Sunday, March 17, 2019

The grill is lit

Jackets tucked away. Heat turned off. Screens exposed once more. Hm, feels like spring. Bought a Mason bee house for the backyard. New flowers waiting to be planted. Daffodils wanting to come in and brighten the house.

The family has battled flu, colds and pneumonia for the last few weeks. We are all exhausted and in need of change. The sunshine seems to be a miracle cure. I threw off my jackets and howled at the sun. Oops, I think that's the moon. Not up yet. I bought books. Went to the grocery. Bought foods that are fattening and those that speak of warm weather. It has been a good day.

The first sign of spring on Neff Road was definitely when the robins returned. Here, the robins stay wondering why, when it snows, they didn't go south as well. Mom was always looking for those first bulbs to pop through the winter soil. How do they do that? Little green shoots shoving and pushing their way towards the sun that THEY CANNOT SEE. What's with that? Dad was sharpening plows and animals were giving birth all over the place. I guess when winter comes so too does the cuddling.

I can honestly say that I have seen more births on the farm than I ever did in my own delivery room or in my with my grandchildren. Lambs, calves and more lambs, more calves. Mom sent me to the field to learn the facts of life and indeed I did. Little did she know how much more I learned during those years.

While waiting for Mom's flowers to pierce their way towards the illusive sun, Dad was getting the garden ready as well as the tobacco beds. However, that is a long boring story that I have told before. Spring meant change.

I realize more and more as I age that we had a rare growing up. When many farm people think that suburban people think they are naive, the truth is that urban folks have no idea what it is to live on a farm. They are just clueless. It seems to be a two-way street in learning about one another and embracing our difference. I am a hybrid of both. I am now a city girl with country roots that go deep. I embrace both with fervor, because I have had the best of both. One cannot thrive without the other.

A story came to my attention this weekend. I asked my son's father-in-law Joe, age 83, what it was like growing up in the south. A southern boy all of his life growing up in North Carolina, he lived such a different life. "You have to understand," he said. "I was 30 before I knew that the civil war was over slavery." What?!?!?! What?!?!?! The history books in the south did not mention slavery in context with the civil war. The kids didn't know. They thought it was all about states' rights. "Didn't it bother you that the blacks were separated from whites?" I asked. "We had always lived that way. Again, we had nothing to compare it with. We didn't know it was wrong."

Perhaps this is a little like the little green spikes trying to find that darn sun that keeps calling to them. They are in the dark until the light shines on them, and they bloom. Spring has a new meaning for me. Now I know there is an understanding that must take place between those raised in darkness and those who had all the information they needed without it being hidden from them. It has to do with city and rural finding that they have much in common and much to learn. Just like the south seeing the day of light and perhaps feeling manipulated.

"So, want to sit on the porch with a glass of wine?" my husband asked. We had finished with our hibernation. "Only if we can toss dinner on the grill," I answered.

Monday, March 11, 2019

Haunted by morels

This time of the year rolls around, and I always write about morel mushrooms. So this year I am going to get off this merry-go-round and not talk about morels. Those I looked for in the woods with my dad. Those that mom rolled in flour and fried in butter. Those that haunt my dreams.

Doris Lavy always found more than anyone I ever knew. Even after we went looking, she would find many more. We always tried to beat her to the woods, so we could get ahead of her. I would never tell Dad, but living at their house I would have gotten more.

I was telling June about the time we went to Aunt Bess's in Ludington, Michigan, where I picked a mushroom that was about five inches tall. I have a picture to prove it. Aunt Bess could sure fry up a skillet full of mushrooms and some fine fish in no time at all. Ah, sweet memories.

Lowell Lavy always finds hundreds of them. In truth, I think he puts them in the freezer and just pulls them out to take a new picture each year. Maybe there should be a limit. All those over the limit should be sent to Oregon. Seems fair to me.

Loren and I haven't gone looking for mushrooms here. Well, for one thing, he doesn't know how, and with his big feet, they would be in danger. Plus, our huge forests would be the perfect place for these two hunters to get lost. Happens here all the time.

I felt the need to research predators of morel mushrooms. Much to my dismay, I found that mule deer, elk and grey squirrels are only three of the many who race their human counterparts to the precious morsels. You will note that morel is only one letter off from morsel. I get it.

Now in this time of eating healthier, one might not consider morels. Yet they are high in Vitamin D and minerals. Plus you must hike to find them, and bend once you do find them. In contemplating these few facts, I know that these are a necessary food for my better health.

In about six weeks, we will be coming back to Ohio. I'm sure we will be past the time for stalking and capturing morels. I would love to go on the hunt one more time. A chance to breathe that wonderful country air and walk the places I walked as a child. But instead the memories almost bring those morsels back to life, er to my taste buds.

I seem to have failed in my attempt to change my tune this year. But perhaps you learned a bit more about the benefits of morel mushrooms and the craving of them for those of us who know that the season is short.

Hope to see you all in a few weeks. We will have a meet and greet. Come spend time with us. Time and date to follow.

Monday, March 4, 2019

A Dog's Life

As usual I am at a loss as to what to write. Emma is home sick and hanging with Loren and me. I asked her what I should write about. She suggested I write about her dog Millie or about her school. We both agree that Millie is a really great dog and needs some newspaper time (especially since she started out on newspapers.)

Millie is a beautiful eight year old Airedale. When she was a pup, she looked like a Rottweiler. We were a little concerned, since the mother was indeed an Airedale. Well, her fairly pointed nose rounded out, and she became the beautiful dog we love with all our hearts. Millie weighs about eighty pounds. It is impossible for me to walk her. She is better at walking me.

Since we have the new house, we invite Millie to come stay as well as the twins. Seems that everyone knows how to make themselves at home. Millie likes to hang out on the deck. Not sure if she likes to watch the birds as we do or is waiting to bark at a squirrel.

Loren and I talk about getting a puppy. We both have had dogs all of our lives. And, we have lost dogs. There is a craving that goes along with those of us who have had dogs as part of our families. But then, we are retired and fancy free. Do we really want to start over? Do we want to leave a dog while we are gone all day? Our answer, at least so far, is no. Millie is filling the holes left in our hearts by the loss of our beloved dogs.

My dad never allowed a dog in the house. I wonder how much richer our lives would have been with a dog there to nuzzle our legs and sit on our laps. How many nights would I have felt safer with a dog by my side? Of course, Dad thought animals belonged outside. Yes, I think we missed something.

Aunt Kate and Uncle Keith had Dachshunds. Stagers had a Pointer named Judy. Lavys had a Heinz 57. Cyril had a big, old hound that loved to bay. We had a cocker spaniel who followed Dad and I all over the farm. Dogs that were loved but all lived outside.

Today Emma is ill and snuggled up next to me on the sofa. On the floor in front of me is one very large dog contently sprawled out on her bed fast asleep. We know that Millie is not in the best of health. My heart aches at the thought of losing her. So I soak up all the warmth and scent of this magnificent dog. Her sense of humor and dedication to our family is priceless. I wonder if dogs had people if the would keep them outside? Hm.