Every year about this time, the church picnics begin. Every weekend there’s one, and for decades the prime drawing card (and money-maker) was the same: Turtle Soup. Farmer Gary loves Turtle Soup. When I found a family recipe the other day, it got him to telling stories. Not just about the soup. About the man. Johnny Lange. The Turtle Man: Johnny Lange (pronounced “LONG-ee” … Gary would never forgive me if I didn’t add that Johnny had a brother whose…
When we moved to Indiana in 1973, I innocently believed the Ku Klux Klan was a thing of the past. That is, until a trick-or-treater arrived at our door wearing a white robe and hood. When I questioned the young boy, he replied with a racist slur. I hollered and he ran off … In college, I remember learning about the 1915 silent film The Birth of A Nation. We were taught it was a technical breakthrough, a landmark in…
It’s a good thing I like the Beatles so much, because one song in particular has been rolling around in my brain for seven years or so. ,,, and that’s because of the number of phone calls I get for someone named Michelle. From the beginning of mobile phones’ ubiquity, mine was provided by my workplace. So when retirement was anon, it was time to let someone else carry around that noisy contraption. (When grandson Cameron was a toddler, he…
Years before I married Farmer Gary, the first person I spoke with each morning was Ron. He was the morning deejay at WTCJ radio and I was the morning newsperson. This was back in the day when many small towns had their own radio station. Tell City, Indiana’s family-owned radio station had been around since the late 1940s. It was the summer of 1980, I’d finished college and was starting my first job. Before long I was put on the…
July passed so quickly! Here are the four books I read: Book 1: 1776 by David McCullough In commemoration of our nation’s 250th birthday, I got a start on this weighty volume: There’s a lot more to the story of America’s independence than what I remember from school. The individual sacrifices are worthy of our remembrance. Book 2: Murder Must Advertise by Dorothy Sayers Lord Peter Wimsey is back – this time under an assumed name – to look into…
This story is dedicated to anyone who has ever become frustrated working on a family tree: Don’t give up. A year ago, we put together the story of Harry M. Nightingale. He fought – and died – in World War I. His connection to our family tree is through his widow’s second husband. We’re family. Harry wrote an incredible letter home while overseas. His mom gave it to the local paper to share with its readers. (That letter is reprinted…
Actually, how about a thousand cheers? Have you ever been greeted by a blizzard of confetti online while performing a simple task? Confetti, plus a message designed to send your heart soaring? So it was with me this morning. The online celebration was for the one-thousandth clipping I’d snagged on the Newspapers.com site. Totally unexpected and sort of embarrassing. (Maybe it’s a generational thing?) There have been many news clippings over the years that have helped with family stories for…
Another letter from Mom to her aunt Sister Amabilis … Mom was 15 years old at the time. Sister Amabilis (aka Aunt Marguerite) was teaching first graders in the Hartford, Connecticut, area. Here’s the news (plus a poem) Mom sent on that July day in 1945: Dear Marguerite, We had a wonderful party on the Fourth of July. Joe was the real instigator and Grandma would do anything for him. There were hot dogs and cake, soda and watermelon. There…
Yesterday’s story included a poem from a letter Mom wrote in 1944. We’re back today with the rest of the letter. Her pen pal? Mom’s aunt Marguerite (baptised Margaret Josephine, after her parents, in 1895). To non-family members, she was Sister Amabilis. This tiny eight-page time capsule includes updates on Mom’s family, who lived on Chatham Street in New Haven, Connecticut. Dear Marguerite, Thanks so much for your letters and congratulations. I can never thank you enough for praying and…
This morning, while reading a book, I was reminded of buttercups. The young female protagonist was gifted a pin in the shape of a buttercup. As my cup of coffee kicked in, I started thinking back to my childhood. There was something about buttercups … It took a few minutes to piece it all together, but memories of Mom picking a tiny yellow flower and holding it under my chin gradually broke through the fog. “Let’s see … there it…