Farmer Gary remembers his mom, Rita, mentioning she had a little sister she never met. This was a bit confusing at first, as Rita was the youngest in the Mike & Rosa Mehling family. It turns out that little Henrietta was born in 1917, a full nine years before Rita’s birth. But sadly, Henrietta never got the chance to grow up. She was only 18 months old when she left this earth. When Gary asked his mom about what happened,…
Farmer Gary and I don’t usually make a big deal out of Valentine’s Day. After all, it’s just four days after February 10, the anniversary of the day we met. That’s our holiday. Still, I wanted to make something special to warm Gary’s innards, as he’d been outside shoveling soybeans yesterday. Something that says “I love you madly,” but in a bowl. Bean soup it was. As Lent approaches, Gary and I swap “giving up” stories from our youth. Although…
Not sure what it means when the first book you read in the new year is Jaws. Here’s a look a January’s tasty morsels: Book 1: Jaws by Peter Benchley Just when you thought it was safe to go back in the library … it was a pun-filled Jaws Christmas. Me: Can’t wait to sink my teeth into this book. Farmer Gary: Wow. You’re really chewing through that one. Although the “thrillers” genre is never my first pick (or second,…
It’s only just now occurring to me that Dad‘s love of the song “Waltzing Matilda” might be because his mom’s middle name was Mathilda. He’d sing over and over: Once a jolly swagman camped by a billabongUnder the shade of a Coolibah treeAnd he sang as he watched and waited till his billy boiled“You’ll come a Waltzing Matilda with me” If you’re not familiar with Australia’s unofficial national anthem, here’s a 1962 recording by Dad’s favorite folk musician, Richard Dyer-Bennett:…
“Kitty go yow-yow! Kitty go yow-yow!” One of our sons, as a toddler, used to delight in seeing the barn cats over at the farm. He would point a tiny finger and proclaim to us: “Kitty go yow-yow!” And so, when a particularly vocal kitty started hanging out with us back in March, Gary and I resurrected the phrase. Here’s a photo I sent to James, still at college: It was nice to see such a handsome fellow cross our…
“Gary Werne! Not again!” My husband got a nervous look on his face, but quickly replied: “Those boxes aren’t for me. They’re for Mr. Wense.” Several boxes had arrived that day from multiple mail-order book clubs. Another batch of books we had not ordered, from book clubs of which Gary was already a member. Gary, who never before nor since has shown the least sign of sneakiness, was simply the victim of a mailing-list typo. Flash back to 41 years…
Farmer Gary has been incredibly patient as this blog has explored mostly my ancestors, as we peer back over the decades. But now, it is (ahem!) time to explore the story of a special clock from long, long ago. Gary remembers that his mom really wanted to inherit that clock. She’d grown up with it, after all. Every Sunday evening, her father – Mike Mehling – would smoke his pipe. Then he would gently remove the clock from its shelf…
For the last three days, the haunting melody of the Beatles’ “She’s Leaving Home” has tormented my brain. Now that I read through the lyrics, though, I realize very little applies. Our youngest isn’t running away. James is heading into his new life. Adult life. About an hour ago, Gary and I waved from our front porch (a lovely tradition from Mom’s aunt and uncle May and Pip) as James pulled out of the driveway with the last load of…
It’s an utter disgrace to be the wife of a farmer and not have a green thumb. (If I’d written this a decade ago, when moo cows were still a-plenty around here, that would have been an “udder disgrace.” I may stink at gardening, but I can pluck a pun from miles away.) Nevertheless, we keep trying. Last year, we planted three Black-Eyed Susan plants. One survived. “That’s one in three,” Farmer Gary remarked recently. He’s too nice a guy…
“Ouchie post!” I can’t begin to tell you how many times that little voice popped up from the back seat of our car. But I knew what he meant. Our youngest had spied a new and unusual ouchie post and was wildly gesticulating, hoping I’d be just as excited to see it. It was only recently, though, as we reminisced, that I learned more about the obsession. Farmer Gary remembers that James wasn’t much more than a toddler at the…