Farmer Gary’s grandfather on his dad’s side was George Werne. A good name. The name George means “farmer.” The farmland we live on now – and on which Gary continues to grow crops – was once farmed by George. He bought the “home place,” which was 40 acres, from his parents and later added the “back 40,” where Gary and I built our home and raised our family. George added to the property over the years, bringing the total to…
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…
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…
Have you ever felt a sense of grace while going through a really hard time? Have you found something to smile or chuckle about through your tears of grief? Mom called this “a sense of holy laughter” in a recorded interview, below. She was referencing how she and her siblings managed to laugh as they stepped cautiously through the final weeks of their father’s life in the spring of 1982. A sense of holy laughter. Grandpa loved a good laugh….
“Jelly” is an occasional topic of conversation in our household. It seems Gary was traumatized as a child by all the plum jelly he was forced to consume. Growing up on a farm, with parents who remembered The Great Depression like it was yesterday, Gary knew better than to complain. So he dutifully ate plum jelly on a slice of bread (he calls it “jelly bread,” which I’ve always found confusing) when it was served to him as a kid….
“I don’t know why you want to vote. You vote them in, the shit-asses do whatever they want anyway.” – Mike Mehling, circa 1940s Tuesday was the 100th anniversary of women getting the vote, so I started asking family members if they had any stories about our female ancestors voting for the first time, presumably in 1920. Gary’s immediate response was the above quote from his maternal grandfather, Mike Mehling (1888-1964). He certainly made no bones about his opinions, usually…
Gary doesn’t like snakes. Not one bit. Living on a farm, though, there are plenty of opportunities for reptilian encounters. Here are just a few: Pssst! Up here! The other morning, Gary headed out to our garage to hop on his John Deere lawnmower, as the grass in our yard is in rapid-growth mode. First, he backed my vehicle out of the way. Walking back in to get the mower, a scruffy old bird’s nest on the ground right in…
My sister-in-law Linda posted some beautiful flower photos this morning on Facebook. She and my brother Harry live in Maine and spend a lot of their time happily communing with nature. I, on the other hand, can recognize pansies and geraniums, but I fear that’s about it. Oh, and roses. Carnations and day lilies, too, But that’s it. So it’s a good thing Linda identified the flowers in her post as peonies. Now I may not recognize peonies, but at…
Does anyone else feel conflicted about blueberries? They’ve rolled in and out of my life over the years, with mixed reviews. Let’s start with 1961. Apparently I just loved a bowl of fresh blueberries and cream. Mom even wrote a poem about it: For Paula, Who Is Three Tomorrow (I won’t be able to do it then) Who likes blueberries, blueberries, blueberries …all of the children in our house. For we have small and padded bearswho sit on small and…