Selecting the perfect tree is a sacred event.

 

Picking out a Christmas tree is a sacred event. I don’t mean ordering an artificial tree on line or at any store. (It is okay if that is what you do! No judgement here!!)  But for me, the hunt for the perfect tree is just about the most important event of the season.

Luckily, Aaron’s family is close by and they always call and say, “Can you go today at 3:00?” No matter what I am doing or what plans I already have, I change them immediately as I cannot turn down this offer.

How many years have I tramped through the woods looking for the perfect tree. I loved doing this with my dad as a kid. Oh, the smell of the pines in the woods. I guess I do feel a bit sorry for folks who have never had the opportunity. We often walked through snow to get to our tree and drag it back to the car. In those days no one shook it to make sure squirrels weren’t hiding in the branches, and no one drilled a hole in the bottom for the new stands we use today! Dad tied it to the top of the car and we drove home singing all the way. Christmas Cookies and hot cocoa awaited us when we arrived home covered in sticky pine and boots full of snow. Dad and my brothers did the lights, and we did the rest. The most fun was tossing (throwing?) handfuls of tinsel on the tree. When all was beautiful, we shut out the lights and sang “Silent Night.” I want to think that maybe we held hands. Maybe we did and maybe we didn’t, but I think I shall remember as we did.

When my boys were little we took them to a Christmas tree farm to get their first tree. The farm was outside of Scranton, Pennsylvania with hills and farms all around. My boys tumbled in the snow and could barely walk. That first year the farm family gifted us our tree. I know I cried. Throughout all my life that I never have forgotten their kindness.

The tradition continued as we moved to Indiana and lingered over the trees at Booth’s Tree Farm. The year they were closing, it was so hard to say our goodbyes. Not just because of the trees, but because of the memories we had built up. So now where, we asked ourselves? We fretted a bit until Bud and Deb’s Christmas Tree Farm loomed onto the horizon as a giant gift to those of us who want to find and cut down our own tree.

This year, of course, was no different. Aaron and Rachel and the boys picked me up. I stuffed money in my mittens and off we went. Graham and Jonah were just like the little boys they once were laughing and playing around, even though we had no snow. They found their tree first, but finding my tree took much longer. Jonah did say, “Nannie, I am going to Snowcoming tonight, so could you find your tree, please?” At least he was polite. I just smiled and laughed. “You can’t hurry this along, you know!” Then the boys began trying to find my tree in earnest. Bud and Deb probably wondered what in the world we were doing out there in the forest. Finally, we found it.

Beautiful and sweet, there it stood waiting for me. And, yes, it did whisper back to me. Rachel and Aaron cut it down for me and we drug the two trees out of the beautiful forest. It was dusk and dark steel gray clouds began to drop rain upon us…or maybe it was snow? As I looked up to wonder about that, a huge flock of geese flew right over us still trying to get to their winter home. It was a moment. It was a moment of great beauty and peace.

Back at the barn, Bud drilled the holes in our trees for our tree stands and shook the trees. Luckily no squirrels jumped out. Inside the little gift shop, Deb was standing nearby to chat and offer cookies and candy canes. I pulled my money out of my mitten, but Aaron and Rachel paid for my tree. I cried.

My tree is in my front window of this old house. Oh, I still need to decorate it, but that will happen. Is it too early to wish you a Merry Christmas?

They come and they go as we step into winter...

 

The car pulls away carrying the four Charleston Children. I stand in the drive way a long time waving, and then just stand there. I guess I just don’t know what to do. I finally turn around and find the football that Noah hauled out of the garage after he figured out the garage opener. He and Faith hauled out their summer toys for a bit, and then put everything back as they found it…except the football.

Back in the house the breakfast dishes, along with empty coffee cups, await me along with an entire house to put back together. But I can’t seem to do it. I lock the doors and have a good cry.

The Indiana Thanksgiving was all that I hoped for including the ceremony for Harley, my cat. Under a sky of floating planets, we said goodbye as we sat knee to knee at my campfire. Everyone had a story and a little speech…even the Littles. It was good for all of us to come together to remember my lovely old cat. Later in the evening, Brianna could not go to sleep because of her tears. I promised to get a grave marker, and that seemed to appease her enough to fall asleep.

We baked cookies, played games, told stories, cooked (a lot with Holly by my side), and just spent time being together. When they leave, the quietness of this house is actually filled with the echoes of their voices, and I know I have to move on. You know, put the house back together, open my Airbnb back up, and maybe start on the Christmas decorations. It is still comforting to see the orange candles on the table, and the Thanksgiving decorations still in abundance throughout the house. The Littles placed Thanksgiving window decorations all over my windows, and I think they still look just fine.

As a child growing up, we lived in the same town as both sets of grandparents so we never spent a week or a month staying with them. I wonder how that would have been? Would they have missed us as much as I miss mine? I tell stories to Holly and Brianna about their grandparents…great grandparents…great, great grandparents. I have stories to tell and they want to know them. They want to know more about the farm life, and I tell them.

“On Thanksgiving we all had chores, well, we all had chores every day. They boys gathered hickory nuts from the beautiful hickory tree, and broke them apart with a hammer. I used those hickory nuts in the best cookies. Their chores, besides taking care of their animals, was to bring in the firewood and the woodstove wood for baking. Nothing ever tasted so good as an apple pie out of the woodstove!” Well, that was just he beginning of the stories they love to hear.

I keep up the tradition of chores. On the large chalkboard in my dining room, I write the chore list every morning before they awake. I have always done this and it is the first thing they do in the morning is to look at it. They put a big checkmark by their chore when it is completed. Kristin asked me one morning, “Do they really do all the chores every day?” I smiled and nodded.

 

I still have the chore list on the board from Saturday. I guess it is the last thing I will take care of by erasing it…then it will officially be over.

December comes in this week with temperature in the 30’s and a clear sky. The planets are so visible in the night sky this week. Step outside after the early darkness descends upon us and look up. Saturn leads the way, followed by the brilliant Jupiter and Mars. All are visible without a telescope and so easy to find. I guess I could say that the campfire and the planets will bring me back to where I need to be.

As I turn over the calendar, I will know I need to find the perfect tree upon which to place my candles. I will take down the Autumn lights of orange and replace with multi-colored lights. Wreaths will go up on the door just as I place all the pumpkins into the mulch pile along with the corn stalks.

The last to go will be to erase the chalkboard, and fill it with my own chore list.

Farewell, Thanksgiving 2022. You were loved.

 

September...

 

September. Everything is near perfect in September. No air-conditioning and no heat with windows wide open for the evening breezes and the viewing of Saturn and Jupiter as they continue to light the way for ships at sea. (Well, at least they used to!) Venus is still visible during the morning hours, but better hurry, soon it will be hidden by the rays of the sun. The summer constellations are still around, but Orion is just begging to be part of our sky and it is sneaking in it’s first appearance.

September brings the full Harvest Moon next Friday evening. It does seem a bit early, but the Harvest Moon is the full moon nearest the autumn equinox so there it is next Friday night. It was aptly named in Europe and then in the United States as the Harvest Moon as farmers could work late into the night by the light of the moon. I know the folks at the farmers market will delight in next Friday’s moon as they continue to gather and harvest the end of the summer’s bounty and beginning to bring in the autumn delights.

I must say I am trying to hold back on the autumn decorating, but I have to sneak in a few things each day. I have replaced the geraniums in the window box with blooming purple asters! There are a few fragrant mums showing up in my gardens as well. My long standing sunflowers, which had just started to bloom, are now amass among the summer garden thanks to last week’s storm. I thought they would be safe as they grow next to the garage, but alas, alas. Hopefully the bees can find their way into my garden. But why not? The zinnias are still strong and blooming and the purest blue morning glories dot my fences and curl around anything possible.

September brings the harvest and memories of the harvest seep into my dreams and my thoughts daily. When we were all young on the farm, we all worked at harvest time. One year we raised so many cabbages that we made kraut in huge crocks. I picked, washed and dried the cabbages and then grated them into the crock, alternately with the salt for preservation. My boys were little so I could lift them up one at a time, barefoot as they stomped down the cabbage. I believe we had kraut with every meal that winter! However, to this day, those boys do not eat sauerkraut, let alone make it from their own gardens.

The last of the jams and jellies will be cooked down and set in small jars for the winter. There was that time I made enough for the whole winter, but now I make the jam for holiday gifts to family and friends. What really is better than homemade blackberry jam? I think nothing!

I see the changes in the landscape as Lola and I follow the dusty back roads full of chicory and goldenrod. I stop at every little corner market to buy onions and garlic and the last of the sweet corn. The field corn is curling and turning brown to the eye and soon the great harvest machines will dot our fields and our roads. Be kind when driving behind the harvest vehicles; they are producing food for us. A friendly wave is always encouraging to the farmer behind the wheel.

The sun slants now as we head into harvest season. Where sunbeams used to fall in this old house, they have now drifted letting other parts of the room feel the morning light. I find darkness comes rather quickly once the sun departs the sky. And the smell of September is pungent with neighbors sporting campfires with hot dogs and marshmallows with the lingering coals filling in the dark places.

It is September. Truly such a marvelous month of beauty and change. Don’t miss it.  Let the air blow the curtains wide and cool in the evenings.

Don’t forget the full moon on Friday night. I just mailed a box of dried rose petals to the Charleston Children for them to toss into the night sky next Friday. You can do the same with your rose petals, and if no flowers grace your doorway, then just make a wish under the light of the moon.

T. H. White once wrote, “The summer was over at last, and nobody could deny any longer that the autumn was definitely there.”

Happy September

 

The last of the summer...

 

Summer begins to draw to a close. The air conditioner is off. The crickets are loud and noisy during the nighttime.

The ending of summer is always sad...the kids grow up a year in school...life moves on a little faster, but if we should forget there are always stories for us to help remember. I have had a great many stories this summer. What are yours?

So, back to blogging. Back to teaching. Back to making soup and bread. Come on over, my door is always open.

November 1st...

 

“November comes

And November goes,

With the last red berries

And the first white snows.

With night coming early,

And dawn coming late,

And ice in the bucket

And frost by the gate.

The fires burn

And the kettles sing,

And earth sinks to rest

Until next spring.”

– Elizabeth Coatsworth

 

“It was a dark and stormy night…” Of course, everything is this time of year, but for some reason this year is a bit spookier. Perhaps it is the rain and the early dark causing us to skitter into our houses, or back out into the night. For me, I skitter back out into the night during this season often with a dark cape around my shoulders or a pointed hat upon my head. Okay, sometimes it is just a cool, fun sweatshirt, but it is Halloween, and I am open to all of it.

Poe Night came and went with a blazing fire, and with mingled voices of the community and Trine University students. It is amazing for me to think that a man, Edgar Allan Poe, could be celebrated in a little northern Indiana town 172 years after his death. Not only did we read the works of Poe, but we had a scholarly vision of the man who we still see as the father of macabre. I am always proud of my students for exchanging the engineering hats to read poetry! They are all amazed too as one student said, “I had no idea it would be so fun. Can I do it next year again?” I love it when that happens.

A few nights later, as the rain began once again, Lola and I found ourselves weaving through the back gate of the Cline Museum. It was dark and grey as I meandered through the yard and up the back steps. Stepping into the Cline Museum is like turning the clock back 150 years. This time the ghostly collaboration was put on by the Steuben County Historical Society and the Historic Preservation Commission. Then event was to be held outside until the gray October skies opened up, so quickly all was moved inside. Arriving early gave me a chance to tour the old house without much commotion. Inside the Dr.’s office was the creepiest mannequin. It looked so real, and I expected him to turn around and look at me any moment. I couldn’t help myself but to look over my shoulder at him every now and again.

With a full house, Hope Wilson and Heather Burkett put on a haunting show of buildings that used to be once upon a time. The research was scholarly, the photos were eerie and with rain pelting one could only imagine this little town of us long ago. I was honored to read a few of the stories about my favorite prominent folks…the Gales, the Gilmores, and the Hendrys. Most of the ghostly buildings were lost to fire as the structures were wooden. But some magnificent architectural structures were simply torn down to make room for something new. Hopefully, with historic preservation, some of this can be halted to keep the history in our town. You missed the show? Perhaps we will do it again. It is always good to know where we live, and how we all got here.

I stayed to help put away chairs, and divvy up the extra Halloween candy. With one last look at the staircase (really, what was I thinking would happen???), and one last glimpse of the good doctor still sitting, much like The Raven, we shut out the lights and headed out into the gloom of night. I was glad to get home to my cheery old house, put on the lights and my electric fireplace (I can imagine it’s real, right?) and put on the kettle.

Ah, but not all is over. Today our town is bursting with events. Don’t stay home on this day. Come on out to Pokagon for fun events all day long. I will be telling “grown up” stories at the CCC at 1:30. Or spend your day in town at the festival complete with a hay maze and plenty of music, if you feel like dancing in the street.

The costume contest is once again our favorite. Please meet in front of The Brokaw Movie House. Registration begins at 3:30 and the contest is at 4. There is a category for all ages from 0-100! Everyone can participate.

After all the events, let the littles (and the bigs) commence to trick-or-treating. My old house is full of treats so bring them on by so I can fill up their bags.

It is Halloween week-end, and nothing, but nothing is as fun as being in town for the festivities. See you around the square.

Happy Halloween!

Lifting the Covid Fog....

 I had a dream this week about websites. That truly is uninspiring and not hardly the essence of beautiful and lovely dreams. Perhaps it was more of a nightmare than a dream. When I woke I had this eerie feeling (well, it is October) about websites and mine more specifically. In the dark dawn of morning I headed into my studio to check out my own blogger website. It felt strangely familiar, yet not so much. First of all, I needed a new password, and I don’t remember ever even needing a password for my blog site. I just automatically logged on. Well, that took a few moments as I had to go back and forth between blogger and email to establish a new password. Then, just like that, I was connected. It looked vaguely familiar, yet oddly, not familiar. As I began to read through my daily blog, I realized my last entry was March 17, 2020. The truth is, I could not believe that. I mean I have kept up this blog for over fifteen years almost on a daily basis. I love my blog site. I post my travel, my stories, my adventures. I post events in town, poetry, opportunities, thoughts (rather deep thoughts), yet here it was staring me right in the face, March 17, 2020. The last entry was the story of Carolyn and me deciding to stay home from ukulele camp as this Covid event was somewhere…doing something. There is a photo of the two of us and how sad we were not to go. It was also light-hearted making light of washing our hands and taking care.

There was no mention of masks, of school closing, of life coming to a standstill. Yet my blog came to a standstill, and I have not thought of it once since that date. That is so odd. I have thought of everything else.

How deeply have we been affected by this virus that I did not notice my outdated blog for over a year and a half? What happened to my own brain…the brain I think is still pretty good. It wasn’t that I came down with the virus. I did not. It wasn’t that my life completely stood still. It did not. But where did the shut down occur, and did this happen to you also? And, if so, how do we come out of this Covid fog all these months later?

I thought I knew all the answers to these questions. I mean, I have been vaccinated and had the booster shot. I had my first house party last week, I teach my classes, I even  had some storytelling events. (Okay, not many, but a few live events!)

How long is it before the dark cloud of Covid is finally released? Or, I wonder, will it ever be? Will we be changed forever?

The only actual value I see of the big “P” is that perhaps from now on, when we are sick and around folks, we will wear a mask. To that effect, I have washed all my twenty masks and found a place for them in a dark, distant drawer. Okay, to be honest, a few remain out for trips to town or when friends need the reassurance of a mask to spend some time together. I do try to remember to wear my mask to Aldi’s or CVS or into a restaurant before being seated. I often ask now if a mask is required or preferred. I will, of course, honor that as we move forward.

But now, of course, there is that problem with my blog site. Where do I start? I have taken hundreds of photos, written dozens of columns and stories, and even had as many events in this past year and a half. Do I just start over as if March 17, 2020 were yesterday, and today is mid-October, 2021? Do I make an apology? Will anyone even come back to reading my blog after this hiatus? Or do I just close it out as a fun writing chapter of my life and move on? I mean, I never even missed it or thought about it until my dream this week.

And what about you? What have you totally forgotten about?  Is something just now surfacing as some kind of reminder of how it was in the “olden days”?

The “olden days” were just a year and a half ago…but oh it does seem so long ago.  

Published first in KPC, October 17,2021