Jump to content

All Activity

This stream auto-updates     

  1. Yesterday
  2. Chris Sherwood
    Working in the world of education, even on the fringe like I do, has its advantages, one of them being summer vacation. While we have the option to work during the summer, this year finds me taking the time off instead. And it finds me thinking of things to do for the next two months to make sure that the time is well spent. I’ve made a mental “to-do” list, things that I can get done around here, as well as an actual list of writing prompts I’ve thought up to keep my chops up. It occurred to me that when you’re a kid and you leave school on that long awaited last day, you don’t worry about stuff like that. You have all the time in the world. You don’t need to make plans to keep yourself busy or “productive.” You just live in the moment, each day, doing whatever for as long as summer lasts. Never worried about “being productive.” That got me thinking about those days of my own youth and how we spent our summers. I grew up in the village of North Chemung which is several miles outside the city of Elmira, New York. Some of you probably know it better by it’s historical and fictional name, “Hammond’s Corners.” Growing up there, the world, hell, the county seemed such an enormous place. Our world, though, was small back then; limited to where our bicycles could take us, which rarely more than a mile from the center of town. That suited us fine since everything we needed was right there anyhow. The two main roads through town converged into a “T.” Just a stone’s throw from there stood the United Methodist Church and the former schoolhouse which was turned into a small country store a few decades before. Each building served as the social hub of sorts for the town, but it was the store, open seven days a week, that saw the most activity. It was where you looked for your friends first if they weren’t home. If you’d made a dollar picking up cans or saved your quarters from running to the store for a neighbor, you could treat yourself to a comic book and still have change for a popsicle or maybe some penny candy. The village was, and still is, surrounded by hillsides and creeks where the occasional ramshackle fort was built,constructed of scrap wood, plastic, and any other materials that could be scavenged. In the creeks we built dams that rivaled the efforts of the local beaver population, sometimes jumping in to cool off from the heat of the day. Hours were spent on dirt piles, building intricate roads and tunnels for our Matchbox cars to travel. BMX rides and races were held on homemade tracks in the woods and roadside ditches. Games of hide and seek, football, baseball and much more. There was a hundred things to do any given day and we did our best to do them. Sometimes we did nothing at all. Once in a while, military skirmishes of great importance were fought in a nearby pine forest. The group was divided up into teams and then dispersed througout the area and, after an agreed upon time, the fight was on. Of course back then, kids could carry very realistic looking toy guns without setting off a national panic and we stalked each other with our plastic M16s and pistols tucked into Army surplus camouflage clothing. The game worked on an honor system of sorts, wherein the would be shooter would be required to positively identify their target before loudly proclaiming, “BANG! I GOT YOU _____,” before tearing off elsewhere, lest the hunter become the prey. The “deceased” was required to then return to a home base of sorts to sit out the remainder of the war. And shit got serious out there too; young soldiers went to great lengths to blend in with their surroundings. Foliage from the area was jammed into hats and belts. Snipers were buried by their comrades in pine needles and other debris, like a living brushpile, but pretend-deadlier. We had real winters bck then, which meant ticks weren’t a concern and Lyme disease was something that only affected that years’ citrus crop. If we’d made arrangements in advance, we wouldn’t have to come in when the porch light came on. Many a summer night was spent sleeping outdoors, either in a pup tent in someone’s back yard or, as we got older and more daring, in the woods somewhere. We’d stay up talking late into the night about the usual adolescent topics, as well as hunting, fishing and such. Occasionally the talk turned to current events; would we be drafted to fight the Soviets should World War Three break out tomorrow as it did in the movie “Red Dawn?” In the morning we’d be up and on our way home for breakfast and ready to start a whole new day, a whole new adventure. As often happens, we grew up, we got bigger and our world did too. We got jobs, drivers licenses and cars which meant we could spread our wings. Suddenly a trip “to town” wasn’t a special event, it was an average day. We’d still gather for a pickup game of football or hockey games on the pond behind the fire station, but over time those too dwindled. Funny, there was never any sense or recognition that this was it, that this period of our life was over. We just sort of faded away, one by one, like you see in the movies, as we went out on our own and Chris Sherwood writes from his home in North Chemung. He is the author of the In Times of Trouble trilogy, a post-apocalyptic series set in Upstate New York, and is currently working on the third book in the trilogy. To learn more, go to cmsherwood.com
  3. Last week
  4. Ann
    NYSEG has done nothing regarding maintenance of lines, poles, etc. during the last 10+ years. Lines are overgrown with tree branches, something that used to be regularly taken care of. We had a business and a portion of profits was factored for maintenance and improvements. Instead of expecting consumers to pay this outrageous increase, dip into those Corporate profits to take care of what should have been done all along. Further, I don’t understand why an American utility company was allowed to be sold to a foreign corporation. As for Hochul’s plan to go green, what good does it do to ruin this State to achieve that when Countries like China, India and others continue with business as usual. Hochul’s goal is like trying to find a drop of water in a gallon bucket. Sticking it to the residents of this State won’t stop the melting ice caps and World wide it won’t make a bit of difference except to drive people out of the State.
  5. Sean Dietrich
    Washington D.C. It was the height of summer. Early July. I was in town for a book event, to make a speech. I had time to kill, so I went to the National Mall. The National Mall is “America’s Front Yard.” There are thousands of tourists, and even more screaming babies. One particular tourist, however, stands out in my memory. A young woman who was wearing a shirt that read: “I’m not proud to be an American.” I get it. Believe me, I do. Everyone is entitled to their outlook. But this was the National Mall. I mean, come on. Really? The National Mall is definitely worth a visit. You see all the greats. There’s the Franklin Delano Roosevelt memorial. Good old FDR. In 1921, Roosevelt contracted an illness that permanently paralyzed his legs. They said he’d never be a politician. They called him names. He used a wheelchair. But he proved his critics wrong. When making speeches in public, he usually appeared standing, leaning on his wife or sons. He was the longest serving president. He served four—count’em—four terms. Then there’s the Jefferson Memorial, a pantheon standing among the cherry blossoms. Jefferson, who so eloquently gave the middle finger to the British crown. And the Korean War Veterans Memorial. Nineteen statues stand in remembrance of a war that received almost no media coverage compared to previous wars. And yet people forget that 5 million people died. It’s not too late to remember. There’s old Abe. The “Great Emancipator” himself sits on his chair. A 170-ton statue, composed of 28 blocks of white Georgia marble, rising 30 feet high. “In this temple, as in the hearts of the people for whom he saved the Union, the memory of Abraham Lincoln is enshrined forever.” You have Martin Luther King Jr. standing in West Potomac Park. Among his many accomplishments, his humanitarianism and non-violence, he is also a personal hero of mine for being a Southern Baptist minister who also shot pool. The Vietnam Veterans Memorial. It will break you. The World War II Memorial. Lots of stone. Lots of bronze. The Greatest Generation is memorialized forever. And they ought to be. The way my grandfather described his generation: “We grew up during a Depression, then Uncle Sam rewarded us with a uniform and a one-way ticket hell.” Then you have the Washington Monument. A 555-foot obelisk. You aren’t really prepared for this one. You think it’s just going to be a huge piece of rock. But it’s more than stone. This is a monument to honor a really unique man. Modern historians have been less than kind to Washington. But that’s just a current trend in academia. People love to degrade heroes. Still, if you talk to a true historian, you will find Washington to be an honorable, compassionate, and decent human being. Perfect? No. Good? Yes. He was quiet. Disarmingly polite. Unrealistically loyal. There were pockmarks on his face. His teeth were screwed up. He was self-taught at everything. He had no pedigree. He repeatedly admitted he had no business being a statesman. And he meant it. He was less educated than Jefferson, less articulate than Adams, not as well-read as Madison, or as clever as Hancock. And yet all these men considered him their superior. Washington could have been king if he’d wanted. But all he wanted was go back to Vernon and be a farmer. And as July Fourth approaches, I think about General Washington. I think about what he fought for. I think about what it means to be an American in today’s world. We are an infant nation. We aren’t even a toddler on the global stage. And yet our beauty exceeds us. But it’s not our Purple Mountains Majesty, or our Rocket’s Red Glare, or our Bombs Bursting in Air. It is our people that make us so wonderful. Our people, dammit. It is your neighbor. It is the factory worker down the street who works doubles to pay for his son’s Little League uniform. It is the single mom who is attending community college while simultaneously trying to pay off the debt her ex-husband left behind. It is the inexplicable freedom to wear whatever T-shirt you want in public. America is you. It’s me. It’s this. Am I proud to be an American? You bet. But I am even more humbled by this magnanimous privilege. Sean Dietrich is a columnist, novelist, podcaster, and stand-up storyteller known for his commentary on life in the American South. His work has appeared in Newsweek, Southern Living, Reader's Digest, Garden and Gun, The Tallahassee Democrat, the Birmingham News, and his column is syndicated in newspapers throughout the U.S. He has authored fifteen books, and he makes appearances on the Grand Ole Opry. To learn more about Sean or to purchase his books, visit his website at https://seandietrich.com
  6. Senator Tom O'Mara
    In a letter to Governor Hochul late last week, our Senate Republican Conference sought to keep up the pressure on the governor to recognize the dire state of New York’s energy future. Our latest letter reinforces what Senate Republicans have been warning since Albany Democrats enacted the “Climate Leadership and Community Protection Act” in 2019: the goals and timelines set forth in this ongoing strategy of clean energy mandates ignore affordability, feasibility, and reliability. Remember that these mandates call for electric vehicles, electric school buses, electric buildings, the repeal of the “100-foot rule,” and a Cap-and-Invest program that clearly risks overloading New York’s electric grid. “The economic toll of the CLCPA implementation is becoming untenable,” our letter states. “A conservative estimate places the total cost of the law’s implementation at $340 billion. Electricity rates in New York are now 48% higher than the national average and 35% higher than in neighboring Pennsylvania. Alarmingly, nearly 20% of a typical utility bill now consists of government-imposed charges, a figure likely to rise further (because of the Abany Democrats’ CLCPA). These realities point to a (CLCPA) transition plan that is not only unsustainable but one that risks creating an economic and energy disaster. We believe a pause is essential - one that allows for reassessment, thoughtful adjustment, and a renewed commitment to an energy policy that balances environmental responsibility with reliability and affordability.” We are calling on the governor to convene a comprehensive review process on the CLCPA, one that includes what should have been a guidepost from the start: a comprehensive, straightforward, transparent cost-benefit analysis. There’s no time to wait. It has become increasingly clear that the current goals and timelines set forth in CLCPA cannot be met, a reality that even the governor now admits. “We cannot accomplish what those (CLCPA) objectives were back in before I became governor in a time frame that’s not going to hurt ratepayers. So, we’re slowing things down,” the governor said recently. The head of the New York State Energy and Research Development Authority (NYSERDA) added, “It is a change. But it’s an important one because of what we are going for – a reliable grid. And we need to look at that in a clear-eyed manner as to how to achieve it.” Many of us could not agree more. Approaching this challenge in a “clear-eyed manner” is long overdue. It’s what we’ve been calling for time and again over the past six years. The key now will be not to wait. NYSERDA plans on issuing a new draft energy plan this summer and seek public comment on it throughout the fall. It’s a critical back-to-the-drawing-board moment on the CLCPA and one that must lead to stopping the implementation of mandates that can only do more harm, like the just-announced request from New York State Electric and Gas to the state Public Service Commission to impose an unconscionable 48% delivery rate hike on its ratepayers. Until we begin, in earnest, a straightforward reassessment of the realities of the current CLCPA strategy, these mandates will keep delivering devastating price tags and consequences for ratepayers and taxpayers, businesses and industries, school districts, farmers, and entire local communities and economies. We must immediately refocus on affordability, feasibility, and reliability. Senate Republicans have long put forth commonsense alternatives to delay the CLCPA mandates while providing relief to ratepayers, addressing the reliability of the grid, and, especially now, ensuring a diverse energy portfolio that will keep energy options affordable and accessible for the long term. “We further advocate for an “all-of-the-above” energy policy that does not rely solely on wind and solar but also embraces dependable energy sources,” we wrote last week to the governor. “We encourage your administration to continue to push forward with nuclear energy development but let the private sector take the lead. At the same time, we respectfully ask you to reconsider your administration’s stance toward natural gas, a critical and dependable energy source for millions of New Yorkers. Natural gas must remain part of our diverse and resilient energy mix. This is a pivotal moment for our state’s energy future. We urge you to act now to protect the stability of our energy grid and the economic well-being of all New Yorkers.” Stay tuned. Senator Tom O'Mara represents New York's 58th District which covers all of Chemung, Schuyler, Seneca, Steuben, Tioga and Yates counties, and a portion of Allegany County.
  7. Carol Bossard
    A summer-time bite of crisp, cold watermelon, or a yummy slice of Persian cantaloupe spells luscious to me. So does a grilled hot dog eaten while sitting around a campfire. And too, a lettuce-y green salad mixed with pecans, chick peas, cucumber, and tomatoes. Luscious!! Here we are in mid-summer, though the yoyoing weather has been July-ish since May! Yes, we have had drenching rains that have created mini-rainforests. And the temperatures have risen to dangerous levels a month early. Tornadoes have been in places that have usually been safe from them and flooding has brought heavy grief. Despite all the dire things that do happen, and those that could happen, there is still luscious-living to be had --- sometimes. The beauty all around us --- trees, flowers, swamps, creeks and rivers, the many cloud patterns and hues of the skies. It is like that quote: “There is always, always something for which we can be grateful.” Even in the midst of hard times and tragedy. For gardeners, it is biennial season. The spring perennials (peonies, old-fashioned roses, gas plant, etc.) have finished blossoming. A few lilies, are starting to bloom, but it is too early for asters and chrysanthemums. If you have biennials, though, your garden is still colorful with hollyhocks, columbine, fox glove, campanula, etc. And the roadsides are very floral with wild parsnip, Queen Anne’s Lace and chicory. There is beauty everywhere if we will only look around with a discerning eye. We had a garden surprise a few weeks ago. At one time, I had grown foxtail lilies that bloom in early June; very tall stalks with tiny flowers making a very tall and full cone shape. After a couple of years, I decided they were too ostentatious and not quite hardy enough for my garden, and allowed them to fade away and die. Imagine my surprise when this June, two or three years after not having them, a white foxtail lily showed up many yards away from where they had been planted before. I assume some bird, grateful for birdfeeders, replanted it for me. Interesting --- odd ---- things are always happening in the garden. July is, for many, vacation time, and for some, camping season. I’ve written about some of our dubious experiences when accompanying Kerm to 4-H camp; the 1972 flood in Pennsylvania’s “Grand Canyon”, a foggy ice storm at Crystal Lake. But we also camped as a family. It was an inexpensive way to travel---- and mostly fun. I understand that campground prices, as well as state and national park prices have gone way up, along with everything else. However, it is probably still less costly than a night at a decent but dull, motel. Camping took us over quite a bit of New England, Pennsylvania, Washington DC, the Adirondacks, and Catskills. Some years ago (maybe when we were in our late 50s) Kerm and I put up our tent in the back yard just to see if we should keep it or get rid of it. It was a little battered but still useable. After a night on mattresses, we were in total agreement ---- get rid of the tent! Our backs did not have a good night at all and getting upright in the morning was truly an adventure. Our tent-camping days were over! If we currently choose to experience the wilderness, we will be in a nice, rustic cabin with comfortable beds; beds, not on the floor, and inside bathroom facilities. There are things that I miss. There is the clear, fresh, air when first unzipping the tent in the morning. There is the resinous smell of pine and fir, sap mellowed by the sunny days. There’s the wonderful fragrance of a campfire, and the skies, spangled with so many stars. In the quiet of the night, the owls hoot and perhaps, off in the distance, a coyote sings. Camping has stored away a collection of memories that I can call into my mind, and riffle through at any time. And my back remains happy. Now, there is “glamping!” A friend, and a couple of his college buddies, have, for many years, scheduled two camping trips/year in the scenic Adirondacks. They regularly canoed across a sometimes-turbulent lake to reach a camping site --- beautiful, but lacking amenities. However, as they have, umm, matured, their camping has evolved from the arduous trek mentioned above, to renting a cabin, complete with cots, on the road-side of the lake shore. No rowing necessary; only gentle canoeing. And that sort of camping is now called glamor-camping, or glamping. Unless you are in Outward Bound, camping isn’t about enduring ---- it is about joy of being surrounded by nature, and unless you camp alone, it is about community. It is making memories and nourishing friendships, and staying in touch. It us times of laughter and good feelings whether the community is family or friends. Speaking of community, when Kerm and I were first married, we lived close to Washington DC, and had very little community. He had his fellow-grad students, and I had my co-workers, but none were close friendships. During our ten years in Pennsylvania, we had a church-full of friends; some closer than others, of course. And Kerm’s job with 4-H brought us more good people to make our lives rewarding. When we left there for the Catskills, I had “separation trauma” that left me unable to get settled in our new home; boxes sat around for weeks. But eventually, we made some super-good friends there, mostly via Marriage Encounter. However, 45 years in Spencer have given us full opportunity to be a true part of the community. Participation in church, school, writing groups, various S-VE activities --- Breakfast Club, Garden Club, Pond Project, Grange dinners, Pancake breakfasts, Food Pantry, an Ad-Lib acting group, and music all draw people together. And we truly fit here. Sadly, I have noticed that volunteering/participating in community activities, has dwindled with younger people. They are staying home with their families (and phones) and are much more insular. We generally took our boys with us as we participated in things, and I think it left them feeling good about being part of a group. They may not always have chosen, at the time, our activities. I remember when Matt was running the sound system for one of our variety shows. I glanced over and saw him holding his head and shaking it, as puns and “creative” dialogue came from his father and his piano teacher, on stage. I expect he hoped none of his friends were watching. But he endured and I can’t see that it scarred him too much. I’ve dragged Shawn into demonstrating some martial arts for my Sunday school, and speaking for the garden club. He seems to have survived. And occasionally, they are both good material for these essays! Although, I do try to be a bit discreet. 😊 Community---- we help each other! We all have choices about our lives. I’ve noticed that my attitude toward those choices can lighten or make a burden heavier. I can allow myself to exist very easily in a rut. It may be a fur-lined comfy rut, but it is confining; smothering without interruptions and changes. Living with few outside influences makes a rut a rut --- no matter how comfortable. If you’ve read The Hobbit *(and if you haven’t you should!), you know that getting outside exposure and change was looked upon with disfavor among the Hobbits. Tradition was safe and respectable! However, when one or two Hobbits made their way to the outside world, with all its dangers and beauty, made new friends and faced sometimes difficult choices, life broadened and became more meaningful. And the Hobbits grew in their understanding and their perceptions. It is the same with us. We can be limited by our up-bringing, our family members, our small groups of co-workers or friends and miss a whole wonderful life of newness and adventure. There is a time for rocking on the porch and a time for holding a picket sign. July is a month of plenty. Luscious living can mean many different things to each of us, from cantaloupes and early sweet corn, to looking at each day’s sunrise with new hope and renewed trying one’s best to live fully. There is sitting around a camp fire and creating a mental album of memories. There is volunteering at the Food Pantry and seeing smiling children looking at their box of food, and there is being appreciative of our own quirks and the quirks of our long-time friends and neighbors, and realizing what a blessing good community can be. Of course, there will be bad days, but we just can’t let the bad days win. I’ve always liked the photos of the farm-to-table dinners, all those long tables filled with smiling people, and the quotation that often goes with those illustrations: “If you have more, don’t build a taller fence to keep others out; build a longer table so everyone can enjoy being together.” Live luscious and have a great July. Carol Bossard writes from her home in Spencer. She may be reached at: carol42wilde@htva.net. *The Hobbit by J.R.R. Tolkien ---British writer and philologist. He is most famous for The Hobbit and The trilogy of The Rings. 1892-1973.
  8. Linda Roorda started following You Made A Difference…, Safe In My Arms, Independence Day! and and 3 others
  9. Linda Roorda
    I can’t swim. Oh, I took lessons at the Boys Club in Clifton, NJ… learned to float and doggy paddle. I loved playing in the water with my siblings and cousins at Green Pond, a lake in northwestern New Jersey where my aunt and uncle had a cottage. Didn’t even mind being in water way over my head. There, in the safe swimming section, we’d jump off the dock or have our dad toss us over his shoulder into the deep water. I loved it! But then… I almost drowned. I was either 10 or 11. Our family had driven out to the lake for a day of fun. And here I was laying across a ski board tethered by rope to my uncle’s boat. I was either very brave or very foolish, but found myself being pulled across the water clinging to that board, enjoying the ride! Until the boat took a fast turn… and the wake caught me off guard. The board flipped over, hit me on the head, and I lost my grip. Flailing furiously in the water, I tumbled over and over, struggling to hold my breath, trying to break the surface for air when I felt something under my feet… all in a matter of some very long seconds. Planting my feet down, I stood up and dared to open my eyes… shocked and absolutely relieved to find I was chest deep in water, standing on a very large rock or ledge in the “middle” of the lower end of the large lake! I was so sure I would drown while flailing around… instead, I was safe! Trauma clicked in later. I cannot float, nor can I swim. I sink. Don’t even try to teach me… Ed tried when we were dating, and he quickly found out my panic was very real when he let go of me in the deep end of the pool. I still need to wear floaties to enjoy being in the water. I’ve long realized I was held in the arms of God that day decades ago. No one dreamed there would possibly be a rock or ledge with shallow water out there. My father watched from the shore with his heart in his throat, afraid for my life. But he never told me that until decades later. This incident reminds me of how we are loved and held safe in the arms of not only God, but the arms of our family. As a helpless infant, we are tenderly held and kept safe in our parents’ arms. As we grow up, their loving arms are still there… ready to protect us and guide us. Then, all too soon we’re ready to leave the nest and fly off into the world on our own. At some point between thinking we know it all and realizing we don’t, we bring the wisdom we’ve learned back to our aging parents, understanding what it was they tried to teach us as we now teach our children… and find we’ve come full circle. And therein I see the arms of God… holding and caring for us, teaching and guiding us… accepting us for who we are because He created us and knows who we are meant to be. Safe In My Arms Linda A. Roorda From the very moment that you came to be You were held safe, safe in my arms A helpless babe, you looked up to me Your needs were met with love undivided. ~ When you fell down and bruised your ego You came running to comforting arms You looked for me to answer concerns Questions of life with wisdom to gain. ~ But as you grew you looked to yourself I wasn’t needed, not so much anymore You thought you held the keys to life’s goals As facing forward you met the world’s pace. ~ And then one day you understood all The depths of love and sacrificial gifts Your arms reached out to hold me secure To share with me wisdom you had gained. ~ Is it not true full circle we’ve come From infant small to adult mature And is it not true the life we have lived Is mirrored within God’s love for us all. ~ For didn’t His arms hold tightly our life That when we fell He gently restored And when we stood alone on life’s stage We were held safe, safe in His arms. ~~
  10. Earlier
  11. Sean Dietrich
    The kid behind the bar asked what type of beer I wanted. It was a fancy place, so I asked what kinds they had. It was a mistake. There were nine hundred varieties—not a Budweiser in sight. The kid handed me an iPad with a menu on the screen. And before he filled my glass with fifteen-dollar suds, he said, “Sorry, we don’t carry Budweiser. This world has changed on you, bucko.” Bucko? As a matter of fact, you’re right, kid. You want to know how much it’s changed? My school bus used to drop me two miles from my house after ball practice. Miss Lynn, the driver, refused to go down the hilly dirt roads for fear she’d get stuck. And I don’t want to get cliche here, but what I’m saying is: I walked to school, uphill, both ways, on gravel and mud. A lot of us did. Go ahead, laugh. In the summers, the canopies of live oaks, and sugar maples covered our roads. I know this because Daddy gave me The Pocket Tree-Encyclopedia. And for each new tree-find, I’d earn a pittance for my piggy bank. Piggy banks. We had those. They were filled with coins. Anyone below twelve used silver pieces to buy salt peanuts, Coca-Cola, or taffy. Do I sound like a bumpkin yet? Good. We got sunburned a lot. We sweat even more. Our shoes wore out, quick. We got poison ivy whenever the wind blew. We plucked so many deer ticks from our bodies we quit counting. Our dogs followed us off-leash, and we’ve been drinking coffee since before we had armpit hair. Our girls could ride horses and shoot rifles. We spent weekends loping trails and open fields. There were no smartphones, only baseball, fishing, frog-gigging, and racy jokes. We didn’t know about kidney-rotting narcotics, only strawberry moonshine. The worst sins were Red Man chew, unfiltered Camels, necking, and beer. Beer. When we were old enough, there were two beers. Miller and Budweiser. If there was a third, it was forty-five minutes away. Whatever was on tap tasted bad, but you learned to like it. Same as you learned to like manual labor, opening doors for ladies, helping strangers change tires, doing dishes, wetting your hair before church, and referring to anyone with a pulse as ma’am or sir. The kid behind the bar rolled his eyes. “Gimme a break,” he said, playing on his phone. “You’re like everyone else, getting all sappy about the good old days.” You bet your app I am, kid. And I’m grateful to be able to. I only hope that one day you talk about your cellphone so fondly. Thanks for the beer, bucko. Sean Dietrich is a columnist, novelist, podcaster, and stand-up storyteller known for his commentary on life in the American South. His work has appeared in Newsweek, Southern Living, Reader's Digest, Garden and Gun, The Tallahassee Democrat, the Birmingham News, and his column is syndicated in newspapers throughout the U.S. He has authored fifteen books, and he makes appearances on the Grand Ole Opry. To learn more about Sean or to purchase his books, visit his website at https://seandietrich.com
  12. Linda Roorda
    It's a fact that we American love our 4th of July celebrations! We especially enjoy family gatherings and picnics, and big parades with lots of floats and marching bands. We look forward to fireworks with their beautiful colors and designs exploding in the night sky. We decorate our homes with flags and bunting. We salute, or respectfully place our hand over our heart, as our nation's flag is carried past us by military veterans in parades. And we recall two important founding dlocuments of our nation: 1) Preamble to the Declaration of Independence: “…We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness…” 2) Preamble to the U.S. Constitution: “We the People of the United States, in Order to form a more perfect Union, establish Justice, insure domestic Tranquility, provide for the common defense, promote the general Welfare, and secure the Blessings of Liberty to ourselves and our Posterity, do ordain and establish this Constitution for the United States of America…” What precious meaning these words have held as we take time to gaze backward to their origins, something I never tire learning about. As I contemplated our nation’s celebrations, I thought about the effort and sacrifice it took from many to give us the freedoms we so often take for granted. I am so thankful for all we have in America which many around the world do not enjoy. But I also wondered if perhaps we have forgotten all that took place a long time ago, and if this day has simply become a traditional fun holiday, or just a holiday to besmirch. Though no nation or government has been perfect as far back as the beginning of time, the early days of a young nation’s beginnings provide perspective for today’s America, this bastion of freedom. So, it’s fitting that we ponder what part our ancestors played in the making of our great America some 247 years ago. And, I might add, one of the best parts of researching my ancestors was the great lasting friendships I’ve made with other descendants. Several of my ancestors served in the Revolutionary War in various capacities, some of whom I researched more extensively than others. Originally, I did not plan to bring them into this article. But then it occurred to me that would be fitting. Knowledge of personal service and sacrifice often provides us with a greater understanding of the historical era and what our collective ancestors experienced. Numerous events, political acts, and taxes over many years led to the First Continental Congress meeting from September 5 through October 2, 1774 in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. It was held to counteract the British Parliament’s Coercive Acts (commonly called the Intolerable Acts by the colonists) which were intended to punish the colonists for their Tea Party held in Boston’s harbor. But, among the early precipitators of the American Revolution was the import ban in 1774 against firearms and gunpowder enacted by the British government. Next came the order to confiscate all guns and gunpowder. The aptly named “Powder Alarm” took place on September 1, 1774 when Redcoats sailed up the Mystic River to capture hundreds of powder barrels stored in Charlestown. Taking the event seriously, 20,000 militiamen turned out and marched to Boston. Battle was avoided at that time, but ultimately took place the following spring at Lexington and Concord on April 19, 1775. Within these events lie the foundation of our Second Amendment to the U.S. Constitution as written by Thomas Jefferson in 1791: “A well-regulated militia being necessary to the security of a free state, the right of the people to keep and bear arms shall not be infringed.” https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Second_Amendment_to_the_United_States_Constitution The Second Continental Congress began meeting in Philadelphia on May 10, 1775. That very same day, Ethan Allen and his Green Mountain Boys seized New York’s Fort Ticonderoga from the British after raveling west from Vermont. On June 14, 1775, delegates from the Second Continental Congress created the Continental Army from colonial militia near Boston. The next day, they appointed an esteemed and experienced military and civic leader as commanding general of their new army, a humble man by the name of George Washington, congressman of Virginia. Nearly a month later, Washington arrived in Boston to take command on July 3rd. The Continental Congress then approved a Declaration of Causes on July 6th. This proclamation outlined why the thirteen colonies should stand united against Great Britain’s political clout and military force. Through these early years, and with pressing urgency, the great minds of the day began formulating a bold statement of the burdens the colonists bore from an overbearing government an ocean away. Initially, the colonists were not looking to start a war; they simply wanted their concerns heard and addressed. But, revolt would be a relevant term regarding that which was festering. They felt the heavy hand of tyranny over them like a smothering umbrella with their king and his government’s over-reaching philosophy of “taxation without representation.” It did not take much for congressional delegates to think back and recall the Boston Massacre of March 5, 1770. Several colonials had taunted the ever-present British soldiers. Reinforcement soldiers shot into the crowd killing five civilians, injuring six others. Three years later, the Tea Act in May 1773 was followed by the Boston Tea Party on December 16th. The year 1775 began with several new tax acts put in place; labeled collectively as the Intolerable Acts, they were Britain’s answer to their colonists’ unrest. And then an auspicious delegation met in Virginia on March 23, 1775. Those present never forgot Patrick Henry’s speech and resounding words, “Give me liberty or give me death!” Paul Revere’s midnight ride came the night of April 18/19, 1775 to warn of British ships arriving at Boston’s shores. [From the interstate, I have seen Boston’s diminutive North Church tucked beneath the shadows of modern “skyscrapers,” and walked the upper and lower decks of the U.S.S. Constitution from the subsequent War of 1812 – with a sailor in period dress uniform talking on a telephone!] Henry Wadsworth Longfellow’s poem, “Paul Revere’s Ride” (“Listen my children and you shall hear of the midnight ride of Paul Revere…”) has been said to contain many inaccuracies; in reality, it was written 80 years after Revere rode out with several others on horseback, quietly alerting other Patriots, but it may also be that Longfellow simply wrote a flowing ode to Revere with embellishments as any poet is wont to do. The British government was again intent on confiscating all weapons held by the colonists. Bands of British troops were sent to confiscate ammunition stores in Salem, Massachusetts and part of New Hampshire. Both times, Paul Revere, a silversmith, was among members of the Sons of Liberty who alerted townsfolk in advance of enemy troops, giving them sufficient time to hide weapons and frustrate the British military. Desiring to alert citizens, Revere garnered assistance from Robert Newman, sexton at Boston’s North Church. To warn that the Redcoats were coming from the shorter water route across Boston’s inner harbor, Newman hung two lanterns from the steeple window. These lanterns were clearly seen by those in Charlestown, including the British, unfortunately. Newman must have felt tremendous fear as the Brits attempted to break into the church while he was still there. Reportedly, he managed to escape capture by quietly sneaking out a window near the altar moments before enemy soldiers entered the church to begin their search. And the very next day, April 19, 1775, the Minutemen and British redcoats clashed at Lexington and Concord with “the shot heard ‘round the world.’” Two months later, June 17, 1775 saw the Battle of Bunker Hill (actually Breed’s Hill) on the Charlestown Peninsula overlooking Boston. Per military records, my ancestor John Caldwell McNeill was present as part of the Hampshire Line. As British columns advanced toward American redoubts, the colonists were reportedly told by their commander, “Don’t fire until you see the whites of their eyes!” The British were shot virtually pointblank and hastily retreated – twice. It was not until the third advance by the British that the inexperienced colonists lost to a superior military force. As the colonists’ limited ammunition ran out, hand-to-hand combat took place on that third advance. The redcoats took control with greater troop numbers despite their loss of over 1000 men, while the colonists counted over 200 killed and more than 800 wounded. Yet, the inexperienced Americans realized their dedication and determination could overcome the superior British military which, in turn, realized this little uprising was going to bring a long and costly war to the Crown. With pressure mounting, the congressional delegation met the next year in the City of Brotherly Love. Here, they commenced hammering out wording for what would henceforth be termed a declaration of independence. “Monday, July 1, 1776, [was] a hot and steamy [day] in Philadelphia.” In a letter to the new president of Georgia, Archibald Bulloch, John Adams wrote, “This morning is assigned the greatest debate of all. A declaration, that these colonies are free and independent states… and this day or tomorrow is to determine its fate. May heaven prosper the newborn republic.” (John Adams, David McCullough, Simon & Schuster Paperbacks, New York, NY, 2001, p.125.) The delegates felt the tension amongst themselves in the debates and wording of their declaration, and the voting at the end of the day was not unanimous. Their tension was heightened that evening as news reached the city that one hundred British ships had been sighted off New York, with eventually more than 300 joining the initial fleet. The seriousness of what they were undertaking was felt by every man in the delegation for they knew their very lives were on the line. July 2nd saw an overcast day with cloudbursts letting loose as the delegates met. The New York delegates abstained from voting while others joined the majority to make a unanimous decision. Thus, on July 2, 1776, twelve colonies voted to declare independence from Britain. More than anyone else, John Adams made it happen. His elation showed in writing home about the proceedings to his wife, Abigail. “The second day of July 1776 will be the most memorable epoch in the history of America. I am apt to believe that it will be celebrated by succeeding generations as the great anniversary festival. It ought to be commemorated as the Day of Deliverance by solemn acts of devotion to God Almighty. It ought to be solemnized with pomp and parade, with shows, games, sports, guns, bells, bonfires, and illuminations from one end of this continent to the other from this time forward forever more.” (McCullough, pp. 129-130) News spread like wildfire throughout Philadelphia. A young artist, Charles Willson Peale, journaled that “This day the Continental Congress declared the United Colonies Free and Independent States.” (McCullough, p.130) But, Congress still had to review what the delegation had written before an official statement could be made. July 3rd blessed the city with a drop of 10 degrees following cloudbursts the day before. Tensions had even begun to ease among the men, but still there was much work to be done. More discussion and deliberation ensued as they reviewed the language of their declaration. (McCullough, pp. 130-135) Much had to be cut and reworded to make it a more concise document which then boldly declared, “The unanimous Declaration of the thirteen United States of America. When in the Course of human events it becomes necessary for one people to dissolve the political bands which have connected them with another and to assume among the powers of the earth, the separate and equal station to which the Laws of Nature and of Nature's God entitle them, a decent respect to the opinions of mankind requires that they should declare the causes which impel them to the separation.” Benjamin Franklin offered encouraging and comforting words to the now-silent Thomas Jefferson whose many words were debated and cut. When their work was finished, it was still Thomas Jefferson’s words, however, which have held a firm and tender spot in the hearts of Americans ever since. To Jefferson goes the credit for writing “…We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness. That to secure these rights, Governments are instituted among Men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed…” (McCullough, p.130-136) Thursday, July 4, 1776, dawned cool and comfortable. The tension was gone from the weather just as it was now from among the men of the delegation. Discussions were again held through late morning when a final vote was taken. New York still abstained, but the other twelve colonies voted unanimously to support the hard work they had wrought in this Declaration of Independence. Ultimately, the delegates from all thirteen colonies, including New York, signed the document in solidarity. (McCullough, p. 136) Celebrations began on the 8th when the published Declaration was read to the public. Thirteen cannon blasts reverberated throughout Philadelphia, bells rang day and night, bonfires were lit everywhere, and candles shone bright in windows. The news reached Washington and his troops in New York City the next day where the Declaration was read. More celebrations sprang up as the crowds pulled down the equestrian statue of King George III. (McCullough, p.136-137) But, their elation was not long in lasting. In reality, it would be several more years before celebrations of this magnitude would again be held. In reality, though the hard work of writing such a declaration was finally completed, even harder efforts and sacrifices of thousands of men and boys on battlefields were about to begin. In reality, the conflict about to begin would affect every man, woman and child living within the thirteen colonies in ways they could never have imagined. And, ultimately, their great sacrifices gave rise to the freedoms which we enjoy and tend to take for granted today. The lives of the men who signed this declaration were also forever affected. If the new America lost its war for independence, every signer of said document faced charges of treason and death by hanging for actions against their king. In signing, they gave “support of this Declaration, with a firm reliance on the protection of Divine Providence, [as] we mutually pledge to each other our Lives, our Fortunes, and our sacred Honor.” There were 56 representatives from all thirteen colonies who signed, ranging in age from 26 to 70 (the oldest being the esteemed Benjamin Franklin). Over half were lawyers, but the men included planters, merchants and shippers. Most of them were wealthy men who had much to lose should Britain win. Though none of them died at the hand of the enemy, four men were taken captive during the war by the British, with one-third of the signers being military officers during the war… while nearly all of them were poorer when the war ended than when it began. There was much at stake in the days and years ahead after the Declaration of Independence was signed and the war began in earnest. Some men abandoned the battle lines, their friends, and what once seemed like worthy ideals, and simply walked home. Many suffered untold pain and suffering as prisoners of war. Many suffered deprivations of food and clothing along with disease and death within their own military camps. Many fought family and friends in the same community as Patriot was pitted against Tory, i.e. Loyalist. Schoharie County, New York, considered by historians to be “The Breadbasket of the Revolution,” provided an abundance of food for Washington’s northern troops. To frustrate the colonists’ efforts, the British and their Loyalist supporters, including many Native Americans, destroyed and burned crops and buildings as they captured, killed and scalped settlers throughout the Mohawk and Schoharie Valley and along the western frontier during the war. In reality, however, we likely would not have won our independence if it were not for Washington’s spies. Barely two months after the Declaration was signed, a 21-year-old Yale graduate by the name of Nathan Hale from Massachusetts eagerly volunteered to spy for Washington. He intended to go behind enemy lines on Long Island and in New York City to infiltrate the British strongholds. Instead, not being sufficiently familiar with the area and its people, and likely having a New England accent, he was caught and found to have sketches of fortifications and memos about troop placements on him. Without benefit of legal trial, he was sentenced to death. His requests for a clergyman and a Bible were refused. Just before being hung on September 22, 1776 in the area of 66th Street and Third Avenue in Manhattan, Hale was heard to say with dignity, “I only regret that I have but one life to lose for my country.” (George Washington’s Secret Six, Brian Kilmeade and Don Yaeger, Penguin Group, New York, NY, 2013, p.1.) George Washington knew that he desperately needed spies, but he needed them to work in such a way that they would not be discovered. His tender heart for his fellow countrymen deplored that even one should die for the cause of freedom. Yet, he also knew that such loss was inevitable. And thus was born Washington’s spies so aptly named, “The Secret Six.” INDEPENDENCE DAY, PART II: Out of the realization that Gen. George Washington desperately needed spies, and hating to lose even one more life after the hanging of Nathan Hale, a ring of trustworthy spies was gradually pulled together. Washington’s “Secret Six” included five men and one woman embedded within and around New York City and Long Island, each familiar with the land and its people. They reported to Washington on British movements and military plans in a timely fashion. Because they knew the area, and were known by the people, they were readily accepted as they maneuvered amongst the enemy. That is not to say, however, that they didn’t come close to being found out. They lived in constant fear of such, not to mention the fear of losing their own lives and destroying their families in the process. At times they were emotionally frail, depressed and despondent. But, because of their passion for the freedom movement afoot, they came together for the greater benefit of all. At one point, Washington’s army was entirely surrounded by the British in New York City. With tips from his spies, and being a man given to much time and prayer with God, his troops managed to quietly evacuate the city under the cover of night at an area not under guard. With dawn, however, came the realization that a large contingent still remained behind and would be very visible to the enemy. An answer to prayer was soon forthcoming to allow the balance of his men and equipment to leave the city – an unexpected and extremely dense morning fog enveloped the area, allowing them to continue crossing safely over into Jersey with the British unable to do anything about the Continental Army’s escape from their clutches. Because of the work of Washington’s spies and the “important memos” he managed to have planted with false information behind enemy lines, the Americans were able to surprise the enemy at Trenton, New Jersey on Christmas Day night 1776 after the British had relaxed their guard and celebrated the day in style. Needless to say, the Americans enjoyed a vital and rousing victory. Because of the spies and their efforts, accomplished with great fear for their own lives and that of their families, warning was given to Washington of 400 ships arriving from England. The spies’ insider knowledge that the British were planning to attack and scuttle the French ships and troops coming to Washington’s aid allowed him to turn the tide in a timely manner. He was able to fool the British into thinking he was readying an imminent attack on New York City, causing them to leave Long Island Sound, thus allowing the French time to land and move inland to safety in Connecticut without battling the British at sea before they even disembarked. Because of the spy who owned a print shop which seemingly supported King George, important plans were heard and passed on to Washington. Other spies were privy to the upper level of command amongst the British military at parties in a particular merchandise shop and a certain coffeehouse. A circuitous route was set up for their messenger across Long Island to Setauket where packets with concealed or innocuous-looking papers written in invisible ink and code were rowed to the Connecticut shore in a whale boat (while being pursued by the British) where another member took the seemingly innocent packet of merchandise and rode his horse overland to Washington’s camp in New Jersey. At times, someone simply traveled out of New York City to visit relatives in northern New Jersey and met up with another dependable link to pass the information along to Washington’s headquarters. Because of their courage and resolve, the spies assisted in uncovering the Crown’s Major John Andre` (who, himself, ran a British spy ring) as he worked with Brigadier General Benedict Arnold, American commander at West Point. Despite a prior stellar military record, but due to personal bitterness, Arnold was in the process of handing West Point over to Andre` and the British. Through a series of blundering mistakes, because of the spies’ knowledge given to Washington at just the right moment, and because of the quick thinking of a couple of patriotic guards on a bridge leading back into New York City, Andre` was captured and later executed. Arnold’s hand-over was thus thwarted, although Arnold managed to escape behind enemy lines and ultimately fled to England. Because of the supposed loyal British support by the owner of said print shop, a little book was obtained through his work as an undercover spy. This inconspicuous little book contained key information on British troop movements at Yorktown, Virginia. With important knowledge gained of the enemy’s military plans, Washington was able to redirect appropriate troops and ships to Yorktown. General Cornwallis surrendered for the British on October 19, 1781 in an American victory where total defeat for the Americans would have otherwise taken place. Because they swore themselves to secrecy, no one knew the full involvement of all six spies, nor all of their names. Only gradually over the last few hundred years has their identities become known, the fifth not confirmed until recently. All five men are now known, but the woman’s identity is not; she is simply known as Agent 355. It is believed she was captured and became a prisoner; but, there is no hard evidence by research even to prove that conjecture. The efforts of the six spies as they secretly obtained information and passed it along (devising their own specialty codes, using a unique invisible ink, and more) enabled them to maintain total secrecy. Nor did they ever seek accolades for their work after the war was over. The secrets to their successful accomplishments have been among the methods still taught and used successfully by our CIA today. In the interest of sharing the spies’ courage which undoubtedly helped us win the Revolutionary War, their story (as briefly described above) has been extensively researched and written by Brian Kilmeade and Don Yaeger in George Washington’s Secret Six, The Spy Ring That Saved the American Revolution. It was one of my Christmas gifts from my husband a few years ago, and I highly recommend it to other history buffs. It’s a read you’ll find difficult to set down. So, why is history important to us? To quote David McCullough in the Reader’s Digest, December 2002, author of the books, John Adams and 1776: “Who are we, we Americans? How did we get where we are? What is our story and what can it teach us? Our story is our history, and if ever we should be taking steps to see that we have the best prepared, most aware citizens ever, that time is now. Yet the truth is that we are raising a generation that is to an alarming degree historically illiterate… While the popular cultures races loudly on, the American past is slipping away. We are losing our story, forgetting who we are and what it's taken to come this far.” “The best way to know where the country is going is to know where we've been…But why bother about history anyway? …That's done with, junk for the trash heap. Why history? Because it shows us how to behave. [It] teaches and reinforces what we believe in, what we stand for. History is about life – human nature, the human condition and all its trials and failings and noblest achievements… Everything we have, all our good institutions, our laws, our music, art and poetry, our freedoms, everything is because somebody went before us and did the hard work... faced the storms, made the sacrifices, kept the faith… If we deny our children that enjoyment [of historical story telling]… then we’re cheating them out of a full life.” As I contemplated our nation’s celebrations, I thought about the effort and sacrifice it took from many to give us the freedoms we so often take for granted. I am so thankful for all we have in America which many around the world do not enjoy. But I also wondered if perhaps we have forgotten all that took place a long time ago, and if this day has simply become a traditional fun holiday. The United States of America came to be with God’s hand working a miracle behind the scenes, and within the hearts of men and women who were very involved in its forming by putting their lives, legacy and financial support behind the movement for independence. Though no nation or government has been perfect as far back as the beginning of time, the early days of our young nation’s beginnings provide perspective for today’s America, this bastion of freedom. So, it’s fitting that we ponder what part our ancestors played in the making of our great America some 246 years ago. And, I might add, one of the best parts of researching my ancestors was the great lasting friendships I’d made with other descendants. Several of my ancestors served in the Revolutionary War in various capacities, some of whom I researched more extensively than others. Originally, I did not plan to bring them into my article. But then it occurred to me that it would be appropriate. Knowledge of personal service and sacrifice often provides us with a greater understanding of the historical era and what our collective ancestors experienced. While researching my ancestry over 20 years ago, I purchased Revolutionary War pension application files of several ancestors who had served. For those whose government files I did not purchase, their data was obtained from Schoharie County Historical Society, various Revolutionary War books, CDs, and documents proving their service. Hoping that my family research might provide us a closer glimpse of the war for independence through their experiences, I share their legacy. 1) Frantz/Francis Becraft/Beacraft, bp. 06/12/1761, Claverack, Columbia Co., NY - Private, 3rd Comp., 3rd Regiment, 1st Rensselaerswyck Battalion, Albany County New York Militia, on muster roll from Berne in 1782, 1790 census at Berne. In an 1839 affidavit, Francis Becraft of Berne stated that he “served as a Private in a company commanded by Capt. Adam Dietz in the County of Albany...” Frantz/Francis married Catherine Dietz (sister of said Capt. Adam Dietz), my g-g-g-g-grandparents. In researching my ancestors, I discovered an apparent familial tie to the notorious Tory Becraft/Beacraft. This man felt no remorse in aligning himself with Joseph Brant’s Indians to capture, kill and scalp Patriots throughout Schoharie County, known to have brutally killed and scalped a young boy in the Vrooman family who managed to escape the house after his family had been murdered. After the war ended, Becraft/Beacraft had the audacity to return from Canada to Schoharie County where he was immediately captured by ten men. In meting out a punishment of 50 lashes by whip, the men supposedly reminded him of his infamous acts against the community, his former neighbors. Roscoe notes that death did not linger for him after the final lash, and his ashes were buried on the spot. Of the ten men who swore themselves to secrecy, apparently only five are known. (History of Schoharie County, William E. Roscoe, pub. D. Mason & Comp., 1882, pp.250-251.) However, in "Families (to 1825) of Herkimer, Montgomery, & Schoharie, N.Y.," a genealogical source on many early families by William V. H. Barker, it is noted that the Tory Becraft/Beacraft was Benjamin, born about 1759, supposed brother of my ancestor noted above, Frantz/Francis Becraft. If this is accurate and they are indeed brothers, they were both sons of Willem/William and Mareitje (Bond) Becraft. Another source, “The Life of Joseph Brant – Thayendanegea…” notes Becraft survived his whipping and left the area (pg. 64), just as other undocumented sources indicate he survived and returned to Canada to live with his family. So, there is conflicting data as to whether Tory [Benjamin] Becraft actually died from his whippings or survived and left the area. 2) Johannes/John Berlet/Berlett/Barlet, b. 05/08/1748, Schoharie, Schoharie Co., NY – Private, Tryon County Militia, 3rd Reg’t, Mohawk District. He married Maria Gardinier, b. about 1751; their daughter Eva/Eveline Barlett married Martin Tillapaugh, b. 1778, my g-g-g-grandparents. 3) Johann Hendrich/John Henry Dietz, bp 05/10/1722, Nordhofen, Vielbach, Germany – served in Lt. John Veeder’s Company, Rensselaerswyck, later under Capt. Sternberger’s Company at Schoharie. He married Maria Elisabetha Ecker, bp. 1725; their daughter Catherine Dietz, b. 1761, married Frantz/Francis Beacraft above, my g-g-g-g-grandparents. As per my research article on Chemung County’s Newtown Battle, the Indian/Loyalist raids and massacres also touched my ancestral families in New York. In Beaverdam (now Berne), New York near the Switzkill River on September 1, 1781, the Johannes Dietz family was attacked. Johannes’ son, Capt. William Dietz was captured and forced to watch his elderly parents, wife, four young children and a Scottish maid be killed and scalped. (see “Old Hellebergh,” Arthur B. Gregg, The Altamont Enterprise Publishers, Altamont, N.Y., 1936, p. 24; signed by Gregg, in Roorda’s collection from her father.) Capt. William Dietz’s father, Johannes, was an older brother of my ancestor noted above, Johann Hendrich/John Henry Dietz. 4) Johan Dietrich Dallenbach/John Richard Dillenbach, b. 1733 per cemetery records, Stone Arabia, NY; father Jorg Martin Dallenbach born Lauperswil, Bern, Switzerland (emigrated with 1710 German Palatines with mother and first wife). John Richard Dillenbach married Maria Mynard; their son Martinus took name of Martin Tillapaugh (my lineage), married Eva/Eveline Barlett as above. Dillenbach reported for duty March 20, 1757 when Sir William Johnson called local militia out to protect Fort William Henry on Lake George for the British. The Seven Years’ War, or the French and Indian War, began in 1754 and ended with the European peace treaties of 1763 during which year Dillenbach again reported to defend Herkimer with the Palatine District Regiment. James Fennimore Cooper wrote The Last of the Mohicans about the siege of Fort William Henry. Roughly 2300 colonial troops were protecting the British fort when the French arrived with about 8000 troops in August 1763 and heavily bombarded the fort. With additional supporting troops not found to be on their way, the garrison was forced to surrender. The men were to be protected as they retreated by generous treaty terms. However, as the Indians entered the fort, they plundered, looted, scalped and killed about 200 colonials, many of them too sick to leave. In desecrating graves of those who had died before the siege, the Indians exposed themselves to smallpox, taking the germs back to their homes. The French destroyed the fort before returning to Canada. Fort William Henry was reconstructed in the 1950s. Visiting this fort in 1972 with the Lounsberry Methodist Church youth group, I was unaware at the time that my Dallenbach/Tillapaugh ancestor had walked that ground. 5) Timothy Hutton, b.11/24/1746, New York City, married 2nd) Elizabeth Deline b.1760. Their son George b.1787 married Sarah Wyckoff b.1793 (descendant of Pieter Claessen Wyckoff who cared for Pieter Stuyvesant’s bouwery/farm, today’s bowery district of New York City, with his Wyckoff House Museum on Clarendon Road, Brooklyn, NY still standing), my g-g-g-grandparents. Timothy served as Ensign in Philip Schuyler’s Regiment of Albany County Militia, at defeat of Gen. Burgoyne in Saratoga October 17, 1777; appointed Lieutenant in New York Levies under Col. Marinus Willett; defended Schoharie County from burnings and killings by British, Loyalists and Indians. This Timothy is not to be confused with a nephew of same name and rank, b. 1764, which many have done, including an erroneous data on an obelisk grave marker in Carlisle, NY. Sorting their military service out was part of my extensive thesis and documentation in researching and publishing two lengthy articles on the origins and descendants of this Hutton family in the New York Genealogical & Biographical Record in 2004-2005. My Timothy’s nephew William Hutton served extensively in the Revolutionary War throughout New York City, Long Island, and the Hudson Valley. My Timothy’s nephew Christopher Hutton of Troy, NY served as Ensign, promoted to Lieutenant, member of the elite Society of the Cincinnati. My Timothy’s nephew, Timothy Hutton b.1764, served as Lieutenant in New York Levies under Col. Willett, enlisting 1780 at age 16 in the Albany militia. My Timothy’s nephews, Isaac and George (brothers of Christopher and the younger Timothy, all sons of George Hutton, the older brother of my ancestor Timothy Hutton), were well-known influential silversmiths during the Federal period in the late 18th/early 19th centuries in Albany. Hutton silver has been on display at museums in Albany, New York. 6) Johannes Leenderse/Leendertse (John Leonardson), b.06/18/63, Fonda, Montgomery Co., NY - enlisted as private in 1779 at age 16, Tryon County Militia, 3rd Reg’t; Corporal in 1781; served on many expeditions in the Mohawk Valley and at forts; joined Col. Willett’s company on march to Johnstown October 1781 in successful battle against enemy who had burned and killed throughout Mohawk Valley; re-enlisted 1782. Married Sarah Putman b.1773. Their son Aaron Leonardson b.1796 married 3rd) Lana Gross, parents of Mary Eliza Leonardson b. about 1732 who married William Henry Ottman, my g-g-grandparents. 7) John Caldwell McNeill, b. 1755, Londonderry, Rockingham Co., NH - at Bunker Hill (actually Breed’s Hill) on Charlestown June 17, 1775 per purchased military pension file. As Sergeant under Col. Timothy Bedel of the New Hampshire Line, John bought beef to pasture and butcher as needed for the troops. Bedel’s regiment joined “Corp.1, Co. 1, New York Reg’t” on mission to Canada against British; McNeill taken captive with cousins and friends at The Cedars near Montreal, an island in the St. Lawrence; soldiers were stripped of clothing, belongings and food, and released in cartel negotiated by Gen. Benedict Arnold before he became a traitor. John served at and discharged at Saratoga, NY. He married cousin Hannah Caldwell b.1762; removed to Carlisle, Schoharie County, New York ca. 1794; their son Jesse McNeill m. Elizabeth Ostrom, my g-g-g-grandparents. (Neighbor was Thomas Machin who built the Great Chain across the Hudson River to keep the British ships from sailing north. A granddaughter of McNeill married a Machin grandson, removing to the Midwest.) 😎 George Richtmyer, bp 04/23/1738, Albany Co., NY – Captain from 1775 through end of war in 15th Reg’t of Albany Militia, defending Cobleskill and Middleburg, Schoharie Co., NY. Married Anna Hommel; their son Henrich/Henry married Maria Beacraft (see above), my g-g-g-grandparents. 9) Hendrick/Henry Vonck/Vunck, b. 03/06/1757, Freehold, Monmouth Co., NJ - served as private and Corporal in New Jersey and New York City; carried papers for American Gen. Charles Lee; joined units marching to same area of Canada as John C. McNeill; on return became ill with smallpox with others at Lake George when news of the Declaration of Independence was made; honorably discharged; called to serve again at Sandy Hook, NJ; captured by the British at Sandy Hook, taken to a prison ship, then to the [Livingston] stone sugar house in Manhattan, then another prison ship, the Good___ (writing illegible on the early 1800s pension document, possibly Good Hope). After “one year and one month” as prisoner, he was exchanged and released. “Having suffered while a prisoner great privations and disease and in poor clothing and severely unwholesome provisions many prisoners died in consequence of their treatment.” (Per 1832 affidavit of military service for pension.) Conditions suffered as a prisoner left Henry in poor health the rest of his life; removing later to Montgomery County, NY. He married Chestinah Hagaman; their daughter Jane Vunck married James Dingman, my g-g-g-grandparents. From 1776 to 1783 the British made use of decommissioned ships (incapable of going to sea) as floating prisons. At least 16 rotting hulks were moored in Wallabout Bay, the inner harbor along the northwest shore of Brooklyn, now part of the Brooklyn Navy Yard. Among the ships were the Good Hope, Whitby, The Prince of Wales, Falmouth, Scorpion, Stromboli, Hunter, and the most infamous HMS Jersey, nicknamed Hell by the men. Over 10,000 men, perhaps at least 11,500, died on these ships due to the deliberate deplorable conditions. Men were crammed below decks with no windows for lighting or fresh air. There was a lack of food and clothing, with vermin and insects running rampant, and a lack of other humane efforts to aid the ill, all leading to the death of thousands. Prisoners died virtually every day, reportedly as many as fifteen a day. Some were not found right away, their bodies not disposed of until days later. Often, those who died were sewn into their blankets (if they had one) to await pick up by cart the next morning. Many were buried in shallow graves along the shore (unearthed during major storms) or were simply tossed overboard, later washing ashore. With the development of Walloon Bay area over the last two centuries has come the discovery of their bones and parts of ships. To commemorate these soldiers’ lives and what they gave in the fight for independence, the Prison Ship Martyrs’ Monument was built. Located in Fort Greene Park, Brooklyn, it was dedicated on April 6, 1808 with improvements made to it several times since. At least another 5-6000 men died in the sugar houses, bringing the total who died as prisoners to more than 17,500 in the sugar houses and ships, more than double the battlefield losses. Sugar houses were buildings meant to store sugar and molasses. Affidavits by my ancestor, Henry Vunck, and friends note he was held for a few months in the “stone sugar house.” This could only mean the Livingston Sugar House, a six-story stone building built in 1754 by the Livingston family on Crown (now Liberty) Street in Manhattan. Demolished in 1846, buildings No. 34 and 36 are now on the site. A second sugar house, the Rhinelander, a five-story brick warehouse, was built in 1763 at Rose (now William) Street and Duane Street. This building was eventually replaced and is now the headquarters of the New York City Police Department. A third, Van Cortlandt’s sugar house, was built about 1755 by the early Dutch family of this name at the northwest corner of the Trinity Church in Manhattan. It was demolished in 1852. 10) Hans Georg Jacob Dubendorffer (George Jacob Diefendorf), b. 01/23/1729, Basserstorff, Switzerland – a Loyalist during Rev War, he left Mohawk Valley for Philadelphia and New York City, returned to a daughter’s home in Canajoharie, NY after the war rather than remove to Canada. A patriotic son, he disowned his father, taking his middle name (his mother’s maiden name) as his new surname, removing to Virginia. George Jacob married Catharine Hendree; their son Jacob Diefendorf married Susanna Hess, my g-g-g-g-grandparents. On February 3, 1783, the British government acknowledged the independence of the American colonies. The next day, they formally agreed to halt all military operations. A preliminary peace treaty was ratified in April, and Canada offered free land that summer to Loyalists who sought a new life. Still, the British military maintained a presence in Manhattan. When Britain signed the Treaty of Paris September 3, 1783 to end the war, the hated Redcoats finally and slowly began to abandon their New York City stronghold. Next would begin the task of establishing the government and president of this new nation, the United States of America. George Washington rode into Manhattan on November 25, 1783 with his officers and troops, eight horses abreast. At the same time Washington’s parade began, British soldiers and ships were setting sail for their homeland across the Pond. Flags were joyfully waved, church bells rang in celebration, and cannons were fired in honor of those who had fought and for those who had lost their lives, all for the independence of this fledgling nation. The war had definitely taken its toll; but, on this day, great joy was felt in every heart for what had been accomplished. And that is why we continue to celebrate our 4th of July heritage in style – as we remember and commemorate those who gave so much that we might enjoy so much. And I trust we will never forget what their efforts wrought for us in America!
  13. Ann

    A Full Life

    Ann commented on Sean Dietrich's blog entry in Sean of the South

    “I’ve known love. In fact, I know her so well, she took my last name.” I love reading your stories but I had to read the above quote from your story four times…..it’s so simple and so beautiful. Loud-Talker has nothing on you, you definitely founded yourself. Thank you for sharing.
  14. Sean Dietrich
    Obnoxious loud-talkers who sit at bars, rank right up there with dogs who lift their legs on your welcome mat. Take, for instance, the fella at the bar beside me. He launched into a well-rehearsed speech about his world travels. First, the Alps. Then, Belgium, France, Italy, South Africa, Timbuktu. By then, people at the bar had cleared out. He asked me, “You done much traveling?” I shook my head and said, “No, but I’ve woken up in a cattle pasture.” Loud-Talker rolled his eyes. “See?” he went on. “Now THAT’S your problem. You can’t find your true-self unless you TRAVEL!” So, I paid my tab and traveled my true-self outside. The truth is, I’ve never owned a passport, never stepped foot in Canada, and the closest I’ve come to self-discovery was South Texas in July, where I saw a real mirage. I’m uninteresting on paper. I concede. But I regret nothing. My life hasn’t been bad. After all, I’ve known exceptional people. Like my friend who I’ll call, Alan. Alan has no face. Nothing but eyes and pink flesh. This happened when he woke up in a burning mobile home. Pieces of the smoldering ceiling fell on his face while he slept. Alan taught me more about life than any passport could. I’ve also done fun things: I’ve fallen asleep in the Conecuh River—only to wake up half-naked, sunburned, and lost. I’ve climbed hundred-foot oaks. I’ve seen every Andy Griffith episode. I’ve worked construction with Mexicans who cooked lunch on their tailgates. I’ve watched the sunrise on the beach with Guillermo, Gehu, and Paco, who all missed their mamas. I’ve sat in Bryant-Denny stadium and gone deaf. I’ve visited nursing homes and heard stories from the elderly—who know exponentially more than I do. I’ve laid good dogs in the dirt. I’ve visited Lambert’s, in Foley, Alabama. You want more? Fine. I’ve known love. In fact, I know her so well, she took my last name. I’m also proud to say that at important dinners, I’m the guest of honor at the kids table. I’ve stood around a fire-pit with Mama, discussing the man whose ashes we scattered in the mountains. I’ve played the triangle-game in Cracker Barrel, and won. I’ve watched my buddy Alan strut into a supermarket, knowing full well that everyone would stare at him. And that some folks wouldn’t have the stomachs to look very long. And Alan has the gall not hold it against them. Loud-Talker told me he discovered his true-self on the streets of Kathmandu. Well. I just hope he realizes how lucky he is. Alan found himself the hard way. Sean Dietrich is a columnist, novelist, podcaster, and stand-up storyteller known for his commentary on life in the American South. His work has appeared in Newsweek, Southern Living, Reader's Digest, Garden and Gun, The Tallahassee Democrat, the Birmingham News, and his column is syndicated in newspapers throughout the U.S. He has authored fifteen books, and he makes appearances on the Grand Ole Opry. To learn more about Sean or to purchase his books, visit his website at https://seandietrich.com
  15. Carol Bossard
    June has sped by so fast that it feels like “one busy week!” Within that time, there have been some fun days. We’ve enjoyed breakfasts and luncheons with friends, a couple of alumni events where I connected with former classmates, family time with our returnees from Ireland, hearing all about the green, green lands across the ocean, and family time with our son in agricultural research and daughter-in-law with a Food Bank ---- both dreading the funding cuts that will hurt people immeasurably. The month hasn’t all been fun though; we have heard of serious illnesses attacking two of our good friends, one death in our extended family, and some serious health issues with two of my family members. On a brighter note, our gardens are doing their best to grow amid the rains, and now the intense heat. The lawns are demanding at least a weekly mowing. School is out and motorcycles zoom by our house in a very noisy celebration of summer. All of our breakfast and luncheon dates were very good times, but one was super-good because it addressed some of my health issues, and those of a friend with a brain tumor. Father Peter, a friend who is a Franciscan brother, brought his anointing oil, and in the grill where we were eating, we had a quiet little healing service. Whether it cured all my problems, I’m not sure, but it certainly healed some of my attitude and perhaps that was more important. Our time spent with friends in Pennsylvania was also good; even though we’ve been gone from there for 50 years, our friendships made there are strong.. We are only nine days from July 4th, the celebration of our nation’s beginnings -- Independence Day. All of us should rejoice, from sea to shining sea, and from the Canadian border to the Gulf of Mexico. Those whose ancestors were here when Europeans came bumbling in, those who settled here before the Revolution (my mother’s French family), those who came here more recently; those of us with all shades of skin colors, all kinds of education, all ways of worshipping, or to not worshipping at all. We all belong, and together, have a responsibility to protect the democratic values upon which this nation was built. If you are one who shrugs, and sees no necessity for continual maintenance of our freedoms, then you should re-read the Constitution. Also, the Gettysburg Address, the Emancipation Proclamation, and the words engraved on the Statue of Liberty. You can’t help but see that we don’t practice what these documents preach. After doing so, take yourself to some quiet place, like a Native American vision quest, and think about where your beliefs come from; should they be adjusted? Do our beliefs stem from culture, or wisdom? Consider what you can do that builds this country. Anyone can tear down and criticize, but it takes skill, understanding, and love, to build. Kerm and I watched the National Spelling Bee recently, and it reminded me of our high school contests, including a speaking contest, which I won when I was a junior. I chose to speak about the Statue of Liberty. Sometimes, even a teenager can get it right. Back in 1885, the United States was such a shining light amid all the monarchies and dictatorships, that France chose to send us the State of Liberty as a gift of appreciation. Read here what it says: “Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame*, with conquering limbs astride from land to land. Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand a mighty woman with a torch, whose flame is the imprisoned lightening, and her name The Mother of Exiles. From her beacon hand glows the world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command the air-bridged harbor…’Keep ancient lands your storied pomp’ she cries with silent lips. ‘Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free, the wretched refuse of y our teeming shores. Send these the homeless, tempest-tossed to me. I lift my lamp beside the golden shore.’”* All countries have growing pains! In the process of separating ourselves from overlords, and from various kinds of class and caste systems, we have been idealistic, we have behaved with cruelty as well as compassion, we’ve been courageous but also grasping. We have made grave errors in policy, but also have tried to create safety nets, correct injustices and continually work for better things. We often disagree about what those “better things” are, and how to achieve them, which is why open dialogue is so important. We must be willing to listen! To change our ideas as we learn more! Maya Angelo said: “When you learn better, do better!” and that generally means change, which none of us like. Without change though, water grows stagnant, butterflies never hatch and we would still be bowing before a monarch across the ocean. I wonder how many of us would have been Tories? It would have been conservative and safe! It is our duty to our forebearers and to all the people who have worked and died, to nurture or save our country. We are great because of the wonderful mix of individuals, along with individual freedoms and responsibility taken on by our citizens. We do not approve of “collateral damage” to gain ends. We uphold our right to protest what we do not like, to work toward change and to be able to speak our opinions, openly. In this difficult time, let us not only remember from whence we came, but try to live out those words on the Lady Liberty and in all our founding documents. We’ve nearly reached the end of June, and, will soon find ourselves perspiring into July, often our warmest month. However, the temperatures of this week are too warm for me. In the last few years, “warm”, in many places, has changed to unbearably hot. Did you know that just last week, Fairbanks, Alaska, issued a heat warning for the first time in history? My July days, when a child, didn’t seem overly hot. They were, however, relatively lazy, and sometimes inventive for fun. I read a lot on the shady front porch. Of course, there were frequent calls from reading, to duty in the garden (weeding) or the barn (feeding calves, gathering eggs), or the hayfield (driving tractor) but mostly, summer meant books, long walks in our fields and woods, and playing with a friend or two (Bonnie and Sharon) and my two eldest nieces (Jan and Barbara). We made little villages using stones, acorns, hollyhock dolls and anything else we could lay hands on. We played “dress-up” and were mad about paper dolls. For a couple of years, there were swimming lessons at Canandaigua Lake, and 4-H camp in the Bristol Hills. As a teenager, there were summer jobs, first at Exit 45 Thruway restaurant, the next summer was at the Locust Hill Country Club, then a counselor for 4-H Camp and in college, Cooperative Extension summer programs. Now, my summers fly by, as I spend time in the garden, have a few gatherings with friends, and still, devour those books. There is no one now to call me from a book to other duties, so the books often win over washing dishes, laundry, etc. Now, at the end of June, we all celebrate the ending of the school year - graduations, changes from grade to grade, and freedom! Summer means starry nights, fire flies (if you are fortunate), the sound of lawn mowers, and loud shouts from the village baseball field. It is a time to be glad, glad for our country, glad to remember who we are and from whence we come, glad that it isn’t snowing, and glad for orange popsicles dripping down our hand as we attempt to cool off with its icy goodness. Summer may be a time for trave tool. If so, listen to this bit of advice: “The main value of travel lies not in where you go, but in leaving where you have been. Go to a new place. Have your former gods challenged. Re-examine your axioms. Find out the evidence for your assumptions and you will, with luck, begin to set a true value on the environment from which you come.” ** Do not be satisfied with what is routine and comfortable. Life is full of change ---and some of those changes are good for each of us and all of us. This summer, try something new. Let it be a summer is for growth, for us as well as for the garden. Happy growing! Carol writes from her home in Spencer. She may be reached at: carol42wilde@htva.net. *”The New Colossus” by Emma Lazarous. American poet and activist. 1849-1887. Note: The “new” Colossus as opposed to the former Colossus --- “Colossus of Rhodes, a huge bronze man, standing with legs straddling the Mandrakion Harbor, which is technically impossible, but believed to be true. One of the Seven Wonders of the World **Alan Grego --- a physician in family practice in Ohio; apparently a wise man, though my googling leaves me unsure about this quote’s source.
  16. Senator Tom O'Mara
    The great American author Ernest Hemingway once wrote, “There is no friend as loyal as a book.” Once again this summer, I am happy to be joining my colleagues in the State Senate, in partnership with the New York State Library – and together with so many local libraries across our region and statewide -- to help promote summer reading. This year’s theme, “Color Our World,” stresses the lifelong value of reading and pays tribute to the key role libraries and library staff play in our communities. The State Library annually joins New York’s 23 public library systems, 757 public libraries and 311 neighborhood branches to promote summer reading statewide. Many studies have highlighted the fact that children who read during the summer months make greater academic gains in the following school year than children who do not. The statistics on the “summer slide” jump right off the page, including that: Students can lose up to 25 percent of their reading level over the summer Children who don’t engage in summer reading lose approximately two months of instructional time, or roughly 22% of the school year By the end of the sixth grade, children who lose reading skills during the summer are, on average, two years behind their peers. While numbers alone help bring the larger story into focus, words themselves often deliver the most impactful testimony of all. Scholastic’s “Kids & Family Reading Report” has become one of the gold standards of advocacy and research on the importance of summer reading. Scholastic President and CEO Peter Warwick has stated, “The data is alarming – fewer children today identify as frequent readers and reading frequency plummets as kids age. And yet, there’s beauty in the data as it shows how access to books and a community of reading role models can bolster excitement for reading in a child’s life, which in turn can ignite a greater interest in the skills of reading so that they can explore more stories.” The bottom line is that summer reading is a lifeline for children at a time when increased research shows that reading can help foster more positive mental health in children and young adults alike. Consequently, I am grateful this summer to help highlight the efforts of the New York State Library and public libraries statewide, including so many throughout the Southern Tier and Finger Lakes regions. For my part, I welcome the chance to share the Senate’s online summer reading program. To participate, students and parents can visit my Senate website,www.omara.nysenate.gov, and click on the “Summer Reading Program” icon on the home page. According to Scholastic, a few of the keys to successful summer reading are letting young readers choose the books they want to read (91% of children say they are more likely to finish a book if they have picked it out themselves), encouraging kids to read four or more books and, most importantly, providing easy access to books. Libraries are the gateway for making books and other reading materials and programs available throughout our communities. Our region is incredibly fortunate to have an outstanding network of public libraries providing access to books and other reading activities, materials, and opportunities. Southern Tier and Finger Lakes libraries sponsor a variety of reading activities and events. Visit the website of the Southern Tier Library System, www.stls.org, for links to member libraries in Allegany, Chemung, Schuyler, Steuben, and Yates counties. The members of the Finger Lakes Library System, including Seneca and Tioga counties, are online atwww.fls.org. There are plenty of ways to help children get summer off to a great start. Building a reading list is one of the most important and impactful ways of all. Senator Tom O'Mara represents New York's 58th District which covers all of Chemung, Schuyler, Seneca, Steuben, Tioga and Yates counties, and a portion of Allegany County.
  17. River-James River-James joined the community
  18. Linda Roorda
    Suppose tomorrow was your last. How would you spend it? I’ve asked myself that question after our Jenn died on June 30, 2003. And it’s with joy for a life well lived that we remember her. All that spring of 2003, I sensed the world was going to end that summer… but I kept pushing the thought away. That May, Jenn graduated with a master’s degree in psychology. In early June, Em flew home for vacation from California where she was working after her Houghton graduation. So, we three girls went to a favorite spot, Watkins Glen Gorge. Several times, I heard the words loud and clear, as if someone stood next to me, “Watch them. Watch them!” So, I did… for a bit. But the pull back to the plants, rock formations and water was strong. Ah, hindsight! If only I had known… We have no idea what tomorrow will bring. We tend to blithely traipse through life, thinking we’re so in control of our destiny. But are we? Personally, I find comfort and reassurance knowing that God is ultimately in control. I know He understands who I am because He created me. He knows how each little bit and piece of my ups and downs, my joys and sorrows, my successes and failures all fit together to make my life something of value. So, when life hands me a bump in the road, I can rest assured knowing that He will work it all out for my good, even though I don’t like the difficulty I must face… because He holds my hand, and He knows where He’s leading me. None of us wants to think about losing someone we love. Yet, eventually, we all face the loss of a family member, our parents, grandparents, a friend, our beloved spouse, or even our own mortality. It’s then, during our darkest days of grief, that we realize life is all too short. What’s truly important comes into focus in the realization that tomorrow is not promised to any of us... And we focus on how we can best use the balance of time we’ve been allotted on this earth. After the sudden and unexpected loss of our married daughter, Jennifer, grief hit hard. On the 28th, she had collapsed at home, urgently needing an ambulance, going into cardiac arrest shortly after. On life support, barely surviving the flight to Rochester’s Strong Memorial, we were told there was no remaining brain function after testing on the 30th. Ending life support was certainly not what her husband or we ever expected for Jenn’s life. At 25, this former high school valedictorian, alumnus of Houghton College, had graduated a month earlier from Alfred University with high honors and a master’s degree in school psychology. She touched the lives of many with her heart of love, gifted in reaching deeply troubled children in her psychology work. Her profs stood in awe of her ability, saving videos of her work as teaching tools for the future. Her love extended to classmates who had mocked her for not socializing in bars with them after classes. Instead, she invited them to her home for projects, sharing homecooked dinners with her scrumptious desserts, ultimately winning them over with love. In fact, two former classmates spoke at Alfred University’s memorial that October. Reading Scripture in Jenn’s memory, they told everyone it was Jenn’s love for them which led them to accept Jesus as their Savior. But while at Strong Memorial Hospital, knowing our daughter would soon be leaving this world, I simply asked God, “Why? I don’t understand!” Not out of anger… simply out of confusion, sorrow, and pain. There was no seeming answer to any of our prayers. The next morning at the Rochester International Airport, waiting for our daughter, Emily, to fly in from California, I had a heavy heart. To my left, five plaques hung on the wall. I remember one was an ad for spaghetti sauce. But in the center was a shiny black plaque with silver lettering. As I read the words, I literally felt a tremendous wave of peace wash over me from head to toe. There for all to read were the beautiful words of Psalm 139:13-16 (NIV): “13 For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother’s womb. 14 I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well. 15 My frame was not hidden from you when I was made in the secret place, when I was woven together in the depths of the earth. 16 Your eyes saw my unformed body; all the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be.” God heard my plea. He answered my heart’s cry! And He knew these words were exactly the comfort I needed as I felt a wave of peace wash over me. God was always with us, loving us through our pain. The day after her death, I sat in my garden, praying, thanking God for her life, for her legacy of love to others, and for the 25 years we were blessed to have her with us. Suddenly, while praying, I saw her in my mind’s eye – bathed in brilliant light, standing near a tree at the base of a hill that was covered in lush green grass with beautiful flowers all around, surrounded by children, as I clearly heard Jenn say, “Be strong!” And I felt a tremendous sense of absolute contentment as peace enveloped my entire being. What precious words of comfort directly out of Scripture – Be strong! Be strong and of good courage… Be strong in the Lord... Be strong! God is with us in our deepest loss, our deepest pain… ready to comfort, hold, and encourage us as He showers us with His all-encompassing peace and strength. My prayer is that others who grieve will find the same comfort and peace we have come to know – while focusing on using the tomorrows wisely that our God has graciously blessed us with. Because none of us knows what tomorrow will bring… Were I to know… Linda A. Roorda Were I to know tomorrow was my last I’d want to say how much I love you. I’d want to know I made a difference In someone’s life along the way. ~ Were I to know tomorrow was my last I’d watch the sun as it rose in glory While dawn awakens the world below And birds and creatures stir from slumber. ~ Were I to know tomorrow was my last I’d see the world surrounding us all As with eyes that beheld for the very first time And stand amazed at creation’s beauty. ~ Were I to know tomorrow was my last I’d stay in the garden to hear His voice As He speaks within the depth of my soul Embracing my heart in the beauty of nature. ~ Were I to know tomorrow was my last I’d end the chase of meaningless tasks And focus instead on what matters most In the life and love of family and friends. ~ Were I to know tomorrow was my last I’d see again the love in your eyes And listen as you share dreams of your heart To forever hold this memory dear. ~ Were I to know tomorrow was my last I’d share the gift of love and peace That overflows in a thankful heart From blessings only God can give. ~ Were I to know tomorrow was my last I’d gaze in awe on the sun’s fading light With colorful hues and shadows dark As moon and twinkling stars burst forth. ~ Were I to know tomorrow was my last I’d want to share my Jesus, my Lord For knowing Him and His gift of grace We’ll rest in His peace and heavenly joy. ~ Were I to know tomorrow was my last I’d share my vision with all the world Of brilliant Light and overwhelming Peace Within Christ’s glory on arriving Home. ~~
  19. Sean Dietrich
    I come from a long line of porch sitters. This is why I am always on my porch. In my neighborhood, I am affectionately known as “that weirdo freak who’s always on his porch.” This is usually said in a positive way. But I can’t help it. Since infanthood, the only place I ever wanted to be was a porch. There I’d be, wearing my onesie, crawling on the porch, drooling on myself, and testing the maximum capacity limits of my diaper. Whenever my mother’s friends visited, they would pick me up to take me inside and I would start crying. They would return me to the floorboards and say, “There’s something wrong with Sue’s baby.” People would continue saying this for many years thereafter. My current porch is a modest, but peaceful place. You can hear faroff trains, passing through Birmingham. Or listen to neighborhood dogs communicating via International Bark Telegraph. We have a haint blue porch ceiling. Rocking chairs. The hanging ferns on my porch are my favorite. We have eight ferns in total. They are healthy and lush because my wife makes me place them in the yard, one by one, whenever it’s about to rain. This is because my wife sincerely believes rainwater is better than hosepipe water. Which is an old wives tale, of course. Just like the wives tale that says children can’t swim for an hour after they eat lunch or they’ll drown, which is scientifically proven to be false. For decades, however, due to this misinformation, millions of young Americans missed countless carefree swimming hours, whilst their mothers caught up on the latest installment of “Days of Our Lives.” I often begin my porch-sitting early. Before sunup. I see the whole day begin. The birds start about 5 a.m., in preparation for sunrise—which is a pretty big deal in Bird World. The birds get louder and louder. Soon, the whole earth has become a bird sanctuary, and they’re all celebrating dawn. No two bird calls are the same. There are chirps, twitters, warbles, hollers, screeches, cries, hoots, cheeps, caws, whistles, chatters, bellowing, croaking, trilling, buzzing, whipoorwilling, clicking, peeping, chattering, and chick-a-deeing. You can get lost in all the bird noise you hear on my porch. I don’t know when we quit building front porches. Once upon a time, every house had one. People would sit outside to count cars and wave at neighbors. Today, we have back decks. Nobody counts cars anymore. Even fewer wave. But then, a LOT has changed since olden days. One hundred years ago, America had sidewalks. Today we have a staggering 80 percent fewer sidewalks. At one time in history, 70-some percent of American schoolchildren rode bikes. Today, that number is getting close to single digits. We used to have newspapers, magazines, and comic books. Today, we have phones. Once upon a time in America, nearly 80 percent of Americans—even young professionals—admitted to occasionally taking daily naps. Now, only 17 percent of Americans nap. But when you sit on your front porch, you fall back in time. You see neighborhood cats. Ferns. Birds. If you’re lucky, you might even drift off to sleep for a minute. When you wake up, you’ll realize that even though things are different than it was a hundred years ago, life is still good. People are still wonderfully insane. Kids still ride bikes—somewhere in America. Naps still happen, people are just too proud to admit it. People still greet their neighbors. Birds still sing. And something is still definitely wrong with Sue’s baby. Sean Dietrich is a columnist, novelist, podcaster, and stand-up storyteller known for his commentary on life in the American South. His work has appeared in Newsweek, Southern Living, Reader's Digest, Garden and Gun, The Tallahassee Democrat, the Birmingham News, and his column is syndicated in newspapers throughout the U.S. He has authored fifteen books, and he makes appearances on the Grand Ole Opry. To learn more about Sean or to purchase his books, visit his website at https://seandietrich.com
  20. Senator Tom O'Mara
    Last September, when Governor Kathy Hochul convened a two-day “Future Energy Economy Summit” in Syracuse, many of us were hopeful that it would begin a long-overdue, sincere, and transparent rethinking of the future of energy for all New Yorkers. At that time, the need for this rethinking was gaining traction. Doubts were increasing over the Albany Democrat approach -- an approach that has been built on rapidly imposing radical and sweeping clean energy mandates following the enactment of the Climate Leadership and Protection Act (CLCPA) in 2019. The state’s Climate Action Council (CAC), established through the CLCPA, issued its action report in December 2022, a year and four months after Governor Hochul was sworn in as New York’s chief executive. From the outset, many of us have warned that the failure to put forth a comprehensive cost-benefit analysis of the costs of implementing these mandates under their prescribed timelines doomed the entire effort. We have questioned the affordability, feasibility, and reliability of the strategy for ratepayers and taxpayers, business and industry, and local economies. We have done so with good reason and it bears repeating. The New York Independent System Operator (NYISO), which is responsible for managing the supply and transmission of electricity across New York State, issued a report in 2022, three months prior to the CAC's final report, entitled “2021 – 2040 System & Resource Outlook.” That report warned of future reliability shortfalls due to the CLCPA which will require the state's electric grid to triple its current generating capacity by between 110 gigawatts (GW) and 130 GW by 2042. This includes, because of the intermittent and unreliable nature of wind and solar, between 20 GW and 47 GW of Dispatchable Emissions-Free Resources (DEFRs), a generic name to describe an unknown source not yet developed. It will require 20 GW of new clean electricity generation by 2029. To put that growth in perspective, during the 23 years prior to September 2022, the state only developed 13 GW of new energy production, and only 2.6 GW over the five years prior. During that same five-year period, New York deactivated 4.8 GW of generation, for a net loss of over 2 GW – enough to power over a million homes. “That means that New York is currently going backwards, not forwards,” according to NYSIO. The Empire Center for Public Policy has noted that “between 2024 and 2025, electricity prices in New York increased at a faster rate than the national average…NYISO warns that New York is on a path to losing more generation capacity than it is adding2,3, with 5207 MW of deactivations and 2256 MW of additions since 2019.” In its 2022 report the NYISO politely characterized the required growth in electric generation as “unprecedented” and that “future uncertainty is the only thing certain (of the Albany Democrat plan).” Bear in mind that the unknown costs of all of this will be borne by New York ratepayers, which is already taking place under the massive rate hikes being imposed by NYSEG, RG&E, and National Grid across our region, with much higher increases to come. It's just the tip of the iceberg of how all of this will exacerbate the overall unaffordability crisis we have in this state. Last July, a report from the Hochul administration finally admitted that their timeline to achieve 70 percent renewable energy by 2030 and zero emissions by 2040 isn't realistic and, in fact, can't be met under the plan with current technologies as it stands. Later that same month, NYISO reiterated its warnings that under the current timeline the state is "at risk of blackouts without significant new generation coming online before the middle of the next decade." The state comptroller followed up with an audit and report that the implementation of the Democrats' climate agenda has been seriously flawed and, especially, that its true costs remain unknown. The comptroller's audit further cemented long-held doubts over the current plan’s affordability, feasibility, and reliability. Consequently, when Governor Hochul convened last September’s energy summit, we wondered if it would be a “back to the drawing board” moment on the CLCPA timeline and other climate mandates. Equally important, would it lead to an honest, open, long-awaited, and desperately needed public discussion on the realities of where we’re headed? In its 2025 Power Trends recently issued on June 2, NYISO again reiterated its reliability concerns stating that "as traditional fossil-fueled generation deactivates in response to decarbonization goals and tighter emissions regulations, reliability margins on the grid are eroding. The addition of new dispatchable generation needs to be considered in the near term to mitigate the dual risks of accelerated load growth and aging infrastructure." NYISO President and CEO Rich Dewey said, "In addition to new conventional supply, the repowering of aging, inefficient and higher emitting assets should be evaluated as a bridge to a lower carbon future while delivering a more reliable electric system to support new economic development projects. Repowering older, renewable facilities may also hold promise for needed capacity. In short, every plausible option and opportunity to bolster both reliability and resource needs should be on the table.” While the summit nine months ago didn’t produce the rapid turnaround in thinking many of us would like to see, we clearly did begin sensing a shift in short- and long-term thinking on one of the central challenges facing New York’s future. That’s especially true when it comes to the undeniable need for dispatchable power and the role that nuclear power, both small- and large scale nuclear, to address ever-rising electricity demands, including to meet what experts are projecting will be enormous and growing demands for artificial intelligence, data storage, and other technology services expected to result in record-high energy consumption in the near future. Our Senate Republican Conference has put forth a comprehensive set of proposals to chart a different course. We have called for refocusing on affordability, feasibility, and reliability. We have offered what we believe are commonsense alternatives to delay the CLCPA mandates while providing relief to taxpayers, ensuring the reliability of the grid, and, especially now, ensuring a diverse energy portfolio that will keep energy options affordable and accessible for the long term. Among a range of proposals, for example, we have called for expanding investment and research into alternative small scale nuclear energy possibilities. Since the CLCPA's approval in 2019, Albany Democrats have been moving too far, too fast trying to inflict a zero-emissions economy on this entire state that will have zero impact on the state, national, or worldwide climate. Remember that New York State accounts for just 0.4% of global emissions. Until we begin, in earnest, a straightforward reassessment of the realities of the current CLCPA strategy – including a recognition of the role that we believe nuclear energy, as well as high-efficiency, low-emissions natural gas generation, can and must play in meeting future electricity needs -- these actions will keep arriving with a devastating price tag and consequences for ratepayers and taxpayers, businesses and industries, school districts, farmers, and entire local communities and economies. Senator Tom O'Mara represents New York's 58th District which covers all of Chemung, Schuyler, Seneca, Steuben, Tioga and Yates counties, and a portion of Allegany County.
  21. Linda Roorda

    The Stalwart

    Linda Roorda posted a blog entry in Poetic Devotions

    The old red barn stood tall on an open flat, alone against the gray sky, a testament to a long life. It had weathered countless storms, looking a tad bit worn… another great photo by my friend Kathy’s husband, Hugh Van Staalduinen. And once again, the picture painted a thousand words that raced through my thoughts. For some time now, I’ve felt like writer’s block has taken away my ability to write reflections, never mind the poems where words used to flow through my fingers almost faster than I could write or type. When the words stopped flowing, I knew the poem was complete. I would literally feel drained… because those words came from the depths of my soul, often a cathartic poem which healed emotional wounds long embedded deep. And perhaps that’s the point… as God reaches out to each of us, maybe there comes a time when healing is complete from a time and place long ago, and we move forward to new experiences He has for us. After Ed passed in 2023, and with what would have been his 73rd birthday this Wednesday, I’ve thought about the brevity of life… now facing my own “autumn/winter” phase of life’s four seasons. Spring is, after all, a beginning, the gift of new life and growth, the carefree days of youth… then summer comes along and we’re in our prime with busy days where all is well with us and the world around, learning and yearning through the passage of time…. as autumn slowly engulfs us in its changes, with colorful harvesting of awards and rewards, reaping the benefits of what we had begun… while winter overtakes us unannounced, bringing a cold and quiet idleness of hands and feet, leaving us breathless to keep up with an ever-changing world which seemingly has no use for our skills or input… though often we ably repurpose our days and ways to assist another soul on their journey to success… as forever onward we go. And if you were one of those to whom Ed opened his heart, you were blessed. He shared his life stories with me over the years, but it was never enough. He insisted on doing whatever he could for as long as possible to be like everyone else. He tried to be there for me and our children as best he could. He loved to read to them when he’d come in from barn chores at night, giving us all his sound advice as needed, and how we miss his big snugging hugs. My friend Elaine said that when Ed passed away, we lost his wealth of knowledge… We not only lost the kind and gentle man he was, but we lost his wit and wisdom, and a tremendous depth of knowledge that he kept tucked away and shared now ‘n then... because he was not a big talker. But especially as he became much sicker, it was almost too much effort for him to think and make steady conversation at times. Recently celebrating Father’s Day, that barn seemed to be the perfect illustration of my husband Ed’s character over the years. In fact, the day I saw the photo, and wrote this poem in a couple hours in 2017, I was waiting to bring him home from yet another hospitalization. Stalwart and steadfast, he remained standing no matter what life sent his way, a true gentle giant. And like that barn, he’d faced many storms head on, never bending or collapsing as the winds attempted to shake his foundation. He remained firm and resolute with his faith in our Lord, resting secure in God’s provision and love, a pillar of strength for our family. Yet, it had not been easy. There had been some serious storms that sent waves crashing against him… and against us as a couple. Despite some plain old-fashioned trials, dashed hopes causing great disappointments, the loss of a daughter, and his losses of sight, physical strength and ability, he overcame those trials with an inner strength and peace that came from his strong faith in our Lord. For it was God’s wisdom gifted to Ed which saw him through as he grew up, married, helped raise our children, and changed careers from farming to office assistant. Later, facing a continued ebbing of strength and ability with the progression of permanent muscle damage caused by statin/cholesterol drugs, and worsening congestive heart failure, we began discussing what we should do when he could no longer function and get around on his own. In all honesty, we didn’t know what our options would be in the not-so-distant future. We were facing new frontiers. And then, in late 2022, Ed’s health deteriorated even more as he succumbed to several health issues magnified by Covid, leaving this world on God’s timeline in January 2023. Still, through each difficulty, his and our faith grew stronger, for we’d learned that “[we] can do all things through [Christ] who strengthens [us]” (Philippians 4:13) As I’ve said many times before, and I often need reminding of, James 1:2-4 puts it so well even though we don’t want to welcome one more difficult challenge. “Consider it pure joy my brothers and sisters, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith develops perseverance. Perseverance must finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, lacking nothing.” Being “strong in the Lord and in His mighty power” (Ephesians 6:10-13) is the foundation on which we survive great storms and come out standing. (Proverbs 10:25) Just like that barn in Hugh’s photo, if we have a firm foundation on the solid rock (faith in our Savior Jesus Christ), weathered by time (experience and wisdom), the structure (our character) will stand tall… and prove stalwart and unwavering. The Stalwart Linda A. Roorda Stalwart and stoic through the test of time Facing the world to weather life’s storms Meeting head on whatever befalls Humbly proclaiming, steadfast I stand. ~ Bringing together nature’s harmony Weathered and worn, reliably true Dependably there to meet others’ needs Asking for nothing but structural care. ~ Like the pioneers who settled this land And carved their place from wilderness wild, Weathered by nature midst elements raw They kept life sheltered from all threats and harm. ~ Without proper care, wood planks become warped Foundations fail without wisdom’s base. Oh, can’t you see! The meaning is clear! How like old barns are patriarchs wise. ~ Learning through hardship true wisdom is gained Taking a stand for what matters most, Sometimes enduring alone in the crowd Serene and secure midst turmoil and storm. ~ God bless the stalwart, unwavering friend Who braves the path no matter the storm. Of foe unafraid, on wisdom standing Steadfast and loyal with comforting peace. ~~
  22. Carol Bossard
    Our gardens are nearly planted now; we’ve had to replant the corn, and we are into full-time weeding. Can you hear the creaking of our back bones and knee joints? I am reminded of the “Spinal Tap” t-shirt. 😊 This is the time when we hope Percy Bysshe Shelley *is right when he says “I bring fresh showers for the thirsting flowers, from the seas and the streams. I bring light shade for the leaves, when laid in their noonday dreams. From my wings are shaken the dews that waken the sweet buds, every one.” Our gardens need neither our recent down-pours nor last year’s weeks of sun. They want gentle showers and sunshine on days in between, so, we plant and hope for the best. Kerm and I disagree, slightly, regarding planting. He makes straight rows, measured, and with string. And he reads the back of each packet and plants things just as far apart as the blurb on the packet says. I measure nothing and make my rows straight according to my eyes. Well, you all know my eyes aren’t very good now, so the rows might wobble a bit. And it is my thinking that the closer together the plants are, the less room for weeds. We have had a few words about this in years past. 😊 This year, however, my energy being what it is, Kerm planted more of the garden than usual. And I mostly kept quiet; he who plants gets to do it his way. So, this year, anyone may come and admire straight, well-spaced potatoes, cucumbers, tomatoes, cosmos and sunflowers. The peas, green onions, lettuce, and zinnias --- my contribution ---- may wander a bit! On the 14th, we have a day for many things, but first and foremost, it is Flag Day - a neglected holiday, in recent years. Flag Day marks and celebrates the adoption of our stars and stripes banner in 1777. After my parents’ generation, flag information and protocol have been neglected. In fact, I would guess that very few in Congress or the White House are cognizant about Flag Day. The flag should never touch the ground or floor, or be wrapped around one’s shoulders or used to sit on. When it is presented, everyone should stand, and it is hats off for the men. There should be no fooling around or lack of attention when the Star-Spangled Banner is sung, and/or the Pledge is given. Many people have died to keep that flag flying and to keep our nation free of tyranny, and apparently, the struggle is not over. Awareness and respect are due to our national symbol regardless of whose politics you do not like. I’ve always thought that burning the flag is a bad way to indicate dissatisfaction with government. The flag represents all of us, not just those in power. It represents all of our originally fine ideals in the Constitution, the Bill of Rights. So, when destroying the flag, we are showing our rebellion against the very ideals upon which our nation was formed. I’m sharing here the last two stanzas of the poem, “George Washington” by Rosemary and Stephen Vincent Benet:** “Sing for Emperor Washington, the hero of renown, who freed his land from Britain’s rule to win a golden crown! No, no, that’s what George might have won but he didn’t, for he said: ‘there’s not much point about a king, they’re pretty but they’re apt to sting, and as for crowns -----the heavy thing would only hurt my head’ he said. Sing for our George Washington! (At last I’ve got it right!) the first in war, the first in peace, the goodly and the great. But when you think about him now, from here to Valley Forge, remember this ----- he might have been a highly different specimen. And where on earth would we be then? I’m glad that George was George!” George Washington is often called the “Father of our country,” and now, in June, we celebrate our own fathers. Father’s Day, early this year, June 15th. I’ve written about my father recently, so you all know about him; a man who was flawed but intelligent and caring. In addition to Dad, my three older brothers often had fatherly (and sometimes annoying) impact. My brother, Frank was 20 years older, so I grew up with some of his children and was underfoot. Later, he enabled my presence at NY State Fair for a couple of years; he was superintendent of the hog barn there and he allowed me to sleep in the back of his truck (on a soft bed of straw), so he could keep an eye on me. He subsidized my lunch money when I was running low, but not without a lecture on money-management. My middle brother, Donal, taught me to shoot and in later years, stopped by my office to chat. My third brother, Ken, took me on a couple of trips (when he was buying Berkshire pigs), supposedly to help keep him awake. He taught me to walk on the inside of the sidewalk, to order properly in a good restaurant and forgave me when I fell asleep and neglected my duties. My brother-in-law, Raymond, checked out my dates. He sat in our living room when a new one came to pick me up, and the next day, would give me his opinion. 😊 There are many excellent fathers in this world; men who are a role model for not only their children, but others too. Kermit is one of those. He worked with many, many kids through 4-H, and at home too; our house was usually full of teens. As for my father on this day? I wish I could share with him his favorite dessert; a dish of home-made vanilla ice cream with real maple syrup. June is full of special days, and on the 19th is Juneteenth. This is a celebration of the final enforcement of “no slavery in the United States.” After the Civil War, some places, at a distance from news and Washington, DC, apparently didn’t get the mandate, or ignored it. Juneteenth marks the day when finally, nation-wide, slavery was known to be illegal. I am quite sure if I had been a slave, I’d want to celebrate as loudly, as fully, and as long, as I could. This should have been a holiday decades ago, so there is a lot of celebrating due to make up for all those years of neglecting this occasion. We should all be rejoicing that we’ve become civilized enough to recognize that holding people as property is immoral and a contradiction to all of our principles. The Summer Solstice is a week away. And along with that comes Mid-summer Night’s Eve, a magical, pagan observance. Pixies, elves, faeries, and gnomes - all part of the legends surrounding this day and night. The days have stretched out to their limit, and from then on, until the Winter Solstice, the daylight will diminish. I keep thinking that I will go out on Mid-summer Night’s Eve, just to see if I can find an elf or two,or perhaps I will roll a burning wheel downhill as they did in some Celtic communities. But sadly, when night comes, I’m usually falling asleep by 10:00; staying awake until the wee hours is no longer so easy. And of course, since we have visiting bears who come unannounced, sitting outside in the dark doesn’t seem all that sensible. June brings haying season, which emits a more desirable aroma than the earlier spring processes of spreading barn waste on the fields. Growing up on a farm naturally included helping in the hayfields. Our farm had a round baler, not one of those huge things of today, but one that made bales of lighter weight than the square bales of the time. Bales that we girls (my nieces and I) could lift. Mostly we just tipped them from the wagon onto the elevator that then took them into the mow. In June, if the cows are lucky, they are out into the fields. Some cows are kept inside the barn 24/7 all year. They are the unlucky ones.) Animals should be treated kindly ---- and time outside in the fresh air with freedom to run is one of those things they deserve. Seeing cows released from the barn onto a green field is a delight; they kick up their heels and gallop in visible joy. There is a lot of work in June, but there must also be time to enjoy this month of peonies, roses, mock orange, iris and poppies. The fragrance floating around outside just has to be full of health-enhancing energy. Even the poets say: “What is so rare as a day in June?” *May your days, this month, be full of perfect sunshine, light rains and hours of peace. Carol Bossard writes from her hoime in Spencer. She may be reached at: carol42wilde@htva.net. *Percy Bysshe Shelly –English poet who was known for his romantic poetry and his radical social and political views. 1792-1822 **Rosemary & Stephen Vincent Benet---American writers, poets. Stephen is also known for his writing :”The Devil and Daniel Webster” . ***James Russell Lowell ---American poet, editor, critic and diplomat. 1819-1891.
  23. Senator Tom O'Mara
    The bottom line is that the state Legislature finished this year’s regular legislative session late last week exactly where it started the session in January: New York State remains one of the least affordable states in America. In fact, the actions (or inaction) during the seventh consecutive year that New York government has been under one-party, all-Democrat control only point in the direction of making things worse. Over the past year, New York has consistently earned the dubious distinction of being unaffordable. According to a U.S. News & World Report last summer, New York State ranked 45th in the nation, right near the bottom, in affordability. A USA Today Homefront report found “the Empire State ranked dead last in the rankings when it comes to overall affordability.” I have heard it continually from families, taxpayers, working men and women, small business owners, and many others throughout the Southern Tier and Finger Lakes regions: They are worried about making ends meet and they have been for a long time now. They have watched this state become less affordable. They have felt it become less free. They believe it to be less economically competitive, less responsible, and far less hopeful for the future. Nothing changes in the wake of the 2025 legislative session. Albany Democrats remained true to out-of-control spending, high taxes, exorbitant costs and fees for everything under the sun, and burdensome regulations and unfunded state mandates. New York State’s current path is not sustainable. Albany isn’t responsible and can’t control the ups and downs of every excessive cost facing citizens, however state government can and should be taking many more actions than it has been to try to ease the burden. It’s not for any lack of warning signs and alarm bells. Fiscal watchdogs already project significant state budget deficits in the immediate years ahead, deficits caused, in large measure, by the inability of Governor Hochul and an all-Democrat Legislature to stop overspending. State budget deficits always equal higher costs for all New Yorkers. Footing the bill of budget deficits inevitability falls on taxpayers. New York is a state in decline. To repeat: All the talk from Albany Democrats at the start of this legislative session in January was about making New York State more affordable. Six months down the road and these same Democrats have enacted massive increases in state spending, continued to impose costly climate mandates on all New Yorkers, ignored any meaningful long-term tax relief, failed to strengthen our state’s economic competitiveness and standing, and relentlessly pursued an agenda of misguided priorities for New York. We needed to prioritize a comprehensive set of actions to focus squarely on the affordability challenges facing middle-class families, turn the tide on population loss, and make public safety job number one. Instead, New Yorkers got more of the same: An Albany Democrat commitment to a fundamentally far-left, extreme-liberal, out-of-touch agenda that doesn’t get the job done for Upstate, middle-class communities, families, farmers, workers, small businesses, industries, or taxpayers. It has made New York State a tax-and-spend addict, a haven for lawbreakers, unaffordable for taxpayers, less attractive to job creators, and facing a dire economic future. And then there’s this: A recent Newsday investigative report found that “the $254 billion state budget adopted last month by Gov. Kathy Hochul and the State Legislature includes new limits on scrutiny that independent analysts say make it harder for taxpayers to know what they are paying for. Critics say the measures include excluding some spending from review by state Comptroller Thomas DiNapoli, avoiding competitive bidding in some contracts, pushing some spending and borrowing onto state authorities instead of the budget and passing ‘lump sum’ appropriations that will be divvied up after the budget was approved.” In other words, Albany Democrats are spending taxpayer dollars like never before AND working overtime to “make it harder for taxpayers to know what they are paying for.” It’s no way to run an effective or responsible government. Senator Tom O'Mara represents New York's 58th District which covers all of Chemung, Schuyler, Seneca, Steuben, Tioga and Yates counties, and a portion of Allegany County.
  24. Sean Dietrich
    I got into an argument at the supermarket. This is how volatile our world is right now. It was in the checkout line. My opponent was not only clueless, but pigheaded, refusing all logic. The fact that my opponent is only 9 is no excuse. “I don’t like Superman,” the little boy said. “He’s kinda dumb.” At the time I was holding a Superman comic book, along with my other grocery items. They were selling comics in the checkout lane. The elderly lady cashier was just staring at us, arguing. “You don’t LIKE Superman?” I said. “Everyone likes Superman.” “I don’t know ANYONE who likes Superman,” said the boy. “I literally don’t even know who Superman is,” said the boy’s 7-year-old little sister. This is an affront. When I was a boy, everyone knew who Superman was. Namely, because Superman was a vital piece of boyhood. While girls were off playing “House,” developing useful life skills such as learning how to balance checkbooks and using EZ Bake ovens, boys were running around in our backyards wearing bath towels as capes. As a kid, you’d get into these wonderfully dramatic arguments with your buddies over which superhero was best. These topical disagreements usually centered around lesser superheroes like Batman, Spiderman, or Barbara Eden. But here’s the thing: Superman always won the argument. Because—hello?—he was Superman. My boyhood mind was consumed with Superman. I had Superman pajamas which looked exactly like his costume. I often wore them to school, beneath my clothes. During bathroom breaks I would tear off my civilian clothes and return to class in my heroic get-up. Mrs. Welch would refer to me as “Mister Kent” from there on. I wore those pajamas every day until there were holes in my little Super Butt. One day the pajamas mysteriously went missing. “I don’t know where they went,” my mother said. “Maybe I misplaced them.” I never forgave her for such an irresponsible oversight. As a boy, I ate, drank, and breathed Superman. A local radio station played old Superman shows every weekday after school. On Saturday mornings, I watched reruns of “Superman” with George Reeves. George Reeves was a terrific actor, perhaps the most gifted thespian who ever lived. To give you an idea how talented he was: Even though Clark and Superman were indistinguishable in appearance, nobody ever knew Clark and Superman were the same person. I carried my love of Superman well into my teens. I was a subscriber to Action Comics, which debuted Superman in 1938. I never missed an issue. My teens were hard years. I went through some very difficult stuff during my youth. We moved a lot. I dropped out of school. We weren’t exactly well-off, fiscally speaking. And to make matters worse, I had red hair. But no matter how bad it got, I always had Superman. I knew he wasn’t real, of course. But in a way, he kind of was. And he embodied more than truth, justice, and the American way. Aside from all the other super-powers, he was actually a nice guy. And believe me, Clark Kent had nearly every superpower known to man—flight, X-ray vision, super strength, heat vision, impenetrable skin, ice breath, superhuman hearing, electricity absorption, super speed, biological longevity, tactile telekinesis, microscopic vision, time travel, and (as seen in Superman #62) super-ventriloquism. And he was STILL painfully humble. Clark could have been the king of the world. Master of the universe. Had any girl he wanted. Won every high-school football game single handedly. Had his face on Fortune 500 magazine. He could have bullied the entire universe into his will. But he chose to be nothing. He chose to be anonymous. He chose horn-rimmed glasses. Would that I might be such a man. Superman’s popularity might have faded from mainstream attention, but I wonder what that says about us. Your modern Marvel-movie heroes are nothing like Supes. In fact, I’m not sure what your Marvel heroes are even fighting for these days except likes and shares. Not to be critical, but your modern cinematic superheroes are little more than clinically depressed computer-generated underwear models who DON’T EVEN HAVE CAPES. I placed my comic book on the conveyor belt. The little boy was still unconvinced. When the elderly lady cashier rang me up, she looked at the comic book and wore an amused smile. I asked the cashier, “Who do YOU think the best superhero is?” She thought about it. “Matthew McConaughey,” she said. Sean Dietrich is a columnist, novelist, podcaster, and stand-up storyteller known for his commentary on life in the American South. His work has appeared in Newsweek, Southern Living, Reader's Digest, Garden and Gun, The Tallahassee Democrat, the Birmingham News, and his column is syndicated in newspapers throughout the U.S. He has authored fifteen books, and he makes appearances on the Grand Ole Opry. To learn more about Sean or to purchase his books, visit his website at https://seandietrich.com
  25. Linda Roorda
    Father's Day... a time to remember the dads we treasure. They've taught us well in the ways of life. I remember a lot about my dad. In fact, it would be fair to say that I had put him on a pedestal while growing up... not a wise placement for anyone. But it seems he could do anything and everything, a jack-of-all-trades, almost perfect in my little-girl eyes. Though none of us can measure up all the time, there is One who is perfect... who forgives all our failings... our heavenly Father. Yes, there is so much my Dad taught me and my five siblings, including all about the love of Jesus. As a small child on the farm, I would say, “Jesus is my best friend!” But, for a time as a teen, I forgot my childhood friend until my Dad reminded me of those words I used to say as a little girl. Oops! I loved playing board games on Sunday afternoons with my Dad, especially Scrabble. I love the challenge of this game and tend to play aggressively, perhaps because I was in tough competition with my Dad. Though I won only one game against him over those several years, it was a sweet victory knowing that I’d accomplished the win without his having given me an edge… his way of readying us for the world. He taught me honesty was the right way such that in 8th grade English class I chose to write an essay entitled “Honesty Is The Best Policy”, receiving a coveted A. Actually, I may have gotten writing and art abilities from him. Although he was an exceptional storyteller, perfectly imitating voice and mannerisms of various comedians, I speak best through the written word. He also had a gift for drawing with his talent for art passed on to me and my son. He loved trains, especially the old steam engines, having grown up next to the tracks in Clifton, NJ. I loved watching him as he built a passenger car for his train set, using tweezers to handle those tiny parts. I watched him build Packard and Duesenberg model cars, and a German Focke-Wulf plane from WWII, taking us with him as he flew it using a remote-control system… until an unexpected gust of wind dove and smashed the plane into the ground. As we grew up, we loved hearing Dad tell family stories of his and our childhoods. He had a gift for telling any story in a humorous unique way, and how I long to hear them all again. I asked him to write them down for posterity, but he never did. When he drove truck in the 1960s through the 1990s (and later huge tractors for an Iowan farmer), he’d come home with stories from the road. He shared radio routines by Bill Cosby and Southern Cajun comedians, recalling their stories and imitating accents perfectly! That was way better entertainment than TV any day! I recall a few stories of his time in the Army at Fort Greely, Alaska (1956-1957), a foreign assignment before official statehood. From 18 months to 2 years of age, I was too young to remember my 6-8 months at Delta Junction with my baby sister. But I also remember having heard how he, his best buddy Roland Neefe, and two other friends found a sunken rowboat. As it lay not far below the surface of a lake, they pulled it up, cleaned it off, and took it out to fish. It made for an interesting adventure to say the least – while they took turns fishing, the other three worked hard at bailing to keep the boat afloat! Now that’s dedicated fishermen! Fort Greely is also where he learned to drive big rigs. With someone ill, he was asked to take over in the motor pool one night. Proving he could handle backing up a trailer perfectly, the commanding officer asked where he’d learned to do that since everyone else struggled. “Backing up a manure spreader, Sir!” was his dutiful reply. They kept him in the motor pool, where he gained invaluable training for later driving 18-wheelers. He was also given a rare promotion because he took the time to thoroughly clean an office coffeepot, a skill learned from his Dutch immigrant mother who had taught him all aspects of housekeeping while growing up, like any good Dutch mother. When a general visited Fort Greely, the coffee-making task was passed off to my Dad as no one wanted to be making coffee for a general! He didn’t complain but took pains to provide a clean urn for making fresh-percolated coffee… which greatly impressed the general. When the general asked who made the coffee, the aide who was supposed to have made it “blamed” my Dad. Instead of the feared reprimand for the typically bad-tasting coffee the office was known for, the general complimented my father on making the best cup he’d ever tasted! Turning to the senior officer, he ordered him to give my father a promotion! When we were younger, he always had time for us. When we lived in Jersey, I loved it when he took us fishing at Garret Mountain in Clifton, Lake Hopatcong and Upper Greenwood Lake. It got me out of the city and into nature where I felt at ease. And, though I could never bring myself to touch those worms (still can’t!), let alone put them on a hook, and never did catch “the big one,” it was the quality time with our Dad that meant so much to us kids. As a tomboy, I especially enjoyed working outside with my Dad whether it was in the barn learning to care for the animals, in the huge vegetable gardens, or traipsing the fields and woods to hunt rabbits and deer. That love just naturally transferred to enjoying time spent working alongside my husband in the barn or in the yard, and growing and weeding gardens of my own. As we grew older, we teens were often in our own little world yet I still adored my Dad. He listened and gave sound advice. I recall the day he didn’t go to work, taking me instead for a drive to discuss a problem I was dealing with. At times though, I wasn’t ready to listen to him because, as life moved on, his anger took control and he wasn’t always there for us as a family, causing division with his divorce by expecting full support for his side. No parent in a divorce situation should ever do that their children. But I treasure our renewed relationship later in life. With apologies for my own errors as a teen, I heard his sadness as I expressed how family dysfunction affected all of us, and he understood my saying I/we all had needed him more than he realized when he was on the road for 2-4 weeks at a time. I appreciated his compliments on my writing for a local newspaper, my own blogs, publishing genealogy research on my mom’s ancestors in a nationally recognized journal (The New York Genealogical & Biographical Record), and for how well I raised my family and took care of my Mom, even saying he’d never realized all the difficulties I’d faced in my life. Honesty and forgiveness cleared the way for a better relationship with love expressed to both my parents. God truly takes our most difficult situations, working them for our good when we love Him, admit our errors, and make amends. My Dad’s careers changed from his love of farming, to driving a grain truck delivering feed to dairy farmers (winning top NY State Purina Feed salesman awards for 1961 and 1962), to carpentry with his Dad, a revered general contractor in northeast New Jersey, to driving an 18-wheeler hauling tanks locally and later OTR (over the road/cross country). When we lived in Clifton, NJ, he drove chemical tankers “locally” in northeast Jersey, southern New England, and New York City. What stories he brought home from his experiences! I got to ride with him only twice and wish it could have been more. But I was never so happy as when we moved back to New York on August 16, 1969! Though I hated city life, I can now look back at special memories of Clifton where I was born. As we settled into “backyard farming,” he taught me how to care for our mare, War Bugg, a granddaughter of Man O’ War, a retired Western working ranch registered Quarter Horse. One of his trucking buddies also rode the rodeo circuit and put War Bugg through her paces – she did a figure-eight so tight you’d’ve thought she’d fall over! I helped Dad build her corral and box stall in the barn, along with re-roofing and remodeling the old chicken coop for our flock. And then came the heavy-duty barn chores of bringing hay down out of the mow, hauling 50-lb bags of grain, mucking out the pens, learning to groom War Bugg and pick up her feet to clean the soft undersides, devouring books on horses and their care, dreaming of being an equine vet. I saw his deep concern when I stepped on a wasp’s nest in the haymow with 11 stings on my leg, and his gratefulness for my dousing him with a 5-gallon pail of water when a torch threatened to catch him on fire while trying to burn tent caterpillars, chuckling later that I almost drowned him! He did have a great sense of humor, which I valued in my husband Ed, too. But I also learned the hard way that running War Bugg flat out up the road and back could have killed her, hot, sweaty and lathered. Not realizing the depth of War Bugg’s Western training, I’d simply clicked my tongue and she took off like a rocket, so I let her run… on the paved road. I was scolded hard, yet taught to walk her slowly, allowing her to have only small sips of warm water till she cooled down. After riding her another time, I dismounted, tied her to the backyard light pole, and ran into the house briefly. On returning, I realized she’d pulled on and broken her bridle, standing as if still tied with reins straight down. And it was then I realized she was Western trained to be “ground tied” and to take off at the click of the tongue, very responsive to touch, the absolute best horse! I still miss her… and her gentle neighs when I put grain and hay in her feed trough. Soon enough, I got married and began a new life with my new family, while my siblings and parents scattered themselves around the U.S. Life changes, and we change with it. We learn from those childhood mistakes and grow up wiser for them. As a child, I teased Dad when he turned 30 that he was old, and that when he’d turn 50 he’d be “over the hill!” Well, Dad, guess what? Your oldest daughter reached that milestone a good ways back, and she’s still thankful to be alive and working! Giving him this writing in 2014 before he passed away April 17, 2015, his wedding anniversary with my Mom, he knew I felt blessed to have him as my Dad. Sometimes I wish I could go back and relive the childhood fun of days long ago, but I treasure those memories that linger still... and I love you, Dad! May you each be blessed with very special memories of your Dad, too! Happy Father’s Day! I Remember A Dad Linda A. Roorda ~ I remember a dad who took me fishin’ And remember a dad who hooked my worms, Who took those hooks from fishy mouths, And showed me the country way of life. ~ A family of six, two girls and four boys Fun and trouble we shared as we grew. From farms and fields to paved avenues, Walking and biking, exploring we went. ~ I remember a time spent playing games, A dad who’d not cheat for us to win. Family and friends and holiday dinners, Lakes and farms and countryside drives. ~ Weeds were the bane of childhood fun, So ‘tween the rows we ran and we played. But as I grew and matured in age, Weeding was therapy in gardens of mine. ~ I remember a dad who thrived on farming Livestock and gardens, and teaching me how. I remember a dad who took me huntin’ Scoutin’ the fields, always alert. ~ I remember a dad who taught us more For growing up we learn by example. I remember working alongside my dad Roofing a barn and building corrals. ~ I remember a dad whose gifts were given In fairness to meet each child’s desire. I remember a dad whose wisdom we honor In memories of caring and love in small ways. ~ I remember a dad who brought us laughter With Cajun and Cosby stories retold. For blessed with a gift of retelling tales Family and childhood events he recalled. ~ I remember a dad whose time was given To help his children face life’s turmoils. Time spent together are memories treasured For things done best put family first. ~ I remember a dad who taught me more To treasure my faith in Jesus my friend. In looking to Him as Savior and Lord, Salvation by Grace, not earned by my deed. ~ As I look back to days long ago, I remember the dad I knew so well. For I miss the dad who took me fishin’ And remember the dad who taught me more. ~ Linda Roorda writes from her home in Spencer.
  26. Sean Dietrich
    Waffle House. My waitress has a bunch of tattoos. The women customers in the booth behind mine are talking about it in voices loud enough to alter the migratory patterns of waterfowl. “Did you see ALL her tattoos? Our waitress?” “I know.” “Why do they DO that to themselves?” “I know.” I personally do not have tattoos. I come from teetotalling fundamentalists whose moms ironed our Fruit of the Looms. If I had come home with, for example, a Superman tattoo on my chest, the proverbial fertilizer would have hit the proverbial oscillating fan. But I don’t dislike tattoos the way some do. No, tattoos weren’t in fashion when WE were young, but if they had been, believe me, we’d have them. I know this because during my youth members of my generation were clambering to purchase $10 polo shirts with $90 alligators embroidered on the fronts. My friend Pete and I were the only ones in the entire fifth grade who did not own Izod polo shirts. So Pete and I took matters into our own hands. Pete’s mom had an embroidery machine. We begged her to craft a dozen alligator patches to sew onto our Kmart polos and—voila!—instant cool factor. We gave Pete’s mom DETAILED instructions, then left her unsupervised. Which, looking back, was a mistake. Because Pete’s mother delivered 12 polo shirts bearing colorful patches of Snoopy, Papa Smurf, and four of the original seven dwarves. The waitress was visiting each table, warming up coffees. She visited two ladies behind me. The ladies represented my generation. Their conversation kept growing louder. “They just look so trashy. Tattoos.” “I know, I wish I could tell these kids, ‘Quit screwing up your bodies.’ It’s stupid.” The young waitress finally made it to my table. I saw her inkwork. Her arm was painted in a sleeve of faded reds and greens. Images of dragons adorned her forearms. “I like your ink,” I said. She smiled. Then she glanced at the ladies in the booth behind me, who were evidently trying to speak quietly but were still using voices that rattled most dental fillings. “Thanks,” my waitress said. That’s when I noticed a date inscribed beneath one of the dragon tats. The waitress noticed me staring. “It’s my son,” she said, giving me a better presentation of her artwork. “He used to LOVE dragons.” “What is your son’s name?” She smiled again. This smile looked like it hurt. “His name was Daniel.” Was. She moved away from my table and kept about her busywork. Meantime, the women behind me kept about theirs. “I see so many pretty girls with tattoos. I JUST don’t GET it.” “Why would anyone want to LOOK like that?” “No idea. I’d be SO embarrassed.” The waitress visited my table again. She tore off my check and placed it facedown. “Anything else?” she asked. “May I ask you a question?” I replied. She waited. “What happened to your son?” There were no tears in her eyes. But there were tears in her voice. “He was 11. His uncle was driving. It was instant.” None of us said anything. She looked at her own forearm and admired it. “My son designed this one.” The ladies behind me had quit talking. Sean Dietrich is a columnist, novelist, podcaster, and stand-up storyteller known for his commentary on life in the American South. His work has appeared in Newsweek, Southern Living, Reader's Digest, Garden and Gun, The Tallahassee Democrat, the Birmingham News, and his column is syndicated in newspapers throughout the U.S. He has authored fifteen books, and he makes appearances on the Grand Ole Opry. To learn more about Sean or to purchase his books, visit his website at https://seandietrich.com
  27. Senator Tom O'Mara
    “To say that I’m a frustrated dairy farmer in New York State would be an understatement. I don’t understand how a bill like this even gets remotely this far.” That was the reaction of just one New York State dairy farmer at the Capitol last week where a proposal coming out of New York City stirred a rallying cry of Upstate opposition from the New York Farm Bureau and many others, and rightly so. The “Upstate-Downstate divide” has been one of New York’s longest running shows and there have always been reminders that we remain worlds apart. There’s no denying, however, that these reminders have escalated since 2019 when New York government fell under total, one-party, all-Democrat control. It’s been especially concerning since what it has meant is that state government over the past six years has effectively been under the thumb of New York City-based and oriented leaders whose agendas often seek to impose across-the-board, one-size-fits-all laws, mandates, and rules that might serve big city needs yet inflict unfair and unreasonable burdens on the rest of New York, especially Upstate. The latest example is legislation introduced by two prominent New York City Democrats that would effectively ban future dairy farms in New York from expanding beyond 700 cows. It’s an attempt on their part to control what they wrongly view as the proliferation of “factory farms” and their environmental impact. The opposition has been swift, even among some Upstate Democrats who fully understand the consequences of a proposal like this one if it ever became law. For now, the measure remains in committee in the Senate and Assembly, which is where it needs to stay. Upstate United said, “They don’t have dairy farms in their districts, and legislation like this suggests that either they don’t care or are unaware of the industries that support Upstate’s economy. More than 95% of New York’s farms are family owned. At a time when New York State is making significant investments in major processors like Fairlife, Chobani and Cayuga Milk Ingredients, it makes absolutely no sense to restrict or limit the number of cows those farms can have when the milk they’re producing is needed for those companies to be successful.” From the Northeast Dairy Producers Association, “Dairy farmers are the original stewards of our natural resources. Regardless of farm size, 95% of New York State farms are family owned and operated. For generations, they have been committed to continuous improvement in caring for the environment, their animals, and their local communities. We aim to work collaboratively with legislators across the state to ensure a future that allows New York’s family farms to continue to provide for New York families.” One upstate county agricultural coordinator said, “They haven’t done their research. They’ve never been on dairy farms. How dare they try to regulate something they know nothing about.” The trouble is that these Albany Democrats have gained a foothold at the highest levels of New York government, and they do dare. They have successfully enacted laws, mandates, and rules that simply ignore Upstate New York’s economy, traditions, and ways of life at great cost. We’ve seen it time and again. In recognition of June as National Dairy Month, Steuben County recently reflected on the importance of our regional and statewide dairy industry with these words, and it can’t be said any better: “Did you know that Steuben County is home to over 1,300 farms, generating more than $250 million annually? And here's the kicker: half of that comes from milk production alone. That’s not just impressive – it’s essential. From family-run dairy farms to large-scale operations, our local farmers are the backbone of an industry that feeds New York and beyond. Their hard work supports beloved food companies like BelGioioso Cheese and HP Hood, right here in our region. “But the impact doesn’t stop at the barn door. Dairy farming has one of the highest economic multipliers of any industry – meaning every dollar earned on a dairy farm creates even more earnings across our local economy. Jobs, transportation, equipment, retail, food production – it all connects back to the land and the people who care for it.” This recent attack out of Albany on the future of family dairy farms is just the latest in a long line of ill-informed, misguided, outrageous, and ridiculous proposals. It continues to show a complete lack of understanding. It continues to push government overreach that would have a devastating impact on our rural, upstate local economies where the dairy industry has long been and must remain a mainstay of our region. Senator Tom O'Mara represents New York's 58th District which covers all of Chemung, Schuyler, Seneca, Steuben, Tioga and Yates counties, and a portion of Allegany County.
  28. Ann
    I think Honey would be happy with the light you are sharing.
  29. Linda Roorda
    Maybe we don’t say it enough… those little words that mean so much - “You make a difference…” or “I appreciate you…” or “I love you!” Along with the words, there are ways we can show how much we care, and here are a few I’ve been pondering. Since retiring, I have totally enjoyed a second “career” - subbing in our public school district, and noticed something right away that has been consistent… the welcoming words and smiles from staff on up to the principals and superintendent – words of appreciation and thanks for coming in and helping out, for being there for the kids, no matter their age, from pre-K3 thru high school. And it got me to thinking about us as family and friends. I appreciate each of you for who you are, for your being a very special part of my life, for your kind loving words, for words of wisdom and words that teach me… Thank you! You’ve made a difference in my life! And I love you! In thinking about others, one of the best ways we can express how much we care is by simply serving them, expecting nothing in return. As the Apostle Paul wrote, “Each of you should look not only to your own interests, but also to the interests of others.” (Philippians 2:4) Ask how they’re doing and truly listen when they express life is not going so well. Make the effort to really understand what someone else might be feeling, or what they might be going through. Volunteer your time, that rare commodity in our hectic schedules. We can help those in a difficult situation, or those recovering from surgery or illness. We can provide a meal or simply give attention to a shut-in to let them know they’ve not been forgotten. Perhaps we’re able to volunteer in a program where serving will benefit many… such as the local fire department, ambulance squad, or a local food cupboard. There are so many ways we can share our time to express care. Be a mentor to others. Encourage them in their endeavors. Help them succeed. Lift them up emotionally. Listen to their concerns. Cheer them on! Perhaps helping to widen their horizon in a favorite hobby might lead them into a fulfilling venture. Be there for the grieving. Many words aren’t necessary. Simply ask how they’re doing. Sharing the silence with a hug and sitting with them brings comfort. Listen to their heart as they express their sorrow. Share their pain. Show you care. And know that so many have done this well. Give a smile to those you meet along your daily path, even strangers! Watch their face light up knowing that you care enough to share a simple smile to brighten their day! Be joyful for each other! Praise them for even their smallest accomplishments, and express how happy you are for them in their larger successes. Let someone know you'll pray for them. Make someone a gift using your special talents, or gift them something unique to their interests. Greet others with a genuine friendly tone. Share a positive attitude. Make others feel wanted and welcomed. Let them know how much you appreciate them and all that they do. With the passing of my friend Julie’s daughter a few years ago (the age of my children who shared my March birthday), I shed tears of sadness for her family in their deepest loss. She had become a dedicated funeral director, comforting those who grieved their loved ones. She moved on to a new job, showing those in need, and those she took care of in group homes, the depths of love from her heart. Loved by family and friends, she made a difference in the lives of others. Two years ago, I learned this month that my friend, Mimi (a distant cousin found when I was researching my Mom’s ancestry), was in serious condition in the ICU. My heart broke to hear that news, and then again when she passed away. Treasured like a sister, we bonded right away, learning we had so much in common when we first met online. We shared family ancestry data that we had gathered, while I learned much from her. A former nurse, she next found fulfillment as a teacher’s aide, assisting special needs children. In so many ways, she made a difference in the lives of those with whom she came in contact from her own caring and generous loving heart. In the past, I’ve shared some of our daughter Jenn’s writings for a college psych course, as a memorial to who she was. Passing away too young at 25 in 2003, she had much to look forward to, but God knew her days before even one of them came to be… She made a difference in the lives of everyone around her with gentleness, wisdom, and a kind and caring heart of love. As a sub for teachers and TAs since March 2021, I’ve enjoyed giving each of my students a listening ear and caring. Sometimes I feel like their “adopted grandmother”, giving time and attention as they each need. And it does my heart good to hear some of their comments, “You’re our favorite sub… we really appreciate you… it’s because you care.” Little do my students know that their responding well to my input and caring completes the circle of love. And I know that you, too, can name many examples of how others made a difference in the world around them, even in your life… just as you share this same loving kindness to make a difference in someone else’s life… someone in need of your compassion, comfort, kindness and generosity. Feel free to share your thoughts with us all below. We can each make a difference wherever we are in whatever we do! Shining our inner light as a reflection of Christ’s love within us, we let others know how much we care about them. Be the one who makes a difference in the world today! You Made A Difference… Linda A. Roorda You made a difference in the world today… You gave a smile to someone in need Your face truly showed you cared from the heart For your love was felt wrapped up in the glow. ~ You made a difference in the world today… You lent an ear to someone hurting You listened to tears and heard their story You held their heart in the depths of your soul. ~ You made a difference in the world today… You walked the path where a friend was plodding You carried their burden, you went the extra mile, You eased their stress and brought hope to their day. ~ You made a difference in the world today… Your hands rough and worn, were held out with warmth Bestowing attention, you covered their needs As your arms enveloped to guard and protect. ~ You made a difference in the world today… You spoke words of truth with gentle kindness You showed concern, asking how they were And shared their dreams scattered in the storm. ~ You made a difference in the world today… You took the time to sit in silence You held their hand bringing peace and comfort When their life was torn apart in sorrow. ~ You made a difference in the world today… You shared their joy with laughter’s ring You praised them for a job well done As your love and hugs showed the depth of care. ~~
  30. Sean Dietrich
    “I’m dying,” the older woman says. Her name is Honey. She is in the meet-and-greet line after one of my shows. She holds one of my books. White hair. Tiny frame. Maybe five-foot. The theater ushers move her to the head of the line because she is using her roller walker. “It’s so nice to finally meet you,” she says through wheezing breaths. “Your name is Honey?” I say. “Yes.” “Why do they call you that?” She is too winded to answer my question. And she has a lot to get out, so she cuts right to the car chase. “Before I die I have always wanted to meet you. My son brought me here tonight.” Her son stands by. He is crying, too. Honey’s son’s wife is also crying. People nearby are crying. So I follow suit. If you can’t beat them, join them. I lower myself to Honey’s eye level. “You wanted to meet ME? Are you sure you don’t have me confused with someone else?” “I’m sure.” “Don’t you think it’s time to raise your standards?” “No.” Then we hug. Her body is so small and frail. During our embrace I can feel her ribs in my arms. I’m thinking I might break her if I squeeze too hard. Then again, what good is a hug if the other party doesn’t squeeze? You have to squeeze during a proper hug otherwise people will mistake you for a communist who doesn’t love the Lord. So I apply gentle—almost imperceptible pressure to our embrace. Neither of us let go for a little while. Two of us holding each other for a long time. Eyes closed. Honey says into my ear, “I love you. I’ve never met you, but I love you.” Still hugging. “Love you, too,” I whisper. “What’s killing you?” “Cancer.” There are rules to hugs. If you’re going to hug for more than five seconds, if you’re going to KEEP the hug going, it’s required to start rocking back and forth. Otherwise, as I say, communist. So we just sway for a few moments. Honey and I. Two bodies. Two humans. One love. When we release, I open my eyes and the real world is still there. People are looking at us. I wipe my eyes. The old woman kisses my cheek. She touches my face. Her eyes are bright. “Be a light,” she says. “Be such a bright light.” And now I know now why they call her Honey. Sean Dietrich is a columnist, novelist, podcaster, and stand-up storyteller known for his commentary on life in the American South. His work has appeared in Newsweek, Southern Living, Reader's Digest, Garden and Gun, The Tallahassee Democrat, the Birmingham News, and his column is syndicated in newspapers throughout the U.S. He has authored fifteen books, and he makes appearances on the Grand Ole Opry. To learn more about Sean or to purchase his books, visit his website at https://seandietrich.com
  1. Load more activity
×
×
  • Create New...