Time has a way of passing no matter what. I spend the most of my time with Mama and I am thankful that I can.  Unless Mama has an appointment,  I do not think or even care what day it is nor  the hour .   Instead,  I think long and hard about  a lot of  other subjects.  I can hardly remember sometimes, what I used to think about, before Mama got sick.  I asked myself “why” it took an awful diagnosis to make me really  aware (AGAIN) of what matters most in life. . .our  faith and our loved ones. 

Right now, I am still bewildered . . so is Mama.  I think we both miss ordinary days . .  and thinking ordinary thoughts .  I force myself to mentally, go to pleasant territories,  on every occasion that I can. I watch the birds, full of chatter, these days and  so very busy.  Daddys’ bees are too.  The hive hums  merrily since  the return of warmer days. 

Winter wheat grows where tobacco used too, on the farm that my grandparents tended. It is a lovely thing to watch a wheat field grow.  Every stage of it is beautiful. 

 

 I came home one day, and the little Rabbitpatch looked beautifully uncivilized!  Mounds of very green grass were growing, in forbidden places and dainty little wildflowers were growing as they pleased.  I was delighted!  I felt like I was at a celebration. Of course, the politics of living in town, even a small one, do not abide by such notions  and I knew that I had to quiet this lovely commotion, pretty soon. 

I was bound and determined to hang sheets on the clothesline, while I was home, and so I did. The very next morning, I stood in a patch of sweet clover and bluebells, while I filled my small line.  That was when, I saw a rabbit sitting all still and quiet under the tea olive at the end of the line, where a sheet frolicked in a merry breeze. Hours later, I came out to collect the linens and there again was the rabbit.  This time the rabbit scampered quickly under the little shed that belongs to my neighbor.  Last year a family of rabbits visited  the old cottage on Bonnett Street  daily  (rabbits are rarely seen in this neighborhood.) and so I always left tokens of my affection, under an old oak-carrots, apples etc.  This year I will leave such things under the tea olive. 

I finished, (for now), a project, while I was home.  All of my food, is now stored in glass, with the exception of some canned goods.  I have been working on this for months. The food industry does not make this easy!   Few things come in glass, so I will make  my own condiments and breads and of course, this will be an endless project, but I am committed to it.   . .and how good my pantry and cabinets look! ( I have never been a fan of plastic for food storage- or water.)

  I am also working on a secondhand cabinet, that was given to me.  When, I am finished, it will serve as a linen cabinet. Of course, a cabinet that is for linens, ought to be as pretty as the contents it houses, and so  a simple paint job just won’t do.  There will be roses and shamrocks on it, quite an odd pairing-and maybe a songbird.   I also have four legs, I salvaged from an antique wood kitchen table to attach,  and the boards from that tabletop will become shelves, in my pantry.  I always loved that shackly table, but alas it literally fell apart, after being hauled out of my oldest barn at Farmlife.  I kept it anyway. This is  all  a work in progress and I will work on it when I can.  My house is full of “collected” furniture and each piece has a story.   

I have several more projects in mind for later.

  In the quiet hours at Mamas’ house,  I read and study. 

I am very mindful of what content, I allow  myself to ponder, for one is  in a vulnerable state, when  circumstances are just so gloomy. So, I recite “Loveliest of Trees”  as I have for thirty years now , at “Eastertide”. 

I have rooted cuttings from a forsythia and a quince bush. 

I am studying food fermentation.  The heath benefits are quite impressive.  Right now, I have a small jar of saurkraut on the kitchen counter,- a very small step in my quest , but a step. 

Daddys’bees swarmed this week.  My friend and beekeeper came one night and collected them. How happy I was for my friend and the bees.  This has led to a study of bees.  I want to be a beekeeper one day.

Tomorrow, the family will gather at Mamas” There will be an egg hunt, a brunch and a “Sunday dinner”.  I so hope,that Mama will have a good day.   . .We all do.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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it was as if a celebration was taking pls

I can hardly keep the diary current, these days, for things just keep happening.  Last week, was a prime example . .  .

I had been up about thirty minutes one morning,when   I  heard an ungodly sound coming from the bathroom.  I sprang to the scene to find a  spectaculr fountain  spewing from the sink.  I  quickly shut down the valve and then surveyed the scene.  It took several towels to soak up the puddles.  I saw then that the  faucette was missing a handle!  I didn’t even know such a thing could happen!    I went to the living room to sort out my thoughts.  Half of the Christmas tree was dark.     

The phone rang as I contemplated calling my cousin about the plumbing.  I received unpleasant news.  Afterwards, I looked up and said aloud “God, it is 10 am.”  Well,  alot  had happened. 

On Thursday, Mama and I made a trip to see our “Riley Kate”, sister Connies’ grand daughter.   She was  delightful and mom Hayley was doing well.  We sat in Connies’beautiful home with the Christmas tree  shining brightly.  Outside the very blue lake  was covered in whitecaps, for there was a cold and wild wind, blowing, that day.  It was a lovely afternoon, and I left full of gladness for my sister.  Hayley is next door and a beloved grandson lives there and works  with his grandad and with Hayleys’ husband, Carson.  (I shed a few tears at the beauty of it.)   The  next two days, I was in the kitchen.   

We all gathered at Mamas’ house for an early Christmas celebration, on Saturday. It was a happy, busy time.  Lyla was especially full of joy, literally dancing around.  Ryan and Brynn were  together and in cahootz over one thing or another, plotting and imagining.  Little Banks was passed around then Christian took him on a walk, allowing Banks to explore the yard, unhindered.  Lyla and Brynn passed out cards they had made . . .such treasures! 

I was trying to ice a “birthday cake for Jesus”, so the children might remember the holiness of   Christmas.   I had been interrupted twice and then again, when Sister Delores herded all outside for pictures.  I grumbled and whined about it, but followed the eager family out.  They were assembled around a car with a bow on it.  I being dull , asked “What is this?”   Tres  walked over and handed me the keys!  I was stunned- ,more so than  I had been when I saw the  surprise shower in the bathroom!  I am still shocked.  Tres said, all my children had helped in some way, for me to get it. 

Now my old car still runs well, but it is over twenty-five years old.

A storm came the next day.  I have not seen this much rain at once, in years..  After weeks of freezing nights, it is mild and very wet on Bonnet Street.  It has now been raining for 24 hours.  Thankfully, no flooding  at the rabbitpatch. Tonight, freezing conditions are expected to return. 

Somehow and against all odds,, the delicate flowers of the star jasmine, still blooms ,framing  the backdoor.  Two chrysanthemums are full of white blossoms, also.  Everything else has”settled in for a long winter’ nap”. 

The oaks rest, and so does the very old  crepe myrtle.  A warm brown carpet of fallen leaves, covers the garden, now. Winter has come .  Nature is stilled and hushed, its’ “work” unseen for mere humans.  My collection of rainwater is partially frozen . . so is the compost . . . and  “Jack Frost” comes every night to paint his shine. 

In the south, Christmases are not always cold.  Many times we are known to raise windows, while the turkey and ham cook.  This year, hopefully, we will not have to take  such measures.  

Please know that I wish everyone a bright and happy Christmas.  May our love for one another be rekindled,  and  let us give grace  often and freely   May gratefulness fall upon upon us like the  light of the Christmas star, spawning an unfading joy and  a sense of hope that abides.               Merry, Merry Christmas, love  Michele

  

The last fortnight was beautiful . . and busy. I spent all day Wednesday in the kitchen cooking .  I was as happy as a lark.  The cheesecake  and the pumpkin  pie “set” as they ought to.  The biscuits for the dressing, were fluffy and golden.    Those dishes, and a blueberry cobbler, had all been requested by different family members-and everyone wanted collards.  By mid-afternoon, all was packed up to be taken to Mamas’. where we would all gather.  I cleaned up the scene of all of this activity and headed to Mamas’.  Some things cannot be made ahead of time, so the next morning would come mighty early. 

By mid-morning on Thanksgiving day, both turkeys and the ham were done.  There was still potatoes cooking to be creamed, stuffing to mix up   – and the gravy, yet just around noon, I was sitting on the porch. 

The weather was bright and brisk.  Chesnut and Mohagony leaves were scattered about Mamas’ yard just beyond the porch.  The air smelled of autumn scents and it was so still and  silent,  I felt it was a holy time. Across the road, were the fields, I had played and worked in, in my youth,  Behind them were the woods, with the “forbidden”   pond. Sounds and pictures tumbled in.  The  sounds were muffled, distanced by years  and some of the pictures bore watermarks- but, I was filled to the brim with gratitude for those who loved me before, those who loved me now, and the ones yet to come. 

Suddenly, the families arrived   and the children spilled out of the cars and ran to the porch, shouting “Honeybee!” . 

On the Sunday after Thanksgiving, my children and grandchildren stopped by the rabbitpatch, before they went home.  It was a wonderful  time.  We had just enough time for a light meal . . .and for Lyla to find her Christmas present.   Now, Brynn and Ryan pleaded for theirs!    I talked to their parents.  Really, there was nothing to do, but to give Brynn her stop watch, and hand the telescope to Ryan.  After the shock, I laughed about it.

 Just a few days after Thanksgiving, another child was born into the family . . .Niece Hayley gave birth to her firstborn, a daughter, Riley Kate.  That day, Mama, sister Delores  and I  were keeping our phones within  “arms’ reach” so we wouldn’t miss an update.  What a thrilling and joyous day, it was!   What peace flooded our hearts, when the ordeal was over and we felt “all was well”. 

After the birth of my grand-niece,  I could  concentrate on holiday decorations.  Straight away, I was collecting cedar for arrangements and wreaths.  Between the scented pine cones and the evergreens, the house smells like Christmas.   A tree does not yet abide in the living room to shine through the window and I have lots of baking to do.   After Lylas’ plundering, there will be less presents to wrap!  

It is pitch dark, as I conclude this entry in my diary.  The little neighborhood  on Bonnet Street is shrouded in a silvery mist.   Today, I need to write a letter and make butter.  I have been making  nut butters, and I made garlic butter last week. The nut butters are quite economical to make , while cream butter saves you a dollar . . .but the buttermilk. derived from the process, is an added bonus. 

I may visit the beekeeper today  or I may attempt making fairy  cakes.  Mornings are full of possibilties, after all.

 

I

 

It is raining, as I begin this post. It is a steady, rhythmic rain. The sound of it on the tin roof is like a lullaby. 

I am always reminded of my maternal grandmother, on such days, for she used to say “I love you like rain” when she would hug me good bye.  Now I say this to my own grandchildren.  My grandparents were farmers and so I understood the feeling she was conveying.  Rain meant a lot. 

The church, that I attended as a child, had “Homecoming” one Sunday in October.  The weather was perfect and I could not help but remember, the many years, when the event was held outside under a grove of old oaks. Cakes were uncovered, potato salad was unwrapped and children kicked off their”Sunday shoes” within minutes of the preacher closing his Bible.  We lingered for hours ,after the dinner, visiting with one another and watching the children play. The children ranged from ages two years to young teens and all frolicked together, on a slight, grassy slope.  I remember a boy named “Johnny, carrying my then two-year-old son, Brant in his arms to win a race.

“Miss Dallas” made the best macaroni and cheese, -according to everyone that ever tried it.  I remember as a young mother sitting with her ,  one homecoming, to get the recipe.  I still use that recipe, told to me, under an old oak, today.   We all remember Miss Dallas, each time that it is served. 

Now  this Homecoming happened in a spacious building.  The tables were laden with dishes. Acorns did not fall in casseroles, nor did a breeze disturb a tablecloth,  but there was still the fellowship of folks who share the memories of that church.  As in the former years, I was in good company, that day. 

October is the birthday month for my maternal, grandfather, I called him  “Pop”. He was a man with a lot of “bark”.  He  had eight siblings, so the “bark” was understandable.  He was a loving grandfather and fiercely defended his family. He laughed a lot.  He was impatient.  Pop had a sixth-grade education, yet he was  impressive with mathematical skills.  He did not use pencil and paper to calculate how much fertilizer per square acreage, nor the wages due his workers. 

When I was growing up, the kitchen in the little farmhouse, rarely had any processed food.  Instead, there were Grandmas’ canned goods, made the autumn before and a smoke house with hams curing.  There was hoop cheese in the “Kelvinator” and always a pie or a cake. I do remember a box of gingersnap cookies, that got left out on the sideboard most days.  The elders did not have to worry about me getting in to them.  Pop loved them . . .I thought they were awful.  Little hard cookies , with a “bite”  did not tempt me.   Well, I decided to make gingersnaps this month to honor the memory of  my “Pop”.  They turned out  much better than I expected,  much better than the boxed cookies  . . .soft and just enough “bite”. 

The aroma of those cookies was good enough “to bottle”!   I didn’t have to call anybody to the kitchen, on that day.   

Another day, I washed  all of the  blankets for beds and the small “throw” ones, that will don  the sofa and chairs for    this chilly season.  The clothes line came in handy and what a pretty sight  watching rthe linens sway in the brisk autumn breeze.  I have not lived in a warm house for twenty years.  I do not mind  it anymore.  

Autumn has settled gently on the rabbitpatch.  Twilight comes sooner now, and with  it a chill that lingers til mid-morning.  Lately, the sun shines with a brilliant luster, coaxing the floss flowers and chrysanthemums and every tree,  to pay tribute to the lovely time of  October.  The chatter of the world is hushed by this spectacle, for me.  . . and even if,  for just a short while. ..it does me good. 

Each day I walk in the young garden around the little rosewood cottage. Oh, how grateful I am  for this.  I thank God for gardens, where things grow quietly-where unthinkable acts do not occur-where  there is not a lack of integrity–and nothing screams out for attention.  In a garden, things growing, behave  as you’d ezpect.  A rose behaves like a rose, dependably.  A garden is  a place of beauty.  – and especially now, for the dainty flowers of the tea olive are blooming!  I must think on such things, otherwise the sorrow that I feel for this world,  be unbearable. 

It seems to me that every person in the world has strong opinions about everything, so I am not wishing to “kick that hornets’ nest”.   . .but, being older,   I have memories of better times.  At least, the ways of people were gentler, much less volatile and while there was tragedy, (as there always has been)- it was not at the current volume, nor at this height of  heartbreak.  . .at least in my own lifetime.

So, that is why I take to  gardens and say” good morning” to birds and squirrels and bake  breads and count my blessings upon rising.  While there is no profit in “burying your head in the sand”, ,  I must seek refuge occasionally with actions that are free of discord and  feed my spirit. 

 Wild geese fly over the rabbitpatch, twice daily.   . .mornings and in the late afternoon,.  I must be on the schedule of geese, for I  rarely miss seeing them.   I go in and start   supper after the evening flight of the geese. While  supper simmers, I  usually read.  This week, I read again, a favorite quote of mine.  I close with these words, hoping they may provide hope and comfort for you as they do for me.

“More things are wrought by prayer, than this world dreams of.”-  A. Tennyson   

A fortnight has passed since the storm passed through.  There was a lot of rain and there were winds blowing with a fierceness, that we hadn’t seen in a long while.  We lost power early that morning.  It turned out to be an all-day event. 

Branches with leaves still green fell- and acorns too, yielded to the billowing wind.  The rain seemed to come down “in buckets”. The world was the color of tarnished silver- and in the absence of lamps, so was the house.   It was too dark to read, and to paint flowers.  It would have been a good day to watch an old movie.  Thank Goodness, I could make a pot of soup, at least so I did that.   In my zeal to live simply. . .I confess, that I sure  missed electricity. 

I thought a lot of things on that quiet day.  

 Since the storm, there has been  very little sunshine., not a  shadow is cast, not a streak of light anywhere.   The hours all look the same.  A few bright yellow leaves, loosened by the wild wind, seem to fairly shine, in the dimness.  The squirrels are working with great fervor, to collect the acorns, as I collect the branches.  They do not even shy, in my presence. 

I love the shift in the weather.  I always love the arrival of autumn. This year especially, after such a cruel summer, that wilted everything.  I made more scented pine cones this week and hung a simple wreath on the front door.  I also made a pine arrangement with sprigs of white berries, that I found in the yard, as I worked.  Both things had fallen before their prime, but what a lovely pair they made!   

I like for the house to reflect the seasons.   My cleaning products are now concoctions of  autumn aromas, like apples, cloves and spicy orange.  At long last, the kitchen, is likely to smell like fresh baked  bread or  something slowly simmering on the stove. After a season of salads-it feels so good to bake, in an almost chilly kitchen.  My next project is making pumpkin butter. 

I finally got unemployment.  I am thankful, but I am on a short shoestring budget.  There is little room to buy anything that is not absolutely necessary.  Sadly, chrysanthemums are not  a necessity.   . .yet there is a large planter, that begs for some “autumn” joy.  I must third guess such things.  Still, I do not feel deprived-for I am not. My cupboards are not bare and the dog has a bone.  I have a roof, over my head(that does not leak),  I live in a peacful and friendly neighborhood.  I love and I am loved. These are not small things.  These things are wealth.

Prosperity is often measured in ” dollars and cents” .  Abundance of things (that break, tarnish or glitter temporarily) also gets put into the equation.  It is a tiring and fruitless quest to accumulate ” enough’ ,  . . and endless.  Tragically, such a ” legacy”  is liable to get stored in boxes, to be sold at a garage sale . 

Know, that I want things too. (remember the chrysanmums).  When I left my beloved Farm Life,  and down sized to a small cottage, I was forced to get my priorities in order. Everything would not fit in a home half the size of the farm house.  Losing my job, demanded that again, I consider things and carefully  sort out what  is a financial necessity versus what is not . Being older,  has an advantage in such a predicament.  There is no better teacher, than “Experience”.  Besides, I have never lived on Easy Street.   . . .not even in such a neighborhood.  It is possible to have little money and yet to be very happy

Now, it is that wonderful time, we call “October”.  The sky in October, makes me want to rise early.  The leaves will soon come into their glory days and stun those who take notice.   One day they will waltz in a  brisk, cheerful  wind and I  plan to stand in the midst of them and watch in wonder.   October is a lovely affair.

 

 

This week, I returned back  to my routine . . . rising early, hanging clothes on the line and pulling grass.   Temperatures are at long last, back to a normal range.  How refreshing to have the mornings almost cool again.  It is dry here, and I am almost out of rainwater.  There is a chance of rain this afternoon.

I am finally at peace with losing my job . . .mostly, at least.  I have not yet been able  , to abandon my concerns about money  . .but , Something is happening . . I have felt a “shift” in my heart, and thus my thoughts. I suppose it was always present, but maybe I was hindered from acting on it — or reluctant.  I am not sure which.  Surely words will fail me, to clearly define what I mean.   I feel  like I have ” come home”  in some sort of way.   It could be  that my attention has been on  what I hold most dear-family and home.

 I also complete my work  in a different fashion.  I do not have to multi task at break neck speed.  Instead I can just peel apples or just fill the birdbath.  When you just  peel apples,  you really smell their sweet scent and notice where the sun kissed them.  When I just fill the birdbath, I notice the tinkling sound of the water andwhat a cheerful song .  Now,  I wander in the yard, and watch the squirrels, born this spring there are four of them- scampering about , playing wildly in the old trees.  Their parents are quite stern and scold them, but it is to no avail.

I have always tried to live mindfully,  ( before it became a popular notion)          – and indulged myself every chance I had, even when the children were young.  To me, personally, it has always been a necessity as my spirit seems to require it .

As a child, my  cousins and  I spent most of our time outside -even at harvest time, there were the walks between the fields and back to the house.  There was hardly ever a ruckus barring the ponies didn’t  escape-or a sudden shower popped up, when clothes were on the line. Our lives   were “quiet and peaceable” .  I don’t know if that spawned my condition, or if  I am just an overly sensitive person with a delicate sense of balance. . .or maybe because I am older now and lack the compromise of my youth.

At any rate, this slower pace of living suits me.   . . and that is a good thing, because the business of being unemployed, and just a bit shy of social security is a tricky place to land in. I have had to ask for help just to fill out, scan and forward the history of my life to all sorts of government offices.  My confidence is shaken by my incompetence, besides losing my job.  So if I am watching squirrels . .. it is understandable.

 August 4th,was my maternal grandmothers’ birthday. Grandmama died suddenly, at the age of 52.  I was ten years old  and had never known a day without her.  It has been over fifty years ago, since I last heard her voice, yet I remember the sound of it. As a child, I saw her as a constant and unwavering source of love, She let us play “dress up” on rainy days.  We read the World Book” Encyclopedias” .  She told us stories . We worked with her. If she wasn’t at the clothes line, or the garden, she was in the kitchen.  She would cook breakfast for a crowd, clean up and start the mid day meal, that we called “dinner”, and for our supper she added something to the left overs from our “dinner”.  Everything was cooked from scratch.  She did not mind me being in her shadow, while she rolled pastry or put a cabbage and potatoes in a whopping pot. Grandmama did not let us get by with “ugly” behavior.

She did not yell about it, but instead simply talked to us about our transgressions til we were truly sorry.  I never wanted to disappoint Grandmama, but I loved to sit on top of that two story barn and look at the pasture and the fields -and would risk it from time to time.

She wore faded “house dresses” every day. They smelled like country air-green and sweet.  She did dress up for grocery shopping. ( We went weekly)  and for  church on  Sundays. . Grandmama was never in any “limelight”.  She simply served her family.  I have no idea what she sacrificed for she never complained.  She always seemed content and took pride in her job of tending to us.

 To  this day, I miss her and  I remain grateful for her profound influence on my life. Slow

I have not painted a single thing, this past week-nor cleaned any place out.  I did pull grass daily and every other day, I hung clothes on the line.  This week was filled with visits with loved ones. 

I was in Elizabeth City until Friday.  The little girls and I did all sorts of things.  Lyla helped with chores and little Brynn is very eager to do what she can.  We made a dessert together-old fashion banana pudding-and told our stories, but more than anything else, there was “Biscuit”, that adorable beagle puppy. 

He occupied a good deal of our time.  We were  outside a lot, but the heat was just awful.  When Biscuit was tired of playing and had “done puppy business” we went in.  He is likely to steal whatever any one left unattended.  It can be a shoe or a stuffed toy-anything he can carry.  He dashes off , madly and I had to hide my amusement at the sight of it.  Brynn was especially cute holding  that puppy -and Lyla is so motherly tending to him.  I felt so privileged to witness the first days with Biscuit and the little girls.  I wondered how many secrets he would know, as the seasons passed, how many heartbreaks he would heal . . . and what lessons would he teach.  Dogs do all of those things. 

Not long after I came back to Bonnet Street, Mama and I went to see cousin Chris and wife Aino. They have a lovely piece of rural property, very private .  There is an old barn, a new shed and a patch of woods . . . and a small lumber yard.  I fell in love with the place . Aino showed me her flowers and herbs.  We had a delightful time and left with fresh corn. 

Sister Delores and niece  Dana came a day or so later .   We celebrated with a country supper of fried chicken, summer squash, fried green tomatoes and a peach cobbler.  One of the “twin cousins” stopped by and joined us.    It was a happy time. 

The next day, I gathered with friends-two friends that have  shared life with me for thirty years!    We had a breakfast at  Janets’home and toured her splendid gardens Later, we were siting on the banks of a creek talking like only old friends can, and on a whim, decided to visit some thrift stores.  We loaded up and off we went.  I finally found a cake plate cover . I had needed one for a year or more-and Janet and Rae found some things too.  We are all thrifty by nature, so it was the perfect outing.  

On Sunday, the kids came home.  I was up early, preparing  for a “Sunday dinner”.  The dishes reflected the season-there was corn, cucumber salad,  and slaw from a fresh cabbage.  I also made macaroni and cheese and an ice cream pie.  Mama made iced tea to complete a traditional summer meal. No one left hungry or complaining.  It was a relaxed and happy time.  I do cherish such occasions.

  On Monday, I left for Raleigh.  I had four days there and goodness, it was another happy time.  Little Ryan is still quite small for his age, but as agile as can be.  His imagination has been allowed to flourish and so he pretends a lot of things.  He is a good brother and Banks, at eight months now, adores him.  Banks looks like a little doll and is trying to walk.  He pulls up on whatever is available.  He has a toy that he can walk behind as he pushes  it along.  Sydneys’ mom came over for a visit and together we tended to the children, while Sydney ran errands.  We are a good team, we agreed.   

I arrived  back at the rabbitpatch on Thursday evening. The old crepe myrtle eas blooming- and so was the young one that I discovered last year. The flowers are showy and fragrant.   They boast until frost and who could blame them?  The thorned vines on the fence took full advantage of my absence-and grass grew, where it ought not to. At least, all of the flowers and bushes were alive and well.  Mama and I went to visit Aunt Christine and Uncle Gene, a few days later  I am blessed-so many folks to love and to be loved by.  We looked at old pictures, that Mama had found. That was fun and how good to see pictures of my great,great grandparents.-and their siblings.  It was a nice visit. Second cousins were there-and a baby third cousin.

I can scarce take in the state of the world these days.  In general, society is different now and  have unfamiliar ways to me.  There may be an abundance of knowledge, but there is a lack wisdom.  It is a somber affair  just to read the news. 

Under such circumstances,  it is especially fine to be in “good company”.  It is pleasant to have  conversations with substance.   . .and to celebrate such things as a babys’ first steps.  All of the angry noise of the world hushes in the moments spent on the banks of a  a creek or in a friendly home.  Not once did anyone use an app to answer a question, instead we talked to one another., with lilting voices and expression.  I am not against technology, but it has replaced a lot of  things, that if we don’t make an effort ,  are just lost. 

I remember asking the elders how to make a certain dish.  I can still hear their voices, explaining the procedures, telling me who had taught them and which uncle loved it.  Likewise, children were not treated like a science project  for nobody looked at charts about development, instead we asked an experienced aunt . . .and babies were held,  not carried around in a plastic contraption to be set in a floor while the adults talked. 

Rest assured, that I enjoy the many benefits of a life lived today . . but oh, how it restores my spirit  to be with loved ones that remember, as I do . . .  a different way.