Favorites!

 Favorites!

 

Somehow autumn became my favorite season when something made me notice the changing of the seasons. How can anything like cooler weather, falling colors from the trees, flying geese, and a blazing fire make one feel loved? Not sure just why that feeling originated with a season, but as much as spring came to represent new growth, autumn meant smells of waxed floors, Mom’s apple pies, and early morning coffee that meant we would all be together in the house. Our house was filled with Dad’s gun oil, shoe wax, and whatever he was doing on a canvas at the time. He painted pictures in cold weather when he could not get outside comfortably. Some of his work is on the walls of this old house now.

 

Called my brother and enjoyed reminiscing about the way things were when we were growing up. We did not have “snacks” in our house. We had meals. We ate what was put on our plates—whether or not we liked it. Both of us despised English peas. Not sure why Mom thought that it would change, but after she saw me lose them a few times, she stopped trying to get us to eat them. Sterling was better about that stuff and only frowned. We did not dare gripe. Daddy did not have a lot of patience with our feelings about food. Peanut butter would have been fine with both of us—anything except English peas! But then Dr. Hurn decided that their daughter needed iron. Mom did not think about cooking liver more often and just using that instead of buying that horrible Triple S iron tonic. Now that was some horrible stuff. Mom would hold my nose and make me swallow it. She finally got to doing that closer to the sink since it was a pretty sure bet that stuff was coming back for a quick visit! And then Daddy said we were going to finish that bottle and not buy any more of that expensive stuff. Can’t imagine how glad that made me!

 

It is such a good thing to have a family member who can remember the same things you lived through. We even have a cousin who came to live with us one school year who can remember some of those times. But, of course, he was older than we were. And his memories were more or less different from ours since we knew how things worked no matter what happened. Our dad did not get all over Uncle Morgan’s two children like he would us. But they did not cause much problems for my parents anyway. They were the only cousins we had that ever stayed with us. Our children got to stay with some of their cousins when they were younger, but they also got to stay at the farm down in Bonita and play there with their grandparents. They had a pretty good childhood and were happy to be together on the farm. Those were some good times. They fed watermelons and black-eyed pea shells to the cows and got to sit on Shirley, Lewis’ pet cow. Yep, fun times.

 

It has begun to shower again. Will not gripe. Think we need the rain pretty badly. The ground is cracked open in the east lots, and the edge around Lake Wichita looks dry and weedless—which means it needs to be filled up again. Oh well. We take the weather like everything else, one day at a time.

 

Michelle Malay called and said that the thunder had all six of her dogs right under her feet. And it is raining out that way for all its worth, too. We will see if that moves this direction. Not going to gripe either way.

Was SO proud of the Wyandottes for going into the little coop last night. Went out there to find them all roosting up on the south side where it was easiest to sit over the shelf. Today the dowel rod that was in the coop for the Marans got moved into the middle coop. Then guess who closed the door to the long coop. May go out there in a bit and find some ticked off hens—or not. They can adjust pretty easily, but they can also be pretty ornery, too. We will see if they take over the middle coop or go to the little one where the feed is spread out. May just run out there right quick to spread more feed as an enticement. None of them had decided to go to roost yet, so maybe in less than an hour they will head in. Chickens don’t look at clocks. They are awake when the sun comes up to give them light and go to roost before dark thirty ever gets here. Smart birds.

 

Looked at the price of flower bulbs and decided it just was not worth it. Even if planting them were easier, the prices were just out of sight! Will just enjoy the wild flowers that spring up in the cracks between the paving stones and the chives growing taller in the front yard. Going to have to clip all the seed pods from the trumpet vines and see if anyone wants some. The vines tear down fences and can take the roof off of just about anything, so a person has to be careful about where they are planted. Down on the Dickerson farm the trumpet vines grew up in the black jack oak trees in the front yard. But they were not anywhere close to the front porch. Garland (Lewis’ father) would not even let one tree get near his house. The cedars and a couple of oaks were the most notable trees on the farm. They had one other kind in the side yard, but never was sure what kind it was. Sometimes Garland had names for trees and things that never really fit in the books. But like naming his cows things like “Fat Butt,” it was nearly always funny.

 

Really about as dumb as dirt around here. Read that Mariellen Rose is doing better and is about to start the full doses of chemo. Hate that anyone has to do that stuff. It seems so counter-intuitive that it could possibly do any good when it makes folks so terribly ill. But some things that seem pretty bad have decent results.

 

God has blessed us with all that mankind can ask for, but we still need to be responsible stewards of His generosity. Let us be grateful and respectful of life and of others.

 

Rest and be happy—the motto seen at the top of a long valley in Scotland. You are loved.