I Love This Gym

Tonight we celebrated our basketball teams.  I love the Red and White Scrimmage.  I love seeing old friends, eating HUGE cinnamon rolls, slurping up chili topped with cheese and Fritos and sipping on sweet tea.  I love looking at all those bake sale yummys...and buying a few.  Some were snapped up before I got a chance to grab them.  But most of all....I love our gym.

Now wait a minute!  I know that several of you who read this will groan and shake their heads in disbelief.  " Jane", you will say, "are you out of your everlovin' mind?  How can you say this?"

I know.  I know.  This gym was not exactly brand new when I arrived here to teach in 1977.  But it was better than the gym I left in Winona!  But that is a story for another day..or maybe not.

Anyway.  Here are my reasons for loving the GHS gym.

It is a place where we all can gather and celebrate our young people.  I look around and see faces I have known for 42 wonderful years.  They were ball players then.  Running up and down that court.  Making baskets.  Guarding the forwards. Racking up the points.  Fouling out.  Coaches red in the face.  Encouraging.  Yelling. Full of vim and vigor and life.

Today I see their kids...and grandkids doing the same thing.  Jumping. Tearing down the floor.  Making that unbelievable three-pointer.  Grabbing a rebound and passing it back for another try at the basket.

My daughter played here.  I wasn't a calm and cool parent.  Everyone knows that I can yell with the best of them.  And sometimes I even yodel.

Our gym is not senior citizen friendly.  There is no place to park a wheelchair or walker.  And if you have sore knees and backs, those bleachers from heck are just that.  But....I manage to step-step up to the top row where I can lean against the wall...and step-step down at the end of the night.  It is painful.  But worth it.! 

Worth it!  How in the world can it be worth it?

Because I can sit there and smile and laugh and hug and talk with people who are so near and dear to me.  I can chuckle at the babies.  Meet new family members.  Catch up with what is going on in our small town.  And watch some amazing young people do things down there on that ball court that I would LOVE to do right now.  

I know that we need some changes in the gym.  I know that our community has difficulty raising the levy for school improvements.  And passing bonds is equally hard.  Our school board, citizens' committees, administrators have all done the best they can with what they have to work with.

But golly folks, let's smile once in a while and be grateful for what we have.  Hard work and years of careful management have kept things in pretty good shape.  

So it boils down to this.  I know that sports are not the be all and end all of life.  But they do one thing for a community such as ours.  It brings us together to celebrate something  we can all agree on.  Our life here in a part of the world where being a good neighbor means so much.  Seeing our kids grow strong and motivated to do better.  And reaping the rewards of a that good life.

And this is why I love this gym.

Freedom, Sweet Freedom

Yesterday, when I went out to sweep my porch, I heard the cry of an eagle overhead.  Rushing to look over the railing and up to the sky I could see three of them, soaring above me, riding a thermal, sun shining on their wings.  The blue above and the outline of these beautiful birds left me standing there for the longest time, mesmerized by their grace and beauty.

What a perfect symbol the bald eagle is for our country.  For our freedom.  We are so fortunate that they are frequent visitors to our area, especially during the times of year when we can appreciate them.  They often sit in the trees over the rivers and ponds, waiting to catch the fish that circle below. 

Long ago when I was in elementary school we often sang that wonderful song that begins "My country 'tis of thee, Sweet land of liberty, Of thee I sing..."  Seeing those eagles soaring above me made me think how very fortunate I am to live here.  And how very sweet freedom is.

Freedom to come and go as I please.  No one prevents me from walking or driving down my road.  

Freedom to gather and talk with my friends and neighbors without fear of being arrested.

Freedom to speak my mind.  Freedom to worship where I please.  Freedom to earn a living.  Freedom to own a little patch of ground that I can call my own for as long as I live.  Freedom to choose who will represent me and my needs for the the greater good.  Too often we take this blessing for granted.  We were born to be free. Many times we..myself included..take that freedom for granted.

Seeing those wonderful birds flying across the sky and down toward the valley...looking for a perch above the creek...reminded me just how sweet that freedom is.

Freedom...sweet freedom indeed. 

What About November?

We have just said good-bye to Halloween and all its wonderful celebrations.  Seems as if they start two weeks before the 31st and fill every

day and night until that spooky evening arrives, replete with princesses, armed aliens, and toothless zombies.  Stores are filled with items to buy.  Candy is bought by the car load.  And everyone hopes for good weather to go door to door with bags and little buckets to gather up those Halloween treats.  In my day we also had to do a trick to go with the treat...but that was long ago and in a different time and place.

And now we are ready for....December 25th.  Yes friends.  Let's just skip over dull November and hurry to the end of the year.  Already stores have all that Christmas stuff out...decorations, toys, food, new things to wish for, old things that bring to mind our own holiday memories.  And who doesn't love Christmas?  I do.  My dad was the original Mr. Christmas.  He would celebrate it all year long if it was allowed.  So I am not being a Scrooge here.  Just wanting a lovely month in its own right to get a little recognition.

November honors our military and all those who gave their lives so we could be free.  Think about that.  We used to call it Armistice Day.  Study your history books and you will get a good feeling for what that meant to our country and the world.  So...thank you veterans for all you have done and do for us.   November brings hunting season.  Now who in this area can forget that?  I love the stories and pictures in the paper of hunters old and young who pose with their deer.  Now I know that some who read this will wrinkle their noses and humph with disgust.  So be it.  We have deer and deer in abundance.  That is that.  And close behind deer season is Thanksgiving.  Not a new holiday.  But one that has come to mean several things to different people.  To some it means family and friends gathered around a table full of food.  To some it means serving a festive meal to those who might not have one on that special day.  To others it means driving long distances to celebrate with relatives we see only once a year.  And to others it means football games and cheering on their favorite team.  But Thanksgiving is an important day in and of itself.  Thanks.  Thanks for everything we enjoy in this beautiful country.

And so, please don't let November go unnoticed and forgotten.  It is a full thirty days to enjoy and revel in frosty mornings and brilliant nights full of stars and moonlight.  Time to work and get ready for the coming winter.  A time to reflect on our blessings.  And a time to enjoy just living here, in this corner of the world we call home. 

Waiting on fall

Why am I so anxious for fall to come?  Why do I look forward to putting on my warmer jacket and boots when I take my daily stroll down the road?  Why do I long for color in the trees that stretch far beyond my view to the west and north and east?

I must confess.  I love change.  Especially when we have suffered through what seemed to be a dry and hotter than usual late summer.  But change is coming.  I can see it every day.

The thermometer in the morning shows shivering numbers.  The wind has a certain crispness to it.  The squirrels are extra busy searching for nuts to hide.  Geese are flying south.

I love fall.  We build a fire in the stove in the morning to take off the chill.  And sometimes even in the evening.  I take walks down along the road and try to find the elusive wildflowers that decorate the stony margins this time of year.  The latest rain has helped them grow and I am finding a few more here and there.

Sunrises and sunsets are spectacular.  That ruddy line of orange-red that heralds the rising sun.  The crimson of the setting sun that lights up the trees with glowing splendor.  It takes your breath away.

I can not imagine a world without an autumn.  Constant warm breezes and hot sun.  Not for me.  

I guess I am fortunate to be able to live in a part of the country that has changing seasons.  Yes, even winter.  It is all part of the price we pay for the glory that is fall.  And I am enjoying every minute of it. 

Blessed Rain

It began for us during the evening on Saturday.  Rumbling in the west, the dark cloud moved toward us.  So many times it splits there at Caney and moves south and north around our hill.  But this was a strong willed storm. It moved steadily east, conquering the dry fields and hollows in its path.

And how welcome it was.  Parched.  We were so parched.  Dry as dry could be.  The creek had not had a drop of water in it for weeks.  Everyone else got a little sprinkle here and there.  But, here, high on the hill in Luna, Mother Nature failed to deliver.  So dry that the grass crackled and crunched beneath our feet.

All through the night the blessed rain fell.  Hard at times with echoes of thunder and streaks of lightning.  The wind blew.  I could hear it rattle the rain across the flue.  But it was a welcome sound.  And I could sleep with that lullaby whispering to me.  Rain, blessed rain.

Sunday morning.  More rain.  On our way to church we crossed the slab with water running under it.  A sight to behold.  Those rough rocks and gravel seemed to revel in the water washing over them. As we joined in morning prayer I said a silent thank you to God for the rain.  I know that sometimes it is an inconvenience.  And we know what too much rain can do.  But this was just right.

I marked 3 and 7/10ths in the gauge when it was all over.  Not as much as some, but enough to green the grass and fill the ponds and lead us into this new month on a positive note.

As the sun shone on the wet grass, I smiled and felt a lifting in my heart.  Even in the worst of times we can look for rain.  And even though we might have to wait for it, the blessed rain will come.

Sorghum molasses

These were our companions for the past weekend.  Kit and Kate.  A pair of sister mules. They were hitched up to the sorghum mill as we made sorghum molasses down in the hills of Arkansas.  

What a treat.  Lots of  friends and lots of help.  The cane crop was not as plentiful this year.  We cut and trimmed and loaded it onto the trailer and pulled it down to the farm.  Setting up the mill was not a hard task.  And the rest went like clockwork.  Until we awoke on Saturday morning and discovered that Kit and Kate had taken an early morning stroll...somewhere.  Luckily they had found a neighboring field where the grass was thick and green.  There they were, happily grazing, waiting to be found.

Soon everyone was busy with the chore of making sorghum molasses.  The green juice poured out of the mill into a bucket.  When we had about 15 gallons of juice it was poured into the cooking pan and set on the fire.  Skimming the juice and tending the fire so the sorghum cooks evenly is an art.  And we had the people to do it.  Taking turns and visiting while the green juice turned to gold and then to a golden brown was one of the many pleasures of the day.  

While some people worked others sat in the shade and visited.  Some brought their fiddles and guitars and banjos.  Under the cool shadow of the oak tree we enjoyed hearing our favorite music,

Food was plentiful.  Everyone brought something to eat. Sharing lunch out on the porch or sitting in the yard, we visited and caught up with the news of what had happened in the last year.

The children loved to help.  They hauled the cane from the trailer to the mill, fed the stalks into the mill, and hauled the remains out to feed the cows across the road.  They worked as hard as any adult.  What a joy to see them working so steadily.  And seeing their smiling faces when the sorghum was finally ready to be poured out into jars. 

Finally, when the last jar was filled and the mules unhitched for the day, we all hugged and promised to do it again next year.  What a joy to do something together.  To forget for a time the pressures that await us back home.  To take time to talk and laugh and share stories.  

This is what life should be like.  All of us, sitting in the gathering twilight, knowing that we have helped each other enjoy an age-old tradition from a simpler time.  Makes us smile and vow to do it again next year. And we have jars of sorghum in our cupboards to remind us.

Tapping my toe, clapping my hands.

Hootin an Hollarin in is the air.  Andy and I have had the privilege again this year to teach the Queen candidates a figure or two for a square dance to open the festivities.  Bitter sweet.  That is the feeling I get as I see these young women moving gracefully through the movements of the time-honored and timeless dance of our Ozarks.

I will be sitting on the sidelines this year.  A bad knee has kept me from exercising and I just don't want to risk more injury to that vital joint.  It is improving.  Just not "danceable" as yet.

But I love to see the dancers take the floor each night.  And Hootin and Hollarin is a great time to go through the old familiar dances or to learn a few new moves.

Sally Goodin, Cross the Hall, Whirl Like Thunder.  The list goes on and on.  The night air, whether steamy or cool, always adds to the magic for me.  When I am dancing I lose track of time and place.  I see people sitting in the stands, but the blurred light from the streetlights puts a hazy glow over the crowd.  And I am in my own little world.  Following the voice of the caller as they call the next move.  Reaching out and taking that familiar, or new, hand and moving, always moving to the steady beat of the fiddle and guitar.

The music.  Nothing can compare with a fine fiddle tune set to a rapid beat for a great time dancing.  Sometimes the tempo lends itself to one dance or another.  It is really up to the caller to decide.  Two Little Hobos, a great dance to begin with, needs a smoother tune.  But Black Mountain Rag always brings up the square dancing blood and makes your feet almost fly over the floor.

So this next weekend I will be sitting on the sidelines.  Come by and visit a minute.  I would love to catch up with the latest news.  But please excuse me if my toes begin to tap a little.  And every once in a while I might clap my hands to the beat...and smile and look forward to getting out there, where I belong.