Putting cows on the front page since 1885.
Putting cows on the front page since 1885.
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Said the Robin to the Sparrow, "I should really like to know Why these anxious human beings Rush about and worry so." Said the Sparrow to the Robin, "My friend, it must be That they have no Heavenly Father such as cares for you and me." I thought of this little rhyme last week when I watched a robin hopping cheerfully in our lawn. He didn't seem worried in the least about a lurking virus in the world in which he lived. But for those of us who can't depend on catching an unlucky earthworm for a...
With heavy eyelids and burning eyes brought on by daylight saving time, we also bounced back and forth like a ball. March, with unpredictable moods, bounced us between winter and summer. But we're adapting. I'm always amazed at the resiliency of the human body and how it recovers and adjusts to changes. Sunshine, with powerful heat, beamed on our Monday, March 9. The garden soil begged for seeds so I obliged. I dropped the little, shriveled bits into my scratched rows where they wait for a...
"Little crocus blooming there What a precious beauty fair, Head held high – so brave are you Hoping spring shall soon shine through, Treasured beauty – in the sod Surely from the heart of God." Starting my letter with a verse from Garnett Ann Schultz's "Little Crocus" poem seems like the right thing to do after one week of March. In it we had both calm winds and wild winds. We had both freezing temps overnight and warm weather with sunshine that drew us outside. As I stooped and stood upr...
Dear February, Thank you for all the gifts in your days, through the mighty hand of God who rules over His created seasons. Your first day was the first of many calm, gray days that only hinted of freezing. Some of your days were record-breaking warm that drew me to my little greenhouse where tiny plants burst through the soil with promises. Some of your days were frigid with wild winds swooping over Lock Mountain with mighty gusts of power. Your days never gave much rain or snow so for the firs...
The pain in my shoulder that awoke me wasn't an unfamiliar pain. I went back over the events of the day before, trying to recall what I did to bring it on. The sunny, mild Monday, Feb. 17, had been packed with action but I didn't remember hurting my arm. I limped through the day but the next night I couldn't sleep. I writhed restlessly but suppressed the urge to groan lest I wake my husband. Finally I got up and went downstairs for more pain medication even though it wasn't time for more. The...
Like my dad, I enjoy reading books. Like him, I tend to be critical of what I read. We might even call a book stupid, especially if it's unrealistic. But we are both influenced by what we read. We absorb every word and will talk to anyone about our latest true story, simply because we are so filled with it. Often my thoughts spill onto paper. Because people pushed her for her story, Katie Davis wrote, even though she missed every single deadline. "Kisses from Katie" was published in 2011. From...
Sometimes lunch is a quickie with leftovers from my fridge before I resume the projects on hand, but that wasn't the case last week. Not only were all the foods different, they were also at different places. On Monday I settled in my little greenhouse to eat a salad while the sunshine nudged temps to record-breaking highs. Chloe Pup looked on but my husband was at a meeting. On Tuesday I sat at my usual place with my husband and six of our grandchildren joining me. On the menu were shredded,...
"The Surprise" "When I see a snowdrop, I just have to stop and gaze. This miracle that happens In the worst of winter's days Always takes my breath away. I can't believe it's true. It looks so frail and beautiful, So fresh and white and new. It steals into the world Before you realize it's there. When the skies are bleak and bitter And the trees are bare, Secretly the snowdrop Comes to ring her fairy bell Like some shy soft-footed stranger With good news to tell. In this poem by Patience...
"Heart Song" My heart sings at the falling snow, a photograph from long ago, a simple bowl of soup, some bread, a river rock, the color red. My heart sings at an open book, your sweater hanging from a hook, a fire lit, my woolen socks, and mail stuffed in our letter box. My heart sings at unplanned fun, a sleeping cat, the dishes done, a kitchen dance, a paper star, a single daisy in a jar – but most of all the glimmer of a world relearning how to love. I enjoyed this little poem by Eileen S...
The warm water in the calf bucket relieved my cold hands. Rubber gloves didn't do much for protection against the frigid temperatures that suddenly came back to Morrisons Cove. Extra coats and gloves weren't needed earlier in the week, especially not on Wednesday. It was the day I had gone to Zimmerman's Bernina Sewing for a quilt class. Having been the only student, I was also on my own to eat my packed lunch. The outdoors called me, so I ran outside to answer. In a little corner of lawn...
Like a yo-yo, last week's weather fluctuated drastically. The snowy afternoon on Tuesday when I biked home from an action-packed day along Fair Valley Road, was lovely but not so deep that I had to push my bike and walk home like last year. The wet whiteness clung to every twig and branch, beautifying our drab world. Wednesday's plummeting temps reached into Thursday. It was early morning when I stepped out of the milk house after chores and saw the moon slipping out of sight behind Lock Mountai...
"Before us lies A new year.... ... like an unopened package ... like an unread book, ... like an untrod pathway. It is new, and it lies in our hands to use to His glory or for our pleasure. God has placed it there; and we are accountable, responsible to Him for how we use it. We may choose whether we will waste its minutes or fill them in His service. But when it is gone it will never return again; we can never recall it, It will fade on into the past; therefore... .... let us cherish this gift...
Rolling wheels were a significant part of my Sunday. In accordance to impromptu plans I was a passenger in the van that traveled (rolled with wheels) to Lancaster County. From the turnpike exit in Denver, in the middle of sprawling warehouses and multi-lane highways sat a quaint little church which was our destination. For my brother-in-law, Muddy Creek used to be home, used to be the church he attended with his parents and all his siblings. Although his parents, Ben and Anna Martin, are long go...
"The true miracle of Christmas," writes LaVerne P. Larson, "Is hope and faith and love – These gifts the Christ Child brought to all From heaven high above." Like gifts that can't be seen, some gifts can't be wrapped either. A pretty, little snow to cover our drab dormancy is a gift. Perhaps highway travelers don't class a freezing rain as a gift, but it was so sparkly and glittering, like ribbons on our brown, bare trees. I thought it was a lovely gift to survey from inside our house where I w...
"At Christmas I no more desire a rose, Than wish a snow in May's newfangled shows, But like of each thing that in season grows," wrote William Shakespeare long ago. I "like of each thing that in season grows," too, although I'm not sure what is growing in season right now. Our outside world is gray and brown since all our leaves have died. The flowerbeds look like a dark-scabbed wound in our yard without flowers but beside my garden nook, three perennial ferns still wave their green fronds....
Darkness has settled on December's first day. It doesn't seem possible that November is already gone. It was a friendly month that allowed us to get our fall work done. Up to the evening of its 25th day, it was congenial with our plans. The winds stayed calm for our little group seated on wicker chairs and couches around an abundance of flickering candle lights. Little lights hung on the overhanging twigs of the surrounding woodland trees and starlight twinkled above us, visible through the...
As we approach our shortest day, we seem to have a lot of night. Darkness greets us in the morning and beats us to our beds. In November's nights are sounds of rustling leaves, dry and frozen, scampering as on tiny feet on my brick patio floor, rushing eagerly to some leeward corner. In the darkness, Chloe barks frantically till her sleepy master comes to investigate and to reassure her that a gray fox on the picnic table won't harm her because it is dead. In a November night, coyote yelps...
The florescent light bulb behind Buckeye the cow didn't shine as bright as it should, so I commented again on the lack of desired lighting. Until my husband finally replaced the bulb, I kept on mentioning the "dark corner." But when the lighting was normal, I failed to notice it and so did not even thank my husband for changing the bulb. That is, until he asked me if I saw it. I've often wondered about the human tendency to comment on the negative and fail to notice the positive. I grumble when...
Thankfulness is not a seasonal dress, (writes Elizabeth Lathrop Powers,) To wear awhile and then pack away; It is a garment meant for daily wear, Not just to decorate the holiday. Its colors will not fade with constant use; The fabric will not weaken with the wear. Each fold will keep its beauty and its strength And all who touch it will absorb a share. 'Tis not a gown to purchase for a price, Nor copy as to cut and fit and line; It must be patterned by one's circumstance And fashioned to the...
It was this past springtime when my little greenhouse was all empty that I noticed some purple wandering jew vines still growing under the table, without pots. I yanked them loose and threw them in a bare spot in my garden, knowing they would forgive my carelessness and keep on growing. But in that same spot, some bubble gum petunias sprouted from last year's seeds and so began the race for space. The two aggressive growers tried to outdo each other all summer. The wandering jew vines provided...
Tomatoes from our gardens, unless they are preserved, will rot. Sometimes, though, the small amount of ripe fruit doesn't merit the messy setup to can them. Learning from my daughter's friend that one can wash and cut up tomatoes like usual before storing them in the freezer, was a time saver. There they wait, safe and cold, till we get time to 'do' tomatoes. After my husband and I came home from helping to houseclean Piney Creek church in Wednesday's sun and wind, I got busy with thawing...
"Are you about finished with your fall housecleaning?" my sister-in-law asked me. I was sitting in a circle with five of my sisters-in-law on Sunday afternoon because my husband and I were invited to come meet his out-of-county, older brother and his wife. They said they came to the Cove to celebrate their 53rd anniversary, to check out old-time places and visit friends and family. "A Summons" Georgia Adams calls it. "I'm called by the flaming forest to walk these October days, down old,...
The wheels of the van went round and round all along the road. Although my traveling companions and I spent the hours and miles visiting, laughing and singing together, it was a sad occasion which bid us on a trip to Union County on Tuesday evening. At the viewing of my maternal second cousin, Erla Martin Zimmerman, age 51, we shook hands with her husband Aaron and five of her six motherless children. As did the other callers (of which there were over 900) we waited patiently for our turn in the...
The monarch butterfly that floated over me made no sound but I saw it flutter in the morning sunshine. It was only a moment in its migration journey, and then it was gone from my sight. I was standing with hundreds of other invited guests waiting to hear my name be called to be seated for the wedding ceremony of nephew Chadwick Leid, oldest son of Clifford and Berneice Leid of New Enterprise. His bride was Kristine Hoover, daughter of Frank and Marian Hoover. This third wedding in September...
The waning moon seemed to look down on me where I lay in the back of the moving vehicle. The baggage beside me didn't seem to mind the bumps in the road, but to me the bumps were brain-rattling and bone-jarring. The suitcases didn't budge, even if I pushed them for just one more inch of their rightful place. Leaving my seat for a different position wasn't such a good idea after all. Shifting to sit up and relieve another numb spot, I watched an 18-wheeler roll beside us. The speeding 40 tons...
On the doorstep of autumn we stood last week. Behind us is humid summer heat with thunder and lightning and driven rain, but before us are cool, dewy mornings. On a September morning we don shoes and sweaters but the mellow warmth of high noon bids us shed them again. On this doorstep the harvest moon shone through clouds of Friday's drizzly, dying day. The harvest moon is a full moon nearest the time of the September equinox, which could make the harvest moon in October on some years. The...
"Ping!" went the lid on the jar of freshly canned salsa on my daughter's kitchen counter. "Yes!" cheered my middle daughter at the sound of a successful seal. It was Thursday and I was at her house to help do whatever was on her agenda. While I was there, the phone call from my youngest daughter was again about jars that wouldn't seal. Since I never had any problems in all my 36 years of canning, I was glad to hand the Unsealed Jars Dilemma over to her sister, who was also having problems. She...
"Why am I on this side of the wall?" The words caught my attention from the back cover of a book on our coffee table. I knew it was written by Gary Miller before I picked it up. I knew it was an easy-read with pictures before I opened it, having read it four years ago when it was first published. The idea of writing a report on it crossed my mind before I read it again, but when I turned the last of the 200 pages, I wasn't so sure. But I'll try. The writer invites to look at the global wealth...
"The lazy, languid August days Foretell the misty autumn haze Which soon the summer sky will glaze. The locusts call both day and night; The ants are storing all in sight As birds prepare for southward flight. I cannot bring myself to stir Because on these days I prefer To drift along and dream awhile And bask in summer's final smile." Mrs. Garnet Alley Hampton calls the month of August lazy and languid wherein she cannot stir, preferring to drift along and dream awhile. Although I'm not driftin...
Chloe Pup begged for a walk into the evening dusk on Sunday but no one went with her. I really wanted to, but instead I flopped on the grass in the backyard, hoping for a stray breeze to cool me down. Maybe I'd even get a second wind. But I didn't. Two buggy rides to Piney Creek church and back, besides helping twice with dairy chores was taxing. There was no energy left for a stroll on the field lane between cornfields. I think the sudden-accelerating afternoon temps helped to wear us down....
"Splat, splat!" Raindrops pelted on the cabbage leaves in the Fair Valley garden where we were cutting heavy heads from their summer home. The wind-driven raindrops that chased us were only the first in three thunderstorms we received last week. Although we were glad for the refreshing showers, here at home on Tuesday, my husband wished he would have skipped lunch. Perhaps then he could have baled the last four rounds of dry hay before the sudden storm. Besides cabbage heads to cut, we worked...
"Mom, I can't get the 'lapper' off," said Lyla about the husks on the ear of corn she held in her hands. At age 2, pronouncing the word 'wrapper' may yet be too difficult; it might not even be the proper word, but I was impressed with her efforts to help us husk sweet corn. Her voice sounded so cute and besides, since last year's corn day at our house, when walking by herself was a newly-acquired skill, she has come a long way. She soon lost interest and went to play with dolls and bags, but...
"The sun moves westward out of sight; Its warmth remains to greet the night When sounds of crickets fill the air and fireflies venture from each lair To fascinate in unseen flight Those who watch their twinkling light. And from the south a gentle breeze Ruffles the leaves of maple trees That try to shade the moon's rich glow As it reflects the porch below, And folks are reluctant to leave Enchantments of a summer's eve." Often poetry doesn't fit exactly, doesn't always say what I want it to...
Published by Our Daily Bread Ministries are little booklets called Discovery Series, written by different authors. Usually I sort-of-like “plow” through them and forget what I read, but last week when I was snapping green beans, the newest booklet lay with the day’s mail, beside me. Straying from the boring job of searching for bean ends to cut off, my eyes began to read: “GET OUTSIDE, Knowing God Through His Creation,” by Thomas Springer. His words begged to be read until I came to the end. Although his four short chapters called Delight,...
I kneel on warm ground by loaded rows Of small green peas that my garden grows, Feeling a kinship with summer and God Each time I pick a ripe, green pod. In my kitchen, I hull away The covering from my food bouquet, Exposing small jewels of sparkling hue, Bits of warm sunshine and parts of dew That shimmer like jade in a showcase. Canning green peas is not commonplace But something like conquering Venus or Mars, When I store the summer away in clear jars. These poetic words by Ruth B. Field struck a chord with me because last week I also felt...
Being shackled with velvet chains to my garden doesn't hurt. In fact, usually I never think about being bound. But last week I remembered. Instead of chains, however, which would never budge, I thought of them as rubber bands. They stretched and let me go when I moved away from my gardens, but since they were still around my ankles and even my heart, I bounced back again, hopelessly and willingly fettered. On Monday I picked shell peas and got soaked by the dripping plants. I picked sugar peas and strawberries and cut heads of cauliflower and...
The loud whine of my husband’s portable grinder filled my ears as he worked to make the 62 rusted bolts and nuts loosen their grip on our two-seated swing. After many rains and snows, our swing was ready for a face lift, especially since I anticipated sitting on it with my grandchildren on Sunday. Painting the swing, (boards in a russet shade and the steel frame with black Rustoleum) before we added shiny new carriage bolts and nuts, was only one of the things on my list of things to do before June 16, when all the children were invited for a m...
The soybean plants stretched in long rows towards the woods nestled in the southeast hills, while squirrels scolded from the oak trees that surrounded my daughter's backyard deck. I was only subconsciously aware of bean fields, squirrels and oak trees because we were trying to help the boys use the new squeeze 'n blow pop-up bubbles. Six-year-old Tyson eventually mastered the technique of making bubbles but Conner, at only half the years, had a time with remembering when to stop squeezing, then...
It was a new thing for me to wear ear plugs. I looked in astonishment at my lawn mower. The 6 horsepower Kawasaki engine under the green paint seemed to turn into a purring kitten. The traffic on Piney Creek Road was soundless. The black exhaust coming from the muffler of my husband's tractor indicated noisy power for grinding corn but I wasn't hearing it. Instead of these jarring sounds I heard the breezes and my own voice practicing my memory work, singing my songs. My hours of lawn mowing...
The wind is a natural movement of air around the earth on which we live. It varies in velocity, that is, speed or quickness of motion. Although it's invisible, we see what it does. We feel it. We hear it. Last Monday, May 20, I resisted its strong western movement to pedal with my bike to an outdoor tea party. When we mothers and our daughters gathered around the table on the deck, the tall trees protected us from the tempest. We heard the rustling leaves but only teasing little whiffs were...
Chloe Pup ran circles around me in her excitement about going for a walk, but at the gate beside the meadow fence she sat down to wait. Too many zaps from the electric fence taught her to fear an unseen enemy in that area. Even though the grass along the fence was mowed evenly, she was taking no chances. When I came back, she leaped and bounded out the field lane ahead of me. At the first house she sniffed at the dead bluebird babies I tossed out and waited till I marked into my booklet, the casualty of our cool, wet weather earlier in the...
Swallows on the telephone wires Are quarter notes the sun inspires, A rondo for the wind to play Through the fields of new-mown hay. Quarter notes on a sun-lit staff – My soul is not big enough by half To hold the songs I hear today Over the fields of sun-sweet hay. I try to sing this wild, sweet song; Then notes dart off and it goes wrong. Yet still I hear the tunes they play Above the fields in sunny May. ~Helen C. Smith I like the idea of my feathered friends being sun-inspired quarter n...
The zipper of my jacket wouldn't go up any farther because I had yanked it to the limit. Clutching at the clothes around my throat helped, but I needed both hands to maintain my two-wheeled balance on the unpredictable terrain of my bluebird trail. So the spring breezes chilled me on my search for bluebird eggs. The rain drops of Sunday's gray skies now clung to the tall grasses along the meadow fence and swished off to soak my feet as my pedals rose and fell. As I crested the hill, I saw black...
Mark Twain said, “Climate is what we expect; weather is what we get. In the spring, I have counted 136 different kinds of weather inside of 24 hours.” Maybe the spring weather was more erratic in Mississippi or Connecticut where he lived, but I think the Morrisons Cove of Pennsylvania would run a close second. Wind, strong enough to make my bike stray toward the middle of the road, is what we had last Monday. Sunshine came on Tuesday, as my husband and I went to help clean the church house and warmth to conduct the evening’s spring peepe...
A little couplet by William Cowper says that "Spring hangs her infant blossoms on the trees, Rocked in the cradle of the western breeze." Besides rocking baby buds, Old Mother West Wind touches me with freshly-washed spring air. Through the small opening of the window to my side, she also brings the sound of spring peeper songs. "Like phantoms of a sweeter world With ghostly bits of song, Their chorus oft' reverberates Throughout the evening long. And such a sound as they can make! Yet each...
The wheels on the van were going round and round on the turnpike one day years ago. The mists of time have hidden the exact date from my memory. I’m not even sure why we were in Lancaster County, but we were on our way home. As the miles grew long, we took to singing to shorten them. Mr. Wagner, our driver, asked us to sing the song “Because He Lives,” but we didn’t know it. Although we came home and learned it, we never again sang songs in Mr. Wagner’s van. But last week my husband and I helped sing that beautiful hymn at his funeral....
Spring took me by the throat on the last Saturday in March. I’ve heard of spring fever, but this was even more violent. The outdoors was invitingly warm with sunshine, but I had to endure my weekly cleaning first. Subdued and songless, I hurried to finish before lunch so I could escape as soon as my dishes were washed. The tree swallows had just returned from the south and greeted me with their gentle twitters when I stepped outside with only a sweater. The south wind was soft even when the sun wasn’t shining, but it was strong. It whipped at m...
The two facing pages in the Ideals magazine lying beside me are black, but offsetting the darkness is a bough of tiny green leaves mingling with pink apple blossoms. In a collision of seasons, a light snow clings to the new life. Droplets, like tears, quiver from the flowers and sparkle like diamonds on the black page. It’s beautiful, this blending of life and death, summer and winter, a moment in life caught on paper and captured for publication in 2004 for me to enjoy, years later. Perhaps even more beautiful is the poetry on each page. In w...
The turtle was huge. To the little boys that came with their mothers to help knot comforters last week, the 2-foot-long, brown reptile looked quite frightening. But being shown that it was lifeless and soft, like a teddy, they were reassured of its harmlessness, despite its big brown eyes. It wasn't until after our birthday lunch, however, that the turtle was conquered. With a piece of yarn around his neck, the little victors dragged him over to us, showing off their defeated enemy. I was so...
The accumulation of fabric fragments under my feet distracted me. As I kicked them aside again I thought about the second law of thermodynamics which states that "the total amount of energy in the universe remains unchanged, but some energy is always becoming unavailable for useful work." This "law" plagues us. For a week of cozy wood heat, I carry out a pan of dusty, unwanted ashes. For a hot meal to relieve hunger pangs, I let dirty, unwanted dish water flow down the drain. For clean clothes...
