Roots

/This little church and the accompanying graveyard are outside of Baker's Summit, Pennsylvania.  My grandfather was born here in 1860.  His name was Franklin Holsinger Myers.  He and his family moved to Illinois and then Kansas when he was a young boy.  His father died there and his mother remarried and moved back to Baker's Summit.  Somehow...my grandfather Frank moved back to Kansas and then back to Illinois when he was a young man.  A few years ago I was trying to find out what became of my grandfather's family.  I searched the records...and came up with some answers, but not all of them.  

What I did find out is that part of the Myers family is buried here...right across the road.  I had no idea what I was looking for when I stopped by early one morning when we were traveling back home to Missouri.  I had some information, but not a lot. I searched the rows looking for my great-grandmother's name...not knowing that she had remarried two years after my great-grandfather died in Kansas.  Such confusion.

Lucky stroke the following year....I chanced upon some information that told me about her new name, her children with her new husband, and the names of several relatives that lived in an adjoining town.

Early one morning...a year later....I returned to the cemetery across the road...and walked carefully down the rows, looking for her name.  And there she was.  And next to her was her second husband, my grandfather's stepfather.  

My dad's parents both passed away years before I was born.  But I know a lot of stories about them.  Their gentle ways, hard work ethic, and how they managed to raise a family during a difficult time with little work available and not much money coming in.  My aunts both told me that they never heard my grandparents fight or disagree.  They were loving people who always thought the best of others.. How I wish I had known them.

Which brings me back to the picture above.  As I stood there in the silence of that early summer morning, near the resting place of a woman who did not have an easy life, but who raised children that anyone would say were good people.  I looked across the road....her church, my family's church.  And that is how I know what foundation made these people who they were.  What a wonderful gift for me.  It was then and it still is.  

 

Rain, Glorious Rain

Promises, promises.....you know what I mean.  The last few days we have been told, by various sources who will remain nameless to protect their reputations, that we could expect liquid dropping from the sky...in other words...RAIN.  Ha, I said to myself.  So many times they have said this..."rain expected between 6 AM and 6 PM, amounts anywhere from 1/8 of an inch to 3 inches ."  In other words, the lesser amount, which only serves to settle the dust on my dusty road.

Went to town this morning.  It felt like rain.  There were a few drops on my windshield.  Came back home and unpacked the groceries.  Looked out toward Caney Mountain to the west and what did I see...rain coming my way.  But I knew better.  We have a sign..invisible except to rain clouds...which reads  ANY WHERE FROM THIS BOUNDARY TO THAT BOUNDARY...THERE WILL BE NO RAIN. FINAL WORD!  VIOLATORS WILL BE PROSECUTED! How do I know this?  Everyone else gets rain...but not us, up here on the hill. It has gotten to the point where we don't even bother to replace our rain gauge, which bit the dust many months ago.  What's the use?  I was tired of emptying the dirt and bugs out of it every month or so.

I have learned my lesson today.  I doubted that we would get any rain but....here it is.  I had planned on taking my daily walk down the road after lunch.  Joyfully, I get to sit here at the window and watch the water dripping from the eaves.  The birds are loving it too.  They come and perch on the porch railing for a minute or two, shake out their wings, and take off to find shelter in our oak tree's

 welcoming branches.  Don't you know the grass loves this too.  I can almost hear the ground sighing with pleasure.

And we all say together....RAIN, GLORIOUS RAIN.  

 

At Last

Perfect joy!  That is what I felt when Andy brought me this, my first bouquet of spring, a few weeks ago.  Yes, I have a confession.  I am not a gardener.  Any plant I touch, even for a few seconds, turns black and withers in my hand.  Always has been, always will be this way.  Thankfully, I have a husband who is a plant savant.  He just has that special touch.

But, enough of that.  What gives me true happiness at this time of year is to see the returning of green and every other color that gives my whole outlook on life a boost.  I tire of grey and brown and dull, dreary skies as the days of February and March drag on.  I search for signs of spring on my daily walks.  First the small, tentative sprigs of early flowers....fighting to survive late frosts and beating winds  Daffodils struggling to raise their green shoots amid last autumn's leaves.  I bend down over them and, like a mother with a tottering toddler taking his first small steps, I whisper, "Come on sweetheart.  You can do this."  And the ground warms under my hands and I feel the response...."Yes, yes we can."

Spring makes me feel as if I can do almost anything..  I have to be careful not to overdo....too many climbs up my hill or along the road lead to backsets.  Aching legs and sore knees...well, I don't need to dwell on that.  As I rest after my daily walk, I sit on my porch with a wonderful view of Caney Mountain and all that heavenly land that lies, spread out before me, and breathe fresh, springtime air, saying to myself...At last, at long last, spring has arrived.

 

 

Wild Garlic

I am enjoying the past few cool mornings.  I lace up my boots and head down the road, relishing the cool breeze on my face as the sun rises over the hills in the east.  It gives me a chance to take an inventory of the new flowers and plants up here on the hill.   Nothing out of the ordinary.  But each year I am happy to see the progression of spring to summer.

Wild garlic is a new favorite of mine.  It is not a showy plant.  It doesn't have the pizzazz of the colorful flowers that herald the arrival of spring with vibrant yellow and blue and deep pink,  In fact, it is downright ugly if you want to be truthful about it. It is tall and gangly...kind of like a teenager's legs before their body grows to match them.  The brown nuggets that form the base are a deep purplish brown color.  The pink flowers that grow from the center are a dainty, shy kind of pink.  Not robust at all.

According to my Ozark wildflowers book the wild garlic "has strong antiseptic properties."  It goes on to say early settlers and Native Americans used the juice to treat wounds, burns, bee stings, and snakebites.  The list also includes using it for" fever, blood disorders, lung troubles, internal parasites. skin problems, hemorrhoids, earaches, rheumatism, and arthritis"  It was also a help for early explorers of the area.  When Marquette made his way from Green Bay to the present site of Chicago one of the food staples was wild garlic. 

Everyday I check to see how it is fairing.  Will it wilt in the hot, dry

 summer days to come?  Will it shrivel up and fade into the weeds sure to encroach upon it?   Or will it stand tall, there on the rocky roadside and eventually drop its brown seeds into soil.....resting until another spring brings it back to life. I like to think it will.  

Sort of a metaphor for life as we know it.  We may not be the most beautiful or showy....but even in our plainness we are strong....sure to endure no matter what. 

 

Waiting.....

The last several days have been teasers....cool for a few days, cloudy, windy....and then clear, sunny, almost too hot.  I go for my walk everyday.  I look for signs of spring.  Nothing much for a while...and then the daffodils, springing up in yards and fields.  Swaying in the breeze...lifting their heads to the blue sky.  Picking some from the hill in front of my house, I put them in my favorite vase on the windowsill.  The above picture is crocus that bloom down by the creek where Andy has planted them.  They are doing well, but only last a day.  

Spring here on the hill comes in spurts.  The sunshine in my eastern window at sunrise seems more intense.  The yellow beams move from day to day...marking the sun's movement from south to north. Hope for warmer weather and clearing skies always encourages me to look ahead....waiting, always waiting.

I hear turkey gobbling in the south field.  Birds are flitting from tree to tree....jumping down to peck for food among the greening grass.  Hope...always hope.  Hoping for warmer weather....milder winds...the smell of earth ready to be plowed and sown with this year's seed.

My heart says yes, but my mind says no.  And, yes, I know it tells the truth.  For it is too early to plant....too early to gather my thoughts and eager wishes for what is to come.  The weeks ahead will tell the story.  Snow in March?  Yes.  Buds on flowers and trees nipped by April frost...it happens too.

But these few first precious days of awakening life....I watch them hourly as if I were their mother.  Pleased with each movement...each tiny step of progress.  Feeling that all is not in vain.  

Spring will come.  Maybe not today...or tomorrow.  But it is on its way.

And this brings joy to my heart and a smile to my lips.  Even if I am still waiting.... 

 

At Last!

I don't know about you, but I have been in the dumps about the dry, colorless season we have been enduring for the last eternal weeks......no rain, very little color, high winds, hot, then cold, then hot again.

But then the rain came.  Gently, gently falling on the stiff, dead grass outside my window.  No rushing of water from the sky....just a steady, constant sheet of welcome rain.  We all had been looking forward to it....we knew it would happen soon.  But still, what a relief.

As I traveled today I was amazed at the bright shiny beauty I saw at every turn in the road.  Vistas of the hills clothed in orange and red, and yes....the perennial brown....dotted here and there with yellow and gold.  The color had been there before, but somehow the rain made each leaf and branch glow in the sunlight.

It makes such a difference in my attitude when I am surrounded with glowing autumn colors.  Fall will lead to winter.  The bare, dark limbs of oak and walnut and maple will move with the chilly wind.  Gray clouds will drift on the horizon...blocking out the light of the sun at dawn, noon and dusk.  

But somehow, the redemption of fall color and light makes that future seem at least bearable.  It's not that our winter here in the Ozarks is all dull and drab.  The sun will shine with a different light.  The air will be clear and fresh.  We do enjoy having a chance to walk in the brisk beauty of  a winter afternoon.

But just for today I gloried in the colors of this season.  A memory that will take me through the next months and encourage us all to look forward...to what our ever-changing world will bring us next.

 

No Smile Until December

When I was in my first year at Gainesville Elementary, sixth-grade teacher Susan Ault gave me some advice.  " Don't let them see you smile until December." she said with a straight face.  Of course, she was talking about how one might teach kids who sometimes take advantage of a teacher's lax discipline.  "Wow", I thought.  "That's really a good way to get your bluff in on the first day!"  I tried it, but actually wasn't too successful.  I mainly used my loudest "teacher voice" to quell any disturbance in my class.

Susan, who passed away a few days ago, was a wonderful friend and mentor.  But more than that, she was talented, resourceful, and endlessly creative.  She could look at a mess on the library table at the Historium, which yours truly had created, and smile.  Giving me a gentle pat on the shoulder, she'd say, "That's okay Jane.  You'll figure it out."  And usually I did...with the help of some of the other workers that day.

When we were moving all the books into the Historium before it opened, Susan and her husband John were endlessly optimistic.  The boxes were piled around the tables.  Jean Allen and I were busy, trying to make order out of mayhem.  Keeping track of so many family histories and trying to decide where to file and arrange information so it would be usable seemed a daunting task.  Susan was right there with us through it all.  John gave his advice and then went off to load more stuff off the truck and in the back door.  What a job!  It took awhile, but finally we were able to have some semblance of a library when we opened.

In the short while since I learned of her passing, I've been trying to sum up Susan's secret charm and can-do attitude.  She was not a quitter.  If the mud got deeper, if the papers got higher, if the kids got louder...she would wade in and get it done.  No smiles until December.  No resting until you had a solution.  No short cuts.  No whining.

But we also know the gentle, wonderful friend she was to all of us.  So many remember her smile, her kind words, her unceasing efforts to make Ozark County a place where people felt at home.  It was her place.  She was born and raised here.  And there was no more fitting person to lead us to do our best...whether we were child or adult.  Always that quiet assurance that all would be well.

Thank you Susan.  God give you rest now.  You will always be remembered as one of the best...in anything you chose to do.