Category Archives: Family

A secret place

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I grew up, in what I considered as a child, a very rural area. I didn’t think living in the sticks was very cool when I was a little girl, but looking back now, I remember our neck of the woods as being ever so fascinating. We lived in the country and were surrounded by hundreds of miles of state game lands and state forests. And, as kids, we spent a lot of time exploring and playing in the woods. I’m sure that kind of upbringing is what gives me my love for cool, quiet walks in the woodlands.

We had a path leading from our back yard into some great woodland. Once there, we could go off in several different directions depending on where we wanted go. One place, we called, “Devil’s Canyon.” This is a very cool pile of big rocks, which from the top is a ten to 15 foot drop to the ground below.

We could go further on the path and turn left to go to The Ridge. Back then, The Ridge was a huge hunting lodge with basketball court, softball field, ski slope, ski lodge, pond, picnic pavilions, etc. The owners rented it to groups and we could hide in the woods and spy on their parties, or hang out there ourselves when no one was there. In the winter, we could ice skate on the basketball court or toboggan down the ski slope.

If you did not make these turns, the path from the edge of our yard ended at an old, washed out dirt road that climbed upward, very steeply at times, to the top of a mountain, known as Peterson Hill.  In the summer, we could hike to the top and pick wild blueberries and maybe see a bear.

I have some wonderful memories of Peterson Hill that deserve their own blog post, and I will probably write about them soon, but, for now, thinking about those woods made me remember my special place. 

I had a secret place that I could go to when I was mad at my sisters or ran away from home. It makes me laugh now, because it really wasn’t so secluded or very far from the house. But, to me, the place was magical – a bed of woodlands grass and ferns as the floor, and a nearby rock, so big, I had to use both hands to roll it to hid things under. 

What I remember most about my special place, though, is that for several hours every afternoon, the sun cast beams of sunlight through the canopy of tree branches high overhead warming the grass. I could lay on my soft warm bed and watch the branches sway with the breeze and the sunlight dance all around me. In the winter, the branches were bare and several feet of snow covered the ferns and grass and even my big rock. So, although I knew approximately where my spot was, I could never find it until springtime again.

I was very lucky to have the woods and the streams as a backdrop for my childhood. I was also fortunate to have a sweet special place to go to be by myself when a situation warranted it.

Do you remember your special place?

P.S. I have no pictures of me or my sisters playing in those woods, but I know I had a picture of Carrie and her cousins playing at Devil’s Canyon. I looked through five shoeboxes and eight photo albums but could not find it. If it ever turns up I will scan it and post it.

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Of Dog Days and summer memories

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Did you know that July 3rd was the start of the 40 day period in the summer known as Dog Days?

The term, Dog Days was coined in Ancient Rome. It was named after the Dog Star, also known as Sirius, the brightest star in our sky besides the sun. It was thought that since Sirius rose and set at the same time as the sun during this time of year, that Sirius added its heat to the sun’s heat, thereby making the days hotter, thus the term Dog Days.

Dog Days are hot, slow, lazy, languishing, stagnate times. Yep, that’s what this part of summer is – Dog Days.

So, last Sunday, after I worked up a sweat in the garden, I sat on the screened porch sipping an icy cold glass of tea. I noticed how quiet and still the world was at midday. There were no birds flitting about or singing and no breeze rustling the leaves on the trees. The air was hot, heavy and stagnate. This sound of silence was broken only by the cacophony of the male cicadas vibrating their timbals into a loud crescendo before the silence again.

It made me think of summer memories. Those lazy languid days when we had no set schedule of things to do.

Summer memories are days of butterflies and dragonflies and catching fireflies at night. It is the drive-in movie theater, and water fights and sleeping under the stars. It is Bible school, and picking blackberries and playing in the rain. It is sparklers, fudgesicles and pinwheels. It is swinging as high as you can go and bike riding and climbing trees. It is spending a week at my Cousin Tammy’s house and her coming to spend a week with me at mine.  It is our family picnics at Idlewild and at Shawnee State Park and the big one for all our relatives in our yard on the 4th of July.

When Brian thinks of summer, he thinks of his family’s yearly vacation in Florida to see his grandparents and of spending time with his favorite cousin, Ron.

What are your summer memories?

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A tribute to fathers

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“When I was a boy of fourteen, my father was so ignorant I could hardly stand to have the old man around.  But when I got to be twenty-one, I was astonished at how much he had learned in seven years.”  – Mark Twain

I was going through my documents on the computer recently and found a collection of Father’s Day stories, poems and quotes. I must have been saving them for a newspaper article, but I don’t think I ever wrote it. I think it very appropriate with Father’s Day on Sunday to make a blog post out of it.

How it began:

Did you know that we have Sonora Dodd, of Washington, to credit for Father’s Day? She thought of the idea for Father’s Day while listening to a Mother’s Day sermon in 1909.

Sonora wanted a special day to honor her father, William Smart. Smart, who was a Civil War veteran and was widowed when his wife died while giving birth to their sixth child. Mr. Smart was left to raise the newborn and his other five children by himself on a rural farm in eastern Washington state.

After Sonora became an adult she realized the selflessness her father had shown in raising his children as a single parent. It was her father that made all the parental sacrifices and was, in the eyes of his daughter, a courageous, selfless, and loving man. Sonora’s father was born in June, so she chose to hold the first Father’s Day celebration in Spokane, Washington on the 19th of June, 1910.

President Calvin Coolidge, in 1924, supported the idea of a national Father’s Day. Then in 1966 President Lyndon Johnson signed a presidential proclamation declaring the 3rd Sunday of June as Father’s Day. President Richard Nixon signed the law which finally made it permanent in 1972.

Here’s one by the late, great Erma Bombeck:

 When God Created Fathers

When the good Lord was creating fathers, He started with a tall frame. And a female angel nearby said, “What kind of father is that? If you’re going to make children so close to the ground, why have you put fathers up so high? He won’t be able to shoot marbles without kneeling, tuck a child in bed without bending, or even kiss a child without a lot of stooping.”

And God smiled and said, “Yes, but if I make him child size, who would children have to look up to?”

And when God made a father’s hands, they were large and sinewy.

And the angel shook her head sadly and said, “Do You know what You’re doing? Large hands are clumsy. They can’t manage diaper pins, small buttons, rubber bands on pony tails or even remove splinters caused by baseball bats.”

God smiled and said, “I know, but they’re large enough to hold everything a small boy empties from his pockets at the end of a day…yet small enough to cup a child’s face.”

Then God molded long, slim legs and broad shoulders.

The angel nearly had a heart attack. “Boy, this is the end of the week, all right,” she clucked. “Do You realize You just made a father without a lap? How is he going to pull a child close to him without the kid falling between his legs?”

God smiled and said, “A mother needs a lap. A father needs strong shoulders to pull a sled, balance a boy on a bicycle or hold a sleepy head on the way home from the circus.”

God was in the middle of creating two of the largest feet anyone had ever seen when the angel could contain herself no longer. “That’s not fair. Do You honestly think those large boats are going to dig out of bed early in the morning when the baby cries? Or walk through a small birthday party without crushing at least three of the guests?”

And God smiled and said, “They’ll work. You’ll see. They’ll support a small child who wants to “ride a horse to Banbury Cross” or scare off mice at the summer cabin, or display shoes that will be a challenge to fill.”

God worked throughout the night, giving the father few words, but a firm authoritative voice; eyes that see everything, but remain calm and tolerant.

Finally, almost as an afterthought, He added tears. Then He turned to the angel and said, “Now are you satisfied that he can love as much as a mother?”

And the angel shutteth up!

And a poem by Helen Steiner Rice:

Fathers are Wonderful People

Fathers are wonderful people
Too little understood,
And we do not sing their praises
As often as we should…

For, somehow, Father seems to be
The man who pays the bills,
While Mother binds up little hurts
And nurses all our ills…

And Father struggles daily
To live up to “HIS IMAGE”
As protector and provider
And “hero or the scrimmage”…

And perhaps that is the reason
We sometimes get the notion,
That Fathers are not subject
To the thing we call emotion,

But if you look inside Dad’s heart,
Where no one else can see
You’ll find he’s sentimental
And as “soft” as he can be…

But he’s so busy every day
In the grueling race of life,
He leaves the sentimental stuff
To his partner and his wife…

But Fathers are just WONDERFUL
In a million different ways,
And they merit loving compliments
And accolade of praise,

For the only reason Dad aspires
To fortune and success
Is to make the family proud of him
And to bring them happiness…

And like OUR HEAVENLY FATHER,
He’s a guardian and a guide,
Someone that we can count on
To be ALWAYS ON OUR SIDE.

And, finally, because this is my blog, I’d like to put my message to my dad out in cyberspace. You never know, it may help him hear it!

“Happy Father’s Day, Dad! I miss you and think of you everyday! When I see you again, and after we are through with all our greetings, please make me some of your homemade peanut butter fudge. It’s the best in the world!”

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