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Carol Bossard

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  1. Carol Bossard
    February is sort of a transition month.  We may still get snow, sleet, and freezing rain but, there is some snow melt, and daylight becomes darkness, later and later. Somewhere out in the snowy woods, high up in a tree, a mama owl is sitting on eggs, warming them with her fluffy self.  And squirrels, having found mates, are aggressively defending their territories.   Hal Borland*, renowned naturalist, said: “In February, snow will actually melt in very cold weather; evaporating without going through the water stage, and is absorbed by the dry air passing over it. I’ve seen a snow drift shrink six inches in four days, without the temperature getting above 30 degrees.  ……the sun is warmer, the day is longer, nights are shorter.”  No wonder our skin suffers in winter; dry air = dry skin.  Lather on the moisturizers!
    Today would be my sister’s birthday were she still with us.  Betty (Elizabeth Selenda) was 12 years older than I, and we had three older brothers. She took me to school at least once that I remember --- sort of a senior high show and tell, baby sat me a few times on the rare occasions my parents were away ----- and I babysat her first child when I was in my early teens. We were sort of like ships passing in the night while I was in college, seeing each other mostly on holidays; she was busy with family and later, after college, I was occupied in the same way. We also lived hours apart.  But in our later years, saw each other more often and found much to share.   She was fond of gardening, bird-watching, and reading. She was also fascinated by the big locks on the St. Lawrence River and collected Cape Cod light house replicas.   She and Ray, my brother-in-law, had four fine sons, losing one baby in between.  And she gallantly put up with motorcycles, big shoes, and more people in and out of her house than she might have preferred.  We were different in many ways----- but quite similar in others ---- and I miss her. I always think of Betty when I see this poem by William Butler Yeats**, the Irish poet:  I will arise and go to Innisfree, and a small cabin build there of clay and wattles made, none bean rows will I have there, a hive for the honey-bee, and live alone in the bee-loud glade.  ….I will arise a go now, for always night and day I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore…...”  She would have liked the peace and simplicity.
    We are less than a week away from Valentine’s Day. Some call this a Hallmark Holiday since it creates considerable income for retailers selling greeting cards, lingerie, chocolates, and flowers. Perhaps you remember, as a kid, making valentines --- and the valentine box at school?  Our big table, when the boys were small, was covered with tiny red paper cuttings, glue, glitter and those small, humorous valentines that came in a package of 25.; a rather messy collage of creativity.  I loved it! I still have a small stash of red construction paper, lacy doilies, and appropriate verses, in case, some fine February, I am taken over by a valentine-making mood.  And of course, we always try to stock up on those little candy hearts with the terse sayings.

    The day, itself, is named after a pastor and physician. Valentine, was a Christian Bishop of Rome, when Rome was focused on conquering much of the world.  He fell afoul of Emperor Claudius II Gothicus.  Claudius was fighting wars and needed soldiers --- preferably young men with no romantic attachments to distract them from warlike duties.  So, there was a ban on marriages for people of a certain age.  Bishop Valentine, in direct disobedience of the no-marriage edict, continued to marry hundreds of young couples.  His defiant behavior came to Claudius’s attention, and Valentine was thrown into prison where he was beaten and finally beheaded on February 14th, 270 AD, thus becoming a Christian martyr. While he was in prison, he sent notes to his friends, signing them “Te Amo ---, Your Valentine”.  So, we mix history and romance (and a bit of Latin with English) and get our Valentine’s Day.  The world today surely needs more love -----all kinds of love –-- romantic (eros) -- the love of friends (Phileo), without whom, life would be savorless, and selfless love (Agape), which emits grace and appreciation/care for all ----- lacking which, our world has become a mess!
    Lack of respect/ compassion, and far too much apathy, greed, and actual evil are all reasons our world seems to be falling apart quite regularly.  Another, possibly more fixable reason, could be lack of communication.  People don’t listen well even when the conversation is agreeable; we are busy framing replies in our minds instead of hearing what is being said. We frequently fail to “hear” (or even contemplate) viewpoints that differ greatly from our own and --- in addition --- we are often inept at sharing our own opinions in a way that doesn’t put others down.  A few years ago, a local foundation sponsored a seminar in listening skills.  It was excellent three hours; learning how to clearly speak our thoughts, and how to immerse ourselves in another person’s thinking. This does not mean that in our new understanding, we agreed.  But we were able to grasp what someone else saying, and often, why.   We also discovered, in this process, that expressing intense feelings without being patronizing or insulting takes thoughtfulness and finesse.   
    Tolstoy said: “Everybody thinks of changing humanity and nobody thinks of changing himself!”*  If you or I feel very strongly about something, we may find that 1) discussion is uncomfortably threatening to that inner belief and 2) attempts to be understanding may fly out the window if someone disagrees with what we feel is a universal given. Surely if a concept is set in stone for me, it should be for everyone!    Tolstoy is right about how we humans think, but perhaps, if understanding is our purpose, we could remember this thought from Henry Drummond**: “Life is full of opportunities for learning love…...The world is not a playground; it is a school room.  Life is not a holiday but an education.  And the one eternal lesson for all of us is how better we can love.”  And no one said the lessons would be easy!
    (It would probably also be useful to not  bristle like a porcupine, metaphorically covering our ears going:  La -La La- La!  I can’t hear you!”)
    Loving February can be almost as hard as hugging a porcupine. Most of us are unhappy when Punxsutawney Phil predicts six more weeks of winter; we are ready for SPSRING!  There may be fewer days in February (Yes, even in Leap Year), but it seems like a too-long month. If there is a thaw and mild breezes (as this week), I cut forsythia branches, forcing them into early bloom inside.  Forsythia tries to take over the world, so pruning it is a good deed.  If one has access, a mixed bouquet of forsythia and pussy willows is lovely, but our pussy willow trees, unpruned by their lethargic owners, have grown far beyond our reach. Later in the spring, the fuzzy little gray nubbins will flare against the sky about 25 feet up. So, my early bouquet will feature only forsythia.

    There was a pussy willow tree on my brother’s farm, grown sturdy and tall, between a stone smoke house and a shed used as a play house.  His children and I would climb that many-branched tree, sitting up amid the branches, viewing our “kingdom” o’er.  At my home, I had two trees for my personal scaling. One was the cherry tree that met the roof outside my west bedroom window; perfect for up and down.  Our cat thought so too; he would climb up to my window and meow to be let in.  The other was an ironwood tree growing in a hedgerow in our back pasture.  It had a horizontal limb, creating a seat, about five feet up, among the leaves. (And it was nicely far enough away from the house, that I couldn’t hear if anyone called.)   
    Every child ought to have at least one tree to climb; a sylvan sanctuary! A few years ago, the larch trees in our front yard were at the right height for our granddaughters. Now they have shed lower branches, as larches do, so climbing them wouldn’t be safe but the girls have probably mostly out-grown the desire anyway. Jungle gyms may be good on a playground, but there’s nothing like an actual tree for pure, tactile satisfaction.
    February is still winter, but that vase of golden forsythia will remind us that spring isn’t far off.  My seed and plant orders will be in this week ---- early for me.  Last year I missed some plants I really wanted because I was so late in ordering, so this year, I have pushed myself to order 2 months earlier.  I also am trying to restrain my overly-optimistic view of what I can do in the garden.   SIGH!  Plant catalogs are SO convincing and so tempting with their marvelous photographs.  My imagination immediately envisions beds of roses backed by clouds of delphinium, rows of peonies, and lilies.    We are supposed to be cutting back, so, expanding my gardens is not acceptable.  However ------ fine-tuning what we have is surely a good idea ----- right?  I remember (and repeat to my husband and children) this truism: “Gardening is cheaper than therapy ---- and you get tomatoes!”
    Whatever the weather outside your window, try to have a little love for February.  Right now, at this very moment, it is all we have.
     
    Carol writes from her home in Spencer. She may be reached at: carol42wilde@htva.net.
    *Leo Tolstoy – Russian novelist; considered one of the greatest classic writers.  1828-1910
    **Henry Drummond ---Scottish writer, lecturer and evangelist.  1851-1897.
  2. Carol Bossard
    Snow, snow and more snow!  Winter snows and winds have impacted several of our trees, especially our lilacs.  The oldest one, probably at least 60+ years old, had three large broken branches that we removed from its center.  Now it looks like two champagne flutes with space in the middle.  Kerm taped another newer lilac back together, hoping it will reattach.  Butternut and tulip trees have shed limbs all over the lawn, and one crab apple tree is split right down the middle.   The deer have been nibbling one rhododendron whose burlap cage was too low.  Winter can be a relentless pruner.
    I’ve been indulging in garden dreams (catalogs); White Flower Farm, Jung, Bluestone, Pinetree, etc.  I particularly enjoyed this thought by Rumi*: “And don’t think the garden loses its ecstasy in winter.  It is quiet, but the roots are down there riotous!”  Our 2022 gardening clarified some gardening choices for 2023.  We no longer wish to weed endlessly, to cultivate new spaces or even to process bushels of food come harvest time. I enjoy carrots and beets from my garden, but fresh produce from the local store or Farmers’ Market will provide adequately.  This year we will need more mulch, and we’ll be growing only what I won’t be without; potatoes, tomatoes, lettuce, basil and lots of flowers.  Well ---- maybe some pumpkins!  I believe that working in the soil is so healthy for the body and mind, that unless I’m confined to bed, I’ll be out there with trowel doing something.  Just not quite as much!
    Remember our pinochle group? Ten or twelve of us around the table playing with three decks of cards?  We even played by the light of many candles one night when the power went out.  This group hasn’t met for three years because of COVID and other obstacles.  We happily got together a couple of weeks ago.  It isn’t that we are super-serious about pinochle ---- which is fortunate---- because some of us were a bit hazy about a double run, what was trump, who led, and one of us (who shall certainly remain nameless!) even played an entire hand leaving meld on the table.  But, as we played, we caught up with each other’s lives, nibbled on delicious snacks and laughed quite a lot.  We are a diverse group; there’s a retired teacher turned life coach, a retired music teacher who continues to direct choirs and draws wonderful music from pipe organs of the region, a retired Head of Maintenance in a large company and retired dental hygienist, two retired human services administrators, and an entrepreneur currently running a book store.  We were missing the Bee Master and the retired University forester.  Pinochle is one of our vehicles for having fun and feeling better about life.  We are good for each other!  Everyone needs friends like this, not necessarily for cards, but to add affirmation, humor and understanding to life.
    Anne LaMott** says that “Laughter is carbonated holiness.”  I like that because laughter lightens the heaviness that we all feel and it often improves perspective.  A sense of humor is a curious thing.  I’m not sure whether we are gifted with it, or whether one can develop it.  It is the old argument regarding nature and nurture.   My mother didn’t have the same sense of humor that I had.  She would laugh at a duly labeled comic strip and the antics of small children, but puns and small bits of coincidental humor never registered with her.  Fortunately, she managed to be light-hearted without this gift, but both she and I wondered why we didn’t always find humor in the same places.  Some people view life as super-serious.  To the too-focused (fanatical), laughter seems frivolous, and they find little humor in the surrounding world.  Some TV examples would be Temperance Brennan, forensic specialist on “Bones”, and the annoying young scientific geniuses in “Big Bang Theory”.  These characters are intelligent, inner-directed, and very, very serious with nary a gleam of humor entering their consciousness.  Laughing at themselves wouldn’t be possible!   My high school English teacher wrote in my year book, (with slight exasperation, I thought): “you made me laugh even when I didn’t want to.”  Maybe that was good --- a high school English teacher probably needs to laugh more.  I do know that seeing the humorous bits in most situations has been a boon and blessing for me.  Without laughter I’d be mired in the deepest despair for the world.
    And because there’s currently so much world-wide anxiety, I would like to share a poem by Mary Oliver.***  In spite of fun and humor, I am a chronic worrier, though I’m also chronically trying to reform from undue worrying.  So, I keep this poem where I can see it regularly.
    “I worry a lot.  Will the garden grow, will the rivers flow in the right direction, will the earth turn as it was taught, and if not, how shall I correct it?
    Was I right, was I wrong, will I be forgiven, can I do better?
    Will I ever be able to sing, even the sparrows can do it and I am, well, hopeless.
    Is my eyesight fading or am I just imagining it, am I going to get rheumatism, lockjaw, dementia?
    Finally, I saw that worrying had come to nothing.  And I gave it up.  And took my old body and went out into the morning, and sang.”
    ‘Tis a fine line between contemplating--- being prepared ---- and worrying.  I hope to step over that line less as I go along.  However, having made only small improvements in 80 years, I have to accept that I’m a slow learner!
    One thing that would probably create less worry and more understanding universally, would be a better awareness of past events.  After all, “There is no such thing as the past; there is only someone else’s present!”****  Which means the same things keep happening.   The lack of historic awareness among the general population, is abysmal and frightening.  For example -- every one of us who lives in these United States (unless one is a Native American, and even then…) stems from immigrants who came from somewhere else.  Our forebearers were usually desperately escaping poverty or tyranny.   Those who know history, know that every time a new wave of immigrants enters the picture, there has been bigotry and tension with claims of losing jobs and rising crime to stoke the fires of fear. During the gold rush, the Chinese were scorned as heathens, fit only to launder the miners’ clothes.   When the Irish came, there were “No Irish need apply” signs in shop windows, and you’d never want your daughter to marry an Irishman!   When the Italians came, they were disdained and relegated to “Little Italys”.  The United States shamefully disregarded the danger to Jewish people at the beginning of WWII and refused them entrance.   Arrogance combined with ignorance, is scary.
    There are many other examples of historic forgetfulness; The witch mania in New England,  two centuries of minimal educational opportunities for any except the elite, “blue laws” that trespass on the neutral zone between church and state, lack of labor laws for the welfare of children and other workers, the institution of slavery, the mistaken idea that during the “wonderful fifties”, there was little violence or unrest.  Ignorance of history allows us to judge the rest of the world by our own experiences and to think no one ever before had problems like ours today.  We are so busy despairing of each “new” issue that comes along, that we throw up our hands, and make little effort to solve the problems in a sensible and equitable manner.  The back story might actually help us see what works and what does not.   By the time situations are so bad that we must do something, we usually over-react and make laws that ignore common sense.
    Most frighteningly, ignorance of history allows us to be easily duped by those who wish to manipulate us, using fear, our lack of knowledge and glib words.   Spending less time memorizing dates for the War of Roses, and putting more emphasis on what has changed mankind’s journey in the last two-hundred years, including the difficult parts, would be useful.  Our children are leaders of the next generation. They need to know about Barbara Fritchie’s flag and Nathan Hale – but they also need to know what conditions necessitated an inspired Jane Addams, Rosa Parks, Nellie Blye and Martin Luther King Jr.  Delighting in our heroic past needs to include honesty about where we’ve erred and how we can be better. History shouldn’t be boring; it should be enlightening!
    There are only five more days before January is “history.”  We can feel joy because we are closer to spring, or be equally as happy that we have plenty of winter to go.  I hope we each find something that pleases us in every day, even the stormy ones.  Blue jays vs. cats with the cat food make me laugh.  In the stillness of a winter night, with flakes of snow filtering down I am grateful for living here.  It is often the little things in life that bring delight.  January is just the cusp of the new year, so as 2023 progresses, I wish that:
    “God gives you blessings for this new year --- stars for your darkness, sun for your day, light    on your path as you search for the way, and a mountain to climb.”*****  And laughter --- may there always be laughter!
    Carol may be reached at: carol42wilde@htva.net.
     
    ***********************
    *Rumi –Poet and writer from the Islamic Golden Age.  His works have been translated into many languages.  1207-1273
    **Anne LaMott ---American novelist and non-fiction writer, speaker, activist and writing teacher.  Her base is Marin County, CA.
    ***Mary Oliver –American Pulitzer-winning poet.  1935-2019
    ****-- David McCullough –American popular historian and two-time winner of the Pulitzer Prize.  1933-2022.
    *****Myra Scovel –American nurse and missionary for the United Presbyterian church, and writer.  She wrote “Chinese Ginger Jars” among other books.  1905-1994.
  3. Carol Bossard
    It is only the sixth day of this new month, but Valentine’s Day is only a week away.  Do you remember the lacy-decorated box on the teacher’s desk, made to hold valentine cards?  Do you remember those packets of little valentines, about 20 of them /box, we exchanged with each other?  Valentine’s Day still can be a fun time that brightens our winter and gives us another chance to spread a little love around.  One of my favorite poems for this occasion is by Robert Louis Stevenson:*  “I will make you brooches and toys for your delight, of birdsong at morning and starshine at night.  I will make a palace fit for you and me of green days in forests and blue days at sea.”  Gift options (unless you are a poet) for today’s valentines are less imaginative, but still delightful.  Retail stores go all out to sell heart-shaped boxes of candy, beautiful bouquets of flowers, sparkling jewelry and silky lingerie. And there are little bags of tiny heart candies in the grocery store.  Made-by-you gifts are also wonderful; a box of fudge, special cookies, a heart-shaped pillow, or a promissory note to clean the refrigerator or wash the car.  When I have the time/energy, I still like to make my own valentines; I enjoy working with construction paper, doilies, ribbons and glue; probably a bit of that inner child they talk about in therapy.  Whether you buy your valentines or create your own, send an Email or make a phone call ---- those people who receive one, people you care about, feel especially loved.

    Valentine’s Day exists because of a clergyman’s (possibly a Bishop) kind heart and his martyrdom. The Reverend Valentine continued to marry young couples in violation of the Roman emperor’s decree (who wanted those single, young men for soldiers), and he was thrown into jail.  While imprisoned, he sent notes to his family and friends signed, “Your Valentine.”  He was executed on February 14th for his disobedience ( it didn’t take much to be executed back then), but, as St. Valentine, he lives on in the hearts of all romantics.  So, carry on his tradition and do something special to brighten your day and those you care about. Happy Valentine’s Day!
    This time of winter is when we all start sighing, and begin looking for signs of spring,  imaginary or not. Suddenly we can hardly wait for a tomato and lettuce sandwich straight from the garden. I go over my garden plans again, and check the plant catalogs.  Last fall, while the summer’s dreadful gardening experiences, due to illness and weather, were vivid in our memories, I was determined to cut back, making less work for us.  But then the catalogs came in December, with those enticing pictures of peonies and roses, delphiniums and lilies ---one can almost smell them.  I can, with some difficulty, cut back on growing vegetables, but leaving out flowers is a painful. I can, all too well, envision blue delphiniums against the gray fence posts and another climbing rose on the pergola.  The periwinkle blue of scabiosa (dreadful name) would be lovely against the stone foundation of the house and creamy nasturtiums spilling over railings would be charming. Maybe more big pots will help.

    I come by my garden addiction honestly.  I have written before about my mother’s gardens. But my sister, Betty, had quite impressive gardens too, and one sister-in-law was really good as well; she had a carpet of bluebells beneath a tree that was beautiful in the spring.   And my brother Frank’s gladiolus, were always large, brilliant, and satiny.  Several of my nieces are carrying on this gardening tradition in California, Massachusetts, Connecticut, New York and possibly South Carolina; I haven’t been there, yet to see, but she has a lovely garden in NYS.
    If the garden catalogs aren’t tempting enough, we have at least three garden stores within a half-hour’s drive. And even more compelling, several studies have indicated that working in the soil is beneficial to one’s health.  There is something about contact with the earth, and being outside, that calms the mind and lifts the spirits. So, my concrete plans last Fall for closing down some of the gardens, may crumble with the onset of spring. However, revising plans and creating flower combinations, is something that gets me through the weeks of February cold and snow.  Imagination is a wonderful thing!
    The flower for February is the snowdrop. The month is named in honor of Februa, the Roman goddess of cleansing, and prior to the Roman influence, to Brigid, the Celtic goddess of healing, poetry, and craftsmanship.  February 2nd is well-known in America, as Ground Hog Day, one of our sillier, but fun, customs to get us through the winter.  This is when we allow someone to awaken a very comfortable woodchuck to consult him about the arrival of spring.  If the woodchuck’s expression on morning TV is any indication, he would just like to bite someone and go back to his nap.  February 2nd is also Candlemas Day.  This is a Christian holiday to commemorate the day Mary took Jesus to the temple, as a baby, to be dedicated. This is when both church and personal candles are blessed for the coming year. February brings the Full Snow Moon and/or the Full Hunger Moon. I expect that the latter name was very realistic for those people who lived close to the land.  Supplies were getting low and hunger was the norm for this time of the year.
    Many years ago, when I was in elementary school, we celebrated Washington’s birthday, and Lincoln’s birthday on separate days. Some decades ago, they were combined into Presidents’ Day. I don’t really know what kids do now to mark the occasions, although they do have the day off from school. Do third graders still draw pictures of cherry trees and hatchets?  Do they still read the story of why Abraham Lincoln took the advice of a little girl regarding his beard? And is the Gettysburg Address still required reading?
    Memorizing the names of presidents and the order in which they served, may still be done, but wouldn’t it be more valuable to talk about them, as real people?  Discussions of their accomplishments, and their mistakes would teach kids to think and evaluate. George Washington apparently had thoughts about our thinking when he said: “In a free and republican (not political party; a form of government) government you cannot restrain the voice of the multitude. Every man will speak as he thinks, or, more probably, without thinking, and consequently will judge of effects without attending to their causes.”  Washington had a dim view of the thinking coming from the general populace and I do not think that has changed much. Too many people are stuck in a rut of non-thinking, only accepting a news channel that tells then what they wish to hear, fearful that their children will think differently, afraid of new ideas, unused to thinking about the procession of an idea’s beginning through to the consequences.  People need to question, research, and process all components of ideas that will affect many others.
    Moving from philosophy to the view outside my window, we are still turkey-less.  They left in October (turkey season began) and must remain in whatever haven they’ve found elsewhere.  It saves considerably on bird seed, but I miss them.  They pushed each other around like a crowd of adolescent boys, fanned their tails as spring approaches, and provided an interesting scenario beneath the bird feeders.  There are plenty of bird varieties that do come; juncos, Carolina wrens, cardinals, blue jays, several kinds of finches, nuthatches, tufted titmice, woodpeckers, and the cheery chickadees.  A hawk came swooping through one day, right after I’d put out seed.  There were many birds on the ground and on the feeders. I don’t think the hawk caught one; those little birds surely did scatter; in a whirlwind of beaks and feathers.  They were definitely traumatized, for they didn’t come back for two or three hours.

    As we proceed into February, the days grow lighter and we know we are closer to spring.  However, there is plenty of winter left unless we have a most unusual season.  People who live in more urban areas, where there are many lights and much activity, wonder what on earth we country-dwellers do with ourselves in the cold and snow. Trust me,  we are seldom bored! There is an exercise program for upper arms and shoulders in scraping ice from car windows and shoveling sidewalks or paths.  And there is the equally-useful exercise acquired when splitting wood for kindling and carrying logs. 😊  I don’t think I’d enjoy living where there wasn’t a change of seasons. I like variety in my life. And there is a delicious feeling of being cozily snowbound when one is inside and the snow is coming in flakes, showers or squalls, outside.
    Winter gives us time to enjoy the scenery through the window, since we can’t be doing all that much outside.  Inside, there’s time to write real letters to friends.  We can pick up a paintbrush and try those water colors we got for Christmas three years ago.  We can, whittle, knit, embroider, hook rugs or braid them ---- all old crafts that shouldn’t be lost. But most of all, in February, we can send a valentine or two, to let people know they are cherished and important to us.  And we can move slowly through each fleeting day, appreciating every precious moment to the fullest.
     
    Carol writes from her home in Spencer. She may be reached at: carol42wilde@htva.net.
    *Robert Louis Stevenson--- Scottish novelist, poet, essayist, and travel writer.  1850-1894.
  4. Carol Bossard
    A few snow squalls, some bitter wind gusts, and there goes January! The mild weather throughout December and some of January has discouraged the long winter naps for our resident skunk and possum.  They’ve been out and about, thieving at bird feeders and the cat’s dish. The birds haven’t been quite as ravenous as when the snows come fast and deep, though the cold of last week sent them often to the suet.  The deer have been down from the hill, but not in multiples; I think only one or two.  The squirrels have been bouncing off feeders and trees like dizzy acrobats; it is mating season for them; apparently, showing off is part of the process. We have not seen even one turkey.  Usually, by this time, we have two or three groups of them, coming off the hill to browse around the feeders, but I haven’t seen a turkey since mid-summer. I’m not sure whether to blame coyotes or the turkeys’ wandering spirits. It could also be the lack of berries and nuts due to that late frost last spring.  Maybe they went south? Does that make them snowbirds? We miss them but out bird seed lasts longer.
    Winter months are designated, by some people of wisdom, as a restoration time; an opportunity to replenish energies and clarify hopes and dreams. Of course, much of the world races on as usual; trying to forge ahead on in-the-hurry journeys, with no change in habits to accommodate winter.  I have found it less and less attractive to slog through snow drifts or even venture out on the roads when they have gunk on them, so I’m leaning more toward the restoration idea. It is rather pleasant to simply sit inside by the fire and look out at the liberally frosted branches and twigs after a large snowfall. If I have an appointment, I pick up the phone and say: “Sorry, but there’s snow!”  Naturally, when things are shoveled and plowed, we get out into the world again.  But that brief time of feeling snowed-in, is restoring in its own way.
    I recently saw a post on FB that had kids of all ages, and then adults too, singing “Sing A Song” from the Muppets.  One viewer said, “Now I can’t get this out of my head!”  It’s not a bad thing to have stuck in one’s head.  Instead of moping over world news, instead of grasping for power and fame, instead of snarling at foolish behavior, we could be humming along with “Sing, sing a song --- sing out loud, sing it long --- sing of good things, not bad, sing of happy, not sad…...”  Our Friday AM group is looking at what is called, by many, the Beatitudes, a section that makes clear how our behavior depends on our attitudes.  Singing always improves mine!

    I spoke recently with a dear friend who lives some distance away, and who is care-giver for her husband. They are a little older than we and a bit less mobile.  She said it was rather comforting to be less active in the world, and more attuned to the small things around her; the snow coming down, a good neighbor’s visit, contemplating life (from the perspective of someone who has “seen these things before”) as seen on TV, and knows that ill tidings will, eventually, pass.  She can pray for people and for serenity without being distracted by too much busy-ness.  There are seasons in our lives as well as seasons in the calendar year. This friend and her husband have what I consider super-stellar attitudes toward getting older in this life.
    Right now, I find less time for participation in “multiple activities”, and maybe more time for puttering.   One definition of “puttering” is “the act of doing dozens of little chores that no one knows need to be done, that no one wants to do, and no one notices have been done.” * So, puttering brings no E -for Effort, or blue ribbons for achievement.  And yet, it is quite satisfying in its own way and occasionally, I spend a day doing just that.  If I clean out three drawers, I smile, knowing those drawers are now lined with pretty paper, and the contents are tidy and available.   The seeds that some house-mouse had stored there are gone and, temporarily, so is the confusion. I can putter among our books and know that once again, maybe for only a short time, they are on shelves according to author and/or subject matter.  While trying to downsize, as I’ve determined to do, puttering makes a dent in the baskets and boxes of papers. Items for recycling, the church yard sale, and the burning pit grow.  Puttering gives me time to think, to re-group and to shine up my attitudes for busier moments.
    There is a world full of always-energetic people who look askance at puttering.  And for those of us who move to a different drummer, this tacit disapproval can be difficult.  Or, as Brene Brown** says, “It takes courage to say yes to rest and play in a culture where exhaustion is seen as a status symbol.”  When busyness became a gold standard, I’m not sure.   Too much of our population is metaphorically gasping for breath as they strive to keep up.   We need to rest, not just our bodies, but our minds.  One of the things I find restful, is noticing small things around me. If I spend a few minutes watching a tufted titmouse happily dining on suet, that makes me smile ---- and somehow, that smile and the titmouse made me relax.   Watching a sunrise or sunset takes very little time, but suddenly the wash of wonder over the colors, lifts fatigue away. Winning the approval of others by over-doing will lead to exhaustion of mind and body.  We should maintain ourselves at least as well as we maintain our cars, don’t you think? Instead of a lube job, we give ourselves a a rest-job and that includes awareness.
    Blindness to our surroundings actually leads to more than just weariness. If we are unaware of the created world around us, we are also probably unaware of the people in our lives, and how they are feeling.  Someone who once worked in my office was a perfect example of this. That person mostly kept all the county mandates and fulfilled duties.  But people’s feelings were, daily, splattered right and left by thoughtless words and total disregard for what was going on in others’ lives. This lack of awareness and disregard for feelings is probably a major reason for damaged and broken relationships everywhere.
    Rachel Carson*** was a biologist who was made famous (actually, infamous at first) by her book, Silent Spring.  She was quite explicit about the need to be aware, of the earth around us, of our own back yards, and of the people in our lives. She said: “One way to open your eyes is to ask yourself, ‘What if I had never seen this before?  What if I knew I would never see it again?’”  Surely a few days/weeks of asking these questions, would increase our appreciation of the world in which we live and the people we love.  And we might just find ourselves feeling an energy and enthusiasm for life that, somewhere along the way, we had lost.
    Meanwhile, we are in January, named for the god, Janus; a two-faced god who looks back at the year just past, and forward to the year we have entered. He was considered the Roman god of new beginnings, of gateways and open doors.; the embodiment of longing for the past and hope for the future.  Mostly, in this northern hemisphere, January is known for its winter weather, and (on a more celebratory side) remembrance of Martin Luther King, who did so much, in a completely non-violent way, to help our country realize its lack of justice for so many of our citizens.   We humans don’t much like changes to our comfort levels or our thinking. But each new year forces us to consider changes.  Thinking of these things; re-sorting in our minds how we should be living, is a gift for a new year, a Leap Year, which gives us one extra day to be delighted with life.

    The birds, squirrels, and deer that do not go into hibernation for the winter months face the winds, survive cold and messy conditions seemingly with the same vibrancy with which they enjoy the summer months of sunshine and warmth.  We could learn something from them --- about acceptance, about joy in adverse conditions, about being a part of a natural network of creatures inhabiting our planet.
    I like what Frederick Buechner**** says about living well:  He said, “One life on this earth is all that we get {here}, whether it is enough or not enough.  And the obvious conclusion would seem to be that at the very least, we are fools if we do not live it as fully and bravely and beautifully as we can.”
    Carol Bossard writes from her home in Spencer. 
     
    *Terry Hershey --- Author, humorist, inspirational speaker, ordained pastor, dad, golf addict and lover of French wines.
    **Brene Brown –Author and speaker who studies human interactions and vulnerability.
    ***Rachel Carson ---American author, marine biologist, whose book “Silent Spring” brought about cascades of criticism; truths that we now accept.  1907-1964.
    ****Frederick Buechner ---American author and theologian.  Ordained Presbyterian pastor.  1926-2022.
  5. Carol Bossard
    Happy New Year again, now that we are actually in 2023.  I have so appreciated the holiday season that is just past, and wish some of the benefits could go on and on, as this says: “Blessed is the season which engages the whole world in a conspiracy of love.”*   New Year’s Eve and New Year’s Day were both busy and engaged because our granddaughters were here all week, and then our adult kids were here and life was lively.  There wasn’t a lot of time for year-end introspection, but in the back of my head was a little voice saying, “live this coming year well; so much can change and challenges may come, so treat each day like the jewel that it is.”
    The Christmas tree, dropped needles liberally so was taken out before Twelfth Night, where it resides behind the bird feeders for the winter.  In the spring, we’ll remove it to the hill, adding it to the escape piles for small creatures.   The snow babies will, by this weekend, be tenderly packed away in bubble wrap and tissue.  The evergreen wreath, made by FFA kids, remains on the door and the outside lights will be part of our landscape until March or April.  A Christmas gift was an iron welcome sign featuring bears.  We will hang it on the porch, but we’re hoping the bears can’t read, because --- unfortunately -- they feel far too welcome already.  We are mixing the old (driveway lights) with the new (bear signage) to take us through the winter.
    There are always two edges to newness.  Will the new things create discomfort?  Will I know what to do in new situations?  It usually takes some wearing before new shoes are really comfortable.  It takes a while for new acquaintances to become friends, if they are ever going to be.  A new house doesn’t really become home until it has been lived in for a bit, collecting memories.  But the other edge is vitality; without new experiences, life becomes dull, boring and tasteless, leaving us in a rut of non-growth.  Rainer Maria Rilke** said, about his new year, “And now we welcome the new year, full of things that have never been.”  It is a matter of perspective; do we believe the universe is basically friendly --- or hostile?  Whichever we believe deep inside, will color how we regard those “things that have never been”.  It could be wonderful – it could be scary - it might be uncomfortable!  Even when I’m flailing against change, or find a change disturbing, I am still glad that I’m able to experience it; still able to awake, get out of bed, make decisions, move around, fix my own tea and connect with friends.
    Mornings are especially good now that there’s generally no need to rush off somewhere.  As I sit in my living room, a crackling fire in the wood stove, the day ahead of me, I feel happy and contented.  The finches, and an occasional cardinal, are socializing in a viburnum shrub outside the window, the day is quiet except for the usual traffic going by.  Because there are so many places in this world that are filled with the chaos of over-crowded streets, fear of bombings, tension and poverty, this quiet is a gift.  I am warm, not hungry and I don’t tremble in fear of armies or mobs.  Gratitude fills me up, and there is a feeling that if I am this privileged, I am surely meant, in some way, to share this plentitude.

    And speaking of sharing, I am always amazed that with so many groups and individuals creating programs to help those who need assistance, that help seems to be a proverbial drop in the bucket.  I think my difficulty comes because my mind doesn’t grasp huge numbers; they simply don’t compute. So, when someone says “two billion people,” my mind has no parameters for such a crowd.  But, accepting that we reach only a small percentage of people in need, even in our own small community, we continue to make sure the food cupboard is available, contribute to those organizations that mean most to us, and make an effort to be available for people around us.  If God cares for each sparrow (as the old hymn goes) then we surely can do our bit for individuals in our arenas of life.  I think if each of us who are able, devoted a portion of time to helping, in some way, that maybe the percentage would change from a drop in the bucket to buckets-full of helped people.
    The holidays are over and we are now in January, “ordinary time” on the church calendar --- with 31 days of potentially yucky weather.  I have thought about how my perspective on snow and cold has changed.  As a child and even a teenager, I liked winter.  There were snowmen and snow forts, parties with sledding and hot chocolate, dances and roller skating --- even occasional ice skating.  I remember riding in the car when I was very young, watching the snow coming at the windshield like the end of a witch’s broom --- and I thought that was really cool. Apparently, ignorance of potential danger really can be bliss!    Now I try to not go out on the roads at all when snow is coming down.  And those heavy boots, bulky coats, scarves and gloves or mittens?  As a kid, donning those things was no problem; now they weigh me down, making it difficult to be mobile.  A ski pole accompanies me on my snowy rounds outside, for balance has become uncertain!  Fortunately, we can count on fairly rapid weather changes.  There’s an up-state NY saying that if you don’t like the weather, wait a minute and it will change.  The 60-degree temperatures after Christmas while a bit weird, were pleasant though at the same time, I am aware that such outlandishly mild temps signal unhealthy iceberg melting, increasing allergies and danger to habitats for penguins and polar bears.
    I don’t actually make New Year’s resolutions, but there are some changes I hope for this year.  I have, for many years, lived with a bad habit (common among humans, especially women) of neglecting things that may improve my life, but take time.  “Me time” has seemed irrelevant and a bit self-indulgent.  I think this attitude begins with having children and the need to put their welfare first.  After children, it has become a fixed habit to get over-busy with details of the house, or other activities, and the hours fly by.  I didn’t do much introspection on New Year’s Day, but I’ve determined to make space for this in tiny chunks of time every day; more quiet time for myself, to consider the state of my soul.  I’m not speaking of meditating or actively deep-breathing or planning menus; I’ll just be pondering whether or not my day has been satisfying and if it’s not, why? Am I feeling part of the universe around me, or am I bogged down in my own concerns?   If the dishes and laundry have to wait a couple more hours, life will still go on.   Then there is my flute, poor neglected instrument that it has been for several years now since my neck and fingers became more arthritic.  It was reconditioned just before Christmas; all its little key pads refreshed, and so I will work on playing again, enough to make music in my heart even if it isn’t good enough to make music in an orchestra.  And finally, along with a challenge from The Happiness Project by Gretchen Rubin, I’ll be spending more time outside than the usual quick tour from bird feeder to bird feeder.  Fresh air is good for my lungs and walking good for the entire body, even when it isn’t comfortable.  These things may seem miniscule, but I think they will have large impact on both my body and my attitudes.  Of course, your small changes might be way different form mine, but we all probably need one or two uplifting, happiness-engendering adjustments to our lives for 2023.  We mustn’t allow ourselves to become jaded and world-weary, nor should we be set-in-concrete with habitual ways.
    As we look to the months ahead, all of us hope for good days and loving relationships.  I thought the following was good advice: 1) Do the things you love more often.  2) Let go of people or situations that drain you.  3) Sometimes you need to get uncomfortable to get comfortable.  4) Where your attention goes, your energy flows.  5) If you change your mindset, you will change your life.”*** These seem, to me, to be basic for making little changes that mean a lot; that may well improve all 365 of our days this year..
    Rainer Maria Rilke may have been rosily optimistic about what his year of “things that have never been” would hold, or maybe he simply made a resolution to adjust his perspective when challenges came along.  Perhaps frequent adjusting (being flexible) is the secret to finding what we long for, and what we hope for at the beginning of each new year.  Perspective lies within us!  We are each here for a purpose, or so I believe.  So --- may we welcome in this new year, with things that have never been, and trust that whatever is new in our lives, will be right for us.
    Coming next ----“What’s trump and who led?”
    Carol may be reached at: carol42wilde@htva.net.
    *********
    *Hamilton Wright Mabie---American writer, essayist, editor, critic and lecturer.  He wrote books like: “Norse mythology and “Fairy Tales Every Child Should Know”.  1875-1926.
    **Rainer Maria Rilke --- Austrian poet and novelist.  He was born in 1875 and died in 1926.
    ***quotation from Inner Growth Reset --- not just sure what this group is, but they seem to have a lab for research, and opportunities for therapy.
  6. Carol Bossard
    “Outside the open window the morning air is all awash with angels.  Love calls us to things of this world.”* This totally describes a morning in June with its singing birds, dewy grasses and long hours of light.  Besides the beauty of the world around us there are all the people who give love and those who need love. June —— when graduating seniors get a bad case of “senioritis” and grade-schoolers gaze longingly out the windows of their classrooms ——when birds who flew north in March have fledglings just growing their feathers —– when gardens are showing little green rows where lettuce and spinach have been planted. To quote a line from “Oklahoma” — “June is bustin’ out all over!” It is a symphony in green and gold.

    Speaking of symphonies and other lovely things, I was reminded recently about our high school days, when Jan and I cut arms-full of garden flowers for an event at school called “Moving Up Day” at just about this time of the year.  I’m quite sure schools no longer have this sort of event with queens and courts (although they still do have prom queens).  For this annual occasion there were two attendants chosen from each class, 8-12, plus the queen, who was always a senior.  The attendants were voted on by their classes except for the attendants from the senior class and the queen.  They were voted on by the entire high school plus 8th grade., and those chosen were a closely guarded secret until The Day!  There was great pomp and ceremony as the girls moved slowly down the aisle to the tempo of “A Pretty Girl Is Like A Melody”, to take places on that flower-decked stage.  The slow beat was necessitated by the hoops beneath the skirts.  It is incredibly difficult to move in hoops, especially with the hesitation step.   Those hoops sway back and forth, and soon the wearer also begins to sway and without care, there is every possibility of falling headlong.  My respect for the agility of all those southern belles, with their big skirts, has increased since then.  For this event, there was music, there were speeches and it was the VCS attempt to make moving to the next class special; mini-graduations.  Because our mothers had large perennial gardens, Jan and I cut a large swath through their peonies, daisies, lupines and mock orange to decorate the stage. The whole concept might feel a bit outmoded now, but we, who were there, remember both the music and the much ado, with pleasure.

    With June comes Father’s Day, this year on June 19th.  I’m not sure why we separate mothers’ and father’s celebrations; parenting is supposed to be a joint venture.  Of course, what is supposed to be often isn’t.  And good parents probably do deserve at least two days of recognition.  Father-honoring has been done for many years, in eastern Europe, on March 19th — St. Joseph’s Day.  A church in W. Virginia celebrated it in 1908.  Then, in 1910, it was officially designated to be on the third Sunday in June.  It doesn’t get quite the press of Mother’s Day —- perhaps because June is such an event-filled month.
    My father was probably somewhat unusual among the fathers of my contemporaries.  For one thing, he was older than most of them.  I was a late-in-life child and my father was 47 when I came along.  My grandfather (Dad’s father) died when Dad was two years old, from typhoid fever and pneumonia.  An uncle provided a male presence in his life until his mother married again, to my kindly step-grandpa.  Dad’s Uncle Fred was a kind and generous man but an exceedingly proper individual who had some very firm standards that he instilled in my father.  There was no alcohol in our house — ever.  Dad mildly disapproved of coffee too, but my mother was a Universalist of French descent, who although she cheerfully became a Presbyterian, needed her coffee.  So, there was coffee!    Dad worked hard, expected his children to be respectful, obedient and to always meet their responsibilities with their best efforts.  I imagine that, in this regard, he was occasionally disappointed.  But he never gave up trying.  He also — unfortunately for me — had no comprehension for anyone who couldn’t understand —–nay —- couldn’t take delight in algebra, geometry and trig!!
    I have mentioned in prior essays that my father was a bit autocratic, highly irritable (which trait he may have passed on to me), very caring about his land and his community and a Scottish Presbyterian to his core.  So, you might guess that over the years, especially when I was a young teen, he and I might have had some disagreements and tension.  There was never any estrangement between us, but we weren’t always the best of comrades during my adolescence.  We did have some very good interaction when I became an adult, and had we lived closer, I’m sure there would have been more.  He took much delight in his grandchildren — all 16 of them.  I certainly respected my father and I know he took his responsibility as a parent very seriously and really loved his family.  When I see this quotation, I think of him — and my mother too:  “Quality — in the classic Greek sense — how to live with grace and intelligence, with bravery and mercy.”** I wish we’d had a little more time.  He died at age 72 — too early.  

    Fathers come in all varieties with many diverse ideas about how to live and how to raise children.  Some do not accept responsibility at all and are absentee fathers — which is their disgrace.  Some do not know how to love and cherish.  But so many fathers are amazing; most of my friends’ fathers were fine people.  Kerm and I were fortunate that our parenting ways complimented each other.  I wasn’t the most patient mom when our boys were toddlers, but Kerm could blocks with them and endure the splashing of their nightly baths.  When they were teens, the bedlam of the house and their highly energetic and articulate games sometimes tired him, so I was the one who stayed up, made cookies and sometimes corrected the D&D philosophies.  He endured their car engines hanging from trees and their casual attitude about his tools.  I waited up for them and kept their baseballs out of my gardens.  Together we worked well.  
    Now, as we watch our sons interact with the children in their lives, we are pleased and proud that they have become adept, caring and wise in helping young people to grow up. And we empathize with their occasional discouragements.  I admire the many fathers who quietly assume responsibility and often stretch themselves thin to provide both the material, social and spiritual needs of their children and often the children of others.  So —— Happy Father’s Day!!!
    June brings high school graduations, weddings, reunions; there is so much crammed into the month of June that it flies by far too fast, and suddenly it is July!  As veggies are popping up — and so are the weeds.  We have mulched the potatoes and tomatoes so that we need not weed those garden beds.  Mulching the little seedlings is harder and we haven’t been as successful with that.  But grubbing in the garden for weeds is not a bad way to spend some time.  There is something about handling the soil that works wonders on my psyche.  It provides bodily exercise, reaches the senses of smell, touch and sight, and cheers me up.  There is a whole movement now called “grounding” that encourages contact with the earth for good health.  I remember that some years ago, when I’d take the time to lie on the lawn for 15 minutes or so, my back felt quite a lot better.  I probably wouldn’t buy the available “grounding” equipment for my bed, but will ground myself outside while good weather is with us.   Being outdoors is also an antidote to the closed-in-ness of the time we spend on phones or computers.  That hunched-forward position leads to back pain, headaches and probably clogged thinking (I could comment further on the epidemic of clogged thinking!); anything we do — from gardening to walking opens up the shoulders, stretches the legs and clears the head.
    Daylight is still extending itself in early June; night moves slowly from Atlantic to Pacific over a three-hour span.  There is little lovelier than a June twilight sliding into a just cool night.  I am remembering days when, at home, we brought in bales of hay all day and then sat outside when night came, enjoying the fragrance of the new hay along with a sky full of stars.   And since we had a pond close by, there was the hypnotic chunking of frogs.   The world is full of clamor and distress and yet at the same time, the world is full of quiet and beauty if we are only aware.   As one wise person said: “The gloom of the world is but ashadow; behind it yet in our reach, is joy. Take joy!”*** A happy June to you and may you find it more full of blessings than problems.
    Carol writes from her home in Spencer. She may be reached at: carol42wilde@htva.net 
    *Richard Wilbur—American poet and literary translator.  Associated with Amherst College and Harvard University.  1921-2017.
    **Theodore H. White —American political journalist known for his reporting from China during WWII.  Also known for his “Making of a President” series.  1915-1986
    ***Fra Giovanni—Belonged to the Order of Friars Minor.  Was an Italian friar, architect, antiquary, archaeologist and classical scholar.  1433-1515.
  7. Carol Bossard
    It’s warm outside, which is a nice change from our long winter, but I’m grateful for AC. There’s over-the-top hot and humid! We are in the doldrums time for flowers.  Peonies and other spring flowers have bloomed, and late summer blossoms haven’t yet matured.  I keep thinking I’ll add more biennials to the garden for this in-between time (canterbury bells, foxgloves, hollyhocks) --- but somehow, I have fragmented follow-through.  The grasses along the roadsides are ripening; ranging in color from ivory to bronze.  And standing tall above them are the wild parsnips with lacy golden flowers.  Some find the sap of this plant painful to their skin.
    Our lives are opening back up now that more and more of us are vaccinated.  We recently spent an afternoon with Kerm’s siblings, chatting and sharing stories; catching up from over a year of not seeing each other.  We were grateful to be together; four had been ill with COVID, one very seriously.  So being together in person and sharing laughter was a gift.  Another bright spot is coming soon; some of my high school classmates will be gathering for a mini-class reunion this month.  It will be good to see whoever is able to come.
    The 4th of July is a time for fireworks, parades and flag-waving.  It is a celebratory time when we sing “This land is your land; this land is my land, from California to the New York Island…..”  or “This is my country, land of my birth…” (but fail to learn the second verse, “This is my country, land of my choice…..”).   I do feel love for country and am filled gratitude that I have been privileged to live here. But love for country does not mean approving always of what my country does, just as loving a child doesn’t mean approving of all that child’s behavior (though some doting parents as some patriots, haven’t learned this!).  I have been appalled in the past few years, and even more so lately when I learn more about some of our hidden history. And I’ve been angry and unbelieving at some of the distasteful attitudes that not only linger but find excuses for doing so.
    It is always distressing when illusions are shattered and innocence lost. There is much that we just never learned in class, that now has come to light.  And often the mistaken and bigoted actions we were allowed to hear about were diminished and made to seem like way-past history.  It takes seeing the situation through another’s eyes ---- to realize truths that have been veiled by our own sheltered lives and to realize how wrong we’ve been.
    245 years ago, when our country was created from a rebellion of settlers against tyranny from afar, there were high hopes for democracy and freedom.   A new and wide country sparked new and brave thoughts and desires.  We were an admired prodigy among European countries.  France followed soon thereafter with its own revolution.  But our elevated ideas didn’t include the native Americans who had lived here for centuries.  Nor did they include those brought from Europe as indentured servants or from Africa as slaves.  Oppressing and enslaving people was, is, and ever will be wrong.  Equally wrong is a class structure that disregards some and values human worth by wealth, heredity or fame.   As we learn about our past, we tend to be highly critical of these glaring commissions and omissions from back then.  And we often let the bad overshadow the good things that happened.  This shows a lack of critical thinking on our part!   
    First of all, we have many of the same problems today including our own misguided attitudes.  Then, to expect “normal” of 245 years ago, to be the human rights norms that we now know, is unrealistic.  Think how much has changed in just our lifetimes.  Discarding all that George Washington or Thomas Jefferson did that was good because they owned slaves, is trying to re-write history to please ourselves.  The same applies to white-washing their lives and pretending they were perfect   Most humans are a mixture of admirable and unbecoming behavior and are products of their time. We can’t change who people were, but we can sift out the good and discard the bad and make sure our “times” don’t produce the same bigotry and oppression.  It is our responsibility to make sure that we have learned to know better and do better.
    Our country’s birthday is only three days away.  While fireworks can be enchanting for humans (not so much for pets) perhaps a truer way to celebrate would be to give our citizenship some serious thought. We have more freedom here than most other places in the world.  It is not the sort of freedom the undisciplined desire --- to always act as they are so inclined and never be held responsible for anyone else or told what to do ---- but we do have freedom to seek our own futures, to have good friends and to live much as we choose.  Our artists are not imprisoned.  We are not being bombed by our own government or any other.  We have recourse if we are hungry.  I do not have to fear the police, the FBI or the CIA.  This has been true for me ---- but not everyone.  And until it is true for any law-abiding citizen of this fine land, it cannot be totally true for me.  Thus, my question on this July 4th would be, will what I say and do encourage good change?  That question can be the symbolic candle on our nation’s symbolic cake.   A problem child can become a prodigy once again!
    As we express our own love of country, we need to remember that other people love their birth countries too, while not necessarily liking their governing bodies.  Many of what we call “third-world” countries have longer histories by far, than ours.  Their governments may be unacceptable to us; often they are unacceptable to those living there, even while they love their countries.    Several years ago, a friend shared with me a small hand-written book of poetry that he found while he was a soldier in Viet Nam.  It was written by an “enemy” soldier.  The poetry revealed that this North Vietnamese soldier had the same feelings that any soldier would have ---- he wanted to go home, he missed his girl, he loved his country, but…….    It brought tears to our eyes as we read the very human feelings of someone who was an enemy only because of his country’s political choices.  Love for country is an honorable emotion but it should never blind us to the understanding and love of humanity.  Viewing an entire country-full of people as enemies is both foolish and inhumane.
    When I was in high school, a 4-H exchange student from the Philippines lived with my family for six weeks.  Justa broadened my cultural awareness immensely.  Later I had a pen pal, also from The Philippines --- Rebecca.  She later came to the United States, entered nursing school and we met in person.  Our family hosted a young man from Mexico who sang with “Up With People”.   We have family members who have lived in Kenya.  It has been one lesson after another that though someone comes from a far-away land, has different customs and a different physical appearance --- we are all experiencing similar fears and hopes, and find fun in many of the same activities.  We were, and are, humans together, trying to cope with a diverse world.  Respect for what makes people feel comfortable and happy and what feeds their spirits even if it seems odd to us, is something we all need to achieve.  Humans need community.
    Speaking of community, one of the July traditions I remember from growing up was the Victor Grange picnic.  There were grilled hot dogs of several kinds on an open-pit fire, corn on the cob and all sorts of dishes to pass. People sat around on planks propped up on bales of straw and enjoyed being together.  I miss that kind of community.   Here in Spencer, the Grange existed for many good years, and came to an end only a short time ago.  This organization still provides considerable legislative clout for rural areas, but I fear that will diminish, for when a grass-roots movement wanes, the influence for the cause grows less.  There is an unfortunate trend nation-wide; more and more people are not joining anything.   There is a frightening lack of volunteering and regard for community.  Not only does this indicate less responsible citizenship, but those who do not belong to any organized service group like the Grange --- or Lions, Rotary, Kiwanis ---- or churches ---- will be unaware of the camaraderie that they miss as well as the satisfaction of contributing to something that blesses the whole.  There is much room for thought when we consider our responsibilities as citizens as well as human beings.
    Meanwhile it is time for this summer’s picnics, sweet, juicy watermelon, and lemonade.  We awake to warm, clear mornings, bask in days of brassy sunshine and are rejuvenated by occasional thunder storms.  It is swimming weather, water-skiing weather, lazy afternoons weather.  And it is a short-reprieve-from-the-garden time.  Plants are growing but not ready to harvest.  It’s a great time of the year for a little idleness at dusk.  “Evening, and all the birds/In a chorus of shimmering sound are easing their hearts of joy/For miles around.”  *  Enjoy!
     
     
    Carol may be reached at: carol42wilde@htva.net.
    *”This Land Is Your Land” ---- song by Woody Guthrie; American singer-song writer who epitomized the fold song era.  1912-1967.
    **”This Is My Country”  --- written in 1940.  Lyrics by Don Raye and Music by Al Jacobs.  Fred Waring and his Pennsylvanians were the first to play and record this song in 1942.
    *** poem “Dusk In June” by Sara Teasdale (also in July!) ---- Sara Teasdale was an American lyric poet.  1884-1933.
  8. Carol Bossard
    We have just exited the Christmas season. Having made it through December and New Year’s, many people are breathing a sigh of contentment, repletion, and maybe —- relief.? Wonderful holidays and the Christmas decorations lovely, but it is time to take the tree down and put the ornaments away until next year. Twelfth Night, just past, is traditionally when the Magi reached their destination (probably not the stable in Bethlehem although all of our creches have them there), to worship Jesus. Regardless of time and place, it does commemorate a special event; that the hope and love in the Christmas story are for all the world.  

    The other name, Epiphany, originated in the Orthodox Christian churches but quickly spread to include the European churches. It also marked the end of the 12 days of Christmas merry-making. For many years, we held a 12th Night party, always including more people than our house could comfortably hold. Somehow, its walls stretched, perhaps aided by the laughter and good conversation. It was a warm and wonderful occasion that fortified us to meet the rest of January.  We miss doing it, but it was an activity that became too difficult, regardless of how much fun it was.
    I recently found a word that expresses our coming year’s journey very well: “Coddiwomple.”This word means: “To travel purposefully toward an as-yet-unknown destination.” Isn’t that perfect for a new year? We all have hopes and plans, and some people, who are more confident and/or arrogant than others, have no doubt that their plans will work as they wish. Those of us who are more experienced (generally older) know how quickly life can change regardless of our wishes. So, I really like that word both for its uniqueness and for the reality that our year’s journey will be full of surprising side trips, some not always of our choosing, but many that are delightful — for which blessings we can be grateful.
    When one reaches our elevated state of “elderly”, there are decisions to be made; issues to discuss. One that came up for us recently was our home. Our sons and daughters-in-law,- and rightfully so, were concerned that the maintenance of house and land was getting to be too much for the energy and strength we find it possible to summon.  The gardens that I’ve had so much fun creating, with Kerm’s helpful digging, raking and weeding, are way too vast for us to keep in order, especially with mutually uncooperative artificial knees and a tendency to run out of steam too soon. Inside the house, the dilemma is nearly as bad; both of us have several projects going at once, creating too much stuff for tidiness. Creative ideas keep on flowing, but my organizational abilities, sadly, have diminished. Our concerned family members also, undoubtedly, are contemplating the huge job it might be to clean out and distribute our way-too-many belongings.  So, what to do????
    We considered several options. We could buy a smaller house. A couple of houses in town have come upon the market, but there isn’t a lot of turn-over in our community. And we are relatively fussy. As we considered that move, we agreed that it would cut down a bit on the volume of our maintenance, but only a bit.  As for cleaning out our stuff, certainly some of that would be accomplished, but I’ll never live as a minimalist, so we will always be surrounded by too many things.  We cherish our books, and I enjoy various sorts of porcelain silver, sculptures, and glass ware. We could consider renting, eliminating outside maintenance. However, rentals in this community are not numerous either and we are rather firm about sufficient space for each of us to do what we want to do. Neither of us wants to sit in the other’s pocket! Ithaca has some fine senior living places where we’d probably do just fine. But, as much as we enjoy visiting Ithaca, we really do not wish to leave our community where we have 45-year-old roots, a church, fine neighbors and friends.
    So, after analyzing things, we finally decided to stay right where we are, but to revisit the issue each year. And we’ve agreed to try to find help for cleaning and gardening.  This may not be easy or inexpensive.  But it seems to be the best solution for us right now.  

    There is a concern that one not put off too long what changes might be necessary.  Too often, older people procrastinate with decision-making, and those choices, by necessity, fall upon their reluctant children. It is sad when older adults are “put” somewhere, often with no opportunity for closure, because they didn’t make changes in their lives while they could. Of course, sudden illness or disability unexpectedly hastens the need for other accommodations.
    In former centuries, most homes had multiple generations living in them. But with healthier old age and young adults going out on their own earlier, this simply is no longer the norm.   Certainly, multi-generations in one abode bring their own challenges, some of which probably means a bit of discomfort for all involved.  We went through a series of care needs with Kerm’s mother; moving her, reluctantly, from her farm home to an apartment in town, then to assisted living, and finally to a nursing home. And that nursing home didn’t always please us, but her need for care was more than we could provide at our home. My sister moved from her home, also reluctantly, to a lovely senior apartment, but from there, right into a nursing facility when she suddenly needed more care. That nursing home was excellent though it still wasn’t really “home”. Quality of care varies considerably, sometimes due to available finances; sometimes due to lack of staffing or training. And most places have nothing happening that would encourage a resident to feel needed or valuable. There is a nationwide need for continued discussion, planning and creativity around elder care.  People are people who all need the same consideration and medical opportunities. And even more important, for mental health, no one wishes to feel stashed away and useless.

    Meanwhile, we are still at home, and hope to be fully participating in this new year. And while we intend to eliminate some of the unnecessary stuff ( via yard sales, auctions, and loving relatives —-lock your cars! — 😊) in our lives, I found other even more important,  but less solid things we all should remove.  All of us, regardless of age!  
     “Fitting in” should not be all that important. We all wish to be liked but we shouldn’t deny our uniqueness and gifts to accomplish that.    Being harsh and critical of ourselves is foolish and unhealthy; our brains don’t respond well to self-bashing.    Be careful about criticizing others, especially for small things.  We have no idea what troubles and pressures exist in their lives.  Instead, pray for them.    Do not spend time with people who make you feel badly about yourself.   You are the only just-like-you in the universe. This is good. Don’t let someone else make you uncertain about that.    Don’t worry about or agonize over failures. Mistakes become learning experiences if we are at all wise.    Don’t become too attached to material objects. This one is tough for me; I’m a “thing” person and many of my possessions remind me of times, places and people I love.  But I’ve also reached a point in my life when I could give almost anything to someone who needed it. I might replace what I gave away via the next antique shop or auction, but….. 😊… So perhaps better advice would be to not let material things be first in our lives.     Stop comparing yourself to anyone else. We are each different —- purposely.  We can learn from others, but shouldn’t try to be clones of them.   Develop a spiritual connection. Someone once said we are spiritual persons in a physical body. So, this is a health issue that also, during spiritual growth, brings a few growing pains, but also a certain quiet joy.  
    If we all consider putting these into practice, 2024 would be a gift to ourselves and all those around us.  And surely one step toward a happier world.
    We may be looking at the year with gloom, doom and fear in our hearts; certainly, there is enough evil, both generally and specifically, and potential chaos to make that dour perspective reasonable, even logical. Or we can trust what has been true for eons; that joy will find its way into the chaos and there will be many times of happiness, warmth and enjoyment in the coming days. I hope to go on setting goals, finding interesting things to do and continuing to plan ahead, even if I must go to Plan Z. I hope the same is true for you — that your year finds you looking for both enjoyment and ways to help wherever you are, and that you can look ahead with that trust and faith that makes life worth our participation. 
    Ranier Maria Rilke* had an especially good thought that starts this year off well. He said: “And now let us believe in a long year that is given to us — new, untouched, full of things that have never been.”  
     
    Carol Bossard writes from her home in Spencer. She may be reached at: carol42wilde@htva.net. 
    *Ranier Maria Rilke —- actually Rene Karl Wilhelm Josef Maria Rilke. Rilke was an Austrian poet and novelist.   1875-1926.   
  9. Carol Bossard

    Autumn Impulses

    By Carol Bossard,

    The Equinox has come and we are now truly in autumn.  Seasons are flashing past in double-time.  Sooner than seems possible, we’ll be contemplating Thanksgiving dinner and then Christmas cards.  But even now, there is this strange pull to prepare for winter ---- though most winter days here are navigable and fairly easy to manage.  We are seldom snowed/iced in for more than two days.  But, still, something inside ---- maybe all those years of helping put in hay bales or canning tomatoes, or perhaps ---- survival genes from eons ago ---- makes me want to be sure we are snug and ready for anything winter can bring.   
    “….She was covered from head to foot with stove blacking.  On the floor all around the stove were dribbles and splotches of blacking……That was the worst day.  On Friday the house was almost in order and they worried lest Ma come home too soon….”*
      “Little Town On The Prairie”, quoted above, has Laura and Carrie trying to do the house-cleaning while their parents are gone.  Everything that could go wrong, does.  That also describes my comprehensive cleaning dilemma; I begin one thing and that leads to something else and suddenly I’m over my head in too much to do and where on earth will I put things?  The traditional housewifely practice of the 19th and early 20th centuries demanded deep-cleaning, spring and fall.  Of course, then, there were no vacuum cleaners, no carpet shampoos, Scrubbing Bubbles or Windex for regular maintenance.  My seasonal efforts are, admittedly, minimal.  I bring out the quilts and pillows, change the wreath on the door and add pumpkins and chrysanthemums to the porch.  But I don’t take the carpets outside for beating, nor wash the walls.   Some windows may be cleaned as we remove the ACs but my efforts are more cosmetic than seriously cleansing.
    My college major {then called “Home Economics;” now called “Human Ecology!”} was because a) I wanted to be a 4-H agent and b) I’ve believed that making a home where people feel comfortable and loved is both a fine art and necessary skill for happy living.  Even an aero-space designer or nuclear physicist --- of either gender ---- needs this. That opinion wasn’t popular in the 1960s when women were trying to escape the rigidity of society’s assigned roles.  I agreed about need for change in societal expectations, but if one is free to develop a career outside the home, then one should also be free to make home a career without feeling like a betrayer of womankind.   
    Of course, there is far more to home-making than the house itself, but most of us do tend to focus on our houses, since they are the basic structures within which and around which, we create a living environment.   Kerm and I lived in three apartments and one half-house before, we moved to a large, square Pennsylvania farm house; 4 rooms upstairs and 4 rooms downstairs with an attached summer kitchen.  We and our then-toddlers moved in to face high ceilings, big windows and empty walls.  I was staying home with the children, so one salary had to stretch for all things.  My mother, always good at re-purposing, kindly offered me a pile of white sheets she no longer needed, and I made cottage curtains for six big windows, from those muslin sheets, and trimmed them with ball fringe.  The living room walls were soon brightened with fabric hangings upon which I appliqued patterns and quotations.  It took me about 3 days per hanging, to cut out letters and shapes, hand-sew them on and fringe the burlap, this being before the advent of digital sewing machines that do everything but fix dinner and wash the dishes.  We also discovered a new hobby; household auctions.   We found large, round overhead lights from the county building that, tipped over, turned into ultra-modern table lamps ---- industrial meets Star Trek.   We found gold-framed paintings we both liked and occasional pieces of furniture.  I bought an entire bolt of orange corduroy and covered floor pillows, slip-covered a chair and couch cushions.  We purchased a good couch and bed, but the rest of our house was put together with very little effect on the budget.  It e slowly evolved into an eclectic décor that was pleasing, at least to our eyes.     
    I have always enjoyed seeing the unique ways in which people create their living spaces.  Karen, whose casual house-keeping style is similar to mine, and who also enjoys vintage things, arranges pleasing vignettes on her table.  I remember one that featured a pair of gold-rimmed spectacles, some interesting stones and a charming little bowl.  It was a conversation-starter.  Jan fills her walls with original paintings --- not Van Gogh or Rembrandt--- but artists from her community. They may never be famous (or they might) but the art is attractive and unique, and it inspired me to go and do likewise.   Pat has her own amazing paintings on the wall and makes beautiful quilts.  Ellie keeps a neat and tidy abode without clutter, but adorned with African carvings, flowering plants and a comfy porch where one can watch hummingbirds.  Her home breathes out restfulness and peace.  Another Ellie’s home always has a touch of elegance whether she is living in an old house, a new house or an apartment.  Her elegance comes from within and is expressed via good taste, not thousands of dollars.  And Joette’s rooms could be in the pages of “Country Living,” a magazine that we both enjoyed some years ago.  All of these houses have a unique ambiance that just fits those who live there.
    Our preferences have altered some over the years; I currently surround myself with what makes me happy.  Books!  Music!  Photographs!  Art from people we know!  The top of a high bookcase has a painting of the Campfire Girl’s Creed (done by my mother) and various items suggesting camping and the outdoors.  It is a dust-collector but every time I look at it, I think of the fun (and crises) we’ve had camping, and I remember the stories my mother told, about growing up in the early 20th century.  I have framed photographs on tables and walls, surrounding myself with people I love.  My living room curtains are still white with ball fringe, though not the originals.  Our orange decor has changed to rose, blue and green. None of our rooms are “show rooms” in any sense, but they are comfortable. I believe that if we listened closely enough, we’d undoubtedly hear echoes of music and laughter --- of dinner parties and rehearsals, of D&D games and graduation parties---- of adding up the pinochle score ---- all caught in our walls.  What happens in a house, over many years, must be absorbed, becoming part of the very air.    A home that exudes warmth, welcome and happy times --- in one’s very personal style ---- is one of life’s blessings.  And considering how many homes have been recently lost in floods, earthquakes and fires, not to mention bombings --- having four walls and a roof, is definitely something for which to be deeply grateful.
    We turn to the outside, tucking our gardens in with cover crops.  We no longer have livestock (chickens or rabbits), but we do have outside cats who believe they own us, and wild birds with expectations involving suet and seeds.   We make a shelter in an ell of our house for the cats, enclosing a table with sheet foam, lined baskets beneath.  Some of the warmth from inside seeps out to them and they are protected from the wind.   There’s also a double-walled dog house that, with the demise of Freckles, is open to cats.  (Freckles would be appalled!) And cats grow thick coats of fur, soon resembling walking muffs.   There are shelters for birds to use on cold nights, and we try to provide fresh water for whoever might need it.  Concern for the creatures around us is part of being grateful for our life and theirs.
    This doesn’t mean romanticizing them to the point where they become more important than humans.  Here I’m thinking of the cows in India that walk wherever they choose, of the deer in Ithaca that do the same and the people who are all warm and squishy about deer, whales and manatees, but forget about starving or abused children.  We need to be compassionate toward whomever or whatever we met on our individual paths, but we should develop well-informed common sense so that our compassion doesn’t morph into gooey sentimentality.
    A home’s most important quality is probably that of acceptance.  Carl Larsson**, an artist of all things homey, says: “A home is not dead but living, and like all living things, obeys the law of nature by constantly changing.”   And “The nourished spirit is essentially what we pass on to others whether family, friends, coworkers or strangers.”***  Home should soothe us, inspire us and take us in, that we might be renewed to face a not-always-friendly world.
    Meanwhile, autumn has come --- today!  Golden rod is blooming everywhere.   The crickets sing their autumn songs while trying to sneak into the house.   We all, with some dread and some relief, await the first hard frost.  There is an aroma ---- perhaps a combination of composting leaves, flowers blooming for one last time, a tinge of woodsmoke on crisp mornings and a long, fragrant sigh from the earth as the season turns.  Whatever the source, the bouquet for our noses triggers an impulse of urgency deep within us, to prepare for the colder days ahead.  So. bring out the quilts, polish the windows and view, with gratitude, the changing life around us wherever we live.
    Carol may be reached at: carol42wilde@htva.net.
    *Little Town On The Prairie by Laura Ingalls Wilder----American writer.  1867-1957.  If you haven’t read these books, or if it has been years since you did, now is a good time to re-read them.  Excellent reads!
     
    **Carl Larsson---Swedish painter who exemplified the Arts & Crafts Movement.  1853-1919.
     
    ***Alexandra Stoddard--- American decorator and writer; philosopher of contemporary living.
  10. Carol Bossard
    Today is Earth Day ---- an occasion for taking time to appreciate the very ground beneath our feet and all that grows thereon.  It is a day to notice the bees (dwindling in numbers) on dandelions, the white of shadblow on the hills and to appreciate the rain (although maybe not so much that mixed precipitation!).  We (human-kind) have been careless and lacking in gratitude for the amazing connections and interconnections in our world from the depths of the seas to the starry endlessness of space.   Earth Day, even on a too-frosty morning, is a perfect time to think about how each one of us is important in making the world continue to go ‘round in a healthy way.
    Easter Sunday is past, but I’m still feeling in the Easter season (and it is still Easter on the liturgical calendar).  This holiday, in the past days when wearing hats was still the custom, was when ladies got new, sometimes quite elaborate, hats --- “In your Easter bonnet, with all the frills upon it, you’ll be the grandest lady in the Easter Parade* ----“.  I was given a lovely white, wool hat this year that I simply forgot to wear on Easter.  (It was a busy morning!)  But it did trigger memories of past hats ---- mine and those of others.
    My first Easter bonnet (that I remember) was a pale ivory straw trimmed with black velvet ribbon and white daisies.  I also remember a pink straw cloche when I was a bit older.  That was the year my father took me shopping for an Easter dress, and I came home with two dresses instead of one.  (Note to my 11-year-old-self; “shop with Dad more often!”)   The very last hat that I purchased for wearing to church was in 1966; a pale, yellow straw cloche trimmed with yellow velvet ribbon, from a hat shop in Lewisburg, PA.  I wore it until I joined the choir; in that role, hats were just unnecessary.
    My mother wore hats as did most women in the 1940s and 50s; a red velvet pillbox with a rhinestone clip, a sparkly brocade pillbox with a tiny veil, a powder-blue halo with tulle and a dark blue straw cloche with red, white and blue trim, just to remember a few.  I hoarded her hats in their hat boxes for some years before finally making them available for the dress-up box.  I don’t know what happened to my father’s hats.  Men also wore hats in the fifties ---- when doffing one’s hat was good manners.   Dad seldom went anywhere without his felt fedora or straw Stetson, creased just right.  I expect my mother gave them to someone who could use them after he needed them no more.
    I really do love hats, and will eventually wear the white felt that I forgot to wear on Easter but, in general, people are not wearing hats as much unless they are sun hats or baseball caps in their many and varied forms.  My husband and our sons say those baseball hats are to shade their eyes, but I think it’s a genetic thing passed down from fathers and grandfathers; bare heads make them feel vulnerable.
    Our attic and the dress-up box have always had a stash of hats --- for costumes, skits and who knows what.  There’s a magenta satin top hat with a plume that could have been worn by one of the Musketeers.  There are several varieties of men’s straw hats, a velvet coachman’s hat and any number of ski hats knitted by my mother.  Kerm has a mad bomber’s hat for terrible winter weather and I have a tall fur hat of the sort one sees in “Dr. Zhivago”.  Then there is the multi-colored bubble wig that a fashionable clown would be glad to acquire.  One just never knows when a certain style of head-covering will be necessary.  When we lived in central Pennsylvania, I became accustomed to the little white caps that Mennonite women wore on the backs of their heads, usually covering a braid or bun.  The little cap was both a sign of worldly modesty and of submission to God. I admire the willingness to wear a visible sign of one’s beliefs and the little caps were pretty too. I’m looking forward to summertime when I can once more wear my wide-brimmed, flower-trimmed straw hat that signifies nothing at all but a love of hats.
    And speaking of summer, if these multiple viral variants do not create continued need for isolation, perhaps we can be freer to see friends and family during the coming days.  Some events I was hoping for have already been cancelled (my 61st class reunion and Alumni banquet) but hopefully, smaller gatherings will be possible.  I’m surely looking forward to seeing people I haven’t seen in two summers.  I am anticipating sunny picnics with friends and hoping for family campfires, singing and marshmallow toasts as fireflies light up the nights.
    One of the blogs I recently read spoke of on-going research into gratitude and what this emotion actually does in the brain.  William Arthur Ward says: “Gratitude can transform common days into thanksgivings, turn routine jobs into joy and change ordinary opportunities into blessings.”** It turns out that thinking thankfully actually changes how the brain thinks; they apparently can measure this on some kind of scan.  This is also true in my own experience, for in spite of all we couldn’t do for the past year, there have been many things for which I am truly grateful.  My moody perspectives can create some pretty dark days, but equally small things can bring back the light.   I’ve found that it actually is possible to extricate one’s self from gloom by remembering blessings and allowing a feeling of thankfulness to fill me up.  Henry Ward Beecher was a pastor and Civil Rights advocate back in Civil War times, so he had plenty to be unsettled and gloomy about.  But he said this:  “….If you can eat today, enjoy the sunlight today, mix good cheer with friends today, enjoy it and bless God for it.  Do not look back on happiness nor dream of it in the future.  You are only sure of today; do not let yourself be cheated out of it.”***
    It’s fun to think back to former Easters with the frilly hats and patent leather shoes.  But as our pastor pointed out to us the first Sunday past Easter, for those who believe, “Every morning is Easter morning from now on…..”****.  Each day offers us a chance for new beginnings.  Today, this moment, is where we should be focused.  What is out there for me to do today?  How can I be using my time well today?  In what can I take delight today?  Ruing yesterday has little value.  A certain amount of planning ahead is useful, but worrying ahead usually creates stress which can easily become gloom and doom.  Today is when we can live with intention.  It helps to dispel the angst brought on by the world around us to take special note of the small things that brighten each day.  I must admit that I don’t always practice this; I do worry behind and ahead --- too often.  But when I write about this, I am reminding myself too, and that’s progress!
    I’m hoping that last night’s dip in temperatures didn’t freeze my tulips, but in spite of  spring ups and downs, I believe that soon we’ll be out mowing lawns and planting rows of lettuce, cosmos and basil.  The finches are beginning to show their brighter colors; house finches are rosier and goldfinches are little bits of sunshine.  I’ve seen several birds checking out nesting sites; one right by our picture window, so it’s time to put out dryer fluff and yarn pieces.  The flowering cherries were in bloom in Montour Falls last week, and the spring rains have made the waterfalls there and in Watkins Glen really worth seeing.  In whatever way spring comes to your region, I hope that you grab your favorite bonnet and enter into the greening newness with enthusiasm and gratitude.  And Happy Earth Day!!
    “For lo, the winter is past, the rain is over and gone; the flowers appear on the earth; the time of the singing of birds is come, and the voice of the turtle is heard in our land.”*****
    ******************************************************************
    Carol may be reached at: carol42wilde@htva.net.
    *-“Easter Parade” by Irving Berlin---- American composer born in Imperial Russia.  Prolific composer and lyricist and considered one of America’s greatest composers.  1888-1989
    **-William Arthur Ward--- American motivational writer; poems, essays and meditations published in many American magazines.  1921-1994
    ***-Henry Ward Beecher ---- American Congregationalist clergyman.  He was deeply into spreading the Word of God’s love via social reforms and the abolition of slavery.  1813-1887
    ****-Easter Song by Richard Avery and Donald Marsh.  Richard Avery was a Presbyterian pastor and Donald Marsh was the choir director in the same church.  They collaborated on music for 40 years.  Donald Marsh died in 2010 and Richard Avery in 2020.
    *****- The Song of Solomon --- The Bible
  11. Carol Bossard
    Every year, I’ve written about Halloween, but never had the opportunity to send out an essay ON Halloween. As you know, this is a popular, and controversial,day. The word comes from the Celtic “Samhain” (pronounced Sa-ween). It was the Harvest festival and beginning of the new year in Ireland and surrounding regions; sort of like New Year’s Eve for us. The belief, at that time, was that on Samhain, the “curtain” between the here and the hereafter was very thin. Uneasy or angry souls could come back to admonish/ take vengeance on those who had caused them grief during life on earth. So, people carried candle-lit vegetables (lanterns were too expensive for many) at night, to feel safer, going from one place to another. And, of course, all sorts of spooky legends have grown up around this day, involving “eye of newt and toad spit,” ghosts, skeletons, headless horsemen, dressing up as someone else, bon fires, and Jack-o-lanterns.
    Some people find this autumn celebration, at the very least, annoying, and others, totally unacceptable, feeling that it promotes Paganism and maybe, actual evil. Some just ignore it, pulling the curtains to avoid trick & treaters. Others find it fun to dress up, to go trick-or-treating, or to have parties with slightly spooky games and steaming punch. We probably fall into the latter category, for we have had several Halloween parties over the years, sewed costumes for our children and grandchildren, and carved many a Jack-o-lantern. Mostly our boys did not go trick or treating; we had the parties instead, that included skits, mazes, seasonal food, and campfires.  Our former house had a split-level attic with gables.  It was perfect for a Halloween maze. That was the same year we took the “Duck, Duck” skit from “The Electric Company” (or was it “Sesame Street”?) and reproduced it in our living room. Home-made costumes became pajamas or went into the dress-up box when Halloween was over.  One year a Mexican student was staying with us; he was part of an “Up With People” performance, and his group was having a Halloween party. From our capacious dress-up box, we outfitted him with my sister’s nurse’s cape and a fake moustache, until, with his dark, good looks, he made a convincing Dracula.  He only had to buy fake fangs!  Note: everyone needs a costume box, it’s not just for Halloween.
    I do think that many lawn decorations observed in our recent travels, are too expensive, and of dubious taste - macabre even. The dancing circles of ghosts are kind of fun. Some amusing displays in several places this year are using the fake skeletons. On one lawn there were probably a dozen skeletons busily “working”; mowing, raking, pushing a cart!  And just down the road from us, a line of skeletons stands on guard, outside an old barn.  They really should be chicken skeletons; that barn was full of poultry when we moved here.  And ---- a warning about those cob-webby things that people drape over shrubbery; they create lethal traps for good insects (butterflies, moths, bees) and some small birds, so, not good. Thus far, I’m sticking to pumpkins, corn stalks and a scarecrow or two and a treat for any kid who makes it up our long driveway.
    Some believe I’m too casual about Halloween. I do not dismiss the potential for evil in this world, and I know that on Halloween some misinformed individuals are involved in unpleasantness like a black mass and similar unsavory practices. I believe however, these are minimal and obvious when compared to the evils caused by greed and the worship of power and money. I think we find more real evil in respectable places; Congress, country clubs, business offices, yachts, and arenas; places we do not necessarily expect evil to be.  Wealth, status and glib language impress too many, and can create moral blindness!  This obtuseness allows us to shrug off daily practices of injustice, greed, abuse and hate-mongering. So, a fun celebration of Halloween seems relatively innocent in comparison.

    There are other special days at about the same time.  When Christianity was introduced into the Celtic regions of Europe, the new religious leaders made a habit of “revising” pagan holidays, turning them into Christian celebrations.  Halloween became “All Soul’s (or All Hallows Eve) Eve” and the day after Halloween became “All Saints’ Day.”  These are times to remember the wonderful people in our lives; those still with us, and those who are no longer here, but who have impacted us in good way.
    For our first Christmas together with family, Kerm’s Grandma Storm quietly asked me if we went to church.  I replied that we did --- but not every Sunday.  She nodded and said: “That’s good.  You’ll go more after a while.”  This turned out to be quite true.  When we moved to Pennsylvania, the pastor of the church we chose, and his wife, not only made us welcome, but made sure we had many opportunities to grow.   They convinced us we should teach Sunday school --- which guaranteed we’d be there every week and created so-o-o many learning experiences!    The pastor was new and we were new, and we shared some fine occasions.  In Livingston Manor, we became better acquainted with the Jewish faith and Catholicism via good friends and participation in Interfaith Marriage Encounter.  And in Spencer, we’ve found guidance and examples in good pastors and good people.  As we look backward, we are very grateful for all our grandmas, grandpas, aunts, pastors and wise friends who have blessed us in many ways.
    Speaking of special days, the autumn time change is about to be inflicted upon us.  This very weekend, Daylight Savings Time will be whisked away, the clocks will be turned an hour backward, and, in another month, it be dark at 4:30, Standard Time. There is one friend in my life (I suppose there could possibly be more…) who rejoices over this day that gives her an extra hour. People who like this end of the time change, tend to get up early. I do not, so I don’t need morning light as much as I need late afternoon/evening light. As a result, that first weekend in November always leaves me a tad grumpy, even supposedly having had an extra hour of sleep.  I look forward, with eagerness, to the winter solstice in December. My motto is “bring back the light”!!
    Life goes on, and as we come to the end of October (a most delightful month) and waltz into November (an iffy month), we have about three weeks to enjoy the month’s variations of time and weather before the holidays are upon us and we are caught up in the rushing hither and yon. I must bake fruitcakes (a new tradition begun after I retired).  I wait to bake them until I’m sure the bears have denned; I’d be upset should a hungry bear break into our porch for the fruit cakes he smells mellowing there. Now lest you try to tell me that even bears won’t eat fruit cake, I will inform you that my fruit cakes are yummy!  The spicy cake batter is full of raisins, glazed fruit, pear conserve, pecans, Brazil nuts, almonds, and a “touch” of B&B Liqueur. The cakes rest a while, and are basted again with B&B Liqueur, after which they are ready to share with other fruit cake lovers.  And my afternoon tea time becomes an especially a delightful experience.  (And a razz-berry or two, to my fruit-cake-denying sons and husband!)

    Even more fun than fruitcakes was our recent pinochle night. We used to play frequently, but life has gotten more complicated, so a pinochle evening is nearly an annual event now.   Unfortunately, when there are long gaps between activities, some of us tend to forget what we are supposed to do.  Is there a right and left bower?  Nope, that’s euchre.  Oh, someone must open with a bid?  What makes meld again? “What do you mean a king of hearts can’t marry a queen of diamonds?  We managed to pull ourselves back up to speed after two or three hands so we could actually converse and play cards at the same time, and we were reminded of how much we enjoy each other.  We also observed that two or three people still should be sent to “Over bidders Anonymous!”  We aren’t serious about our card-playing but we are very serious about the good it brings into our days. I am convinced that the camaraderie and laughter build up our immune systems.  And the recall of our playing skills keeps our minds agile.  Friends and fun are undeniably as health-building as vitamins!!
    On this day of ghosts, goblins and big, orange pumpkins, I hope you will be doing something good, fun or refreshing.  A line from this appropriate poem should challenge our senses: “….listen…..with faint, dry sound, like steps of passing ghosts, the leaves, frost-crisped,  break from the trees and fall….”* Look with kindly tolerance at costumed kiddies, having a fine time scuffling through those same dry leaves.  Think about old Ireland and the interesting Druid theology that led to many of our customs today.  And take time to appreciate daily life here and now.  Even with so many frightening things in our world (including the coming elections), there are stars in the sky, birds singing, puppies rolling on rugs and music waiting for the listening ear. And --- “October baptize me with leaves!  Swaddle m e in corduroy and nurse me with split pea soup.  October, tuck tiny candy bars in my pockets and carve my smile into a thousand pumpkins.  O Autumn! O teakettle! O grace!”**
    And take responsibility!  We have good lives in this imperfect but fine land.  You may have grievances, but living here is still better than in most other countries of this world.   Be a good citizen and VOTE!!!  No excuses!
     
    Carol Bossard writes from her home in Spencer. She may be reached at: carol42wilde@htva.net.
    *from a poem (November Night) by Adelaide Crapsey --- American poet and writer from Rochester, NY.  1878-1914.
    **Rainbow Rowell –American author known for young adult and contemporary adult novels.
  12. Carol Bossard
    ‘Tis the season of the Strawberry Moon, according to the Algonquin, Ojibwe and Lakota peoples.  And from ancient Rome, we’d be one day past the Ides of June! Few people realize (unless they sat through Latin classes with Mrs. Dunn) that the Ides come every month.  The 15th of March is the famous Ides because it was the chosen date of Julius Caesar’s demise via assassins. “Et Tu Brute?”!!  But we are now just past the middle of this lovely month, in our time, and Mid-Summer Night’s Eve is soon to be with us — a time of myth and magic extending far back into history.  It is the eve of the Summer Solstice, arriving on June 21st.  From that day on until December 21st, the light fades a bit day by day.  Now that I am seeing less well, light is very important to me.

     
     Midsummer In Sweden, Finland and Estonia it is celebrated with joyous festivals.   The Spencer-Van Etten area is heavily populated with people who’ve lived in Finland, or who are descended from Finns.  And the regional Finnish society celebrates what is called “Juhannus” (Mid-summer Festival).    One year, back when we had a lovely restaurant in Spencer called the Main Street Café, this festival was celebrated there, and the buffet array was outstanding.  There were foods that I’d never tasted before.  In all European countries, this was traditionally a time when it was said that one might see pixies, fairies or elves; there was magic in the air.  Rabbits danced madly in the meadows and, in old England, it was customary for young, unmarried women to wash their faces in the dew, at dawn on Mid-summer, after which they would, supposedly have a vision of who they would marry.  As a Christian holiday, stolen from the pagan tradition, it is also St. John’s Eve.  St. John is one of the patron saints of bee-keepers, and considering the current lack of honey bees, we could use a little saintly help.  I would appreciate a few of those pixies to assist in the garden too, but I hear they are pranksters; they’d probably pull the lettuce and leave the chickweed. Exploring the stories and reasons for our traditional celebrating of holidays, is a fun journey into history that allows a little fantasy to seep into our very practical lives.
    And speaking of history, because this is the 50th anniversary of Hurricane Agnes and the Flood of 1972, I’m going to re-tell the tale of our adventures in that traumatic event.  I wrote about it a few years ago after Ken Burns made a fine documentary film.  Now a Bucknell University professor is collecting information and experiences for another documentary film, and this has triggered my memories again. 

    In 1972, we lived outside of Lewisburg, PA.  We (two small sons and I) accompanied Kerm to 4-H camp the second week in June at a Boy Scout facility on Pine Creek near Jersey Shore, PA.  4-H members from five counties (Union, Northumberland, Center, Lycoming and Snyder) attended, and there were about 300 kids there, plus counselors, cook, nurse and three Cooperative Extension adults.  We had two or three lovely days before the rains began, and even when the showers came, we still sang, ate and did crafts while sloshing through wet grass—– until the alarm went out that this might be a difficult storm — which it surely was. It blew across Pa. moved on to NYS’s southern tier and whipped around to return to Pa., filling the streams and rivers to well over flood levels. 
    After the power went out, we managed to get 150 of the kids onto buses and back home.  There were 150 remaining when the call came to abandon camp. The difficulty was that there were only two ways out of the camp; one was a steep, dirt road requiring a 4-wheel drive — and in this situation —- slippery with rain.  The other way – and how most everyone came in — was to walk across a suspension bridge, over Pine Creek, which, after days of rain, came gushing and rolling down the valley sending its flood waters to the Susquehanna River. By the time we got all the kids across, there were trees and house-trailers rolling along in those waters. One memory is forever etched into my mind; telling our sons (ages 6 and 3) to hang onto my rain coat and not let go — as we walked across that swaying bridge to the waiting school bus.  Thankfully, they did just that!   Once on the bus, we made the hazardous trip to a shelter — the bus driver had to guess where the road was since there were several inches of water covering it.  The bus full of kids was utterly silent as we went.  The raging creek was close, so getting off the road could have been deadly.  The last adults, including Kerm, came out in National Guard trucks. The camp was so damaged that it never reopened.
    We sheltered overnight in a school library — snoozing between the stacks.  The next day, with water still rising in Jersey Shore, we were taken further up the hill to a Catholic church.  I remember singing our boys to sleep in the sanctuary aisles, and turning around to find a group of teens sitting there, listening —- taking comfort in the songs too.  Being stranded with 150 kids from ages 10 to 16 could be daunting, but those young people were wonderful.  They were concerned about their families (no cell phones then and phone lines down) but their behavior was incredibly good and caring about each other.  We were all awed by the devastation we could see from our vantage point high on that hill; just the church steeples and roof peaks of the buildings showed in the town below; all else was inundated and covered in many feet of water.

    Image courtesy Chemung County Historical Society
    Probably everyone has had an experience at some point in their lives that remains vivid in their memories. We didn’t know until later that several people had drowned in NYS’s Southern Tier region, not far from where we now live, and in Lewisburg, the chief of police drowned on Main Street. The flood left not only visual images in our heads, but sensory memories; the smell of flood clean-up is something no one forgets.  
    While I still love water —- the ocean — rippling streams — water falls—–lakes, I have great respect for what water power can do.  And I have no desire to live on the banks of any streams.  Maintaining the dams and the flood control efforts are incredibly important.  As storms increase in frequency and severity, remembering the past will ensure that there won’t be such destruction and loss of life again.
    Learning from history most definitely applies to other areas of life too; the economy, wars, ecology, conservation of our resources, education and sociology.   The majority of humans simply seem unable to think further than today and perhaps, tomorrow; seldom next week and almost never, next year.  There is a Native American philosophy that before we do anything, we should consider the effect it will have on the next seven generations.  This is not a concept that we seem to carry in our pioneering genes — but perhaps we should begin developing that long-term concern as we think of our earth and the fate of the grandchildren we love as they live upon it.
    Right now, though, on this day and in this time, we are finding ourselves in beautiful mid-June. Peonies are blooming and sending their fragrance out over our yard, and my huge, unruly rose bush resembles a waterfall of pink blossoms cascading down over the wahoo trees. Currently the many waterfalls/streams that make the Finger Lakes region so very scenic, are neither roaring nor flooding — thankfully.  I am grateful for the bounty around us. It behooves us to make every effort to be aware of life, each day we live — the fragrances, the people, the colors. To be grateful, we need to notice and appreciate.  “The earth is the cup, the sky is the cover, of the immense bounty of nature, which is offered us.”  Emerson.* We need to shake off our superiority and arrogance in our human accomplishments and realize that we are a working part of this earthly habitat.  As Louis Armstrong **sang “It’s a wonderful world!” It will take all our efforts to keep it that way.   Read Wendell Berry’s*** The Peace of Wild Things while sitting in the sunshine, absorbing the world around.  Have a bowl of strawberries.  Your stress will melt away and your eyes will find a new appreciation for your surroundings.  And in another five days, keep your eyes open for a pixie or two!
    Carol Bossard writes from her home in Spencer. She may be reached at: carol42wilde@htva.net.  
    *Ralph Waldo Emerson —American philosopher, essayist, poet, lecturer and abolitionist.  He was a graduate of the Harvard Divinity School.  1803 – 1882
    **Louis Armstrong —American trumpeter and vocalist; of immense importance in the jazz world.  1901 – 1971.
    ***Wendell Berry — American novelist, essayist and poet, attorney, farmer and environmental activist from Kentucky.
  13. Carol Bossard
    “The snow had begun in the gloaming, and busily all the night had been heaping field and highway with a silence deep and white.  Every pine and fir and hemlock wore ermine too dear for an earl, and the poorest twig in the elm tree was ridged inch-deep with pearl.”*
    And so, the cycle begins again. Winter has arrived, and will undoubtedly outstay its welcome, before our portion of the earth slowly finds spring. Just as we are enjoying spring, summer will suddenly pounce upon us, with all its heat and greenness. Eventually, golden fall will enchant us once more before we find ourselves back into winter again, a year from now. I am finally, in my older years, beginning to look at the “big picture” instead of always focusing on the close-up of often-worrisome details, though I still do the latter too often. This movement through twelve months seemingly took more time, thirty years ago, than it takes now. Of course that is a matter of perspective. If I could do anything with my writing, I’d etch in fiery words, the idea that: every moment is precious; that even in negative moments, we are full of life, and because of that, are able to find shining gleams of gold amid the darkness.

    January has always been a hopeful month, for me. It begins a new year, and there might be great possibilities ahead. The calendar pages are mostly empty of obligations. But, Oh. woe! January has suddenly filled up with doctors’ appointments which is not a really good omen. But isn’t it fine to have those skilled medical people available when needed? Our son came by the other day, having back issues, and growled: “Just who decided these were the golden years?” He has a long way to go before he can consider himself old, but he is absolutely right; aging brings challenges; and not just physical ones. I remember a friend, who was nearing 100 years, wondering why she was still alive when all her friends had passed on. At a small party she said: “I do enjoy all of you, but I am sad that there is no one left with whom I can share past experiences, who will understand them. It is true that as one’s generation thins, and as one’s capabilities ebb, one does wonder.  But life itself,  with all of its troubles, is reason enough, isn’t it?  Even though I cannot whirl around in a polka, get the house cleaned in a day, plant four garden beds in an afternoon, or throw a 12th-Night party, I am alive and so far, lucid,  a solid resource for our sons, grandchildren and family members.  Kerm and I are a reliable “constant” for at least a while longer.
    Albert Camus said: “The tragedy of old age is not that one is old, but that one is young.  Inside this aging body is a heart that is still curious, still as hungry, still as full of longing as it was in youth.  I sit at the window and watch the world pass by, feeling like a stranger in a strange land, unable to relate to the world outside, and yet within me burns the same fire that once thought it could conquer the world.  And the real tragedy is that the world still remains so distant and elusive, a place I could never quite grasp.”**  I don’t regard my world as alien as Camus  apparently felt, but perhaps that is because my world smaller and I have no desire to conquer those larger realms to which he refers.  I do understand though, how one can feel young inside, regardless of parchment skin, whitening hair, and stiff joints. The inside person sometimes bears little relevance to the outside shell. According to the “young” part of my mind, I could square dance the evening away, buy the church that is for sale and turn it into a tea/book shop, or start an after-school spot for kids to gather. Fortunately, my “common sense” part kicks in and swats me (Gibb’s-style), bringing me back to reality.
    I recently heard a podcast by Dr. Kelly and Juliet;*** they were discussing signs of not aging well. One of the top signs was lack of mobility; increased episodes of falling and being unable to get up from the floor or the ground. Since this recently happened to me, and I was still recovering from that fall in November, I took special note of what they were saying. Bone-Builders has ceased to be in my community, so I’ve done no specific exercises to strengthen the legs. After listening to that, I have decided to begin again, regardless of how boring it is to exercise alone. It is important to me to maintain both mobility and independence. It is distressing to all concerned, when I must be picked up off the floor. So, in addition to the exercises, I will walk in the snow (carefully, with my new pointy cane) and take time for deep-breathing to strengthen my lungs, and maybe my balance. While out there, I’ll only visualize making snow angels and sliding down the hill.  Just visualize!
    And now that I’ve mentioned snow, we’ve had a weather-cycle of light snow, melting away, and light snow again.  No huge amounts but a constant covering.  There seemed to be more, and it lasted longer, when I was growing up.  Of course, I lived near Rochester, so we got lake-effect from Lake Ontario. I remember making snow forts, snow angels, and snowmen quite frequently when told to “get your nose out of that book and go outside!”  In my teen years, we had sledding parties or skating parties, with hot chocolate afterward --- some delightful ones by moonlight.  And we occasionally tobogganed; a hazardous sport when barbed wire fences are involved.

    Another part of my winter experience was how difficult it could be for dairy farmers when snowy roads closed. Until the 1960s, the road I lived on was unpaved; iffy driving in snow and mud.  One snow storm, I remember, made it impossible for the milk truck to get through to our farm for two-three days. Cows do not stop giving milk just because there is nowhere to put it.  So after all the milk cans were filled, we began finding other containers. Our final resort was sterilizing and then filling the bath tub with milk. My father swore me to secrecy, but I think that after 70 years, it’s probably OK to share what was a creative and frugal winter necessity. Today’s milk tanks may make excess storage easier perhaps, but I if I had a dairy farm, I’d keep a few of the old milk cans around, just in case.
    As we begin this year of 2025, I’ve been trying to equip my mind for happy things that this year may bring. Conscious gratitude may be a buffer against the frightening things; that are blatantly evident on every newscast and newspaper.  Besides the activities mentioned above, there are some cold season blessings we may choose to make our winter pleasant. None of them involve TV, social media or driving in snow!  We don’t have hot chocolate often, but once in a while, it is a comfortable way to end the day. Making soups; bean and ham, vegetable/beef, chicken noodle, potato; they taste great and make the house smell wonderful.  Those stacks of books or magazines?  What better time to read them than when we want to be cozily inside.  A recent cartoon showed a girl sitting in a chair surrounded by stacks of books.  The caption read: “Books won’t solve your problems, but ---- neither will housework. Read!”  My sentiments too!  There is music; because we are inside, we listen more often or maybe even produce some music ourselves. Popcorn and movies at home drown out those cold winds.

    Brisk breezes and fresh snow have a way of clearing the mind of sludgy thoughts too. A walk outside is good for both the mind and body. A warm coat, mittens and good boots are necessities, and most people in my age category should probably use a ski pole, cane or walking staff for balance.  One of my jobs (before falling) was filling bird feeders. I may moan slightly in mid-afternoon, about going out into the cold, but once out there, I enjoy the chickadees bopping about, the tree branches against the sky, the flash of a cardinal, and checking who’s been by; via the tracks of rabbits, cats, mice, deer, and other visitors.
    January offers time to absorb some new ideas; to broaden our experiences, maybe to reach out to community in some way.  The Spencer Grange used to have what we called a “Winter Wake-Up.”  It was a dish-to-pass for anyone who wished to come. It brought a wide mix of people.  There was conversation, sometimes musical instruments for a fun jam, and games or dancing.  Being a comfortable part of a community is important, and we need to get together  often. There are also many places to volunteer for everyone’s good: Food Pantry, Fire Station, Lion’s Club, Library, churches, etc.
    As we observe this yearly cycle, pay attention to the world around us – the star patterns, the times of meteor showers, changes in daylight hours. Taking the time to watch the sun rise or set is a pleasure for the soul.  January skies can be brilliant.  And increased daylight hours lift my spirits.  So, begin this year’s cycle with relishing each day and being grateful for all the small beautiful happenings.  Stay connected – with people around you, with the earth and skies, and with your own feelings and thoughts.  Then, no matter what difficulties pop up in 2025, as they surely will, you will be glad you are alive and perhaps even grateful for January.
     
    Carol writes from her home in Spencer. She may be reached at: carol42wilde@htva.net.
    *James Russell Lowell – American poet and diplomat.  1819-1891.
    **Albert Camus, from “The Fall”. --- French writer, dramatist, activist.  1913-1960.
    ****Dr. Kelly and Juliet--- American mobility trainers.
  14. Carol Bossard
    Our gardens are nearly planted now; we’ve had to replant the corn, and we are into full-time weeding. Can you hear the creaking of our back bones and knee joints? I am reminded of the “Spinal Tap” t-shirt.  😊  This is the time when we hope Percy Bysshe Shelley *is right when he says “I bring fresh showers for the thirsting flowers, from the seas and the streams. I bring light shade for the leaves, when laid in their noonday dreams. From my wings are shaken the dews that waken the sweet buds, every one.” Our gardens need neither our recent down-pours nor last year’s weeks of sun. They want gentle showers and sunshine on days in between, so, we plant and hope for the best.
    Kerm and I disagree, slightly, regarding planting. He makes straight rows, measured, and with string. And he reads the back of each packet and plants things just as far apart as the blurb on the packet says. I measure nothing and make my rows straight according to my eyes. Well, you all know my eyes aren’t very good now, so the rows might wobble a bit. And it is my thinking that the closer together the plants are, the less room for weeds. We have had a few words about this in years past. 😊  This year, however, my energy being what it is, Kerm planted more of the garden than usual.  And I mostly kept quiet; he who plants gets to do it his way. So, this year, anyone may come and admire straight, well-spaced potatoes, cucumbers, tomatoes, cosmos and sunflowers. The peas, green onions, lettuce, and zinnias --- my contribution ---- may wander a bit!

    On the 14th, we have a day for many things, but first and foremost, it is Flag Day - a neglected holiday, in recent years. Flag Day marks and celebrates the adoption of our stars and stripes banner in 1777.  After my parents’ generation, flag information and protocol have been neglected. In fact, I would guess that very few in Congress or the White House are cognizant about Flag Day.  The flag should never touch the ground or floor, or be wrapped around one’s shoulders or used to sit on. When it is presented, everyone should stand, and it is hats off for the men. There should be no fooling around or lack of attention when the Star-Spangled Banner is sung, and/or the Pledge is given. Many people have died to keep that flag flying and to keep our nation free of tyranny, and apparently, the struggle is not over. Awareness and respect are due to our national symbol regardless of whose politics you do not like. I’ve always thought that burning the flag is a bad way to indicate dissatisfaction with government. The flag represents all of us, not just those in power. It represents all of our originally fine ideals in the Constitution, the Bill of Rights. So, when destroying the flag, we are showing our rebellion against the very ideals upon which our nation was formed.  I’m sharing here the last two stanzas of the poem, “George Washington” by Rosemary and Stephen Vincent Benet:**
                            “Sing for Emperor Washington, the hero of renown, who freed his land from Britain’s rule to win a golden crown!  No, no, that’s what George might have won but he didn’t, for he said: ‘there’s not much point about a king, they’re pretty but they’re apt to sting, and as for crowns -----the heavy thing would only hurt my head’ he said.  Sing for our George Washington! (At last I’ve got it right!) the first in war, the first in peace, the goodly and the great.  But when you think about him now, from here to Valley Forge, remember this ----- he might have been a highly different specimen.  And where on earth would we be then?  I’m glad that George was George!”
    George Washington is often called the “Father of our country,” and now, in June, we celebrate our own fathers. Father’s Day,  early this year, June 15th. I’ve written about my father recently, so you all know about him; a man who was flawed but intelligent and caring. In addition to Dad, my three older brothers often had fatherly (and sometimes annoying) impact. My brother, Frank was 20 years older, so I grew up with some of his children and was underfoot.  Later, he enabled my presence at NY State Fair for a couple of years; he was superintendent of the hog barn there and he allowed me to sleep in the back of his truck (on a soft bed of straw), so he could keep an eye on me.  He subsidized my lunch money when I was running low, but not without a lecture on money-management. My middle brother, Donal, taught me to shoot and in later years, stopped by my office to chat.  My third brother, Ken, took me on a couple of trips (when he was buying Berkshire pigs), supposedly to help keep him awake. He taught me to walk on the inside of the sidewalk, to order properly in a good restaurant and forgave me when I fell asleep and neglected my duties. My brother-in-law, Raymond, checked out my dates. He sat in our living room when a new one came to pick me up, and the next day, would give me his opinion.  😊
    There are many excellent fathers in this world; men who are a role model for not only their children, but others too.  Kermit is one of those. He worked with many, many kids through 4-H, and at home too; our house was usually full of teens. As for my father on this day? I wish I could share with him his favorite dessert; a dish of home-made vanilla ice cream with real maple syrup.
    June is full of special days, and on the 19th is Juneteenth. This is a celebration of the final enforcement of “no slavery in the United States.”  After the Civil War, some places, at a distance from news and Washington, DC, apparently didn’t get the mandate, or ignored it.  Juneteenth marks the day when finally, nation-wide, slavery was known to be illegal. I am quite sure if I had been a slave, I’d want to celebrate as loudly, as fully, and as long, as I could. This should have been a holiday decades ago, so there is a lot of celebrating due to make up for all those years of neglecting this occasion. We should all be rejoicing that we’ve become civilized enough to recognize that holding people as property is immoral and a contradiction to all of our principles.

    The Summer Solstice is a week away. And along with that comes Mid-summer Night’s Eve, a magical, pagan observance. Pixies, elves, faeries, and gnomes - all part of the legends surrounding this day and night. The days have stretched out to their limit, and from then on, until the Winter Solstice, the daylight will diminish. I keep thinking that I will go out on Mid-summer Night’s Eve, just to see if I can find an elf or two,or perhaps I will roll a burning wheel downhill as they did in some Celtic communities.  But sadly, when night comes, I’m usually falling asleep by 10:00; staying awake until the wee hours is no longer so easy. And of course, since we have visiting bears who come unannounced, sitting outside in the dark doesn’t seem all that sensible.
    June brings haying season, which emits a more desirable aroma than the earlier spring processes of spreading barn waste on the fields. Growing up on a farm naturally included helping in the hayfields. Our farm had a round baler,  not one of those huge things of today, but one that made bales of lighter weight than the square bales of the time. Bales that we girls (my nieces and I) could lift.  Mostly we just tipped them from the wagon onto the elevator that then took them into the mow. In June, if the cows are lucky, they are out into the fields.  Some cows are kept inside the barn 24/7 all year.  They are the unlucky ones.)   Animals should be treated kindly ---- and time outside in the fresh air with freedom to run  is one of those things they deserve. Seeing cows released from the barn onto a green field is a delight; they kick up their heels and gallop in visible joy.

    There is a lot of work in June, but there must also be time to enjoy this month of peonies, roses, mock orange, iris and poppies. The fragrance floating around outside just has to be full of health-enhancing energy.  Even the poets say: “What is so rare as a day in June?” *May your days, this month, be full of perfect sunshine, light rains and hours of peace.
     
    Carol Bossard writes from her hoime in Spencer. She may be reached at: carol42wilde@htva.net.
    *Percy Bysshe Shelly –English poet who was known for his romantic poetry and his radical social and political views.  1792-1822
    **Rosemary & Stephen Vincent Benet---American writers, poets.  Stephen is also known for his writing :”The Devil and Daniel Webster” .
    ***James Russell Lowell ---American poet, editor, critic and diplomat.  1819-1891.
  15. Carol Bossard
    These first two weeks of October have flown by,  as have most days and months, to my over-busy mind. Suddenly we need a fire in the wood stove on chilly mornings. The plants that I will attempt to overwinter are inside now and the garden looks relieved that fall has come and it can sleep until spring. If you could get an opinion from my garden, I’m quite sure it would relate a sad story about being neglected; that the summer was tough, the weeds grew tall, September brought little rain, and it is feeling unloved! Fortunately, it is now time for good gardens to go dormant and to build up hopes for next year.   There is no longer any possibility of hanging onto summer, though one may still plant a few more spring bulbs.  But nix on another row of lettuce and there’s no basking in the hot, hot sun or gardening in as few clothes as possible. It is now time for flannel shirts and wool socks.

    We harvested both tomatoes and potatoes, but neither were abundant nor were they large. And the tomatoes were rather tasteless. Other gardeners in this area agreed, about their tomatoes. My radishes grew out of control, but I have waited until now to pull them.  In their over-growth, they bore lots of small white flowers, and I noticed that bees were all over the flowers.  Since I didn’t have all that many flowering annuals this year, I thought leaving the radish flowers would be a kind thing to do. Bees need all the help they can get, but hmmm… I wonder how radish honey would taste????!
    We’ve been pruning things quite severely this fall; my lilacs have all acquired some disease and many of their branches have died.  The leaves aren’t looking good either; most of them fell a month ago after becoming brown and dry.   I’m hoping that some of them show life next spring.  I would hate to lose that wonderful purple mist and the fragrance.  Other shrubs have grown out of control --- seemingly suddenly, though I’m sure they have been sneakily growing bit by bit until ----ZOOM---- they could take over the house. I can understand how the impenetrable rose hedge grew up around Sleeping Beauty in the old fairy tale. And good for the prince; it takes real courage, not to mention muscle, to fight with a determined shrub!  Kerm has had a many-years-war with multiflora roses and one or two of my climbing ones.
    In the last essay, I spoke of depression, an ailment that plagues so many people. I seldom succumb to it in the Fall of the year; instead, I feel a certain lassitude --- lack of ambition to accomplish. By mid-October, I have this strong urge to curl up in a corner of the couch with my wonderful wooly coverlet and a stack of books. Depending on the time of day, there should be either a cup of tea or a cup of hot chocolate on the end table. I wonder if this is the autumn version of Spring Fever!  It seems to be how I transition into late fall and early winter.  Unfortunately, my desire to be inert, does little to accomplish house-keeping or meal-preparation☹.  So,eventually, out of guilt and necessity, I try to summon enough energy to put in another load of laundry, make that casserole, and get at those cobwebs.  I fully agree with “Alice**” who when she was “Through The Looking Glass” said: “’Oh, it is too bad, ‘she cried. ‘I never saw such a house for getting in the way.  Never!’”*
    Deer season is nearly with us again, so for the deer who take up residence on our hill it is a time to be extra-alert. Our son has been chopping his way up our hill and I’m sure the deer are observing. Over the summer, big winds have blown down quite a few large branches that now bar advancing feet or vehicles. Shawn has both a tree-stand and a blind up there somewhere, and he hopes that after a few weeks, those structures will seem “normal” to the deer, but I believe deer may be smarter than he thinks. Shawn hunts with a crossbow and a gun in the appropriate seasons. Since he likes venison and uses it, I don’t give him grief about hunting deer. I am aware that the deer population, without enough natural predators, tends to over-run gardens, cause many an accident on the roads, and spread disease among themselves. So, hunting is useful to mitigate what we humans have done to unbalance nature. But I am also glad that when the hunter drives down the driveway, the deer come out to eat our wild apples and bird seed. Sometimes I’ve seen them emerge from the woods in time to watch Shawn’s truck roll down the driveway.

    September and October have been very social months. Friends from afar came to visit, so, of course, a party was absolutely necessary. A couple of days later, our neighbors came over for ice cream sundaes and conversation.  It is so easy to isolate one’s self; we are all busy, and sometimes we just don’t take the time to be neighborly. Getting together for informal fun helps us stay acquainted.  Over the first weekend in October, we drove to Vermont to spend some time with our son and family. The weekend after that, Kerm’s siblings and families came to our house for an afternoon of sharing stories and good food. We will continue our connecting by driving to Pennsylvania for a couple of days with friends there.
    Our time in Vermont exposed us to beautiful scenery during leaf-peeper season, and gave us time with our granddaughters, daughter-in-law, and son. We explored a bit, rode to Burlington to see Kaylah at college and got a glimpse of Ashlyn’s senior photo ops which, I assure you, are far more artistically done than my 1960 senior pictures. We feel very comfortable with Vermont’s twisty/often-dirt roads; we have spent vacation time there off and on for quite a few years.  The Green Mountains look very blue in the distance and the rock formations are impressive. The leaves were a beautiful mélange of colors.  It is hard to imagine that solid granite moving for any reason at all (rather like some people’s minds; great in the mountains, not so great in our thinking.). We don’t do as much traveling now, nor do we go as far as in former years, but getting out and about keeps us alert to the world around us.  We may not have all that many years to feel able to take off and safely drive whenever we wish.  So, we mustn’t waste an opportunity to do so while we can. We need to be with people who make our lives better just by being, and this time, we did miss some of those. I wish we’d had time to visit with all our New England friends and family while we were in Vermont. We didn’t want to neglect you, but time away does have its limits.

    Meanwhile it is mid-October, and may I call your attention to the old childhood craft of waxing colorful leaves and hanging them in the window? That is simple and fun, but there is actually another way to preserve them for a table arrangement.  ou will need a bottle of glycerin (local drug store) and water.  Make a solution of 2 parts boiling water to 1 part glycerin.Stir well and cool a bit.  Place your cut branches with lovely leaves into 3 inches of the solution and allow them to stand until the leave darken a bit.   Remove and arrange in a vase.  The attractive foliage will last for weeks. I plan to spray the Advent wreath (coming all too quickly) with this solution, as an experiment. Hopefully, it will keep the needles from drying out quite so soon. We don’t want a wreath fire to enliven our services; the services are (in a very good way, of course) quite lively enough already.
    Henry David Thoreau** wrote: “Live each season as it passes, breathe the air, drink the drink, taste the fruit, and resign yourself to the influence of the earth.”  There are specific autumn aromas ---- decaying vegetation, sunshine on damp ground, burning leaves (though one really shouldn’t do this), drying grasses, and sometimes the sharp, cold smell of snow.  Every day has small, quiet happenings if we are observant.  Savoring these little miracles is how we grow in gratitude. We need to be appreciating whatever season we are in with all its quirks and delights. So do take time to really enjoy October before suddenly it turns into November.
     
    Carol Bossard writes from her home in Spencer. She may be reached at: carol42wilde@htva.net.
    *“Through The Looking Glass” by Lewis Carroll, an English author, poet, mathematician, photographer and Anglican Deacon.  1832-1898.
    **Henry David Thoreau --- quotation from “The Gardener’s Assistant.”  Thoreau was an American philosopher, poet, essayist and naturalist.  1817-1862.   
  16. Carol Bossard

    Celebrations!

    By Carol Bossard,

    “I will make you brooches and toys for your delight; of bird song at morning and starshine at night…..”*  If I could, I’d edge this essay with lace, tie it up with a red satin ribbon, and maybe add a balloon or two; in another four days we’ll be celebrating St. Valentine. Actually, most of us aren’t celebrating the Italian (Roman) saint at all; we are celebrating those who are dear to us in some way.  And the retail markets are rejoicing over our weakness for cards, candy, perfume and lacy lingerie.
    When our kids were small, we hand- made valentines ---- annually, we had a table-full of red construction paper, lace doilies, glue and glitter, and small valentines for school parties.  While I would still enjoy making valentines, I’m fortunate if I can summon the time/energy to find one in a store-full, that appeals to me, for my husband.  If I manage anymore cards, it is a delightful bonus.  And maybe that’s why my “star” is what it is for 2022. Our pastor, at the beginning of each year, has us draw a star from a basket-full of stars.  Each one has a different word inscribed on it.  This year, my word was “delight”.  How to apply my yearly word is sometimes a bit puzzling, but perhaps this particular one stresses a need to take more time for the delightful little things in life.  If that is so, I’m not alone in my need to do this. As a culture, we are so busy that often the little, fun, delightful things escape us.  We simply don’t notice.  And I think we need those things to stay afloat amid an ocean of life’s difficulties. It is the small, thoughtful reminders that keep life and love fresh.

    February is the month of the amethyst, that lovely jewel with twilights and dawns in its many shades of purple.  It is the month that owls and hawks sit on eggs in their nigh nests.  It is when we start thinking more seriously about spring.    February is a full-of-birthdays month for our family; lots of celebrations, and speaking of family birthdays reminds me of a current ad (anceestry.com) that asks, “Who are the strong women in your family?”  And I laugh, because my answer is “All of them!”  As I think of the women in my family --- and there have been and are quite a few of us ---- I can’t think of even one who wasn’t or isn’t strong-minded and strong to endure.  Of course, we express our strengths quite differently; some more assertively than others, but that flexible, unbreakable core is there in each.  And since we have generally married equally strong-willed individuals, it is good that we can stand firm when necessary.   One of the excellent men who married into the family was heard to comment: “The trouble with the Wiley women is that they are always sure they are right.  And ----#^*@# -----they usually are!
    Inner strength, whether male or female, is a good quality to develop, although during growing-up years, it can sometimes be problematical for parents. Societal change is slow, but I think assigning roles to people because of gender or place in society, is increasingly a thing of the past, though it does linger here and there. Our culture has historically offered women fewer options than men.  And this behavior was supported by not only men, but also some women!  When we came to this community, the church Session (governing body) had mostly been men ---- for years ---- maybe centuries.  I think perhaps one woman had been on it prior to 1979. When I was asked to serve in that august body, after some thought and prayer, I agreed.  The only individuals who called me to ask why I thought I belonged in a church leadership position, were women. I’m not sure whether they really wished to know or whether they just wanted to register a reprimand.
    Maintaining the fiction of the frail little woman with a small brain, fluttery hands and a “please take care of me” appeal is quite appalling. We all need taking care of on occasion, but it isn’t gender-based.  Equally unfair, during the “Women’s Lib” days in the 60s and 70s, men were often viewed with caustic disfavor by some women simply because they were men.  Both viewpoints are generalizations about people. People need to be who they are instead of trying to fit some preconceived notion of what males and females ought to be. We need to figure out how we are called to be helpful in this world ---- and be that person. One interesting individual who speaks on the yin and yang of humans is Dr. Tieraona Low Dog**.  She is a well-educated MD, a Native American, an herbalist and one who has studied the shallows and depths of humans. If you come upon one of her books or a podcast, expand your mind by reading or listening.
    For some of us, winter is a time of sorting out many things ---- thoughts, possessions, whatever needs to be sorted.   My kitchen drawers tend to accumulate things, so I’ve been cleaning out.   There were some items ---- an apple-corer that I never use, but it’s a nice design with an old green handle, so back in it goes ---- the spikey thing with the red handle, that holds an onion so it doesn’t slip while slicing.    Being in a hurry, I never pull it out, but it’s there if needed.   I have a wooden spoon whose handle curves in and out like a snake; it fits my hand nicely, stirs well and balances on the rim of a pot.  There is a flat wire whip that I use to mix beaten egg whites into a cake batter, on the rare occasions I make a sponge cake.  It came from my mother’s utensil drawer, and probably is100 years old; its handle is nearly bare of the red paint it once had.  But it works better than any other item for that one task. Out go several nut crackers and picks.  Who cracks nuts anymore?  And do I really need that garlic press?  My utensil drawer still has more stuff than necessary, but it is a bit tidier.

    There is something comforting about having a good, utilitarian item that is also attractive in its basic usefulness.  We have two or three books by Eric Sloan about old tools; their symmetry and grace.   Kerm is as attracted to old tools as I am --- just a different kind ---- and has a fine collection in garage, woodshed and study.  Robert Henri*** says: “I love tools.  They are so beautiful, so simple and plain.  They have not been made beautiful; they are beautiful.”  And if they are well-used and comfortable to the hand --- as is my grandmother’s hickory wood rolling pin or Kerm’s wood planes ----- their beauty is increased.
    Even by February, winter can be beautiful, but, in all its scenic frostiness, it can also be a time of hardship.  Native Americans, in the northeast, called this month’s full moon the Starving Moon.  February’s 28 days often have bitter cold and blizzard-y storms----- and wild life can suffer. I know that there is controversy about whether or not to feed birds and other wild life.   But, for our own pleasure, we do feed the birds as you all know, and I don’t chase away the deer who rob the feeders. I may even leave them an apple or two.  And I provide food and lined, sheltered baskets for the outside cats who probably aren’t feral anymore. I do draw the line at coyotes and bears; they’ll have to survive on their own.    

    Humans can be in distress too. Grocery costs continue to rise as do fuel and transportation prices.   While we are taking pity on the feral cats and wistful deer, we need to remember the local food pantries and Deacons’ funds and give them a little help. There are food-challenged people in all of our neighborhoods, and many with fuel issues.  Somewhere the Bible mentions that those who have much, from them much is expected. I think that might apply to those of us with full pantries and warm living rooms.  We are surely to enjoy the good things we have, but it is my belief that we are not supposed to clutch to ourselves an over-abundance of these same good things while others are suffering.  Sharing when we can, lightens our hearts and sustains those who, for whatever reason, are finding life hard.
    Even this month of love, holidays and parties, can be emotionally challenging.  SAD**** is the down-side of late winter.  A little dancing, a little singing, a heart-shaped card that says “I LUV U!”, and a lot of getting out and moving around can expand one’s mood immensely. So can greenery.  On a warm day (and surely there will be a few!) when the temperature is above freezing, cut some stems of forsythia or other supple shrub, and put the stems in water.  After a week or so, they will blossom or leaf out, bringing a little early spring. Meanwhile, remember: “When it snows you have two choices: shovel or make snow angels.”*****  Probably we should do a little of both.  Happy Valentine’s Day!!
    Carol Bossard lives in Spencer NY. She may be reached at: carol42wilde@htva.net.
     
    *from My Valentine by Robert Louis Stevenson --- Scottish poet, novelist and travel writer.  He is best-known for The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde and Treasure Island. 1850-1894.
    **Dr. Tieraona Low Dog ---MD who studied herbal medicine, midwifery, massage and martial arts before becoming a respected medical doctor.  She researches combining natural remedies along with traditional western medicine.
    ***Robert Henri ---American painter and teacher.  1865-1929.
    ****Seasonal Affective Disorder brought about by long winters and little sun.
    ***** Unknown but wise advice. 
        
  17. Carol Bossard

    Changes

    By Carol Bossard,

    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.
     
  18. Carol Bossard
    June has sped by so fast that it feels like “one busy week!” Within that time, there have been some fun days. We’ve enjoyed breakfasts and luncheons with friends, a couple of alumni events where I connected with former classmates, family time with our returnees from Ireland, hearing all about the green, green lands across the ocean, and family time with our son in agricultural research and daughter-in-law with a Food Bank ---- both dreading the funding cuts that will hurt people immeasurably. The month hasn’t all been fun though; we have heard of serious illnesses attacking two of our good friends, one death in our extended family, and some serious health issues with two of my family members. On a brighter note, our gardens are doing their best to grow amid the rains, and now the intense heat. The lawns are demanding at least a weekly mowing.  School is out and motorcycles zoom by our house in a very noisy celebration of summer.
    All of our breakfast and luncheon dates were very good times, but one was super-good because it addressed some of my health issues, and those of a friend with a brain tumor. Father Peter, a friend who is a Franciscan brother, brought his anointing oil, and in the grill where we were eating, we had a quiet little healing service. Whether it cured all my problems, I’m not sure, but it certainly healed some of my attitude and perhaps that was more important. Our time spent with friends in Pennsylvania was also good; even though we’ve been gone from there for 50 years, our friendships made there are strong..
    We are only nine days from July 4th, the celebration of our nation’s beginnings -- Independence Day.  All of us should rejoice, from sea to shining sea, and from the Canadian border to the Gulf of Mexico. Those whose ancestors were here when Europeans came bumbling in, those who settled here before the Revolution (my mother’s French family), those who came here more recently; those of us with all shades of skin colors, all kinds of education, all ways of worshipping,  or to not worshipping at all.  We all belong, and together, have a responsibility to protect the democratic values upon which this nation was built. If you are one who shrugs, and sees no necessity for continual maintenance of our freedoms, then you should re-read the Constitution. Also, the Gettysburg Address, the Emancipation Proclamation, and the words engraved on the Statue of Liberty. You can’t help but see that we don’t practice what these documents preach. After doing so, take yourself to some quiet place, like a Native American vision quest,  and think about where your beliefs come from; should they be adjusted?  Do our beliefs stem from culture, or wisdom? Consider what you can do that builds this country. Anyone can tear down and criticize,  but it takes skill, understanding, and love, to build.

    Kerm and I watched the National Spelling Bee recently, and it reminded me of our high school contests,  including a speaking contest, which I won when I was a junior. I chose to speak about the Statue of Liberty. Sometimes, even a teenager can get it right. Back in 1885, the United States was such a shining light amid all the monarchies and dictatorships, that France chose to send us the State of Liberty as a gift of appreciation. Read here what it says: “Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame*, with conquering limbs astride from land to land. Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand a mighty woman with a torch, whose flame is the imprisoned lightening, and her name The Mother of Exiles.  From her beacon hand glows the world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command the air-bridged harbor…’Keep ancient lands your storied pomp’ she cries with silent lips.  ‘Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free, the wretched refuse of y our teeming shores.  Send these the homeless, tempest-tossed to me.  I lift my lamp beside the golden shore.’”*
    All countries have growing pains!  In the process of separating ourselves from overlords, and from various kinds of class and caste systems, we have been idealistic, we have behaved with cruelty as well as compassion, we’ve been courageous but also grasping. We have made grave errors in policy, but also have tried to create safety nets, correct injustices and continually work for better things. We often disagree about what those “better things” are, and how to achieve them, which is why open dialogue is so important.  We must be willing to listen! To change our ideas as we learn more!   Maya Angelo said: “When you learn better, do better!” and that generally means change, which none of us like. Without change though, water grows stagnant, butterflies never hatch and we would still be bowing before a monarch across the ocean. I wonder how many of us would have been Tories? It would have been conservative and safe!
    It is our duty to our forebearers and to all the people who have worked and died, to nurture or save our country.  We are great because of the wonderful mix of individuals,  along with individual freedoms and responsibility taken on by our citizens.  We do not approve of “collateral damage” to gain ends. We uphold our right to protest what we do not like, to work toward change and to be able to speak our opinions, openly.  In this difficult time, let us not only remember from whence we came, but try to live out those words on the Lady Liberty and in all our founding documents.
    We’ve nearly reached the end of June, and, will soon find ourselves perspiring into July, often our warmest month. However, the temperatures of this week are too warm for me.  In the last few years, “warm”, in many places, has changed to unbearably hot. Did you know that just last week, Fairbanks, Alaska, issued a heat warning  for the first time in history?  My July days, when a child, didn’t seem overly hot. They were, however, relatively lazy, and sometimes inventive for fun. I read a lot on the shady front porch. Of course, there were frequent calls from reading, to duty  in the garden (weeding) or the barn (feeding calves, gathering eggs), or the hayfield (driving tractor) but mostly, summer meant books, long walks in our fields and woods, and playing with a friend or two  (Bonnie and Sharon) and my two eldest nieces (Jan and Barbara).  We made little villages using stones, acorns, hollyhock dolls and anything else we could lay hands on. We played “dress-up” and were mad about paper dolls. For a couple of years, there were swimming lessons at Canandaigua Lake, and 4-H camp in the Bristol Hills. As a teenager, there were summer jobs, first at Exit 45 Thruway restaurant, the next summer was at the Locust Hill Country Club, then a counselor for 4-H Camp and in college, Cooperative Extension summer programs. Now, my summers fly by, as I spend time in the garden, have a few gatherings with friends, and still, devour those books.  There is no one now to call me from a book to other duties, so the books often win over washing dishes, laundry, etc.

    Now, at the end of June, we all celebrate the ending of the school year - graduations, changes from grade to grade, and freedom!  Summer means starry nights, fire flies (if you are fortunate), the sound of lawn mowers, and loud shouts from the village baseball field.  It is a time to be glad, glad for our country, glad to remember who we are and from whence we come, glad that it isn’t snowing, and glad for orange popsicles dripping down our hand as we attempt to cool off with its icy goodness.  Summer may be a time for trave tool.  If so, listen to this bit of advice:  “The main value of travel lies not in where you go, but in leaving where you have been.  Go to a new place.  Have your former gods challenged.  Re-examine your axioms.  Find out the evidence for your assumptions and you will, with luck, begin to set a true value on the environment from which you come.” ** Do not be satisfied with what is routine and comfortable.  Life is full of change ---and some of those changes are good for each of us and all of us. This summer, try something new. Let it be a summer is for growth, for us as well as for the garden. Happy growing!
    Carol writes from her home in Spencer. She may be reached at: carol42wilde@htva.net.
    *”The New Colossus” by Emma Lazarous.  American poet and activist.  1849-1887.  Note:  The “new” Colossus as opposed to the former Colossus --- “Colossus of Rhodes, a huge bronze man, standing with legs straddling the Mandrakion Harbor, which is technically impossible, but believed to be true.  One of the Seven Wonders of the World
    **Alan Grego --- a physician in family practice in Ohio; apparently a wise man, though my googling leaves me unsure about this quote’s source.
  19. Carol Bossard

    Choices

    By Carol Bossard,

    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
  20. Carol Bossard

    Collecting Life

    By Carol Bossard,

    We are already at the end of January!!!  It has been a month of astonishment, disbelief, grief, relief and, for some, continued fears --- many conflicting emotions as the world turns and our country goes through another stage of growing pains.  As someone pointed out to me, we are really only a bit over 200 years from living under a monarchy.  While 200 seems a lot of years to me, on a historic time line, that isn’t very long.  We are still learning ---- and developing ----- and growing ---- and, hopefully, becoming more caring empathetic people though the process seems to be painfully slow.  Sometimes I’m discouraged, but -------there’s some progress------ slavery is no longer acceptable even if bigotry still lurks among us -----we’ve refrained from massacres for quite a few years now ------ women are actually regarded as full citizens (by most).    Now if we can learn to be color-blind, disenfranchise the whole idea of white superiority, stop being afraid of so many things out of our personal experience and learn the difference between individual rights and license, we will have grown in integrity, in truth and in common sense.
    In January, it takes very little to make me happy.  I’m not sure what created this phenomenon, but on several of our rare sunny days, at about ten o’clock in the morning, the sun comes in the window at just the right angle to put sun spots all over the ceiling and down the walls.  It is rather like one would imagine a starry, starry night --- but they are bright round circles of sun.  I’m not sure whether it is the glass snowflakes in the window or textured silver balls on the Christmas tree that enabled this, but this delightful shower of sunspots raises my spirits just to think about it.  As I said --- it is often a very small thing that makes the day brighter.   Perhaps I should collect more snowflakes and more silver balls?
    Speaking of collections, I was looking through a 2021 magazine and discovered two or three pages devoted to collectors of Pyrex kitchenware.  The pictures of dishes, bowls, and casseroles showed several that reside in my cupboard ----- either wedding gifts or from my mother’s cupboards.  I’m still using them.  The thought that someone actually finds them collectible is a little startling. Perhaps I should work harder to scrub the stains from mine.   I shouldn’t be surprised; people collect rusty advertising items that go for hundreds of dollars, toy tractors that sell for what I think are exorbitant prices and some people even currently design 1950s-looking kitchens.

     
    I remember that my mother was dismayed when those painted milk cans were in vogue back in the 60s and 70s.   She had dealt, for a lot of years, with milk cans full of milk being hauled in and out of the cold water storage and then needing to be scrubbed out.  Pipelines for milking parlors were a major improvement in her life.   She just quietly said that there would be no painted milk cans holding bouquets or umbrellas in her house.  My sister had no desire to emulate the antiques that filled our mother’s house.  She was more apt to make her family room look as though it were on Cape Cod with its lighthouses and other nautical items.  She did live on the Cape for a while, and obviously had good memories of those years, while antiques reminded her of few conveniences and hard work of the 1940s.  My first collection was rocks, but I loved the old furniture and pretty dishes, and the stories that went with them.  Life was much easier by then.  I still pick up attractive stones now and then, but I am helpless before beautiful porcelain and furniture with well-turned spindles.
    What is it that makes us want to collect something?  Unless it is an investment (like art, jewels or coins) collecting usually means a connection to something we care about.  I clearly remember the days after my mother died when we were cleaning out the house.  Many of the dishes and textiles she owned were from her grandmothers and even further back in the family line.  As we were deciding what to do with the rooms-full, I think we all took things that we didn’t need nor would ever use.  We were trying to keep my mother by clutching her things.  One niece came out hugging a comforter that had been on Mother’s bed.  She later admitted that while she loved the comforter, what she really wanted was to hug Grandma.
    So our collecting habits have roots somewhere in our hearts.  In the past year or two my collecting enthusiasm has dwindled slightly.  My heart has decided it doesn’t need so much stuff to be happy!  I’m not quite ready to give away my mother’s English Spode or the Franlee Farm and DeKalb signs on my porch.  I’ll certainly look forward to using the glass snowflakes and silver balls next Christmas along with our Kermit-made creche.  Nor will I be tossing my scrapbooks of memorabilia and photographs any time soon.  But I am ready to loosen my grasp on much that has seemed necessary or attractive to me in the past.  I can let some gardens go quietly into retirement (shrubbery).  The antique linens need to be enjoyed by someone else (someone who wants to iron!).  My china cupboard is overflowing.  So ----- to my nieces and nephews and to my sons and their families ----- next time you visit, feel free to take home something that could become precious to you.  It will help me feel lighter and less besieged by clutter.  And --- to quote a famous “clearer”, Denise Linn* ---- “Clearing makes room so what you love can come in”.
    Note:  lest certain family members take this to mean my auction days are over, they shouldn’t get their hopes up.  Auctions are fun!!  Instead of entertaining myself at casinos or with shopping sprees, I bid, not very high, on possible treasures that I can keep for a while or share.  I consider it rescuing beauty.  I also consider that it is responsible recycling to use again or re-purpose things that others no longer need.  As long as there are fund-raising yard sales, where I can share stuff, I’m good.
    My most valuable collection is filed away in my mind; a collage of experiences and memories.   I’m sure you have something similar.   Interestingly, it is not always the huge, impressive events and sights that one might expect to retain.   My favorite things are often very small happenings that glow like precious gems in the mind.  I can clearly see a vista some place in the Tetons ---- a wide meadow with mountains all around and sunshine glinting off the small lake.  I thought it would be a fine place to build a house.  In another memory, I visualize the faces and feel the warmth of aunts, uncles, nieces and nephews sitting around a dining table; some knitting, some beading and some just listening to the stories ---- and much laughter and love flowing all around.  I remember the last book Kerm and I read to our boys before they did all their reading on their own.  At bedtime, we’d all assemble on a big bed and read a chapter in Tolkien’s “Lord of the Rings” trilogy.  Shortly thereafter, we moved to this community, and I guess the boys suddenly grew up and out of bedtime stories ---- or perhaps we parents became too preoccupied.  But I remember those as times of closeness and laughter as we tried to pronounce some of the elvish names.  Then a few days ago, as I was listening to “Stormy Weather” sung by Lena Horne, on an oldies CD, I vividly recalled the third floor of Warren Hall at Cornell University.  That is where the campus 4-H Club held their dances.  And “Stormy Weather” was always how we closed the program for the evening.  One of these dances is where I met Kermit --- and we often danced to that very tune.
    None of these are what one would call stellar occasions but they were obviously wonderful enough to stay in my mind.  It is a reminder to be aware ---- to not zone out ---- to listen and to appreciate all of the small things in each day.   They might bring happiness ten years from now.  This applies to collections of any kind; if a collection doesn’t feed our souls we probably shouldn’t be bothering.   “It isn’t necessarily the great and famous beauty spots that we fall in love with.  As with people, so with places; love is unforeseen, and we can all find ourselves affectionately attached to the minor and the less obvious.”  Mary Spark** from Tuscany By Chance
    The past two weeks have kept us wavering and tense; some people are still angry and bereft; others are full of hope for the future.  This might be a good time to reflect.  What is important to us for the year ahead?  Is it holding on to fears, complaining about the challenges of life and being judgmental about the people around us?  Snarky comments and demonizing someone we don’t like is an easy road to take.  But, Martin Luther King Jr.*** said something a lot of years ago that is so relevant for today.  For those who actually believe that love is the most powerful tool in the world listen up:  “We have before us the glorious opportunity to inject a new dimension of love into the veins of our civilization.”  Maybe it is time to put both our mouth and our money where our heart really is.   As we exit out of January let us enter into some new and useful perceptions of life ahead.
    Carol may be reached at: carol42wilde@htva.net.
    *Denise Linn ---Healer, writer and teacher.  Currently teaching a course “The Ultimate Clearing”.
    **Mary Spark----I was unable to find any information about this writer.  It is possible that I took down her name inaccurately --- and I’ve lost my source.  It is still a good thought!
    ***Martin Luther King, Jr.----American Baptist pastor who became leader of the Civil Rights Movement of the 1960s.  He peaceful protests changed the world --- slightly ---- for people of color.  1929-1968.  He was assassinated while speaking to crowds who came to hear him.
  21. 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.                                                     
  22. Carol Bossard
    There was no dancing around May poles this May Day.  With COVID restrictions as they are, intertwined children and ribbons are not a good thing.  But spring flowers are dancing in the breezes.  Lilies of the valley look as though they could ring those little bells as they shake in the wind.  Tulips are a bit stiffer, but they too move, in a stately way --- rather more like a minuet than the free-form bobbing of the little lilies.  Lilacs will soon be scenting the atmosphere everywhere around along with dogwood and apple blossoms.  A little celebratory pirouette on the lawn would not be amiss.
    Even with necessary cautions still in place, and the awareness of those ill due to variants of the original virus, I think we all feel that we can see light at the end of this unusual tunnel.  We are simply trusting it isn’t an on-coming train!  Spring seems to bring with it this up-beat positivity; the world doesn’t look quite so bleak when grass greens and trees begin leafing out.  Roethke* says: “Deep in their roots, all flowers keep the light.”  Perhaps that profound thought is why, with the first little snow drops and later the daffodils, a sense of newness and refreshment comes flooding in, regardless of the stray snowstorm or continuing pandemic.  The early daffodils have faded but are being replaced by later narcissus, and more and more garden plants are growing and thriving.  It is hard to be anything but optimistic in May.  If a person can criticize creation amid all this lushness, they need to remove their blinders or go on retreat!
    Some weeks ago, the group of women with whom I meet on Fridays, discussed the very human habit of harboring a critical spirit---- the tendency to blithely see past the log in our own eye, zeroing in on the annoying little speck in another’s eye.  It is so very easy to be critical that surely it must be one of those innate human traits that, as we mature, we should curb; sort of like getting over sucking one’s thumb.  I am remembering a day when I was too tired to bake, so I purchased a package of molasses cookies in the grocery store.  As I ate one along with my cup of tea, the baker in me said to myself: “These are really thin and don’t have quite the flavor of my cookies.”  Catching myself, I thought ---- “This is a COOKIE!  It is a goodie to eat with my cup of tea. I spent no time baking it.  WHY am I criticizing it????”  We are so quick to judge/criticize/wish something could be different.  And I think we do this with ourselves as well as those around us.  From people we do not know at all to the people we see daily; maybe especially those for whom we really care, we tend to be swiftly critical.  And we metaphorically beat ourselves up as well.  I’m thinking maybe May would be a good month for affirming people ----- those at a distance, in our community, in our homes and ourselves.
    Complimenting people on doing a good job, on being responsible and faithful to task, on being good people, is probably one of the kindest things we can do and yet we seldom think to do it.  Many parents (and I include myself here) as we teach our children, too often concentrate on their faults instead of affirming all the good things that they are and do.  Married couples frequently find fault with each other, forgetting the qualities that drew them together in the first place.  Frequent criticism tends to strip away self-confidence and self-esteem, no matter what a person’s maturity level, and may take years (if ever) to repair the damage.  At one conference I attended, we were asked to make a list of our good points and another list of our negative qualities.  Guess which list was almost always the longest.   So even if your family and friends all seem confident, capable, kind, generous and good to their dog, they may not see their own fineness, and it is a kindness to let them know what you see.  Warming hearts is a joyous thing to do, for our own hearts are often warmed at the same time.
    May is “Older Americans’ Month”.  Having worked for an Area Agency on Aging for over 20 years, I’m quite aware of achieving and celebrating the Older Americans’ Act of 1965.   Older people, in our culture, are too often disregarded, and ignoring people has the same effect as constant criticism; ignored people fade into the woodwork.  They feel that no one really wants to hear what they have to say; that their experiences are worthless.  Ageism is alive and well all over this country.  What a waste!  There is vast wisdom in people who have lived for seventy plus years; I learned so much while working with them.  People who came to my office not only came with questions or problems, but they had lived out amazing experiences; they danced, told jokes, were compassionate, didn’t suffer fools gladly and found life worth living even in pain, poverty or the nightly news.   I learned about integrity --- and the lack thereof.  I learned about wonderful families ---- and those who were bad to the point of being abusive.  I learned about living well ---- and dying well.
    I am now the age that many of my clients were, and what I understood intellectually back when I was working with older Americans, I now understand in my heart (and creaky body and unreliable mind).  And I’m grateful for what I took away from my years there --- from the lady who refused to do PT because it hurt too much (and spent her remaining days in a wheelchair) to the woman who had a pizza party for family in her hospital room a few hours before she died; fear versus courage.  If you are a young person, take the time to really listen to an older person this month.  Look into their eyes and absorb what they are saying.  If you are an elderly person, be glad for your collection of life experiences and stories and find a way to share them.
    Mother’s Day is Sunday.  I am, in recent years, just a little sad on this holiday because neither my mother nor Kerm’s mother are still with us, nor are some of the other people who I considered “mother figures”.  I miss having tea with them, laughing with them and talking things over.  My grandmothers died when I was quite young, so in my elementary school years, I kept “adopting” grandmothers; an elderly neighbor up the road, my older sister-in-law’s mother, a kindly older woman at church.  These delightful women all influenced me when I needed to fill that empty “Grandma” space.  When Kerm and I moved to the community in Pennsylvania where our children were born, there were many women who “took me under their wings” and helped me get over homesickness, feel more confident as a new parent and just made life better.   Some were considerably older than I; some were closer in age, but all were aware that I needed some TLC. and extended helping hands.  I will be forever grateful to Nancy, Freda, Ella, Connie, Joy, Mabel, Hertha, Marge, Betty Jane, Barbara and others.
    One does not have to physically bear children to provide motherly or grandmotherly influence nor does one even have to be of the female gender.  So Happy Mother’s Day to every individual out there who has ever nurtured, affirmed and blessed any person (child or adult) who, for a time, needed tender, loving care.
    “ ‘Tis merry in the greenwood --- thus runs the old lay ---In the gladsome months of lively May……..” ** May always seems to me to be a happy month ---- even though as much sadness can happen in May as in any other time of the year.  In the countryside, things are bursting with life.  It is true that the bears have already been back to harass us (so far a mama with a trio of year-old cubs) and the raccoon babies will be out and about, eating the cats’ food and creating a loud hoo-hah during the night with their quarreling.  People are still getting sick and dying.  Wars still go on.  But ----- grass is growing, the violets are in bloom and the birds are singing.   “….Though a thousand branches join their screen, yet the broken sunbeams glance between, and tip the leaves with lighter green, with brighter tints the flowers….”**  The seasons go on regardless of human intervention or problems.  And it is a healing and a balm to take full enjoyment of what May brings.
    Carol may be reached at: carol42wilde@htva.net.
    *-Theodore Roethke --- American poet.  He was the son of a German immigrant and he was born in Saginaw, Michigan.  He was a university professor, teaching poetry, and was considered by many to be one of the greatest American poets of his time.  He won a Pulitzer Prize in 1959.  1908-1965
    **-“’Tis Merry In the Greenwood” by Sir Walter Scott--- Scottish novelist, poet, playwright and historian.  1771-1832.
  23. Carol Bossard

    Darkness Into Light

    By Carol Bossard,

    I cut enough broccoli heads in the garden last Saturday for dinner.  December 12th !!!   It was so good!  An odd blessing in December!  The remnants of our ash trees are slowly becoming firewood.  The weather in the past two weeks has allowed outdoor work, and Kerm is splitting the big chunks that remain into useful pieces for our wood stove.  As the old adage says, wood warms twice --- once while getting it ready to burn and then again when it sends its heat throughout the living room.  My doctor suggested ---- many years ago when I was dealing with chronic bronchitis----- that we get rid of that air-drying monster.  However, there is nothing quite as comforting on a chilly morning as the flickering flames and warmth of burning wood.  So we just put a pot of water on the stove to help the air quality and enjoy.  Flu shots seem to keep the bronchitis at bay, and it is no longer chronic.
    In spite of the annually-touted “Christmas spirit”, many people are experiencing considerable angst and even depression this month.  Ordinarily, one would expect wide-spread happiness enhanced by shiny ornaments, caroling and shopping.  Even in a normal year, this is probably an inaccurate and thoughtless expectation for many people.  This year, the encroaching virus and shutting down our usual activities plus the spreading discord and dissension are dimming everyone’s light.  And for some, the lack of a job, no money for food, rent or gifts and the specter of gloom all around nearly puts the light out.  King Solomon of Biblical fame wrote some pertinent, if annoying, words for times like these in Ecclesiastes:  “To everything there is a season*” …and basically “there is nothing new under the sun”.     So we try not to despair; good times and bad times will just keep on circling around through the eons.   It is called “life” and in dealing with life’s challenges, we grow ----- or not.  The process isn’t always just what we’d choose!                             
    Another reason for our being disgruntled in this 2020 season may be the wide-spread need to break traditions.  Traditions can be wonderful.  I love getting out the vintage ornaments every year, and hanging them on the tree.  I enjoy writing our notorious and far-too-long Christmas letter that usually arrives sometime after Christmas.  I would feel bereft without the Christmas Eve candle-light service and then a Swedish Tea Ring for breakfast on Christmas morning.   Recently, in our Women’s study group, we talked about traditions and how often they get so institutionalized that people are aghast when anything changes ---- especially in churches --- even to the color of the carpet or placing of furniture.
    One of the more memorable scenes in “Fiddler On The Roof” is where Tevye sings, “Tradition”.  Even though unhappy about it, he is able to bend his cultural mores a bit for two of his daughters, but the third daughter asks too much when she rips tradition to shreds by marrying out of the faith.  Traditions are what make us feel safe in a world that sometimes feels like “Where the Wild Things Are”.   But sometimes traditions become a barrier to growth and so we must learn, as Tevye did, to bend a bit.  Each of us must determine when bending is a good and useful thing, or when bending would hurt too much.  (The same with our backs I would point out to some members of my family!!  ☺ )
    I think we all might find it necessary to forego a few of our traditions this year; no large family gatherings, no gala friend parties, no singing of the Hallelujah Chorus for our Christmas Eve service, and actually, a virtual Christmas Eve service, and maybe not even the  usual gift exchanges with family.  In place of these good times, maybe we can give closer attention to why we are celebrating and how these wonderful-sounding Christmas sentiments impact how we live our daily lives year-round.   Social inactivity may also give us time to really notice the world close around us ---- the birds (they do sing – even in December), the patterns in the snow, people’s faces (even covered by masks) and there will be time to realize and express gratitude for each small, wonderful blessing in each day.
    Dealing with challenges may produce two quite different effects.  Some people grow stronger and blossom with what they learn from difficult times while others become self-centered and violently protest the changes to their lives, taking out their displeasure on the world around them.   We need to not only remember why Christmas exists, but to also be aware that if we have open hearts, the core of Christmas can be a balm of healing all year ‘round.  Agnes M. Pharo** expresses it this way: “What is Christmas?  It is tenderness for the past, courage for the present, hope for the future.”
    I do remember Christmases past with tenderness.  My eldest brother’s family held their Christmas Eve service at home and I was often with them for that time of candle-light, music and reading.   Our local church service was a late one --- 11:00 PM --- and since my brother had to rise early for milking the omnipresent cows, having a service at home was sensible.  Later, when I was deemed old enough to attend the late service at church, I found that equally as special.  Going out into the starry darkness in what seemed the middle of the night, was exciting, as was the candle-lit service. I’m sure that the collective effect of those services and observing the adults in my life, helped me to develop at least some inner strength for tough times.  My parents survived WWI, the Flu pandemic of 1918, typhoid fever, not a lot of money with which to begin married life and sending two sons off to WWII.  Christmas still came every single year regardless of a troubled world.  So it has with us in spite of blizzards, tonsillitis, fevers and even death.  And because I believe what I believe, I’m not really afraid of the future even while admitting to some angst regarding the process of how those future challenges roll out.  I truly believe with Julian of Norwich that “All will be well and all will be well, and all manner of things will be well!”***---maybe not tomorrow, but------eventually.   The more I --- and we ---- learn to be less self-centered and more loving and caring toward others, the sooner all manner of things will be well.
    It is now only eight days until December 25th.  The fourth Advent candle (Love) will be lighted this coming Sunday and the tall white candle (Christ candle) on Christmas Eve.   If, at this point, cookies in sufficient numbers aren’t baked, or the decorations totally perfect or our families can’t join us, we need to appreciate what is done and relax into the wonder and simple delight of Christmas.
    I would wish a deep comfort to be with you not only for this Christmas season, but also a hope that it becomes the fountain out of which flows a life of clarity and confidence in 2021.  May you be blessed with some of your traditions but also find openness in your heart for new experiences.  If you are feeling despair or a sense of futility about the world, now is the time to remember the famous Christmas hymn by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow****:
       
       “…..And in despair I bowed my head, ‘There is no peace on earth,’ I said.
            For hate is strong and mocks the song of ‘peace on earth; good will to men’.
            Then pealed the bells more loud and deep, ‘God is not dead nor doth He sleep;
            The wrong shall fail; the right prevail for peace on earth, good will to men.’”
     
    A blessed Christmas to you.  And rejoice--- soon we will have a bit more light each day!  YES!!
    Carol may be reached at: carol42wilde@htva.net
     
    **********************************************************************************
     
    *Ecclesiastes --- Old Testament of the Bible, Chapter 3
    **Agnes M. Phara ---American writer and painter; there seem to be a few caustic remarks about her writing and very little information.  She is best-known for this quote.   1937-2019.
    ***Julian of Norwich ---English anchorite of the Middle Ages.
    ****Henry Wadsworth Longfellow ---American poet and educator.  Well-known for his poem, “Paul Revere’s Ride”.  This quotation comes from “I Heard The Bells On Christmas Day”, 3d stanza.  1817- 1882
  24. Carol Bossard
    April showers --- and the slow increase of temperatures --- have brought May flowers and growing weeds as well as discovering which plants have made it through another winter.  There are the burgundy sprouts of peonies --- old-faithful plants that laugh at winter weather.  Day lilies are inches high, the ferns are tightly curled fronds, the trout lilies’ yellow bells are sunshine in the garden, and trilliums are going to bloom very soon.  Hands in the dirt bring good vibes to the psyche!
    May is also Older American’s Month --- something engraved in my mental calendar from my 23 years at the Office for the Aging in Schuyler County.  We always celebrated with a splashy dinner-dance and with choosing a Senior Citizen of the Year.  I miss conversations with the people who participated in OFA programs.  There is so much wisdom to be shared by those who have lived well, over many years ---- and often so little regard for that wisdom in society.  In some populations, age brings respect and honor.  Not so much in our youth-oriented culture.  Much retail advertising is focused on the young in spite of the fact that more of the money resides with the older buyers.   As soon as one uses a cane or hair turns white, we are seen by younger people --- and too often by ourselves --- as less than.  Of course, just being old doesn’t necessarily endow one with wisdom; foolishness can abide for a lifetime.   But experience and life-stories are meant to be shared.  One astute friend called retirement, “refirement” --- a chance to do new and different things that fill us with joy and to share from our experience.   Turning 70, 80 or 90 is not a timer switch that suddenly turns off one’s capabilities.   We might have to make some adjustments in our heavy lifting or speed of movement, but we can still contribute to life.
    Sunday is Mother’s Day, and for those of us whose mothers are no longer with us, it is a time of wistful remembrance.  There are times I’d like to apologize to my mother for not understanding --- and so many questions I wish that I’d asked.  Louis L’Amour* expressed this well:  “You never think of  your parents as much else than parents.  It isn’t until you get 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 really like inside until it is too late.”  Family stories are only carried on if an effort is made to do so, and by the time we pause to realize our need for this, our opportunity for getting those stories may be past.  That’s one reason I create a “Family Quiz” every summer.  It lets the stories live on, keeps our far-flung clan connected --- and besides---- it’s fun.   “Who moved twice in one year?”  “Who lost pool balls all over the NYS Thruway?” “Who was so intent on taking a photo that she fell into a pool?”

    My mother’s gardens flash before my eyes every spring.  I’ve mentioned that remembering them inspires me to keep going with mine.   Her gardens extended around the foundation of our farm house and then more garden borders framed the outside of the lawns. There aren’t very many plants hardy to Zone 5 that she didn’t have.  She was even able to coax a firethorn (climbing shrub --Zone 6) to flourish there.  I have a photograph of her in overalls, cultivating a large vegetable garden, but by the time I came along, she was mostly cultivating flowers.  After my father died, she worked out her grief in making a new garden where her old veggie garden had been – an area that h ad grown up into wild roses and weeds.  She put in a sunken path then planted flower gardens on both sides.  She landscaped with small trees, blooming shrubs and selected perennials. I wasn’t all that enthusiastic as a kid, about picking green beans or trimming away iris borers, but as I helped, gardening became part of my life-style; the norm for living.
    I was the fifth living child for my mother, and came twelve years after the rest.  She may have had other plans for her life at that time, but if so, she went ahead with them and took me with her.  She was born in 1898 and died in 1994, so her years spanned amazing changes in culture.  She grew up with horses and buggies, trollies, a lot of walking, then automobiles and finally air planes. She had a bit of a lead foot on the accelerator and she enjoyed flying.  She handled the necessary changes in technology as gracefully as she accepted late-in-life motherhood.  She never --- at least out loud --- lamented the “good old days” and she was always interested in what was going on currently.  She behaved like a lady and was known by her family for her terse and pertinent comments regarding life, love and world events.  Her love for family and her strong faith were the framework for her choices in life.  She was a good example --- and a little tough to live up to.
    There have been other people who have provided “mothering” and mentoring when I needed it, people I remember fondly.  Mothering is, I think, the alert, compassionate, affectionate regard for someone else’s welfare.  It is the warm hug, the favorite cookies and the soothing assurance that things will be OK.  My sister and sisters-in-law were anywhere from 12 to 20 years older than I, so they endured and helped with my growing years --- mostly with grace and tolerance.  My husband’s mother welcomed me from the time we first met, when Kerm invited me home for the weekend.  We shared much good conversation around her kitchen table.  We have lived in various places, and wherever we lived, there were older women who helped and gave counsel.  Everyone needs a mother-figure now and then and perhaps we all should be alert to provide it on occasion.  Dads too!!
    Around Mother’s Day is when our grosbeaks and hummingbirds return, and last year we had orioles.  So, I’ll put out some cut oranges for the orioles, and the nectar for the hummingbird feeder.  Of course, we’ll have to bring the feeders at night, for it is also bear-traipsing-through season though I haven’t seen any since that lone wanderer back in March!

    In addition to bird-watching we could be wild-food foraging.  I did more of this during an earlier time in my life when I was both energetic, and enthusiastic about Euell Gibbons.  He lived not far from us in Pennsylvania.   I experimented with several wild foods, some of which were really good--- and a few ---- well, not quite so good.  It was fun and added some interesting textures and tastes to our experience.  This early in the year, the options are basically greens, but of several kinds.  Violets (both blossoms and leaves) and dandelion greens are excellent sources of calcium, potassium and Vitamin A, as are yellow rocket greens.  A bit later in the season, little, green day lily buds, cooked as one would green beans, are delicious salted and buttered. Violet blossoms make an interesting jam, to be served in tiny portions only.   Pansy petals brighten up a salad.  If you decide to try foraging for wild foods, be SURE you know what plants are what.  It is wise to purchase a good field guide for wild plants --- and, if you can find it--- Euell Gibbons’** “Stalking the Wild Asparagus”.  Avoid plants that grow along a well-traveled road; they will be covered with pollutants from car exhausts.
    For more traditional food, garden-planting days are nearly upon us. Weeds grow overnight, so one mustn’t malinger.  I saw a T-shirt recently: “Surgeon General’s Warning: Gardening can be dirty, addictive and may lead to OWD – Obsessive Weeding Disorder”.   It’s true!  We feel this urgent compulsion to get out there!
    As spring moves along, suddenly there is more to do than there are hours in the day.  I recently read a book ---- “The Music of Silence” ---- and it impressed me mightily with its take on hours in the day.  Its author is a monk, David Stendl-Rast.***  I know that my personality is not such that I’d make a good monk/nun, but his idea for living well our 24-hours is something that, to a certain extent, I can adapt to fit mine.  He speaks of the “seasons of the day”, beginning with Matins --- the dawn of the day.   It is true that my personal dawn comes several hours later than actual dawn, but it is my day’s beginning.   David Stendl-Rast then goes through his twenty-four hours ---- stopping at specific moments in the day, to be aware, to be at peace, being fully aware and expressing gratitude. Vespers and Compline end the day and provide a time to bring the day to a close and even to embrace our wakefulness.  Observing these quiet spaces keeps me aware and in-the-moment instead of running fast-forward oblivious to time passing.  It is taking moments to notice the life in soil as I weed --- the crisp, tender dandelion greens ---- and the sun slanting in the window setting off sun spots on the ceiling.  Being grateful and finding joy both change the brain ---- in a good way.   And in the “merry month of May” (from Camelot) that shift in perspective seems an excellent spring tonic.
    **********
    Carol may be reached at: carol42wilde@htva.net.
    *Louis L’Amour --- American writer, poet, novelist who wrote about the American west and also historical fiction.  This quotation is from “How The West Was Won”.  1908-1988.
    **Euell Gibbons --- American naturalist known for preparing foods from wild plants.  1911-1975.
    ***-- David Stendl-Rast ---Born in Vienna, Austria in 1926.  He is a Benedictine monk and committed to interfaith dialog.
  25. Carol Bossard
    It’s mid-August and the stores are blatantly advertising school supplies and autumn clothing, not to mention Halloween decorations ---- this, in spite of the humidity and 80-90 degree temperatures.  August is still summer!!--- and days continue to be good for picnics, sun tans, and nights fine for star-gazing.  Hal Borland* describes August well……….”Dog Days ….Dragon flies and Damsel flies follow the boat when I go out on the river……little spotted turtles sun themselves on old logs and slip into the water when I come too close…………..barn swallows begin to leave and so do the chimney swifts……golden rod comes into bloom everywhere……milkweeds have formed their pods, still green and tightly closed………..wild blackberries ripen.” I remember, as a child, trudging down the lane, to our back pasture, where blackberries grew in the hedgerow.  They were harvested with considerable effort, while garnering mosquito bites, scratches from the impressive thorns and purple fingers and mouths.  Inside that hedge row, was a wild, unexplored and slightly enchanted world of vegetation, birds and bugs, ripe for the exploring.

    Our granddaughters will, in the fall, be exploring a different uncharted territory.  One will be entering public school classes for the first time in many years, after having been home-schooled.  And the other will begin her college/further education years.  I’ve been thinking back to my move from home to college.  My freshman roommate visited me this summer, and as she looked at some photos from our year together, she said: “We were so young!”  We definitely were --- though I’m sure we felt quite adult and competent.  I had some really good experiences that first and only year at Plattsburg (including the roommate).  There were some fine teachers and classes.   Once or twice, we biked out into the country; my first experience with a bike that had gears. Despite the frigid winter winds, we blithely skated on Lake Champlain --- having no clue about dangerous things like air pockets in the ice.  I think our guardian angels might have been overworked that year!  Probably needed to work in shifts!    We played tennis, sighed over a tall and good-looking baritone, and – somehow --managed to glean considerable growth in the process of being on our own for the first time.     
    Growing up always includes some angst about fitting in.   How long was it before I felt confident enough to be me --- with everyone?  Honesty forces me to say that the process went on into adult-hood learning experiences.   If only I’d subscribed earlier to the adage often attributed to Dr. Seuss:**  “Be yourself!  Those who mind don’t matter and those who matter don’t mind.”  It takes a few years of living to trust the truth in that.  We are all born with gifts unique to each of us, and we need to share that which is ours alone to share --- without fear and without worrying about who will like us and who won’t.  Just as there will always be someone to criticize, there will always be someone to appreciate the persons we are.  Our own uniqueness is how we give back to a world that needs what we have.  And those who criticize should really look more deeply at themselves ---- and mind their own business.
    I am about to experience a personal “turning of the year;” into a new decade.  One up-side to aging is finding I’m able to be more objective about things that might have sent me into a tizzy earlier. My current life-span is just too short to waste meaningless anxiety on people and events about which I can do nothing.  If I’m going to be anxious, it will be for something that I consider important --- like whether Friendly’s will continue making butter crunch ice cream even though they are closing restaurants, or whether one of our sons is again on busy super-highways, driving in the wee, small hours.  Actually, I can’t do anything about those either, but having an excellent imagination, I am capable of creating amazing scenarios for worrying.  I’m trying to learn to divert my thought processes when this happens, but that is a continuing life-lesson in trust.
    Birthdays are a time for thinking; about looking back to see how the year has been, and looking forward with gladness to the unexplored territory that is the year ahead.  Some people get grumpy about birthdays after a certain age, but I feel that celebrating them is good for the psyche.  Having fun times and remaining alert to the world around is a key to enjoying life --- and birthdays.  I will admit that it has been a bit startling to think of myself as “senior” or “elderly.”  My body agrees that I certainly am, but most days, my mind feels no special age.    Regardless of increasing lines and wrinkles, I’m sure that I’ll find this year just as full of challenges, fun, sadness and delight as the last year, when I was only 79.

    It is Spencer Picnic week, a community festival of long-standing tradition of 111 years.  It is a celebration of community; a way to maintain the ties that bind.  There’s good food, carnival rides, a “Miss Spencer Picnic” and a talent show.  There is the parade on Saturday and excellent fireworks.  Kerm and I have always chosen to live in small communities for this very kind of connection, and we find small town positives are far more outstanding than the negatives.  One’s experiences and views, wherever one lives, can be as wide as reading and travel make them.  We have found the Spencer-Van Etten area a good place to live.  When someone is in need people step in as soon as they know.  There are fund-raisers for local children who are in the hospital, fun-raisers for the Ukraine, people who will help new-comers find plumbers, electricians, and play groups for their kiddies.  When one’s large, fawn-colored dog runs away during hunting season, the hunters are careful not to shoot it.  We have personally experienced neighborly kindnesses --- often. I have noticed that people can be adversarial in theory but wonderful in reality.  If the discussion is about politics or local issues --- people can disagree vociferously.  Voices are raised and hostility creeps in.  But if a neighbor needs help, that same person who yelled at the last town meeting will be right there with a casserole and comfort. Therein lies hope for the world.
    For my childhood years, he road on which my home dairy farm stood was a dirt road --- rural!   While growing up, I’d visit up and down that road; there was the elderly couple who I adopted as surrogate grandparents and where I played with a beautiful, old porcelain doll and washed my hands in a dry sink.   There were neighbors who had a TV, which we did not.  They also had a pool table and a slot machine.  So, after school, I watched the Mickey Mouse Club, learned to keep the white ball out of the billiard pockets and tried to avoid putting the slot machine into TILT mode.  I learned to ride on a neighbor’s horse.  Another neighbor came to help us with haying.  So, while we were mostly autonomous, we also relied on each other to be in community.
    Hal Borland* (quoted above) also wrote about community.  He lived on a dirt road, had good neighbors, and observed wild life very similar to that around here.  Of course, when he wrote, 40 years ago, none of us had bears, fishers or coyotes all of which now make themselves very much at home in our back yards.  This summer the creatures that share our outdoor spaces are both annoying and amusing.  As I sat here typing, I noticed the tall weeds waving back and forth at the end of a garden bed (yes – I do have weeds; LOTS of them!) --- but there was no wind.  A slanted brown head poked out --- a woodchuck was gobbling down the lambs’ quarters that had grown up there.  I probably should have let him eat the weeds, but I was so startled to have him dining eight feet away, right in my garden bed, that I spoke rather firmly ---and loudly.  He took off for the wood shed.  Something (Bear? Raccoons? Possums? Skunks?) have also drained the water bowls every night during the dry weather.   I’m thinking we should have a “creature patio” where each one has his/her own little table and cup ala Rabbit Hill by Robert Lawson,***a book much loved by our boys when they were small and by me as well.
    Now that we are in August, it is time to store up good things; to preserve summer, whether it is blackberries, herbs or memories.  We’ll be canning tomatoes and probably freezing some peaches.  I’ve already dried mullein – in case of respiratory problems.  I’ll also be drying tansy to discourage pantry moths and lemon balm simply to smell wonderful.  And I’m trying to store up mental photos and feelings to pull out when the outside weather is less enjoyable.   There is something in the mellow air of mid-August, alerting us that summer though it is, we are subtly moving toward fall.  So, we need to luxuriate in balmy weather now.  “Buttercup nodded and said goodbye, clover and daisy went off together, but the fragrant water lilies lie yet moored in the golden August weather…….”. ****
    Carol may be reached at: carol42wilde@htva.net.
     
    *Hal Borland ---- American journalist, writer, naturalist.  1900-1978
    **Dr. Seuss --- Pen name for Theodore Seuss Geisel, an American writer of mostly children’s books well-known for their unique rhyming style of prose.  His perceptions of humanity did change over the years and he was a strong proponent of good ecological practices and caring for even the smallest person.  1904-1991.
    ***Robert Lawson --- American writer and illustrator of children’s books.  1892-1957.
    ****Celia Thaxter --- this was the first stanza of her poem, “August”.  She is an American writer and poet who lived in New England and on the islands off the coast of Maine.  1835-1894.
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