Carol Bossard

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.

What lush, thoroughly-enjoyable days we are in. Who wouldn’t like May? Birds are everywhere; scarlet cardinals are flying through purple lilacs and the colors don’t clash at all! Dogwood blossoms make white clouds against the dark spruce trees. In the musical, Camelot, they sing: “Tra la, it’s May! The lusty month of May! The lovely month when ev’ryone goes blissfully a-stray…..”* I’m not sure about the astray part, but it is surely easy to feel blissful right now. The month’s name came from Maia, the Greek goddess who oversaw the growth of plants. The Romans celebrated “Floralia”, a five-day festival to honor the goddess, Flora – the Roman equivalent. For some Native Americans, May is the month of the Full Flower Moon. On the western Christian church’s liturgical calendar, the Easter season is ending with Pentecost, this year, on May 19th. The cinnamon ferns in my shade garden have unrolled like so many green, leafy scrolls. They are now high enough to hide the path created by the “family” skunk, who has a burrow over that way, and who comes out at night to dig in the lawn for grubs. They are so tall that I can no longer see the bird feeders from my chair in the dining room. This is too bad, because the rose-breasted grosbeaks, cardinals, chickadees, nuthatches and woodpeckers are constant visitors. Baby raccoons will be out of the nest very soon, raiding the cat food. Bluejays have also added cat food to their daily diet; I think it may be a game with them, birds vs. cat! The world is full of life in technicolor, both flora and fauna. May is another way to define a new word I found (I like interesting words) ---" Yugen” ---- a profound, mysterious sense of the beauty of the universe that triggers a deep emotional response”.** This response seemed to be true, world-wide, when so many people watched the eclipse. I feel it when there is the dark tracery of trees and shrubs on a moon-lit lawn or in a quiet, lavender twilight when birds’ soft cheeping morphs day into night or when everything sparkles at sunrise and the sky is streaked with rose and gold. The beauty of the universe is so vivid in May. Our pastor gave us an assignment one Sunday for the next Sunday to “find Sabbath” somewhere other than church. It was a fairly easy assignment for me, but not, apparently, for everyone. To feel the reverence and rest of Sabbath while in the garden, or on the lake shore or under a blooming tree is just natural. I do appreciate stained glass and beautiful organ preludes, but I can find awe and delight in all the wonders of what is around me. I can find love and delight in being with family and friends. The world surely has gaping wounds and is filled with grief and destruction in many places. But we can still be bathed in the natural wonders; gifts to those of us living on this earth --- so many beautiful places and ----the opportunity to be with incredible people. Nature’s gifts lead me to consider human gifts. One of the things we recently tossed around in our Friday AM women’s study was how everyone has intrinsic gifts but are not always realized by those who have them. Helping others recognize their gifts is an affirming part of loving/caring. Some gifts/ talents are quite visible; those individuals who pour out music, those who dance as lightly as thistledown, those who bring roles to life on stage, who turn oils, acrylics, and water colors into pictures that speak to the heart, those who take a flat piece of fabric and turn it into clothing, quilts or collage, gardeners who “paint” the landscape with flowers and foliage, people who bring life to wood, stone and metal via sculpture, furniture, and carvings those who draw us into stories until we feel we’ve lived there. So many beautiful things come from our gifts/talents. There are also wonderful, but less evident, gifts. Attentive listening is a precious gift when we need someone’s ear. We don’t necessarily want anyone to “fix” our problems as much as a quiet acceptance, and the feeling that someone hears us; that we are not alone in our feelings. Then there are those individuals who teach in a way that makes learning exciting ---- often helping us with inner growth as well. There is the gift of hospitality; people who always make me feel that they are glad I am with them. There are the comforting huggers, leaving a trail of affirmation in their wake. I am not, by upbringing, a very “huggy” person, but I almost always appreciate a hug from someone who thinks I need one. Another rare gift would be in people who notice small things, and express their gratitude or appreciation. We may not work for rewards, but it does the heart good when someone notices. Going out of one’s way to do something feels better with “Good Job” encouragement along the path. Gifts can be huge visible ones or small quiet ones, but we all have them, and should share them and our appreciation of others’ gifts extravagantly. We might not consider events as gifts, but celebrations, good times of many kinds, are gifts that give us breaks in our routines. May begins a train of celebratory events. Since we live only one-half hour from Ithaca and Elmira, we are very aware of college graduations. Ithaca College graduation is this weekend, and Cornell’s ceremonies are on Memorial Day weekend. We appreciate these events from afar; we try to avoid driving where there is an influx of parents, along with students packing up to go home. This brings me to another subject, which is sort of about wasting gifts. Students tend to leave heaps and piles of perfectly usable stuff behind to be picked up by garbage trucks and deposited in a landfill. This lack of concern about waste bothers me. I think kids should be taught to take good care of their possessions. Feeling “entitled” to everything one wants is not the way to become a responsible adult. It is no gift to a child to be the parents who do not speak to this lack of gratitude and care. There is a happy ending to this messy and profligate exodus. The surrounding community is very aware of this annual “leaving behind,” habitual behavior so the “gleaners” come to the rescue. Potential waste has become, instead, an exercise in re-using and re-purposing. Wasting gifts of any kind, material items or those things of the spirit just shouldn’t happen. In Camelot, because it is May, they obviously believed in letting the good times roll. Here, in addition to the graduations, there are oodles of possibilities for going “astray”, or at least getting out and about. There are parks with waterfalls, lakes and rivers, several garden centers, Farmer’s Markets, The Wind Mill, the Finger Lakes Ice Cream Trail and a plethora of yard sales -- all fun things to give us a break from the very daily lives we tend to live. Check your community’s offerings and be a part of them. Living vibrantly at all ages is using our personal gifts well. And planned recreation for ourselves is as important as planned maintenance for our equipment or functioning factories. We all grew up with the idea that working hard is a virtue, which it certainly is, to a point. Working to achieve goals is a good thing, but learning to contemplate and take reasonable rest is an excellent thing too. Moderation has never been a popular concept in the U.S.; our general population, historically and currently, has tended to bounce rapidly from one extreme to another, and we’ve glorified that “work for the night is coming” hymn. Corporations have made people think they must work 24/7 if they wish to be considered loyal, ambitious employees. There are entities who, even knowing it is illegal, expect their employees work overtime without compensation. And we do it to ourselves; push-push-push until we are exhausted. If we have been raised to believe how much we accomplish in a day measures our value, then having fun may seem frivolous and self-indulgent. Not so!! Taking breaks is a healthy, as well as a creative way to live. We need to re-learn and believe that we are enough just as we are. Personal growth and delight in the world around us are valid parts of living, as well as whatever it is that furnishes our bread, butter, and shoes. Perhaps that was our lesson from our unusual Sabbath. We may not need to go blissfully astray to celebrate the month of May, but maybe we could indulge in just a bit of wandering. Taking time to really see the world blossoming and growing green, actually hear the singing of birds, create a picnic in the park, instead of dinner at home, do something different and fun! Spending just a little time in our own personal Camelot adds elan and value to our lives. “In short, there’s simply not a more congenial spot for happy ever aftering than here, in Camelot!”* Carol writes from her home in Spencer. She may be reached at: carol42wilde@htva.net. *Camelot ---Created for the stage in 1960, produced as a movie in 1967. The story/legend of King Arthur’s court and the brief, wonderful time of Camelot. Written by Adam Jay Lerner and music by Frederick Loewe. **definition of “Yugen” found on Pinterest from “Singing Grasses.”

One day post-May Day. May Day or “Carrying little bouquets of flowers to the neighbors Day," which no one does anymore. I’ve written before about making little paper baskets, filling them with early flowers and hanging them on a neighbor’s door knob. It is such fun at age 7 or 8, to be sneaky and kind at the same time. The Victor-area didn’t always have a large variety of flowers in bloom on May 1st, so we had to make do with daffodils, grape hyacinths and dandelions. Our closest neighbor was an older couple with grown children, so they were always glad to see other children, and they kindly pretended they didn’t notice me leaving the basket and running the quarter-mile back home again. There are dandelions and violets dotting our lawn now, and soon there’ll be lilies of the valley. If the weather is especially warm, perhaps early peonies around Memorial Day. The gold finches began changing color in April and now we have a whole flock of little yellow birds. When they all fly up at once, they resemble a cloud of butterflies. In May the northeast becomes “Emerald City Green”. Perhaps that is why an emerald is the gem of the month for May ---- everything is greener and more glowing. One might expect to see Dorothy marching along on the yellow brick road, with the scarecrow, tin man and lion. There is also the fresh smell of garden soil being turned over, and lawns being mowed. The general directive for our region is not to plant anything tender until after Memorial Day, but, eager gardeners that we are, we sometimes can’t resist planting earlier. Quite soon, farmers will begin chopping hay. When that aroma drifts into one’s nostrils, it immediately lightens perspective on the day. Forget all those artificial sprays, just figure out how to bottle the scent of freshly-cut alfalfa and clover. April and May equals Prom Season, as a friend of mine who sews professionally, knows well. She is inundated with orders for sequined, beaded, satin and tulle creations. It has been 64 years since my last prom, but I remember several of them well. In our school, there was a Senior Ball in December and the Junior Prom in April or May. But all classes went to all dances, so they were high school events. Unlike today’s sophisticated hotel venues, the classes responsible decorated the school gym, in whatever theme they chose. One I remember was “Enchanted Island.” Today, insurance companies would shudder to see high school students perched on ladders, hanging streamers. The proms featured live bands, refreshments, and often there were after-prom parties at someone’s home. There were no limos either; only tired, but cooperative parents to provide transportation until our dates were old enough to drive. Life may have been simpler then, but a prom is a prom, and there is always enough excitement and glamor make them special. I understand that currently, friends attend proms in groups instead of needing a date. I think that this is good, for it includes everyone and doesn’t push kids into social situations they’d rather avoid. So not all cultural changes are bad! Mothers’ Day is just over a week away. This was an occasion for celebration a long time, before it became an “official” day in 1914, when President Woodrow Wilson signed it into law. Father’s Day is fast-approaching, too, in mid-June. These are two days in which we can take a closer-than-usual look at our parents, our heritage, and who we are because of both. Parents and offspring have times when they are at odds, and consider each an annoyance. It is part of parenting and growing up! But those of us whose parents have passed on, often think wistfully of how we’d like to sit down with them again, asking questions and getting stories. Louis L’Amour* wrote this: You never think of your parents as much more than parents. It isn’t until you are older yourself that you begin to realize they had their hopes, dreams, ambitions and secret thoughts. You sort of take them for granted, and sometimes you are startled to know they were in love a time or two……..You never stop to think about what they were like until it is too late….” My father died in his early 70s. Since he was 47 when I was born, I barely had time to relate to him as another adult. Our children were very small and I was focused on them. My mother lived to be 94, so there was more opportunity, although I’m not sure that I took advantage of that time as well as I might have done. Kerm’s father also died too early, but his mother lived into her 90s. And we did get to spend more time with her when she stayed with us for a bit. Mothers’ Day and Fathers’ Day should give us nudges to contemplate who our parents really are/were, to be conscious of accumulating stories and memories, keeping them alive. It seems to be a truism that each generation tends to feel a little superior to the generation just past. Horse and buggy days sound impossible to us now. It seems incredible that when a young man went west, in the 1800s, he would probably never see or hear of his family again. Letters were slow, expensive and other forms of communication were non-existent. Now, it is technology changing our options so rapidly that many older people feel inept. For those who’ve used technology since babyhood, confusion about it seems absurd. Gaps in understanding continue. But regardless of perceptions, each generation does build on the last generation. And there is much to learn on both sides. More listening and less judgement would be wise. If we are watching, and listening around that second weekend in May, we will also likely see and hear humming birds and rose-breasted grosbeaks. I’m also hoping for an indigo bunting. We haven’t seen one now in several years, and I’m not sure what might attract them back. Maybe no cat?? I always cut oranges and put out grape jelly for orioles too. They do come, but only to rest for a few days, slurp up the jelly, drink the orange juice and leave our avian spa for other,to them,more attractive nesting spots. This is also the season when our less-than-welcome bears can be found drinking out of the humming bird feeder, gobbling the grape jelly, and pulling down bird feeders wherever they go. Bears are foragers, but we humans can be that also. In the interest of exercise and fun, now is the time to be foraging for wild foods. Back when I had energy and was enthusiastic about Euell Gibbons, who lived not far from us in Pennsylvania, I explored this culinary option. His books, “Stalking the Wild Asparagus”, “Stalking the Wild Herbs”, etc. were such fun. My experiments had mixed results; some pretty good and some quite horrible, as our sons will remind me and anyone else who cares to listen. But the foraging was fun and the harvesting added some texture and different flavors to our daily food. Tiny, hard day lily buds can be prepared like green beans, very young dandelion leaves add multiple vitamins to a salad and violets can be candied for cake decorations, made into jam or tossed fresh into salads. Food-foraging is healthy; gets one out into fresh air and there’s exercise as a bonus. Along with foraging for possible salad greens, weeds in general are growing apace in my gardens! There is a T-shirt that reads: “Surgeon General’s Warning: Gardening can be dirty, addictive and may lead to OWD --- Obsessive Weeding Disorder!” Unlike my husband and my brothers, all of whom are/were farmers at heart, there aren’t very many plants that I consider absolute weeds. Most can be used in some way; as food, applied medicinally or arranged in bouquets. Some, like Joe Pye Weed and jewelweed, while spreading too rapidly, do add beauty to the garden and food for butterflies and hummingbirds. Another person says: “The weed is a plant that has mastered every survival skill except for learning how to grow in rows.”** There are some, however, that give me so much grief, that their usefulness is small potatoes compared to their annoying qualities: dock, poke (or Devil’s Walking Stick), cleavers, gout weed and quack grass. Except for cleavers, they are all deep-rooted and can grow from a tiny fragment of root left behind. Gout weed, in particular, reaches out and grows horizontally as well as vertically, and may take over the world. And cleavers is a prickly plant that grows into mats over night! Whatever you are doing,foraging, dancing, celebrating or weeding, May is the perfect time to turn off the news and get outside; to take joy in the wonderful world around us. This old English bit of poetry expresses it well: “’Tis merry in greenwood – thus runs the old lay ---In the gladsome month of lively May, when the wild birds’ song on stem and spray invites to forest bower……….dull is the heart that loves not then the deep recess of the wildwood glen, where the roe and red-deer find sheltering den, when the sun is in his power.”*** Carol weites from her home in Spencer. She may be reached at: carol42wilde@htva.net. *Louis L’Amour –Quotation is from “Tucker”. Louis L’Amour is an American writer, best known for his westerns, but also the author of several historic fiction novels, short stories of WWII and non-fiction. 1908 – 1988. **Doug Larson from “Wisdom of the Crones.” Doug Larson, columnist for Green Bay Press Gazette. Noted for his clever one-liners. 1926-2017 ***Sir Walter Scott ---Scottish poet and historian. 1771 – 1832.

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

Easter parades are over; a total solar eclipse before us. Birds are returning. I heard, in late February, that a friend had seen two bears, locally, and another friend mentioned the return of her bluebirds. The bluebirds were a welcome sign, but we hoped the bears would stay away until May. However, one or two have already come by, briefly, and so we will soon be moving the big seed cans into our storage shed. This means some inconvenience for me --- up our hilly lawn and around to the back of the out-building. But the exercise is probably a good thing and certainly better than allowing an ursine sunflower seed orgy on our sidewalk. Hopefully, those early bluebirds will find enough buggy food to satisfy their spring optimism. Do you know what a vernal pool is? In the woods on our farm, there were little pools that held water only for the spring season. By mid-summer they had dried up. But for a little while, they glimmered and rippled like tiny lakes, surrounded by mossy stones, and inhabited,just briefly, by tiny frogs, darting water insects and,maybe,possibly, wood faeries. They reflected carpets of violets and starry bloodroot blossoms. And on a nearby slope, in slightly drier terrain, there was a hillside of white trilliums. These 3-lobed trumpets must line the path leading to Heaven, they are so beautiful. In a slightly different terrain,the sandy soil in my brother’s woods (only 3 miles away) we used to find creeping arbutus, a delicate pink flower with a lovely fragrance. Vernal pools, opening wild flowers and a variety of mosses, all greening my little portion of earth. As lawns lose their winter brown, and the trees show the beginnings of leaves, it is good to just get outside. Andy Morris,* a regional poet, says this about the spring of the year in an aging world: “Kneeling down to feel the fresh green grass, I found, lying just beneath it, white as bone, a ghost of grass from a summer past, long since mown I held in my hand like so much paper, or even less than that, a milky vapor. And I thought of how age gives way to youth. And how truth is but the mulch for further truth. And I thought of how my life is but ashes, little more than a fading blade of grass. But when I looked again upon the scene, and remembered what I felt when at first, I knelt, and took the time to celebrate the green.” Celebrating the small bits of new life brightens my day. The seasons of fall and winter, and realization of aging may dim our spirits briefly, but we are restored by the whole, panoramic view of increasing “green”. “Green” is now what we all try to be in an attempt to be environmentally wise. We try to use products that do not pollute land, sea or air. Traditionally, spring cleaning has its own season. This endeavor, in the 1800s and early 1900s, involved rug-beating, scrubbing brushes, pails and pails of water, sometimes lye and white wash (and no latex gloves!). It was a labor-intensive series of tasks that truly was an actual “season”. Little House on the Prairie books give a couple of vivid house-cleaning scenarios. For them, it involved taking the old straw out of mattresses and replacing it with new straw, dragging the rugs outside to be beaten, and washing (with home-made soap) anything washable in the house. My only memory of anything resembling this, was when the inside of our dairy barn was swept down, hosed down and whitewashed, in the spring, after the cows had been let out to pasture. Today, vacuum cleaners, rug-shampooers, Swiffers and a whole array of cleaning products make house-cleaning all year ‘round a much easier process (though often quite polluting), and there is little need anymore, to tear up the entire residence. I think home-makers today may well wish to lift a glass of whatever to the new robotic cleaners, power washers and wipeable paints that make life so much easier --- and, if we are alert, safer too. As I thought about the tradition of spring cleaning, I was also reminded of other traditions with which I grew up. Sitting around a table for daily meals or for tea time is one custom that seems to be dwindling. TV trays, frozen dinners, and conflicting schedules have made meals less of a gathering-together event and more of a fast-food way of survival. We may be feeding our bodies, but are doing less in the way of nourishing our souls and connecting ourselves with family and friends. We did fairly well with sitting at table while our boys were home and in school but then college and summer jobs saw us sitting together less and less often. Now, Kerm and I do eat together but while watching the nightly news. Talk about inviting indigestion!! I have good memories of sitting around several tables. When we went home to visit, our first activity, after dropping our suitcases near the stairs,was to sit around my mother’s kitchen table for a cup of tea and molasses cookies. The table was placed before a large window with a bird feeder attached to the sill, looking out on a flower garden and a pond. So, there were plenty of beautiful things to watch and to encourage conversation. It was like taking a deep breath and relaxing for the allotted time of our visit. Then, at my brother’s house, the front door opened straight into the dining room. We shed shoes, and claimed a chair around the large dining table. We had cups of our favorite tea accompanied by considerable conversation and laughter as the stories flowed with who was doing what. There was a merry tale of a salad that was the “last straw” for Bob (not one for creative or odd foods) when he found a plastic curtain ring therein. There was the time I requested a wonderful potato soup recipe --- discovering that it was originally mine, but totally forgotten. Other family members often dropped in. As we talked, hands were busily doing bead work, blankets were being knitted, and one patient person was creating a needlepoint pillow cover. Coming home and being around a table was a mini-vacation from daily reality and created a sense of forever belonging. When we visited at Kerm’s home it was much the same feeling. I have old photographs of family sitting around the table at holiday time. The round table, pulled out, with leaves added, was laden with good food and filled the small dining room. Smiling faces indicated that we were in good company. Besides meals at that table, there were also riotous times of playing Monopoly or triple-deck pinochle, instigated by Kerm’s grandmother. Then the kitchen table was where we had delectable pancakes for breakfast and where we caught up with Kerm’s mother and what was going on in her life and the neighborhood. What we prideful, independent humans do not always realize is how much we need each other. Some of us mingle more reluctantly than others; we are introverts who find our peace in solitude and quiet. But even introverts need the company of others for healthy living. Good company, that is. I used to give my sister grief about not participating; about staying by herself (with a good book, of course) so much. In recent years, I’ve found myself behaving in a similar way. Given a choice, I’d usually rather stay home and read than go out and socialize, unless the people are near and dear. But when I do make the effort, I have felt completed and renewed by participating. Especially do I find this fellowship and encouragement in our small groups whether they be pinochle nights, Bible study or Spencer Singers. Small groups create a space where we feel safe and affirmed. So many people boast that they don’t need other people. But, of course, we all do. Every single one of us! Families, whether blood relatives or those we’ve built from friends, keep us connected to people who care about us and keep our ability to love, polished. There are two quotations that speak to the value of companionship. “Life is full of opportunities for learning love….the world is not a playground but a schoolroom. Life is not a holiday but an education. And the one eternal lesson for us all is how better we can love.** And, “Two people are better off than one, for they can help each other succeed…….three are even better for a triple-braided cord is not easily broken.”*** We need good people in our lives for support, for mirrors, and for inspiration. In April, besides finding companionship with people who make life better, the usual spring work is waiting to be done. As the buds on the lilacs and trees swell, so do the numbers of tasks on the “to-do” lists. We’ve had some rainy days this week, the upside of which is giving us a brief respite from the outside jobs. It is good to cross off some of the inside tasks ---- like taking down the glass snowflakes still decorating my porch and picture window, and sorting the immense pile of catalogs, letters and notes to myself. Whether inside or out, may your April bring you just enough showers to refresh, and may you rejoice in every bit of sunshine that comes your way. Be sure you notice the increasing, wonderful greening all around even as you carefully, with special glasses, watch the solar eclipse. Carol may be reached at: carol42wilde@htva.net. *Andy Morris ---from “Quiet Moments; Lessons In Life And Love” **Henry Drummond ---Scottish evangelist, biologist, and writer. 1851-1887. ***Ecclesiastes 4: 9 and 12b.

“It was one of those March days when the sun shines hot and the wind blows cold; When it is summer in the light and winter in the shade….” Charles Dickens TA-Da!!! It is just past the Vernal Equinox and in my part of the world, Spring is here -- on the calendar as well as in reality! Spring, in Zones 4 and 5 can be quite liberally seasoned with big snowflakes, and chilly March winds, as has happened this week. We have, in some years, even experienced a blizzard in mid-April and wet snow flurries in May. But there is always the surety that these slight discomforts will not linger very long; spring, with its many moods, is here. Snowdrops and winter aconite have been in bloom for two weeks now, and the crocuses are an amazing patch of purple by the front steps. Day Lily leaves are 4-6 inches above the ground. While we were gone last weekend, a bear came through and pulled a bird feeder apart. He must have been a fast-moving young bear, because he apparently didn’t remember where the bird seed cans were, and didn’t do any other damage. It is no wonder, with such mild weather, that bears have awakened and are traveling earlier than usual ---- and are hungry!! Who doesn’t know the familiar old song “Easter Parade”: “In your Easter bonnet with all the frills upon it, you’ll be the grandest lady in the Easter Parade””? There are no parades around here, but we are a week away from Easter bonnets and spring clothes, which, depending on temperatures and precipitation, may not be just the thing to wear. Easter’s date is determined by the lunar calendar, not our monthly one, and it is quite early this year. Fortunately, Easter bunnies are like the U.S. postal system’s “neither rain, sleet nor snow will keep them from their tasks” motto; rabbits don’t mind a fresh snowfall or brisk winds, and come hopping by (candy-filled baskets in paws,?) as scheduled. Garden flowers, however, can be iffy. Daffodils usually recover from a spring snow. But tulips are less hardy and often sulkily wilt, just to exhibit their resentment. There will be pots and pots of flowers for Easter Sunday’s service, so that no matter what the skies are doing outside, the sanctuary will be full of fragrance and color, and a few sneezes from those sensitive to lilies and hyacinths. The week between Palm Sunday and Easter Sunday, is called, by many, Holy Week. In our community, for the past six weeks, there have been Lenten services on Wednesdays. This week, in addition, there is, a Maundy Thursday service, and three options for Good Friday. Then, early on Easter morn, there will be a sunrise service at an old Finnish church up in the hills, where the winds blow and mornings are a bit chilly due to altitude. Later, there are the usual Easter Day services in all the churches and then, perhaps, family dinners. It is a very “church-y” week for those who go. This quotation may not speak of Lent in a totally traditional way, but I would suggest it is one to consider, whether or not church is part of your life: “In case no one has told you lately, this is a reminder that you belong here. There is a you-shaped spot in the world that can only be filled by you. Don’t worry about why. Just know that it is there and it’s yours.” ** When we start thinking about this and what it means, we may find ourselves dwelling in our own 40 days of wilderness. And that time can be holy! It is nearly time for the snowbirds to return north, those humans who prefer to not use their shovels and plows, but who sit out winter where it is a gentler climate than NYS tends to be. Some come home for Easter, some wait until every possibility of snow is past (mid-May) and some meander about the country a bit; traveling before alighting. One couple I know plans to take a cruise to Amsterdam before heading back north. I hope it is tulip season there. I have never been a seasoned/enthusiastic traveler, though we have covered a bit of ground over the years. I find that I am even less open to traveling now, in my later years. Some of that is due to increased traffic and abysmally careless/stupid drivers on interstates, not to mention the hassles of flying. But much of it is that I really appreciate being at home with my just-fits-me chair, my own bed and my cup of good tea in the morning. I like greeting the same cardinals, blue jays and finches coming to the feeder., I like filling the cat’s water bowl, accompanied by his meows of what happened during the night (“just look at my dish; skunk footprints all around it!”). And I hate missing events in our own community. But, staying at home all the time can lead to being stuck-in-a-rut, and closed-minded, so a nice mix is probably good. Travel tends to banish prejudice and change perspective, as we actually meet and find common ground with people outside our usual sphere. We did just get back from a short trip to Vermont. One of our sons lives there, with his family, and it had been a while since we visited their home. Both the trip to Vermont and the trip home fell on nice days. We had clear roads and could enjoy the lovely scenery. During our time in Vermont, there was one day and night of snow. Depending on the altitude, the snow ranged from an inch to five or more. It turned the mountains into frosty snow-globes. Since we didn’t need to go anywhere in particular, we just enjoyed watching the snowfall while we were warm and cozy inside. Before the snow, we journeyed over “Terrible Mountain” to one of our favorite places – the Weston Priory. This is a Benedictine facility, and one of their ministries is choral and instrumental music. They also carve beautiful wooden crosses, throw pottery, and make wall hangings. We acquired a few more of their CDs (Yes, we still use CDs) and a couple of books by authors I enjoy. While we were in Weston, we also stopped by the Weston Country Store, and the more well-known Vermont Country Store, which is based there. After the snow, we went to Rutland, where we found some fine and fun shops, including a used-book store that took our breath away. So traveling, this time, made a very nice break from our daily routine here in Spencer, and it was a pleasure to spend some good times with family. Traveling anywhere else, though, must be put on hold for a bit, for the gardens already need our attention. This year, we are putting some beds into buckwheat, which will fertilize the soil and give it a rest from producing tomatoes and other crops. The rail fence needs a new post with which to hold the dropped rails, some shrubs and trees desperately need pruning, stone blocks around our vegetable garden beds need re-stacking due to winter heaving and,of course, there are the emerging weeds. And we probably should take down our “winter lights” that line the driveway and go across the front of our lawn. Usually, we have more of a breather in March. But with the unusually mild weather, chickweed is already growing profusely amid the flowers, undeterred by frosty nights. I know that chickweed can be used medicinally, but right now, I just want to give the little clumps of snowdrops, the buttery-yellow blossoms of winter aconite, room to breathe. So, when I can summon the determination to ignore my reluctant bones, I’ll be attacking those little green mats of flora, and removing them to the compost pile. This is such an exuberant, expectant time of the year. Green is emerging everywhere. Birds are singing in the morning. Peepers are making an increasingly loud clamor in the swamps across the road and in the stream behind the church. When the sky manages to be blue instead of Finger Lakes gray, it is the color of morning glories. Spring is a box of pastels, a sense of awakening and hope of the blossoms to come. And, according to Hal Borland***, an American naturalist, “March is a tomboy with tousled hair, a mischievous smile, mud on her shoes and a laugh in her voice.” Whatever these last days of March bring, I wish you a blessed Palm Sunday, a Joyous Easter, an inspiring spring and pleasure in each day. As one song says, “Every morning is Easter morning from now on….”!**** Carol Bossard writes from her home in Spencer. *Quotation is from Great Expectations. Charles Dickens was a British novelist and critic. Some of his characters are the best-known in the world. 1812-1870. **Sweatpants & Coffee LLC ***Hal Borland – American naturalist, writer, journalist from Connecticut. 1900-1978. ****Words and music by Donald Marsh & Richard Avery.

Does anyone remember, back in your childhood, the tale of “Chicken Little”, who panicked from what he experienced in his limited little world, and ran to tell everyone that the sky was falling? Of course, the sky remained right where it was supposed to be. Today, something similar happens regularly; on the evening news, on our phones, on Facebook, in conversations. The tone of the message from all channels and media, is that the sky is falling again and again. We hear opinions and projections, often without context, and we panic. However, have you also noticed that spring keeps coming and the sky hasn’t yet fallen? When I was a kid, at the first sign of spring, I’d be checking to see if there were tadpoles in my little vernal pool, past the orchard and down the lane. March 7th might be a bit early, so probably I’d find only rippling water. But sometimes, there would be pollywogs! hat was Victor (Agricultural Zone 5). Spencer is also listed as Zone 5 but here, it is actually closer to being Zone 4. Still, the stirrings of spring are evident, in the fresh air and in one’s sensing of the atmosphere around. Spring is on its way north, a few miles at a time. “Springing forward” is the cry for the weekend just ahead of us. We move to Daylight Savings Time! To be honest, I do not enjoy losing that Sunday AM hour of sleep; I already have a hard enough task making it to church on time. I can relate to the song from My Fair Lady: “Oh get me to the church….. get me to the church… just get me to the church on time,” as I try to get a cup of tea before we go. Personally, more light at the end of the day is worth the temporary pain and the possibility of dozing in my pew. Others, though, reasonably prefer light at the beginning of the day, when they are out and about – walking or running. This annoying-to-some disruption of our culturally- accepted clock-time was first suggested by George Hudson, a New Zealander, in 1916. Germany and Austria-Hungary began using it immediately. Canada also adopted it during WWI. It was accepted in some areas of the United States, but became more popular during the energy crisis of the 1970s. I appreciate that it gives me more time outside in the garden, but can be confusing. Not all states use DST. It would be a sensible move to decide for the entire nation, for all year --- Standard time or Daylight savings time. But consider that kind of bill landing in Congress! They can’t agree on whether or not the sun should shine, much less the time of day! Time is something of a puzzle. We say “time flies!” and I find that to be true more often, as I get older. But my granddaughters also say that time moves fast for them. When I was their age, I think perhaps I was in a time warp filled with endless possibilities, sometimes moving at a waltz tempo, and sometimes the faster pace of a polka. Time was adventure! Well --- except maybe when I had to help cull chickens or retrieve our herd of Guernsey cows from a nearby swamp! Time rather dragged then! However, with near-hourly advances in technology and our fill-every-day-to-the-brim life-styles, years zip by now at a frightening pace for all ages. Of course, time can drag still; during a root canal, in a class with a boring prof, the middle of the night when the clock says 2:30,in a hospital bed or nursing home. How fast or how slow an hour goes depends on our thinking. Perspective has much to do with the movement of hands on the clock. People frequently yearn for different eras; times, “back in the day;” times, when we felt that all was well. If we know our history, this sense of well-being was mostly because we were oblivious or uninformed. People of my generation wish for a return to the 1950s, when “I like Ike!” was the slogan, and “One nation under God” was added to Pledge of Allegiance. It wasn’t that those years were wonderful for all the world; in truth, there was even less justice for all then, than here is now. It is just that we had no clue that people were starving, were maltreated, were being eliminated with ethnic cleansing. Our ignorance was bliss ---- for us. Perpetual bliss, however, isn’t our assignment in this life; appreciating and building a better world, is. There is a down-side to growing knowledge. That, along with the increased speed of our lives, can create an information overload ---- which results in fear. The world seems to be threatening on all sides; culturally, physically and spiritually. Of course, there is more than one kind of fear. Some people enjoy the shuddering, tingling fear that comes with watching horror movies and reading Stephen King books; easy come, easy go --- like ghost stories at Halloween or tales around a campfire. Realistic fear can be good; it protects us from walking down dark alleys in bad sections of town or putting our hand into a fire. But there is deeper fear: Fear of those who are too different, Fear of what people will think, Fear of what consequences might come along with change, Fear of living fully. I found, in a young adult book, this quotation: “Almost all the evil in the world stems from fear.”* Perhaps this is why the Bible tell us, so many times; “Do not fear!” “Be not afraid!” And yet, we ignore angels, and fear plagues us still. We fear for our children, we fear illness, we fear old age. It is scary to not know the road ahead ---AND scary to carry the burden of immediate knowledge of world news. We constantly teeter on the edge of wanting to know and of covering our ears and eyes to avoid knowing. Our fear makes us forget the wonderful and good things around and about us. It is like the adage: “We can complain that rose bushes have thorns, or we can rejoice that thorn bushes have roses. Do you regularly listen to those who amplify scary things? Do you like the shuddery feeling, or does it make hating seem reasonable? Those who desire power over others, consider fear an advantage. “In times of uncertainty, fear is the unifying force. Fear binds people together in a way that cannot be achieved by any other means. Those who would convert people need fear……and fear is something that will drive everyone back to the paths of darkness.”** Remember the Salem witch trials, the Inquisition, the cycles of immigration fears when the Irish, the Italians, the Germans, the Japanese came to our shores ---- and today’s immigration problems? There are many people who fear anything out of their own experience; ready to jump on the band wagon of anyone who dislikes what they dislike, and who promises to bring back the comforts and standards of “back then.” We are being blackmailed with our own fears; fears that will chain us emotionally and spiritually as surely as handcuffs and leg irons would do physically. From experience, I know that fear makes us lose our perspective; we can no longer afford compassion and our discernment is badly skewed. I remember, as a small child, being in bed and “hearing noises outside”. Most children at some time fear monsters beneath the bed or who knows what outside. My parents would reassure me with “Oh it is just the animals in the barn, moving around.” I was not reassured!! I remained afraid. Our granddaughters, when little, heard us talking about the raccoons stealing cat food and bird seed in the night. That night, one of them fussed and cried --- and finally said: “I’m afraid that the raccoons will come.” So, we turned on an outside light, and went to the window. Sure enough, a raccoon (just one!) had come and was happily chowing down sunflower seeds. Our granddaughter said: “Oh , he’s really cute!” Many of our fears --- very real to us --- can be blown away like a mist, if we are brave enough to look at them head-on. We humans have such a short time here on earth. We need to ask ourselves, “do we really want to spend it in fear and trembling?” It is time now (slow-dance time at this point in my life) to notice the wonders that come with spring. Connection with growing things nurtures our inner peace. The greening grass --- first in the swamps and then on our lawns and the subtle aroma, even if the air is chilly, of awakening soil. Birds are singing more often. I have already seen a red-winged blackbirds at the feeder, and a friend has blueibrds. Little points of daffodils have emerged and the snowdrops and crocuses are in bloom. John Muir*** had a piece of advice for all seasons and all times. If one substitutes “hills” for “mountains”, it fits where, I live. “Climb the mountains and get their good tidings. Nature’s peace will flow into you as sunshine flows into the trees. The winds will blow their own freshness into you and the storms their energy, while cares will drop away from you like leaves in autumn.” The natural world has a way of dramatically changing a mood of fear or despair to a reassured, positive one. And it costs nothing. Appreciating and enjoying the world around us brings its own blessings. Opening our hearts to all the newness of spring will remind us that our fears come and go, but spring will keep right on coming, every year, about this time. Carol writes from her home in Spencer. She may be reached at: carol42wilde@htva.net *Blue Castle by L.M. Montgomery **Dancing With Demons by Peter Tremayne ***John Muir—Scottish-born American writer, naturalist and advocate for national forests and parks. 1838-1914.