Oh , the North Wind will blow....

A New Year's Eve not too many years ago, when our house on the hill was just a shell, we decided to see the New Year in, camped in our new house.  We drove the truck up and parked it in the yard, got out our gear, and built a fire outside.  We watched as dusk turned into night.  The wind grew stronger and the temperature began to drop.  We snuggled deeper into our blanket and ate a few more snacks before we made our way inside the house to bed down for the night.

We had heard the weather forecast for high winds but didn't pay much attention to it.  Our new house was just four walls and a roof at that time.  Flashlights and headlamps helped us see our way into the area that was to be our bedroom.  No walls inside, just bare studs.  Spreading out our sleeping bags we prepared to see in the New Year and then get a little sleep.  Right about midnight the wind began to howl.  We could hear something up on the roof begin to flap and bang.  What was it?  A loose board?  Some part of the house that was giving way to the strong gusts?  We turned on the  weather radio and were informed that high winds were hitting our area.  Actually we didn't need to be told that...we already knew it!

We tossed around the idea of leaving right then.  Packing up the  truck and heading back to town to our safe and cozy home on Second Street.  But it was just too bad outside to even think of venturing out.

Andy got up and sat in a chair, keeping track of the weather on the radio and every now and then walking around and checking on the inside creaks and groans.  Not a very restful time for him...or for me.

As usual, I stayed in my warm and comfy sleeping bag.  I have always depended on Andy to keep me safe and secure.  I was feeling very sleepy.  Even with the horrendous whistling of the wind overhead, the creaking and crashing sound of trees losing limbs in the nearby woods, and the ominous groaning of the rafters above me, I could feel myself relaxing there in the warm cocoon of my sleeping bag.  I pulled the hood up over my ears to muffle the sounds around me and went blissfully to sleep, there on the floor of my new home.

I don't know when Andy finally got into his sleeping bag.  I was out like a light.  When we awoke on New Year's Day the sun was bright and the sky was cloudless.  We had spent our first night in our new house.  Rode out a wind storm.  Nothing was damaged.  Not the best experience but one New Year's Eve we will remember for a long time.

Christmas Blues

I don't think that I am alone in feeling down during this happy time of year.  The closer the time draws to December 25th, the gloomier the sky appears, the song in my heart is still, and  joy, deep down joy, is hard to come by.  We just lit the Advent candle of joy yesterday.  Pastor Kristi gave a wonderful sermon on how to bring joy into your life.  The kids read scripture, prayed, sang, and did a wonderful job.  I heard the words, I smiled, I joked and laughed...but that joy just never did make it to my heart.

This morning started off wrong.  Not a big deal usually, but in my present downward mood, it seemed as if I might as well go back to bed, cover my head with a quilt and forget about everything.  However, I know better than to give in to this kind of feeling.  First of all, it doesn't do any good to dig a deeper hole to sit in.  Secondly, the bigger the pity party I give myself, the worse I feel.

Experience counts.

Experience tells me to put on my coat, leave the dishes in the sink, the clothes unwashed, and head out for a walk.  The first step or two was not what brought me back, but I was soon on my way.  Negative thoughts disappear when you are walking fast.  There is no way you can moan and groan when you are breathing hard, making tracks down the country road, sunlight glowing on the trees and bushes.  Looking up I see the blue sky.  Thank you God for that blue sky.  I take a deep breath.  Thank you God that I am able to walk with ease and breathe this fresh air.  I look around and see the little birds twittering in the brush, looking for food, singing merrily while they fly.  Thank you God for letting me borrow the birds' song.  I hear the cry of the hawk as he soars over the field, dipping his wing, circling over me.  Thank you God for eyes that can see and ears that hear.  Gradually, the heaviness lifts.  At home I have plenty to do. My cupboards are full of good food.  My house is warm and comfortable.  I have companionship.  I have love  to share with friends.  Thank you God.

It works every time.  Just a little walk to chase the Christmas blues..and leave an opening in my heart for joy to come in.

Wishes

'Tis the season for wishing.

I wish that everyone could experience a night full of stars.  The Milky Way spreading across the winter sky.  The Pleiades and Orion's Belt twinkling high above.  Close your eyes.  Can you hear the angels singing?

I wish that everyone could sit down to a table with food, hot from the oven, prepared with loving hands, and be grateful for what they have.

I wish that everyone could speak and be heard.  Listened to with respect and understanding.  Perhaps we can't agree.  But we can be civil and live in peace with our neighbor.

I wish that children could grow up with love on every hand, protected by the community, taught to give as well as receive, and live in harmony with each other.

I wish that each person would open their eyes every day and be thankful  they are alive,  and determined to do their best to make this a better world.

Wishes.  Perhaps more than that.  This is the season of promise.  Perhaps it is time to make some of these wishes come true.

And what kind of winter will it be?

We are just now experiencing the weather  November usually brings....cool temperatures, rain, fog, frosty mornings and cloudy days.  A far cry from highs in the 80's, blue skies and balmy breezes that started out this month.  I have finally gotten out my heavier coat and actually had to wear it as I walk down the road in the morning.  Grass, summer-green, covered with frost.  And the poor spider webs wearing an icy coat.  But I do feel more in tune with the season now.

Christmas is coming soon.  Colored lights twinkle on the night horizon, decorations are appearing on lawns all over the county, and children are busy writing their requests to the jolly man who lives up North.

What kind of winter will it be?  Mild with hardly a hint of snow and ice, much like last year?  Or will it be like the one pictured above....snow, blowing snow, roads closed, slippery conditions that cancelled celebrations and kept people inside, warming their feet by the fire?  This was our first winter on the hill...and it was one to remember.  The snow was so deep.  We didn't have a garage built yet.  Our car and pickup sat outside on the driveway, covered with tarps. tape covering the keyholes so ice wouldn't make it impossible to open the doors if we were able to get out and drive.  Snowbound for over a week.  The wind blowing constantly, so much that the wintery mix on our roof cascaded off the eave and made a wintry wave, daring us to stand under it.

We had grips for our boots and were able to get around when it stopped snowing.  I slipped and slid a lot...thankful that I had plenty of padding to cushion the falls.

That memory has stayed with me.  And now we are prepared with all we might need in case we are snowbound again.  Of course, with the last few winters being mild we  haven't needed that extra food, fuel and water.  And perhaps not this winter.

One thing I know about Missouri weather.  Never, ever count on it being what you think.  Always be prepared.  It may be the kind of winter that everyone will talk about...good or bad. But be ready to meet what comes.  That is the only way.

Surviving

For two nights we have had frost here on my hill.  We picked the still green tomatoes, said good-bye to the late blooming flowers in the garden with a sigh and a thank-you for being so brave and hardy...to the very end.  But last night, as I was walking down the road, I spied a glimpse of white among the withered foliage.  A blackberry bush, covered with white buds and one solitary bloom, facing the setting sun.

I marveled at the wonder of nature.  It was not difficult to see how this flower had survived.  It had been sheltered by the brown leaves and branches of a roadside bush.  All through that freezing night the bloom huddled there and when the sun came up it could feel the warmth of the day returning.

A survivor.  I don't know if it will still be there when I take my walk this afternoon.  And if it isn't, that will be okay.  I have this picture of one of its cousins that I picked a few days before the frost.  And that image will stay with me in the days ahead.

Standing when others have wilted.  Not because of any special powers or dispensation.  But merely because it wasn't time for it to go.  It brightened my day as I stood there.   It's amazing what you can learn from just one little bloom, bravely shining in the setting sun. Something I will remember during the weeks of winter that lie ahead.  

Survive.  And live to bloom again.

The Simple Life

Once upon a time when we were young we lived our dream.  Log house.  Woods.  Near a river.  No phone.  No TV.  Just him and me and peace and quiet.

We bought 80 acres in the Irish Wilderness in Oregon County.  It came with a bonus....the long-ago owner had built his barn around an old log house that had been brought up from Brawley Spring years before.  How fortunate!

We didn't know much.  But we had strong backs and the will to learn what we needed to make a life for ourselves, there in the woods, near a river with no phone, no TV, just him and me and peace and quiet.

For a time we lived in a tent.  We drove the long road back to work and the world, spending vacations and free time working on our dream.   Hauling those logs up the incline, him pulling, me pushing, until they were all in place.  No electric.  Just saws and hammers and shear stubborness.

We built our home and put in windows and doors and left our everyday jobs behind.  Packed up the truck, tucked the baby in the front seat, said good-bye to the life we knew.

It takes courage to start over.  We had plenty of it.  Snow coming in the gable end and dusting us all with fine white flakes that first winter.  But we made the changes that we had to make.

Lamplight.  Sitting with my little girl on my lap and singing her to sleep.  Him coming in with wood for the fire, stamping  the snow off his boots at the door.  Wind sighing in the pines.  Starlight twinkling outside.  And a million wishes came true. 

We were living the simple life.  It was all we needed.  Just him and me and the little one.  Alone in that log house, there in the woods, near the river with no phone, no TV....peace and quiet....living our dream.

And where is Fall?

One of these days I'm going to put out an all points bulletin.  It will say Missing from my hill in Luna, Missouri, one season, goes by Fall, or Autumn.  If seen, please send it my way!

Yes, Fall is missing.  We have had a few chilly mornings and evenings.  Heavy fog and mist.  Some trees are showing color other than dull green or duller brown.  I see maples, some gum trees, some hickory that are doing their best to show-off.  But that certain something is not there.

Too warm.  Way too warm for this time of year.  Roses are blooming.  Lots of bugs are still thinking it is summer.  And the other day I think I saw a flock of geese headed...North?!!  If the birds are confused you can imagine how mixed up the rest of nature is.  Butterflies are still filling up on the still blooming flowers in my field.  And even the meadowlarks are singing a sort-of spring song.  They are trying to figure out what is going on too, I'm sure.

Fall is one of my favorite times of year.  Crispy leaves under foot, cool wind blowing against me as I trudge my few miles a day.  I haven't even gotten out my heavier coat for my morning walk.  I miss the smell of wood smoke from my neighbor's stove down in the valley.  We have our stove up and ready to go.  But no need for a little warm up in the morning or a fire to take off the chill in the evening.  The sky looks like a Fall sky...that certain blue that only this time of year can bring.  The air has taken on that quality that seems as if it could be in a Renaissance tapestry.  But even with all the support crew, Fall has failed to make its appearance here on my hill.  

Maybe it is waiting in the wings.  Ready for its grand entrance.  Spectacular.  Wonderful. Breath-taking.  

So if you see Fall lurking somewhere in your backyard or field, send it my way.  And tell it to hurry.  Winter is just around the corner! 

Webs, webs everywhere...

This has been a banner year for spiders of all shapes and sizes.  In late summer and early autumn you can look across our field, as afternoon drifts into evening, and see the smallest spiders drifting on the wind, hanging onto a lacy filament, going wherever they might be blown.  In the morning the dew covers each and every spider creation with sparkling diamonds. The grass sways and the webs dance to the music of the changing season.

On my porch I have several varieties of spiders...some big, some small and some in between.  I watch them spin their webs from post to post, corner to corner, behind the dinner bell that hangs from the eave.  They are welcome as long as they stay outside.  Any inside spiders are swept up gently in a Kleenex and deposited out in the grass.  There they can find their way to a new home somewhere among their friends and neighbors.

 Spider season is drawing to a close.  The webs are rather random now.  They string in no particular order here and there.  I think the spiders are exhausted from their daily work.  Many times the wind or the brush of a human hand or arm will break the web they have been weaving for hours.  They are not discouraged.  After a hasty retreat they make sure the way is clear and start making repairs to the web.  Persistent.  That's what they are.  

I took a census of my spiders the other day.  The two who worked on the south side of the porch have disappeared.  Their neglected webs drift in the breeze.  They remind me of an abandoned house with broken windows and a door that sags on its hinges, creaking in the autumn wind.  One of the spiders is motionless on the ceiling of the east facing porch.  Dead?  Alive?  Or just somewhere in between?  

Tomorrow I will sweep the porch and get rid of the empty webs.  I have enjoyed watching these marvels of nature and their handiwork.  But as it is with most things in life, there is a season for everything.  And web season appears to be over, here on the hill in Luna.

Still standing...

I took my camera with me on my morning walk, hoping to catch the last remnants of fall flowers along the road.  They were few and far between.  Many had suffered from the rains of the last several days.  And, face it, it is the end of the blooming season for most wild flowers.  Some are hardier than others and you can see them peeping bravely through the underbrush..sometimes up until mid-December.

These little brown-eyed Susans have always been one of my favorites.  This particular flower has suffered several munches and bites from a hungry insect, perched like the one you  see on its seed head.  After all, bugs have to eat too.  And flowers and trees and shrubs are fair game.

But still the flower stands.  I can hear the rain coming.  The wind is blowing hard from the east.  No flinching from the brown-eyed Susan.  She is there, sun or clouds, wind or calm, hot or cold.  

Perfect metaphor for life in general.  Take what comes.  Brave the elements.  And keep on standing.

Anywhere but here....

This is a famous signpost in Maine.  And, yes, all of those towns are in Maine.  Wouldn't it be wonderful if you could just close

 your eyes, snap your fingers, and go anywhere...anywhere but here?

Don't get me wrong.  I am not about to abandon my cherished home here on the hill.  But there are those odd moments when I feel as if the world is just getting a little too close for comfort.

You know what I'm talking about.  No one can escape the constant news feeds, last updates, latest findings.  Too much.  Just way too much information.

While it is important for us to keep up with the news, why does it have to bombard us everytime we turn on the radio, fire up the computer, look on our phone?  Enough.  I've had enough.  

I don't know what the solution is.  Grit my teeth and bear it all for the time being.  But will it stop in a few weeks...or a month?  Or will we be constantly harassed by this encroachment on our peace and quiet.  I don't know about you, but my peace and quiet was bought at a price.  And I will not give it up without a fight. 

Hard to fight the unknown.  Because I don't have a clue as to why or when or how this need-to-know suddenly became the be all and end all of our existence.

I'll try it again.  Close my eyes, snap my fingers...and maybe, just maybe this time, it will go away.  If not, so be it.  We will survive.  Because I know that if I was anywhere but here, it would probably be the same.  

A vagabond kind of day....

Are you familiar with the old fable entitled The Grasshopper and the Ant?  It seems the grasshopper fiddled the time away in play when he should have been preparing for winter.  The ant was busy putting up food to eat during the cold and nasty weather to come.  You got it!  The poor grasshopper came to the ant and begged for food when the chill winds blew and howled around him.  And she said, No,no, you feckless creature. You shall not share my bounty.  You should have thought of  this instead of fiddling your time away!

Alas, I was the grasshopper a few days ago.  Sunshine and balmy winds pulled me out of the house against my will and caused me to neglect my daily duty.  I left the broom standing beside the doorway, the clothes in a heap on the bed, the iron sitting on the ironing board, the dishes in the sink,  and not a morsel of food fixed for supper.

Shameful, shameful me.  I hang my head in sorrow and plead no contest to my crime, my dereliction of duty, my abandonment of good sense and sensibility.  Guilty, guilty as charged!

But...I did wander down the road to the river and dip my feet into that clear and icy stream.  I talked to the minnows and fat fish who were searching for food under the rocks and ripples.  I admired the reflections of turning leaves shimmering in the watery mirror.  I climbed a hill and stretched out full length, closing my eyes, serenaded by the song of that sweet temptress wind, lulling me to sleep.  Dreams of languid days walking and laughing down the hill.  Stopping to smell the sweet scent of flowers blooming just beyond the bank.  Sweet,sweet summer.  

As the sun began to set, I awoke, and yawning,made my way home.  I had no quick excuse for the state of my house and lack of  food on the table.  Ah, feckless me!  The grasshopper who had enjoyed  a beautiful gorgeous fall day....a vagabond... with no remorse.  

Change

Change is in the air.  From my hilltop porch I can barely see the brown and orange tints on leaf tips.  The grass is beginning to mellow to a rich green-gold.  The morning air holds a hint of frost.  Bird calls are more insistent.  And the honey bees are working very hard to gather the last morsel of pollen and sweetness from late flowering plants and bushes.

When I walk in the morning I wear my sweatshirt more times than not, shedding it after the first couple of minutes.   Our eight resident deer are very shy.  They have taken to the woods to feast on acorns and other delicacies.  The quail have moved to bushes that offer more cover.  The turkeys are even aware that they may need to find some place to hide in the coming days.

We cleaned out the flue today.  There wasn't much to clean but we would always rather be safe than sorry.  The wood stove can wait.  No need for a morning fire right now.  But the winter's wood is stacked in the garage, ready to move to the porch when the cold winds blow.

The winds of change.  It would be a boring life if everything always remained the same.  I love the seasons as they come... as they move and meld into each other.  Soon hints of  red will appear, and then brown and orange and yellow as the leaves begin to turn. 

The days are growing shorter.  The night skies glow with diamond stars.  The Milky Way arches high above me.  Dawn bursts with brilliance in the east, and the sun sets with muted fire in the west.  

Fall will bring us days of blowing leaves and splatters of rain.  And days that are so bright they seem to be made of jewels. 

 All for our pleasure.  Change.  Change that is welcome.  Made for us to enjoy.

Constant Motion

This was often my view of my two-year old grandson Gus.  He and his parents paid us a visit for a week during Hootin an Hollarin.  Enjoyed every minute of their stay.  Am I tired?  Yes.  But it was worth it all.

We played in the dirt piles that Grandpa had made for his trucks.  He shoveled gravel and rocks into his red pail and then dumped them in the dump truck, and emptied them.  Some rocks were heaby, but with a great effort he was able to move them around.

We went down to the Bryant and saw all sorts of fish and animals.  He loved the water and splashed to his heart's content.  He saw his first Ozark's stream crawdad.  He threw rocks into the river, some small and some heaby.  Our apologies to those of you who come across more rocks than usual there on the east bank near Warren Bridge.

He rode the tractor with Grandpa.  He rode in the pickup with Mom and Dad.  He danced and danced and danced down on the Square, loving the fiddle tunes that Ashley and David played.  He made friends with everyone,  especially those who offered him popcorn from their stash.  

At night, after his bath, he sat in our laps and listened while we read him stories about bunnies and crows and elephants.  Sweet goodnight kisses and hugs and he was ready for bed.

Constant motion.  Just what you would expect from a two year old boy.  

Happy he came to visit.  Wish he lived a little closer.  We cherish all our times with him and his folks.  Love you Gussy.....to the moon and back.

Grandma and Grandpa

A Slender Thread

Hootin an Hollarin is over for the year.  But there are some things that need to be said.  About music.  About dancing.  About traditional ways.  

Our music has evolved over time.  The Appalachian heritage came with the first settlers who braved the long road west and settled our area.  Music and dance were such a part of their lives , handed down from father to son to grandson and beyond. 

Our musicians who know the traditional tunes and how they were played are still around, and thankfully, we have a group of young people who are continuing to play the old time songs.

Dancing is another matter.  As I watched the dancers on Saturday night , following the calls of the set, I began to think about what was to come.  Would the steps that we have danced for so many  years disappear when we die?  Will future young people listen to the caller as he launches into the familiar opening, All join hands and circle south, get a little moonshine in your mouth, Circle back to Arkansas. Eat cornbread and possum jaw.  On your left with your old left paw.  Back to your partner, right and left all.?

We love to see the young people dancing down on the end of the platforms. For the last few years we have been able to bring the younger kids up and give them some idea of how a square dance might go...circle, keep time with the music.  They are our future.

But that future is held by a slender thread.  It takes all of us to preserve our traditions whatever they may be.  I take heart when I see that huge group of teenagers and young adults as they go through the steps of Cross the Hall, or Sally Goodin.  Older dancers have done their part to encourage them to keep the life of our community going.  Some may be discouraged.  But I know ,deep inside, that as long as we rosin up the bow and launch into Soldier's Joy or Liberty, somewhere, sometime there will be someone dancing and listening to the beat..the beat of our community heart.  Keeping it alive through this slender thread.    

A Perfect Day

We're getting married.  During Hootin an Hollarin.  At the new farm.  And I want my first dance to be a square dance.

This was the wish of our only child.  She was coming home for her wedding.  And she wanted to make it extra special by having it during one of the busiest times of the year for Ozark County...Hootin an Hollarin.

And, of course, we said....Yes!

It rained off and on all week.  We worked on the new house to get it ready.  Plans were made, and re-made.  Friends helped and we were so very grateful for them and all they did.  Not an easy thing to entertain maybe 80 or 100 people for an outside wedding...with just a small house and porch for shelter.  But we forged ahead.

The day dawned bright and clear.  The perfect September day.  I don't remember much about it, as I was in a daze most of the time.  Things worked out.  The minister arrived and the crowd gathered.  The couple said their vows in front of family and friends, with the hills of her beloved Refuge in the background.  The perfect setting for a wedding.

We had borrowed a dance platform for the afternoon from the downtown square.  And when the couple was duly married we took our places for the dance.  Her request?  Whirl Like Thunder.  Her father was the caller.  Ladies bow, gents bow under, hold 'em tight and whirl like thunder.

And we did.  We swung and stomped and hollered.

Celebrating a new beginning.  Celebrating under the blue September sky.  Love and laughter, forever after.  A perfect wedding, on a perfect day.

Good bye to summer...

Leaving the beach for the last time.  Summer is over.  The end of the long Labor Day weekend.  The last hurrah.  The last swim in the cold waters of the Cape.  Drying off  and warming up.  Waves coming in gently seem to coax me to come in for one more dive through their transparent tops, white foam on the curling edge.  Calling to the roaming black lab, he comes panting back from his swim, shaking the last of the water from his coat.  Laughing, he begs  me to throw just one more stick, one more chance to plunge in and retrieve and lunge back to me, wet and dripping, the prize still hanging from his mouth.  No more.  No more time.  The sun is beginning to set.  And it is time to say a final goodbye.

Just as I am climbing up the steep path to the parking lot, I reach in my pocket and find two smooth beach stones.  I love to collect these as I walk along the shore.  The water worn surfaces speak of endless hours of being rolled and tumbled in the surf, for months and perhaps years.  Looking at them I say a silent thank-you for the privilege of being able to enjoy this stolen time away from the world of the commonplace.  The memory of the wind blowing my hair.  The feel of the sun on my face.  The cry of the gulls and the sigh of the sea. 

The life of the world is waiting when I leave here.  Some of the peace I feel now will go with me  as I go back to work.  Holding the stones in my hand I say good-bye, placing them on a near-by fence post.

Without a backward look I call the dog and he comes running, eager to be on to a new adventure.  I think about what tomorrow will bring.   Back to the daily routine.  Work and responsibility call me.  The sun is setting.  Day is coming to an end.  I start the car and pull out onto the familiar road home.

Behind me, on the top of the fence post sit two smooth stones.

A good-bye gift to summer.

Taking the other road home

Went to a square dance in Fayetteville, AR on Friday night.  Good dances always last until the wee hours.  Andy and I were late getting to bed.  In fact, it was Saturday morning before we closed our eyes and finally drifted off to sleep.  Needless to say, the alarm rang a little earlier than we wished but we were tempted by the smell of pancakes and sausage coming from the restaurant next door.  We were hungry and we answered the call.

After a few cups of coffee and a heaping plate of food we were ready to head on north to the Missouri line.  We debated which way to go and finally decided to trace our trip back the way we had come on Friday through Huntsville to Alpena, Harrison, and on to Midway and the Missouri/Arkansas line.  Somewhere along the way we got talking and gawking.  I was driving.  Andy was navigating.  We were both square dance hung-over.  We took a wrong turn somewhere around Elkins.  And the rest is one of those happy tales you remember forever.  Taking the other road home.

Yes, we were on a windy road.  Motorcycles were ahead of us.  Motorcycles were behind us.  And a few other cars and trucks.  Not much traffic.  And about ten or twelve miles along we noticed the names of towns we had never seen before.  And the topography was decidedly more hilly.

Checking the map we saw we were definitely not on the short road to Huntsville, but on the long windy highway to Huntsville.  It was wonderful.  That is until we came up on a line of two pickup trucks, a chicken truck(thankfully empty), three SUV's and us.  The motorcycle behind us slowed to almost a stop...and the line of rigs just kept growing.  The cause?  A highway truck ahead of us was laying down a long, double line of yellow paint, right down the center of this windy, hilly Arkansas road.  We crept along at 10 MPH for miles, it seemed.  I was afraid the motorcycle behind me would topple over.  I didn't know they could creep along too, but Andy assured me  they would be OK.

After a few miles I began to enjoy the scenery.  We passed in leisurely fashion a cafe called The Pig Trail, a sweet small farm house with chickens in the yard, a ranch with well tended buildings and fences, and a ramshackle cabin with a WW I ambulance hulk sitting in the yard.  Lots of things to see when you are cruising at 10 MPH.

By this time we decided to turn at the junction to Kingston and head on over to Newton County where we have spent many an enjoyable day.  Thankfully the road crew pulled to one side at a convenient place and we all streamed by.

Most of our fellow travelers left us at the turn we made to the east.  Before long we were headed to the S-curves of the Buffalo River valley.  Boxley and the road to Ponca.  But we took the turn to Jasper.  Storm clouds were rolling to the south and headed north.  We didn't want to be in a rain storm on that highway.  Before long we were parked in front of the Ozark Cafe in Jasper.  It began to sprinkle a little as we made our way inside.  The morning's pancakes had left us somewhere around Low Gap so we were ready to eat again.  Thick juicy hamburgers, a root beer float, and a good cup of coffee put us to rights.

We couldn't visit Jasper without seeing our friend Emma and her Museum of Junk.  Just down the street the people were milling around outside her store, looking at the old porch swing and various pots and pans.  Inside Emma greeted us as if we were long lost friends.  And of course, we bought a few odds and ends that we couldn't resist.  No wonder she likes us!

Headed out of town toward Harrison we drove ahead and behind the storm clouds.  It seems as if every trip we take this summer is rain-covered.  We took the bypass toward Bellefonte and the easy road to Gassville and home.  We didn't really want to go into Mountain Home but my Walmart list had a few items on it that we needed before we headed north.

Back home, we realized  there had been no rain on our hilltop.  Unloading the car seemed an awful daunting task so we put it off for a time.  I stood on my west facing porch and appreciated the view of Caney Mountain yet again.  Arkansas is a great place to visit.  I love the scenery and the people.  And the extra bonus of  a trip to Jasper was wonderful.

But, when all is said and done, the road home is the best one of all, even if you take a detour here and there.

Grace Notes

After so many cloudy, rainy and foggy mornings it was a joy to open the window and feel cool, fresh air and clear skies as the sun made a red and pink line on the horizon.  Putting on my boots I hit the trail for my early morning walk.  Grace notes.  That is the thought that immediately came to mind.

Grace notes.  Just a little extra added to a musical score that really is not necessary, but makes the piece sound richer.

Deer are now hiding in the edges of the woods.  I can see them scattering as my steps make crunching noises in the gravel of the road.  One quail and then another flies across from north to south....making that familiar whirring sound with their wings.  No rabbit this morning.  He must be sleeping in today, or else ate his breakfast at dawn.  And the birds.  They are usually silent when fog and mist shroud my hilltop.  But today I heard..and saw...a woodpecker, a summer tanager, and a yellow billed cuckoo.  Our neighbors' rooster was crowing his usual introduction to the day.  It sounds like Beethoven's Fifth.

It felt like fall today.  I am not rushing the season. I know very well that even though we would like it to be cooler, autumn is still almost a month away.  Crisp air, shining dew drops on bright green grass, waving blue stem, golden sun rays lighting up the leaves and late summer blooms.

Grace.  You know what it is.  Something that we do not earn.  Can not buy.  And certainly do not deserve.  How could I not smile on a day like this.  Indeed...notes of grace for you... and me.  

Million Dollar View

I have been fortunate in my travels to see many beautiful and awe inspiring places.  From the rocky shores of Maine to the tide pools of the Pacific Ocean.  From mountain peaks in New Hampshire to higher peaks in Colorado.  I have seen the Grand Canyon.  I have witnessed the spectacular night skies of southern Arizona, skied in Michigan through pristine snows and brilliant sunshine.  I have fished for blues off  Ocracoke Island, strolled along the shore of Catalina Island, marveled at the art work in the Met in New York City, gazed in awe at the beauty of The Pieta during its visit to the World's Fair many years ago.  I have wandered the steep trails of the Buffalo River, pitched my tent in sighing pine forests, felt the lash of the last of a hurricane on the beaches of Cape Cod.

But I come to this scene and it brings tears to my eyes.  This is a view I experience each and every night of my life now.  Just off my porch, I am so lucky to have a 180 degree view that many never experience.  Sunsets from the west.  Sunrise in the east.  Snow storms, rain storms, gentle spring, blazing summer, crisp and sparkling fall, peaceful winter when the sun graces the sloping hill with golden light.

Three years ago this month we moved to our Luna hill.  I am so glad that I insisted on not just a front and back porch, but an all-around porch.  The view never disappoints me.  It is worth more than anyone could ever pay me.  Priceless.

Can this be August?

Lots of rain keeps the grass growing, even here on the hill.  It drys out and we think we are done with mowing and trimming.  And then here comes a cloud and leaves us with a few more inches.  Don't get me wrong.  I am not complaining.  But this is unusual for August.

I know it is August.  The papers and media are all announcing the best buys for school kids.  Sports teams are starting their practices.  New shoes, new backpacks, and lots of school supplies.  That's the order of the day.

Nights are still on the humid side.  My morning walks are early, and the evening strolls are often taken at sundown.  The birds seem to know it is trending toward fall.  They are already gathering in flocks in preparation for the flight south.

I saw two young bucks in my east field early this morning.  Rather than grazing peacefully side by side, they were nose to nose and looking sternly at each other.  One would back up and lower his rack, making a few tentative swipes at the grass, almost daring the other to charge.  Then the other would prance away, turn and make a charge at the other buck.  It almost seemed as if they were dancing.  Practicing for the season ahead when they would be true competitors. 

Tomatoes are still ripening, and perhaps with all this rain they will continue to bear fruit even into the early fall.  You never know.

Walnut trees are heavy with nuts.  And some of the bushes are already starting to be tinged with orange and red.  

Yes, it is August.  And we are traveling through this year, just like all the others, one month at a time.

Enjoying the unexpected rain.  Sweating through the heat-filled days.  Looking forward to the cooling winds of autumn.  September will be here before we know it.  All we have to do is wait. 

Moist Mornings

For the past several weeks my view from the bedroom window is milky white.  Fog, fog, everywhere.  Going out on the porch before I make our morning coffee, all I can see is white mist, blotting out trees and road.  As the sun rises it helps to lighten the endless cloud that surrounds my hilltop home.

After breakfast I lace up my boots and head out for a walk.  The resident barn swallow babies are leaning on the very edge of the nest, up under the porch roof, waiting for one or the other of their parents to arrive with their morning meal.  We don't usually encourage birds to build nests on the porch, but this year we allowed a phoebe to raise her brood above one of the north facing windows.  We even made a perch for mama bird so she could survey the field before she took off to find food for her youngsters.  After they left we thought we might as well let the barn swallows have a chance.  The chicks are about ready to leave.  Seems as if they were a long time coming.  Weeks and weeks of nest building and sitting before we could hear the peeping.

After my wildlife inspection I head on down the road.  Spider webs are strung all over the field.  It always amazes me how many webs there are.  You only see them when the dew is thick on their gossamer strands.  The sun barely lights them up but they stretch clear to the edge of the timber, ready and waiting for the unwary bug to fly into their net.

The pond lies under a curtain of mist, floating up and covering the reeds and weeds to its very edge.  Ever since Andy killed a 31 inch cottonmouth near the pond a few weeks ago, I have been cautious about venturing too near the thick growth on the banks.  But I can see the mallow plants and their pink and white flowers shining through the fog.

Rabbits hop around the edge of the road eating clover and grass.  The mist hides me and they are so tame they let me get too close for my comfort.  I tell  them silently, in rabbit talk, hurry away little rabbit to your hideaway in the grass.  Somebody will have you for his breakfast if you insist on loitering here in the open.

On down the way I flush a few of the quail who have taken up residence in the heavy growth under the pine trees to the east.  Such a joy to have them here.  The first clue we had was earlier in the year when we heard a persistent bob, bob white from the east and then the west.  And now we have quite a few of them, of all sizes.  We have tried for several years to make some places on our farm quail friendly and this year, at least, we have succeeded.

I would like to spend more time walking around and inspecting, but housework is calling me back home.  The mist has disappeared and the sun is climbing higher.  Going to be a hot day.  But the enjoyment of my solitary walk in the moist morning will last me all day long.

Life is too short....

Life is too short...

not to say I love you to someone everyday.

Life is too short...

to spend planning revenge on a so-called enemy

Life is too short...

to listen to speeches full of strife and discord

Life is too short...

to be bombasted daily with lies and propaganda

Life is too short...

not to listen to your neighbor.

Life is too short...

not to help someone who needs it.

Life is too short...

not to see the world through your child's eyes.

Life is too short...

not to enjoy jumping in a rain puddle, like my grandson Gus.

Make the day count.  Here and now.  Tomorrow is not a certainty. 

Life is short.  And what we say and do today is what counts.

Car Camping

My home away from home...our little Marmot backpacking tent.  Sleeps two rather cozily.  Plenty of room for your shoes outside under the fly.  Cool in the summer.  Warm in the fall and spring.  Have yet to try it out in the winter even though our sleeping bags are good to 0, or so they say.

On our recent trip east to see Gus and family we camped going out and coming back.  Truly, I never sleep as well in my bed at home as I do on my thin backpacking pad enclosed by my down bag when it is cool, or on a sheet and blanket during the warmer part of the year.

Andy and I have to relearn how to put the tent up when we haven't done it for awhile.  Usually either he forgets something and I remember..or I forget and he remembers.  I am in charge of choosing the spot that is as level as possible.  He is in charge of getting rid of all the rocks and sticks.

We have gotten a little lazy in our camping.  Before we always packed food and cooked some.  Now we depend on what we find along the way...breakfast,lunch, and dinner.  Part of the fun of traveling this way is stopping in mid-afternoon and exploring the local offerings of food and entertainment.  One time in Kentucky we found a dance in Cave City that was so much fun we made sure we stopped there on the way back.  Food is not a problem.  Locals are always glad to suggest where they eat and we have never been disappointed.  Cafes, diners, bbq stands...they all are delicious.

This time around we ate at a bbq place near Morehead , Kentucky where they offered fried MoonPies, fried pecan pie, fried cinnamon rolls,  When asked what they were fried in the waitress said funnel cake batter.  We didn't try this treat, but we were tempted.

The weather is always on our mind.  Luckily we have only had to find a motel once in our travels because it was raining.  Sometimes it rains when we are in the tent.  Sometimes it rains when we are out of the tent.  Unfortunately, this trip we arrived back at the campsite to find the tent swimming in water.  One time it was just because of a bad choice of placement.  The other was because one of us, and that person shall remain nameless, left the fly open and the rain poured in.  Both times we were able to dry things out enough and have a dry place to sleep for the night.

The part I like best about car camping is closing my eyes at night and listening to the sounds of the frogs and the crickets as they lull me to sleep.  And then waking early as the sun peeks above the trees and pink morning surrounds my little place in the woods.  Smiling, ready for a new day.  Wouldn't have it any other way.

Rock solid....

I guess when we get older and our family gets smaller we find the need to search back and find a place where we find solid ground.  This was my second visit to Bakers Summit PA, a very small village in the southern reaches of Morrison Cove in the southwest part of the state.  And this is the church my great-grandmother Holsinger's family founded.  My dad never talked much about his family.  His father and his uncle moved to Illinois from Kansas in the late 1800's.  All I have are some pictures of them.  Try to guess what your grandparents are like from a small photo from the 30's?  Very hard to do.

And so I just scrape up bits of information here and there.  The last time I was in the churchyard was a Sunday morning a few years ago.  I could hear the congregation singing one of my favorite hymns.  I was not drawn to go in and join them.  I just wanted to wander the graveyard, looking for familiar names.  

This year we arrived on a weekday.  There was no one around.  The church door was open so I went in.  What lovely little country church it was.  Smiling to myself, I could imagine the many families who worshiped here every week.  Comfort in a rock solid faith.

I next turned my attention to the cemetery.  I wandered from north to south, searching for Myers, Miller, Holsinger.  I found a few but I didn't identify any of them.  Until I came to a small stone engraved with these names and dates...Catharine Dallas, 1839-1916.  James A. Dallas, 1854-1916.  This was where my great-grandmother Catharine Holsinger Myers Dallas and her second husband James were laid to rest.  Rock solid.  Here where she belonged, among her family and friends.

Tears came to my eyes.  And part of my family longing found a place to rest...here among the fertile fields and tall mountains framing this rock solid place my family called home.

After the storm.

One thing you can say about my hilltop home.  When the storm passes by, the sky puts on a show all its own.  This past week has had its share of unsettled weather.  Hail.  Thunder.  Lightning.  Crashing rain.  Wind that blows until you are sure you will be swept down to the river and beyond.  

But when all the excitement is over and the sun begins to set I take my camera outside to the porch and see what Nature has to show me after the storm.

The light is truly unbelievable.  I wish I had the kind of camera that can capture that golden glow from the sun's rays that covers trees and grass and rock, bathing them in a almost tangible mellow light.  It doesn't last long.  But I remember it and wait for the next chance to see this transformation of the ordinary into the sublime.  

And the sky.  My poor rendition of the sky that night really does not do it justice.  The color from rich red to glowing pink and yellow, shading into blue and mauve and gray.  The clouds forming billows, shapes changing by the second, streaks of  white here tinged with sunset glow, there with the last remnants of angry, blustery wind and rain.  

I can almost hear the hilltop sigh in relief.  The elements had done their best to tear it apart.  But it stood strong against the attack.  And now all of us can breathe easy again.  And enjoy the scene that only peace and quiet can bring, after the storm.

On the road...

I laced up my boots to take a walk down the road this morning.  It was a little humid out, the sun was shining and I knew that I would find something to pique my interest down there on the stretch of gravel that goes by my house.

I have found several toads lately....they were dead, which was kind of sad.  I didn't think they were dead at first...they looked very toad-like and as alive as any toad might look at 8AM on a sunny day in April.  I took my little stick to get them to hop out of the way.  I always do this because there is nothing sadder than a squished toad who has fallen victim to the wheels of a pick-up.  The toad did not move.  I pushed a little harder.  Nothing.  I gave a little flip with my stick and his poor stiff body turned over.  How sad.  I thought it would be kinder to let his body rest in the green grass off the beaten path...and I gave another little flip and off he went to Toad Heaven Beside the Road.

A little bit farther down the road I came across a wooly caterpillar.  He was looking like a miniature bottle brush, a black bottle brush for that matter.  He crawled along beside me for a time.  I stood still wondering what he would do.  Inching his way toward me he came up against the solid rubber end of my boot.  He climbed a little, lifting his funny round body up and peering at the boot toe with his shiny black eyes.  I guess he must have thought (if caterpillars are capable of thought) "Hmmm....maybe I really don't know what this is.  Gravel feels a lot better.  I think I'll get down."  And get down he did.  I stood still.  He circumnavigated the sole of my boot...going very carefully around the edge, poking his nose into the rise between the front and the heel, decided that was not the way to go, backed out and continued his journey...slowly, slowly, not hurrying at all.  Finally he breathed a sigh of relief (if caterpillars can breathe sighs of relief) and crawled out into familiar territory heading to the other side of the road.  I whispered to him, "Hey little fella, you might want to get a move on.  I see a hungry sparrow up ahead and he might want you for breakfast."

On up the road I admired the weeds that were growing in lush beauty in the ditch.  The flowers are so small and white.  I nearly lost my balance trying to see how many there were and if they looked at all familiar to me.  One lone spider web still held the morning dew, the sun making each drop shine like a diamond.  Coming up the slight hill and down into the swag I saw some scratching in the dust of the road.  It must have happened last night.  I could see claw marks and scuffs of paws, large areas clean swept, and others that might be marks of a tail or two.  Coyotes?  Bobcats?  Who knows.  I stayed and studied the four or five places that had been made all along that section of gravel.  I tried to imagine what had gone on.  A friendly hello?  A growling stand-off?  A tussle?  Or maybe just a welcome hi, how are you, how are the wife and kids?  I will never know.

On the road.  Lots of things happen.  Caterpillars cross.  Toads live...or die.  And animals, big and small leave their mark.   All it takes is a little time to stop and look around.  And see what might be happening, right there ....on the road.

   

Ahhhhh....

Yes, yes, yes.  And again I say yes.  Spring has sprung.

The emerging beauty of our native wildflowers has always made waiting through winter bearable.  I take my camera with me most of the time and snap a picture here and there.  A few years ago I decided to make an album/journal of wildflowers with names and maybe a little sentence or two.  As with many things that I set out to do, it was harder than I imagined.  I took out my trusty Wildflowers of Missouri book and turned to the pages where I thought I might find the name and nature of several flowers that were unfamiliar to me.  I searched in the section of white flowers...then turned to red and pink thinking that they might be there.  I have been able to find some information, but some are very hard to find.  I love the names:  Spring Beauty, Dog Tooth Violet, Deptford Pink, Purple Flox, Pussytoes.  Needless to say, I gave up on this project and decided that I could enjoy looking at the flowers and taking pictures of them even if I don't know their names.

The best thing about the flowers of spring?  They make me smile when I see them  I always take time to examine the tender buds and appreciate the variation of color.  They almost seem painted with the smallest brush imaginable.  So if you don't find me at home these days you know where I'll be.  Down the hill, or up in the field, looking for the blossoms of spring.  Ahhhhh....

Lost...and found

Early this morning before the promised rain began to fall, I took my sturdy hoe and set out to get rid of some pesky thistles.  Just as I stepped out of the garage door I looked down and to my left.  There lying in the new grass were my car keys.   Thank you God is what I said as I brushed the months' long dirt from them, holding them up to show Andy

Sometime last year, probably during one of our hectic times getting ready for company or going on a trip, we lost our car keys.  Andy had them when he parked the car in the garage.  He didn't have them after he walked the short distance to our house.  We searched everywhere....in the car, in the garage, in the house, under the porch....anywhere they might have fallen.  We took the magnetic wand that we use to pick up nails and ran it all over the area where they might have fallen.  No luck.  No keys.  But, I did pray saying Lord please help us find these keys.  And He heard me.  Evidently His plan was to let the keys stay in their hiding place for several months.  In the meantime I had a new key made but I  really missed the handy-dandy fob that locks and unlocks the car and raises the trunk lid. Amazingly, it still works even after its exposure to fall rains and the cold of winter.

With a joyful heart I set out on my walk.  Swinging the hoe, I marveled at the may apples that are lining my fence row.  I smiled at the violets blooming under the cedar trees on my western boundary.

Singing in my heart thanksgiving to a God who hears prayer and answers it in His time and in His way.

But, there is a bonus to this story.  For several weeks Andy has been searching for some special paint brushes that he uses when he makes small pictures.  We have looked high and low.  And, I have been praying Dear God help us find these brushes.  Digging under my bed for some wrapping paper this afternoon I came across a small shoe box full of art supplies.  Opening up the top and lifting the paper inside I saw...yes...I saw those tiny, precious brushes.  I called to Andy to come and see what I had found.  Thank you God  I said.

And on goes my song of praise....thanking God for always listening to my prayers.  And answering them...in His time...and in His way.  

Real Time

While we were at a local college to hear some fiddle music yesterday we came across this sundial.  It is situated front and center as you come to the front door of the main building on campus.  I paused to look at it.   I have seen sundials in the past.  Andy even told me that the upright piece that sheds the shadow on the numbers is called a gnomon.  We compared the time on the sundial and the time on our cell phone.  The cell showed 11:45...the sundial 10:45.  I know you can't see it, but the left edge of the sun's shadow in just a quarter increment before the line denoting 11.

I began to think about how we have adjusted the laws of the universe to our own convenience  here in this modern time.  Centuries ago when men came up with a way of marking years and seasons and days and hours, they depended on the sun and the moon and the position of stars in the sky.  The world they lived in made them aware of what was happening...or about to happen.  Harvest.  Winter.  Planting time.  Eat.  Sleep.  Work.  Play.  Simple yet effective.  The world got along very well with what to us, are crude measures of time.

I am not a farmer.  Never have been.  And I never will be.  But one thing I do know.  When the clocks are set ahead in the spring and back in the fall, it does not make any difference when you milk your cows or go out to plow your field or plant your crops.   Our universal life is still ruled by the sun rising in the morning and setting in the evening.  The stars show us season and the moon marks the months.  

Living where I do I am much more in tune with what is happening outside.  When the sun streams in my east window, it is time to get up.  When the warm rays beat down over my head it is time to eat my mid day meal.  And when that blazing orb sets over the western horizon and paints the trees with crimson...it is time to put away the tools and make ready for the night.  And when I search the heavens for the marked constellations ,which I am slowly learning...I look forward to the month ahead and what it will bring.

Yes, there are certain advantages to living in "real time". 

All things Easter...all things spring

Here is an ancient photo taken from my secret vault.  My brother Paul..he must have been around 3 plus...and I was nearly 9 months, sitting in the side yard of 711 North Center Ave. waiting for my mom to take our Easter picture. You can see the shadow of her in the foreground... I can imagine her aiming the old Kodak camera after capturing our faces in the top view finder.  

Looking out over my expanse of green and growing pasture today my mind wanders back to springtime and Easter in my Illinois hometown.  I see a box near me and Paul is holding his Easter basket in his lap.  He didn't quite know what to think of his baby sister by this time.  The new had worn off and he really didn't feel like being a big brother. The pink bonnet I am wearing went the way of many things..sold at our auction a few years ago.  It was pink corduroy and lined with pink silk...when I found it in my mother's things it was a little crumpled and creased..and the lining was ripped.  But still it was a keepsake...and one of Mom's sacred objects, or SO's as she fondly called them.

But back to Easter.  We always had a Easter basket, hidden in the yard, for us to find after church was over.  I look out over my fields and woods and can imagine where I might hide an egg or two for a child to find...hunting and happily finding one here and there.  My parents didn't really hide eggs...they went in for the  "Let's put all the candy and stuff together in a nest of green cellophane grass and put it outside...where the kids can tear into it and not get their good clothes dirty crawling around."

Spring and Easter.  New things growing.  Hope abundant.  No matter how old..or young you are, Easter and spring meld together, the perfect metaphor for that Eternal Promise we all have. A  Happy and Blessed Easter to you and yours.  Take lots of pictures.  Kids are only young once.

Spring is calling...

I know that it is still early in the year to be looking for spring.  But I hear it calling.  I see it coming.  Every day the sun rises earlier and sets later.  Mist hangs more gently in the valley.  The wind has a definite softness to it, the sharp bite of ice is gone.

Everywhere we look we see jonquils and daffodils, some lining the former paths of houses long gone, some planted only recently on new ground.  How forgiving and generous these yellow flowers are.  They pop up in ditches and fence rows where they have been pushed aside by huge machines that weren't able to crush their plucky spirit.  Hooray, they seem to say.  Here's the sun.  Here is our time to bloom and smile and lend some hope to a winter-weary world.

Don't you know that long ago, when farm wives and early settlers saw these signs of spring-to-come, they smiled and felt a lifting of their spirits.  The long and dark days of winter are almost over.  The rains will come and the land turn green.  The birds will build their nests in high and arching trees.  The redbud will brighten the hills and the dogwood will bless the valleys with sweet blossoms.

Spring is calling.  And soon it will be here.

Wash day....

Monday has always been wash day for me.  One of the perks of living up on the hill is hanging the clothes out on the line that I string between my south-facing porch posts.  Andy installed screw eyes  on each one and I can extend the line around to the west if need be.

On cool days I go out the south door and sniff.  Any smoke in the air means that I will need to wait awhile until it clears.  Fresh and smoke free wash is what I want.

What a joy it is to hang each sheet and towel up and see it flapping in the wind.  Sturdy clothespins hold them tight to the line until they dry.  My tea towels are old and ragged but I love them.  They still do their job and they enjoy getting bleached and snowy in that welcome sunlight.  

The smell.  Yes, that fresh smell that they try to bottle up in laundry detergent these days.  I have never tried it, but I really don't think I want too.

I would not want to live anywhere that forbids me to string up my clothes line and hang clothes out to dry in the sun.  Sometimes when it rains or is too messy they do go into the dryer.  Not my choice, but a matter of necessity.

So if it is Monday, you know where I will be.  Hanging those sheets and towels and clothes out in the fresh air.  And then the pleasure of sleeping on sun-dried sheets...the best aid to a good night's rest I know.

Washing dishes...

I don't have a dishwasher.  When we planned our house we didn't even make a space for one.  The reason?  I like to wash dishes.

In my family the cooking gene and the dish washing gene skipped a generation.  My mom and Andy's mom were wonderful cooks.  My daughter takes after them.  I, on the other hand, raised Nina on Rice-A-Roni and Chef Boy-ar-dee.  She must have thought that all meals came in a box or a can for a long time.  But now she cooks up a storm and makes delicious meals for her own family.

I came by my love of dish washing honestly.  As a very small girl, probably four or five, my mother would put an apron on me and stand me in a chair at the sink.  And I would wash all the dishes.  I really enjoyed it.  Made me feel like a big girl.

When I played with my dolls I always washed the dishes that I used.  I dried them with a little towel and hung the towel out to dry on a miniature clothesline.  My grandmother was proud of me.  I told her that I could hardly wait to have my own house and children and then I could wash dishes all the time.

My mother disliked cleaning up the kitchen more than anyone I have every known.  She had good reason for this aversion.  Her older sister Rosa would come home from college with new recipes that she wanted to try.  According to my mom, Rosa would dirty every dish in the kitchen and then call my mom in from play to clean up the mess.  My mom was very creative.  She would go upstairs and hide in a closet and read magazines while Rosa called and called her to come and clean up the mess.

I guess early training helps to make household tasks easier.  If you are raised to clean and wash and make the beds, perhaps it will stick with you as you grow up.

So bring on the dishes.  No matter how many or how few, I'm the person to wash them.