Leaderboard

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

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

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.

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. ~~

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

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.

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.