Going home but only in memory

Grandpa in front of his new house in 1954.

Sometimes memory triggers are unpredictable. Mimi of “French Kitchen in America” started a post with a recipe, then ended with a wonderful evocation of the neighborhood in which she grew up.

She and her husband sold her grandmother’s house to a young family. “My heart tightens when I pass the house,” she said.

I understand the feeling. I can never, ever drive past my grandparents’ farmstead without my throat tightening, without longing to “go home”. Home to the “home place”.

My grandparents built their house on that land in 1954.

I cried when my grandmother sold it in the late 1980s.

In memory, I can walk through every room in the house and outbuildings, but I will never walk in the real buildings again. That thought saddens me. However, they are probably so changed by now that I wouldn’t want to walk there.

After I read Mimi’s post, I looked through a stack of old family photos, searching for pictures of the farmstead. I thought I would write one post about the place, but too many memories popped up to write just one.

We were stayin' alive

Monday we visited a new flea market. I thumbed through a large book of CDs and found several of the music I so loved in high school.

Music is amazingly evocative. Listening to “Saturday Night Fever” soundtrack took me straight back to McDonald’s, where I worked when I was a high school junior. The movie had debuted the year before, but its soundtrack was then the biggest-selling album of all time. “Fever” stayed on top of the album charts for six months. And we loved it.

As soon as customers emptied the dining room after closing, we turned off the detested Muzak and plugged in our music into the stereo system, cranking the volume as high as we dared.

Closing time was “Disco Grill” time. We danced while we worked.

We sang:

“Burn, baby, burn!
McDonald’s inferno!
We are on fire
100 stories high…”.

I was often assigned to close “dive”, which meant washing dishes. The combination of a high-pressure hose and disco made for a very enjoyable evening. The hose became my dance partner and I slid and glided across the wet floor, while singing loudly.

The rest of the crew was doing the same at their posts, although the grill cleaner was sliding on grease instead of soapy water.

How we laughed!

“We were a dancin’ crew
And we just couldn’t lose
We knew it’s all right, it’s OK;
The manager looked the other way.
He could surely understand the music’s affect on man.
Yes, we were younger and they sure were older
But we were stayin’ alive, stayin’ alive
We could feel the windows shakin’ as the speakers were breakin’
And we were stayin’ alive, stayin’ alive…

Ah, ha, ha, ha, stayin’ alive, stayin’ alive.
Ah, ha, ha, ha, stayin’ alive.”

Adventures in camping

We camped at a lake last weekend with people from our church.

We enjoyed a moonlight boat ride, viewing both human and divine pyrotechnics.

Later, those pyrotechnics rolled right over top of us. Camping generally equals rain, so we weren’t surprised.

We were sleeping in the back of our little pickup, which had just enough room between cab and tailgate for us. We watched and listened to the rainstorm, but kept nice and dry in our little overnight home.

We woke up early Saturday morning and took a walk. When we left, the boat was in our cove and the play tent was on the ground.

The boat when we left for walk.
When we returned, the tent had tried to commit suicide and the boat had run away. Maybe boat couldn’t stand the sight of the suicidal tent?

The tent had jumped onto the fire pit, which melted much of its floor. (Well, OK, the same gust of wind that took away the boat probably threw tent into fire.) I grabbed tent and threw it in the lake to halt the burning.

The boat runs away.

Boat Owner Steve came out of his tent camper shortly thereafter to retrieve his boat. He got in an unscheduled early-morning swim to rescue it from drifting.

Steve returns with his boat. Suicidal tent is in foreground. I had taken it out of the water after it had cooled.
Once he left, we watched that tent camper briefly turn into a see-saw. Steve’s wife Amy walked around in there, unbalancing it. Occupants must have gotten a bit of a ride, but all were OK.

What would camping be without some adventure?

Ozymandias on the High Plains

OZYMANDIAS

I met a traveller from an antique land
Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. Near them on the sand,
Half sunk, a shatter’d visage lies, whose frown
And wrinkled lip and sneer of cold command
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamp’d on these lifeless things,
The hand that mock’d them and the heart that fed.
And on the pedestal these words appear:
“My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!”
Nothing beside remains: round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare,
The lone and level sands stretch far away.
— Percy Bysshe Shelley

This poem often comes to mind when I shoot pictures of old, abandoned buildings. Someone had a dream. Someone had hopes. Someone had plans for the future that included this building and the land it stands on. But something happened to those plans. And the people who owned the building and the land walked away.

What happened to those people? Why did their dreams die, their plans fail?

I will never have an answer. In the open door of an abandoned house, only questions and silence remain.

And the lone and level plains stretch far away.

Volunteer veggies: a pleasant surprise

I love surprises.

Sometimes my garden produces those surprises by bringing up a volunteer vegetable or flower.

I’m not always that surprised, though. Last year, I did a very poor job of picking green beans. So I have a good crop of volunteers this year. Unfortunately for the beans and their picker, the Three Sisters garden has been moved. No cornstalk poles conveniently await beans to climb them. I’m fated to crawl on hands and knees to harvest most of these. Some of them are climbing the fence I erected for them last year, for which I am grateful.

When the fall holidays were over, we threw our pumpkins and gourds into the garden, hoping that a seed would take root. If memory serves me, we threw the pumpkin on the west side of the garden and the gourds on the east. This plant, on the very eastern edge of the pond garden, is probably a mini white pumpkin. But who knows. I look forward to finding out.

This tomato is a complete surprise. I don’t remember throwing any tomatoes in the garden, but here is a tomato plant. It isn’t very healthy, though, so we’ll see if any fruit appears.

Kenny Point at Veggie Gardening Tips
suggests that gardeners learn what baby leaves look like so we don’t pull out something good. If I hadn't known what baby squash and tomato leaves look like, I would have pulled those gifts from the garde

Let us grow lettuce

Some years ago, I read an article about growing lettuce. Article said to just let it bolt (go to seed). Plants would reseed themselves and come up in the next growing season. I liked that idea. No sowing or tilling and I get good things to eat? What’s not to like?

At its current stage, the lettuce is truly ugly. Plants look like tall many-branched dandelions. And I truly loathe dandelions. A big swath of our pond garden looks like a weed patch. But for free buttercrunch lettuce, I’ll ignore that nasty patch. The little dandelion-like seeds fly away and land wherever, coming up later as lettuce. And that’s just fine.

However, the other day Hubby did confess to helping the little white puffs in their mission. “I spread them around,” he said.

By accident, we started eating lettuce on St. Patrick’s Day this year. Hubby was trying to preserve our lettuce from fall cold snaps. He laid down a triangle of landscape timbers and put a piece of Plexiglass over them. This worked for awhile. Eventually winter got its way and killed the lettuce. We forgot about our makeshift cold frame when snow covered it.

I walked past the cold frame in early March. To my surprise, I saw little shoots of lettuce under the cold frame.

We don’t often enjoy our own fresh produce in March, so we ate it eagerly.

This fall, we’ll be intentional about our cold frame.

About the time school starts, I want to sow some other lettuce varieties, hoping for a second season. Mesclun would be welcome this fall.

Let us grow lettuce!

The pond garden

Pond Garden looking northeast. Coral bells and pepper plants are in foreground.

Pond Garden looking southwest. Blue spruce, pampas grass and volunteer green beans are in foreground.

The Frugal Gardener and her hubby have two main vegetable gardens. The narrow rectangles south of our house are the vegetable garden, currently planted with the Three Sisters on one side of the sidewalk and tomatoes and herbs on the other side of the walk. The other, an irregularly-shaped chunk of our backyard, is “The Pond Garden”.

The only water in that garden fills the bird bath. Hubby named it “The Pond Garden” because it’s shaped like a pond.

Our friend Kevin had shown us how to lay out natural-looking landscaping by using a garden hose. The hose marks sinuous curves for a relaxing, free-flowing appearance.

At that time, we had a large, ugly weed patch in our backyard. I hated it. I tried to avoid looking at it because I didn’t know what to do with it.

Then the mental light bulb turned on. I would turn that nasty patch into a garden, using the outlines of the weed patch to create natural-looking curves.

Instead of using a hose, I bought the cheapest can of orange spray paint I could find. I outlined the awful weed patch with the spray paint. Hubby tilled within the lines. I laid down salvaged red bricks for the border.

Previous owners had planted cedar trees and I had received a blue spruce from my brother and sister-in-love for my 40th birthday. We planted pampas grass in the gap between spruce and cedars for privacy, then scattered flowers in various parts of that garden. Flowers include coral bells and irises from my mother's garden. We have purple bee balm and lilies from Hubby's aunt's garden and coral hollyhocks from his parents' garden.

In the spaces that are left, we plant various vegetables each year. Volunteer buttercrunch lettuce returns every year.

An eyesore became something beautiful and productive for almost no money.

Three Sisters Garden

We planted a Three Sisters Garden this year: corn, beans and squash. Corn consumes a very high quantity of nitrogen and wears out soil quickly. Without corn’s sisters, corn must be rotated every year to give soil a rest. With the sisters, corn supposedly can be planted in the same plot year after year.

We only have one place where we can plant corn. Last year we tried another plot with poor results. The only way we’ll have sweet corn yearly is if the Three Sisters do their job.

Beans pull nitrogen from the air into their roots, providing nutrition for the next year’s crop. Beans climb the cornstalks and stabilize them against wind. This is a big plus in our windy climate.

I wanted to plant purple beans this year because I find green beans on green plants somewhat hard to see. Unfortunately, I couldn’t find purple pole beans. When I typed “purple pole beans” into Google just now, several links appeared. I’ll be buying online next year!

Once my plants came up, I heavily mulched them with newspaper and grass to suppress weeds and fertilize the ground. Grass is very rich with nitrogen.

Once the corn canopies, little further tending is necessary.

Squash runs underneath the corn, providing living mulch. Shade from both corn and squash squelches weeds and preserves soil moisture. Squash vines are covered with spines, discouraging hungry creatures from eating their fruit and their sisters’ fruit. We planted butternut squash this year. I hope to make pie filling from it because I can’t stomach winter squash on its own. But butternut pie tastes better than pumpkin and I adore pumpkin pie.

Three Sisters combination produces lots of leftover plant material at end of season. Just as I do with all garden “trash”, I leave it on the ground until spring. Cornstalks and vines make wonderful snow traps.

Unfortunately, they don’t get along with our tiller. Cornstalks are too thick for it to chop and the vines get entangled in the tines. I burn them in our fire pit come spring.

When our fire pit is filled with ashes, we spread them on our garden, adding potash to the soil. Have I told you that the Frugal Gardener hates waste?

I can hardly wait for that sweet corn. Yum, yum!

Reality check: FICA and FUTA

Grandma’s collage of their cornfield south of their house. I did not detassel here. My grandparents would not have appreciated the gesture.

No one detassels for fun. Well, maybe the crew leaders do, but not the worker bees. (I didn’t stick around long enough to be a crew leader.) The only incentive is pay, which came as a lump sum at season’s end.

I was so excited when my first paycheck came in the mail. I was primed to shop for school clothes.

Then I saw the big chunk Uncle Sam had bitten out of my check. I was shocked at the size of my tax bill. Then I comforted myself by saying, “Oh, well, I’ll get it all back when I file my tax return.”

Mother said, “See those lines for FICA and FUTA? You won’t get those back. FICA is Social Security, which you won’t see until you’re 65.”

At 14, 65 seems forever away. (And now I must reach 67 before I qualify — if Social Security still exists!)

“What does FUTA mean?” I asked.

“That’s unemployment insurance. You don’t qualify for it, either.”

Welcome to the real world.

Lost in the long corn rows

I have no sense of direction. None. Zippo. Zilch. Most of the time, this handicap is no big deal, but at times my lack has caused me major difficulties.

Detasselers work in whatever conditions Mother Nature dishes out, except lightning storms. Standing in a cornfield during lightning makes a person into a target.

Toward the end of one brutally hot and humid day, a thunderstorm brewed up. Boss decided that we’d best quit for the day. Crew leader told me to “dig out” those who weren’t finished with their rows and tell them that we were leaving. I did this, then walked toward the bus.

Except that I ended up on another side of the cornfield. Helplessly, I watched the bus pull away without me. Eventually, they realized that I had been left. They drove around looking for me, but I could never catch up to the bus.

We were about 15 miles from home and cell phones were not available yet. I walked at least a mile to the nearest farmhouse and called my mother.

Mother had a compass in her head. She could not understand how I could have gotten turned around in a cornfield.

But her confusion was nothing to the scorn I received from my crew mates. They all gave me dirty looks the next day. “How could you get lost in a cornfield?” they asked. And they kept on scornfully asking that question throughout whatever remained of the season.

Even years later, I still heard those taunts. Yes, this was definitely my most embarrassing moment.

Children of the corn

Putting a group of relatively unsupervised teenagers in a cornfield will lead to pranks and hijinks. Guaranteed.

Irrigation gate

The worst prank I know of was perpetuated by another crew. “Prank” is not strong enough. Their case was sheer vandalism. They were angry at the farmer for irrigating the night before they showed up to detassel. This farmer had gated irrigation. They reopened every one of his gates, then left. No one noticed what they had done until much later. By that time, the field was badly flooded.

That crew and its leader were summarily and deservedly fired. We hated them. Our crew had to go in afterward and detassel in very deep mud. Most of us gave up on our shoes and went barefoot. The mud sucked off our shoes at every step. We should have received extra pay for working this field, but of course we didn’t.

Hybrid corn must also be purged of volunteer corn plants or “rogues”. This process is called “roguing”. A roguer walks through the rows with a rogue knife, a kind of sharpened hook on a long pole. She cuts down or digs up the offending plant. Volunteers are generally cut before the corn reaches the tasseling stage. Volunteers get an earlier start so are taller than the surrounding hybrid plants. In this case, it is definitely beneficial not to stand out in a crowd.

The male rows were sometimes rogued later.

While we were detasseling, an all-female crew came to rogue the male corn rows. One was foolish enough to take off her shirt. One male crew member, well known for his pranks and his roaming hands, was assigned to detassel the row next to hers. He jumped out and grabbed her. She screamed, of course, and nearly fainted from fear. Other crew members pulled him away before anything else could happen. He was fired on the spot and banned from detasseling on any other crew.

A favorite prank was to come behind and to the side of another detasseler and push them over while shouting “Corn bore!” Caught off guard, the victim would go crashing into several corn rows, knocking down corn stalks.

Another one was less destructive. The perpetrator would collect tassels as he went along, then would bomb the victim with them.

Tempers often ran high in the heat, humidity and misery, leading to fights. Most of them weren’t serious (who had the energy?), but I remember one that ended in a broken nose. Both fighters were fired.

Teenagers thrown together will also “fall in love.”

Some hothouse romances sprung up, but wise crew leaders kept the “puppy lovers” from working adjacent rows. Crew members making out instead of pulling tassels were not very productive.

I never could understand how anyone could have energy for romance, but some people did. For me, as well as most detasselers, detasseling season was about survival, not romance.

We were the “children of the corn”.

Walking the long corn rows

When the corn starts to tassel, and the smell of corn pollen fills the air, my memory returns to my days as a detasseler.

A fellow blogger calls detasseling “the worst job I ever had.”

I completely concur. I hated every second of the two summers I pulled tassels. Pulling tassels was a gigantic hassle! Detasseling is a hot, miserable experience, but it’s a rite of passage for teenagers growing up in corn country. Even though it’s a nasty job, teenagers line up each summer to do it. Why? For the money. Detasseling is the best money available to teens under 16.

What is detasseling?

Seed companies need to force corn to cross-pollinate in order to produce hybrid seed corn. Corn generally self-pollinates. Pollen falls off the tassel onto the ear’s silk. Therefore, the tassel must be removed to prevent self-pollination. When I walked the rows, farmers planted 10(?) rows of female corn to two rows of male corn. The female corn was deeper green, bigger and stronger than the male corn. We pulled tassels out of the female corn and left the male corn alone. Standards were exacting. Only two female corn tassels per mile-square field could be left in the field. If more were left, the crew would have to go back into the field and redo it. Or, worse humiliation, the seed corn company would have another crew redo the job.

What was the experience like?

I got up at 4:30 each morning. Mother fixed me a good breakfast, then took me to the biology teacher’s house to meet the bus. He ran a detasseling crew as his summer job. We all wore the oldest clothes we possessed. Dawn usually broke just before we arrived at the field. Corn was wet with dew that early in the morning.

We each brought a black garbage bag and ripped holes for our heads and arms. We wore them to keep somewhat dry. Note the “somewhat”. Keeping completely dry was impossible. Once wearing the bags became intolerable, we ripped them off and discarded them in the field.

The damp or downright wet leaves cut anyone who did not wear gloves. I could never wear gloves since I lost the touch necessary to pull the tassels. By season’s end, I generally had a enough band-aids on my hands to make a glove.

Under the black garbage bag, we wore pants, long-sleeved shirt, T-shirt and a cap or hat. The long-sleeved shirt was discarded early because of the heat, but it did protect against cuts and rashes. I once wore a tank top for a couple days. I was so badly sunburned on top of my shoulders that I had scars for years. I’ve not been fond of tank tops ever since. Those who didn’t wear head coverings were more likely to get sunstroke.

We wore sturdy shoes, but we didn’t want to pay too much for them. They would be ruined by — or even before — season’s end.

Corn sheds pollen from about 9-11 a.m. and we’d be covered with it. Most of us got a rash from the pollen and from corn scratches.

We were one of the last seasons before the advent of detasseling machines, so we walked every bit of every row, pulling every tassel.

Steam starts to rise from the fields around 10 and the temperature is downright hot by 11. Heat worsened throughout the afternoon. We generally knocked off around 2 or 3 and were completely exhausted by then.

Corn was often over our heads. Yes, that canopy provided shade, but it also prevented any cooling breezes, making the air stuffy and detasseler drowsy. However, some corn would be below our knees. A detasseler had to look both overhead at the canopy and down to take care of each corn plant. And each row contains a lot of corn plants, 3,000 to 4,000 in a half-mile row. Some of those fields are a mile long.

Fields were often muddy, sometimes so muddy that we lost our shoes in the muck. Mud slowed you down and that was a bad thing. At least on our crew, everyone would be assigned a row at the same time. Those who finished early got to rest more than those who finished later. After finishing the row, we got to sit on the ground or whatever place we could find, get a drink and maybe eat a snack.

Mud generally came from irrigation. My first year, we drank from the irrigation gates, wonderful, refreshing cold water. Drinking from the gates was some compensation for the exhausting task of trudging through that mud. Water bottles are far away in the middle of a field. But in my second year, chemigation started. The farmer would add fertilizer, herbicide and/or insecticide to the water, making it unsafe to drink.

Listening to water that we couldn’t drink was aggravating.

The worst field I remember was a mile long. Its terrain was V-shaped. The further we got into the V, the hotter and stuffier it became. By the time we were at V’s bottom, the heat and humidity in the cornfield was stifling. Every time I descended deep into the V, I felt as if I could not breathe.

When I got home, I had to go to the back door where Mother would spray me down before entering the house. After I showered, I’d take a nap. She’d wake me for supper, then I’d go straight back to bed.

Season lasted for about 20 days. Twenty days of hell.

Detasseling supposedly built character. I suppose that’s true. Knowing the misery I’d face yet still going to work daily was good life training. But I don’t want to do it again!

Brian's song

I can never think of or hear Chicago’s “If You Leave Me Now” without remembering my friend Brian.

He was in high school and I was in my late 20s when we met. I thought he was one of the funniest people I’d ever met. He made me laugh nearly every time I saw him. He was always doing some antic or saying something that would make me double over with laughter.

And he was so sweet. When I would feel discouraged, he always had some kind word to say.

I loved him and thought of him as a little brother.

I attended his class Project Graduation, an all-night party the night of graduation. Someone starting lip synching (karaoke hadn’t been invented) and others followed suit. I found Brian and “sang” “If You Leave Me Now” to him. Once song was done, I kissed his cheek.

He whooped in delight.

I never saw him again. I moved away shortly thereafter. That fall, 16 years ago, he was killed in a one-car accident. I still miss him.

This is for you, Brian.

Bargain bin music

Growing older has one big advantage. We can afford to buy more of the music we loved growing up because it’s been thrown into the bargain bin.

The music I love[d] — tunes from the Bee Gees, Boston, The Cars, Chicago, ELO, Foreigner and Billy Joel — have been out of Billboard’s Top 40 for many years now. But hearing the intro to “More Than a Feeling”, my favorite rock song, still soothes my soul. I can still “lose myself in [that] familiar song; I close my eyes and I slip away. I slip away, away…“

I want to ask Billy to “play me a melody; I’m not really sure how it goes, but it’s sad and it’s sweet and I knew it complete when I wore a younger [wo]man’s clothes …”

Chicago is hardly “the biggest part of me”, but “If You Leave Me Now” is still my favorite pop song.

When I was in high school, I didn’t think I could be “Stayin’ Alive” if I wasn’t listening to my music. If the day went badly, my music would start me “sailin’ away on the crest of a wave. It’s like magic.” Magic that was “Just What I Needed”, that put me “Back Where [I] Belong[ed]”.

Finding treasures in the bargain bin is pure pleasure. They take me back to the days before Walkmans and iPods, to the days where I had a black tape recorder with horrible audio quality and didn’t know what I was missing.

Now that my mental jukebox is cranked, I’ll get some “Peace of Mind” as I slip away, away!

Those were the harvesting days

In the dead of summer when the sun beats down hard before mid-morning, when that hot south High Plains wind blows up dust that swirls from every angle, my [Marilyn’s] mind returns to my younger days. Those long, scorching summer days that were spent helping my parents in the fields harvesting their crops of wheat. Those days started early and ran late. Yet now I look back on them longingly and cherish those memories deep within my soul.

My parents started those long-ago harvest days before sunrise! They would be out in the hay fields to greet the sun, changing the water rows, moving the irrigation socks from one set of long ditched rows to the next set. My parents always did this job before sunrise during harvest. Once the harvest day began, there was no time to do anything else!

Mom served breakfast when she returned from the irrigation fields, and my brother and I would be rousted from a nice quiet sleep. As soon as we downed breakfast, we each had to help Dad get the combine and trucks ready for the day.

My brother’s job was to round up the water jugs, clean them, and fill them with ice and fresh water, then put them in the combine and each truck. I was an outdoorsy girl, so my job was to help Dad grease the combine! How I loved searching for each grease zerk and pumping grease into them until it ran out the other side!

As the day grew hotter and the sun beat down ever harder, Dad would say that it was time to head out to the wheat fields. Mom usually drove “her” truck, while I’d drive another one, following Dad. Brother usually rode in the combine with Dad until he got old enough to drive the pickup.

Even though I was allowed to drive a truck TO the wheat field, I was never allowed to drive it FROM the field to the elevator when it was full of wheat. Dad never trusted me with a huge load of wheat on one of his trucks on those many miles of graveled road. I realized many years later that he was looking out for me and for his equipment. We had a long route to haul our wheat, with several hills and curves, as well as other hectic truck traffic sharing the same graveled roads.

I was Mom’s passenger for years while she was Dad’s truck driver. Mom and I spent countless hours waiting in lines at the elevator. At times, these lines seemed to run for miles. Theses lines inched forward so slowly! Flies would attack us, the hot Plains winds blew dirt and chaff all around, and no, our trucks did NOT have modern air conditioning! We always had magazines and newspapers to read. Once I discovered how much I loved writing, I also made sure I never left home without my notebook! While we waited, we gathered around the other trucks and visited with neighbors or custom harvesters.

As I grew into my teenage years, I told my dad that I wanted to work at the elevator during harvest. I wanted to be the girl who went out and jabbed the moisture meter into the load of wheat, then go in and write it down. What that ALSO meant was that I’d get to meet all the cute truck drivers!

Guess what Dad’s response was. I never did get to work that job!

After we unloaded, Mom and I would drive back to the field. Our other truck, now full of wheat, would be waiting for us. We’d switch trucks and repeat the process.

Somewhere in each day, we made meals and rested. My dad was not one to overload his family with constant heat without rest. At lunch, he would stop the combine and we’d eat at the kitchen table, even if the meal was a simple sandwich and some watermelon. After lunch, he’d usually let us kids take a nap or at least have some down time. He’d lie down for a power nap, then get right back up and get to work.

Even though the lines at the elevator were long and time slowly crept past, memories were made there. The smell of that harvested grain permeated my soul. Now when I smell harvested grain, my heart is drawn back in time.

Every now and then, Dad would invite me to ride in the combine with him. Oh, how I loved watching the header catch those waving heads of wheat, grabbing them, pulling them into the combine, then coming out of the auger into the bin.

As I got older, Dad began to let me move the truck closer to where he was combining, so he’d not have to travel across the field to unload the grain. Once I nearly started the wheat field on fire! I was driving along when I saw Dad standing on the outside of the combine, waving at me. I thought he wanted me to get there faster, so I sped up! For some reason, the truck just didn’t seem to want to move much faster. I didn’t want Dad mad at me, so I pushed it harder.

Well, this seemed to upset Dad, because now he was no longer standing on the combine; he was RUNNING towards me with his hands waving! I stopped the truck. As he got close to me, he was shouting!

I got out to see what the commotion was about. Smoke was coming out from underneath the truck! Dad asked if I’d taken off the emergency brake before driving the truck across the field. No, I hadn’t.

I told Dad I didn’t know the emergency brake was on! Wow, did I get a scolding! He told me NEVER to drive the truck across a dry wheat field without making sure the emergency brake was off!

Ever afterward, even when I drove wheat truck for my cousin many years later, I was careful to make sure the emergency brake was not engaged.

Those days of Dad driving our old combine, Mom hauling the wheat to the elevator, and me tagging along are long gone. Modern technology has changed many aspects of harvest time.

Brother has moved into the new age of farm equipment and he no longer does his own harvesting. He now hires a Canadian crew that has powerful, huge machines that are complete with all the computerized gadgets a person could want. I was amazed when I rode along at how quiet and tight the cab felt. I was also amazed at all the computerized gadgets that the driver barely touched when he wanted the machine to do what needed to be done. And it was air conditioned! What a change from the older combines Dad used!

I no longer get to ride along in the truck or the combine for any length of time. The crew cuts the wheat so quickly that in no time at all, they’re done with our fields and are anxious to move onto the next customer’s fields.

Yes, times have changed, even in the world of the little farmer. But one thing has not changed: “You can take the girl out of the country, but you can’t take the country out of the girl.”

Oh, doesn’t that wheat smell good!

Snowfall in July

“…Sometimes the snow comes down in June
Sometimes the sun goes ’round the moon…”
— Vanessa Williams, “Save the Best for Last”

Where in the Northern Hemisphere, other than the mountains, does the snow come down in June — or July?

Here in cottonwood country.

Our summer white stuff isn’t the precipitation skiers love. It’s cottonwood seeds. They fall in great profusion, drifting along in the breeze, spreading little cottonwoods wherever they fall.

One of the lawns I mow has a beautiful, huge cottonwood tree. As a consequence, cotton is everywhere in that yard. And every time I mow, my nose runs and my eyes water. I must be allergic to that cotton.

In cottonwood’s defense, no tree produces better shade. I don’t understand why, but sitting under a cottonwood feels cooler than sitting under any other tree.

I would have loved to have planted a cottonwood in our backyard, but we didn’t have enough space for that large a tree. Tree can grow 50-100 feet tall with a trunk diameter of 2-5 feet. If we had planted one, we would have bought a cottonless tree.

Power Tools Are a Girl's Best Friend

I disagree with Marilyn Monroe in “Gentlemen Prefer Blondes”. Power tools are a girl’s best friend. What can you do with a diamond? Now I love my wedding ring’s rock, but otherwise,

“Power Tools Are a Girl's Best Friend”!

The French were bred to die for love
They delight in giving jewels
But I prefer a man who lives
And gives expensive tools
A kiss on the hand may be quite continental
But power tools are a girl's best friend
A drill is grand because it helps you fix your rental
Or when the tire's flat, or just to kill a sewer rat
Men grow cold as girls grow old
And we all lose our charms in the end
But table saw or miter saw
These tools don't lose their value
Power tools are a girl's best friend

DeWalt and Cooper Tools
Talk to me, Black & Decker, tell me all about it
There may come a time when a lass needs a lawyer
But power tools are a girl's best friend

There may come a time when a hard boiled employer
Thinks you're awful nice
But get that vise or else no dice
He's your guy when stocks are high
But beware when the start to descend
It's then that those louses go back to their spouses
Power tools are a girl's best friend
I've heard of affairs that are strictly platonic
But power tools are a girl's best friend
And I think affairs that you must keep liaisonic
Are better bets if little pets get a nice saw set
Time rolls on and youth is gone
And you can't straighten up when you bend
But stiff back or stiff knees
You stand straight at Mr. Stanley's

Power tools
Power tools
I don't mean cheap ones
Yes, Power Tools
Are A Girl's Best Friend

Gift from the birds

Every winter, I put trash cans underneath my bird feeders to catch the waste. I’m amazed how many sunflower hulls are in those trash cans and how many little sunflowers come up each spring.

I thin them ruthlessly, but always leave a few of those beautiful yellow flowers to brighten my garden. Yellow is one of my favorite colors. It’s so cheerful and warm. Sunflowers’ shape makes them look like faces. I often feel that my sunflowers are smiling at me and the thought warms my heart.

Raspberries and the city

One day several years ago our city inspector called. He told Hubby that we had to remove the tall weeds in our yard.

The Frugal Gardener and her hubby carefully tend our yard. We knew we had no tall weeds. We were perplexed. What was he talking about?

Then we realized that he had to be thinking of our raspberry bushes.

At this time we were editor and publisher of a weekly newspaper.

Hubby called the inspector.

“My wife loves her raspberry bushes,” he said. “And she doesn't want to cut them down. Do you really want my wife, the editor, to have to cut down her raspberry bushes? You know that you’ll hear about it in print forever.”

We never heard a word more.

Talk about the power of the press!

Growing raspberries

Our raspberries were here when we moved in. I kept thinking those bushes were raspberries. They had raspberry leaves, but they didn’t produce any berries. So I didn’t bother with them. I didn’t have time to do much gardening then, so I just left them alone.

We’d been here one or two years when we had a wet spring. Berries appeared. Oh, so they are raspberries! We were delighted.

I’ve been tending them carefully ever since.

Raspberries want lots of water, especially during blossoming and fruiting seasons. However, I can water all I want and only have fair results. For a good crop, we must have rain, especially during blossoming. This year, we received no rain during blossoming. I watered, but the blossoms were sparse. Last year, we did have rain during blossoming and blossoms were everywhere. Blossoms produce berries, so the more blossoms, the more fruit.

Rains during fruiting time make the berries larger and juicier than they are with only watering.

Raspberries do require some work.

Pruning

If you don’t prune, your raspberry patch will soon be overgrown. After years of neglect, our raspberry thicket was nearly impenetrable. Once I began to prune, we received better yields — and I could get through the canes to reach their fruit.

Pruning is very important for raspberries. Otherwise, they become a tangle and have too much competition for sunlight and nutrients. I leave my canes intact until late February or early March in order to trap as much snow as possible. I then cut off all canes about 18 inches from the ground. I remove all the old, dead canes.

Red raspberry canes should be pruned to the ground.

Make sure to wear plenty of protection when pruning, including safety glasses. My face has been badly scratched when I hauled off the prunings.

Propagation

Black and red raspberries propagate themselves differently. Red raspberries send out suckers. To propagate red raspberries, sever the sucker from the mother plant and plant it in its new location.

Black raspberries start new plants from the canes of the old ones. Canes grow long enough to bend over and touch ground. The tip grows roots and up comes a new raspberry plant. If you wish to propagate the berries, cover the tips with 2-4 inches of soil to encourage rooting. Next spring, sever the new plant from the mother cane and transplant it.

Do not propagate any plants from diseased canes. The new plant will be infected with whatever infected the parent.

Black raspberries

Our black raspberries are one of summer’s greatest joys. All year, we look forward to eating them. We devour them during their short season, mostly in raspberry ice cream.

Last year we had a good crop. Rains fell at the right time to produce lots of plump, juicy berries. I thought I might be able to make preserves. That didn’t happen. We ate every last berry I picked!

The berry thicket is a hot, stuffy place. No air moves. I pick the berries early in the morning. That’s the only time picking is bearable. I object to being scratched, so I wear pants and a jacket. My hands are the only part of me left uncovered below the neck. Unfortunately, I can’t pick while wearing gloves. I tend to crush the berries because my sense of touch is off. Once I did try picking while wearing thin plastic gloves. That didn’t work. The gloves were shredded within minutes.

So I get a few scratches. Big deal. The price of scratches is well worth paying in order to eat delectable berries.

Grandma's wit

One summer I painted my grandmother’s barn. Cattle pens were attached to the back side of the barn. After my grandfather died, Grandma no longer had livestock, so the pens were overgrown with weeds.

Marijuana was the most prolific weed. (Although prolific, wild marijuana is not very potent.) Some of it grew more than waist high and I am a tall woman. One day I thought I’d have a little fun with Grandma. I pulled up one of the marijuana stalks and took it into the house when she called me to supper.

“Grandma,” I said, “I can’t believe you would grow marijuana in your cattle pens!”

She looked at me, looked at the plant, then said, “Well, you picked it.”

What could I answer to that?

It'll Do

We thought this was a great name for a motel. Yes, it’s no five-star Ritz Carlton, but it’s shelter and a bed. Sometimes, shelter and a bed is all we’re going to get.

“But godliness with contentment is great gain.” – I Tim. 6:6

Mother and the bird

I have never met anyone who had more presence of mind than my mother. If I had to pick one person to be at my side in an emergency, I’d pick her.

One scorching Sunday night, she was playing the piano for our church service. Building lacked air conditioning, so we had opened every possible door and window to catch whatever breeze might appear, including the big double doors at the main entrance.

While we were singing, a large black bird swooped in. It flew strafing runs over the congregation. We ducked and bobbed to escape the bird. The lady next to me was very afraid of birds. When the bird swooped right over our heads, she screamed and dove under the pew in front of us. She wasn't the only one taking shelter.

In spite of the commotion, Mother continued to play and the songleader tried to lead. After some minutes, the bird landed on the block at the bass end of the keyboard. Her left hand whipped out from the keyboard and grabbed the bird. She did not miss a note.

The bird was not amused and cawed loudly. It kept right on cawing and she kept right on playing. The songleader had stopped trying to lead singing. His mouth silently opened and closed right in time to the bird’s cries. He looked rather like a bird himself, like a baby bird opening its mouth for food.

While still continuing to play and hold on to the bird, Mother looked around for someone to take away the bird. Everyone was frozen. For a long moment, the only sounds were the bird’s cries and the piano.

Finally, a man came down the center aisle from the back of the church and took the bird. Mother continued playing, but no human uttered a sound. The only sounds were the bird, the piano and the man’s footsteps.

We heard it cry, “CAAAAW, CAAAAW, CAAAAW, CAAAAW, CAAAAW, CAA–”, then silence. Mother's rescuer had twisted off the bird's head.

He walked back into the church and sat down as if nothing had happened. She continued to play, but no one said a word for some time.

Then the entire congregation burst out laughing and cheering.

Even years later, people would retell the story. Most of them ended by saying, “Who else could catch a bird on the piano and not miss a note”

Stay on the track

We have a wayward sprinkler. That tractor often jumps the guiding hose and goes wherever it pleases.

The last time I watered, I caught it heading straight for the street, not once, but twice. Blessedly for everyone, it had gotten the tip of an arm caught on an obstacle both times. I would hate to think of the liability we could incur if our sprinkler ran into the street.

Didn’t it listen to its mother? “How many times have I told you not to play in the street?”

I just want the sprinkler to follow the very clear path I’ve set for it and do its job on this planet. Just spread water on the grass and gardens — not the sidewalks, not the street. That’s all I’m asking it to do. It has all the direction, all the power and all the equipment necessary to do its job, but it tends to be wayward and disobedient.

I get so aggravated when I have to rescue it and set it back on the proper path. I want to tell it, “Can’t you just follow the path I’ve lain out for you?”

The last time I picked up that sprinkler and replaced it where it belonged, I realized that I am often just like my annoying sprinkler.

My Savior tells me, “This is the way; walk in it.”

And I do – for awhile. Then I get alarming tendencies to jump the guidance hose and wander willy-nilly. How many times have I been saved by an obstacle he has placed in my path to stop me from going headlong into catastrophe? How many times has He had to pick me up and put me back on the right track? How many times have I missed an opportunity to spread Living Water in the right place because I was wandering instead of working?

Does He get as aggravated as I do when my sprinkler does what it shouldn’t be doing? Does He sigh in exasperation as I do when I find that my sprinkler has taken a useless path instead of being of service?

He must have a lot more patience with me than I do with my sprinkler. I’m so grateful for that. I’m so thankful that His mercies are new every morning and that His faithfulness is unbounded.

So next time I see that my sprinkler has jumped the track, I’ll try to examine myself to see where I’ve jumped off track.

The cost of freedom

Tintype is likely of Daniel Q. or his eventual brother-in-law Daniel D.

Daniel Q. served in the 36th Illinois Volunteer Infantry Regiment, which saw a great deal of action, including the Battles of Perryville, Stones River, Chickamauga, the Siege of Chattanooga, the Battles of Resaca and Atlanta. Daniel Q. was captured somewhere in Georgia or Alabama.

He died Jan. 31, 1864, while a prisoner of war. Family originally believed that he had died in Andersonville Prison, the most notorious of the Confederacy’s prisoner-of-war camps, but War Department files showed that he had died in Danville [Va.] Prison, another terrible place.

Daniel D. enlisted near the end of the war and served for about three months.

Excerpt of poem below was written by Union soldier Andrew A. Wright at Murfreesboro, Tenn., May 17, 1863. Daniel Q., who was in Wright's company, sent home a copy to his sister Annie, my great-great-aunt. She had it published in her local newspaper.

Who Wouldn’t Be a Soldier?

“ … Wherever the Cumberland Army shall go
They are brave soldiers of freedom, the world shall e’er know
The Butternuts [Confederates] find us too much for their mettle;
When brave Rosy [Gen. Rosecrans] moves on, they are sure to skedaddle.
And we’ll closely pursue them with [illegible]
Till the last Reb is vanquished and peace is restored
And the Stars and Stripes fly triumphant again
O’er a land that is purged of disloyal men,

Then ’tis homeward we’ll turn and we’ll sing as we go:
Ho! Friends, we are coming, we have conquered the foe,
The rebellion has ended; secession’s played out!

But oh! There are those who will shed bitter tears,
For the loss in this struggle of brave volunteers;
How many there are who in anguish will mourn
For the bold soldier boys who will never return,

Should it be in my lot in this struggle to fall,
Dear friends in the North, I would say to you all;
Mourn not at the fate which may take me from you;
The patriot’s grave with no terrors, I view.
He who tempers the wind to the lamb that is shorn
Will guide, guard and protect you when I’m dead and gone.

But we hope for the best and sad thoughts dispel,
And trust to the end that all will be well,
That the day will soon come when our friends we will greet,
And that circle of loved ones again we shall meet,

Then keep up your courage ’till rebellion is crushed;
[Illegible, illegible] for our cause it is just.
The above are my thoughts and I send them to thee,
From your ever-true brother now in old Tennessee.

Freedom has a price

On this Independence Day, I want to honor our fathers who served our country.

My dad was an aircraft mechanic in the Air Force. Dad served between the Korean and Vietnam Wars. Hubby's dad was a radioman in the Navy during the Korean War and afterward.

We are deeply proud and honored to say that our fathers served and protected our country.

My cousins Nicholas and Joshua currently serve in the Navy and Marines. I have a friend stationed in Saudi Arabia and another in Afghanistan.

I cannot express my gratitude enough. Thank you. May God watch over each of you and keep you from harm.

Freedom is not free. Celebrate Independence Day by honoring a veteran and/or service person.

21 ways to keep cooler frugally

Sticker shock is about to arrive on our electric bill. We finally had to put in our final (fourth) air conditioner Tuesday. Number three went in Monday. Number two went in on the official first day of summer. (Number one, the big one, is permanently in the window.) We've never been able to wait this long before. Thank God for a cool, extended spring!

Cool your house for less

I am obsessive about keeping heat out of the house. Heat that never enters the house doesn't have to be removed.

1. Cook and bake outside. Since the kitchen accounts for 80 percent of in-home heat production, we cook and even bake outside as much as possible. Last year, we picked up a turkey fryer on clearance. We boil and fry in it, using the least amount of oil possible. We've made cookies and pizza on the grill. We keep our rotisserie grill in a waterproof storage container outside and use it as much as possible.

2. Remove heat from laundry chores. I wash with cold water as much as possible and line dry many of our clothes. The dryer is essentially a spinning oven. Much of the heat will be vented, but some will remain in the house. Besides, we love the smell and feel of line-dried clothing. I tried line drying towels, but Hubby strongly objected. He said those towels were too scratchy! I try to run the dryer and dishwasher at night. Although we don't get this break, some places charge less for electricity used during off-peak periods.

3. Keep blinds drawn. Windows are solar heat engines. Keeping the curtains closed prevents the sun from heating your house. The drapes will reflect the light away, especially if you have light-colored backing. Enough light to see by will filter in. If you prefer to see out, as I do, open the curtains on the shady side of the house.

4. Close gaps. If you have air leaks around your windows and doors, you are letting out high-priced cold and bringing in heat. If light shows, you have an air leak. Weatherstripping is cheap compared to electricity. This is probably completely obvious, but keep your windows and doors shut when running the air conditioner. Why pay to cool the outdoors?

5. Use window fans. Once temperatures cool at night, open the windows, turn off the air conditioner(s) and turn on window fans. Fans cost less to operate than air conditioning. Set them to bring in cooler air. Wind chill factor adds to the cooling effect.

6. Plant shade trees. A Chinese proverb says the best time to plant a tree was 20 years ago. The next best time is now. A shade tree prevents the sun from hitting your house. For best results, plant on the south and west. Make sure to shade your air conditioner. A shaded air conditioner has to work less.

7. Install ceiling fans. Ceiling fans don’t cool the house, but they make it feel cooler. They pull cooler air off the floor and redistribute it. Make sure fan is spinning correctly. The leading edge should be higher than the trailing. Reverse the fan for winter to pull warm air off the ceiling.

8. Turn off the lights. Lights produce heat. Only use what you need. Fluorescent lights are cooler than incandescent ones.

9. Turn off the TV. Our TV is an old CRT model, which really cranks out heat. LCD models are cooler, but still produce heat. If you're not watching TV, you can be outside where it is (hopefully) cooler.

10. Go downstairs. Heat rises. Cold sinks. Need I say more?

I am indebted to That One Caveman for the rest of these suggestions.

11. Add insulation. Most homes are under-insulated. Insulation keeps interior temperatures in and exterior temperatures out.

12. Tint windows. If your windows can't be covered with blinds/curtains/drapes, tint them. Tinting will cut light and heat infiltration.

13. Keep your furnace filters clean. Check your filters at least once a month. Dirty filters make your air conditioner work harder. Harder work equals higher bills.

14. Relocate your air conditioner. If your air conditioner is in a sun-drenched area, move it if possible. Set it on the east side of your house, shaded from the baking afternoon sun. Your air conditioner will thank you with lower bills.

15. Give your air conditioner space. Provide 6 inches of clear space around the air conditioner’s sides and put nothing on its top. The air conditioner needs to move air for maximum heat dissipation.

16. Close unused vents. Unused/little-used rooms don’t need to be cooled to the same level as the ones you spend your time in. Why spend money on a place you don't use? Don't completely shut basement vents. Air conditioners remove humidity, which collects most in basements.

17. Turn up your thermostat. If you can handle it, every degree above 78 degrees saves six to seven percent on your bill.

18. Use a programmable thermostat. Caveman says, “It doesn’t make much sense to cool your home while you’re gone, but it’s hard to remember to tweak your thermostat every day before you leave for work. Program your thermostat to go up by five degrees about 30 minutes or so before you leave and have it come back to your normal temperature a half-hour before you return. For added savings, program it to also raise the thermostat by two or three degrees through the night. You’re unlikely to notice the change in your sleep.”

19. Run your furnace fan. If your furnace allows you to run its fan without using the heat or air conditioning, use it. The fan will balance out hot and cold spots to make the house more comfortable. Also, the filter traps allergens. Again, make sure to change the filter frequently.

20. Install an attic fan. The attic fan sucks in outdoor air as well as moving it. This only works in the evening since windows have to be open, but it generally makes sleeping very comfortable. Attic fans may pay for themselves in two years.

21. Scatter fans around the house. Electric fans are much cheaper to run than air conditioners. They move air, creating a wind chill effect, and circulate the cooler air that the air conditioner produces.

Calling 'The General Lee'

While on a photo safari the other day, we saw this building on a hilltop. It looked interesting, so we went looking for a road to it.

We found the road — and a "bridge out" sign. We couldn't resist seeing what this "bridge out" looked like, so we drove around the barricade. When we saw orange flags in front of a dip in the road, we got out and walked to the bottom.

The road stopped. It was gone.



We gingerly approached the gap, being careful to stay clear of the crumbling edges. The only evidence left of the departed bridge was an exposed culvert. The area had received some heavy rains which apparently overwhelmed the culvert and took out the dirt encasing it.



Parts of the culvert had been unearthed and pushed downstream.



Where was The General Lee, The Dukes of Hazzard’s Dodge Charger, when we needed it? We could have soared right over that obstacle if we’d had that famous TV car on call. And if it came with Bo and Luke Duke, so much the better! Hubby would probably insist on Daisy Duke, though, and her presence just would not do. Guess I’ll have to pass on the Brothers Duke, but flying over the obstacle in that car would have been great.

A girl can dream, can’t she?