Drama Camp 101!

 

It’s Monday morning and we gather in a circle. Our nametags are on, but most of us know each other. I wait until the ten o’clock hour, and I begin. “Welcome to LCYC Drama Camp. I am Miss Maggie.” I have said those words so many years during the summer. Yes, it is once again time for drama camp. From year to year I always feel I have plenty of time to finish the script, edit and tidy it up before I send it to Jennifer Martin to print for our young students. Yet, it seems during the week before it is fast and furious getting the script around. But it always gets down and ready for our students. Of course, they want to see the script the first thing on Monday morning, but we keep the scripts under lock and key until after lunch.

My job is the easy one…I write and direct the show. Jennifer Martin, director of LCYC, is the glue for all of us. She arranges the location, all the helpers, lunches. She does the programs, and the social media for our camp. She smiles the whole time assuring us all is well, and the show will go on.

Even though Jenn takes everything off my plate, I do always wonder…will the magic show up one more time? Will they learn the script, and be able to leave it on the back table? Will there be costumes and make-up? The answer to all of this is yes. These things always happen.

This year’s story takes place in 1789 in Seville, Spain. It is, of course, one of my signature who-dun-it plays which involves the audience. Usually, I don’t even tell the cast who-dun-it, but this year it had to be woven into the plot!

After lunch on Monday, we hand out the scripts. I watch them curiously as they quickly browse through the pages…lots of pages. They are quiet as they peruse the script. They are looking for their parts. Who will they be in the show? How hard is this script? I think this one is a little difficult, but I have no worries. We have a small group too which is made up of the younger students who are just toe-dipping into theatre. I have competent help with Ellie and Ana to work on their young acting skills. The younger ones will be performing the short pirate vignette between the scenes. Everyone will be on stage. Everyone.

You know my passion is the theatre. Going back into history we find theatre emerging in Ancient Greece in 700 BC in the City of Athens. The Greeks focused on tragedy, comedy and satire. Of course, only men occupied the stage. Not only could women not perform, but could not attend theatrical performances. Theatre was considered an indecent occupation for women. Men played all the parts. By 1660 during the Restoration period, it changed, and women were allowed to take parts on the stage. Anne Marshall was the first female professional actor in her performance of Othello. After that, all the rules changed, and aren’t we glad about that?

I look at these young actors in my charge for the week. I expect so much out of them. I tease them about taking the script with them everywhere they go. I can always tell how much they are working outside of camp as to how worn and torn their scripts look!!! (They don’t know I notice!) The auditions go as planned and we have a cast. Of course, not everyone gets the part they want, and that is okay. In theatre, as in life, we take it as it comes. I have many returning students each year that I love watching the progression from young actor with a line or two to a confident actor taking on the lead role. That has happened again this year. The older students are mentors with the younger ones!

So, our show goes on, and we would love to see you! We have just one performance on Friday night at 6:30 at Lakeland Jr. Sr. High School. There is no cost so bring the whole family! If you have a young person in the show, you won’t want to miss it. It is also wonderful for these students to see a nice audience. You will be amazed. They are all brave and excited to be on that big stage. Come see us on Friday!

So, my dear cast, break a leg!

 

A little bit of gardening, traveling memories and remembering a special poet.

 Buffalo Bill

With scissors in my back pocket and my watering can in my hand, I head out to the garden as soon as the sun’s rays dance upon my picket fence. It is early. Early enough so that the heat of the sun stays away long enough to water my garden and check for any special plants peeking out or others needing clipping. I am always surprised at what I find in the early morning light. Walking the perimeter of my garden is such a joy even though I am a bit behind this year. I had it all planned out, but an injury put me in the backseat during the month of May, and we all know what I did in June. I kept reading articles stating there was still time to plant. I followed that advice and kept tossing seeds into the ground during the first of July. On the whole, I planted 250 sunflower seeds. One grew. The neighborhood squirrels enjoyed the rest of them for brunch. Why, I ask myself with a sigh. I guess my garden will be blossoming when others begin the late summer withering process. We shall see. I am hopeful. The garden keeps me grounded these days…literally and figuratively as I try to limit my time on the news.

The news keeps my heart rate high. I cry over every lost child or adult in the flooded areas. Their photos flash over the Internet and I am drawn to look into their young eyes. This week the historic Inn at the Grand Canyon burned to the ground. I was there once with my family. We usually spent the summer at Lake Michigan, but one year my dad decided we should go West…as in the advice by Horace Greely. We were all issued a trash bag (there were a lot of kids), in which to pack with our clothes and treasures. It was easier to pack trash bags in the back of a station wagon than suitcases. They fit much better. We had another container full of small breakfast cereals. The kind where we each got our own! The milk was stored in the cooler along with bologna for lunches.

It was a six-week journey across America from Indiana to California and back by way of station wagon. Two parents and five kids. My youngest sister was not born yet. My travel place was in the middle of the backseat so I could entertain all the younger siblings. No iPads or phones…just our own voices for songs and stories…all the way there and back. No wonder I grew up to love stories and music! And how many of us sang a hundred bottles of beer on the wall?

We stayed at the Wild Buffalo Bill Hotel in Cody, Wyoming. We actually stayed two nights which sent my mom refiguring our journey as she had planned each day. During our stay the grandson of Buffalo Bill was there. As I remember, he was quite a character. We loved staying there on our way to Yellowstone National Park.

And then we went to the Grand Canyon and splurged to stay at the Inn. We all crowded into two rooms. We did not walk down into the canyon but spent much time wandering around the rim. It was spectacular. This week the wildfires took the Inn and the history with it.

This week we also lost a marvelous writer and poet. Andrea Gibson was the Poet Laureate of Colorado. She was chosen in 2023. Qualifications include artistic ability along with a body of work. Usually, these poets are also activists for causes. Andrea was definitely that. Her work reminds me of Mary Oliver, of which I am also a great fan. I do believe in poetry. I believe it helps us understand and appreciate our world. Her is just a quick sample of Andrea’s work. She was just 49.

I know you think this world is too dark to even dream in color,

But I’ve seen flowers bloom at midnight.

I’ve seen kites fly in gray skies

And they were real close to looking like the sunrise,

And sometimes it takes the most wounded wings the most broken things

To notice how strong the breeze is, how precious the flight.

Andrea Gibson

Her words help me understand and appreciate the beauty of this life. I think about this as I put away the morning tools and take one last look at the garden. Tomorrow is another day.

 

Camp Memories

Eight pairs of socks rolled up neatly and labeled. One set for each boy. Eight sets of underwear rolled up neatly and labeled. One set for each boy. Shorts, shirts, sweatshirts, flashlights, stamps (in case they wanted to send a note home!) and extra sneakers knowing they would wade in the water and run through the woods. Pack it all up in the old van and then drive around town to pick up their friends for their week’s adventure. First, we picked up Curt Hasselman, Abe’s best friend. Then it was off to the Farnham’s to pick up Dan and Matt. There were others but with my three and those three, the van was full. All the way to Conservation Camp they sang, they laughed, they joked. I drove carefully knowing I had a car full of precious, funny boys. 

When we arrived, we checked in. I gave permission for medical care should the need arise…kissed my three fondly (even with their “Mom!” voices) and home I went. I drove the empty van home smiling all the way, knowing how much fun they would have, and I had a week off from bugs and butterflies and worms and rocks and dirt. Ahhh….one week of quiet bliss. I did not worry or fret. I knew they were fine. A week later I picked them all up. Everything was dirty in their camp satchels. They sang and laughed and told stories all the way home. I just smiled listening to them. Once home I emptied their bags…rocks, twigs, all the stamps still intact!

 When I went to camp as a kid, it was exactly the same thing only I had days of the week underwear plus one! The first time I went I was nervous. It was Girl Scout Camp, and I was a young girl scout. I was excited to earn more badges, sleep in a cabin, row a boat, take a hike in the woods, do crafts, and write home during quiet time since my mom sent stamps. I did all of those things including the letters home. My dad saved all of those. We sang, we hiked, we pranked each other, we made friends for life and we couldn’t wait to go back the next year. The songs I learned at camp have stayed with me all my life. Whenever I meet another girl schout we break out into song. I remember every word to every song.

 I went to church camp too. The songs were different, and we did have devotions instead of ghost stories, but everything else was the same. During church camp I was bitten twice by a wasp. My counselor had me take a break on my cot with a cold compress on the bites. I wasn’t really nervous about it until one of the girls (I should call her Nellie Olson) whispered to me, “If you get bit one more time you will die!” To which, I broke out into tears. My counselor came to my side and told me that would never happen. She moved Nellie to another cabin. Nonetheless, I stayed awake all night waiting to be bit one more time. The threat was real, and I was scared. 

 The folks in the path of the flooding Guadalupe River did not go to bed with thoughts of dying. It was a holiday weekend with lots of activities planned with friends and families. I am sure the girls whispered in their cabins before falling asleep. Other folks on down the river, slept in their RV’s or tents or their own houses…like they did every night. Until. Until the dark of night brought the roaring, racing river into their lives. Abruptly and swiftly, they were awakened to evacuate. Out of a deep, sweet sleep came the terror of waking to water on the floor rising so quickly, they could not get out of the way. The river took them. 

 As a parent, as a grandparent, as a human being, my heart has been torn to shreds watching the news coverage and trying to keep up with the rescues. The rescues are few, but the findings in trees, on riverbanks, in cars are devastating. 

We, here in the Midwest, went on our merry way last weekend. Parades, music, fireworks, families. It was later we were glued to the news. We are so fortunate. The sun shines. Our gardens grow. Our children carry on with their lives. But, we will always remember this July 4th. Always.

Fireflies!

It is the Fourth of July week, and our skies will be lit up with fireworks from fields and lakes. I have to admit, I do love fireworks. I also do know they frighten cats and dogs and sleeping folks along with probably not being great for the environment. (“Ah, there’s the rub,” says Hamlet!) But I do love them. I am not here to talk about the lovely views of the celestial type, but a different kind of firework beauty. The firefly or as we called them as kids, lightning bugs. 

They are plentiful around northern Indiana this summer. My yard is lit up every night with their beauty. One night, while the kids were visiting, Holly said to me, “You know there probably won’t be fireflies someday.” She was right in her statement, but I boldly spoke up and said, “Then let’s make sure you know what to do and how to do it. This is not a done deal for fireflies.” She nodded.\

 As a kid chasing after fireflies, filling jars with their lights and setting them on our dressers at night was pure joy. Luckily my dad came to rescue and let them all go after we went to sleep. Of course, now we know better. Catch and release. It is very exciting to watch a firefly crawl up your arm and light up on your hand. But the question is now out there for all of us…how do we protect them? I want my grandchildren and all those who follow to share these magical nights and I guess it is up to us to put forth our best efforts in making this happen. 

 Okay, let’s chat. By the way, I have done my research through websites of the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service and Firefly.org. (Who knew, right?) I always love learning new things, and I just learned fireflies are not flies at all but are beetles with 2,400 species! (You can use that information at your next coffee date or cocktail party! I mean, we all like impressing folks!) Not all lightning bugs light up…only those east of the Rocky Mountains. Of course, they do not light up to impress us, it is their mating ritual. The males put on this splendid dance to find true love. Their lights are impressive to other fireflies as they sort through patterns and colors. (Did you know that?) If the mating ritual is successful, the females lay their eggs in the ground. Wow…love is difficult at any age!

 The protection of these new larva and later in the hatching is up to us. They can’t do that part alone. So, how can we help? I have lots of small little hints and ideas…it is amazing that just a few changes may save these fireflies. First of all, we need to keep our outside lights to a minimum. I know, for me, I have lots of small solar lights, but I leave off the porch lights including the garage lights. Yes, it is a bit dark, but better for sky viewing too! With too many lights, the little fireflies cannot find each other. The next tidbit is that fireflies love standing water. Can you build a small pond? Swimming pools really do not count as they are full of chemicals so it must be natural water. I have a small glass bowl full of brightly colored marbles which attract fireflies, butterflies, dragonflies, etc. It is such an easy thing to do; just make sure you change the water each day, so it is clear and fresh. Please, please keep pesticides off of your lawn and garden.

 I just had an Airbnb guest tell me he sprayed all the white clover in his yard. I guess I had a look of horror on my face as he said, “Wasn’t that a good idea?” Oh my, no. Don’t spray anything and keep the clover for the bees. He didn’t know that, but I think he will be more respectful of the land after our conversation.

 Another hint is to not over mow your lawn. Jonah has been my mower for the summer, and when he is late in mowing (yes, that happens), he always says, “Well, at least that is good for all the bugs.” He is right. These are just small ideas to help with a big problem. I want fireflies in my garden forever, but most of all I want them for my grandchildren’s gardens! Let’s work together.

Farewell, my darlings.

Our farewell night at the Brokaw!

Silence is deafening. It is only noticeable when all the children leave, and then there are no sounds of their play or their laughter. Every year it gets harder and harder to say good-bye to the Charleston Crew. They come, take over my house, my heart, my yard…and then they fly away. A month out of twelve. I guess I am lucky to have this month, but it still makes me feel incredibly sad.

I sit and wait for the flight to leave at the airport. Holly is 18 so she can fly with the four of them. It is definitely a new experience for her, but she is older than her years and can handle it. I sing to them at the airport…songs mingled with tears. I know folks are watching a sad Nannie saying good-bye, but I do not notice. We sing together our favorite good night song, “I love you a bushel and a peck…” I wait for the flight to take off. It is a hot day and the runway looks steamy, but their flight is on time and my four darlings fly away.

I go home too. I never realize….okay, kind of I do…the mess and chaos that comes with their visit. This year the twins decided to be the year of the dragon. They turned all of the dinosaurs into dragons and built forts and homes for them all around my yard. There are little towns all set up with bowls of mud and fortified with rocks and sticks. In the middle of my yard is the tent I set up...okay, again it was Aaron and Rachel who set it up…so they could sleep out under the stars. I want them to sleep outside and wake to birdsong. The first week they were here, Noah woke up early because the birds were singing. “You’ll get used to it,” I said, smiling. I want them to wake up to bird song just as I want them to go to sleep under the Big Dipper.

I listen in my old house for the echo of their voices and the joy of their laughter. It is there embedded in the walls. Story after story, voice after voice adding to the history of my house. I like living here and I like the fact that my grandchildren have only known this house. As Jonah says, “We know you are always there in the purple house.” Yes, I am.

The clean up seems over the top for me. Perhaps it is the heat? Or the sadness? Kathy Vaughn takes the helm. She takes down the tent and the dragon villages. She strips the beds down to the mattress pads. She works tirelessly in the heat. I do too, but not quite as fast. I am grateful for each moment she gives me.

As we put the house and yard (I am sure my neighbors are glad of this!) back together, we find trinkets of their visit. Noah’s marbles dot all the gardens. Each morning, he was in charge of filling our bee watering station with clean water. It was a perfect chore for him as he loves marbles. Faith was in charge of the hummingbird feeders. Not only those chores, but they love taking out the compost, the recycling, and yes, even the trash.

I find two unmatched socks. I find rocks in the bottom of my washing machine. I should have checked their pockets! I find two stuffed animals tucked under the beds, a shirt, a pair of shorts, and I find fingerprints on doors, windows, walls.

The last thing they did before they left was to sign the wall. The four of them gathered as they wrote and they drew about their summer visit. I can’t look at it yet as it makes me so sad, but in the coming days, I will read the wall. They sign every year so it is fun to watch the progression of printing and spelling.  I do always put the markers up until the last day just to be safe!

So now, the heat of the summer comes to us making our gardens grow, our electric bills soar, and our late afternoons a bit lazy. What’s next, I always ask. So many events in our town will keep me occupied!

Nonetheless, I will keep my eye open for another stray marble or sock. I will read the wall and smile at their sweetness as I remember the summer of 2025.

 

Children of Summer

 

Noah and Faith with Tabitha!

Usually, I write my column in the light of dawn as it stretches into morning. This time it is a bit different. Perhaps because late night is the quiet time or the only time I have to put words on paper.

The four Charleston Children are here. They came clamoring into my life by way of Allegiant Airlines for the month of June. Oh, to get everything ready for the loves of my life…each room, each dresser, each closet and each bed scrubbed and cleaned ready for these children. I love having everything in place for them…books, puzzles, games, crayons, markers…so that they will have plenty to do. Of course, I am never sure where this journey will take us! What lovely ideas will they have for their Nannie Summer?

Their arrival is no less than if a queen or king stepped into my parlor. The sad part about children living so far away is that I cannot see them on a regular basis, but the best part it that they stay for long lengths of time!

The twins, now eight, go from puzzle to books to Harley’s grave (we still mourn our cat!), to the Faith and Noah tree. We planted a twig two years ago, and now it towers over their heads. The older girls go straight to their rooms making sure their phones are hooked up to Wi-Fi!

Usually, they do not all visit at the same time so it makes the activities easier for me, but this year we are a family of five and I try to keep everyone happy. Holly and Brianna just want to hang out with their cousins and go have coffee at Caleo. And, “please can you teach us to make homemade bread?” I nod that I can do that, of course. Faith and Noah are into dragons this year. Well, I didn’t know that. We have watched “How to Train your Dragon,” getting ready to visit the Brokaw Friday night to see the new movie.

The library has kept them occupied and challenged as they have attended the events and the shows filling out their reading log well ahead of time. They received a great book bag full of coupons for every fun kid restaurant in town…Scoops, DQ, Culvers, Pizza Hut. So, if you have seen us tooling around at dusk, we are just using up the coupons!

The Angola Parks and Recreation holds a special place for us all. Tabitha Griva works wonders with kids. Faith and Noah love attending camp. This year it was just soccer camp. The first time I enrolled them in camp, I brought a lawn chair to sit and watch. Tabitha told me to go home. I know I probably didn’t want to leave them, but it was the right thing to do. Now they jump out of the car ready to greet their new friends.          

We attended lots of graduation parties. Last Saturday night we were driving home the back way. It was late, and it was dark with not a single car on the road. Something flashed about on my windshield! Wonder of all wonders, it was a firefly. I turned to look at the woods next to the road…hundreds of flashing lights. I rolled down the back windows, “Look!” I exclaimed. The beauty, as always, took my breath away. Since there were no lights on the road or even any house lights as far as I could see, I stopped my car and turned off the lights. We sat in silence just watching the beauty of the world flash before us. I love knowing my life still has room for magic and for fireflies. I turned the car back on with the lights and drove slowly home as we watched this show. These are the moments. The teachable moments. The moments that live on when everyone goes home and the Nannie time is over.

These are the moments I write about so often. The moments we can’t miss with children or grandchildren, or even just for us. We can’t lose the magic. We all had it once so find it once again. Marvel at the night sky…at the blinking fireflies…at ice cream melting down your chin.

As for my children, this is our last week together. By next week, I will have pulled the house apart finding their trinkets hidden in nooks and crannies. But for now, we are here, we are together and nothing in the world makes me happier.

Once Upon a Neighborhood...

 “Swing into Summer” has started in my neighborhood. Yes, it is that time of year we celebrate our neighborhood by getting to know one another in the southwest quadrant of town. We started on a small scale just a few years ago, and now we are really on a roll! We even have our own website with photos and lots of information about all our events and our neighbors.

I love hosting this first summer party because Faith and Noah are here, and they truly love parties. They are, in their own eight-year-old way, very helpful! I started planning for the party months ago when I hired the band, “Above the Fold.” Two of the members, Lee Saur and Tom Adamson, are in our quadrant so it makes perfect sense to hire them! Dean Orewiler and Ed Simmons come along for the ride! Dean is the spokesperson for the band, and my Trine buddy, of course, so we sealed the deal months ago.

All the other details happen during the week prior to the party. The twins and I gather chalk for the driveway, and sparkly rings for the kids! I move the garden hose so the kids can just run and run and run around the house, and they love doing that! Since I was the host, it was my responsibility to prepare the main course. I decided on barbecued chicken sandwiches, which I love. Of course, when Aimee told me sixty folks were signed up, I had to send a note to our Pleasant Lake cooking guru, Steve Eckert, asking him how much chicken to make. He wrote back immediately saying I needed thirty pounds. Wow. That’s a lot of chicken to make. The kids and I made a trek to the store and filled the Jeep up with, yes, thirty pounds of chicken and all of the ingredients for my famous recipe. I had to double it ten times. Really, it was more like dumping and pouring instead of measuring!

As it was cooking all day, and I do think you could smell it all over the neighborhood, I watched the weather reports. Rain. No rain. Rain. No rain. I knew we couldn’t cancel, but everything was a bit soggy after last week’s downpours. No mowing. No trimming. By the time the band arrived at 5:00, I had decided to move them under the eaves in the back yard. With the string lights lit, and all of their sound equipment ready to go, we were set!

The twins were excited and so was I, although I was a little leery wondering if sixty neighbors would really appear in my yard. Why was I so doubtful, I wonder? From all sides, neighbors began appearing carrying desserts and salads, babies and toddlers, young and old. Most of my neighbors I knew, but not all of them. By 6:15, I was sure we were safe from the rain, so I welcomed everyone, introduced the band and handed the microphone over to Nate to do his welcome also. His philosophy is always that neighbors become family, and he is right.

The band struck up a chord and filled the evening with lots of sing-a-long rock n’ roll songs for all of us. It definitely was my favorite kind of music. I stood watching on my porch at the neighbors from our quadrant getting to know one another or chatting with familiar faces. The food was plentiful with lots of desserts of which the kids loved…and so did I!

On one of my walls inside my purple house, I have an art print from Brian Andreas which says, “Maybe the real reason we are here is to love each other and to eat each other’s cooking and say it was good.” I love that saying. Maybe it is true. Is that why we are here to love one another?

I tell you this story about my neighborhood in hopes that you want to do this in your own neighborhood. If you don’t know what to do, then just start small. Invite a few neighbors, then add a few more, and a few more after that. It has taken our neighborhood three years to build up to our successes. Now that we have a website, we will even add more events.

Wouldn’t it be wonderful to know your neighbors? All of our differences can melt away over homemade chicken or brownies. We would love to help you get started…just give us a call!

“Swing into Summer” has started in my neighborhood. Yes, it is that time of year we celebrate our neighborhood by getting to know one another in the southwest quadrant of town. We started on a small scale just a few years ago, and now we are really on a roll! We even have our own website with photos and lots of information about all our events and our neighbors.

I love hosting this first summer party because Faith and Noah are here, and they truly love parties. They are, in their own eight-year-old way, very helpful! I started planning for the party months ago when I hired the band, “Above the Fold.” Two of the members, Lee Saur and Tom Adamson, are in our quadrant so it makes perfect sense to hire them! Dean Orewiler and Ed Simmons come along for the ride! Dean is the spokesperson for the band, and my Trine buddy, of course, so we sealed the deal months ago.

All the other details happen during the week prior to the party. The twins and I gather chalk for the driveway, and sparkly rings for the kids! I move the garden hose so the kids can just run and run and run around the house, and they love doing that! Since I was the host, it was my responsibility to prepare the main course. I decided on barbecued chicken sandwiches, which I love. Of course, when Aimee told me sixty folks were signed up, I had to send a note to our Pleasant Lake cooking guru, Steve Eckert, asking him how much chicken to make. He wrote back immediately saying I needed thirty pounds. Wow. That’s a lot of chicken to make. The kids and I made a trek to the store and filled the Jeep up with, yes, thirty pounds of chicken and all of the ingredients for my famous recipe. I had to double it ten times. Really, it was more like dumping and pouring instead of measuring!

As it was cooking all day, and I do think you could smell it all over the neighborhood, I watched the weather reports. Rain. No rain. Rain. No rain. I knew we couldn’t cancel, but everything was a bit soggy after last week’s downpours. No mowing. No trimming. By the time the band arrived at 5:00, I had decided to move them under the eaves in the back yard. With the string lights lit, and all of their sound equipment ready to go, we were set!

The twins were excited and so was I, although I was a little leery wondering if sixty neighbors would really appear in my yard. Why was I so doubtful, I wonder? From all sides, neighbors began appearing carrying desserts and salads, babies and toddlers, young and old. Most of my neighbors I knew, but not all of them. By 6:15, I was sure we were safe from the rain, so I welcomed everyone, introduced the band and handed the microphone over to Nate to do his welcome also. His philosophy is always that neighbors become family, and he is right.

The band struck up a chord and filled the evening with lots of sing-a-long rock n’ roll songs for all of us. It definitely was my favorite kind of music. I stood watching on my porch at the neighbors from our quadrant getting to know one another or chatting with familiar faces. The food was plentiful with lots of desserts of which the kids loved…and so did I!

On one of my walls inside my purple house, I have an art print from Brian Andreas which says, “Maybe the real reason we are here is to love each other and to eat each other’s cooking and say it was good.” I love that saying. Maybe it is true. Is that why we are here to love one another?

I tell you this story about my neighborhood in hopes that you want to do this in your own neighborhood. If you don’t know what to do, then just start small. Invite a few neighbors, then add a few more, and a few more after that. It has taken our neighborhood three years to build up to our successes. Now that we have a website, we will even add more events.

Wouldn’t it be wonderful to know your neighbors? All of our differences can melt away over homemade chicken or brownies. We would love to help you get started…just give us a call!

Our beautiful state flower...

 

“This morning the green fists of the peonies are getting ready to break my heart as the sun rises, as the sun strokes them with his old, buttery fingers.” Mary Oliver.

I wait, oh so patiently each year for the peonies in my garden to bloom. I always say it was the peonies that sold this house to me several years ago. They were in full bloom when I came to see this house, my house. I turned around to Randy and Shannon and said, “I’m buying your house.” It had only been on the market a few days when I saw the homemade for sale sign. As soon as I walked through the front door, I knew it would be mine and I said so. Randy asked if I would like to see the rest of the house.
“Sure,” I said laughingly! I had friends with me who were all shaking their heads at my rash decision. The peonies clenched the deal.

It wasn’t a rash decision. I had been looking for three years for the perfect house, the perfect neighborhood, the perfect garden. And there it was.

I have since, of course, added more peonies and plants and trees so that sometimes I feel as if I built a forest around me as in every fairy tale!

On the morning of the first bloom, I go out to the garden and recite the Mary Oliver poem. She is a favorite of mine, and I have her poems pasted all over my kitchen cupboards. Sitting in the midst of a peony patch gives one a different perspective on gardening, on life. Sometimes I ponder the age-old question, how many more springs will I see these bloom? Therefore, I cannot waste a moment of anticipation or pure joy from the gardens.

My grandmother had peonies. I wonder if I paid much attention to them as a kid. Maybe yes, Maybe no. But I do remember the fragrant smell which filled her house. Mine is the same as bouquets fill the nooks and crannies of my old house. The only problem with the peonies is they are fleeting, as are all flowers.

Let’s look at the history of peonies starting with Indiana. In 1931 the General Assembly designated the zinnia to be the state flower of Indiana. I am definitely a big fan of zinnias! But the peony growers lobbied to have that changed, and in 1957, once again the General Assembly gathered to change the state flower to the peonies. This decision was based on the fact that peonies bloom around Memorial Day which makes them the perfect compliment for gravesites, planting or just setting out the blooms. Peonies have become so popular that this past May was the fifth annual Indiana Peony Festival in Noblesville. I need to remind myself of that so I can attend next year.

Let’s go back two thousand years ago. The first known peonies were in China and were used for medicinal purposes. In the eleventh century, the growers in China finally realized the pure beauty of the peonies and aptly called them, “King of Flowers.” (I think I agree on that one!) It wasn’t until the early 1800’s that peonies became popular in Europe and came into North America by 1850’s.

In 1957 it became our state flower, and in 1986 Ronald Reagan declared the rose to be our national flower.

Growing peonies in your own garden is very easy actually. Choose a sunny location (6-8 hours of sunlight every day), well-drained soil and lots of room to grow and expand. Peonies love long cold winters which help to provide gorgeous blooms in the spring. Once they are established in your garden, they really are no care at alI! I love taking rides out into the country and always, always seeing peony bushes in bloom next to old houses abandoned or otherwise. I often wonder who planted those beauties?

In my own yard, my peonies are the crowning jewel of the garden. I go outside each morning to see the progress of the buds and then of the blooms. I am sure I loved them as a child and now I love my own. Mary Oliver captured the joy of peonies in her poem,

“Do you also hurry, half-dressed and barefoot, into the garden, and softly

And exclaiming of their dearness

Fill your arms with the white and pink flowers…

To be wild and perfect for a moment, before they are nothing, forever.”

It is Summer!!

 

School is out and what a fun and glorious feeling! I went outside to try and hear all the chanting and hollering as neighborhood kids walked home from school on the last day! As adults, I think we should always remember the joy of that day. As a kid, we sang all the way home! When arriving home we threw our school bag full of last day papers, leftover notebooks, candy wrappers, bologna sandwiches into the closet never to be seen again until the beginning of the next school year. We took off our shoes too and put them in the closet.

Summertime, lazy wonderful summertime! (Even though it is still a big chilly.) I am grateful my summers didn’t involve technology of any sort. It was play and imagination all summer long. My childhood home was tucked into what is now an historic district in Fort Wayne. We hung sheets on the clothesline for plays and charged the neighbors a nickel to come see our shows. I don’t remember what shows we performed; I probably wrote them myself. I am sure Shakespeare did not arrive yet in my childhood! One year I had a newspaper for the neighborhood and had a staff. Every morning, I assigned stories to the other kids on my staff (we were probably 9 or 10) and we set off to find the stories of the day! I wrote them all in long hand and had my dad make copies at his office. Again, those newspapers sold for a nickel.

Summers also meant the book mobile. My friends and I sat out on the curb with armfuls of books waiting to exchange them at the book mobile. We then carried our new armful of books home for the week. The bread truck came by once a week also delivering bread to the neighbors. Sunbeam bread had tiny little loaves made in the summertime and tossed them out to the kids from the back of the truck. They were our very own little loaves of bread! And really, what kid from that time period does not remember chasing the fog truck as it sprayed for mosquitoes. Of course, now we would be horrified to see such a thing, but we all joined in the street to follow the truck.

When we were a little older, my parents rented a big old house on Lake Michigan for the entire summer. We left on Memorial Day and came back on Labor Day. The house did not have a shower or a bathtub, so we just jumped in the lake every night even on those chilly June mornings. There was a big fireplace and cozy chairs for reading. There were no televisions, but lots of card games at night as the occasional bat swooped around the living room. Except for the bats, it was so lovely. My grandparents brought up their Airstream trailer and always spent a few weeks with us. We read books, went to town to “people watch” as my dad would say while eating ice cream. Those were perfect summers.

With my own boys, our summers were full of working on the farm, playing baseball, doing all our 4-H projects. One summer we had thirty projects which kept us all busy until fair week.

I miss those days, of course, but new traditions spring up to keep me well occupied. The Charleston Children begin their summer with me this coming Friday! I have all the grannie activities planned: chocolate pudding at midnight, full moon fairy dances, books by the dozen, movies at the Brokaw, prizes from Dollar General, treats from Dairy Queen, library reading programs, fun times with Aaron and Rachel and the boys, and lazy days. I also have them enrolled in the summer camps in the park.

I think sometimes we feel we need to spend lots of money on our kids, but to build memories with them, that is not so. My favorite summers were the ones I already mentioned, but what else can we do to make summer magical. Being with our kids, putting our phones done (yes please) is one of the best summer activities. Catch lightning bugs (and send them on their way back out before bedtime), make homemade popsicles, watch the stars come out, walk barefoot in the garden on the morning dew.

Parents, remember that childhood is such a short time in their life. Let them have fun, be playful, each watermelon, and just be there for them!

 

Badger Woods

When Thomas Gale and Cornelius Gilmore came to Steuben County in the 1830’s, they wrote about the forests, prairies, and crystal-clear water resources. It was a place of beauty, and they both knew they had found home. We are the recipients of their journey as we still have, almost 200 years later, one of the most naturally beautiful locations in Indiana. Pokagon State Park is one of our treasures and this spring was home to hundreds of blooming redbud trees. It was a magnificent site. We value our lakes and streams and strive to keep them clean along with our farm fields. Beauty lives all around us.

Within the next couple of weeks another source of great beauty is ours for simply a quiet walk, a click of the camera and the solitude of peace. I am speaking of the blooming of the field of lupines, known as Badger Woods, out by Anne Lake. Some of you have traveled there and know of which I speak. I first heard of Badger Woods a few years ago from Aimee and Nate Simons. It was the brainchild of Blue Heron Ministries as they took a dry, barren 13 acres in 2008 and decided it was suited for the planting of lupines. It is a not a secret, yet to many it is still unknown.

Lupines are thought to go back 2,000 to the Egyptians. They are typically known as legumes. They grow in well-drained soil and are deer-resistant and great pollinators! Their mythological purposes are said to bring imagination, creativity and renewal into play.

My bookshelf houses two wonderful books about these lupines. Most of these books are on the public library bookshelves, and maybe your own library! Tomie DePaola wrote, “The Legend of the Bluebonnet,” in 1983. This legend tells of the draught in Texas and the chief of the Comanche tribe telling the folks that they need to give up something they love for the gods to smile down upon them and bring the rain. They built a bonfire for these sacrifices. One of the children took her favorite cornhusk doll with blue ribbons to the bonfire to sacrifice for her village. That night the rains came and then came the bluebonnets, bold and blue in the Texas sunshine. It is a lovely children’s book about love and sacrifice. The bluebonnets hold a special place in the heart of all Texans…partly due to the legend and the beauty of the bluebonnets. Traveling to Texas during the spring brings all this beauty to the traveler.

In 1982 another book was published about the beauty of the lupines. This book, “Miss Rumphius,” was written and illustrated by Barbara Cooney. The story is taken from a true story and the life of Hilda Edwards Hamlin who planted lupines along the coast of Maine. In the story a young girl is challenged by her grandfather to “do something in your life to make the world a more beautiful place.” This book is charming in words and in art and is one of my favorite books to share with my grandchildren. They ask for this story over and over. I have owned several copies of this book as I often given them away…right off my shelf.

Sometimes beauty is difficult to express in words. It can only be experienced. We are so fortunate to have this beauty right out our front doors or just a few miles away. Our streets are tree-lined with the blooms of spring, our parks bring tourists from everywhere, yet here we are. Each stage of spring brings new beauty. My own backyard moves quickly over the spring weeks from the hundreds of daffodils in my garden to my beautiful crabapple trees out front. My pink dogwood is full of blossoms this year and tulips are still opening during the morning light.

Badger Barrens will become a place of amazing beauty within the next few weeks with special thanks to Blue Heron Ministries and their vision for providing this for all of us. When you go there, go quietly. Take one of the books mentioned or a poem…or a prayer. Take your walking stick to navigate the path. Take your kids or grandkids or friends. Tell them stories. Sit on one of the Aldo Leopold benches and appreciate the beauty of this world. Leave nothing but footprints and take nothing but memories. Remember to add to your own life, “do something in this world to make it a more beautiful place.”

Happy Mother's Day!

Mother’s Day is this coming Sunday, in case you were not aware! It is a bit hard to ignore this day as advertisements for flowers and chocolates and gardening items have flooded the ads the past few weeks. I think it is a perfectly lovely holiday despite all the commercialism.

Mother’s Day comes with a host of memories from my own mom. We bought sweet little mugs for her coffee for a dollar down at the neighborhood drugstore. We made breakfast leaving the kitchen in complete disarray but weren’t we proud of the pancakes on the tray to be delivered for breakfast in bed? The six Saylor kids never failed our mom on that day!

My own kids were lovely too. Although they had some challenges to deal with as they prepared pancakes on the wood cook stove! They picked violets and dandelions for my bouquets, and what mother doesn’t tear up thinking of those early days with young children. Sometimes they brought home cards with handprints and little notes attached. Oftentimes they came home with little marigold plants in paper cups. I have all of those cards in a trunk upstairs in a spare bedroom. I thank all teachers for doing that even though those cards still make me cry when I open the trunk.

With older children and those who live distances away, it is harder. Two of my sons, Abe and Adam, live in Charleston and in St. Pete. It is my middle child, by three minutes, who lives here. Aaron is the one I want to talk about today. Usually, I talk about all three of them in a conversation because it is hard to just talk about one, but today is different.

Aaron with his wife, Rachel, and their boys, Graham and Jonah, have built a wonderful life together. Recently they moved to a small farm on the edge of Fremont complete with fields and a pond for fishing and kayaking. Aaron loves the outdoors. In high school he won a statewide contest for naming all the trees in the state. He was a ten year 4-H member and went to college to study to be a naturalist and a teacher.

One of my favorite school stories about Aaron happened when he was in the first grade. Lucky for us his teacher was the lovely Rita Deller. She had all my boys in school. One early day in May Aaron announced to me that he was quitting school. He told me he had already learned to read and write and was needed home on the farm. I really wasn’t sure what to do about that, so I called Rita. I told her about the situation and asked her advice. She was a very wise teacher and knew just what to do.

The next day was Monday and Aaron bravely told her that he was quitting school because he was needed on the farm. She calmly and quietly took him aside and talked to him. She told him how much she would miss him and who would be able to teach the class about butterflies or birds or insects if he left the classroom. After he thought about it, he decided to stay to help her teach the other students. She was so wise. Aaron graduated from college, and I thank Rita Deller to this day for her kind and small counseling.

Aaron is known in our area as a class-act metal detector. If you lose a ring or other important piece of jewelry, it is Aaron who is called to find it at the bottom of Lake James. He will find it for you. Rachel often jokes about writing a book called “The Metal Detector’s Wife.” Aaron knows where the fish are biting in every lake (but he won’t tell), he knows where the mushrooms grow, which owl is in the distance. He has hunted in Alaska (now there is a great story), collected moths with his brothers in Honduras, Costa Rica and other countries of which I never even know about. The summer after his first teaching year in St. Pete he left a note for the family, “Going to Alaska, see you in September.” He drove straight through, slept in a tent all summer, and caught fish to pay his bills.

For Mother’s Day, he brings me a bouquet of lilacs from the farm and a load of compost for my garden.

These are my sweet stories, what are yours?

Happy Mother’s Day.

One if by land...

 

Listen, my children, and you shall hear of the midnight ride of Paul Revere. On the eighteenth of April, in Seventy-Five: Hardly a man is now alive Who remembers that famous day and year…” and thus begins one of the most famous poems in our nation’s history, “Paul Revere’s Ride,” by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. (1807-1882)

Last Friday night at 5:00, with two lanterns lit, I read that famous poem on the steps of our old courthouse…as if it were the Old North Church in Boston to celebrate the 250^th anniversary of that famous ride. The audience was few…just Sarah Adams and her family. It didn’t matter how many came; it was still an honor for me to stand boldly to read those famous words in the poem. However (yes, indeed, there is a however), as much as I love Longfellow’s poem, there are a few discrepancies as to our history according to Longfellow so let’s take a look back 250 years to the beginning.

There is much American history to discuss in a short column so let’s just go straight to that famous night. It was Dr. Joseph Warren who instructed Paul Revere and William Dawes to take that ride to Concord. (Yes, Paul Revere was not alone in that!) Warren wanted two of them to go in case one was captured. Warren was a Harvard graduate of 1759. He became very involved in politics following the Stamp Act. He worked closely with John Hancock and Samuel Adams. To ensure safety of the new colonies, he knew the British were coming the night of the 18^th and sent two riders, Revere and Dawes. Revere was already active in the Sons of Liberty and a fine rider as was Dawes. They both left for Concord, but on that fateful night, neither one made it to Concord. Revere was captured by the British and was forced to walk back home to Lexington. Dawes fell off his horse and also made the trek back home on foot.

On their way, however, they encountered a third rider, Samuel Prescot. He was the one who successfully made it to Concord to warn the town by ringing the church bells that the British were coming. Little is known of Prescot after his famous ride, but historians believe he was part of the Sons of Liberty.

So, why did Longfellow inaccurately depict the famous ride in his poem? Historians and literary greats have asked that question for many years. First of all, the poem was written 86 years after the event. Did Longfellow just simply get the information wrong? Was that the way he actually remembered the event? Some literary folks think he wrote about Revere because his name had more rhyming capabilities. I mean, what about this: Listen my children and give some applause for the midnight ride of William Dawes? Or one of Prescot?

Other historians feel Longfellow wanted to have a folk hero from the American Revolution and Paul Revere certainly fit the bill. He was a colorful addition to Boston as a silversmith and a member of the Sons of Liberty. His obituary is long honoring his productive life with one exception: it never mentioned the famous ride.

Or was Longfellow simply focused on the idea of America and chose Revere? We will never know the answer to this, but there are a few things we do know. The famous poem was published in January,1861 in The Atlantic, just four months before the beginning of the Civil War in April. Did he see a correlation in his poem to that of the current history? Was he trying to bring the country together?

Another poem which also identifies that famous night is “Concord Hymn” written by Ralph Waldo Emerson (1803-1882) in 1837. He was commissioned to write the poem for the town of Concord. He does not list any riders in his poem.

It is always good to know the truth. Research helps us find the answers, and yet through all my own research of that time period, I still love Longfellow’s poem. It was one of the first poems I learned as a child thanks to my dad. I also loved knowing that in our little town, on the steps of our old courthouse, I could share my love of this poem and be part of the bigger celebrations that took place Friday night in Boston. One if by land, and two if by sea; and I on the opposite shore shall be…

Angola's Carnegie Library

 

 I love that we have so many musical groups in our area, and I am lucky enough to be friends with most of them! Last week the Channel Cats made a rare appearance at the Angola Carnegie Library. I sat in the front row with my friend, Jan, listening to them play and sing unplugged, as they called it. Usually when I hear them play it is quite noisy in a restaurant around the area. This was different and just lovely. At one point Bill Eyster commented on growing up going to the old library. Karen Holman immediately spoke up and asked if he attended kindergarten in the basement of the old library. He replied in the negative and was surprised at the question. He did not know there was a class once upon a time in the basement. Isn’t that a lovely thought? Little children going to half day kindergarten in the basement of the library?

For those of you who do not know, the new library (well, it was new at one point!) completely wraps around the old Carnegie Library. It is tucked inside just like a pearl inside an oyster.

A few years ago we had a celebration at the library in which I portrayed Louisa Hendry. Louisa came to Angola as a child with her parents, Thomas and Sarah Gale. During that time of research, I learned so much about Andrew Carnegie and our own library. Louisa was also very instrumental in bringing the library to Angola.

With a little help from Indianahistory.org, I learned even more. Andrew Carnegie came as a poor young person to the United States from Scotland. By the 1800’s he was well on his way to wealth from his empire in steel. One of his first projects was to build the Carnegie Library in Washington, D.C. It opened in 1903. Inscribed over the doorway are these words, “Science, Poetry, History.” Carnegie felt that libraries were where we go to feed our brain. Between the years 1901-1922 Carnegie funded 164 libraries in Indiana! Even more impressive is the fact that Carnegie funded more libraries in Indiana than in every other state. Why, you may ask? I know I certainly did.

A little research always helps me find the answers. At the turn of the century Hoosiers were literary hungry (my own words!) for knowledge and for a better selection of literary pieces. At the time of these grants the libraries (if you could call them that) were poorly housed with very limited choices and were staffed somewhat or not at all. It is interesting to note that women’s literary groups helped bring these libraries to Indiana. These grants continued until November 7, 1917, the day the United States entered WW1. It is also interesting to note that Carnegie was invited to all the openings of the 164 libraries but did not attend any of them. To this day 100 are still standing.

Our own library was built in 1903. They had a difficult time deciding where to put it as Carnegie wanted all libraries to be in the center of town. Of course, our center still had a watering hole in the middle which later became the home for Miss Columbia. It probably would not have been a great place for the library!

Carnegie also insisted each library have a meeting room for discussions on books and intellectual materials.

We are so fortunate in our town. When the time came to update, it was decided to wrap around the old library. When you visit take some time to check it out. We also have so much to offer at our library and a friendly staff ready to help. I love just hanging out at the desk chatting about books or theatre. We also have a wonderful children and teen’s section under the direction of Elizabeth Adamson. Summer reading programs are a gift to our community to keep kids reading and active during the summer months. There are lots of meeting rooms for everything from the herb society to the woodworkers to the ukulele players.

The best thing you can do for our library (or your own local library) is to get a library card. Check it out…books, CD’s, current movies, magazines or have your book club meet there every month. And go to the programs, such as the Channel Cats!

Andrew Carnegie was a self-man man who once said, “The man who dies thus rich dies disgraced.”

Thank you, Mr. Andrew Carnegie.