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December 5, 2011

Without words, let me bring you up to date on the last two weeks, starting with the day after Thanksgiving:

Okay, I just can’t help it — a few words. In one week, I’ll turn 60. On November 20, the Farmboy turned 60. It seemed to our daughters that the twin occasions demanded celebration. They surprised us. Told us we were going to youngest daughter’s for a hayride, and we acted accordingly. With the help of a conniving friend, they managed to have us stop in town, and there they surprised us. A lot. I’m still surprised. Surprised that I’m going to be 60. Surprised that I didn’t catch on to their elaborate plan. Surprised that I don’t feel old and worn out. Surprised that so many people turned out to surprise us. We loved it, and we’ll have this warm memory forever, to warm us on cold days.
Speaking of cold days, it snowed nicely today, enough to coat the trees and grass but not enough to make the roads slick…the best kind of snow, just right to prod the sleeping holiday spirit that has sadly not stirred in my heart until today. I think I can now get out the decorations and begin to make plans for baking and gatherings.
Another thing that helped kindle the spirit:

Lucy’s first piano recital! (She is six.)

And big sister, Emma, played, too. (She is eleven.)

And then went straight to a b-ball game.
It was a GOOD weekend. And it’s been a good two weeks.
Now for CHRISTMAS!!

November 23, 2011

This morning I’m thinking thankful thoughts. Tomorrow morning I’ll be busy with the turkey, the potatoes, the gravy, the dressing, the vegetables, the pies, whipping the cream, making the coffee….but this morning, for a few minutes before my busy day begins, there is enough quiet time to really think thankfully.

As I pack a thermos of coffee and sandwiches for his lunch, I’m so thankful for a husband who has provided faithfully, never complaining of the responsibility, for more than 40 years. Thankful for his cheerfulness as he faces another long day of hard work, for his positive outlook and his eternal optimism, for his ability to enjoy every single day of life. Thankful for his love.

As I look around, at my snug, warm home, filled with things I love and reminders of all the people I love, I’m thankful for home. Thankful that our children and grandchildren love to come home, want to be with us, and have the means to come home. I love home when it is quiet and still and orderly and serene, and I love the way it will be tomorrow — messy and noisy and filled up with beloved people and their activities.

As I look at my long to-do list for today, I’m thankful for the groceries in my cupboards, my warms-right-up stove, the convenience of a refrigerator, a dishwasher, and a trusty washer and dryer in the laundry room. My busy day would be so different without these conveniences–things our great-grandmothers never imagined, yet 75 years later we mostly take for granted.

As I look at my desk calendar, filling up with busyness for this holiday season, I’m thankful for people with whom I share interests and beliefs–a loving church family, friends who are willing to tackle big projects for the greater good, wonderful neighbors–they all enrich our lives so much.

As I listen to the morning’s news, some of it good and some of it pretty bad, I’m reminded again of the blessing of living where we do. With all its faults and failings, America is still where I’d want to live, hands down.

And as I begin this day’s work, I’m thankful for the ability to do it–physically. I’m thankful for the immeasurable blessing of good health and sound (mostly) mind. So very thankful…

Every day, I’m thankful for these things, not just at Thanksgiving. But most days I don’t take the time to write them down, and some days I don’t even verbalize them. Today I pause to spell them out, word by word, and I realize the real value of setting aside a specific time of Thanksgiving.

And now I’m ready to get busy: a final dusting of the furniture and then to the kitchen for making cornbread and chopping up celery and onions for the dressing like my mom taught me to make it, baking pumpkin and pecan pies, a squash casserole that will remind us of my summer garden, a cranberry salad from my husband’s cousin who is one of the best cooks I’ve ever known….

Fill in the blank: “It just wouldn’t be Thanksgiving without _____________________.”

November 19, 2011

At bedtime last night, promises were made: we’d take a nature hike this morning, NO MATTER WHAT. Some little people know how to ensure promises will be kept. So, although the morning was blustery and cloudy, off we set.

After a quick hello to the horses, we chose our route: the dry creek bed behind our house.

We climbed down into the gully, our fearless head hiker leading the way through the brambles, scrambling down the steep bank. Notice his vest? Hunter orange was part of our wardrobe — no chances taken, since we’re still in deer season.

The horses were curious — perhaps they wanted to go along. “Bye, guys.”

This creekbed can be filled with a raging torrent when we get lots of rain. Today it was completely dry.

We’re always on the lookout for rocks with holes that go all the way through. Those we carry home for our collection. This one failed the test (whew!)

A bright bit of blue caught our eye–a speck of aged glass.

Climbing was the order of the day, especially for our fearless leader.

I love gnarled tree roots.

We wondered: could this be the tusk of a woolly mammoth? or the leg bone from a long-extinct dodo bird? Maybe the remains of a buffalo from 150 years ago?

This rock fence surrounds a hay field, the efforts of a long-ago farmer still in evidence.

Today, the field wears green — wheat for next spring’s harvest.

Our treasures:

It was good to be outside, knowing that the imminent winter won’t allow many hikes like this.

November 15, 2011

Knitting soothes my soul.



(a simple shawlette made of alpaca–dreamy to touch!)

It really does. The rhythmic in and out of the needles, smoothly sliding back and forth in a pattern, effortlessly weaving a web of silky yarn, soft and soothing in my hands, warming my lap, pleasing to my eyes…it’s almost hypnotic. I sit and knit, and an hour slips by without my even knowing it. And suddenly I come out of my trance to realize that the single strand has taken shape, has turned into something substantial and recognizable. And before long, a few days or more, I find myself binding off and weaving in loose ends and — it’s finished. And I loved every stitch along the way.



(This yarn is Noro Silk Garden–the BEST colors are made by the artists at Noro.
I made a ruffled scarf out of yummy yarn. It is long and wraps a couple of times.)

That’s the beauty of knitting. The process is satisfying AND the end result is pleasing. But there is way more. Even before the knitting begins to take shape, the fun begins. I love choosing a pattern, going into a yarn shop and touching all the yarns, fingering their softness and their texture and imagining how they will look knitted into something. I love the racks of knitting supplies, needles of all sizes and bags of all shapes. Books and patterns and inspiration all around. Stitch markers and scissors and tape measures and all manner of tools to answer every need. But most of all, it’s the yarn, the fibers of all sorts — wool, cotton, synthetics, even soy and bamboo — spun into rich, colorful strands that become the most important tool of all.



(My friend, Anniemockingbird, told me about this little pattern. It’s called a Potato Chip Scarf, because “they” say you can’t make just one! Everyone who sees this wants one. And it’s SO simple…a spiral.)

Yarn chosen and brought home in bags of promise, the process of creation begins. I love pulling out my needles and deciding which ones will work best, the sleek, shiny steel ones or the smooth, organic wooden ones. Sometimes I’ll cast on with one set and decide another would be better with this particular fiber, so I unravel and make a new beginning. I’ll knit an inch or so, to see if the gauge is going to work, and sometimes I’ll unravel and cast on again, adding or subtracting stitches to make a needed adjustment. I’m not impatient or hurried about this. I’ve learned something: I want to be pleased with the end result, so I take my time and get the proper start.



(My WIP–work in progress: a cowl that will be very long, to wrap around the neck a couple of times and still not fit tightly. This is knit on a circular needle–called knitting in the round. It is continuous–no seams.)

Then I knit, only at night. I don’t allow myself to knit during the day — too many other duties and I don’t want any guilt. Night time is my knitting time. I sit down for a couple of hours and let the relaxation begin. Sometimes my background accompaniment is a ballgame, sometimes a movie, sometimes just music, depending on the whim of my farmboy. It really doesn’t matter to me because that is secondary to what my hands are doing.




(The pattern is interesting yet very simple, only four rows and two of them are simply knit around. The other two have yarn-overs which create the holes and make it look complicated — but it’s not! I wish you could see the little hint of glitz — this wonderful yarn is another alpaca so is divinely soft and has just a speck of shine every now and then. Its name is “Flicker.”)

Another thing I’ve learned that keeps knitting happy for me is to be very selective with patterns. I won’t knit a sweater or a very lacy, fine shawl, not because I can’t but because that would turn knitting into work. And I don’t need more work. Following a complicated set of repeats that requires intense concentration might yield an intricate, lovely pattern but it will also yield a frustrated me. I avoid frustration. I keep it simple, choosing patterns of which I can be assured of the end result. With sumptuous yarn, even the simplest design turns into a work of art. I let the yarn speak for me.

And finally, there is the bonus of being able to give something I’ve made to a special friend or relative — the product of my hands, stitched with love and care and given with joy and generosity.

Yes, old-fashioned knitting does all that for me. What do you do that gives you a deep sense of satisfaction?

November 9, 2011

TIME FOR TEA

I love regular time. The end of daylight savings time feels like a holiday to me! Not only do I love the extra hour of free sleep that one night out of 365, but it signals the return of EVENINGS! Oh, how I love evenings! Evenings at home, quiet, relaxing, eating supper at a normal hour, getting out of the kitchen before bedtime, sitting down for a couple of hours with the Farmboy, talking, knitting, reading the newspaper, sipping a bedtime cup of tea. Evenings are such a lovely time of day.



It’s been our ritual to have a cup of tea not long before sleep-time, and for the last few years our tea of choice has been decaf Constant Comment. I still love my CC but there’s a new kid on the block. Meet my new friend:



This is GOOD stuff! Herbal, sweetly fragrant, wonderful!

We have a rag-tag assortment of mugs that we use all the time. They remind us of places and people.



This is one of my old favs….BEST enjoyed with some cafe au lait, sitting outside on a balmy New Orleans morning, with a couple of beignets, but it also works for tea.



My farmboy likes a thick mug, and this one is thick, like old-time restaurant china. It’s a souvenir of a neat place not too far from us.



My tea kettle is singing. She was a gift from my mother-in-law one Christmas, years ago. I still love her because she is so old-fashioned and functional–like so many good “shes.” She gets my water ready in a hurry!

Now, my dishes are done, my apron is back on the peg by the door, and I’m ready to sit down with my cup of sweet-smelling tea, my knitting and my farmboy. Hope y’all can get some zzz’s tonight, too!

P.S. If it’s a clear evening where you live, don’t go to sleep without peeking at that big, bright, beautiful moon!

November 4, 2011

A handout for my Sunday school class this week:

November 2, 2011

I do hereby declare today, November 2, 2011, to be “Flannel Sheet Day” in this household.
~~inspired by the weather forecast~~


And more winter preparation: first you knit it,


….then you shrink it (on purpose),


and then a stylin’ eleven-year-old wears it!

(note the “head” this hat is modeled upon–I didn’t have the 11-year-old so had to improvise.)

Thanks to the generosity of a very special friend, I’m happily anticipating a day of fun with dear loved ones:


Can’t wait until Saturday! In the meantime, Happy Wednesday to you all!

October 31, 2011

Have you ever gone away from home for a long time and find, when you come back, that it feels strange? Not quite wrong, but not quite right, either. It takes some time to regain that comfortable, lived-in feeling that you long for so much.
I’ve been gone from here for a long time, and it feels…just not quite right. I imagine that you have forgotten me, that you’ve moved on with your lives and that I’ll have to sort of wriggle my way back in. Guess we’ll see how it goes. Once before, when I was gone for a while, I just couldn’t wait–so I just renamed myself and started fresh. But I don’t have a new name in mind this time. And who cares about names anyway? It is still just me.

I’ve invested a whole lot of myself into away-from-home-and-farm things the last few weeks. We have a brand-new exhibit at our Historium, called Hats Off: Saluting Our Veterans. Today we brought in a one-week-only addition to our local stuff, a traveling exhibit called Remembering Our Fallen. It is a photo tribute to all the men and women from Missouri who’ve died in Iraq and Afghanistan since 9/11. We had a dedication ceremony this morning, complete with prayers, the local high school band, the mayor and the pledge led by two WWII vets. Very moving stuff. And to see the photos in this exhibit just makes you stop in your tracks. 130 people, gone. I thought, “What if they could all be here, right now, in this room together—it would really be something. Strong, handsome men, beautiful young women with smiles a mile wide…the future of our country.” But they’re all gone. Gave their lives serving our country. The boxes of tissue saw use as people looked and tears fell.

We made a sweet little cookbook in late summer: Apron Strings: Recipes and Recollections is the name of it. What a delight, full of instructions for making homemade bread, grandma’s homemade egg noodles, sweet potatoes and possum, (you heard right!), vinegar pie, fried chicken for breakfast, ice box pickles, cornbread dressing, apple dumplings, fried pies, rhubarb pie, canning meat (!), three for making chocolate gravy….I could go on and on.

The recollections are truly delightful. “One of my earliest memories is of sitting on Grandma’s kitchen counter, watching her cook. She would let me help stir and measure….when I was married I went to her house and we made these cinnamon rolls together. Now I’m asked to bring them to many events and even donate them for the annual Lions’ Club auction.[They bring Big Bucks.] But they’ll always be Grandma Edna’s cinnamon rolls.” Such as that. It makes you smile and helps you recall your own special moments as you read this neat little book.

As I’m sure you ALL know, our Cards did it! World champs! We watched most every game all season, and didn’t miss a one during the playoffs and final series. The Cardinals have given us Midwesterners something to make us real proud, and we love our COME-BACK CARDS!

And lest you think I’ve wasted time while watching games on TV, those three hours of sitting every night gave me a chance to finish up two more shawls. They are small-ish ones, which I love…something I can finish up pretty quickly. Pics to come, once the blocking is done.

Our Prayer Shawl Ministry at church is busily knitting and crocheting and stitching up items to give to senior shut-ins at Christmas, to go along with the items we continually work on for those who have a special need arise. Unfortunately, our own church family has suffered notable losses in the last few months. It’s a comfort to drape a prayer shawl around a grieving wife’s shoulders, but I’m hoping to NOT do this again anytime soon.

A couple of weeks ago my Farmboy was working on some land where he’s been clearing and planting new grass when a couple of wild pigs ran by. Evidently, we’d been disturbing their playground. Farmboy grabbed his rifle and took care of one of them; later that week we had a wild pig roast. Our neighbor smoked the pig, everyone else brought a dish, and we had a real feast in our barn. I expected wild pork to be tough and stringy, but in reality it was delicious and tender. What a pleasant surprise! I didn’t even open the packages of hot dogs I’d squirreled away, just in case there were some of us who couldn’t stomach the wild meat. Hot dogs for another day!

After an awfully long and HOT and DRY summer, fall has been a gift. We haven’t had much rain, but just enough has come to rejuvenate our pastures and replenish our ponds. Relief in the form of raindrops. We didn’t expect much in the way of fall color, so we were just blown away last week when SUDDENLY the trees were gorgeous, just overnight. And the days have been so nice, mostly warm and comfortable.

Mid-month, we made a flying trip to northern Indiana and brought home a trailer-load of silo parts. Not a real vacation this time around, but I did manage to cajole one perfectly free day out of the Farmboy. We drove every back road around Shipshewana and Nappannee and Goshen, seeing the picturesque farms and watching the old-fashioned ways the Amish harvest their crops. We LOVE seeing the harvest in real farmland, remembering the sense of accomplishment as fields are emptied and grain bins filled. It was satisfying for us, even if it wasn’t our harvest. (Our crop is now calves, remember?) It’s amazing how refreshing just a few days away can be!

            (Note the quilt block)






            (Round barns–I just LOVE them!)



And look (below) what I found in the neatest store! Is this familiar to anyone?? I’m reading it now–wonderful!!!



I was able to spend a few minutes in one quilt shop–one WONDERFUL quilt shop–Lolly’s in Shipshe—don’t miss it if you’re ever there.


Yesterday afternoon we drove over to the river and just listened to the water ripple over rocks.



A blue heron paid us no mind, and deer came down to drink while we watched. One spike buck was missing a horn, but he was still handsome. We soaked it all up, tucking the images away to bring back out and savor when winter winds roar and the snow doth blow.

Well, by now this is feeling more like home. Pouring out my thoughts and sharing my experiences…it’s all coming back to me. It’s good to see you, long-lost friends! I hope you remember me (I’m also known as Ozarksfarmgirl)
….and if you don’t, let’s just start fresh. See you soon!

August 20, 2011

I’m thankful to live close enough to our four grandchildren to get to see them fairly often. The two who live farthest away spent this week with us, a few precious days together to celebrate the end of summer. Yesterday it was time for them to go home. They start school on Monday, so their lives will require a return to routine, to keeping on schedule, to busy days filled with work and play and tired nights with early bedtimes. It’s always a period of transition, one that parents and kids alike must make. Even mimis and poppies make it, although their school days are several chapters ago. They still remember the excitement, the anticipation, the fresh feeling of a new teacher, a new year of learning new subjects and skills, new school shoes and school supplies…maybe new friends. They sort of miss it….sort of….

When we got back to the city, Mom was still working so we decided to visit a lovely park not far from where our girlies live. This rose garden is such a pretty place. Many weddings take place in this enchanted setting. The girls felt a little princess-y just being in the midst of such beauty.

Lucy unknowingly chose a dress that matched our outing.

Bees love roses, too.

Lucy took a picture of Emma and me.

And Emma took this one of Lucy and me.

It’s hard for Mimi to think of Emma looking so grown up.

Seems like she should be this size.

Instead, she’s showing signs of … leaving little-girlhood behind.

Little girls are so sweet.

And so are big ones.

Emma loved the yellow roses.

And Lucy liked the pink ones.

We all loved the red ones.

I wish I could borrow their gardener for a season.

By the end of our walk, we were all ready to jump in this fountain.

But we were proper ladies and refrained from such embarrassing behavior.

Little ladies grow up too quickly. Time stand still, please….I need more days like this one.

August 14, 2011

I must have been day-dreaming…..

that day in history class, back in 1960-something. Maybe it was that I just didn’t think history was cool then, or perhaps the room was too warm and steamy and I was too sleepy to pay attention. Or….could it be that my teacher never mentioned it?? Upon reflection, that, I’m afraid, is what really happened.

I never remember hearing a teacher mention The Battle of Wilson’s Creek, an important Civil War battle that took place a mere couple of hours’ drive from where we live. The 150th anniversary of the battle was this weekend, and it was marked by a 3-day event bringing thousands and thousands of people to the park. Reenactors from many states came to portray what it was like on that hot August day in 1861 when the first important battle west of the Mississippi set the stage for the long period of hostility to come. They set up their primitive camps and put on their old-fashioned garb, saddled their horses and rode into battle. The difference is that the 2000-plus dead didn’t really die this time. In 1861, they did.

That’s right, there were more than 2000 killed in one six-hour period that day. Two thousand young men and boys and officers and helpers, dead at the end of the fighting, to be carried off the bloody field and buried. It must have been a most horrific sight. And of course, the worst part of the sad story is that they were all “our” boys and men.

Maybe that is why my teacher avoided the subject of such a terrible battle happening so close to home. It’s difficult to explain how that sort of tragedy could occur. Maybe he just didn’t want to think about it too long, afraid that giving it too much attention might bring the hostilities back to life.

He said he was a “loyal supporter of our president, Mr. Davis.”

But teaching history is telling it the way it really was, and this weekend the reenactment of the Battle of Wilson’s Creek told the history lesson in a graphic way; visitors could not fail to visualize how hot it was, how dusty, how difficult.

A few hours’ walk through the park gave us glimpses into camp life, with all its grit, as well as its lighter side.

Wilson’s Creek was the coolest place in the whole area.

I’m sure the ones who got there first were happy to stake their claim on its banks.

Music

We were told that civilians “followed” the groups of soldiers and camped nearby. Some of them were probably family members, while others might have been displaced settlers who longed for protection.

She was sewing on buttons.

People were eager to try this campfire chicken and dressing, bubbling over the hot fire. Note how the corn is roasting beside the coals.

I hoped no important message was about to come through on the telegraph….

Sutlers were merchants who brought goods to sell to the military.

See the pretty Texas Star quilt under these handsewn shirts? It was quilted in blue thread and was very old–very unusual to see blue quilting in an old quilt.

Many of the uniforms were sewn from heavy wool.

These ladies, with their hoop skirts, looked like they were ready to go to a ball.

A baseball game played by 1860s rules was underway between a “real” team, the St. Louis Brown Stockings, and a ragtag group of militiamen.

Hay bales served as the backstop, and the umpire was known as the arbitor. If you hit a fly ball and the fielder caught it on one bounce, you were out–it was called a bound out. Gloves didn’t become a part of the game’s equipment for many more years.

A familiar face! Dan Keller, former Ozark Countian, brought a troup of Boy Scouts to be part of the reenactment. They were displaced settlers whose cabin had been shot up and burned, and they were on the run. If speaking with Confederates, they sympathized with the Rebels; if approached by Yankees, they were Union men. Above, that’s Elijah Keller, Keegan Mossman, and Dan in the tall hat.

And when we got so hot we thought we’d swoon, we sought shade and found…..

a couple more familiar faces! Fiddler Zack Yarger and Dobro player Tim Prososki were invited by the Peterson Family Band to join them for the afternoon, and we really enjoyed hearing our favorite bluegrass musicians in this setting. Zack sang a wonderful, melancholy song about an old slave looking for his master that seemed particularly appropriate for this setting.

One way the reenactment differed from the real thing: when the temperature in the afternoon began to really soar and our feet began to feel heavy, we hitched a ride on a hay wagon and left it all behind….the dust, the unrelenting heat, the prospect of a battle to come. But we took away memories and and a deeper appreciation for how it must have been that day in 1861….when the Battle of Wilson’s Creek set the tone for a dark spot in Missouri’s history, one that we need to know about, whether it was part of history class or not.