Carol Bossard

“The snow had begun in the gloaming, and busily all the night had been heaping field and highway with a silence deep and white. Every pine and fir and hemlock wore ermine too dear for an earl, and the poorest twig in the elm tree was ridged inch-deep with pearl.”* And so, the cycle begins again. Winter has arrived, and will undoubtedly outstay its welcome, before our portion of the earth slowly finds spring. Just as we are enjoying spring, summer will suddenly pounce upon us, with all its heat and greenness. Eventually, golden fall will enchant us once more before we find ourselves back into winter again, a year from now. I am finally, in my older years, beginning to look at the “big picture” instead of always focusing on the close-up of often-worrisome details, though I still do the latter too often. This movement through twelve months seemingly took more time, thirty years ago, than it takes now. Of course that is a matter of perspective. If I could do anything with my writing, I’d etch in fiery words, the idea that: every moment is precious; that even in negative moments, we are full of life, and because of that, are able to find shining gleams of gold amid the darkness. January has always been a hopeful month, for me. It begins a new year, and there might be great possibilities ahead. The calendar pages are mostly empty of obligations. But, Oh. woe! January has suddenly filled up with doctors’ appointments which is not a really good omen. But isn’t it fine to have those skilled medical people available when needed? Our son came by the other day, having back issues, and growled: “Just who decided these were the golden years?” He has a long way to go before he can consider himself old, but he is absolutely right; aging brings challenges; and not just physical ones. I remember a friend, who was nearing 100 years, wondering why she was still alive when all her friends had passed on. At a small party she said: “I do enjoy all of you, but I am sad that there is no one left with whom I can share past experiences, who will understand them. It is true that as one’s generation thins, and as one’s capabilities ebb, one does wonder. But life itself, with all of its troubles, is reason enough, isn’t it? Even though I cannot whirl around in a polka, get the house cleaned in a day, plant four garden beds in an afternoon, or throw a 12th-Night party, I am alive and so far, lucid, a solid resource for our sons, grandchildren and family members. Kerm and I are a reliable “constant” for at least a while longer. Albert Camus said: “The tragedy of old age is not that one is old, but that one is young. Inside this aging body is a heart that is still curious, still as hungry, still as full of longing as it was in youth. I sit at the window and watch the world pass by, feeling like a stranger in a strange land, unable to relate to the world outside, and yet within me burns the same fire that once thought it could conquer the world. And the real tragedy is that the world still remains so distant and elusive, a place I could never quite grasp.”** I don’t regard my world as alien as Camus apparently felt, but perhaps that is because my world smaller and I have no desire to conquer those larger realms to which he refers. I do understand though, how one can feel young inside, regardless of parchment skin, whitening hair, and stiff joints. The inside person sometimes bears little relevance to the outside shell. According to the “young” part of my mind, I could square dance the evening away, buy the church that is for sale and turn it into a tea/book shop, or start an after-school spot for kids to gather. Fortunately, my “common sense” part kicks in and swats me (Gibb’s-style), bringing me back to reality. I recently heard a podcast by Dr. Kelly and Juliet;*** they were discussing signs of not aging well. One of the top signs was lack of mobility; increased episodes of falling and being unable to get up from the floor or the ground. Since this recently happened to me, and I was still recovering from that fall in November, I took special note of what they were saying. Bone-Builders has ceased to be in my community, so I’ve done no specific exercises to strengthen the legs. After listening to that, I have decided to begin again, regardless of how boring it is to exercise alone. It is important to me to maintain both mobility and independence. It is distressing to all concerned, when I must be picked up off the floor. So, in addition to the exercises, I will walk in the snow (carefully, with my new pointy cane) and take time for deep-breathing to strengthen my lungs, and maybe my balance. While out there, I’ll only visualize making snow angels and sliding down the hill. Just visualize! And now that I’ve mentioned snow, we’ve had a weather-cycle of light snow, melting away, and light snow again. No huge amounts but a constant covering. There seemed to be more, and it lasted longer, when I was growing up. Of course, I lived near Rochester, so we got lake-effect from Lake Ontario. I remember making snow forts, snow angels, and snowmen quite frequently when told to “get your nose out of that book and go outside!” In my teen years, we had sledding parties or skating parties, with hot chocolate afterward --- some delightful ones by moonlight. And we occasionally tobogganed; a hazardous sport when barbed wire fences are involved. Another part of my winter experience was how difficult it could be for dairy farmers when snowy roads closed. Until the 1960s, the road I lived on was unpaved; iffy driving in snow and mud. One snow storm, I remember, made it impossible for the milk truck to get through to our farm for two-three days. Cows do not stop giving milk just because there is nowhere to put it. So after all the milk cans were filled, we began finding other containers. Our final resort was sterilizing and then filling the bath tub with milk. My father swore me to secrecy, but I think that after 70 years, it’s probably OK to share what was a creative and frugal winter necessity. Today’s milk tanks may make excess storage easier perhaps, but I if I had a dairy farm, I’d keep a few of the old milk cans around, just in case. As we begin this year of 2025, I’ve been trying to equip my mind for happy things that this year may bring. Conscious gratitude may be a buffer against the frightening things; that are blatantly evident on every newscast and newspaper. Besides the activities mentioned above, there are some cold season blessings we may choose to make our winter pleasant. None of them involve TV, social media or driving in snow! We don’t have hot chocolate often, but once in a while, it is a comfortable way to end the day. Making soups; bean and ham, vegetable/beef, chicken noodle, potato; they taste great and make the house smell wonderful. Those stacks of books or magazines? What better time to read them than when we want to be cozily inside. A recent cartoon showed a girl sitting in a chair surrounded by stacks of books. The caption read: “Books won’t solve your problems, but ---- neither will housework. Read!” My sentiments too! There is music; because we are inside, we listen more often or maybe even produce some music ourselves. Popcorn and movies at home drown out those cold winds. Brisk breezes and fresh snow have a way of clearing the mind of sludgy thoughts too. A walk outside is good for both the mind and body. A warm coat, mittens and good boots are necessities, and most people in my age category should probably use a ski pole, cane or walking staff for balance. One of my jobs (before falling) was filling bird feeders. I may moan slightly in mid-afternoon, about going out into the cold, but once out there, I enjoy the chickadees bopping about, the tree branches against the sky, the flash of a cardinal, and checking who’s been by; via the tracks of rabbits, cats, mice, deer, and other visitors. January offers time to absorb some new ideas; to broaden our experiences, maybe to reach out to community in some way. The Spencer Grange used to have what we called a “Winter Wake-Up.” It was a dish-to-pass for anyone who wished to come. It brought a wide mix of people. There was conversation, sometimes musical instruments for a fun jam, and games or dancing. Being a comfortable part of a community is important, and we need to get together often. There are also many places to volunteer for everyone’s good: Food Pantry, Fire Station, Lion’s Club, Library, churches, etc. As we observe this yearly cycle, pay attention to the world around us – the star patterns, the times of meteor showers, changes in daylight hours. Taking the time to watch the sun rise or set is a pleasure for the soul. January skies can be brilliant. And increased daylight hours lift my spirits. So, begin this year’s cycle with relishing each day and being grateful for all the small beautiful happenings. Stay connected – with people around you, with the earth and skies, and with your own feelings and thoughts. Then, no matter what difficulties pop up in 2025, as they surely will, you will be glad you are alive and perhaps even grateful for January. Carol writes from her home in Spencer. She may be reached at: carol42wilde@htva.net. *James Russell Lowell – American poet and diplomat. 1819-1891. **Albert Camus, from “The Fall”. --- French writer, dramatist, activist. 1913-1960. ****Dr. Kelly and Juliet--- American mobility trainers.

Scattered scraps of Christmas wrap, curling ribbons and partially-burned candles, mark this morning, as I send greetings out for a continued good Christmas season (it is Christmas until Twelfth Night January 6th), a Blessed Chanukah season a Happy Boxing Day, and a joyous Kwanzaa festival. All of those make up today. Also, our granddaughters and family are here for a few days, and life is good. After a leisurely, get-it-yourself breakfast, I’m sitting at the computer, looking out at a wintery landscape, about to happily connect with you all. We got enough snow last Friday to make plowing the driveway necessary, but it is receding now. Yesterday was lovely, as it generally is when our family gathers; there’s laughter, appreciation and sharing of stories. And because we are in basic agreement about much of life in general the atmosphere is very relaxed. However, even if our whole extended family members gathered and there are some with whom we disagree in specific areas of life, we all have love enough, and manners enough, to listen to each other, and speak with consideration. Loving does not depend on thinking alike or agreeing about lifestyles. We love people for who they are to us --- quirks and all. That is what good families do, and what courteous people do, and definitely what Christians are supposed to do. Courtesy and caring should be our basic attitude toward each other anywhere. If we regard each other with love and respect, we can be honest, but listen and allow differing points of view to be spoken. If we look on each other as persons who both care and wish to learn, life would be better everywhere (infinitely better in Congress, where manners are few and adolescent behavior is rampant)! Manners seem to be slipping into rudeness and scorn, in a lot of places. My father, having himself been brought up by a stern mother, was adamant about proper behavior. There were to be no sloppy table manners; no interruptions of other’s conversations, or, Heaven forbid, no throwing a tantrum, or behaving in a rude manner in the presence of anyone at all, anywhere! We were to respect a person for who he/she was, and if we couldn’t, we were to keep quiet about it. While I don’t agree with my father’s way of teaching this, I do agree that children should be taught to be courteous people. This must have impressed my siblings as well as me for I never heard any of their children behaving in a way that created havoc when we were all together. The house could be filled with a dozen children of varying ages, and there was only laughter and conversation. There might be a scream or two if someone fell down the laundry chute or rolled out of the hay mow, but those were understandable reactions. I have to wonder about parents who let their kiddies mouth off, loudly demand attention or scream in displeasure. It is no favor for children to allow them to be rude or uncaring of others or to think that their little selves are the center of the universe. Teaching children to get along with others will be a benefit to them for all their lives. I’m not advocating “children should be seen and not heard”! Nor am I failing to recognize that there are emotional disturbances that surely need understanding help. That is quite a different thing from being obnoxious to get one’s own way. I am just saying, manners are a boon and a blessing to all concerned. But back to Christmas. Kerm and I can, from our vantage point, look back on a lot of family Christmas celebrations. Very few were ideal or without problems. When I was seven or eight, I had the mumps during Christmas holidays, and I remember being able to eat only mashed potatoes for dinner. And there was the Christmas my father built large doll houses for my niece, Jan, and for me (but whose would be finished first??). After Kerm and I were married, there were the years when traveling to visit family triggered colds and/or tonsillitis for our little ones. We spent a lot of nights in a rocking chair with coughing, wakeful children. Then there was the year our three-year-old decided to open gifts at 2 AM and he is still alive to talk about it. The year we moved to the Catskills, Christmas Eve brought a blizzard through those lovely mountains and most of central NYS. When we tried traveling on the next day (Christmas) --- we ended up in a ditch outside of Trumansburg. A super-kind family rescued us that night --- with our two children and an English cocker. They warmed us, fed us and gave us sleeping bags and blankets, and allowed our dog to point their cockateel all night. There were really good Christmases when we put tables through my mother’s dining room and living room; when our whole clan of 35 or so gathered. There was the Christmas when Grandma knitted every kid a pair of wooly slippers, and the Christmas when our small son’s 15-year-old uncle, gave him a drum!! There was the stellar Christmas when Kerm built a barn for the boys; a barn they could crawl into, with hand-painted-by-me wooden cows, pigs and chickens. We remember Kerm’s Grandma’ B.’s “Christmas cake,” opening gifts after the morning milking was done, and learning from Kerm’s Grandma Storm how to play triple-deck pinochle. We have a rich store of Christmas memories to warm us when we are feeling adrift and old. Looking back, seems to erase about 30 years from our ages. Christmases do not have to be perfect in every way; they were always exciting regardless, or maybe because of, mumps, weather, financial resources, sniffles or coughs, and even a drum. Every twelve-month cycle brings both good times and not-so-good to really terrible ones. I’m sure this has been true as long as there have been years. We are nearing the end of 2024, which seems quite impossible, and leaves me wondering how a yar can fly by so fast. Last January we began the new year by sharing a meal with friends. That is an excellent way to begin any year and we hope to do this again. Of course, by tradition, many people begin making resolutions for a better “next year.”. I recently read a blog by someone called The Urban Monk, whose writing I like. And he suggested that perhaps trying to make changes in our habits in January, with the snow flying, isn’t such a smart thing to do. He suggested that winter is a time to snuggle in, to simply enjoy a time of semi-hibernation. He feels winter can better be used as a time of restoration rather than resolution. Save the new energies and habits for spring. And that sounds good to me. I plan to use wintery days to put together at least two or three more scrapbooks; getting my piles of photos and memorabilia in some kind of order and tossing the rest. And, of course, there also will be the plant and seed catalogs just waiting for my enthusiastic scanning! (Repeat after me: “No new gardens! Downsizing!”) 😊 It isn’t my habit to make resolutions anyway. There are certainly things I hope to do, but basically, I hope to survive well, to find the most joy possible in each day, and to find peace amid the conflict and chaos around me. I would like to be less judgmental and less inclined to go off like a lit sparkler when I’m upset. But I know that kind of behavior adjustment, is a work in progress. I would also like to make sure I do not fall on my face (or any other part of my body) either literally or metaphorically. Falls are potentially lethal for people in their 80s, and I’d rather not go there. Age is maybe supposed to equal wisdom, but there are times when my wisdom is on par with a toddler. A small part of my brain tells me that I’ll be fine on a step stool, or skidding around in the snow, but another part of my brain --- thankfully --- usually flashes a warning signal that saves me from disaster. I’d like a tad more wisdom in those questionable areas of activity. And I’d like to have clear direction, on occasion, whether to speak firmly, or to keep my mouth shut. The learning process will likely be a hardship, but one that needs to be endured. As you look to the last days of December and peer into the new year beginning in January, I hope that you envision good times with friends, many moments of peace, and a continued growth of who you are. I saw a seminar being offered, the title of which was “A Year of Courageous Loving.” And the subtitle was “A Yearlong Journey of Compassion, Connection, and Courageous Love.” I thought that this is probably the ideal way to look ahead in a year that must be difficult. There is so little peace, so much suffering, so little compassion, so much selfishness and a plethora of twisted values. If we meet these challenges with anger, despair, or bitterness, we only contribute to the universal mess. Learning to love with agape love, in the midst of all that we see as bad, inappropriate, and even evil, that is a weapon that will, eventually, make a difference for good. Meanwhile, in these last December days, I find this advice by Richard Street to be good: “Enjoy these short days. Curl up with a book, a candle, and a glass of something you like. Revel in the dark depths of December, so beautiful, black, and utterly without expectation. Longer days will be coming soon enough.” Carol writes from her home in Spencer.

Are you sitting with your feet up, listening to lovely music and enjoying the day? Relishing the season of Advent? Perhaps not; for many, ‘tis the season of constant rushing around, and endless “to-do” lists. For at least fifty years, I’ve been trying to bring more serenity into my very own holiday chaos, sometimes succeeding for a bit, but the rushing around always catches me at some point, tossing me hither and leaving my mind yon and a-whirl! I find myself overwhelmed by the metaphorical weight of “wreaths, ribbons, baubles, bangles and beads.” But, with determination (and probably advanced age!), each year, holiday time gets a little better. I may be a slow learner, but I do pick up a hack or two every year, that, when applied, eases my holiday season and improves my mental health. I used to be madly sewing holiday pajamas for our small sons, robes for grandmas, sachet bags, neckties, etc. Said sons are quite large now, and can acquire their own pajamas, and I plan no more sewing projects for them or anyone else. In the kitchen, I no longer make six kinds of candy and a dozen kinds of cookies. I find two or three kinds of cookies and one batch of fudge is more than sufficient ---especially when everyone is watching their A1C and trying to stem the tide of weight gain. Now, usually when my head begins spinning, I very sensibly sit down and listen to some Christmas music, from the Kings’ Singers, Enya, the Monks of the Weston Priory or Rod McKuen. And I am restored. When one lightens the daily weight of too much to do, and moving too fast, it becomes possible to share the warmth and blessing of our personal Light within. This year, because I had the misfortune of falling and injuring both ankles, just before Thanksgiving, I’m slowed down by necessity. Talk about bad timing! Or is it? While I am recovering, it is certainly difficult to rearrange furniture, hang the greens and buzz about in my usual speedy manner. And that is a bit frustrating, but impaired ability has taught me several things: 1) It isn’t so bad to allow people to help you. I greatly enjoyed Thanksgiving where my only contribution was a casserole of Dutchess potatoes taken from the freezer. I have felt blessed by the flowers, applesauce, Emails and cards from friends. I also was grateful for the kind assistance provided by sons and daughters-in-law. 2) For right now, I have discovered that I can enjoy the season without some of the decorations and traditions that I thought necessary. This may not be true of every year, but the world actually doesn’t fall apart if I take a nap instead of decking the halls. 3) This experience has helped me to sort out what is important to our happiness and what is ephemeral. There is much that is pleasant and pretty but won’t be missed. I save my limited energy for what delights me. One of those things is putting out simple seasonal decorations. I like pumpkins on the porch for Halloween and Thanksgiving, and then evergreens for Christmas. When it is time (and this year, the days were so warm that the jack-o-lanterns sagged quickly), the pumpkins go to the turkeys and deer. Then, the green wreaths with red velvet bows, take over the porch. I enjoy the annual reappearance of old ornaments, setting up the creche with all our odd, collection of santons (figures), and creating a winter scene with the Sno Babies. And I love the large bouquet of seeded eucalyptus that I only get at this time of the year. There will be one difference this year. My rearrangement of the living room in September, left no room for squeezing in a floor-to-ceiling Christmas tree. Just none!! I’m very skilled too, at squeezing things in, but even I can’t do it this time. So, for the second time in our lives, we will be having a table tree. Our first, and so far, only table tree was in 1964, our first Christmas together. We lived in what was optimistically called an “efficiency apartment” just over the D.C. line into College Park, Maryland. This abode consisted of a tiny kitchen, a miniscule bathroom, and a slightly larger room that doubled as a living room and bedroom, in the below-ground level of a house. Kerm was in grad school, and I had been working all of three months, as a 4-H and Youth educator for Maryland Cooperative Extension. To mention that our budget was tight would be redundant. Kerm finally found an “affordable” Scotch pine ($35 in 1964 was considerable!! Rent was only $95/month!), and set it up on the only possible piece of furniture, an oak dresser. We found some shiny inexpensive ornaments, a string of lights, and a box of tinsel. This was our first Christmas tree. And it was beautiful! Another dilemma created by our extremely limited income that year, was with Christmas gifts. At the time, I was accustomed to giving to 14 nieces and nephews as well as the adults in our lives. What could we do? Happily, we found an unusual solution to part of our problem, as we were exiting a five and dime store. There was a 16-inch-tall “Gonk” on display; a creature that resembled the Shmoos in the “Lil Abner cartoons.* When inflated, they kind of rocked and popped back up when knocked over. And they were $2 apiece. What a success they were! As the living room, at Christmas filled with gonks, everyone laughed and laughed, and one kid who we thought too old for a gonk, complained that he hadn’t gotten one. Happy Christmases do not have to be expensive. Inflation has made gifting a bit harder, but ingenuity still works. Baked gifts and home-made candy are always wonderful and so are promissory notes for helping out at a later time. I grew up with a regular Christmas tree every year with lights, tinsel, and Shiny Brite ornaments, as did Kerm. Sometimes we even had “angel hair” (popular in the 1950s), that prickly-to-the-hands stuff made of spun glass, resembling cotton candy. But after my father died, and my mother was alone, the large tree became too much for her to handle, even with help. She gradually drifted into setting up a large crock full of evergreen branches from her own landscaping---spruce, fir, pine, and yew. Her decorations were simple, often just bright red bows or white snowflakes! She passed the Shiny Brite ornaments on to us. I was a little sad to see that change, but the fragrance and the vision of the mixed greens was just as Christmas-y as a tree stretching from floor to ceiling. And the really important thing, that we came home to find, hadn’t changed the pleasure of being together. Humans need togetherness to really thrive in life. If one’s blood family isn’t compatible, then we must create a family from friends. No one should allow themselves to be isolated. Everyone has heard that “no man is an island unto himself,”* and this is quite true. We need each other. Some of us are more comfortable than others with plenty of alone time. But every single one of us also craves companionship. One of the worst results of the pandemic, in addition to the deaths, and loss of many small businesses, was the effect of isolation on people. It created major difficulties for kids who were doing all of their schoolwork on line, and also for adults who had no social resources. Some elderly people in nursing homes died without family nearby; they weren’t allowed in. I hope that if another such time comes along, we realize how damaging all that isolation can be, and will try some ideas for mitigating the loneliness even as we try to keep from spreading disease (masks are useful things after all) We are undeniably interconnected! The light from the sun is needed for our survival on earth. The Light that we seek, each year in December, in the seasons of Chanukah and Christmas is necessary for our spiritual enlightenment and growth. And Kwanzaa also reminds us about the blessing of Light and a supportive community. Releasing some of the weight of our imaginary holiday burdens and taking time to find lightness of spirit, is the purpose of Advent. Christmas Eve is only 12 days away. Chanukah begins at sundown on Christmas Day. Kwanzaa begins on the 26th. With dark clouds (both real and metaphorical) around every corner, carrying Light within is not always easy. I think that this next year may be one of those difficult times for many. We need a spiritual connection with a Higher Power than our own, we need to realize our ties to and responsibility for the earth, and we always need each other. A personal in-filling and sharing of Light is what saves humanity and this world. Leo Tolstoy*** knew that when he said: “There is something in the human spirit that will survive and prevail --- a tiny and brilliant light burning in the heart of man that will not go out, no matter how dark the world becomes.” May this holiday time be full of blessings for you --- music, laughter, good memories and a strengthening of your spirit. Let your Light shine! Carol Bossard writes from her home in Spencer. She may be reached at: carol42wilde@htva.net. *”Lil Abner” by Al Capp ---American cartoonist and humorist, known for his satirical cartoon, “Lil Abner”. 1909-1979. **John Donne ---English poet, scholar, soldier and cleric in the Church of England. “No man is an island” came from Meditation XVII --- a study of the relatedness of humans. ***Madeleine L’Engle – American writer and teacher. Wrote both young person and adult fiction and non-fiction. 1918-2007. ****Leo Tolstoy – Of the Russian nobility and a well-known writer. 1828-1910.

“Something told the wild geese it was time to go. Though the fields lay golden, something whispered ‘SNOW”! Leaves were green and stirring, berries luster-glossed. But beneath warm feathers, something cautioned ‘FROST!’ All the sagging orchards steamed with amber spice, but each wild breast stiffened at remembered ice. Something told the wild geese it was time to fly ---summer sun was on their wings, winter in their cry.”* There is something about hearing geese fly over, especially at night. Their call ignites a breathless wish to fly along with them ---- to escape the routine and anxiety; to be free, to explore warmer, sunnier, magical places. When mid-November comes, if snow hasn’t already made an appearance, we know that it will be along soon. I like the brown, taupe and gray tones of November, especially before the snows come. I like the designs of the bare tree branches against the sky. I like the textures and patterns, the different shades of brown along the roadside; the round galls on golden rod stems, the delicate tan cups of Queen Anne’s Lace, and the many-shaped seed heads that stand ready to drop their fruitfulness everywhere. And I like foggy mornings that disappear into sunshine two hours later. Sunlight becomes more precious because of its rarity. It is said that we have five senses (sight, smell, touch, sound, and taste), but there is a nameless, sixth sense, that pops up serendipitously when certain things alert us, like flying geese. Because of our travels, the recent untimely (in my opinion) deaths of friends, and All Saint’s Day back on November 1st, I’ve been reminiscing and remembering. I often wonder about my memory files; how many of them must be squished, in confused disorder, into my brain somewhere. If only there were a guaranteed way to call them forth at need. Instead, they make random appearances, often oddly mixed and strangely unrelated to whatever I am doing. I can’t really blame my brain for refusing to organize itself; I’ve always disliked filing, as anyone who viewed my desk would know; I’m sure the brain that fills my head, had something to do with that. However, the oddest things come popping into my consciousness, uncalled. Sometimes it is the snatch of a song like: “Tell me a story, tell me a story, oh tell me a story, remember what you said. You promised me, you said you would; you gotta give in so I’ll be good. Tell me a story and then I’ll I go to bed.” I can’t remember how old that song is (very) ---- or when I last heard it (when my kids were little?). And then there are those unconscious, jumbled memories that assemble themselves into strange dreams during my sleeping hours. If I could remember then all, they’d surely make successful novels. A couple of fine writers have books about how all of our senses impact our daily lives; Gretchen Rubin --- The Five Senses, and Diane Ackerman – A Natural History of the Senses. Touch, for example. The accidental touch of a nettle leaf reminds me, not happily, of the time I grabbed a whole plant, not realizing its nasty potential. It is a good thing that nettle has other, good qualities, both edible and cosmetic. The soft velvet of mullein leaves is as soothing to my fingers as mullein tea is to a bronchial cough Touching any of the herbs fills the air with fragrance. When I’m wrapped in my great-grandmother’s quilt, or the soft, knitted throw made by my daughter-in-law, I am warmed twice; my body by the extra layer, and my soul when thinking of all the stitches that went into these gifts. When preemie babies are in the hospital for a time, volunteers come in to stroke or hold those babies. Without human touch, babies do not thrive. It is true of other creatures; baby chimps need touch or they die. Foals and calves all need a mother’s tongue to bring them into full life. I remember hearing from a client in a nursing home how she missed human contact. Her remaining family was sparse, she didn’t have children, and there were few, if any, times that someone hugged her or held her hand. That came to mind as I watched an episode of “Bones” on TV. The whole scientific staff was shut behind glass doors on Christmas Day because of some toxin that had accidentally been loosed. Their families could only come to visit them with the glass barrier in in between. And as each family came, they put their hands on the glass and “touched” the fingers of their imprisoned loved one. Without any words, this segment emphasized the importance of touch; how crucial to our well-being. A kind of touch, hugging has now become more common as a greeting, especially if it has been a while since people have been together. And that is a good thing, I think. I was a little slow to accept hugging, especially from people I didn’t know all that well or at all. My first exposure came at a Faith-At-Work conference. In my growing-up world, my parents hugged me, but we didn’t casually hug others. At this conference, everyone was hugging everyone. We had come to this event with our pastor and his wife. Kerm had no trouble with hugging and neither did Connie, our pastor’s wife. However, Bill and I stood a bit apart, watching, as if we were afraid hugging was contagious. And you know, it was, and is! By the end of the conference, we were hugging fellow attendees along with everyone else. I think that all of us should probably make the effort to be a bit more touchy-feely with people, especially those who are so alone. When visiting people in lonely circumstances, it might be kind, and even healing, to hold a hand or give a gentle shoulder hug. I have a friend who, when he comes into a room, often gives shoulder massages. It is a kind gesture to those of us who travel through life with tenseness in, around, and about us. And I know he does that in nursing homes when he visits. Touch - so important to our health and how we feel about ourselves! Another task that employs touch, and sight, and smell, and brings memories surging back in, is going through old blanket chests and cupboards. Mine have some wonderful old textiles: blankets, quilts, laces, and linens that my mother either inherited or acquired over her 94 years of living, and a few more that I’ve found in my auction forays. There are two possible scents; lavender and sweet clover ---both of which she (and I) included in the chests. Because we really need to down-size, I have given quite a few things away, but I’m running out of people who care for these old items. It is the same with lovely old dishes, glassware, and silver. No one wishes to wash things by hand, and everyone wants cups and plates that can be microwaved. Wedgewood, Spode, and Minton may be prestigious names in the porcelain world, but they carry little influence with the digital generation. (I did notice that new Spode plates can be microwaved.) As I imagine the lives of my grandmother and great grandmother who wove the blankets and pieced the quilts, and who owned the dishes and glassware, I am grateful for the lovely items, of course but also for all of the unseen qualities that I inherited from them. I know their lives were often difficult, and I feel their strength flowing into me when there are challenges to be met, as there surely are right now and as there are in every era. Speaking of gratitude, we have only a few days until Thanksgiving. Our family gatherings have changed over the years, as things tend to do. We used to drive two hours to be with extended family. Now, in a different era, we gather with our own family; all eight of us, plus an occasional friend or two. When I look around the table, I am still happy and thankful for the company and the day. I think that gratitude for simply living, waking in the morning and being mobile, is a daily crash course in glad awareness for all of our senses. Especially do I appreciate that unexpected sixth sense that comes so unexpectedly and with a a touch of strangeness. As we move further into November, this poem, by Dixie Willson**, speaks of that un-named sixth sense, and seems appropriate: “I like the fall, the mist and all, I like the night owl’s lonely call –and wailing sound of wind around. I like the gray November day, and bare, dead boughs that coldly sway against my pane. I like the rain. I like to sit and laugh at it ---And tend my cozy fire a bit. I like the fall ---- the mist and all.” Carol writes from her home in Spencer. She may be reached at: carol42wilde@htva.net. *Rachel Field --- “Something Told The Wild Geese”. She was an American poet, novelist, and children’s fiction writer. **Dixie Willson –An American writer, author of children’s books, novels and short stories as well as poetry. 1890-1974.

Every year, I’ve written about Halloween, but never had the opportunity to send out an essay ON Halloween. As you know, this is a popular, and controversial,day. The word comes from the Celtic “Samhain” (pronounced Sa-ween). It was the Harvest festival and beginning of the new year in Ireland and surrounding regions; sort of like New Year’s Eve for us. The belief, at that time, was that on Samhain, the “curtain” between the here and the hereafter was very thin. Uneasy or angry souls could come back to admonish/ take vengeance on those who had caused them grief during life on earth. So, people carried candle-lit vegetables (lanterns were too expensive for many) at night, to feel safer, going from one place to another. And, of course, all sorts of spooky legends have grown up around this day, involving “eye of newt and toad spit,” ghosts, skeletons, headless horsemen, dressing up as someone else, bon fires, and Jack-o-lanterns. Some people find this autumn celebration, at the very least, annoying, and others, totally unacceptable, feeling that it promotes Paganism and maybe, actual evil. Some just ignore it, pulling the curtains to avoid trick & treaters. Others find it fun to dress up, to go trick-or-treating, or to have parties with slightly spooky games and steaming punch. We probably fall into the latter category, for we have had several Halloween parties over the years, sewed costumes for our children and grandchildren, and carved many a Jack-o-lantern. Mostly our boys did not go trick or treating; we had the parties instead, that included skits, mazes, seasonal food, and campfires. Our former house had a split-level attic with gables. It was perfect for a Halloween maze. That was the same year we took the “Duck, Duck” skit from “The Electric Company” (or was it “Sesame Street”?) and reproduced it in our living room. Home-made costumes became pajamas or went into the dress-up box when Halloween was over. One year a Mexican student was staying with us; he was part of an “Up With People” performance, and his group was having a Halloween party. From our capacious dress-up box, we outfitted him with my sister’s nurse’s cape and a fake moustache, until, with his dark, good looks, he made a convincing Dracula. He only had to buy fake fangs! Note: everyone needs a costume box, it’s not just for Halloween. I do think that many lawn decorations observed in our recent travels, are too expensive, and of dubious taste - macabre even. The dancing circles of ghosts are kind of fun. Some amusing displays in several places this year are using the fake skeletons. On one lawn there were probably a dozen skeletons busily “working”; mowing, raking, pushing a cart! And just down the road from us, a line of skeletons stands on guard, outside an old barn. They really should be chicken skeletons; that barn was full of poultry when we moved here. And ---- a warning about those cob-webby things that people drape over shrubbery; they create lethal traps for good insects (butterflies, moths, bees) and some small birds, so, not good. Thus far, I’m sticking to pumpkins, corn stalks and a scarecrow or two and a treat for any kid who makes it up our long driveway. Some believe I’m too casual about Halloween. I do not dismiss the potential for evil in this world, and I know that on Halloween some misinformed individuals are involved in unpleasantness like a black mass and similar unsavory practices. I believe however, these are minimal and obvious when compared to the evils caused by greed and the worship of power and money. I think we find more real evil in respectable places; Congress, country clubs, business offices, yachts, and arenas; places we do not necessarily expect evil to be. Wealth, status and glib language impress too many, and can create moral blindness! This obtuseness allows us to shrug off daily practices of injustice, greed, abuse and hate-mongering. So, a fun celebration of Halloween seems relatively innocent in comparison. There are other special days at about the same time. When Christianity was introduced into the Celtic regions of Europe, the new religious leaders made a habit of “revising” pagan holidays, turning them into Christian celebrations. Halloween became “All Soul’s (or All Hallows Eve) Eve” and the day after Halloween became “All Saints’ Day.” These are times to remember the wonderful people in our lives; those still with us, and those who are no longer here, but who have impacted us in good way. For our first Christmas together with family, Kerm’s Grandma Storm quietly asked me if we went to church. I replied that we did --- but not every Sunday. She nodded and said: “That’s good. You’ll go more after a while.” This turned out to be quite true. When we moved to Pennsylvania, the pastor of the church we chose, and his wife, not only made us welcome, but made sure we had many opportunities to grow. They convinced us we should teach Sunday school --- which guaranteed we’d be there every week and created so-o-o many learning experiences! The pastor was new and we were new, and we shared some fine occasions. In Livingston Manor, we became better acquainted with the Jewish faith and Catholicism via good friends and participation in Interfaith Marriage Encounter. And in Spencer, we’ve found guidance and examples in good pastors and good people. As we look backward, we are very grateful for all our grandmas, grandpas, aunts, pastors and wise friends who have blessed us in many ways. Speaking of special days, the autumn time change is about to be inflicted upon us. This very weekend, Daylight Savings Time will be whisked away, the clocks will be turned an hour backward, and, in another month, it be dark at 4:30, Standard Time. There is one friend in my life (I suppose there could possibly be more…) who rejoices over this day that gives her an extra hour. People who like this end of the time change, tend to get up early. I do not, so I don’t need morning light as much as I need late afternoon/evening light. As a result, that first weekend in November always leaves me a tad grumpy, even supposedly having had an extra hour of sleep. I look forward, with eagerness, to the winter solstice in December. My motto is “bring back the light”!! Life goes on, and as we come to the end of October (a most delightful month) and waltz into November (an iffy month), we have about three weeks to enjoy the month’s variations of time and weather before the holidays are upon us and we are caught up in the rushing hither and yon. I must bake fruitcakes (a new tradition begun after I retired). I wait to bake them until I’m sure the bears have denned; I’d be upset should a hungry bear break into our porch for the fruit cakes he smells mellowing there. Now lest you try to tell me that even bears won’t eat fruit cake, I will inform you that my fruit cakes are yummy! The spicy cake batter is full of raisins, glazed fruit, pear conserve, pecans, Brazil nuts, almonds, and a “touch” of B&B Liqueur. The cakes rest a while, and are basted again with B&B Liqueur, after which they are ready to share with other fruit cake lovers. And my afternoon tea time becomes an especially a delightful experience. (And a razz-berry or two, to my fruit-cake-denying sons and husband!) Even more fun than fruitcakes was our recent pinochle night. We used to play frequently, but life has gotten more complicated, so a pinochle evening is nearly an annual event now. Unfortunately, when there are long gaps between activities, some of us tend to forget what we are supposed to do. Is there a right and left bower? Nope, that’s euchre. Oh, someone must open with a bid? What makes meld again? “What do you mean a king of hearts can’t marry a queen of diamonds? We managed to pull ourselves back up to speed after two or three hands so we could actually converse and play cards at the same time, and we were reminded of how much we enjoy each other. We also observed that two or three people still should be sent to “Over bidders Anonymous!” We aren’t serious about our card-playing but we are very serious about the good it brings into our days. I am convinced that the camaraderie and laughter build up our immune systems. And the recall of our playing skills keeps our minds agile. Friends and fun are undeniably as health-building as vitamins!! On this day of ghosts, goblins and big, orange pumpkins, I hope you will be doing something good, fun or refreshing. A line from this appropriate poem should challenge our senses: “….listen…..with faint, dry sound, like steps of passing ghosts, the leaves, frost-crisped, break from the trees and fall….”* Look with kindly tolerance at costumed kiddies, having a fine time scuffling through those same dry leaves. Think about old Ireland and the interesting Druid theology that led to many of our customs today. And take time to appreciate daily life here and now. Even with so many frightening things in our world (including the coming elections), there are stars in the sky, birds singing, puppies rolling on rugs and music waiting for the listening ear. And --- “October baptize me with leaves! Swaddle m e in corduroy and nurse me with split pea soup. October, tuck tiny candy bars in my pockets and carve my smile into a thousand pumpkins. O Autumn! O teakettle! O grace!”** And take responsibility! We have good lives in this imperfect but fine land. You may have grievances, but living here is still better than in most other countries of this world. Be a good citizen and VOTE!!! No excuses! Carol Bossard writes from her home in Spencer. She may be reached at: carol42wilde@htva.net. *from a poem (November Night) by Adelaide Crapsey --- American poet and writer from Rochester, NY. 1878-1914. **Rainbow Rowell –American author known for young adult and contemporary adult novels.

These first two weeks of October have flown by, as have most days and months, to my over-busy mind. Suddenly we need a fire in the wood stove on chilly mornings. The plants that I will attempt to overwinter are inside now and the garden looks relieved that fall has come and it can sleep until spring. If you could get an opinion from my garden, I’m quite sure it would relate a sad story about being neglected; that the summer was tough, the weeds grew tall, September brought little rain, and it is feeling unloved! Fortunately, it is now time for good gardens to go dormant and to build up hopes for next year. There is no longer any possibility of hanging onto summer, though one may still plant a few more spring bulbs. But nix on another row of lettuce and there’s no basking in the hot, hot sun or gardening in as few clothes as possible. It is now time for flannel shirts and wool socks. We harvested both tomatoes and potatoes, but neither were abundant nor were they large. And the tomatoes were rather tasteless. Other gardeners in this area agreed, about their tomatoes. My radishes grew out of control, but I have waited until now to pull them. In their over-growth, they bore lots of small white flowers, and I noticed that bees were all over the flowers. Since I didn’t have all that many flowering annuals this year, I thought leaving the radish flowers would be a kind thing to do. Bees need all the help they can get, but hmmm… I wonder how radish honey would taste????! We’ve been pruning things quite severely this fall; my lilacs have all acquired some disease and many of their branches have died. The leaves aren’t looking good either; most of them fell a month ago after becoming brown and dry. I’m hoping that some of them show life next spring. I would hate to lose that wonderful purple mist and the fragrance. Other shrubs have grown out of control --- seemingly suddenly, though I’m sure they have been sneakily growing bit by bit until ----ZOOM---- they could take over the house. I can understand how the impenetrable rose hedge grew up around Sleeping Beauty in the old fairy tale. And good for the prince; it takes real courage, not to mention muscle, to fight with a determined shrub! Kerm has had a many-years-war with multiflora roses and one or two of my climbing ones. In the last essay, I spoke of depression, an ailment that plagues so many people. I seldom succumb to it in the Fall of the year; instead, I feel a certain lassitude --- lack of ambition to accomplish. By mid-October, I have this strong urge to curl up in a corner of the couch with my wonderful wooly coverlet and a stack of books. Depending on the time of day, there should be either a cup of tea or a cup of hot chocolate on the end table. I wonder if this is the autumn version of Spring Fever! It seems to be how I transition into late fall and early winter. Unfortunately, my desire to be inert, does little to accomplish house-keeping or meal-preparation☹. So,eventually, out of guilt and necessity, I try to summon enough energy to put in another load of laundry, make that casserole, and get at those cobwebs. I fully agree with “Alice**” who when she was “Through The Looking Glass” said: “’Oh, it is too bad, ‘she cried. ‘I never saw such a house for getting in the way. Never!’”* Deer season is nearly with us again, so for the deer who take up residence on our hill it is a time to be extra-alert. Our son has been chopping his way up our hill and I’m sure the deer are observing. Over the summer, big winds have blown down quite a few large branches that now bar advancing feet or vehicles. Shawn has both a tree-stand and a blind up there somewhere, and he hopes that after a few weeks, those structures will seem “normal” to the deer, but I believe deer may be smarter than he thinks. Shawn hunts with a crossbow and a gun in the appropriate seasons. Since he likes venison and uses it, I don’t give him grief about hunting deer. I am aware that the deer population, without enough natural predators, tends to over-run gardens, cause many an accident on the roads, and spread disease among themselves. So, hunting is useful to mitigate what we humans have done to unbalance nature. But I am also glad that when the hunter drives down the driveway, the deer come out to eat our wild apples and bird seed. Sometimes I’ve seen them emerge from the woods in time to watch Shawn’s truck roll down the driveway. September and October have been very social months. Friends from afar came to visit, so, of course, a party was absolutely necessary. A couple of days later, our neighbors came over for ice cream sundaes and conversation. It is so easy to isolate one’s self; we are all busy, and sometimes we just don’t take the time to be neighborly. Getting together for informal fun helps us stay acquainted. Over the first weekend in October, we drove to Vermont to spend some time with our son and family. The weekend after that, Kerm’s siblings and families came to our house for an afternoon of sharing stories and good food. We will continue our connecting by driving to Pennsylvania for a couple of days with friends there. Our time in Vermont exposed us to beautiful scenery during leaf-peeper season, and gave us time with our granddaughters, daughter-in-law, and son. We explored a bit, rode to Burlington to see Kaylah at college and got a glimpse of Ashlyn’s senior photo ops which, I assure you, are far more artistically done than my 1960 senior pictures. We feel very comfortable with Vermont’s twisty/often-dirt roads; we have spent vacation time there off and on for quite a few years. The Green Mountains look very blue in the distance and the rock formations are impressive. The leaves were a beautiful mélange of colors. It is hard to imagine that solid granite moving for any reason at all (rather like some people’s minds; great in the mountains, not so great in our thinking.). We don’t do as much traveling now, nor do we go as far as in former years, but getting out and about keeps us alert to the world around us. We may not have all that many years to feel able to take off and safely drive whenever we wish. So, we mustn’t waste an opportunity to do so while we can. We need to be with people who make our lives better just by being, and this time, we did miss some of those. I wish we’d had time to visit with all our New England friends and family while we were in Vermont. We didn’t want to neglect you, but time away does have its limits. Meanwhile it is mid-October, and may I call your attention to the old childhood craft of waxing colorful leaves and hanging them in the window? That is simple and fun, but there is actually another way to preserve them for a table arrangement. ou will need a bottle of glycerin (local drug store) and water. Make a solution of 2 parts boiling water to 1 part glycerin.Stir well and cool a bit. Place your cut branches with lovely leaves into 3 inches of the solution and allow them to stand until the leave darken a bit. Remove and arrange in a vase. The attractive foliage will last for weeks. I plan to spray the Advent wreath (coming all too quickly) with this solution, as an experiment. Hopefully, it will keep the needles from drying out quite so soon. We don’t want a wreath fire to enliven our services; the services are (in a very good way, of course) quite lively enough already. Henry David Thoreau** wrote: “Live each season as it passes, breathe the air, drink the drink, taste the fruit, and resign yourself to the influence of the earth.” There are specific autumn aromas ---- decaying vegetation, sunshine on damp ground, burning leaves (though one really shouldn’t do this), drying grasses, and sometimes the sharp, cold smell of snow. Every day has small, quiet happenings if we are observant. Savoring these little miracles is how we grow in gratitude. We need to be appreciating whatever season we are in with all its quirks and delights. So do take time to really enjoy October before suddenly it turns into November. Carol Bossard writes from her home in Spencer. She may be reached at: carol42wilde@htva.net. *“Through The Looking Glass” by Lewis Carroll, an English author, poet, mathematician, photographer and Anglican Deacon. 1832-1898. **Henry David Thoreau --- quotation from “The Gardener’s Assistant.” Thoreau was an American philosopher, poet, essayist and naturalist. 1817-1862.

October can be the quintessential autumn month full of sunshine, changing foliage and mellow breezes, or, it can rain, blow, and even, very occasionally, snow. Kerm used to schedule a multi-county 4-H horse show on Columbus Day weekend, and several times, there was rain and twice, there was snow. And there have been a few snowy Halloweens. We’ll hope for a sunny and mellow October this year; we have a couple of road trips in mind, and want really good weather. Then too, family will be coming to our house for a get-together, and we’d hope roads would be good for their drive and for hiking up our “dragon-infested” hill (we put up a sign that said: “Beyond this there may be dragons!”). We’d like that perfect October day, when it is as though angels had made a night visit to touch up the leaves; making everything delightfully crisp, colorful and exhilarating. I’m glad my brain accepts angels and dragons; it makes life more interesting. While leaves are dancing in the breezes outside, inside, it is time for people-dancing. Community dances usually begin in the fall, and there will be the polka, square dancing and line dancing. Sadly, I don’t think I have energy or balance for either the polka or square dancing, but maybe line-dancing would work. FYI, the gem of the month is the opal (found largely in Australia), and the flower is the marigold, which is a bit odd since in many places, marigolds would be frosted by October. But the frilly blossoms do hold all the gold, mahogany, reds and oranges of fall. I thought I had none, but yesterday, I found three plants peeking brightly out from beneath the weeds. We have several family and friend birthdays in October. My brother, Ken’s birthday was at the end of October, often celebrated with a yummy molasses cake, and just a day later, Kerm’s parents marked their wedding anniversary. My sister-in-law celebrates her birthday mid-month as does a good friend. So, it is a month of festivities and memories. It is also, annually,a time to adjust things in my house, energy permitting. With Kerm’s help, I rearranged the living room a week ago. This is not an easy task; the room isn’t all that large so there are not many choices for some of the large furniture. Things like the book case, the wood stove and a desk are sort of permanently in place. But I do what I can to change the setting a bit. Both sons dropped in at different times, but their query was the same – “Hmm --- you rearranged things. What prompted that?” Maybe their wives don’t disrupt things when they are once in place, but you’d think the boys would remember that pulling chairs and tables around and about is something I’ve always done. Moving furniture gives me a fresh perspective on life. And it also encourages some deeper cleaning than the norm. October, delightful though it might be, isn’t all bubbles and happiness. We were with a group of friends lately, chatting about many things, as in "The time has come, the Walrus said, to talk of many things. Of shoes and ships and sealing wax, of cabbages and kings ---and when the sea is boiling hot--- and whether pigs have wings!” Naturally, there was discussion of the looming election, which for most of us, created a heaviness of spirit. Then, the fall season itself, can, for some, bring discouragement and even, depression. Difficult events at the same time, can worsen this feeling; dancing is the las thing that depression wishes to do, and there seem to be many more dragons than angels! As sunny days grow fewer in the Finger Lakes, the gray skies can bring bleak attitudes, rather like an emotional flu bug. Gloom that might vanish on a sunny warm day, hangs around and grows darker when the skies are gray or spitting out precipitation of some sort. I have written before about depression because I have lived with it several times, as have a number of friends; it is neither fun to work through, nor easy to disperse. Those who have not experienced it are usually clueless about its depth and difficulties. Admittedly, it is hard on the people around us when depression hits, but more understanding of the ailment and continued patience, can help. We need to talk about it! Depression, like any other ailment, can become even more serious if left too long untended. An analogy would be a broken leg; painful, but repairable. But if one leaves a broken leg untreated, infection may set in, then gangrene, and one might end up losing that leg, or even one’s life. Depression may begin as a light case of “the blues.” But it can rapidly become a heavy enough cloud to engulf a person, who to needs the intervention of professional help. Help may be talk- therapy or medication therapy, or both. There are also things that we can do individually that may hurry the process on. Getting out and about (not easy but doable), interacting with other people --- especially those who are light-bearers to the soul are steps in healing. Reading books or watching videos or podcasts that talk about depression will also help, as does journaling. Listening to music, being outside in fresh air and sunshine, and interacting with pets are all things that inspire us, and help to dissipate the block cloud that clogs our minds and spirits. Whatever path we may choose, whichever changes to our lives we need, the important thing is to not ignore our feelings. We need to give ourselves the sort of care that will restore us to ourselves. And I would say to everyone who is deep in despair, repeat these two mantras: “This too shall pass!”* and “I will STAY - the world needs me!”** October is time to ready ourselves for the cold months ahead. This month has enough rain and chilly wind to remind us that worse-weather days are coming. Even if we are not inclined toward depression, winter can be challenging, and we all need ways to get happily through it. We repair the bird feeders, hoping that no more bears come by to pull them down. We check the insulation around Smoke’s cat bed by the back door and make sure there is straw in the former dog abode, for wandering feral cats. Kerm splits more wood and kindling to feed our morning fire in the wood stove. We load up on sunflower seeds for the bird feeders, and chicken scratch for the wild turkeys. We surround the rose bushes and azaleas with burlap, protecting them from both wind and deer. This does help, but the far-too-intelligent deer have learned to lean on the burlap cages, and squiggle their noses in for a leafy tidbit now and then. On Facebook, there is a fun sketch of a squirrel, scurrying up and down a tree, carrying stacks of books to his hole; attempting a good balance of nuts to novels. Appropriate, for one of our fall jobs is to make very sure we have enough books to get us happily through the winter. Of course, we have our own books, and we enjoy re-reading many of them. But we also need some new literary material. We go to used book stores, regular book stores and on-line sources. This might be a very good time to renew library cards; both Spencer and Van Etten have lots of great books, including ones for listening. Too, there are library book sales- one coming up next week in Candor. With sufficient books of many kinds: fiction, non-fiction, biographies, poetry, and even re-reading books from childhood like the Anne of Green Gables series, or the Black Stallion books, you might not even notice the snow blocking your path or the sleet coming down. There is still time to get in any traveling we want to do before the roads become iffy. When I retired, I determined not to subject myself to slippery roads, ever again. I had driven, and ridden, on some perfectly dreadful ones to and from work. This hasn’t completely worked for me (unfortunately, Kerm considers bad roads a challenge!), but mostly I manage to stay inside, safely ensconced in my chair with a book. But October driving can be beautiful here in the northeast. Foliage is brilliant and even if the day is cloudy, the colors lend their light, brightening the day. So, we are off……… As we go dancing (I hope) into Fall, and feel immense gratitude for our suddenly lovely surroundings, I would quote the poet, Mary Oliver: “You might see an angel anytime and anywhere. Of course, you have to open our eyes to a kind of second level, but it’s not really hard. The whole business of what’s reality and what isn’t has never been solved and probably never will be. So, I don’t care to be too definite about anything. I’ll just tell you this: I don’t care how many angels can dance on the head of a pin. It’s enough to know that for some people, they exist and that they dance.”**** ******** Carol Bossard writes from her home in Spencer. She may be reached at: carol42wilde@htva.net. * Quotation taken from the seal ring of a Persian King, centuries ago. ** Quotation from Heather Leindecker *** From The Walrus and the Carpenter by Lewis Carroll **** Mary Oliver –American poet who won the Pulitzer Prize and National Book Award.

Ah, September!! Time for a few verses from my favorite autumn poem by Helen Hunt Jackson*. I hope you enjoy its annual appearance too. The golden rod is yellow, the corn is turning brown; the trees in apple orchards, with fruit are bending down. The gentian’s bluest fringes are curling in the sun; in dusty pods, the milkweed its hidden silk has spun. The sedges flaunt their harvest in every meadow nook, and asters by the brookside make asters in the brook. From dewy lanes at morning the grapes’ sweet odors rise; At noon the roads all flutter with yellow butterflies. Be all these lovely tokens September days are here with summers best of weather and autumn’s best of cheer……..” “Dum-dum-ta-Dum! Dum-Dum-Ta-Dum**……. Also in September, sixty years ago today, Kerm and I were married in a candle-lit service at the Victor Presbyterian Church. My created-by-me dress had a 3-foot train (kept flowing gracefully by sewing pennies in the hem), and I had invented a way to bustle the train after the ceremony so that I could walk around without sweeping the floor with a satin “broom.” Our simple reception was in the church social area, and finger-food was provided by the church ladies. Our wedding cake was made by a friend; three graduated tiers with roses all around. I remember a lot of questions about where my train went; there was much laughter, and chatting as we moved around the room. Afterward, we had the quite unplanned, but exciting (not to mention, raucous!) adventure, of escaping an enthusiastic troupe of followers. We were using a get-away car*** not our own, that had a reluctant engine, apparently not accustomed to high speeds. Eventually, we lost the followers (they were too “frugal” to follow us onto a toll road), got off at the next exit, retrieved our own car --- safely parked in my brother’s corn field---- and were on our way to Lake George and points north and east. With the wedding itself on our minds, and packing for a move to Maryland, I am quite sure that neither of us gave much thought to what 60 years together might be like. We were young, our whole future before us. Sixty years--- when we’d be OLD --- never crossed our minds. There were only two divorces in the generation of family prior to mine (two of my maternal aunts) and no one talked about them. Our boys had never heard of divorce until we watched “The Parent Trap.” Now, divorce is a ready solution for impatience, poor choices and restlessness. I can’t remember the exact statistic, but a distressingly large percentage of kids in our current school district, come from single-parent homes. It is not that I think divorce is always wrong. Sometimes people have such conflicting life views and goals that separating is the only solution. And no one should endure abuse of any kind; when that happens, one should leave the abusing narcissist. But I really think that too often, people don’t give their relationship a fair chance. They may feel unhappy about each other, maybe someone else looks more attractive, perhaps things just aren’t working out well (“I deserve more!”) ----- and divorce is so handy and so acceptable. However, being so reluctant about getting help for marital difficulties does annoy and puzzle me. Why wouldn’t smart people try to mend things? Lack of communication and misunderstandings are problems that sometimes needs a mediator. If two people loved each other enough to marry, at least trying to retrieve that love is surely worth the effort, unless, as I mentioned, abuse or totally different life views are involved. If people expect a smooth and effortless road through marriage, they are delusional. Even the best marriage is not all bliss or one continuous honeymoon. Love is not only an emotion; love is a choice! We can choose to behave in loving ways that will build love --- or not. We can allow chips to super-size on our shoulders, making no effort to pare them away. Or we can choose to address irritants before they loom so large. Love and marriage are life-long learning experiences; they are probably supposed to be. If enough effort, by both partners, is put into keeping a relationship viable, each individual grows, matures and becomes a better person. A working sense of humor surely helps! Consider food likes and dislikes. Kerm’s mother, and my mother cooked differently, so we each grew up with some difference in our food expectations. In our first few months of marriage, I made a casserole from a new recipe. Kerm refused to eat it! What was that green stuff in there??? It may, possibly, have looked a bit alien; as I remember it was a combination of rice, cheese, spinach, and I’m not sure what else. But only a few years later, he would at least try almost anything, even if there were suspicious-looking ingredients peeking out. When he took me to meet his parents, he also scheduled in a dairy-judging show; not at all my usual venue for a date. But I learned to enjoy watching the skill it took to convince a cow to walk calmly and pose prettily and have attended many cattle shows since. When Kerm was in grad school, he took a horticulture course on trees. Because there was much to memorize, he convinced me that I should help him drill ---- and now his trees are taking up space in my head, probably a good thing. Over the years, constant exposure to music, and coercing him to sing along, have put a wider range of music into his head, also probably a good thing. At our first auction, I bid on what I thought were a couple of crocks. When Kerm went up to retrieve them, we found that I had bought 13 crocks of the same gallon size. We gave crocks full of cookies away as gifts for several years. And we laughed! Not everything inspires humor. We’ve had spats, have gone off in huffy snits, and have hurt each other’s feelings. I can’t say that we always obeyed the Biblical admonition to never go to bed angry, but we did manage to solve the problems, forgive the hurts, or decide that ten years from then, whatever it was, wouldn’t be important. On the up-side, we agreed about basic line items; the importance of our faith, how we wanted to raise our children and our political leanings. Neither of us cared much about wealth, social prominence or traveling the world. Agreement in life expectations is crucial, I think. Marriage is made up of highs and lows, of amazing times and awful times, exciting events and routine days, ordinary living and frightening episodes. But for those who actively cultivate awareness, and kindness, life can be incredibly beautiful. Now that we have somehow stumbled into our eighties, we have new arenas of discussion; down-sizing -- what we want from these last ten or fifteen years of life here on earth, how we wish to live as our capabilities diminish. It is never easy to sort things out, talk about them, and come to an agreement, but I figure if we could live through four teenage boys and their friends, two human services jobs, serving on the S-VE and BOCES Boards of Education, and all the other turmoil and choices that life brings, we can probably figure these things out too. It is important to talk – to express feelings --- and to listen well. There was a post, the source of which I’m not sure, but it is quite true. “Relationships don’t last because of the good times (though those are important). They last because the hard times were handled with love and care.”**** Speaking of love and care, we’ve seen many examples of this in our families, among our friends, and in our communities. If I miss a Sunday at church, someone calls to see if I’m OK. Now that I can no longer drive due to vision loss, three friends besides my husband, have offered to take me where I need to go. On a community level, neighbors keep track of one another --- not so closely as to be an irritant, but kindly, to know if there is a need. A couple of weeks ago, because I was sort of grumbling that we hadn’t used our fire pit for nearly 2 summers, one of our daughters-in-law, son and granddaughter made a special effort to bring S’more ingredients and to start a campfire. It was a beautiful, starry night with a full “blue” moon and we truly enjoyed the experience of sitting around the fire. Of course, our surrounding wildlife creatures were probably muttering “WHEN will these humans go to bed so we can get a snack.” But they politely (and kindly?) kept their distance. Kindness and awareness make a difference everywhere; living in community, happiness at work, and certainly in marriage and family. Taking each other for granted is a pitfall we should recognize and avoid. For the rest of September, I am also looking forward to all the fun times, just enjoying them. I’m hoping we can make some good decisions for our future. I’m thinking, too of the seasonal changes; of ripe apples, of purple asters and potted chrysanthemums, of canning tomatoes, and keeping a watchful eye out for our first frost. Since the days are observably shorter, I will pay more attention to enjoying my flowers and to soaking in the sunshine. The golden days of September are unrolling for our enjoyment; let’s not let them fly by unnoticed. ********************* Carol writes from her home in Spencer. She may be reached at: carol42wilde@htva.net. *Helen Hunt Jackson –American poet and writer. 1830-1885 **This is Mendelssohn’s Wedding March --- in case you aren’t good at putting music to “Dum-Ta-Dums”. ***My apologies to Jim, whose car I have described here. We appreciated the generous loan, but……that engine surely didn’t have many horses beneath that hood! 😊 **** A post seen on FB ---- no source.

Late summer is a mélange of ripening aromas, dog-days heat, and lawns growing several inches per day. My Clethra shrub is in full bloom and very fragrant, along with clumps of phlox; both having a sweet and wholesome smell. Yesterday, our road to an appointment was lined, on both sides, with corn fields. Growing, maturing corn has a distinctive perfume, a bit musky and just slightly sweet; it seems to be the signature scent of late August. Summer is calling us to enjoy while we have the chance. We have just returned from some time in Maine. All eight of us (sons and families) came together in Camden for a lovely five days of sea breezes and restoration. I seem to need seaside fragrances and sounds about once every two years or so. Kerm and I were celebrating our 60th anniversary (a little early) and our hosts at the High Tide Inn were amazing. They brought us a grill for cooking, a picnic table, and even a bottle of champagne! They also dubbed all of us “bookworms” because we all were so often found on the porch reading. Of course, there was hiking, and visiting little shops along the coves, but we mostly enjoyed just being. It was the perfect vacation for us --- to be with people we love, to have enough books and to sit, watching the boats sail by. Summer is coming to its end, not in actuality, but by custom. When school starts, summer is over for most people even though the equinox is a month away. While our children were small, I spent some time as a substitute teacher. Subbing is an experience that every criticizing voter should have to perform, at least for a couple of days. And those who vote down budgets simply because they can, should be assigned to a month of teaching every grade. It might instill some understanding of how difficult it is, how many skills it takes to encourage, teach, discipline, comfort and find resources for a classroom of anywhere from 25 to 45 kids. The general American attitude toward the needs of school kids leaves much to be desired; too often I’ve heard “If it was good enough for me, it should be good enough for my kids.” This is a short-sighted and selfish attitude toward those who will be growing up, in a world with new expectations and resources. Each generation must learn new things to maintain this good and changing country in which we live. In an ideal world, teachers, parents, and communities should be working together to provide optimal education. Because substitute teachers are hard to come by, I was asked to teach everything from kindergarten to high school physics even though my major was home economics. Some teachers do leave lesson plans, but others, zilch! To make subbing days easier, I finally created a folder for each age group; something I could grab quickly after that early AM call, and full of things that would hold the interest of kids from K-12. Perhaps the most important thing I learned as a sub was how crucial it is for kids to be respected and seen as individuals. It helps to visit the classrooms before teaching or at least, getting to know your own child’s friends. If kids know that you genuinely like them and care about them, they will interact in a positive way, mostly. There was the 9th-grade class in a science lab (with sinks and faucets), who had a field day dampening each other. However, when their teacher returned, they were given the task of writing apologies to me and the notes were both hilarious and endearing. “Dear Mrs. B.; I don’t know what came over me…” One of my favorite memories involved a 5th or 6th grade kid, a friend of our oldest son. This kid was a bit older, and a bit bigger, and he had been in reform school for a year. He had also been at our home for dinner once or twice. I was working in the school library that day, when Shawn’s class came in. The kids were a bit noisy and suddenly this older, bigger, tougher boy stood up and said: “You guys sit down and listen to Mrs. Bossard!” And they did! It pays to have friends among the troops. 😊 A teacher (substitute or regular) needs a good sense of humor. Too much indignation, shock and glowering have no place in a learning-friendly classroom. Kids desperately need people who look at them with caring, with liking and who are real and honest. I’m sure I didn’t always exhibit those good things, but at least no one (to my knowledge) groaned when I walked in. A “funny bone” and ready laughter are needed outside the classroom too; needed for a good life. The Bible tells us that “A merry heart doeth good, like medicine!”* When Normal Cousins,** an American political journalist, became seriously ill, and wasn’t getting better, he released himself from the hospital, rented a hotel room where he took a lot of Vitamin C, watched funny movies, and TV shows like “Candid Camera.” He insists in his book, The Anatomy of An Illness, that his cure was greatly due to the laughter. I was relatively quiet in school, but I did find humor around me. My favorite teacher wrote in my year book: “I’ll miss you; you made me smile even when I didn’t want to.” One of the joys of moving to Spencer was finding the people with whom we are now well-acquainted. For some reason, the Spencer-Van Etten area has collected a large number of community-minded, very creative, talented people, in music, crafts, and the arts of all kinds. Among them, there are those with several kinds of quirky humor. Together, we’ve planned variety shows, dinner-theaters, concerts, musicales, and fun nights to combat winter’s “cabin fever.” The events included singing, acting, and sometimes silly but always, clever skits. Planning sessions, involving “All Wet Productions”, or the “Rescue Squad”, brought on gales of laughter, extravagant punning and a comfortable sense that we’d put something together that would entertain us and others. These creating and planning together, built camaraderie, and all that laughter healed our tattered senses. We’ve been fortunate to find so many kindred spirits. One of them, a retired teacher, had a good sense of how important it is for classrooms to be places where kids, in addition to book learning, also build camaraderie, discover how to settle disagreements, and learn self-control. She was so good at this that I often wished we could recycle our boys just so they could experience life in her classroom, though they do seem to have accomplished all those things on their own. Many people see the goal of education as acquiring reams of data, along with prestigious degrees. However, learning how to think creatively, how to find answers for one’s self, and how to work with others is even more important. One recent study warns parents that allowing toddlers too much screen time creates a well of anger inside that toddler, maybe from the content of the screens, or maybe because they are missing out on other important toddler activities. As we look at the world around us, it is quite evident that large numbers of people, for some reason, seem to be full of anger and jangled emotions, that spill over in unwelcome ways. In today’s tumultuous climate, I’d strongly recommend talk-therapy and anger management classes for grades one - twelve. Horace Mann*** said: “A teacher who is attempting to teach without inspiring the pupil with a desire to learn, is hammering cold iron.” In a classroom of needy, diverse kids, being inspirational is no easy task. In less than two week yellow buses will be rolling up and down our roads. Perhaps as we see kids heading back to school, we can give some thought to how each of us can be part of a more wholistic education. Our schools could use the community of supportive adults as a resource. And if each of us did such a simple thing as sending out prayers and good vibes for our schools, every morning, as the bus goes by, that could make a difference. Speaking of a difference, have you noticed that daylight hours are noticeably shorter? It is dark here at 8:30 and a bit before that while we were in Maine. Goldenrod brightens the roadsides as well as my gardens. I pull it out in the spring, but seldom get it all, and now it is tall and deeply-rooted. The days have flown by so quickly since June, and this quotation expresses my feelings well: “The summer is so radiant I cannot see it go. I hug it closely to me for its final warmth and glow.”**** Even with the extreme heat on some days, I’ve enjoyed summer with its foggy mornings, its yummy watermelon and orange creamsicles. Our rose-breasted grosbeaks left quite a while ago, but the hummingbirds continue to buzz around my head, assuring me that there is summer still to be had – for a few weeks. Soak it in and enjoy every moment. Carol writes from her home in Spencer. She may be reached at: carol42wilde@htva.net. *The Bible: Proverbs 17 **Norman Cousins --- American Journalist, author and world peace advocate. 1915-1990. ***Horace Mann --- A famous American educator who sparked the improvement of public schools in America. 1796-1859. ****George Elliston –American journalist. 1883-1946

August is named for Caesar Augustus, and it’s also my birth month. The green peridot is the gem for the month. These are stones found in some lava deposits and stand for history and strength. Brown-eyed Susans are the month’s flower according to Native American lore, and I prefer those to the gladiolus usually attributed to August. Gladiolus are stately, colorful and lovely, but the wilder, cheerier brown-eyed Susans seem to fit me better. This August has two full moons; the sturgeon moon and the blue moon. As I contemplate my birthday, I am recalling how many different cakes my mother baked over the years --- not just for me, but my siblings too. Because we lived on a farm, and summer is a busy season for agriculture, most of my birthday celebrations were with extended family. There was one party, I think I was about 9 or 10, where some of my school friends came. I have a photo (black and white, of course) of a round oak table taken to the back yard, and around it sat Bonnie Gillis, David Tischer, Sharon Segbers and two of my nieces (one nearly my age). There were sandwiches, ice cream and cake. My mother’s cakes were over-the-top yummy, and every birthday, she asked each of us which we’d like. There was the white cake filled with banana pudding and topped with creamy icing,my sister’s favorite. There was a maraschino cherry cake, pink through and through, with a pink, cherry-ish glaze, that I sometimes requested. A molasses cake iced with thick white butter frosting was the choice for two of my brothers (the third wanted mince pie!). There was also a delectable chocolate cake with a rich brown-sugar and nut filling. My very favorite was probably a sponge cake, sliced in 3 layers and filled with a mandarin orange/ pudding filling, and iced with an orange-flecked 7-minute frosting. Birthdays were special, but not extravagant. And they made the long (seemed long back then) summer something to anticipate. Mid-August begins my favorite part of the year. From then until mid-November, I find special delight in the days. It may be partly nostalgia, but I really enjoy harvest time and fall flowers. Brown-eyed Susans and Queen Anne’s Lace, bloom along the roadsides, and later these same areas are filled with bright golden rod, purple asters, and airy white Boltonia. On our farm, there was a swampy pond in the furthest pasture, surrounded by a wide variety of materials, perfect for bouquets. There were brown cattails, button bush, red osier dogwood, boneset, Joe Pye weed, vervain and much more. Crocks filled with those beauties on my porch exude contentment. No time of the year is perfect, and neither are our days. There are issues with both seasons and life that are annoying, irritating and even scary. Just as weather can throw us big problems in all four seasons, we can experience, daily, a variety of emotions ranging from deep depression to bubbling gladness. I also sometimes find a rather large gap in my grasp of reality; my current capabilities versus what I imagine I can do. In my mind, I can lightly run up the lawn, pull weeds all afternoon, and still shoot baskets against the shed. But in real life, trying to do any of those things would undoubtedly lead to falling on my face or collapsing from exhaustion. The up-side, of days and seasons for us all, is that regardless of what we can or cannot do, each day we live offers some satisfying experiences and many reasons to be grateful. A few years ago --- actually, a whole lot of years ago ---Kerm and I called square dances. We were members of the Cornell Recreation Team, and taught folk and square dances on campus, and out in the counties, for Cooperative Extension. Later, while living in Pennsylvania, we occasionally used our home for practice sessions, for 4-Hers going to a Pennsylvania State contest. If we moved the kitchen table out of the way, there was space for a set of eight people. It was in the 1970s that “western-style” square dancing came along, and one of the fun calls was to the music of “Climbin’ Up The Golden Stairs.”* It was a fast western-swing type of dancing; fun to watch and fun to dance. It stayed in my head, and I have visualized life being rather like that curving golden staircase --- going onward and upward through the years. Sometimes we dance; sometimes we stumble and struggle. The landings, where we stop for a breather, inserting stained- glass windows for remembrance, are like the stellar events in our lives: graduations, weddings, birthdays, wonderful jobs, etc. ---- things that make a difference in who we are or the direction in which we are going. There have been many twists and turns in my staircase; I expect your “staircases” would (or will be) be similar. I will be 82 in mid-August, which I find quite startling. Like --REALLY??? The “little old lady” that, when I was younger, I expected of 82, just isn’t me. Except for some physical difficulties, I feel like the same person I have always been, at 20 or 40 or 60 (except for the falling on my face part). I’m always a little surprised when kindly people are solicitous about packing my grocery bags so they aren’t too heavy, or stopping to let me to cross the street, although I do appreciate the courtesy. However, I do not appreciate the general media assumption that increasing age makes one lack understanding, deems one incapable, or stifles the desire for fun. We need, as a nation, to change our age-conscious attitudes. Of course---- those of us who err by turning curmudgeonly as our hair grays---- might wish to rethink our attitudes as well. Americans categorize people too easily. Observe the way we label generations:“Baby Boomers”, “Millennials”, Gen-Xers, etc. In our desire for statistics and demographics, we plop people firmly into columns and boxes, and expect them to behave in predetermined ways. There is no totally predictable behavior for any age group! I admit to tiring more quickly, and probably couldn’t dance all the way through “Climbin’ Up The Golden Stairs.” But that does not mean that my toes, and my soul, aren’t keeping time to the music. I rather doubt that my knees would tolerate water-skiing anymore, but I can still swim, skip stones and enjoy the lapping of the water against the stony shores of our Finger Lakes. My eyesight isn’t good for shooting hoops. On the other hand, I have a friend, not too much younger, who runs in marathons. So we are all quite different. I enjoy music from Baroque to ragtime; from Pat Boone to Roger Whittaker, James Taylor; and Placido Domingo; from Beethoven to Blue Grass to Rock with a wide detour around hard rock and heavy metal. I clearly remember what it felt like to sit through some classes and wonder why I was there. I can still feel the awkwardness of teenage dating, and I remember the exhilaration of sledding down a steep hill and across a wide breadth of snowy field, just missing a barb-wire fence. I’ve ridden on Motorcycles, rollercoasters and horses. I’ve had jobs from serving food at a Thruway restaurant to directing a human services agency. We are all unique; composites of our experiences. White hair, creaky joints, bifocals, and less stamina do not turn us into aliens! There is a book that tells the story of what happens when we divide and separate people into age groups; it is “Man On The Mountain” by Gladys Hasty Carroll. Excellent reading! Ageism is a sneaky and pernicious reptile that has sold a sham bill of goods to our youth-worshipping society. The assumption that because bodies do not remain smooth-skinned and supple, or hair remain its original color and luster, that our understanding of life must also be slip—slip—slipping away is silly. Some minds, sadly, do lose their way into dementia, but that can happen when one is twenty or fifty as well as in old age. Dementia is simply another form of mental illness in which research is deplorably minimal. For most, old age is a time of harvest; the time when the accumulated experiences from years of living are a treasure-trove and can be put to good use. Of course, aging is no guarantee of wisdom; there are those who stay --- metaphorically ---- in rompers, for their entire lives. They resist change, and maintain whatever they’ve been taught as children, as the total truth. They have never learned to think all the way inside a box, much less creatively outside the box! Aging is not a blessing for them; they fear it and one can only feel sorry for them. Despite my grumblings, this month of August is a time to celebrate; to breathe deeply of the fragrant, warm atmosphere around us (my Clethra shrub is in bloom; very fragrant). I do so because I’ve survived for another year, with mostly intact mind and still operable body. But for all of us, regardless of what we lack or what might be challenging us, there is much to appreciate ---- from sufficient rains that replenish the ground water, to sunny, ideal days. We can rejoice over harvests of veggie gardens and the beauty of the landscapes around us. In August, I replenish my shiny jars of tomatoes. Peaches, in all their lusciousness, are ripening on laden trees. Elderberries hang like purple-black jewels, ready for picking. No matter what is going on in the world, we still have the capacity to continue growing as persons and learning to be kind. At any age, how we respond to both the wonderful/fun/blessed parts of life, and the burdens/changes/disappointments,-is a true measure of how and who we are. So, be filled to the brim with August’s delights, and look onward and upward, with hope. Happy Summer. Carol writes from her home in Spencer. She may be reached at: carol42wilde@htva.net.

Now are “Those Lazy, Hazy, Crazy Days of Summer” *that Nat King Cole used to sing about. The lakes; Seneca and Cayuga, Juanita and Lomoka, are sparkling, the temperatures are balmy. Thunder storms come through frequently, often bringing considerable damage with them, via wind and hail but also clearing the air. Soon tomatoes will be ripe in our garden and sweet corn (not in our garden) ready to eat on the cob, freeze or put into corn fritters. One of my sisters-in-law made delectable corn fritters that, when served with maple syrup, melted in one’s mouth. Fritters are quite labor intensive, so I haven’t tried them --- preferring to remember them as a fine gastronomic experience. But tomatoes from the garden, sliced on buttered bread and topped with leaf lettuce ---- YUM! Those are within my capabilities. Our Family Quiz has been composed and is sent out: “Who has just written a marvelous hard-cover book about family?” “Who is juggling two jobs and working on a Master’s Degree?” “Who found a French-fried rat in the fryer at work?” “Who needs to avoid an over-dose of jelly beans at Easter, lest she spin around like a top? “What numbers-savvy person is starting up a free-lance accounting business?”” These are just a few of the questions for considering/guessing. As families grow larger and produce more generations, it is more difficult to stay connected. My family members are spread from California to Massachusetts, from Virginia to Vermont. I had three brothers and a sister, and all have produced children, who have then produced their children, and so on. So, if we all got together, it would be quite a large (and totally fun) clan. So, to keep us connected in our various locations, there is the annual family quiz. It is like pulling teeth without sedation, to pry information out of the multitudes, but if I keep harassing and listening over the year, I usually can come up with a good and entertaining list. It helps all of us, for We simply mustn’t lose touch! Just a couple of weeks ago, Kerm and I attended two reunion picnics; one with my high school classmates, and one with retired 4-H professionals, plus a few attendees still working at Cornell. These groups were about friendships we’ve made throughout our lives. Family is important, but we don’t want to lose touch with friends either. Being with those individuals who have shared experiences with us, is a reassuring part of getting older. We can laugh a lot and maybe cry a little as we recall past times. And as we are catching up with what we are doing now, we become friends in a new way. We may all, in our every-day lives, have our collections of pill bottles that keep us going and we may walk with a limp or a slight bend, but when we are together, we are restored to ages 16 or 25 or 40; capable of taking on the world. Because we are now older and wiser, we find increased depth of spirit in each other and feel good about being together. On both occasions, the company was super-fine and satisfying. Speaking of experiences, summer camps are now in full swing. I was a 4-H camper at Bristol Hills 4-H Camp, and then a counselor there, and then a Summer Assistant who accompanied kids from Wayne County, along with Kathy Treat and Merle Cuningham. Except for that first summer, when, for at least three days as a camper, I thought I’d die from homesickness, I found camp a fun experience. Boondoggle lanyards (research Billy Collins’** poem about this), swimming in a pool filled with water that we assumed was straight off a glacier, rising to Reville and going to sleep with Taps ---- it was all good. I also went to a Girl Scout camp once --- on Seneca Lake. Seneca’s waters were nearly as cold as the pool at Bristol Hills camp. Previously, I’ve written about camping as an adult, with 4-Hers, and our kids. But going away to camp, as a young person, is quite a different experience and one that is good for most children. It fosters a bit of independence, introduces kids to stories and singing around a campfire, and is one more learning experience in getting along with a variety of personalities. Sometimes, we find new best friends, and always, do we stash away memories that still warm our hearts seventy years later. I found this tidbit somewhere, but do not remember its source. It is a good comment on the importance of friends and family (who can also be friends) in our lives. “Why we need friends; because they laugh at the same stupid things we do. Because they give us honest advice. Because they will be there for us, even if they are thousands of miles away. Because they celebrate with us when we’re at our best but still love us at our worst.” I am so very grateful for those wonderful people in my life who supply those very crucial needs. It is always fun to look backward to the good times. But realistically, we are compelled to return, eventually, to times in which we are currently living. And these right-this-very-minute-times are not always so carefree and happy as we’d like. Mr. Rogers has said that his mother told him to “look for the good; for those doing good”, whenever he became discouraged. So, when I’m looking with disfavor on the world as depicted in the evening news; the disgusting and clamorous politicking, selfish power-hungry leaders, the suffering from continuous wars --- I try to think of the good things that are happening around me. There is our local food pantry, providing sustenance for those who experience food insecurity, for whatever reason. Volunteers “staff” that organization and are willing to take big chunks of time and energy from their own lives to help others. There is our pastor, who is essentially the “community pastor” since she is the only full-time clergy in town. She can be found at school, at community events, visiting those in nursing facilities, sharing on Face Book, at Spencer Picnic, jogging by and waving, as well as in her church office, where all are welcome to stop by. Then there is a guy we know, who keeps track of several people who, seemingly, lack the skills to cope well with life. He hooks them up with resources and helps where he can. He and his wife have helped to raise three children besides their own two. And there’s the woman who, even with serious health issues, continues to send out a community news sheet as well as connecting people with transportation to medical appointments. There is also the man in our neighborhood, who kindly keeps track of his neighbors, helping out when there is a need. Remembering these people (and many more) keeps me from succumbing to the world’s always-ready-to-pounce nightmares. “Here are the bridge-builders, the hand-holders, the light -bringers, those extraordinary souls wrapped in ordinary lives who quietly weave threads of humanity into an inhumane world. They are the unsung heroes in a world at war with itself. They are the whispers of hope that peace is possible. Look at them in this present darkness. Light your candle with their flame and then go build bridges, hold hands, bring light to a dark and desperate world. Be the hero you are looking for. Peace is possible. It begins with us.”*** As July speeds by and August moves in, we need to turn off the news more often and soothe our injured spirits by focusing on those who do good, which may inspire us to do good ourselves. We need to reject the divisive, clamoring and listen to bird song and wind in the trees. And we need more tomato sandwiches, listen to more of Nat King Cole’s music, and to find more reasons to laugh together, and reconnect. Carol writes from her home In Spencer. She may be reached at: carol42wilde@htva.net. *Bully Collins –American Poet and very popular because of his down-to-earth poetry. **Those Lazy, Hazy, Crazy Days of Summer” - written by Hans Carste ---- originally entitled “Du Spielst ‘ne Tolle Rolle.” Made popular by Nat King Cole. ***L.R.Knost ----Founder of Little Hearts/Gentle Parenting and editor of Wholistic Parenting magazine.

Oh, what a beautiful morning, oh, what a beautiful day…” Such a happy song from “Oklahoma,” and so appropriate for a lovely July morning. It might be lovelier were the temperature ten degrees lower, and no storms were lingering, but that’s summer. Being mindfully grateful is an intelligent way to begin a day, even knowing that there’s every possibility our plans will move unexpectedly from Plan A to Plan Q before the day is over! In later years, it has become sort of entertaining to watch how agendas for my day morph from one into another, leaving me wondering just where I will end up. Being more flexible is a life-long lesson where graduation is (we hope) a long way off. I still produce resistance when events that I’ve worked over – like parties or holidays ---have to be altered. I’m getting better about daily changes, although a pout or two may still emerge. Part of that acceptance, I gleaned from a workshop (1970s) where we chatted about going from Plan A to Plan Z, but I learned much of it the hard way too. In my job with Office for the Aging, you would not believe some of the situations that developed; dilemmas one would never expect. And then, some of my education in this area, came from having teenagers in the house for a decade. One just never knows when their car will break down 50 miles from home, whether they will drop a log on their foot, necessitating a trip to ER, or how many kids may have stayed overnight and will appear at breakfast. One becomes flexible in changing circumstances, to avoid splintering into frustrated little pieces! Currently, there are no demanding senior citizens, no frustrating (and usually conflicting) mandates from NYS and my county, and no teenagers, so, no reason to worry about being flexible right? Not so. It seems that life continually throws surprises at us. Instead of having a week free from going anywhere, I find that there are three prescriptions that need filling, which means a half-hour trip to and a half hour from, the pharmacy. I suddenly find that I’m on a committee I’d forgotten, so there goes my afternoon. To feel better about annoying changes in plans, I try to indulge myself. Compensation! 😊 A cup of tea plus a Pepperidge Farm sandwich cookie improves my mood. Sitting in a lawn chair and observing the cardinals and grosbeaks, or writing a short poem changes my focus. A friend started me on a “Poem/Day” plan a while ago. It was a great idea, although I soon became negligent. However, it is still fun to compose something now and then. Writing a letter to a close friend reminds me of funny things that we can laugh about when we talk next time. Stress melts away with laughter, with creating, music, conversation, bird song. With an almond croissant or a little chocolate! Very occasionally, on a fine day, I bestir myself to hang laundered sheets or blankets on the clothesline. I love seeing them fly in the breeze and the aroma that they bring into the house is both refreshing, and a reminder of growing up years, when all clothes were hung on the line. I have a dim memory of my mother using a wringer washer, hooked to the kitchen sink. She would shoo me from the room; afraid I’d get a finger or arm caught in the wringers. When our children were babies, I hung diapers on the line for quite some time. When my hands became arthritic, we acquired a clothes-drier. I think it was less enjoyable to fold diapers (sometimes full of static) from the drier, than smelling wonderful from the clothes line. But in cold or rainy weather, I was very grateful for that electric appliance. Readers below the age of 50 may not have a clue here since disposable diapers have been the mode for 57 years. They were just becoming available when our first child was born, in 1966. We used them for traveling and special occasions when gauze diapers would have been awkward. But on our budget, they were a luxury. Today’s mamas and dads should rejoice over all the conveniences they now have. So many things have changed in the last 6 decades, and so rapidly. Perhaps these multiple “advances” are one reason for our current epidemic of anxiety, tenseness, and lack of civility, all of which are running rampant. We may have confused our brains with too many options, too many new behaviors and sudden life-style adjustments, with more than we can comfortably cope. And we don’t dare take a break from being on-line, because something might happen while we are out to lunch (so to speak). When we, and some of our friends get together, we agonize over the political scene or the on-going wars. As people of faith, we feel we should be doing something, but find we have few answers and little influence. All that worrying could become a problem if it incapacitates us. Fortunately, we intersperse our anxiety with bits and pieces about our kids, our travels and what we are doing to stay active. This brings us into balance. The women’s Bible study group weekly expresses sorrow, and often, indignation, at some distasteful behaviors of our current culture, and there is moaning about the lack of understanding that every human needs a spiritual connection. We continue to do indulge in this behavior, despite Scripture’s frequent admonition to not worry or be afraid. So this poem by Wendell Berry is often a reminder that I need some healing time. It rescues me frequently: Defeating worry is necessary for healthy minds and souls. Very few people speak about nourishing either, but both need as much health care as our physical bodies. I read both historical fiction and non-fiction, and I’ve had almost 82 years to observe the cycling states of the world. What I am seeing now is a repeat of some of the distressing human behavior that we have seen in the past. Instead of bonding, we have allowed ourselves to be torn apart and led into dubious paths of bigotry and fear of each other. With all our opportunities, our communications seem to be worse than ever. The ability to be in someone’s face 24/7 via Face Book or Twitter, does not, apparently, lead to better understanding. Listening to the news several times in twenty-four hours, may leave us over-informed and in despair. Balance is not easy, but we surely need to woo it for peace in our souls. And a spiritual connection would not be amiss. We all have bad cases of sensory overload. Just driving in the car, the radio is on, we are moving along at anywhere from 55 to 75 mph, watching other drivers on the road, possibly talking on a cell phone or chatting with a passenger. Driving itself requires agility and alert attention which may not be the case when it is split 3 or 4 ways. At home, the TV, radio or stereo (yes, I know, the word stereo dates me!) may be on, children asking questions, dinner to be fixed, etc. Our brains are flooded with too many things! Very seldom do we take the time to stop, breathe and spend time healing, with whatever makes us relax and breathe. Whether it is soft music, candlelight, the aroma of baking, sitting outside at twilight, prayer time, a brisk walk, meditation or going “where the heron feeds,” we desperately need to put those down-times into our days. Only with healthy breaks, will we be able to handle our stress with clarity and grace ----maybe even diminish it. Speaking of grace, I’ve seen several examples of that lately, so I am assured that the world is not totally in chaos. One occurred at a recent Baccalaureate. Kids had asked teachers from middle school and high school to speak to them – and give them a blessing as they graduated. Those kids were grateful for individuals who had been patient with them, and inspired them. Another example was seen in the past week, when Kerm was diagnosed with a tick- borne disease similar to Lyme. People called, offered to drive either of us, asked did we need anything, and they let us know we, and especially Kerm, were being prayed for. A friend, who is a Franciscan priest, brought his anointing oil along when we met him for lunch. There is kindness and grace that balances all that is wrong with the world. We all need to inject some quiet, some “Coming into the peace of wild things” into our over-busy and worrisome lives. We will then worry less and enjoy breaks that bring balance. “The older I get, the more wisdom I find in the ancient rule of taking first things first ---- a process which often reduces the most complex human problems to manageable proportions.” Dwight Eisenhower*** Let’s all use this summer as a restoring, happy time. Carol writes from her home in Spencer. She may be reached at: carol42wilde@htva.net. *Wendell Barry ---novelist, poet and essayist from Kentucky. **Dwight D. Eisenhower –Military man and statesman who served as president from 1953-1961. 18890-1969.

“Thirty days hath September, April, June and November….” And the 30th of June is coming right up! Foliage is fully out making good hiding places for birds and small creatures. I see chipmunks slipping beneath the comfrey leaves and a rabbit skirting the current bushes. Mysterious paths are evident in the grass, where a skunk or squirrel has traveled to the sunflower seeds. We are just one week from Independence Day ---- July 4th. The Solstice is past, so summer is here in all its fullness. We have already had days of very warm weather and there are surely more to come, accompanied by thunder storms and humidity, but there will be blissfully fine days as well. We’ve had our usual late-June “raccoon trouble.” They steal cat food or bird seed --- or whatever their agile little paws can reach or pry open. If enough of them swing on a bird feeder, they can bring it down, and they have also learned to open suet cages. In past summers, we’ve relocated some when they became too bothersome, though a forester friend tells us that is a bad idea. So we refrain unless absolutely necessary. A few years ago, one large, furry individual took on our English setter. The dog was actually the aggressor; he wouldn’t tolerate another creature in his pen; he even once chased out a bear. Freckles came out of his raccoon confrontation a bit lacerated. Our on-site vet patched him up and we removed the raccoon. Now, Freckles has passed on,and the little bandits seldom bother our gardens, so we won’t disturb them --- unless they learn to open doors. They are just part of the wild creatures with whom we co-exist, along with a very fat possum, a mostly-white skunk, and a fox or two, etc. My “cute” woodchuck is another matter! I see relocating in his near future! For those who enjoy outdoor life, the next two to three months bring camping season. The downside, for me, are insects of varying kinds and degrees of irritation, as well as less-than-comfortable sleeping conditions. My back no longer appreciates bumpy ground or air mattresses that ooze air during the night. On the up-side, I love campfires, early-morning bird song, and the camaraderie of campgrounds. As Kerm and I drove to Lewisburg, Pennsylvania a few weeks ago, there was a road off to the right that led to one of our 4-H camping experiences, about which I have written before - the icy, foggy night and day, with trees snaping off all around. Then there was the 1972 flood when we were stranded with 150 4-H kids in a church high above flooded Jersey Shore, PA. 4-H camping has been adventurous in many ways. Our personal camping excursions were less so, although they had their moments. I have mostly fond memories of our camping experiences with our boys.; it was a good way to see many interesting places and to enjoy being together in a different setting. Currently I mostly prefer sleeping in a real bed, in a room with screened windows. Our camping travels mostly took us to New England and south to Virginia, but one trip was much more extensive. My oldest niece, her college roommate, Kerm and I trekked from Victor, New York to Billings, Montana, ostensibly to help another niece and her family move back to NYS. I wrote about this memorable trip last summer. We saw a wide breadth of our diverse country. And besides camping, Kerm and I have done some cross-country trips for conferences and to visit family. We have not, regretfully, taken the opportunity to travel abroad, but many of our family members and friends have done so. At one point we had nieces and nephews in Kenya and Tanzania, in India, in Nepal and Thailand, a son and family in Europe, and another son and wife in New Zealand. Their travels seem to make the world feel smaller. We have friends in our community, from other lands too; from Russia, from Japan, from Mexico and Soth America. What I have learned from our journeys, and theirs, is that traveling helps us to grow, to recognize our diversity ---- our wonderful variety of land and the collection of amazing heritages our country, and other countries, hold. It dissolves prejudice and misinformation, and we come to realize that our personal choices are not the only good ways to live. There are rich traditions in every culture. Sadly, at this point in my life, I find extensive traveling more exhausting than fun. I’d be very happy to teleport ala Star Trek, or Apparate/Disapparate, as in Harry Potter; suddenly being somewhere, eliminating the hassles of packing and weighing luggage, checking for least costly plane tickets, or enduring the heavy highway traffic that adds stress to driving. If I could, I’d stop by Empowering Lives International in Kenya (a Christian Peace Corps-like mission) and the Great Barrier Reef to see those huge tortoises. I’d visit the east coast of Scotland, from whence my father’s family came and some place in France to find my mother’s relatives. I’d certainly visit Finland (where many of our Spencer friends call home), and I might even whisk myself to Alaska, where I’d stand on a glacier, if there are any remaining. I’d spend at least one day sitting at an outdoor café, eating fresh chocolate croissants and drinking tea, in Paris. Those imaginary forms of travel not being currently possible, I am truly grateful for the side roads we have taken, and the wonderful people and unforgettable times we’ve experienced. We are still on the road occasionally; in August we are off to Maine for a few days, and looking forward to the salty, fortifying air of the sea. All of which brings me to the 4th of July, Independence Day, and being appreciative of where we live. This is a celebration to mark the beginning of the United States from sea to shining sea and northern to southern edges. We celebrate all of us, no matter who or where, but being distracted with fireworks and picnics may lead us to forget why we are celebrating. Our original goals of freedom and opportunity for everyone should be part of our agenda year-round. We have honed and improved original laws by realizing that women are capable people who can actually think and vote, that persons of whatever skin color are not possessions, that children are not fair game for cheap labor. We have laws in place to assist those with disabilities. There are still people among us, who disregard the ethics of humanity, and others who still suffer beneath injustice, but most of us keep trying to right wrongs. I would remind us of what is engraved on the Statue of Liberty, welcoming ships into New York’s harbor: “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 Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand glows world-wide welcome, her mild eyes command the air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame. ‘Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!’ cries she with silent lips. ‘Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free, the wretched refuse of your teeming shore. Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed to me, I lift my lamp beside the golden door!’”* In the 240+ years’ process of creating our country, we have been cruel – and compassionate; overbearing and courageous; we’ve been grasping and we’ve also made sacrifices. We have made grave errors in policy and behavior, but we have also tried to create safety nets, correct injustices and continually work for better things. It is true that we often disagree about what those “better things” are, or how to achieve them. Too often, we work at cross-purposes. But we do try. I think each of us has a responsibility to do what we can in our own spheres. We sometimes ignore needs and protest helpful legislation because we selfishly don’t like, or are frightened of change. But without change water grows stagnant, there’d be no butterflies, we’d still be shouting “OLE” to the monarch of Span, or singing “God save the queen!” (or king) of England. Our country is great because of the wonderful mix of our citizens and because we pay attention to individual fairness. Developing orderly procedures and good laws is essential, but let us not be selfish and uncaring as we move ahead in a way that means living out the words engraved on that statue. We are about to drift from Junet into July; usually our warmest month and possibly the most humid here in the north-east, although last week was as about as hot and humid as one might wish to bear. July was named for Julius Caesar; it was his birth month. The gem stone for July is the ruby, a jewel nearly as hard as a diamond. It stands for strength, vigor, and supposedly shields its wearer from the world’s ills. The month’s flower is the larkspur, a sturdy flower that blooms in many bright colors. July is swimming and ice cream weather. For farmers, there will be second cuttings of hay, if the rains and sun come in proper amounts. County Fairs and festivals bring fun to town. Whatever you do in July - picnics, reunions, swimming, vacations - I hope you are filled to the brim with happiness and peace. Absorb sunshine (carefully, of course), be grateful for the rains and fill your heart with all the goodness and generosity of summer. Carol writes from her home in Spencer. She may be reached at: carol42wilde@htva.net. * The New Colossus and engraved on the statue of Liberty……….by Emma Lazarus. Emma Lazarus, an American poet who wrote this poem to raise money for the base of the Statue of Liberty.

We are nearing the summer Solstice, the time of the longest daylight, directly after which we begin to experience diminishing the light once again. We are also nearing the mysterious Mid-summer Night’s Eve, a time of legend; pixies, fauns, and faeries. Each year seems to speed by like someone on rollerblades; no sooner do I write about the Summer Solstice, than I’m pulling out the Halloween pumpkins and the light is fading at 4 PM. My perception of life flying by, is why making each day fully-lived, is so important. We easily label a day “good” or “bad”, but he goodness or badness of a day often depends on how we choose to look at it. We can emphasize the discouraging, unhappy moments in a day, or we can focus on the beautiful things and people around us. Perception can make us sad or happy, and it is variable. Do not misunderstand, there is deep grief, clinical depression, and other situations that make choosing happiness difficult; perhaps even impossible, without help and time. And we should get help if we need it; therapy is good for nearly everyone. But often, contentment is a daily decision. Here in the Finger Lakes, we have (for most of us) far too many gray days. But instead of designating cloudy, drippy weather as a bad day, we might instead remember that moist atmosphere keeps our skin in better shape than dry air, and that gray days give us more time to accomplish “to-do” things, leaving us freer to enjoy the sunny days. Even occurrences that we might consider annoying, may turn out to be valuable lessons or gifts, in some way. We never know all there is to know at first glance. We all have more choices in our lives than we may realize. It is generally more comforting to blame someone else for our over-busyness than to accept that our own lack of thought has trapped us. Our decisions about what we “must” do, are not necessarily what we truly must do. Of course, if we are responsible and caring persons, then there are things which we accept; as parents we need to nurture and raise our children, if we have a career, it is our responsibility to do our best with that job, if we volunteer, the same sense of task-ownership stays with us. Often, however, we take on more burdens than should be ours, creating continual stress in our lives. It is often our own choice to be over-extended. “Not my monkeys; not my Zoo!” is a rather flip, but astute, way of accepting that some things are not ours to handle, agonize over, or fix. Kerm remarked a while ago, that people make the decision to get out of bed in the morning --- or not. (I hope that wasn’t an oblique way of saying I get up too late!) But he’s right about the choice; we can open ourselves to the day, or we can dive back under the covers and put a pillow over our heads to exempt ourselves from what the next 24 hours might bring. Some mornings, the blankets and pillows are surely tempting. Little excuses easily pop into our minds, and can add up until they become a completely solid reason for staying in pajamas. But each day we live is a precious day. Morgan Freeman* said: “Waking up in the morning is a miracle of its own. Be thankful for another day to experience life and be grateful that you get another opportunity to continue on your incredible journey.” And ---- if your journey isn’t sufficiently incredible, each of us has the power to make things different, if only a small bit. Have your choices led you where you want to go? Father’s Day is fast-approaching, and I think of my father’s choices. He lost his father when he was 2 or 3 years old to pneumonia and typhoid fever. Dad was fortunate in that his father’s brother, his Uncle Fred, stepped up to give some male guidance, and his mother eventually remarried another fine man. Both were good role models. I know that he respected education, but was financially limited to high school. Dad’s brother chose to follow his stepfather into carpentry. My father decided, after returning from WWI, and after briefly working in the automobile industry, to become a farmer. After marrying, he and my mother lived and worked on two rented farms before buying the one on which I grew up. After WWII, when my brothers came home and Dad had acquired a painful back problem, my eldest brother took over the farm work, and Dad went to work for first the Federal Land Bank and then Farm Credit. He was a banker of sorts, issuing loans to qualifying farmers. He also became a working part of his community; an Elder and Trustee in the church, a Grange member, active in Farm Bureau and worked tirelessly to get a central school and school buses. He strongly encouraged and assisted his five children to educate themselves as well as they found possible. His choices took him from limited resources, as a boy, to giving back and being respected in his community, and supporting a family. He assuredly was not perfect; he was easily irritated, quite thunderous when displeased, and had little patience for foolishness. But he loved his family and his choices reflected his determination to do the best he could for them. This did not mean an easy a life. It did mean getting out of bed every single day, regardless of his mood. First it was cows to be milked and crops to plant, and later, farmers to be counselled. And I must add here (with a generous measure of grumpiness!) that when my father was out of bed, he thought everyone else should be also --- regardless of prom night or midnight work on last-minute essays. He was meticulous about good manners, respect for people and tradition, including the etiquette around our nation’s flag. Friday was Flag Day --- an often- forgotten, but special day. Perhaps schools currently neglect teaching its history, and how the flag is to be displayed or flown. Some individuals and groups have thoughtlessly used it as a measure of protest over a disliked governmental issue. Others, in a mistaken sense of patriotism, have draped it around their shoulders or painted it on the street. Our flag, which is a symbol of who we are as a nation, has been displayed in several less than admirable ways. It is not supposed to be carelessly worn, especially worn in a way that requires sitting, lying or treading upon it. Those using the flag in casual or disrespectful ways, or for purposes of protesting government policy do not think, perhaps, that they are also dissing the courageous men and women who have fought to keep that flag flying. Protestors are often, one-thought people, and they often lack a grasp of history. They do not consider how the spray of their words and deeds may be toxic to others other than their objects of protest. There are probably better, more intelligent, and more honest methods of getting people’s attention for something that needs correction. I have always liked the Civil War era poem, “Barbara Fritchie” by James Russell Lowell*. It is too long to put here in its entirety, but a few lines will ---- perhaps ---- make you want to check it out for yourself: And for the rest of the story, you must look it up. 😊 But it is a poem that demonstrates how important the flag has been to those who love their country, even with its many errors. And speaking of June celebrations, Juneteenth is coming soon, Wednesday, June 19th. Because this is a relatively new holiday, many do not know its history or why it has suddenly become a federal holiday. Its status has been long in the making but it stems from the extended period of time it took for the word to get out to all slave-owners, especially in Texas, that emancipation had come. It was months after the law was enacted before everyone was informed or believed it. Juneteenth celebrates the ending of one of the darkest parts of our history ---- slavery. Owning another person is the opposite of everything our nation stands for, and something I find difficult to imagine; repulsive even. So, Juneteenth requires us, as a nation, to recognize our past, to go forward in a direction that erases the prejudice and mis-information we have accumulated over the years, and to keep celebrating both the change in law, and hopefully, in our hearts. So because it comes but once/year, enjoy the wonderful month of June, whatever it brings. “What is so rare as a day in June? Then, if ever, come perfect days….”** sing and dance --- even in the hay fields. Remember the wisdom that considers each day we are alive as a gift. It is your choice! Carol Bossard wrties from her home in Spencer. *James Russell Lowell --- American poet, diplomat, literary critic and editor. He was associated with the “Fireside Poets” of New England, who promoted reading, as a family, in the evening. 1807-1891 **from “The Vision of Sir Launfal” by James Russell Lowell

Three essays on May might well be overkill, fine month that it is, were it not for Memorial Day, the day of remembrance and celebration, just past, but still current. There are enough reasons to extend the celebration for several days; parades, the annual PBS Memorial Day programming, family picnics and visiting family graves. There is the traditional switch to white shoes and clothing if anyone bothers to follow such customs nowadays. And since Memorial Day brings thoughts about family, about war and peace, and about heroes,there is much to consider. One of my favorite personal memories of Memorial Day would be the parade in Victor. I was in the high school band. Not a marching band; a concert band, but we marched in the local parades. Our uniforms were a bright blue wool with gold metallic trim, blue hats with visors and white sneakers (polished, of course). Since I played the flute, and outdoor weather isn’t great for flutes, I often played the bell lyre for outdoor events. That is a heavy instrument held by a strap over the shoulders and around the waist. It adds considerable weight to the marching; good exercise, I’m sure. Sometimes, I played the piccolo, especially if we were doing Sousa’s “Stars and Stripes Forever,” and that was not only lighter in weight, but more fun; all those little runs up and down the “Stars and Stripes.” The down-side of all this parading was that by the end of May, the weather was/is quite warm, and our wooly uniforms held in the heat. One or two band members per parade, fainted. Not I, having experienced heat in the hay field, I was generally OK. And the show must go on; it was a community event where we felt good about participating. Another memory, oddly pleasant, were cemetery walks with my mother. There were many of her family members in the Holly/Murray, NY area (since 1827), and so there were quite a few graves. We took flowers (sometimes even planted flowers) and walked around the pleasant, shaded grounds, reading tombstones. She introduced me to my forebearers, annually. There was Abner Dusett, my great-grandfather, who was a carrot farmer and his wife, Jennie Mae Allen Dusett, my grandmother Ada Weatherwax Dusett, Aunt Lovina, and many others. Sadly, there were also youngsters who succumbed to childhood diseases. I felt quite akin to all these people after a few strolls through the cemetery. Besides recalling family members gone on, Memorial Day is also a day for remembering our larger history. I regard war as a foolish waste of human and monetary resources as well as a barbaric way to settle differences, get revenge, or satisfy greed. It creates trauma for those fighting on either “side” and for those in the path of harm; “collateral damage” they call it. And yet, even with all these negatives, Memorial Day gives me a feeling of gratitude and even pride in the courage and sense of duty that pulls men and women into defense of their country. In the worst of times, we still manage to emerge intact as a nation, ready to pick up the pieces of who we are, and able to look ahead once more. I have, tucked away in a chest, a Civil War hat from an ancestor who served in that terrible war of brother vs. brother. My father served in WWI until he was sent home with pneumonia --- there being no antibiotics as the time to combat the disease. Two of my brothers served in WWII, one in the Army and one in the Marines, while my third brother was considered essential for keeping the farm going. He was also too young to enlist. In my opinion, they were all too young, but they felt that duty called! Regrettably, I never spoke of this with my mother, perhaps one needs growing sons to empathize, but I cannot imagine the amount of stress that she bore, knowing two sons were in harm’s way for months at a time. As I said, the “glory” of war is a matter of perspective. My brother-in-law served during the Korean conflict. Highschool and college friends served in Viet Nam. Some never returned. Those who did were sadder and wiser, or sometimes, more in despair. One young man I knew took his own life after seeing the atrocities of that war. The sons of friends suffered, both physically and emotionally, from their service in the Gulf, Iraq and Afghanistan. No one escapes war without scars,inside as well as out. I recently saw a quotation: “All those who go to war give their lives; some all at once and some over many years.” Some beautiful stories of heroism, of compassion and of personal growth often emerge from war experiences. Humans can develop wisdom in almost any situation if they so choose. But wouldn’t it be fine if combatting the power-hungry, the greedy and those with no compassion or wisdom were not a part of that growth? Meanwhile, reality tells us that the world is as it is ---- a complicated mixture of good and bad, of upheaval and change, of dread and delight. It is for us to find paths that lead to building rather than tearing down. And generally, being unable to change others, we must, to make a difference, change ourselves and our careless, often self-centered thinking. This weekend we turned the calendar page to June. June --- a month for graduates, for brides and grooms, for making hay and for contemplating the wonderful summer ahead. Parents begin wondering what to do with their kids for the summer months. If the kids live on a farm, this is no problem. Haying, combining, county fairs fill the days and often, summer is too short. Summer camps are on the agenda for some. Summer programs in the arts or sciences are available if one is near a college town. Whatever the choices or lack thereof, I believe that parents may give more attention to parenting when school lets out. Speaking of parenting, should it require a license? Of course not, but deciding to have children should certainly inspire more thought than most couples give it. There are people who simply should not have children. Too many young marrieds produce children because “it’s the thing to do,” and then discover that they really don’t have the inner resources for that very hard job of bringing up a child to adult-hood. It takes a wise person to realize that motherhood/fatherhood is not in the best interest of either themselves or a child. Of course, that situation can often change as life changes; what doesn’t work well at age twenty might be fine at age thirty-five. It is good to remember, though, and to remind young people, that adorable babies turn into obnoxious nine-year-olds, and challenging teens. And, one’s life is entwined with a child’s life forever, which can be wonderful, or debilitating, depending on the circumstances. Kerm and I gave parenting as little thought as most young couples. We were fortunate, though, in that when one of us wasn’t doing well as a parent, the other one generally was. Toddlers weren’t my most joyous age, but Kerm played trucks and trains and blocks on the floor with them, often supervised their splashy baths and corralled them when they crawled beneath the pews at church. When they were teenagers and Kerm vanished into some adolescent-free corner of the house, I was able to find humor in their often-clueless and certainly loud, behavior. And I enjoyed listening to their developing reasoning. There were, of course, times when both of us failed to be as aware or as available as we should have been; we made some grave errors and in looking backward, would surely make some different choices. But mostly, we enjoyed being parents and now, we find ourselves rejoicing at the very likeable and accomplished people our sons (and most of their friends) have become. My suggestion to parents of today is to enjoy your kids --- even on the days when you’d like to ship them off to the polar regions. Childhood passes quickly, and suddenly, they are children no more, and for a while, the house rather echoes with emptiness. As I glance back over May, I think it has been a good month, a month of growth, of music, moments of grief for a friend who has passed on, and days of fragrance (lilacs and lilies of the valley) and beauty as the world here grows green. We can close out the month with a visual version of “Taps”: “May is done…”; giving us days to take an honest look at our history, what love of country means, and how important are our families. No matter what today and tomorrow bring, our lives are wrapped intricately with those generations long gone (genetic history), with our parents who did the best they could, and with our close and immediate family. In reviewing our nation’s history, we can be aware of the many times our country has endured crises ---and has recovered. It is the same with families. We have disappointments, crises occur, but we bounce back and continue on together. And now, we look ahead to the summer month of June. We can hope that we get just enough rain for gardens and crops, that wars diminish and that legislators suddenly overflow with common sense and civility. But even if these things do not happen, June still comes with its days of sunshine, blue skies, festivals, weddings, roses and growing grass. And “….together we walk onward …..beyond our vision….. into the unknown….whether the path may be steep or narrow ….wide or straight…….in sunshine or rain….it matters now because we are secure…..and moving toward greater wisdom blending in the glory of life…..and the promise of tomorrow.”* Carol writes from her home in Spencer. She may be reached at: carol42wilde@htva.net. From “Together We Walk” by Peter S. Seymour---- American author.