Farmer Gary‘s great-grandmothers just can’t catch a break when it comes to obituaries. First it was Mary Wigger (she of the snuffly expiration) and now it’s Mary Werne’s turn. Excuse me, but did the local paper hire Dr. Seuss to write this headline? Mary Elisabeth Hedinger Werne passed away in her sleep on July 10, 1938. And according to the newspaper, it was a “gruesome sight” to confront. According to hand-typed notes Gary’s uncle Arch left us, although Mary was…
Oh, nature. You are testing me. That fox last month was one thing. But did he have to move his whole family here? Under the front porch? And, apparently, under the back deck as a playroom for the four – count ’em four – kits? The worst part is poor Yow-Yow Kitty has taken to patrolling from up on the rooftop of our house. A close second in the worst-part category is that the cute little kits like to roll…
This morning, between rowdy thunderstorms, I heard an odd sound. Gary and I were sitting together in our sunroom, gazing into our backyard, which – after all the recent rain – looks like a jungle. The noise was pitched high enough that Gary couldn’t hear it. Years of high-frequency milking machines will do that to you. It almost sounded like an alarm: two tones in fairly rapid succession and then silence. By late afternoon, I’d forgotten all about it. Then…
Now that we have a sunroom, Farmer Gary and I notice daily we have several new patches of disturbed earth outside. It’s time to decide what to plant there. We brought up the topic while visiting with John, Aubrie, and Cameron last week. Aubrie loves to garden and is always great with gentle advice – be it regarding fruit, vegetables, or flowers. It’s always fun for John and me to observe our spouses dig in and discuss fertilizer, alkaline levels…
A few weeks ago, one of Farmer Gary‘s cousins sent us some photos from a century ago, hoping my husband could identify the relatives. The cousin, Becky, is one of the daughters of Gary’s uncle/godfather Jim. She said the photos were from a huge Schum-family reunion some 40 years ago. There was a table piled high with photos. Copies of old black-and-whites were available to order, but they did not come with any identifying information. Here’s one of them: Gary…
“Hot enough for ya?“ Har-dee-har-har. I used to force a smile back in my working days when a visiting reporter considered that a good conversation starter as we began our walking tour. Especially back in the summer of 1999, when I was pregnant with James all summer, it was a challenge. I tried not to complain much, though, as my communications position was mostly an office job. I’ve heard from several friends and family members this week, the hottest days…
Two years ago, as Gary and I finished clearing out Mom and Dad’s house in Connecticut, we set aside all kinds of mementos from their lives that we hoped would fit in the U-Box containers we’d rented. One entire section of the garage was filled with gardening tools. Some I remembered clearly from 50-something years prior. Dad loved to garden. It relaxed him after a long day in the office. A hoe, a rake, or a trowel was a piece…
This is the unofficial Year of the Groundhog. Poor Farmer Gary just had to re-plant the soybean field next to our house. Why? Not the usual reason of too much rain or not enough rain. Why, then? Our local groundhogs have apparently decided that Gary is their personal chef and the soybean field is their grand buffet. Deep down, though, surely they realize they’re in the wrong. After all, the rows closest to the woods are the first to be…
“Oh, boy! Stinky cheese!” Dad sure knew how to clear a room. He was crazy about pungent cheese and all the drama his eating it entailed. Maybe it was the Frenchy-Frenchman side of him? We kids would run for cover while he all but inhaled chunks of Camembert, Munster, and Feta. Phew! As a child, I remember begging Mom to let me wait for her outside of a food shop in Pittsfield, a store that specialized (or so it seemed)…
Have I mentioned Farmer Gary‘s deep fascination with the Amish? He admires their simple lifestyle and enjoys talking to both current and former Amish. Throughout this borderline obsession (lasting all of our 40-year marriage), Gary’s been sure to school me on what he’s learned, including a practice known as rumspringa. What exactly is rumspringa? It’s a rite of passage in some Amish communities, allowing teenagers more than their traditionally limited amount of freedom as it pertains to behavior. At the…