Uncle Bernie; The Old Family Farm; Memories.

Late this afternoon, I was looking through one of my notebooks, of April 1994. It was near my Uncle Bernie's birthday and I was sending him a card; he would be sixty years old. I was also writing some things down in my notebook, so I wrote about this: I was writing in the card, and then I wrote him a letter, talking about their old farm in Nicholson. 


I really loved that farm, enjoyed so much going there. There was a huge cable swing in a very large old tree, when I was young, in 1939 -- through the 1940s. I think they moved off the farm in the mid-fifties. In 1994, the old swing was just a very thick rusty old cable. The house was caved in; that simply broke my heart. 

There was so much about that farm that I truly loved. One thing I liked a lot was the number of hickory nut trees out in the pasture, it was so lovely, a sort of rolling hill, and I can see it right now, in my mind's eye. The old ice house with sawdust and large cubes of ice, and you had to keep the door shut. 

So many little camomile flowers on very small plants, over a large area along the flagstone or stone walk down to the house. I always looked for them, and would take one of the little flowers off and smell it. If you crush the little flower, it smells so pretty. Those camomile flowers were one of my favorites. 

There were a few apple trees and a cherry tree very close to the house, and I enjoyed seeing the apples with their distinctive color pattern. It was a very old kind of apple.

We children would hurry down the stone path to the house, to see who would be first to sit on the porch swing! There was room for all three of us, so there was no need to hurry, but we probably got a thrill out of being the first to reach it.

The outhouse several feet away from the back door of the house. The old shed full of 'junk', parts of machinery, all kinds of tools, so many different items. Some parts of the contents were all jumbled up, some were neatly arranged. The spring house next to the barn, for cooling the milk in large milk cans, in the very cold water. The large stepping stone or very thick flagstone outside of the big door that you had to go through so you could see the cows lined up in their stanchions. Whitewashed walls and ceiling of the large ground floor area where the cows were. 

The second floor was reached by a man-made ramp. You could lead the horses or drive them, to pull the hay wagon up there to get the hay unloaded into the barn. The huge silo for chopped corn and cornstalks, in preparation for the winter season.  

The long row of elderberry bushes along the driveway down onto the farm from the public dirt road, all the way up from Nicholson itself. Those elderberry bushes always looked so beautiful when they were in bloom with elderberry blossoms. When the tiny maroon, purple, black umbels of berries were almost ready to pick, we would look very closely at them, eager to pick them. Finally the time came! You had to take the umbel off the bush and put it in your basket, bucket, or small pail, and take them into the house or home with you. You would sit and very gently pull or roll the tiny berries from the umbels, into large bowls. Elderberry jam or jelly was simply divine to have in the winter. For those who like elderberry wine, the wine made from the elderberries was even better than the jam or jelly! 

So on that day in 1994, I was sitting in the car writing a letter to Uncle Bernie, telling him how we all loved his happy smiles and laughter. He really loved his siblings and parents. The reason I was sitting in the car was that my Mom was in the hospital, and could have visitors  for fifteen minutes only, every two hours. She had had surgery for colon cancer, and this third time, the cancer was terminal. 

I am eighteen months older than Uncle Bernie, my baby brother was born four days after Uncle Bernie, so long ago. My Grandma was having babies when my Mom was having babies! Aunt Lillian was born two years later, and then my sister two years after Aunt Lil. I've always sort of felt that they were also my 'brothers and sisters'; Uncle Al is one year older 

than I. 

Uncle Bernie's birthday is coming up soon, so I think I shall write him a letter about the old farm and my many memories of it. Happy Birthday, Uncle Bernie. Happy Birthday, brother Joe! 

I'll see you at the Corner Post...

MSA - Memphis Songwriters Association; An Ambiance of Warmth.

Early last evening, Bill picked me up to go with him to the MSA (Memphis Songwriters Association) gathering for songwriters night. First we arrived at the venue, The Abbey, for the sound testing. Then we went to have a bite to eat at Ole Cafe, because neither of us had dinner, even though we had late lunches. By six o'clock there were quite a few hungry people from MSA there. The waitresses knew we were all in a hurry to get back to The Abbey, so they brought our orders soon enough; that was good of them. 

The program began at 7 o'clock; the ones in charge, Linda and Cecil Yancy, did a very fine job of coordinating everything. There is much to do to put on such a show. It's going to be a very good year, I would say, with Linda and Cecil in charge. 

There were ten singers to play their guitars and sing their own original songs, all were on the stage in a semicircle and would sing solo - except for Linda and Cecil who are usually a duet.  They do very well together. They've been married only fourteen years, and to me it seems like thirty-five, because they appear to be soul-mates.  

During the first round, each person sang one song. In the second round, each of them did two songs. It was most enjoyable to listen to them. I think the 'one' and then 'two' is a good idea. 

I liked each and every one of the performers, all were good, some were very good. Bill was terrific with his three songs "I Had A Talk with the Moon Last Night", "My Lover Loves Liver", and "Vicki the Vicious Vegan". The audience and other singers were quite amazed at how he can use so many rhyming words so fast in his verses. And they seem to like the food songs so much. His Talk With the Moon is a very moving song, and I like it more each time I hear it. It could be that I'm bragging a little, a proud mom will do that... 

One of the young ladies hadn't played for a long time because she has been raising her children; she told how busy one can be, doing that. As a mother of six, grandmother of well over a dozen, I was very empathetic: 'been there, done that', as they say.

More than one of the songwriters have had life-changing experiences, and wrote and sang about these events. There are so many reasons to write a song. I admire those who can wake up in the middle of the night and write some very moving lyrics. Bless you all, MSA! 

To me, the highlight of the program was Adam, an eleven-year-old guitar player. He began when he was five years old, his Dad taught him a great deal, and his parents would take him to guitar classes of bluegrass and classical music. This youngster seems to be a genius with his guitar, and he plays extremely well, with touches of jazz and the blues. Truly, he is amazing with such natural talent; he is passionate in his playing. 

This is the same venue in which Johnny Cash made his first public appearance so many years ago, and both Linda and Cecil Yancy told us to remember that we heard Adam Miles in this place, because Adam is going to be very notable, one fine day. He is already on the doorstep... 

It was an exceptional gathering, with thirty people or more as an audience, and everyone listening intently to the performers. There was an ambiance of kindness, affection, warmth, and the effects of great talent. I never expected it to be that moving to so many people. There were many hugs being exchanged. That makes me quite happy.

Before we left, I talked with that little boy, and I requested a big hug from him. He seems to be very precious and loved. He is very sweet; his eyes are quite expressive and so much a part of him. He has good parents and family. May they all be blessed.

I'll see you at the Corner Post...

Busy Weeks in 1993; Camping Trip; All, A Precious Family.

It was the during the second and third weeks of July in 1993, I was as busy as could be, keeping tabs by phone on my Mom in Michigan, moving things around in my apartment because the manager of the building was going to be putting a thermostat in, doing some errands that I needed to do, and so many other necessities.

My son Bill and two of his three children were going to go on a camping trip and attend his class reunion in northern New York, almost in the Adirondacks. Bill was going to go to his sister Irene's house first, so that I could care for his two-year-Melanie; Irene and family had gone on a one-week vacation and weren't home yet.

I phoned Irene's next-door neighbor to say I'd be up there in the morning (a three-hour trip from my apartment in Scranton) and they said they'd give me her key. After leaving home at seven, I obtained the key at ten a.m., did a few chores, opened windows in their apartment, and waited for Bill and his children. They made five stops on their way from Boston to Liverpool. He was so very tired from the trip, and slept a while in the afternoon.

It was so good to see them. I cooked some cabbage for him to take camping, and made some sandwiches for them for the trip up to northern New York. The children were abed, and he and I were so tired, we collapsed in our places to sleep, too. What a day that was!

In mid-morning, Bill, Emily, and Tim, got ready for the trip to go camping with Papa! How excited they were! Things were packed up, the car loaded, and off they went on the two-hour trip. Melanie and I got along very well. As soon as I could, I put very warm water in the kitchen sink and bathed Melanie in it. She enjoyed it so much that I allowed her to stay in it for a half hour more, and warmed the water from time to time. She had such fun sitting in the sink and playing with a few water toys!

Irene and family came home around four o'clock, and we all were glad to see each other. I helped Irene for a couple of days with her day-care children (Miss Irene's Bootie Camp) and Melanie. I had to go back home after the two days, so the apartment manager could put the thermostat in my apartment.

Two days later, on Friday, I went back to Liverpool, Bill and the older children were back from their camping trip and class reunion, and as I pulled up near their house and parked, I could see the children of both families out front on the lawn. Bill and his brother-in-law Greg were just inside the open door of the apartment, and they knew that I had arrived.

Two-year-old Melanie came running down the lawn toward the car. It was so heart-warming! She was so eager to see me - her little feet a-goin', her arms and hands outstretched, her little blue sleeveless dress coming toward me, with her emotions tagging along. It was beautiful to see! That touched me so, and I wonder why.

It could be that I keep thinking of my paternal grandmother - in 1908 she lived in a coal mining town in western Pennsylvania, taking in washing or doing her boarders' laundry, with a galvanized tub of HOT water, very hot, on the floor, and her almost-two-year-old toddler Mary fell into the tub. She died of the burns - I don't know how long after. 


It must have been so tragic. I keep thinking with empathy of my Grandma's pain and anguish. So I treasure the presence of all of my children and grandchildren, so very much. Each is precious and irreplaceable... and so much loved.

Afterwards, the children enjoyed each other, and we had a great time. Bill sang songs while playing his guitar, and later, the children all went to bed. Irene, Greg, Bill, and I, sat at the table together, having some good talks. We stayed up late, as it was a wonderful evening and we didn't want to stop. On Saturday, Bill and the children went back home to Boston. I stayed for another few days and I, too, went back home, and packed my suitcase to go to be with my Mom; her chemotherapy wasn't very pleasant to endure.

I spent some time with her and then went on to Denver to visit daughter Anne Marie and family, then back to Mom. 'T was a very busy summer! I went to Arizona in the fall to visit son Ger and his family, then back to Mom.



I'll see you at the Corner Post...

Dandelions; The Dogs Next Door; Fly Away.

As I looked out of the bathroom window onto my backyard, I spied about eight or ten dandelion blossoms, each in a different place. I thought, "Oh, no! They're going to go to seed, and there will be oodles of dandelions in the near future!" -  Please understand that I dearly love those little flower heads, and I like dandelion greens in the spring as a sort of tonic to get the body a-going again after the sluggish winter.

In truth, the bright yellow dandelion is such a beautiful greeting to us in the springtime. In the dead of winter, if we happen to see a lonely dandelion blooming, it is indeed a sign of hope.

But nevertheless, I went out to the backyard to pick all the blossoms so they wouldn't increase in my backyard. I began to pick the stray dandelion blossoms, and the dogs next door alerted their owners that there was something going on here! They barked and barked, and I, as always, will say to any barking dog, "Hi, Doggie! Hi Doggie! How are you? Whatcha doin'?" And they tone down their anger and annoyance a bit. I talked with them as I picked dandelions.

When I was finished with my chore, I walked close to the fence so they could see me between the boards. At first they were apprehensive, but then they were less guard-like. There are two dogs there, one older one, more sedate than the younger one. He used to be so quiet and appeared to be very shy when I'd go out beyond my fence for a look-around.

Then the younger one, a large, slender dark brown dog not yet fully mature, came to live there. I do believe that Mr. Old Guy was quite happy to have this new friend and companion join him in his backyard. Mr. Old Guy now doesn't hover around his own little cabin, and he joins in the barking since Young One came along. This pleases me, because I felt bad for him: he seemed so lonely and shy before.

I wish to be friends of theirs. One of these days I am going to go out the back gate and let them see me. They can see me the way it is, through those narrow spaces between the fence boards, but I would like to see them better, too.

I've been thinking about the dandelion. It is very clever in the way it grows. They seem to bloom close to the ground at first, then the stalk grows a bit every few hours. Finally when it has finished the first phase,  the stalk is like a tower almost like the Empire State Building, and the blossom has suddenly, magically changed into a golf-ball sized sphere of white fluff like a prom gown, with each seed having its own part of the dress.

Before we could sing, "Blow away, Dandelion!" almost all of those hundred seeds are gone to see the world. The few seeds that remain attached are just too shy to fly away from the yard. Maybe in their next lifetime...



I'll see you at the Corner Post...  

KA-BOOM!; Miss Irene's Bootie Camp.

This incident happened about a week before Easter of 2001 at Miss Irene’s Bootie Camp.  I wrote this down on April 15, 2001.

                                                              Such A Fright!

I was at our daughter Irene’s, asleep in the little bedroom at the head of the stairs, and she was in the kitchen serving breakfast to her daycare children.

I was awakened by a thunderstorm, and I lay there for a little while, listening to the

distant thunder. I was relaxed, thinking I’d get out of bed, but enjoying the sound of the rain, listening to the far-off rumbles of thunder.

I was concentrating on counting the seconds from the flash of lightning to the roll of thunder, to determine how far away the storm was, when all of a sudden there was an enormous clap of thunder which seemed to have been right above my head! This was accompanied instantaneously by a brilliant flash of lightning. Ooooooh! Scary…

It was awesome and brought great respect from me! I jumped out of bed, washed and dressed while my mind was creating a rhyme to tell the daycare children of it.

All the children were sitting around the kitchen table/bench eating their breakfast.

Miss Irene was preparing and serving second helpings to those wanting ‘more’. They all looked at me (as usual when I visit) when I said  “Good Morning!” And then I began my performance of reciting my poem/rhyme to them, rather slowly so they would understand every word and emotion, as a piece of conversation.

As I was reciting rather slowly and purposely emoting, I observed their sweet faces, most were listening very carefully, but Lizzie – how precious was her face – her eyes grew bigger, like saucers almost, her mouth hung open a little - she was SO totally engrossed!

This is what I related to them slowly, without saying it was a poem:

“After a quiet, and peaceful night,

I awoke with such a fright! -------

The thunder came

Crashing through the sky!

KA-BOOM!   KA-BOOM!

OH, ME! ………………… OH, MY! “

What a beautiful experience that was, for me! They seemed amazed at my “story” and it pleased me so much!  The relating of the “story” placed them right there to experience what happened to me. I can still see their faces, listening intently, and their facial expressions showed what they were hearing and seeing of my animation.

I miss those days…

I'll see you at the Corner Post...

The Old Farm; Washing Clothes the Hard Way; Making Bread.

Shortly after we moved to the old farm near Springville, my parents bought some milking cows. Both Mom and Dad had to work in the barn, with the animals. My brother was only eight years old at that time and wasn't old enough to do much work yet. I did some chores in the house and garden. Pulling weeds was not a favorite chore of mine. Many of the weeds were between one and two feet tall, with lots of tough roots.

I also helped on Wash Day, putting clothes through the manual wringer. Rinsing the clothes was especially hard because the rinse water was very, very cold water from the well. The rinsing tub was a galvanized round tub set on a flat, backless kitchen chair. I would have to put my hands and arms in the water past my elbows, and the cold water was quite painful.

Our washing area was a room off the kitchen, unpainted and weather-beaten. It was actually the old back porch, which had been closed in. It did have a roof, and a door leading to the ground, with five or six steps as stairs. There was a medium-sized square window on the outside wall, looking out over the rectangular garden below the barn.

One day Mom wanted me to make and bake some bread. She said to use sieves-ful of flour, and to soften the block of yeast in warm water. I think that day, it was probably three or four large sieves of flour. I began mixing it, trying my best to make the bread. I used my hands to stir it, and there was not enough water for that amount of water so the dough was very hard to knead.

I went to the window facing the garden where she was working, and yelled to her. "Mom! the dough is too hard!" She shouted, "Put some water in it." I did that, and it was so slippery, the water didn't seem to want to go into the flour because the dough was too hard. It was an awful mess. It was like playing with a lot of slippery mud.

It seems that it finally got to be dough, and I put it to rise. After some time it rose and I divided it into pieces to make loaves of bread, I think it was four large loaves, and let it rise again in the loaf pans. By that time, I'm sure she was finished in the garden and came into the house. I often made or kneaded bread for the family. It was apparently one of my chores.

In later years after I was married and when we were rearing our own children, I made bread very often, and rolls and buns. Cinnamon buns were especially good and we all looked forward to having them.



I'll see you at the Corner Post...

Baby Easter Bunnies; A Team of Work Horses; "It's Not Lunch Time."

We moved to Springville, Pennsylvania, when I was nine and a half years old. Came the following spring, we had a pair of rabbits in one of the out buildings. At Easter time, Mom and Dad told us to come up to the shed with them, so we did. They took us into the rabbits' room, and showed us a wonderful surprise. The female rabbit had a litter of very tiny baby bunnies. How exciting that was! Baby Easter Bunnies! We were so happy about that, and astonished because of the coincidence of its being Easter.

My Dad had a pair of work horses on the farm, named Babe and Bill. He shod them, brushed them, and took very good care of them. In the mid-1920s he had been in the peace-time army in Texas, and was in the cavalry. He was accustomed to handling horses. He had liked horses very much.

On the farm, he used the horses to drive the hay wagon on the fields, to haul manure to spread on the fields, and to take the cows' milk to the creamery in Springville, and he used them for other things, too.

Before we moved from Larksville/Plymouth in April of 1942, my brother Joe and I were in the parochial school, preparing for our First Holy Communion. We had to travel back to Plymouth on May 10, 1942, to receive our First Holy Communion. It took probably an hour to drive the distance.

Then in the fall of 1942, we entered school in Dimock, a few miles from our farm. I really don't remember if we went to Dimock School in the spring of 1942 for a month, or waited until the autumn. My brother was in fourth grade and I was in fifth. It was strange to go to another school, and I felt very shy.

I remember that we took our lunch to school, and at recess time I thought it was lunch time. I took out my lunch and prepared to eat. Paul Green was in sixth grade which was in the same room, and said, "Why are you taking out your lunch? It's not lunch time." Not wanting to show how much of a 'greenhorn' I was, I said, "I know!" and I put my lunch away. How embarrassed I was!




I'll see you at the Corner Post...