spend?????  It seems just plain wrong to me. If we ran our own personal business as the government does, wouldn’t we all be in big trouble? Giving away money you do not have just cannot be responsible. Yet I have not heard ONE commentator or politician speak against this plan. Am I missing something?

The current financial atmosphere is grim, and those in the know blame it on the housing market and the “sub-prime” lenders. Did anyone put a gun to the head of those seeking mortgages with adjustible rates (they HAD to know the rates would go up!) and interest-only loans (DUH!) and make them sign on to buy more house than they could afford…or need?  Again, am I missing something?

I hate negativity, so I’m not going to end that way. Instead, I will end with the wish that you all have a real sweet Valentine’s Day tomorrow!

…I got my wish!

…we went on the road to the Opry!

No, it was not to the Opry of Grand Ole fame, but I daresay that the talent we heard could, indeed, have a place on the stage in Nashville. In fact, some of the performers have actually been there and played there. But on most any Saturday night, they choose to take the stage in Oldfield, MO.

Oldfield is just a wide spot in the road, and as the saying goes, if you blink you might miss it. But those in the know…

 (Stan and our moms are in the know!) make it their Saturday night destination, because a humble barn-like building in this little remote village draws musicians from all around, even from Branson which is just a piece on down the road.

For the last 12 years or so, these men and women have entertained thousands from all over the United States and even some foreign countries. There is no admission fee, only a donation box the proceeds from which help pay the light bill.

The musicians operate their set like most of the other jam sessions in the Ozarks–they take turns choosing and leading a song. When they get to Glendale, the banjo player,

I cheer loudest! Glendale and I were in high school together, and he’s the neatest guy you ever knew. Comes from a family of tremendous music talent. His sister really and truly did work in Nashville, with Johnny Cash and others. But he, though of sufficient talent to do likewise, chooses to stay home, work with his church, his family, his horses and his friends, and share his music freely with all who find this out-of-the-way place. He plays the meanest 5-string banjo I’ve ever heard!

Finding this out-of-the-way place is an adventure in itself. Come along on the drive…past Swan Creek….

past this old cabin, a remnant of early settlement and now a hunting cabin….

past ages-old icicle-draped bluffs….

past typical Ozark stone structures that recall a time when local general merchandise stores were the Walmarts of the early 1900s…

….I’m buried in bookkeepping!

…in case anyone is wondering, that is. It’s been a long, dry spell for me, as far as posts go, because when I’m in this facts and figures mode, I must keep my nose to the proverbial grindstone and get it done. There are deadlines that must be met, and they are looming large!

But even the busiest bookkeepers and their husband-ranchers must take a break once in a while, and we had one. It was, of course, a working vacation (if you can call 30 hours a vacation!) but I’m all for excuses, whatever they may be. This time it was pure bull. Really. We went to buy a bull.

We bade our loved ones (read: dog, cat, chickens, horses) goodbye, pointed the wagon (read: pickup truck) westward into the sunset and headed out just after noon. By the time we got to the first watering hole (read: town) we gave the horses a rest and got some chow (read: soup, sandwich and the best coffee in the world at Panera Bread.)

Feeling stronger now, we managed to put in four more hours on the trail before stopping for the night in the old settlement of Independence (Kansas, that is. MUCH farther west than the town of the same name in MO.) Time for a little more grub (read: fabulous dinner at Brother’s Railroad Inn…does that sound like the name of a wonderful little Italian restaurant to you???? Did any Italians make it farther west than KC???? Yep, they sure-nuf did! Toasted ravioli with a homemade marinara sauce, chunky with fresh tomatoes, and salad with homemade bleu cheese dressing that I’m still smiling about…all to die for!) and then we hit the hay (read: warm, toasty room and beds with duvets!). There was a big day ahead and we needed our rest.

Morning came early (it always does with my husband, wherever we are!) and we were back on the trail before 7, watching the sunrise over the eastern flank of the Kansas Flinthills. A hard freeze had everything coated with a layer of icy frost, and it was a beautiful sight. Passing a conservation area, we saw a small lake completely covered with a huge flock of snow geese. They were waiting for the sun to get up before they arose, and we pulled over and listened to the honking. The pictures I took didn’t materialize–it was still too dark. But it’s a nice memory. Wish you could share it.

In a few minutes, we passed this old schoolhouse, and after 15 seconds of intense begging, the wagonmaster turned us around so I could try pictures again. (This time the light was a tiny bit better.)

I loved thinking about the families who built this…they were real pioneers, truly braving the elements to carve a new life out of unsettled land. I always have to wonder if I could have done it…would I have survived?

Our destination was a homestead near Eureka.

The Suhns raise registered Brangus cattle, and Vern is known far and wide for his experience in genetics. Alas, the lots became very muddy as the day warmed, and I didn’t take pictures of the livestock. You wouldn’t have been able to appreciate the stock for wondering at the mud!

While the wagonmaster and the homesteader looked at cattle, I knitted.

Emma needs a new little cap, and this one took shape while I listened to positive and encouraging K-Love (a group of radio stations that play contemporary Christian music.) Three hours later, we headed back east toward home, stopping at every used farm equipment dealer we passed…and somehow, not passing a single promising-looking antique mall/flea market! But it was still a nice little outing, and I am of the mind to take ‘em where and when I can get ‘em…and am always glad to have ‘em!

One more picture…

My mom and me! We were co-hostesses of a women’s group on Saturday, and we decorated the tables with snowmen. This one was on the counter from which we served the food. Our little corner of the world has had no snow this winter, so we’re having to make do with fake snowpeople. (I know, I know…some of you have had too much of the frozen stuff! I just want a little, just once, for about one day…)

Hope you all have a good week!

…it’s Christmas cactus, chapter II.

Last year, one of my first posts was about my great-grandmother’s Christmas cactus. It didn’t have many blooms last year, but this time around it is beautiful.

It never ceases to amaze me that this plant KNOWS it is Christmas time. This is yet another example of the amazing order in nature, an order that is not happenstance or accident but part of a divine plan. If God made this plant with the ability to know when to bloom on schedule, what care did HE take when making me? Is it an accident that I got gray hair earlier than most? Is it an accident that I live in Missouri rather than in Greenland or in the 11th century? I know that it is not. If I believed that it WAS an accident, would I still be here today? I don’t think so. It is the belief that I am who and what and when and where I am because HE said so that keeps me searching for the why….and gradually finding the answers as I live out my life. I’d hate to think what a mess I’d be if I was in charge!

…and it’s Marie, Chapter II!

(That’s Marie in the rocker, with friend Juanita, my sister-in-law Beth and mother-in-law Julia.)                  

Last January, I wrote about my friend, Marie, who has meant so very much to me. Now she is moving away, and it is very difficult to see her go. But the reason I can cheerfully do so is that Marie says God is prompting her to make this move. Although she would love to stay put, at the same time she is ready to go, so all her many friends and I can accept it, too.

Marie doesn’t drive, and her health is not the best. Her sons live scattered across the country and she has no other family nearby. So she is moving to South Carolina, to live in a retirement community near her youngest son and his family. They are extremely happy that Marie will now be close to them, and she is looking forward to having them nearby.

(Above, we’re in the circle; Beverly is a friend who, like me, learned to quilt from Marie.)

Last night, we had a party for Marie. It was not to be a sad, lamenting-our-loss time but a celebration of 26 years of shared experiences with this very special lady. Our big old barn-turned-party-room was the perfect place to host the gathering of 26 neighbors. We enjoyed a big potluck meal together…

(Wyatt couldn’t resist the array of wonderful desserts!) 

…and then gathered into a circle of friendship. We played Marie Trivia!

(Above, that’s me with Marie; on the right, E.J. won the trivia contest…he’s her pastor and is buying her place)

Though we all know her well, there were a few little tidbits of info that delighted the crowd and made us all laugh heartily.

Then we shared memories. We talked about her strong and steadfast faith, her unwavering sense of humor, her endurance, and her many contributions to the community.

Marie basked in the loving attention yet made us all feel special, even as we strove to honor her. This little place we call home will not be the same once Marie has left us, but we will never forget her or the role she played in our lives. Goodbye, dear Marie!

(P.S. I’m already plannin’ a trip to SC to visit her!)