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“You never think of your parents as much more than parents. It isn’t until you are older yourself that you begin to realize they had their hopes, dreams, ambitions, and secret thoughts. You sort of take them for granted and sometimes you are startled to know they were in love a time or two…. You never stop to think about what they were like until it is too late…” (Louis L’Amour in “Tucker”) Oh how true!! The tomboy that I was while growing up in my teens, working and learning beside my Dad, prepared me for later becoming a farmer’s wife. After all, the love of farming is in the blood of both my parents! I was not fond of housework, much preferring to be outside or in the barn. Yet we women fill so many different roles. Not all of us are wives and mothers. Some of us remain single. Some of us are meant to pursue life-time careers. Some of us work to support our family, when we would prefer to be at home raising our children. Often, our likes and dislikes, and even careers, change throughout our lifetime. Typically, we women are great multi-taskers, but I’m not sure whether that’s good or bad! We come from different walks in life, and we’re very different from each other in feelings, perspectives, and opinions. I’ve had several “big sisters” or “surrogate mothers” in my lifetime who added a special dimension to my maturing and learning - my Dad’s mother, Grammy, with whom I wrote letters every other week for decades from my teens on, who helped raise me as an infant and toddler, and was there with an ear and advice as I raised my own children; my cousin Howard’s wife, Carol, like a big sister to me and whose four children my sister and I babysat during their weekend auctions in our teens, and with whom I continue to keep in touch; and his brother Robert’s wife, Virginia, briefly my hunting partner in my teens, also taught me how to cook certain meals when I lived with their family while working in Ithaca several months before my marriage to Ed, learning to make delicious homemade spaghetti sauce and a down-home scrumptious simple goulash, both a favorite in my own family’s supper menu. But I remember my Mom for many things… as I grew up, she was a traditional housewife, taking care of the home and growing a large garden. She continued her mother’s example by canning and freezing the produce every summer except the years we lived in Clifton, NJ. When we butchered chickens, Dad put them on the chopping block, we two sisters were the “dunk-and-pluck” crew, while Mom knew how to properly dress them for the freezer, showing us one hen’s set of graduated eggs sans shells from large to very small! She was quiet and reserved, did not share much, if anything, about herself or her family as I grew up, but she had a strong faith in God. Her mother died when I was 9 so I have limited memories of her, though eventually my mother shared stories of growing up and of her mother’s busy life raising 12 children, helping on their large chicken and dairy farm. My mom loved the country/farm life, as I do. And she knew how to deliciously cook up the squirrel I shot, or all game and fish my Dad brought home! A few things she shared included making true homemade ice cream (no pre-made mix) as we kids clamored for a turn at hand cranking, bottling homemade root beer, and heating up the best hot cocoa with real cocoa powder, sugar and milk on the stove – all things from her childhood. She also made a Dutch barley soup with buttermilk and brown sugar that I loved, as well as the most delicious cream puffs in the world using our duck eggs. She could sew, but it was not her favorite. She taught me to iron clothes and Dad’s handkerchiefs before permanent press fabrics hit the market. I loved her homemade bread and made some a few times after I was married, but it was not my favorite venture. As a kid, I savored her delicious toasted-cheese sandwiches with her homemade dill pickle slices tucked between slices of her homemade bread – long before Vlasic ever thought of selling bottled dill pickle slices for that very purpose! My sister and I did a lot of the bean and pea picking, snapping and shelling. Though we tossed some of those veggies as youngsters when we were tired of our chore, freshly picked and cooked peas remain my favorite. I loved visiting the farm my Mom grew up on, and later in life enjoyed hearing stories of her younger days. She shared some of her wisdom, but typical of teens, I wasn’t always listening or accepting. I did not hear much of her childhood until I began researching and documenting her family’s genealogy decades after I got married. And treasure the time I drove her around her hometown of Carlisle, NY, sharing and pointing out places connected to her life, as I wrote down her childhood stories. My only desire had been to be a stay-at-home mother like my Mom, but circumstances beyond our control put me back into the workforce when my children were very young. Each of my secretarial jobs (beginning part time as a high school senior in an Owego law office), built the foundation and skills for the next job, preparing me for my final medical transcription career before retiring and changing direction once more - subbing for teachers and their TAs, jobs I love, “being there” for “my” students. But whether it’s being a mother or having a career, that’s not where all our satisfaction is found. ewing many clothes for myself, husband and children, and canning and freezing a year’s worth of garden produce and fruit while raising my little ones were all reminiscent of the “good ol’ days.” It does our heart good to “be there” for someone else, whether to provide emotional support, bring a meal to a shut-in, or lend aid in other ways to someone in need… sometimes even if only to give an ear and a shoulder for their hurts. And that doesn’t begin to describe the love felt by the recipients of our gifts of love and time. But doing good for others is not where we derive all our satisfaction either. For several years, a popular women’s Bible study has been the “Proverbs 31 Woman.” I like this passage of Scripture in Proverbs 31:10-31 (NIV), written by Israel’s King Solomon who had achieved fame as the wisest man in the world. It speaks about a wife of noble character, and what she does to bring blessing to her husband and children, her family. She works to care and provide for the needs of her household. She buys and sells property and goods for a profit. She respects her husband and brings him good in all she does, whether at home, among her friends, or in the city at large. She speaks with a wise heart. She does not sit around in idleness; instead, she demonstrates strength and dignity in all situations. For "a woman who fears the Lord is to be praised." (Proverbs 31:30b) As I ponder this passage, I feel like it shows that I clearly don’t measure up. For I know all too well my own failings. Yet, there’s no reason why I cannot pursue change within. So, I seek that quiet time to study, meditate, pray, and listen to what the Lord has to say within my heart. It’s the Lord’s approval I long for… to guide my steps, to change my course, to cover me with forgiveness, peace and contentment, and to find satisfaction in doing what He expects of me even when it’s not the easiest path, nor the one I would choose. May you be blessed - whether or not you are called Mom - for all the love you share, and for all the time and effort you put into being there for those around you… Happy Mother’s Day! I Am A Woman Linda A. Roorda ~ I am a woman. I am a mother. I’m a little girl, deep in my heart. I am emotions, raw and revealing. I am deep strength when life overwhelms. ~ I’ve carried love within my heart For family dear, and friends held close, For husband wise, light of my world And children young, growing their dreams. ~ I see the needs to be fulfilled. I reach to you, a life to touch. I shed a tear, and hold your hand To ease your pain, and bring a smile. ~ In quiet time, I seek Your will, Lord. A time to renew, to calm my fears, To savor sweet dreams, my hopes and plans As You care for me, and meet all my needs. ~ I fail at times to walk the path Yet You, oh Lord, are at my side. You pick me up each time I fall To gently remind, Your child I am. ~ I’ve harbored pain of losses that wound. I’ve weathered storms, battered and scarred. But my weary soul with peace You fill, That I may praise and bless Your name. ~ I hear Your voice and will in Your Word, For wisdom I’ve gained upon this road Will lead me on to comfort and love Others in need with You at my side. ~~

There is today, a today where computers are not only everywhere, but borderline mandatory. And today, these computers are capable of amazing things. Things like Facebook and watching Netflix and designing Power Point presentations and watching YouTube. These computers I’m assuming have games on them, or the ability to have games loaded onto them. I only say assume because I don’t play computer games. I don’t consider taking a Buzzfeed quiz to determine which character from Dazed and Confused I am a game. I consider it informative and potentially life-changing. Although I got Slater. That seems outdated to me. Now speaking of outdated, back when I was youngster, parting my hair on the right, looking adorable, hiding my feet that were growing too fast, we had computers in school- tan and boxy. The screen was green. For the most part their main function seemed to be typing. That’s it. They were typewriters with screens. The cursor blinked. Did I mention the screen was green? It was. Didn’t matter what you were doing. The screen was green. Typing, doing math or even better, playing Oregon Trail, the screen was green. And yes, Oregon Trail. It was the computer game for a little while there. It was what you played as a treat because quite honestly, you didn’t know what else to do with the computer. Somehow this constituted computer training, but possibly even working on your life skills. Which I suppose made sense, even though I was living in Maine and wasn’t even 100% positive sure oxen were a real thing. I can’t stress this enough, Oregon Trail was a big deal. And then it was gone. Computers kept getting better, more prevalent, more functional and with these changes, Oregon Trail became more and more antiquated. It became something that was reminisced about, but never played. Just another childhood memory, like TGIF and Mountain Dew. It was something that you couldn’t imagine ever coming back into your life. Well that is until someone on the Internet brought Oregon Trail, as well as other games of that era, back into our lives. I couldn’t resist playing. Just once. Just for kicks. Just to get to Oregon with my family in tow. The first thing you do is pick where you’re from and what you do. You have three options: I chose banker from Boston because I wanted to make this as real as possible. And no, I have never once considered being a banker, but I’ve been to a bank and on more than one occasion considered moving to Boston. Would this hurt my chances of success, though? Wouldn’t a farmer or carpenter, either one from more rustic areas of the country, have a better chance of making it from one end of the trail to the other? Yeah probably. Definitely a better chance than some east coast, white collared liberal. But banker from Boston was a choice that came from the gut so banker from Boston it is. I imagine I’ll regret the choice, but it’ll probably be because I’ll have so much time to think about things while riding the trail. No second-guessing! Banker from Boston it is. Next up you load up your wagon with your family. I really thought about this; much more so than the banker from Boston thing. I really wanted a good crew, something that is always essential when planning a trip. Giddy Up America’s Oregon Trail Wagon Tom Brady Rihanna Dave Grohl Questlove Why those fine people? I’ll tell you. Tom Brady: steady, reliable, pancake master Rihanna: unpredictable, sassy, “relaxation expert” Dave Grohl: jokester, in charge of campfire singalongs, story teller Questlove: wagon DJ, lots of friends & connections (for trading purposes) We were ready to roll. And we were going to roll in April. They give you options of when to leave. April seemed to make sense. I think. I am a banker from Boston, so this might not be in my wheelhouse. I’d ask my crew but ol’ Tommy Blue Eyes is texting Gisele about God knows what, RiRi is already onto her second blunt, Quest is consumed with picking the right music for the trip and Dave is rambling on about the unheralded music scene in Independence, Missouri. So the decision is mine. The decision is April. Before leaving we stop at Matt’s General Store for supplies. We have $1,600 to spend. Matt recommends 3 Oxen yoke (2 oxen per yoke.) We get 4 yoke. Matt recommends 200 pounds of food per person. We get 1,000 pounds and pledge to ration properly, even RiRi, who you know…munchies. Matt recommends 2 set of clothes per person. We get 14 sets, giving us a few extra. Seems smart. Matt has no recommendation for ammo. We get 15 boxes. This makes sense to Dave. I’m sold. Matt recommends “a few spare parts,” which consists of wagon wheels, wagon axles, and whatever the hell a wagon tongue is. We get two of each and no proper explanation about what a wagon tongue is. Sadly Matt does not carry rolling papers, Afro picks, Jack Daniel’s or Uggs. Our crew is set, but not 100% satisfied. It’s March 1, 1848 and we’re off. Peace out Independence. Next stop Oregon. Actually, next stop is 19 miles in as one oxen is already injured. Damn it Matt! Never trust the only store in town! And then, only a few days later, seven exactly, we run into a blizzard and lose a day. Needless to say, we are not off to a good start. Crew is in good spirits, though. Questlove’s music choices are predictably on point and Dave is handling most of the driving with Brady on map duties. Ri Ri? Snoozing. But looking super fly while doing so. Rivers: Kansas River: we “attempt to ford” i.e. cross carefully and are successful. Big Blue River: we “caulk the wagon” i.e. float across and are successful. We got rivers down pat. Good feelings are fleeting, though. This is meant to be ominous. March 18: severe blizzard. March 21: Questlove gets cholera. Ri Ri wisely asks him to put together some playlists because you know, in case he…well…we don’t want to talk too much about it…but in case he dies. March 23: Which he does. Tom, the ultimate team player, vows to rock a hair pick for the rest of the trip as a tribute. God, if we lose Tom… March 26: Tom Brady has exhaustion. NOOOOOOOOO!!!! March 28: Tragedy. Two deaths in a week. Our crew is understandably rocked. We spend the night of the 28th mourning our fallen travelers with shots of whiskey, Ri Ri’s special “emergencies only” stash and tales of Questo’s and Brady’s greatness. It is a night interlaced with sadness and fond memories. We pledge to go on, we pledge to never forget our friends. On a happier note, I’m getting better at hunting. Unfortunately I could only carry 100 pounds back, which is kind of a bummer. Tom Brady’s loss is felt. He could carry back at least twice that. Damn it, Tom! Why did you have to die? The good ones always go too soon. Sleep well sweet prince and please beat the Ravens this weekend. It’s just Dave Grohl, Rihanna and me now. We must continue on. It’s what Questlove and Tommy Football would have wanted, what they dreamed about. For the next few weeks things are quiet. It gives us time to think. Why are we going to Oregon anyway? Jobs, food, family? If we’re going cross country, shouldn’t it be to some place like San Diego or L.A.? I’m not sure Oregon makes much sense. San Diego is sweet. I wonder if we really thought this through. We probably didn’t. That’s so like us. Then a rough two week stretch hits. We told her to be mindful of where she wanders off too. But you know, stoners. May 3: Good day for hunting, but bad day for navigating. We lose the trail. I mean, it’s not like there’s many other trails. There’s really only the one. But we still lost it. I’m not going to point fingers at anyone. But…when Dave Grohl assures that he knows how to read a map, you believe him. It’s Dave Grohl, the guy who wrote “Everlong.” That’s an awesome song. Dude who wrote that mustknow how to read a map. Right? Dave is off map duty. And on top of that, our food rations are running dangerously low because someone (no names, only initials: Rihanna) is constantly snacking for reasons that…well, you know (in a whisper: weed.) We are forced to make a shift in our rationing policy, changing from filling to meager. May 12: Ri Ri has the measles! No, not Ri Ri! She’s our heart & soul! May 13: She was our heart & soul. We take a day off. We need to. This latest death has really shaken us. Ri Ri was going to bring the people of Oregon wonderful recipes from Barbados. Now? Now there will be no Barbados-inspired restaurants in Oregon. It is a sad day in Independence Rock. Dave is inconsolable. Rumors about some late night hook ups with Ri Ri might have been true. I didn’t believe them, didn’t want too. But for how shaken up he is? Kind of, sort of seems like something was going on. Oh well. What happens on the Oregon Trail stays on the Oregon Trail. While Dave drowns his sorrows in more whiskey…how much did he bring?…I visit with my Aunt Rebecca and trade for some supplies. We need clothes. I have no idea where our clothes went, but we’re running low and Dave and I look ridiculous. He’s wearing one of Ri Ri’s shirts, I’m wearing most of Questlove’s old clothes and they are comically too large for me. Honestly, we look like assholes. This concern about appearances would be short-lived. May 16: Dave has measles. Which is you know, kind of weird because our girl Ri Ri had measles too. Are measles contagious? What are measles? Are they like chicken pox? Damn it. Questlove would totally know the answers to these questions. May 18 is a rough day. So that leaves just me. Everyone else is dead. Questlove is dead. Tom Brady is dead. Our beloved Rihanna is dead. Dave Grohl is dead. It feels like the dream of Oregon is almost dead. It’s on life-support. May 21: I have cholera. What the hell is cholera! Cholera: Cholera is an acute intestinal infection caused by ingestion of food or water contaminated with the bacterium Vibrio cholerae. It has a short incubation period, from less than one day to five days, and produces an enterotoxin that causes a copious, painless, watery diarrhoea that can quickly lead to severe dehydration and death if treatment is not promptly given. Vomiting also occurs in most patients. – World Health Organization Well that sucks. So does breaking an arm. And then having dysentery. I’m having a rough week. Perhaps I should have stayed in Boston doing that banker thing. Ever heard of a banker getting cholera? Getting dysentery? Burying his friend Questlove? I haven’t. It’s quite possible that I’ve made a huge mistake. June gets off to a rough start. Damn it, another effin’ wheel! I spend the day trying to trade for a wheel, having to surrender a set of clothes (Dave’s) to get the wheel. June 28: I have a fever. Yes, it’s called loneliness. July 10: Damn it, lost another wheel. I should have read reviews of Matt’s General Store! His wheels are shit. The bad luck doesn’t last all that long though. Two weeks later I come across an abandoned wagon. Finders keepers on the trail, bitches! My looting “salvaging” gets me some more bullets and clothes. Maybe this is a sign? Maybe things are starting to take a turn for the best and things are starting to look up and my luck is starting to change? Maybe I’ll make it to Oregon after all? August 3: I have a broken leg. August 11: I have (another) broken arm. August 12: I have measles. August 20: I’m dead. I made it a little over halfway to Oregon. And then the game made fun of me. See you in another twenty years Oregon Trail. Ryan O'Connell loves the Boston Red Sox, New England Patriots, the Black Keys, the Roots, his family, The Wire & the writing of Dave Eggers although his last couple books have been “meh” at best. He does not care for waiting, appreciates someone who maintains a nice front lawn, and harbors a constant fear of losing his keys. See more of his writing at his website, GiddyUpAmerica.com

It was odd... this winter, just past, of 2023 and 2024. And, spring seems reluctant to stand firm. Winter keeps making dashes back with a little graupel here and a snowflake there, as if to make up for its earlier lethargy. We are usually safe from deep snow by mid-April, but one never knows. Early in March, warm weather brought out the snowdrops and winter aconite. Potted Easter flowers have gotten me through to now, when my daffodils and hyacinths are beginning to open and bring more life to outside. Change can often be a charged topic. People generally applaud winter changing to spring, and, in gardens, brown becoming green. A baby has a whole new attitude when his/her diaper is changed. Finding pocket change (coins) is always fun. A changing of the guard is a relief for whomever has been on duty for hours. A change of clothes and shoes to PJs and slippers defines relaxation. But when it comes to our habits, perceptions, comfort levels, or thinking, we would prefer to make no changes. Over Easter weekend, one of our family conversations discussed how we humans resist changes in our perception of what we can do and be. One of our sons left home in Vermont, about 9 PM, to drive to Spencer, getting him here around 1:30 AM. To quote him (the timeless answer to moms and wives): “I’ll be fine! I’ve done it for years!” His wife, who was already at our house, and I, were discussing the difficulty people (men especially) have in even contemplating the idea that they cannot do everything they have always done forever. But, even as we laughed a lot, and worried a bit, I admitted that I, myself, do not take kindly to seeing my capabilities diminished. Who wants to adjust the vision of one’s self from a coping, can-do person to a fragile being with limited possibilities? Life, however, frequently disregards our wishes and forces us to get real. Reality compels me to confess that I can no longer dance all night. My doctor had the nerve to ask if I ever could!! I assured him that not only could I, but I had more than once. Now, unfortunately, I can’t do a polka without stopping half-way through to breathe and settle my spinning head.I’d probably never make it through a set of 3 square dances, though maybe, with steady practice, say, a square dance/weekend!! 😊 When sciatica hit two weeks before Easter Sunday, rather intense pain meandered from my lower back, down through my left hip to my ankle, and didn’t go away. I was just a little cranky about the bad timing, and abandoning my usual holiday preparations. I ended up baking no cookies, no Swedish tea rings, and we dined out for our family Easter dinner. While the bakery cinnamon buns from Owego, and pastries from Vermont, were very tasty ---- and dinner at the Parkview in Owego quite satisfactory ---- I was not happy at the necessity. It wasn’t what we did, but the change in what I could do that I wanted to resist. But ---- as one of the Star Trek (the Borg, I think) lines went: “Resistance is futile!” At least when it comes to change! Hindsight proves that life is constantly changing. And changes generally bring discomfort, even angst, until they become routine. In our seven changes of residence, I only welcomed two of them. And even then, while I was happy about the one move itself, I hated leaving friends behind. I grumbled when my family home was sold out of the family and had a similar reaction when the houses of my siblings met the same fate. In my work life, when there was an opportunity to take more responsibility in the agency where I’d been for twelve years, I took forever and a day to decide; I was very comfortable in my position, so why change? And there were our offspring! Except for the rare occasions when I was tempted to send them to Outer Mongolia, I mostly enjoyed being an at-home mother, so when our children grew into adults, as children tend to do, (our granddaughters have also done this!), I missed those fun years with tweens, and teens. Even with my grumbling, though, I admit that with nearly every change, there has been a gift, something good that would have been impossible without the change. Our ancestral homes were purchased by people who respect tradition and have restored them well. My time as a director of an agency kept us safe from a director we might not have enjoyed, and taught me quite a lot that I have since found valuable. Our sons have grown to be amazing people and have married good and talented women. Our granddaughters are on their way to becoming equally amazing people. A plethora of gifts, all intertwined with change! I am having trouble recognizing any gifts in health changes (for myself or others), but I have been assured that such gifts will be found. My fading vision is frustrating; I finally gave up trying to sew after several abysmal attempts. Actually, I awarded myself an imaginary gold star just last week, when I neither screamed, gnashed my teeth, nor did I throw the machine across the room, all of which I was tempted to do. To be unable to even do an alteration is challenging, so my irritation level was (actually, still is) quite high. But I keep remembering my mother, who dealt with some of the same issues, and only said that she had more time to listen when she couldn’t be doing. The change most difficult for us all, I expect, is the death of someone for whom we care and on whom we rely. Two days after Easter, we learned that one of our dearest friends had passed on; a friend who had been part of our lives for over 50 years. Because we have reached our 80s, we must expect to lose people, but that makes the grief and emptiness no less traumatic and lasting. If I did not believe that human life here on earth is but one stage of living, I would probably be in despair, for this change I do not like. Bill was something of a “Renaissance Man;” interested and educated in a wide variety of things, and a wise mentor. Having been a history teacher, his perception of the world was based on understanding of what had gone before; on cause and effect. He was an outdoors person who enjoyed hiking the hills, watching birds and promoting good conservation practices, and he loved to garden. Becoming an ordained pastor gave him an opportunity to create a safe place for people who came to him with questions and concerns about life itself. He was a fine musician, and skillful with pen and ink; one of his sketches is on our living room wall. He helped us develop our theology and our families had many good times together. He and Connie participated, with us, in Faith At Work and Marriage Encounter both of which deepened our understanding of ourselves and each other. No one wishes to lose a friend who claims so much affection and respect. But the gift therein, has been the many years we’ve enjoyed what Bill offered. We have immense gratitude for all we have found good in this friendship and the impact he had on our family even as we regret his physical absence. As is probably universally true, the death of someone close, brings a thought or two of one’s own mortality; certainly, one of those changes we seldom wish to contemplate at length. I think I might be miffed (can one be miffed in the next stage of life?) if no one missed me. I would hope that the gift accompanying my death might also be whatever good impact I had on the lives around me; that some individuals might be grateful that I’d been there and that others would forgive me for the times I missed the mark. I would hope that our times together would leave stories and laughter, forming a golden thread of good memories, reminding those I love of who I was, and who I will go on being! Change is universal and unavoidable, though we humans may dig in our heels and attempt to ignore the necessity, and continue pining for “back when.” Unless one takes up residence in a glass ball of protected atmosphere, change will always be in every part of our lives; the seasons, the weather, our growth and understanding, choices and what makes up our cultures (no matter how me may disapprove!). Currently, we are on the cusp of change from mud season to blossom time. The amusing woodchuck I watched last summer has waddled out from beneath the woodshed, and is once again happily munching sunflower seeds. I don’t know its gender; I’m hoping that there aren’t babies back in the den. Spring flowers are about to burst into bloom. The change from brown to green, from dormant to alive and growing is, for me, a most welcome change. And this is a change upon which we can rely. So far, we can be sure spring will come every year and these lines by Rudyard Kipling seem both humorous and reassuring: “Oh, Adam was a gardener, and God, who made him sees that half a proper gardener’s work is done upon his knees. So, when your work is finished you can wash your hands and pray for the glory of the garden, that it may never pass away.” * Proving that some things never do change after all! **** Carol writes from her home in Spencer. She may be reached at: carol42wilde@htva.net *from The Glory of the Garden by Rudyard Kipling. Kipling was a British poet and writer, born in India. Two of his most famous books for kids are: The Jungle Book and Just So Stories.

by Erin Doane On November 7, 1923, the Elmira chapter of the Sons of the American Revolution held a meeting. At that meeting, the organization’s president Dr. Arthur W. Booth proposed the creation of a historical society to preserve historic objects, documents, and stories. The first official meeting of the Chemung County Historical Society took place two weeks later with 75 people in attendance. The Historical Society’s first home was in two rooms on the upper floor of the Steele Memorial Library on the corner of Lake and Church Streets (now the Chemung County Chamber of Commerce). The rooms quickly filled with donations from the community. Members of the society presented talks about local history and created displays of historic objects in the library for the public to enjoy. The Historical Society received its charter from New York State in 1947. Shortly after, they began searching for a stand-alone building to house the collections and provide more space for displays. In 1953, the Historical Society moved into 425 East Market Street and Frances Brayton was appointed as its first professional curator. It was around this time that Historical Society also began searching for the mammoth tusk that had been found by Judge Caleb Baker along the Chemung River in 1778. (Read all about that tusk and the Historical Society’s search for it here) While they were not able to find the original, they were able to get a similar mammoth tusk from the American Museum of Natural History in New York City. The Historical Society relocated again in 1965 to 304 William Street. The mammoth tusk and all the other historic objects, documents, and photographs that had been donated over the previous 40+ years were moved into their new home. Many of the objects were used in new exhibits focused on topics we still explore in the museum today - life here in the 1800s, the Civil War, local organizations and schools, and, of course, Mark Twain. Materials that didn’t go on display went into storage. Unfortunately, one of the main storage spaces in the building was the basement, which proved disastrous during the 1972 Flood. (click here to read how the Historical Society reacted to the flooding) The Chemung County Historical Society moved one more time to its current location at 415 E. Water Street. The building was originally home to the Chemung Canal Bank starting in 1833. After the bank moved into new headquarters, the building housed law offices and apartments. It underwent major renovations in the late 1970s and opened to the public as the Chemung County Historical Society in 1982. In 1986, the Historical Society received accreditation from the American Alliance of Museums (AAM). It was reaccredited most recently in 2021. Less than 5% of museum in the United States are accredited by the AAM. In 1992, further renovations to the building took place. An addition that includes the Howell Gallery, the Frances Brayton Education Room, and the Barn Gallery, as well as a new entranceway, was added to the main building. The Chemung County Historical Society currently operates the Chemung Valley History Museum and the Booth Research Library. Our mission is to deepen our understanding of history and to provide an appreciation of our community’s place in state and national history. We’ve done this over the last 100 years by collecting, preserving, interpreting, and presenting the history of our community and we plan to continue this mission for the next 100 years. And, yes, the mammoth tusk is still on display. Erin Doane is the Head Curator at The Chemung Valley Historical Society. For more information about the museum and to see more of their blog, click here

In a recent column, I wrote about Chemung County Sheriff’s Investigator Mike Theetge who, while in pursuit of a suspect in a retail theft operation at a Target store in Big Flats, Chemung County, was struck and severely injured by the getaway vehicle being used in the crime. Investigator Theetge is 35 years old. He suffered a skull fracture and brain bleeding. Gratefully -- thanks to his own fortitude and strength, and the incredible care and support he has received -- Investigator Theetge is steadily improving. But he and his family face a long road of recovery. Sadly, and tragically, the ongoing spread of lawlessness throughout this state once again hit far too close to home last week when two Syracuse law enforcement officers – Onondaga County Sheriff Lieutenant Michael Hoosock and Syracuse Police Officer Michael Jensen -- were gunned down and murdered in the line of duty on Sunday, April 14. In the aftermath of the Syracuse tragedy, Monroe County Sheriff Todd Baxter, in words that echo the sentiment of so many throughout this region and state, said, “I’m frustrated. I’m angry. I’m hurt. Just like everybody else in Syracuse. There is what I believe is a target on the back of law enforcement. People have come to a new level of brazenness towards law enforcement and if that doesn’t scare the hell out of our community then I don’t know what will." Sheriff Baxter is right about a “a target on the back of law enforcement” and a “new level of brazenness towards law enforcement.” Many believe it stems directly from the brazenness of Albany Democrat policies and a mindset that have failed and refuse to recognize – in fact, that deliberately work against -- the need for law and order. As I have stated many times over the past several years, the consequences are clear: a rapidly declining Empire State. Beginning under former Governor Andrew Cuomo and continuing under current Governor Hochul, working in tandem with a state Legislature under all-Democrat control, New York State’s criminal justice system has been turned upside down and inside out. Failed bail and discovery law reforms. A “Raise the Age” law (aka the Gang Recruitment Act) that removes criminal responsibility for violent 16- and 17-year-olds, thereby providing incentive for gangs to recruit and utilize younger members. A parole system that continues to outrageously release the most violent of inmates, including cop killers and child murderers. A correctional system that has become a powder keg of violence because it handcuffs administrators and correctional officers from being able to maintain control, and the inmates know it. The approval of new laws like the so-called “Clean Slate Act” facilitating a widespread sealing of millions of criminal records, 2.3 million records to be exact, including for any number of violent crimes including assault, armed robbery, attempted murder, manslaughter, kidnapping, drug trafficking, and others, regardless of the number of criminal convictions an individual has. The halls of state government are out of control and, consequently, the streets are out of control. Under the cover of a so-called “progressive” political ideology that has taken over the reins of power in Albany, this state has become less safe. Plain and simple. Statewide polling throughout the past few years confirms that New Yorkers view crime as one of the most critical issues confronting the state and that New York is moving in the wrong direction to address it. Albany Democrats keep trying to defend a mindset for which there is no defense. They keep trying to assure the rest of us that public protections remain in place. That, somehow, the reality of their “no consequences” approach to law and order is not real. Instead of changing their own ways, they keep trying to convince us that all we need to do to make things better is to stop believing what we keep seeing and hearing every week. 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.