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Linda Roorda

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Blog Entries posted by Linda Roorda

  1. Linda Roorda
    I heard this after my flights to visit family - “How can you not see God in every little thing, in every little moment?” It was a meaningful phrase in a great song by Leanna Crawford that I heard last Monday while picking up some groceries. I’d just gotten home after a 12-hour delayed flight, and thought, how fitting… especially after my trip to see some of my family the end of June.
    I was nervous about going through the airports... 1) Elmira to Detroit to Nashville, 2) Nashville to Minneapolis, and 3) Minneapolis to Detroit to Elmira... and sure enough, we had a hitch, or should I echo a friend calling it a hiccup. I'd prayed before leaving home that God would guide me through the maze of huge terminals, cities unto themselves, and He answered my prayer way better than I could have dreamed!
    Friday, June 23 – As a sub, was invited to attend a breakfast staff meeting at the middle school.  I heard the principal speak kind words about someone… which turned out to be me… greatly surprised, I promptly forgot everything she’d said, next congratulating a friend and fellow sub sitting next to me for her own award.  Then it was home to recheck my backpack, with my sister-in-law Diane and her husband Mark driving me to the airport. Elmira/Corning Regional Airport is small, updated a few years back, easy to get around in, but there was still an underlying nervousness about flying.  Yes, I’ve flown before… alone in 2004 to CA to help Emily move to SD, with Ed in 2006 to Sioux Falls, SD for Em’s graduation with her master’s, and in 1980 we took toddler Jenn to visit my family in Texas, but, still… I was very nervous about getting lost in the big city airports.
    Enter a nice couple who sat near me as we exchanged smiles and greetings.  They chose to sit near me again after we ran the gauntlet of x-rays filming our bodies and belongings.  Striking up a conversation, I learned they were flying from their home on Keuka Lake to Texas to visit a daughter.  Long story short, our words tipped each other off that we were all Christians. They knew Spencer well as their grandson works at Renovation House rehabilitation center!  They eagerly gave advice on what to do, where to go, and how to get help in the huge terminals… very welcome advice that I put to good use! My seatmate to Detroit was a young man heading off to study bio-engineering in England.
    Safely arriving at Nashville late on the 23rd, got help from those in uniform for where to exit the building to find my niece Nina who easily found me!  It was awesome to see her and Chris and their three children, Teagan, Kinley and Nadiya, and to visit with my brother Charlie and wife Monica, both with recent health issues, keeping them in my prayers. Chris and Nina’s coffee shop in Lebanon, TN, Split Bean Roasting Company (website sells their different flavors), has a welcoming, down-home atmosphere. Their menu includes delicious coffee made with Chris’s coffee-grinding expertise, soft drinks, sweet treats, soups, and breakfast fare, wishing I could eat and drink from their specialties to give a 5-star rating. And then we learned they were just ranked 4th in the top 10 best coffee shops in the entire state of Tennessee! Congratulations and way to go, Chris and Nina!!
    On the 25th, I was returned to the Nashville airport for my flight to Minneapolis, another major hub. As the seats at the gate filled up, a young man sat near me. He struck up a conversation, learning he’d been in Lebanon to visit his sister, where I’d visited Nina and her family, returning home to his wife and kids in Minneapolis. He was involved in his church’s prison ministry, bringing the Gospel to prisoners, assisting those being released in learning to support themselves on re-entering society.
    At the airport, Nick and Emily picked me up in the 3rd of 4 lanes of bumper-to-bumper traffic, driving 1-1/2 hours home to Sauk Rapids. We took day trips, like walking through Munsinger & Clemens Gardens, home to beautiful floral gardens spread out over 20 acres along the Mississippi River in St. Cloud, across the river from the university where Nick is a math professor. You know I want to go back and admire the amazing beauty again, thinking maybe I could transplant a few ideas to my own gardens!
    I also visited a distant McNeill cousin, Marjorie and her husband John. They gave me a tour of Northfield’s St. Olaf and Carleton Colleges, beautiful campuses from which Marjorie retired as librarian. They showed me the bank, now museum, in Northfield where the James/Younger Gang and compatriots attempted to rob the safe in 1876. Jesse and Frank James fled while others were either killed or later captured, bullet holes still visible in the outside bank walls. Inside the museum, sharing with staff that I was from Upstate New York, south of Ithaca, a gentleman overheard me, saying he has family at Cornell University, and has driven through my town of Spencer!  Marjorie and John’s home is beautifully arrayed with family antiques (a living museum), and a unique dumbwaiter John (an engineer) had made between the kitchen and lower patio, all while showing me their welcoming friendship.
    Home with Em again, we walked around the pond behind their property, seeing ducks, a pair of Sandhill cranes, played games with my Grands, and watched special National Park shows. We walked along the Mississippi, and toured Sauk Rapids’ Benton County Museum. It was the only house in the large community to survive the F4 tornado on April 14-15, 1886 which destroyed every building, bridge and railroad track, leaving the city stranded with no way in and no way out for a time. Killing 72 people in its path, it’s the deadliest tornado on record in Minnesota. That house survived due to its uniquely-built granite walls with an air space between two adjacent walls of solid granite stones. We visited the small but well-kept Pine Grove Zoo in Little Falls, thoroughly enjoying the variety of animals. After a relaxing picnic lunch in the primeval pine grove next to the zoo, we drove to Charles Lindbergh’s home/museum also in Little Falls, his favorite place growing up, set on the banks overlooking the Mississippi, watching newsreels about him and his solo flight across the Atlantic to Paris, learning more than I had previously known about him and his family.
    Saying goodbye… I spent over 18 hours in the Detroit airport for my flight home to Elmira with delay after delay, finally getting home late Monday morning instead of Sunday evening. But in the waiting, I met a sweet lady. Sitting next to me, I learned Joy was from California, flying east to visit her daughter who lives 5 minutes from the Elmira airport!  We shared stories of our lives, finding we had much in common, also sharing our Christian faith.  Her family and home had survived the 2018 Carr Fire in northern California, as they helped others in the neighborhood who lost everything, including some who lost loved ones.
    Another lady walked past me who looked very familiar, but I just couldn’t place her, so I decided to just go ask. Connie recognized me, told me who she was, and it was an aha moment!  I knew her years ago as Ed’s mom’s hairdresser who lived locally, was widowed, remarried, now living in North Carolina, on the same flight to visit her daughter here who I also know! And then we met a young man and his wife with 2 kids from Newfield whose dad drove bus with my Aunt Lois for many years! Trust me, we all had a great time chatting and laughing together!  Small world indeed! 
    Remember I said God blessed me more than I could have imagined on this trip?  Not only with special family time, and getting to sit in “my” old saddle from years ago when riding War Bugg, but spending the night together, we 3 ladies shared stories of how God blessed our lives despite major difficulties we had each dealt with. We chose to ignore the negativity of a lady who emphasized we’d have a lot of trouble trying to get flights out, while I and others instead thanked the one crew member and desk clerk for their helpful kindnesses.  We three supported each other and spent the night at Gate 35, keeping each other awake overnight, charging our phones, chatting about our families and life in general.
    Though our Monday 8 a.m. flight to Elmira was delayed for an hour, boarding and lift-off went smoothly, and we were all very thankful to be heading home.  Now it’s hard to believe my trip was ending just a week ago, the reward I’d looked forward to as the school year drew to a close. 
    I was so impressed and thankful for the many ways God blessed me with just the right person at just the right time… and for the blessings of visiting with family!  After getting home, picking up some groceries, I took a much-needed nap… not something I’m fond of doing. Sleeping for 4-1/2 hours, I woke up with a start at 5:30 p.m., wondering whose room this was and where I was! Interesting tricks your mind can play when sleep has eluded you for too many hours… and home life resumed its normal routine, finishing two purse orders, baking for our local farmer’s market, enjoying each simple day back home. God bless you this week in all you do, too!
  2. Linda Roorda

    Your Family Tree #3

    By Linda Roorda,

    Okay, let’s start researching!  As you ponder a few names in your ancestral tree, the burning question may be, “How do I start looking for ancestors I don’t even know about?”  Actually, the best way is to begin working backward from what you do know.  Start with your birth certificate to prove your parents.  Obtain copies of birth, baptism and marriage records, newspaper death notices or obituaries, and cemetery records of your near relatives. 
    Research can be an expensive endeavor and I will admit I’ve not done all I’d like to simply for that reason.  I’m able to join the DAR with about ten ancestors who served in the Revolutionary War; and, though I have a good deal of documentation, I’ve not been able to afford all that which is necessary for the DAR forms.  I know that I have DAR status with the evidence in my hand, and don’t need to prove that fact to an association.  Yet, even on a limited budget, you can accomplish a great deal like I did with the resources available - particularly as my initial online research of records for several years was done using the painfully slow dial-up internet service!  Along with meeting extended distant relatives with whom you may be able to share data like I did, and with whom I remain in contact.
    Make a list of your known and extended relatives.  Talk to the older folks and write down their memories and stories, especially before they are no longer here to share their memories.  They are a wealth of information, and will be honored to have you ask.  But, again, research helps validate the truth from “stories” which might have snippets of reality amongst exaggerated stories passed down as family history.  Check out Cyndi’s List for a great listing of various types of charts and forms which can be printed off to help you keep records.
    I also wish I had had an interest in knowing my family history when I was younger and my grandparents were still alive.  With my mom born as child 11 of 12 in a large farming family, her parents were long gone by the time I finally developed an interest.  And, since both her parents were only children, there’s a paucity of extended “rellies” for me to speak with. Yet, I’ve met other extended cousins and have enjoyed getting to know them while we compare our family lineage notes.  
    With her own family history interest, my mom recalled bits and pieces, but that’s why the original family tree mentioned in my first article was vital.  Working through the known three generations to prove their accuracy, my empty-nest project evolved into a 600-plus page manuscript.  I documented historical family backgrounds and descendants from church and cemetery records, historical records, census records, and books, etc. for every known surname branch.  Don’t research just the male lineage as some folks prefer; the women are equally as important to your heritage!  I even included research on the extended families as a record of their historical times and how families became intertwined.
    If you are fortunate enough to have access to them, search old diaries and letters which may reference family members.  Old family Bibles often list family births, marriages and deaths, but not all do.  For example, an old Bible found in the brick McNeill house in Carlisle, NY by the current owners (with whom I became friends) held no data other than three McNeill obituaries, two of whom were known to be related.  Yet, the obits became key evidence in my search as one obit was for a Martha McNeill Tillapaugh Seber of Decatur, New York.  That little piece of paper gave credence to my theory that she is related!  She is the presumed daughter of Samuel McNeill as she fits the age of a female born 1814 on his census records, the only McNeill family in Decatur at that time.  This gave a descendant, who I was assisting, substantial probability for Martha’s birth family since his family papers noted Martha McNeill was born about 1814 in Decatur, thus lending credence to our being distant cousins.
    The following also shares how one clue leads to another in research.  Based on a gut feeling, I purchased Robert McNeill’s War of 1812 pension application file after finding him on the 1820 Carlisle, New York census.  He lived very near my ancestor, John C. McNeill (typical of the old generations), and was listed on the War of 1812 muster rolls. 
    In pension application affidavits, Robert noted service at Watertown and Sackett’s Harbor, New York and as a guard of prisoners on a march to Albany.  He made no mention of service on any ship.  Sadly, I had to break the news to a descendant, cousin and now friend, that Robert’s claim to be in a famous battle on Lake Erie during the War of 1812 was not backed up by documentation in any of his records.
    Also, unfortunately, he served only 53 days of the required 60, making him ineligible for a pension.  However, additional key data found in his affidavits note Robert served in place of his brother, Samuel McNeill, of Decatur, Otsego County, New York, and that he, Robert, lived first at Carlisle, Schoharie County, New York.  Thus, he was born about 1794, after his parents removed from New Hampshire to New York.  Bingo!!  I now had two more presumed brothers of my known Jesse McNeill!  When Robert enlisted in September 1813, it appears he was about 18, unmarried, willing and able to serve for his brother, Samuel, who had a young family per the 1810 Decatur census and who presumably had farm crops to harvest.
    By census records, we track Robert and family on the 1820 census in Carlisle, Schoharie County, New York, the 1830 census in Conesus, Livingston County, New York near his wife’s relatives, and the 1840 census in Dundee, Monroe County, Michigan.  After his first wife died, he lived near his sister’s family in Wayne County, New York where he remarried, moving his family back to Michigan per 1860 census.  I like to think of them as “frequent flyers” on the bustling Erie Canal, sailing Lake Erie from western New York to the frontier in southeast Monroe County, Michigan.  Curiously, his second wife is later found without Robert on census and cemetery records with their children in Wayne County, New York.  As Robert is listed on census records in the homes of his first wife’s children, dies and is buried in Michigan, his descendant (Marjorie, my distant cousin and friend) and I have concluded that he and his second wife separated, but never divorced, as she died and is buried in Wayne County, New York.
    There is so much to be gleaned by searching for and finding actual records.  
    Coming next:  Document everything, every step of the way!
  3. Linda Roorda

    The Empty Chair

    By Linda Roorda,

    I am so thankful for family and friends who were able to attend my mother’s graveside memorial service yesterday. I had selected a pastor for the service; but, as it turned out, he was not feeling well enough to attend. Yet in God’s wisdom and plan, the funeral director asked me to give Mom’s eulogy since I knew her best. And though I forgot some important parts I’d wanted to share, it became a much more memorable and special service to me, and to all who attended from comments shared.
    So, I’d like to share a poem and reflection written several years ago which I closed with yesterday, but which is fitting for each one of us with losses of family and friends. For us since the end of May, it’s been the loss of several close friends, a sister-in-law, several cousins, and now my mother. For losses you have suffered, may you feel God’s comforting presence with peace in your heart… for the love you once shared will live on forever in your heart and in treasured memories.
    It seems that at every holiday and family event there’s an empty chair.  We all have one... or more.  It’s where our special loved one(s) always sat.  Actually, we can still visualize them sitting there, sharing our love and laughter.  But, it’s all just a memory now... sometimes hazier than we’d like.
    Memories are good from this perspective, even if tinged with a bit of sadness.  There are memories of fun and happy times... of laughter at the world’s best jokes told only the way they could… and countless days of childhood fun – before technology spoiled the best in our games of imagination.  Memories of when our children were infants… as we moms nursed our precious babies, rocking them to sleep…  And yes, memories of tears shed… as dads cuddled their little one crying from hurts - physical or emotional.  If only that old rocker in the corner could talk… all the stories it would share!
    It also seems that many of our memories of days long ago are laced with the beauty and simplicity we now miss in the busy rush of life.  So, sit quietly in the empty chair, and take time to think about all that once was when our special loved one was here among us… and remember their beautiful life. 
    The Empty Chair
    Linda A. Roorda 
    The empty chair that quietly waits
    Once held a life in arms of love
    A life of joy and busy fun
    But now stands mute in days of silence.

    The one who sat upon its wood
    Once held a wee and precious babe
    To gently rock away the tears
    And soothe aside the anxious fears.

    The empty chair has heard it all
    From shaking sobs to rolling laughs
    And then it listened once again
    To all the stories read aloud.

    The empty chair in silent years
    Will keep its secrets evermore
    Of dreams and hopes and plans and sighs
    Of each who sat upon its lap.

    The empty chair has heard the pleas
    In earnest prayers of burdened hearts
    Like gentle sighs to God above
    For Him to guide those it once held.

    The empty chair now brings to mind
    The love of those who graced our lives
    Who’ve left behind sweet memories
    Tenderly held forever in love.
    ~~
    08/19/13
     
  4. Linda Roorda
    Cemetery records are another invaluable resource for your ancestry research.  Historical societies also retain cemetery records, or transcriptions, of virtually all old gravestones for every cemetery, large or small, within any given county.  Unfortunately, I have typically found this work to have been done several decades ago (often from early to mid-20th century), and desperately in need of updating.  However, with our modern technology, a great resource not available when I first began my research journey in the late 1990s is the Find-A-Grave website. 
    Cemetery associations maintain each cemetery, retaining records for all burials.  They can often provide more information from their records on the deceased than that which is on a headstone, including full dates of birth and death, and family relationships with parents’ names and/or name of the spouse.  On the other hand, I’ve also seen where my trip to a specific cemetery gave me more data on a gravestone than was written in the historical society’s record.  
    It is also well worth making a trip to the actual cemetery whenever possible.  On one trip, I walked up and down virtually every row of a very old, but still used, cemetery north of Cobleskill.  Frustrated at not finding specific ancestors, I decided to give it one last try and got out of the car, facing a short steep slope.  Climbing to the top of the little knoll, I walked directly into an unusual circular plot.  Peering closely at the stones, I had that “aha” moment – I’d found exactly what I was looking for!  For there were my mother’s grandparents and great-grandparents!  As a teen, my Mom would drive her mother to this spot to place flowers on family graves, but she was unable to recall exactly where to find the plot.
    While researching, it is helpful to know that a.e. (i.e. anno aetatis suae) on a gravestone is Latin for in the__  year of life versus age meaning year of age.  For example, you may see a stone with a date of death and age as follows:  Jan 10, 1834, a.e. 16y.  This indicates the deceased was in the 16th year of life; but, in reality, was 15 years old on the previous birthday before death.  You may also see the deceased’s date of death with age as follows:  d. June 15, 1827, 10y 3m 5d.  From this date, you can count backwards to the date of birth, i.e. b. March 10, 1817.  Take photos of gravestones for documentation, along with proof of the location of the stone(s) and exact cemetery of burial.
    In the case of very old stones from the 1700s and 1800s, I have done rubbings - either with washable chalk to make the eroding chiseled letters stand out, or by pencil rubbing on paper lain atop the sunken lettering when nothing else was available.  The latter gave me data on my ancestor, John Caldwell McNeill, that was not in the cemetery records.  I knew he was a sergeant in the New Hampshire Line, serving at Bunker Hill as per his pension file; but, a separate gravestone revealed these barely discernable words etched in stone by doing a pencil rubbing on paper:  “Corp.1, Co.1, N.Y. Regt. Rev War.”  Questioning what he was doing in a New York regiment, I spent the money to purchase his full  Revolutionary War pension application file. 
    I then read historical books about the Revolutionary War for their collateral documentation of the era.  Reading “The Spirit of Seventy-Six,” author Morris Commager confirmed that the New Hampshire unit was asked to join the above-noted New York regiment on a mission to Canada.  Records researched by Commager detailed how the men were captured, stripped of all clothes and possessions, and imprisoned on an island in the St. Lawrence with many soldiers dying.  The remaining soldiers were bought back in a cartel by Benedict Arnold and released to serve out their enlistment, confirmed by other reputable sources, including “Benedict Arnold’s Navy” by James L. Nelson – a really great read!  This all substantiated affidavits in John C.’s pension file and the story in a New Hampshire county historical book about the capture and release as celebrated annually by John C.’s friends and relatives who remained in Londonderry, NH after the Revolutionary War when he removed to Carlisle, Schoharie County, NY. 
    Although rare, cemetery records and gravestones do occasionally contain conflicting dates or errors.  A death certificate, if available, would be the more accurate record, along with collateral records.
    I have personally seen few errors in gravestone data, but one stands out as part of my documented and published research thesis.  My ancestor, Lt. Timothy Hutton (b. 1746) had a nephew Lt. Timothy Hutton (b. 1764), both serving in military units in New York.  A monument to my Lt. Timothy Hutton at Carlisle Rural Cemetery in Carlisle, Schoharie Co., NY credits his service under Capt. Gross of Willett’s Regiment in the Revolutionary War. 
    On checking roster records, two Lt. Timothy Huttons are listed in Col. Marinus Willett’s Regiment at the same time – one in Capt. Gross’s company, the other in Capt. Livingston’s.  Purchasing military records of my ancestor, with my editor supplying a copy of affidavits for the younger Hutton, provides our proof.  This documentation notes both Lt. Timothy Huttons served in Willett’s NY Regiment.  But, Lt. Hutton b. 1764 stated in affidavits he served under Capt. Gross, with other documentation noting he died in New Jersey, while his uncle, my ancestor, Lt. Hutton b. 1746, though not stating which captain he served under, is thus presumed to have served under Capt. Livingston as per the unit’s roster records.  My Timothy Hutton (b. 1764) was documented serving in Schoharie County, NY, settling and dying in Carlisle, my mother’s home town.  And so, I proved my Lt. Timothy Hutton did not serve under Capt. Gross as per his cemetery monument, but rather his nephew of the same name did.  With both men sharing the same name, it's no wonder the kind folks who put up his monument were confused!  
    There has also been a concerted effort over the last several years to put cemetery records online, a great aid in research, but you should still document and prove data accuracy because, again, I have seen errors.  As the years pass, more and more data is making its way online than was available before 2000 when I began my research.  Again, check out the Find-A-Grave website.  Through the kindness of many people, photos are taken of gravestones, and, along with data written on the monuments, are placed online.
    Obviously, not every grave is to be found, nor is all information and family data accurate as I recently discovered from someone’s erroneous tie to my paternal family which I personally knew to be absolutely false.  I emailed the contact person and did not receive a reply back; I don’t know if it was ever corrected online as I’ve not gone back.  But, admittedly, it is very rewarding to find a photo of just the grave you’ve been searching for!
    COMING NEXT:  Census Records.
  5. Linda Roorda
    As summer’s warmth gives way to the cooler days of fall, our thoughts turn to cold-weather projects, and that of storing food for the coming winter.  Without that process, our ancestors would be hard pressed to get through the bitter cold months, unless, of course, you could afford to purchase all your food supplies at the local general store. 
    Once upon a time, most families cultivated large vegetable gardens and raised a barnyard menagerie to put food by for the coming winter – a vital necessity.  How they accomplished it without our modern water-bath and pressure canners, and freezers, that we and our mother’s generation have used amazes me. 
    In early 2003, I was concluding my empty-nest project, researching and writing an extensive manuscript which documented every family line of my mother’s parents back to the early 17th century settlers of New Netherlands.  And that was using only the pathetically slow dial-up internet for online research!  In asking for input from relatives on their memories of our grandparents, my aunt, Shirley (Tillapaugh) Van Duesen, shared how much she enjoyed working alongside her dad.  Her ties to her father don’t surprise me.  While growing up, I enjoyed time spent working with my dad, too, and that naturally evolved into enjoying time spent working with my husband on the farm and around our property.
    But, I found it especially interesting that, of all things my aunt chose to write about, she told me about fall butchering time on the farm.  And I’m so glad she did because, in many ways, what she wrote about is a lost skill.  Oh sure, we still have butcher shops in some rural communities, but gone are the days of farm and backyard butchering where neighbors helped each other with these chores.
    With permission granted by my cousin, Doug, to share his mother’s words, Aunt Shirley wrote, “What I remember the most was hog butchering time which was sometime in November.  It was a community project, usually two or three days.  Everyone who had pigs to butcher helped in the process, and they were hung in my father’s garage to cool overnight or until they were ready to be cut up.  Each one took their own [pig] home to process from that point on.  I always enjoyed helping cut ours up – to cut and skin the rind (or hide) off the fat, cut fat off the meat, grind and render it down into lard for cooking, cut meat into roasts, pork chops, tenderloin, and grind other remaining meat and scraps for sausage.  My father always cut and shaped the hams, then put them in large tubs with a salt brine to cure for several weeks.  Then he would take them out and smoke them in the smokehouse.  He would do the same with the sausage after grinding and stuffing it into the casings, and then shape that into links.  The hams were then put into large brown bags and hung in the cellar, and used as needed – and the same for the sausage.”
    Her description gives us a great overall picture of the process.  Further details on the butchering process can be found in the online Backwoods Home Magazine, Issue No. 23 from September/October 1993, with an appropriate article, “Slaughtering and Butchering,” by Dynah Geissal.  I enjoyed this very informative article in which Geissal gives excellent directions for the homesteader in butchering a variety of home-grown animals raised specifically for the freezer.  She describes how to cut the meat into appropriate sections, with photos to provide guiding details.  She even includes recipes for sausage, scrapple and other delicious fare.  
    Raised on a dairy farm, my husband was present twice when his father and uncles butchered cows on the farm.  Like my aunt wrote, Ed agreed that the best time to butcher is in the fall, typically November, because it’s cold enough to hang the carcass to avoid spoilage.  When cows were shipped to the butcher shop, he also said it was important to keep the animal as calm as possible before slaughter.  This helped keep the meat from becoming tough and unsavory. 
    On a smaller scale in backyard processing, my sister and I were the official assistants when it was time to dispatch designated unproductive chickens or specific meat birds to the freezer.  My father was in charge of swinging the axe on the chopping block.  And for those who have only heard the expression about someone running around like a chicken with their head cut off – let me assure you, it’s accurate!  After filling a 5-gallon bucket with boiling water, we sisters were given the honor of dunking and plucking.  With twine around their feet, we hung the scalded chickens from a nail in a barn beam and plucked those feathers clean off as best we could. 
    My mother was in charge of dressing the hens back in the kitchen.  Dressing is the more delicate term to describe the process of gutting and cleaning the bird.  I still vividly recall my mother showing us shell-less eggs from inside one of the hens – in descending sizes from the current large to tiny!  I was utterly fascinated!  I should perhaps mention at this point that once upon a time I had thoughts of becoming a veterinarian.  As science and math were not among my strong points, that dream soon fell by the wayside.
    We also raised pigs, three at a time.  And now I must confess that I had a tremendous fear of our cute little piglets simply from their noise and stench!  So, I refused to care for them, thus putting my younger brothers in charge of the feeding and cleaning of little piglets that grew into large hogs – really a good responsibility for my energetic brothers!  My dad knew when they’d reached sufficient poundage and sent them off to the butcher shop to become delicious pork in the freezer for us and our city relatives. 
    Our mare (granddaughter of the famous race horse, Man O' War), chickens, ducks and one goose (appropriately named “Honk” by my toddler brother) were my charges with the Muscovy ducks providing entertainment.  Digging a hole in the fenced-in chicken run, we sank a square galvanized tub for their bathing delight, and they regularly enjoyed “swim” time.  
    Only one duck decided to set on about a dozen eggs.  Four hatched properly and soon waddled behind their Mama to explore the great outdoors.  Feeling sorry for the fifth duckling who was late emerging from its shell, this writer took it upon herself to assist the poor little thing.  Unbeknownst to her at the time (she forgot to study), fowl do not need, nor do they desire, our assistance to hatch from their shell.  They have a “tooth” on their beak which assists them quite well; but, they also must do their own hatching in order to survive.  So, you guessed it – this little duckling did not live long once it had been helped out of its shell. 
    Then, a few days later, this caretaker came home from school and eagerly went out to care for her critters only to sadly discover one little duckling had drowned in the 2-inch-deep water dish in their pen.  That left three cute and fuzzy ducklings to follow the adults as they grew like weeds.  And, though a bit more greasy than chicken, they were absolutely delicious when my mother roasted them! (Yes, that was their intended purpose.)
    During the years that I stayed home to raise our children while my husband farmed with his dad, I grew a large garden every summer, canning and freezing a year’s worth of vegetables and fruit.  It sure helped save on grocery bills.  It was only natural I delved into this venture since my parents raised a large garden every year for as long as I can remember, as did both sets of grandparents.  But, as children, when we were sent out to weed our garden, my sister and I opted instead to run and play between the rows!  Truth be told, we even tossed some of the green beans under the lilac bushes when we decided we were tired of the chore of snapping them.  However, when they were my own gardens with food to be put up for the coming winter, I thoroughly enjoyed every aspect of the process.
    But, as mentioned above, I’ve often wondered how our ancestors put their veggies up.  They didn’t have the benefit of a freezer, nor could they efficiently use water-bath jar canning let alone the fine tunings of a high-pressure cooker/canner like I had available. 

    So, in looking for books to study this subject, I recalled my bookshelf held my mother’s, “Putting Food By – The No.1 book about all the safe ways to preserve food.”  It’s a very useful book for beginners as it discusses all the prerequisites to canning and freezing vegetables and meats, including explanations of the old-fashioned methods our ancestors used to put up their food.
    Another excellent resource obtained through Spencer’s interlibrary loan system was “The Little House Cookbook, Frontier Foods from Laura Ingalls Wilder’s Classic Stories” by Barbara M. Walker.  What a genuine treasure this book is as Ms. Walker expands on Wilder’s descriptions of the foods they ate by explaining how their food was prepared with innumerable appropriate recipes.
    A classic from the 19th century, Housekeeper and Healthkeeper (available only online and not through interlibrary loan) by Catherine E. Beecher (sister of Harriet Beecher Stowe) discusses virtually every conceivable household dilemma for the housewife of the late 19th century.  Beecher’s own foreword is written to “My Dear Friends, - This volume embraces…many valuable portions of my other works on Domestic Economy…  It is designed to be a complete encyclopedia of all that relates to a woman’s duties as housekeeper, wife, mother, and nurse.”  Beecher includes five hundred recipes of which I perused a few.  She is completely thorough in all of her explanations to assist the housewife who often entered her new profession without foundational training.  I was impressed by Beecher’s ability to address every possible home situation from cooking and putting food by, to cleaning and caring for the sick family.   
    In our ancestors’ time a few hundred years ago, even through the end of the 19th century, most rural families had a milch (milk) cow or two.  Not only was the family’s delicious milk and cream supplied by their very own favorite pet cow, but Bossy’s milk also provided them the ability to make butter, cheese and ice cream.  Things just didn’t get any better than that!  And, extras could be sold or bartered for other necessities not readily available or too expensive at the general mercantile.
    Without electricity, one either had an ice house to keep foods cold, a storage area in the cellar, or a springhouse.  Root cellars were a popular place to store vegetables below the frost line.  Attics were often used to store food during the winter including hams, pumpkins, squashes, onions, and dried vegetables.  Perhaps the home had a storage shed just outside the back door.  Here, the family could conveniently store meat in a “natural freezer” during the winter months (though I’ve wondered about wild critters enjoying the free cache), along with stacked firewood, other supplies, and kettleware. 

    Then again, many homes had a large pantry just off the kitchen.  I remember well my Grandma Tillapaugh’s huge pantry with shelves on all sides and a door to the cellar, which I never did get to explore.  It was in this pantry that she kept her big tin of large scrumptious molasses cookies that we could help ourselves to when she gave approval.  Try as I might, I was never able to duplicate her delicious cookies though!
    My mother shared with me that their cellar held crates of apples and potatoes and other root vegetables. Not a root cellar per se`, my mom said that what was stored in crates kept quite well through the winter.  She also recalls her mother did use both pressure and waterbath canners for fruits and vegetables, along with canning pickled tongue and other meats at butchering time.  As my Aunt Shirley wrote about butchering time, their meat was put into a salt brine and stored in large wooden barrels or the old pottery crocks.  This process meant keeping the meat well covered by brine, held below the surface by a heavy weight.  Smoking was another great way to cure and preserve the meat to prevent spoilage and bacteria growth during storage over the long winter. 
    Brine, made of sugar, salt, saltpeter or sodium nitrate, and mixed with water, covered and cured meats placed in large crocks.  After the curing time of up to two months, the meat was typically smoked and then hung in the attic or cellar.  Or, you could fry the meat, place it in a crock, covering it with a layer of lard, then a layer of meat covered by lard until the crock was full.  The homemaker had only to dig out the amount of meat needed for a meal and reheat it.  These ever-handy crocks preserved other foods such as butter, pickles, sauerkraut, and even vegetables.  Apple cider was fermented to make hard cider, often a staple on the old farms.  Lard or paraffin was used to seal a crock’s contents, keeping out contaminants causing spoilage.  Read “The Many Uses of Pottery Crocks” by Jeannine Roediger (09/18/11).
    Before modern conveniences came along, root vegetables were typically stored in the cellar, or root cellar – especially potatoes, turnips, onions, beets, cabbages, carrots and even apples.  Areas that are cool, dark and dry help keep vegetables from sprouting, and slow any spoilage that might begin.  It was also a wise idea to store apples, potatoes and cabbages apart from each other and other produce so their odors/flavors did not spoil each other.  It was also a must to keep an eye on everything for early signs of spoilage.  Vegetables and certain fruits being stored could be wrapped individually in paper, or kept in baskets covered in sand, soil or dry leaves. 
    Reading the requirements in “Putting Food By,” we need to know a lot about the root cellar process that, on the surface, seems like such a simple idea – but it’s really not.  There are specific temperature and dryness or moisture requirements for the various vegetables and fruits to prevent mold and spoilage.
    I recall that in the early 1980s, I had an abundance of good-sized green tomatoes.  After picking them, we lay them out on the basement floor on newspaper to ripen, storing the greenest in a bushel basket with each one wrapped in newspaper.  They kept for a good while out in the garage where it was cold but not freezing.
    Another popular method was to dry fruits and vegetables, often simply by drying them in the sun.  Meat dried in this manner is called jerky.  If the home had a cookstove, drying could be accomplished on trays in the oven, or the vegetables and fruit could simply be put on strings and hung to dry in a warm area of the room.  The warm attic space near the chimney was another good place to dry food, using protection from dust and bugs.  Reconstitution by adding sufficient water for stewing was all it took to use these otherwise scarce foods during the cold and barren winter months.  Though they often lost some of the original flavor, dried veggies and fruits must have been a welcome addition to their diet during the cold winter months.  In the latter half of the 19th century, special driers with built-in furnaces became available on the market for home use in drying various fruits and vegetables.
    When thinking about the types of food eaten by our ancestors on the frontier, we need to remember that their salty and fatty dishes were necessary for their diet considering their involvement in extensive physical labor.  And to this any modern farmer can attest as their own hard work all day in the barn or fields contributes to a rather hearty appetite – I do remember how much Ed ate without gaining weight!
    Farmers and homesteaders had not only the typical farm chores to attend to in the hot summer and bitter cold winter, but they would hunt to supplement their meat supply, and put in a garden to reap the harvest of both vegetables and fruits.  If the homesteader did not have a ready supply of fruit on their own bushes and trees, searching the nearby forest often gave them a bounty of seasonal fruits and berries.  Yet, even in that venture, there was the ever-present danger of wild animals, especially bear.  The homesteaders’ hearty appetites and wide variety of unprocessed food allowed for a healthy diet which did not require today’s supplemental vitamins.
    My mother shared her memory years ago of pouring maple syrup (or cooked molasses and brown sugar) over snow which Laura Ingalls and her siblings did to make a delicious candy.  (Not recommended nowadays with the pollutants in our snow.)  As a teen, I remember making ice cream the old-fashioned way with a hand-turned crank – nothing tasted better when it was ready!  And my sister and I attempted to make divinity, once – it wasn’t perfect, but it was delicious!  Now, a favorite of mine is to make cashew brittle – the key being a candy thermometer which neither my sister and I nor Laura Ingalls’ family had available years ago.
    It required a lot of work on the part of every family member to hunt, raise and grow the family’s food, and then to put it up for the coming winter, year after year.  If they didn’t carefully follow the steps to properly preserve their food, a good deal of spoilage could and would occur due to various elements or critters.  And, at the time of which we write, the early 19th century, canning was not yet an available option for our homesteader.  Actually, the glass Mason canning jar with rubber ring and wire clasp was not available until 1858.  But then, of course, if you could afford it, you could simplify life and buy quality foods at the grocery or butcher shop in town to maintain a well-balanced diet throughout the unproductive winter months. 
    All things considered, we really do have an easier way of life.  But, what satisfaction our ancestors must have felt in putting by their own food!  I sure did when canning and freezing the produce of our gardens years ago.
  6. Linda Roorda

    The Nail

    By Linda Roorda,

    Easter… I remember one year when I was a little girl getting a special new dress, white bonnet, and pretty black patent leather shoes to wear to church, and, of course, chocolate candy.  I also remember fun when my Mom helped us dye hard-boiled eggs. But what youngster doesn’t get excited about also getting a basket dressed up in pretty pastels, filled with sweet treats, stuffed bunnies, and other toys. And don’t forget the ever-popular Easter egg hunt with more candy or toys tucked inside plastic-colored eggs… the makings of childhood fun!  And this year, enjoyed making a chalk-art drawing on our sidewalk for others to enjoy on this beautiful day.

    But, all my life, I’ve struggled with the dichotomy of our holiday celebrations… holding close the deeper faith-based, heart-felt meanings versus the popular fun and whimsical traditions.  Sometimes it seems we take our Christian celebrations for granted.  We do appreciate them for their remembrance of all Jesus did for us, but we have not always contemplated the intimate details in a more personal way.  Focusing on Scripture and Jesus’ words, His sacrifice, and self-contemplation a few years back, my thoughts prompted this poem and contemplative reflection.
    Have you ever seen or held an old-fashioned iron nail? I'm sure many of you have, just as I have. Researching the history of nails, it’s a rather fascinating subject, and I learned that not until the latter 19th century did we begin producing round cut nails by machine.   Bronze nails have been dated back to about 3000 b.c., with the Romans the first to eventually use harder iron for their nails. Since the earliest nail was first made, each hand-forged nail has been  out individually by a blacksmith from iron heated in the fire.  The nails were typically square, flat on four sides, tapering to a point at the other end.  An online search brings up images of such nails from a hundred plus years ago all the way back to include Roman crucifixion nails.  Those old Roman nails were ominous-looking objects about 5-7 inches long and half an inch wide at the top… and doubt I’d be wrong to call them spikes.
    So, it makes me shudder to think of the damage one of those Roman nails could do to a person’s flesh and bone.  It also seems like a heart hardened to the cruelty inflicted was required for the job.  And that was after the condemned criminal had been flogged mercilessly with the flesh torn and stripped from his back until he was hardly recognizable.  I did not go to see Mel Gibson‘s movie, “The Passion of the Christ.”  I know I could not have watched it for those very painful reasons.  There’s a movie playing in my mind from reading the passages in our Holy Bible, and I prefer that personal familiarity.
    The above-referenced images are those which typically come to mind as we contemplate Jesus’s crucifixion during the Passover.  Condemned under trumped-up false blasphemy charges by Jerusalem’s synagogue leaders, yet found guiltless by Rome’s representative, the crowd defiantly yelled, “Crucify him! Crucify him!”  As the leaders promoted the release of Barabbas, a rightfully jailed and sentenced criminal, the crowd demanded that Jesus take his place on the cross instead.
    Thinking “Oh, the shame of it all!”, we also wonder how the Jews could condemn an innocent man to such a horrid death, one of their own who healed their sick and who spoke wisdom into their lives.  But they did not understand His life’s purpose.  As they condemned Jesus, little did they know they were actually fulfilling prophecy about God’s only begotten Son whose very life was a sacrifice for even them. So here I stand, holding tight that nail and pounding it in deeper with every sin I’ve ever committed… and will commit… unless I confess, repent, and accept His gift of salvation.
    And it humbles us even more to know Jesus went to that cross willingly.  The Son of God willingly died for me… for you!  He took our place… and bore our shame… to redeem us from all of our petty and monumental sins, in the past and in the future.  For “we all, like sheep, have all gone astray, each of us has turned to his own way; and the Lord has laid on Him the iniquity of us all.”  (Isaiah 53:6 NIV)  
    Yes, we have each gone astray, perhaps in only minor and seemingly insignificant ways, but our perfect God still calls sin what it is - “sin”.  To know that God deeply loved you and me before we even came to be, and that He sent His only Son out from a perfect heavenly home to this fallen world for our salvation is simply overwhelming.  “For God so loved the world that he gave his only begotten Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life.”  (John 3:16)  I am forever grateful for such a gift of love… and that He came to shower you and me with His limitless forgiveness, mercy and grace.
     And as we celebrate the death and triumphant resurrection of Jesus Christ, our Lord and Savior, let us never forget the sacrifice He made for each of us.  Have a Blessed Easter!
     
    The Nail
    Linda A. Roorda
    Gripping the iron between my fingers
    I feel its cold and lifeless form,
    And it’s at this point my wandering thoughts
    Flash back in time to another day.
     
    Would I have taken that nail in my hand
    When before me lay a man condemned,
    Bruised and beaten, battered and bloody
    A man despised, forsaken and worn?
     
    But, in fact, I did.  I did take that nail.
    With hammer in hand I raised my arm,
    To pound that nail into flesh and bone
    And heard its ring bring pain and anguish.
     
    Deep in my heart, I knew it was wrong.
    He’d done no crime, no offense or harm.
    But with every strike my sins came to mind
    For I’m the one who nailed him to the cross.
     
    And yet with each pound his face was serene
    No anger or hate… but a tender deep love.
    With tears I confessed, “My sin nailed You there!”
    While He replied, “It’s for you I died.”
     
    “It’s for you I came.  For you I suffered.
    For your very soul I gave my all…”
    Death will not gain the heart of faith,
    The heart that to Him forever is pledged.
    ~~
    2017
    A version of this poem and personal reflection was initially posted on The Network, an online resource of the Christian Reformed Church.  
     
  7. Linda Roorda

    Sometimes...

    By Linda Roorda,

    Knowing someone we love is facing the journey to her heavenly home soon, and thinking of those who have recently lost their loved ones, I wanted to share this poem and reflective thoughts today. 
    Sometimes… the pain that life hands out is just too much to bear.  You’ve lost a dear loved one, perhaps a beloved pet, or an awesome job which was an extension of yourself, maybe you live with chronic illness, or perhaps an incurable disease…
    And in those difficult times, isn’t it a wonderful feeling to have someone who truly cares come alongside you… someone willing to listen to your heart, to help ease the grief, to share your tears, to speak a few words of wisdom, to help you deal with a particular hurdle, or just to be there to hold your hand while sitting quietly with you?
    This poem was written several years ago as we continued to face my husband’s chronic illnesses.  It all began in the fall of 2008 with statin drug muscle damage and rhabdomyolysis (excretion of blood from muscles), polymyalgia rheumatica, and constant dizziness - with numerous diagnoses (comorbidities) added to the list since then with multiple hospitalizations, and near-death situations too many times.  This is a new way of life for both of us... certainly not the life we dreamed of when we got married.
    Gone are the easier and somewhat carefree days.  Gone is the freedom for Ed do what he enjoyed doing, like stacking his own firewood, being able to take care of our yard and other household chores with ease, or going for evening walks up the road… all the things we used to take for granted. 
     No longer are we able to travel as a couple beyond doctor appointments, or enjoy an evening out to dinner.  We enjoyed going to Cooperstown, New York for our 20th anniversary and later with our kids – to the Baseball Hall of Fame and The Farmers’ Museum.  We’d hoped to take a dinner cruise on the Erie Canal some day.  We long to just get in the car and go visit our children and their families; but, sitting in the car, even for doctor appointments, takes a toll on Ed with increased pain, stiffness, and a generalized sick feeling. So much of what the rest of us can do and take for granted takes great effort on his part due to various limitations.
    Yet, we both know very well we are not alone in this journey.  You, too, are likely facing your own difficult struggles… and our hearts and prayers go out to each and every one of you.  For God never promised that this journey called life would be easy just because we put our faith in Him… and may we know He is still in control no matter the circumstances. 
    A few verses come to mind that we cling to during the hard days and which give us a sense of peace (all Scripture from the New International Version):
    1)      “But he said to me [the Apostle Paul], ‘My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.”  Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me.”  2 Corinthians 12:9
    2)      “And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him…”  Romans 8:28
    3)      “So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God.  I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.”  Isaiah 41:10
    4)      For “I have told you these things, so that in me you may have peace.  In this world you will have trouble.  But take heart!  I have overcome the world.”  John 16.33
    In your most difficult times, may you feel the comforting presence of loved ones helping to ease your pain, just as you feel the presence of our Lord wrapping His arms around you in love… as He covers each one of us with His peace amidst the turmoil…  
    Sometimes…
    Linda A. Roorda
     Sometimes…
    The hurt just cuts too deep
    As you watch your loved one
    Face endless days of pain.
     Sometimes…
    You feel abandoned
    When prayers seem unanswered
    As waves of despair set in.
    Sometimes…
    You stand alone along the side
    Holding their hand in love
    Helpless to assuage the hurt.
     Sometimes…
    Tears that flow from out the soul
    Tenderly touch the heart
    When words cannot even convey.
     Sometimes…
    A hand that reaches out
    To hold, to steady, to calm
    Brings precious comfort to the weary.
     Sometimes…
    The voice of wisdom
    Gently whispers in your ear
    As the love of God gently enfolds.
     Sometimes…
    To understand the trial
    Is simply to accept
    God’s hand is still in control.
    ~~  09/09/15 ~~
  8. Linda Roorda

    I Remember A Dad

    By Linda Roorda,

    Remembering the dad I treasure, who taught us well in the ways of life... I remember a lot about him.  In fact, it would be fair to say that I had put him on a pedestal while growing up… not a wise placement for anyone. But it seems he could do anything and everything, a jack-of-all-trades, almost perfect in my little girl eyes.  Though none of us can measure up all the time, there is One who is perfect… who forgives all our failings… our heavenly Father.
    There is so much my Dad, Ralph, taught me and my five siblings, including all about the love of Jesus.   As a small child on the farm, I would say, “Jesus is my best friend!”  But, for a time as a teen, I forgot my childhood friend until my Dad reminded me of those words I used to say as a little girl.  Oops! 
    I loved playing board games on Sunday afternoons with my Dad, especially Scrabble. I love the challenge of this game and tend to play aggressively, perhaps because I was in tough competition with my Dad.  Though I won only one game against him over those several years, it was a sweet victory knowing that I’d accomplished the win without his having given me an edge… his way of readying us for the world.
    He taught me honesty was the right way such that in 8th grade English class I chose to write an essay entitled “Honesty Is The Best Policy”, receiving a coveted A.  Actually, I think I may have gotten writing and art abilities from him.  Although he was an exceptional storyteller, perfectly imitating voice and mannerisms of various comedians, I speak best through the written word.  He also had a gift for drawing with his talent for art passed on to me and my son.  He loved trains, especially the old steam engines, having grown up next to the tracks in Clifton, NJ.  I loved watching him built a passenger car for his train set, using a tweezers to handle those tiny parts.  I watched him build Packard and Duesenberg model cars, and a German Focke-Wulf plane from W.W.II, taking us with him as he flew it using a remote control system… until an unexpected gust of wind dove and smashed the plane into the ground.
    As we grew up, we loved hearing Dad tell family stories of his and our childhoods.  He had a gift for telling any story in a humorous unique way, and how I long to hear them all again.  I’d ask him to write them down for posterity, but he never did.  When he drove truck in the 1960s through the 1990s (and later huge tractors for an Iowan farmer), he’d come home with stories from the road.  He shared radio routines by Bill Cosby and southern Cajun comedians, recalling their stories and imitating accents perfectly!  That was way better entertainment than TV any day! 
    I recall a few stories of his time in the Army at Fort Greeley, Alaska (1956-1957), a foreign assignment before official statehood.  From 18 months to 2 years of age, I was too young to remember my six months at Delta Junction with my baby sister.  But I do remember having heard how he, his best buddy Roland, and two other friends found a sunken rowboat.  As it lay not far below the surface of a lake, they pulled it up, cleaned it off, and took it out to fish.  It made for an interesting adventure to say the least – while they took turns fishing, the other three worked hard at bailing to keep the boat afloat!  Now that’s dedicated fishermen! 
    Fort Greeley is also where he learned to drive big rigs.  With someone ill, he was asked to take over in the motor pool one night.  Proving he could handle backing up a trailer perfectly, the commanding officer asked where he’d learned to do that since everyone else struggled.  “Backing up a manure spreader, Sir!” was his dutiful reply.  They kept him in the motor pool, where he gained invaluable training for later driving 18-wheelers.
    He also was given a rare promotion because he took the time to thoroughly clean an office coffeepot, a skill learned from his Dutch immigrant mother who had taught him all aspects of housekeeping while growing up, like any good Dutch mother.  With a general visiting Fort Greeley, the coffee-making task was passed off to my Dad as no one wanted to be making coffee for a general!  He didn’t complain but took pains to provide a clean urn for making fresh-brewed coffee… which greatly impressed the general.  When the general asked who made the coffee, the aide who was supposed to have made it quickly “blamed” my Dad.  Instead of the feared reprimand for the typically bad-tasting coffee the office was known for, the general complimented my father on the best cup he’d ever tasted!  Turning to the senior officer, he told him to give my father a promotion!
    When we were younger, he always had time for us. I loved it when we lived in Jersey and he took us fishing at Garret Mountain in Clifton, Lake Hopatcong and Upper Greenwood Lake. It got me out of the city and into nature where I felt at ease.  And, though I could never bring myself to touch those worms (still can’t!), let alone put them on a hook, and never did catch “the big one,” it was the quality time with our Dad that meant so much to us kids.  As a tomboy, I especially enjoyed working outside with my Dad whether it was in the barn learning to care for the animals, in the huge vegetable gardens, or traipsing the fields and woods to hunt rabbit and deer.  That love just naturally transferred to enjoying time spent working alongside my husband in the barn or in the yard, and growing and weeding gardens of my own.
    As we grew older, we teens were often in our own little world yet I still adored my Dad.  He listened and gave sound advice.  I recall the day he didn’t go to work, taking me instead for a drive to discuss a problem I was dealing with.  At times though, I wasn’t ready to listen to him because, as life moved on, his anger took control and he wasn’t always there for us as a family, causing division with his divorce by expecting full support for his side.  No parent in a divorce situation should ever do that their kids.
    But I treasure our renewed relationship later in life.  With apologies for my own errors as a teen, I heard his sadness as I expressed how family dysfunction affected all of us, and he understood my saying I/we all had needed him more than he realized when he was on the road for 2-4 weeks at a time.  I appreciated his compliments on my writing for a local newspaper, my own blogs, publishing genealogy research on my Mom’s ancestry in a highly-respected national journal (The New York Genealogical & Biographical Record), and for how well I raised my family and took care of my Mom, even saying he’d never realized all the difficulties I’d faced in my life. Honesty and forgiveness cleared the way for a better relationship with love expressed to both my parents.  God truly takes our most difficult situations, working them for our good when we love Him, admit our errors, and make amends.
    My Dad’s careers changed from his love of farming, to driving a grain truck delivering feed to dairy farmers (winning top NY State Purina Feed salesman awards for 1961 and 1962), to carpentry with his Dad, a general contractor in northeast New Jersey, to driving an 18-wheeler hauling tanks locally and later OTR (over the road/cross country).  When we lived in Clifton, NJ, he drove chemical tankers locally in northeast Jersey, southern New England, and New York City.  What stories he brought home from his experiences!  I got to ride with him only twice and wish it could have been more.
    I was never so happy as when we moved back to New York in 1969!  Though I hated city life, I can now look back at special memories in Clifton where I was born.  As we settled into “backyard farming,” he taught me how to care for our mare, War Bugg, a granddaughter of Man O’ War, a retired Western working ranch registered Quarter Horse.  One of his trucking buddies also rode the rodeo circuit and put War Bugg through her paces – she did a figure-eight so tight you’d’ve thought she’d fall over!  I helped Dad build her corral and box stall in the barn, along with re-roofing and remodeling the old chicken coop for our flock.  And then came the heavy-duty barn chores of bringing hay down out of the mow, hauling 50-lb bags of grain, mucking out the pens, learning to groom War Bugg and pick up her feet to clean the soft undersides, devouring books on horses and their care, dreaming of being an equine vet.  I saw his deep concern when I stepped on a wasp’s nest in the haymow with 11 stings on my leg, and his gratefulness for my dousing him with a 5-gallon pail of water when a torch threatened to catch him on fire while trying to burn tent caterpillars, chuckling later that I almost drowned him!
    But I also learned the hard way that running War Bugg flat out up the road and back could have killed her.  Not realizing the depth of War Bugg’s Western training, I’d simply clicked my tongue and she took off like a rocket, so I let her run… on the paved road.  I was scolded hard, yet taught to walk her slowly, allowing her to have only small sips of warm water till she cooled down.  After riding her another time, I dismounted, tied her to the backyard light pole, and ran into the house briefly.  On returning, I realized she’d pulled on and broken her bridle, standing as if still tied with reins straight down.  And it was then I realized she was Western trained to be “ground tied” and to take off at the click of the tongue, very responsive to touch, the absolute best horse!  I still miss her…
    Soon enough, I got married and began a new life with my new family, while my siblings and parents scattered themselves around the U.S.  Life changes, and we change with it. As a child, I teased my Dad when he turned 30 that he was old, and that when he’d turn 50 he’d be “over the hill!”  Well, Dad, guess what?  Your oldest daughter reached that milestone a good ways back, and she’s still kickin’!  Giving him this writing in 2014 before he passed away April 17, 2015, his wedding anniversary with my Mom, he knew I felt blessed to have him as my Dad.  Sometimes I wish I could go back and relive the childhood fun of days long ago, but I treasure those memories that linger still... and I love you, Dad!
                                                                                                                                                       I Remember A Dad
    Linda A. Roorda
    I remember a dad who took me fishin’
    And remember a dad who hooked my worms,
    Who took those hooks from fishy mouths,
    And showed me the country way of life.
    ~
    A family of six, two girls and four boys
    Fun and trouble we shared as we grew.
    From farms and fields to paved avenues,
    Walking and biking, exploring we went.
    ~
    I remember a time spent playing games,
    A dad who’d not cheat for us to win.
    Family and friends and holiday dinners,
    Lakes and farms and countryside drives.
    ~
    Weeds were the bane of childhood fun,
    So ‘tween the rows we ran and we played.
    But as I grew and matured in age,
    Weeding was therapy in gardens of mine.
    ~
    I remember a dad who thrived on farming
    Livestock and gardens, and teaching me how.
    I remember a dad who took me huntin’
    Scoutin’ the fields, always alert.
    ~
    I remember a dad who taught us more
    For growing up we learn by example.
    I remember working alongside my dad
    Roofing a barn and building corrals.
    ~
    I remember a dad whose gifts were given
    In fairness to meet each child’s desire.
    I remember a dad whose wisdom we honor
    In memories of caring and love in small ways.
    ~
    I remember a dad who brought us laughter
    With Cajun and Cosby stories retold.
    For blessed with a gift of retelling tales
    Family and childhood events he recalled.
    ~
    I remember a dad whose time was given
    To help his children face life’s turmoils.
    Time spent together are memories treasured
    For things done best put family first.
    ~
    I remember a dad who taught me more
    To treasure my faith in Jesus my friend.
    In looking to Him as Savior and Lord,
    Salvation by Grace, not earned by my deed.
    ~
    As I look back to days long ago,
    I remember the dad I knew so well.
    For I miss the dad who took me fishin’
    And remember the dad who taught me more.
    ~
     
  9. Linda Roorda
    (Originally published as front-page article in the local newspaper, Broader View Weekly, March 21, 2013. )
    My family’s memories: 
    Sharing about the old ways of collecting sap and making syrup brought to mind the stories my mother has shared over the years.  The Tillapaugh family of 12 children in Carlisle, New York made and sold maple syrup for several generations, and my cousins continue the annual tradition today.  My mother, Reba, and her younger sister, Lois, readily recall the childhood fun, albeit hard work, of helping their dad and older siblings during the 1930s and 1940s.  Lois shared with me, “As the youngest I did look forward to maple syrup time.  A lot of hard work, but worth it, with memories forever.” 
    Their dad and older brothers used a hand-turned brace to drill holes in about 300-plus trees.  They’d pound in the spiles from which buckets were hung, with lids placed by the younger girls.  When the sap ran, besides regular dairy farm chores and caring for a few thousand chickens, they had daily sap gathering.  This involved dumping each bucket’s worth into a holding tank on a large bobsled pulled by a team of black Shires (Dick and Daisy) or Belgians (Bunny, Nell, and Tub) on a trail through the woods.  My mother said that if rain got into the buckets it turned the sap brown, and they threw that out.  And, they often trekked the woods to gather sap with two or more feet of snow on the ground.
    Carlisle’s woods are not like those in our south-central finger lakes region.  Carlisle has rolling hills with limestone boulder outcroppings, many crevices and mini-caves.  With Howe’s Cavern near Cobleskill, the town of Carlisle and the Tillapaugh farm also have small caves with nooks and crannies throughout the woods.  There was a defined trail for the horses through the woods, but everyone had to walk carefully among the trees.  I remember as a child seeing a good-sized cave opening in the ground in the woodlot next to one of the farm pastures, so I can attest to their having had an interesting trek among the rocky outcroppings to collect sap.
    With a love for horses since my childhood when my father farmed with Belgians (and Clydesdales before marrying my mom), I can visualize the Tillapaugh’s harnessing their black Shires with flowing white “feathers” on the lower legs, listening to them clop along, stepping high in unison.  I can imagine the creaking harness and traces, maybe bells tinkling, the big sled’s runners scraping along a gravel road or gliding atop the snow. 
    At this point, my mother chuckled to recall a day she rode out on the sled carrying the sap tank with an older brother, Maynard.  When he jumped off as they went up a hill, the sap tank tilted and she fell off, the sled nearly running over her but Maynard stopped the horses just in time.  Another time, she got a tiny piece of metal in her eye from a bucket lid.  The doctor had a large magnet to draw the speck out, but she refused to let him, petrified it would pull her eye out!  She has no idea how the metal ever did get out of her eye, but there was no damage.
    When the holding tank was full, it was taken to the sap hut, and sap drained into one of two 4x8-10 foot evaporator pans over a wood fire.  I questioned her about the size of those pans, but she was adamant about the very large size.  Considering her memory has not failed her for other details, I saw online there were, indeed, evaporator pans this large.  The oldest brothers stayed at the sap hut boiling all night, often around the clock, watching the temperatures carefully with thermometers.  Lois also recalls their mother made lunches which the girls took out to their brothers.  
    My mother agreed with my aunt who said that “when the partially cooked syrup was ready, it was brought to the house in milk cans.  Mom would finish boiling it to the correct temperature over a kerosene stove in the summer kitchen, and strain it through felt into gallon glass jugs, mostly for home use, some to sell.”  My mom added, “Some syrup was boiled down more to make maple candy, or poured over the snow for a delicious sweet chewy treat.”
    Maple syrup helped their family deal with sugar shortages and rationing during the Great Depression and World War II.  At the end of the season came the hard work of cleaning all the equipment, repeated when the season started.
    After the youngest Tillapaugh brothers, Winfred and Floyd, retired and sold the family dairy herd in 1974, they built a modern and efficient sap hut closer to home.  Using both pails and plastic tubing, Floyd’s son, Duane, recalls other cousins helping them tap a few hundred trees in a venture which eventually grew to around 1000 trees.  “Back then, we put a pill in the drilled hole [to kill] bacteria.  I believe that’s illegal now.  We burned wood, but Dad rigged up a thing that would blow old motor oil in when it was close to syrup [stage] to make the fire hotter to push it to syrup.”  They sold syrup from home in pint, quart, half-gallon and gallon containers, also making maple cream and candy.  Their peak years produced about 200-250 gallons of syrup annually.  That was, indeed, a sizeable maple syrup operation!
    I researched online articles about the use of paraformaldehyde pills/tablets in the tap hole years ago.  Controversy has surrounded its benefits of cutting bacteria and helping the tapped tree heal versus the pills leading to fungi setting in with increased decay versus the fact that formaldehyde was making its way into food for human consumption.  Therefore, its use became illegal in the 1980s.
    Knowing that Native Americans made maple syrup centuries ago, I delved into their sugaring process.  They would make a slash in a sugar maple tree, collecting the sap as it dripped out.  Hollowed out logs were filled with fresh sap, and white-hot field stones were added to bring the sap to boil.  The Indians repeated this process until syrup stage was reached, or until they had crystallized sugar.  When the first Europeans arrived, the Indians traded maple sugar for other products, and taught their sugaring secrets to the new settlers.  
    Referred by my cousin, Bruce Tillapaugh, a retired Cooperative Extension agent, I contacted Stephen Childs, the New York Maple Specialist at Cornell University.  Childs said, “Cornell has a number of resources for backyarders and beginning maple producers.  Much of the information is available online at Cornell Maple.  We have a Beginner DVD and Cornell Maple Videos.  We hold many Beginner Workshops in the fall and winter.  A maple camp is held in June that is three full days of instruction for new commercial producers or small producers planning to expand.  There are recorded webinar programs online that interested persons can watch.”
    I also found a brochure online for the beginner written by a local resident:  “Maple Syrup Production for the Beginner” by Anni L. Davenport, School of Forest Resources, The Pennsylvania State University; Lewis Staats, Dept. of Natural Resources, Cornell University, Cornell Cooperative Extension, 1998.
    Maple syrup not only tastes good, but with a little more research, I learned it’s good for you!  It is a natural source of manganese and zinc, important for our immune defense systems.  Zinc is an antioxidant which protects our heart by decreasing atherosclerosis and helping prevent damage to the inner lining of blood vessels.  It is also known that a zinc deficiency can lead to a higher risk of prostate cancer.  Zinc supplementation is used by healthcare practitioners to help reduce prostate enlargement.  Studies have also found that adults with a deficiency in manganese have decreased levels of HDL, the good cholesterol.  Manganese helps lessen inflammation, key to healing.  Just one ounce of maple syrup holds 22% of the daily requirement of this key trace mineral. 
    Syrup also contains iron, calcium and potassium which help repair damaged muscle and cells.  It can settle digestive problems.  It can help keep bones strong and blood sugar levels normal, help keep white blood cell counts up to protect against colds and viruses, and maple syrup is not a common allergen.
    With all the goodness going for itself, 100% pure maple syrup is truly worth all that hard work!  Enjoy!
  10. Linda Roorda

    Heroes of Yesterday

    By Linda Roorda,

    I’ve read books or stories from virtually every war in which men and women of our nation, including my immediate family, relatives and ancestors, have been involved.  Their sacrifices have deeply touched my heart as I live a life of freedom, a blessing either limited or unknown to so many elsewhere in this world.  Yet, our families have not known a loss of life in war during this past century.
    A few years ago, friends of ours shared some treasured family papers with me before the reign of Covid-19 when friends could freely visit.  Several boxes of treasures were given to this friend by a relative, mementoes she never knew her mother had kept.  They included old photographs and newspaper clippings.  What especially touched her heart were family photos and letters, especially from one of her brothers who had died in World War II.
    Her mother had saved numerous clippings of the war from a local Binghamton newspaper.  Here were reports of a war’s ups and downs, of the efforts of battle-worn troops, of men who paid the ultimate sacrifice, and of soldiers who returned home safely.  Also included were touching news reports by Ernie Pyle, a reporter embedded with troops in the European theater and later in the South Pacific. 

    Pyle was a beloved reporter in the U.S. and abroad.  He had a way with words, evoking an empathy from his readers for the servicemen he wrote about.  A reporter who opened his readers’ eyes, he put a personal touch to the effects of war, and to the emotions of hard-won battles for freedom’s sake.  I remember him well… no, I did not grow up during the war, but had purchased and read his book, “Brave Men,” as a teen.  Perusing through my friend’s papers, I knew I had to take Pyle’s book down off my bookshelf and refresh my memory. 
    As I continued to read through my friend's papers, thoughts and emotions swirled around and the poem below began taking shape.  I have always been grateful to those men and women who have joined the military to protect our freedoms and to gain the same for the oppressed around the world.  But to think about each one who has ever gone off to war, to remember them as their family knew and loved them so well… is to contemplate the little child who ran into the loving arms of parents with boundless energy, full of love and joy… the playing and learning he or she did under their wise and watchful eyes… the teen coming to terms with adolescent struggles… the young adult who emerged from military basic training with a new sense of purpose… the seasoned soldier whose loyalty to his or her unit proved a perseverance and bravery they never thought they had… and the final tribute paid to one who gave his or her all that others might live… is to contemplate the heart and soul of each one who left behind a sweetheart or spouse, beloved parents and siblings, and even children… the one forever remembered for a life interrupted, of the great sacrifice made, and of the legacy now carried in the heart and soul of those who have grieved their loss.
    As we celebrate Veterans’ Day today, may this simple poem evoke in you a heart of thanks for all who have served and returned home safely, or who paid the ultimate sacrifice in any war.  Without a willingness to put their lives on the line for the sake of freedom, we would not be enjoying our “…land of the brave and home of the free.” 
    Thank you to each of you who has served in the military, and thank you to those who paid the ultimate sacrifice with their life.
    Heroes of Yesterday
    Linda A. Roorda
    Where tyranny reigns evil’s at the helm
    As the young and free who know only peace
    With faces brave must enter the fray
    In the fight for rights we take for granted.
    ~
    Responsibility trains boys into men
    With troop cohesion, a unit’s tight bond
    To honor and hold each life in their care
    For freedom’s defense and the rights of all.
    ~
    Orders to battle and the hell of war
    The call to arms which tests the mettle
    For within each heart lies the chance to prove
    The value of truth to fail or succeed.
    ~
    From red alert to general quarters
    Emotions run deep in calm before strife
    Of imminent fight and future yearnings
    Always thinking, “If I get through…alive…”*
    ~
    The sounds of war above stealth and fear
    The zing of bullets and bombs that explode
    Challenges met, overcome with courage
    Proving capable the common valor.
    ~
    Back home they reflect, living fear and dread
    Loved ones waiting for word from afar
    A card or letter received with relief
    Until the knock comes when time stands still.
    ~
    The letters home that ceased too soon
    As horrors of war burn deep in the soul
    Who’ll be the judge at the end of combat
    What the heart ponders to serve and protect…
    ~
    To gain advantage with success for peace
    To hold these truths that all may live free
    To lift the spirit and rebuild from loss
    As we remember peace has a cost.
    ~~
    *”Brave Men,” Ernie Pyle, Henry Holt and Company, Inc., 1944, p.5
  11. Linda Roorda

    A Friend

    By Linda Roorda,

    There is something truly special about the love of a friend… something to treasure and be thankful for!  The bond that develops is hard to break… especially when tested by time and circumstances in all of life’s ups and downs. 
    A friend shows empathy and genuine concern for another’s well being.  A friend understands the other’s need of a quiet respite for a time when life comes hard against them.  A friend reaches out in those difficult times to say, “I’m here… whenever you need me.  I won’t interfere… just know that I’m here for you.  I love you, and support you with my thoughts and my prayers.”  A friend once told me when we were both going through extensive health issues, “Now you’ll learn who your true friends are,” and she was so right.
    A friend shares your joy, while you share a gladness of heart when they are blessed, even during times of your own hardship.  Encouragement flows from one heart to another and back again for the endeavors you each pursue… strengthening the bond between both, sharing peace, joy and contentment. 
    A friend speaks truth to settle disputes.  A friend does not begrudge another their needs.  A friend does not mock, lie, retaliate, or deceive for personal gain.  A friend is willing to apologize, recognizing their own failings.  A friend forgives, yet discerns with God’s wisdom when the relationship is abusive.  And in forgiving, with or without apologies from the other, establishes boundaries of responsibility and accountability with honesty… for there are times when a relationship is detrimental and one must walk away, even when no one else understands, allowing God to work His healing.  He will give you strength and courage… for trust and respect are earned and maintained within a healthy and stable relationship, bringing honor to God.
    A friend listens with a servant’s heart… not for what they can get or take, but for what they can offer from their heart… whether with contemplative quiet or words of wisdom... without expecting anything in return.  Which all reminds me of a good marriage when you each give 100%. Needless to say, we all have times when we give less to our spouse, or to a friend.  But we don’t stay there.  We discuss and overcome what has upset us, knocked us down, and we apologize, forgive, and move forward with 100% once again.  With accountability, and that kind of trust and giving, we exhibit God’s love as He intended.
    And dear are the friends who, on getting together even infrequently, love each other enough to pick right back up where they left off as if there had been no time or distance between their meetings.  As Eleanor Roosevelt once said, “Many people will walk in and out of your life, but only true friends will leave footprints in your heart.”
    Such a friend is a blessing from God… someone who understands your heart… who complements what you already have or perhaps are lacking… who is able to wisely point out where you may be in the wrong… who can share in your joy… who can simply and quietly be there when your heart is breaking… who can give loving support to help accomplish a task when your skills might be limited… who will gladly come alongside with no expectation of repayment or recognition in any manner for a good deed… being someone who simply loves the other just for who they are.
    And so, we give a heartfelt “Thank you” to each of our dear friends who have stood by us, and supported us, through the numerous life challenges we have faced over the years. Such a friend… a spouse… can be so like our Lord… the One who blesses our heart with abundant love… who comes alongside, gently calling us away from life’s harms… who loves at all times… and who lays down His life to cover our sins… as we seek Him for all of our needs.  A friend like no other…
    A Friend
    Linda A. Roorda
    A friend reaches out to touch your soul
    As you share a love and a bond that twines
    From the time you meet you’re drawn in close
    You want to know more about this new friend.
    ~
    A friend is one who will ever be near
    Ready with kind words and a caring heart
    A friend will share the depths of your soul
    Midst tears that flow and the days of joy.
    ~
    A friend is waiting with arms held out
    To listen with care and understanding
    To hold you tight when life overwhelms
    To never let go no matter the trial.
    ~
    A friend gently holds your heart with joy
    Like a rose in bloom with beauty fragile,
    Yet strongly stands to face stormy days
    That test the strength of ties that bind.
    ~
    A friend is there to listen at length
    When anger erupts like a storm at sea
    And days arrive with hurts that steal joy
    To clear the heart of issues that strain.
    ~
    A friend will wait no matter how long
    To regain the lapse when life interrupts
    As you pick back up where you both left off
    Not missing a beat with hearts in tune.
    ~
    A friend’s precious words lift up your heart
    To heal the wounds and cover the scars
    With guiding wisdom extended in love
    To cheer the soul and renew the joy.
    ~
    A friend brings peace for a troubled soul
    To share quiet time and ease tensions tight
    To calm the fears and carry the loss
    And help you walk a difficult path.
    ~
    A friend shares the joy that floods your soul
    The blessings of life in showers rich
    Those unannounced and those from long hope
    As you give sweet praise for heaven’s ways.
    ~
    A friend will give their life as a gift
    To sacrifice self for the gain of all
    A friend clings to hope that the best in you
    Will still shine bright when all else seems lost.
    ~
    A friend there is no greater than this
    Than the Lord above with His love divine
    He holds out his hands, draws us to His side
    And blesses our hearts with joy from a friend.
    ~~
  12. Linda Roorda
    In researching your ancestors, you will hit brick walls – guaranteed!  When you do, think about who the most recent known ancestor was.  Remember that we discussed previously how the Dutch used a specific naming pattern.  Each child was named after the grandparents, alternating back and forth to include each of the child’s grandparents, great-grandparents, then aunts, uncles and parents, the parents' names, etc.  Other ethnic groups, including the Germans, often used a similar pattern, but did not follow it as consistently.  By searching census records of the community where a particular family was known to live, I found the probable paternal grandfather of a friend’s ancestor.  It appeared her ancestor’s middle name was that of the probable grandfather, thus creating a crack in her brick wall.
    Often, names changed spelling over time depending on the speller’s knowledge, or were changed to reflect the pronunciation.  Your surname today may not be how it began a few centuries ago.  My maternal family name of Tillapaugh began as the Swiss Dällenbach, being changed in the early 1800s among several lines, including the usual Dillenbeck/Dillenbach, etc.  Another example is the German Jung, pronounced and often Americanized as Young.  From the 1600s New Amsterdam, my Dutch VanKouwenhoven morphed into Conover.  My French DeGarmeaux from the Albany area became DeGarmo, while my German Richtmyer became Rightmyer in other lines. 
    Another example of surname change is found in my Revolutionary War families.  The original Swiss Dübendorffer became Diefendorf after arrival here in the 1730s.  My ancestor Georg Jacob Diefendorf remained loyal to the crown during the Revolutionary War.  However, his son, a staunch patriot, took his mother’s surname (his own middle name) as his new surname, becoming John Diefendorf Hendree, to disassociate himself from his father.
    Paying close attention to details helped me find the marriage date for my ancestors Christina Dingman and Jacob Kniskern.  Sorting book by book in one row of the genealogy section of the Steele Library in Elmira, I saw a tiny church book for Montgomery County, New York.  This is a typed transcription of original handwritten church records.  Having seen these church records online, I knew exactly what I was holding.  Searching page by page, I saw the name of “Conescarn.”  Suddenly, I realized that I was looking at the phonetic spelling for the old pronunciation of Kniskern; now the “K” is silent.  I’d discovered what no one else had recognized before - my great-great-grandparents’ marriage date of October 17, 1840!
    My family's Kniskern name began as Genesgern in church books from the 1500s in Germany.  It is one of the oldest documented pedigrees of any New York 1709/10 Palatine emigrant according to the author Henry Z. Jones, Jr. in his personal email to me.  See his two-volume set “The Palatine Families of New York 1710” which I own with invaluable family data.  Mr. Jones and his assistants went to Germany and systematically searched records in every town and old church to document as many Palatine-region emigrant families as possible to provide solid documentation for today’s researchers.
    When researching old families, it is also helpful to know that Sr. or Jr. and Elder or Younger do not necessarily indicate father and son as it does today.  Often, this title was used to differentiate between extended relatives or unrelated men within the same community who happened to have the same name.  With the old naming pattern, it was not uncommon to find “umpteen” men and boys by the same name in town and church records.  Without the title or other differentiation, it can be difficult to place them correctly in their family of origin, though key is noting the birth parents and baptismal sponsors.
    Census takers frequently wrote a surname based on their own spelling ability, which, I discovered, was often quite atrocious!  Be flexible.  As you search records, try various spellings as names were often written as they sounded.  That fact alone can make all the difference in finding your ancestor.  Even my McNeill name, consistently signed by the oldest family members with two “l”s, was spelled variously on census records as McNial (likely written as pronounced by the old accent), McNeal, McNiel or simply McNeil (without the second “l”).  Several years ago, I transcribed the online 1810 census for Carlisle, Schoharie County, New York and posted it on the county genweb page.  Some names were very misspelled; but, being familiar with many of Carlisle’s families from research, I understood the intended names and put them in parentheses.
    However, in hitting your brick wall, do not jump hastily into accepting published genealogies.  If there is evidentiary proof with solid documentation (like I provided for my published genealogies in footnotes) from reputable journals or well-documented books or actual hard proof in family Bibles and church records, then you should be able to accept them.  But, again, beware!  I found false leads, fake ties, and erroneous data which I proved wrong with personal old-fashioned research, part of my published thesis.  It pays to put in the extra effort to prove your data.
    I also want to stress that I do not readily accept claims of family ties to famous historical folks, Mayflower ancestors, or royalty - nor should you.  Maybe you truly are connected, and know that I'm excited for you! But I want to see sound documentation, preferably family Bible records, church records, baptismal, marriage and death records, or cemetery records for every generation backward as possible. Also know that most well-documented earliest generations in America begin in the 17th or 18th centuries.  Viable records previous to those centuries in Europe are not always available.
    Since Ancestry.com has records from Britain, Ireland, Wales and several European countries, it is a valuable subscription resource.  You can also hire one of their professionals should you feel the need for their assistance.  A general search online for records from a particular nation may also be helpful as I found a reputable website with documented birth and marriage records from the Netherlands for my grandmother’s lineage.  I purchased the book on my paternal ancestry documented by a woman married to my direct cousin; she just happened to work in the genealogy division of The Hague, and we are now friends.  Though her work can definitively trace my paternal ancestry only to the early 18th century, I’m satisfied.  And I was amazed to see the book held the photo of a Dutch constable, a brother of my great-grandfather, who looked uncannily like my Dad, even to how he stood!! 
    Some of your best resources can be found in books containing transcripts of original documents and/or in legitimate family records placed at historical or genealogical societies.  Unless you know that what you hold in your hands is truly legit, do like I did to prove my lineage beyond a doubt – tackle the hard work yourself to prove every ancestor.  Yes, it’s time consuming and takes years, but the end result is truly worth the effort! 
    May I also suggest that once your research is done, give a copy to the local historical society where your family originated. I donated a copy of my 600+ page manuscript on my mother's family to the Schoharie County Historical Society at the Old Stone Fort in Schoharie, and eventually plan to donate all my numerous file folders full of research and correspondence (whatever my family does not wish to keep). By doing so, you will aid future generations of seekers.
    Again, many genealogies were written in the past with ties to royalty and early American Mayflower ancestors which have since been proven false.  A number of resources regarding what to look out for are available at the following websites:
    LDS Family Search “Fraudulent Genealogies.”
    Genealogy.com’s “Fraudulent Lineages” by Nicole Wingate.
    Genealogy’s Star blog:  Genealogy as a Fraud.
    Tips on accuracy of research in “Bogus Genealogies” by George C. Morgan.
    COMING NEXT:  County Historical and Genealogical Society holdings.
  13. Linda Roorda
    I'm sharing something a little different today.  Yesterday would have been our Jenn’s 43rd birthday, now celebrated in her heavenly home. As family and friends, we never forget a loved one who has left us, especially sooner than we expect.  Yet, we can remember and celebrate their life with joy as a blessing from God. Today, rather than a poetry reflection, I’d like to share memories in Jenn’s own words from psychology class at Houghton College.  It gave me insight into her thoughts, experiences, understanding of her family, and thoughts on her future.  This is what I longed for after she died – something in her own writing, her perceptive memories, providing a window into the heart and soul of who she had become.
    With a double major of elementary education and psychology at Houghton College, she earned her Master’s degree as a School Psychologist from Alfred University a month before she left this world the end of June 2003 at age 25.  I found comfort and peace in writing about her life that summer and fall, a healing catharsis, and appreciated reading her college papers, like the one below, and learning more about who she was as a young adult. May you be blessed in your own memories of loved ones who have left this world before "their time."
    UNIT ONE:  Childhood Recollections and Experiences:
    Jenn drew a floor plan of our house, and was asked to “sit quietly and try to recapture the sights and sounds and smells of each room,” and “the experiences and feelings [she] associated with each.”
    A – Who lived in this house with you?  When we first moved into this house, my family consisted of my mom, dad, sister & myself.  However, the house was built while my mom was pregnant w/ my little brother.  He joined our family two months after we moved into this house.
    B – What was your favorite place?  Why?  My favorite place was the basement because a section of it was set up as a playroom.  I spent hrs. playing here w/ my sister & brother.
    C – Where were your secret places?  I don’t remember having any secret places.  Mom kept pretty good track of me & my siblings.
    D – What room or area of the house do you remember as the most unpleasant or uncomfortable for you?  Why?  I didn’t like having to go to the basement at night when it was dark.  I wouldn’t leave the safety of the stairs until I had turned on the lights.  I disliked having to retrieve something from the garage the most.  This was because it was dark, damp, cold & quite (sic, quiet).  I was afraid something would get me when I opened the door.  I also remember us having a slight problem w/ a mouse in the basement when we first moved in.  That may have contributed to [my] fear.
    E – What was the prevailing atmosphere or mood in your house?  Before I was nine, I remember the mood being fairly cheerful.  Afterwards, the atmosphere was filled with some tension, worry, & yet also a lot love & caring.
    F – What was your most significant experience during the time you lived in this house?  How was this experience significant?  When I was in 2nd grade, my grandparents had to sell the family farm b/c my dad could no longer help his father.  My dad’s eyesight was deteriorating.  Over the years. he continued to lose what little sight he had & he eventually was declared blind.  This experience put a lot of stress on my family, especially my parents’ marriage.  But our faith in God held us together & pulled us through this difficult time.  As a family unit, we are much closer now.  Family is very important to me.  I learned important lessons about being supportive to others & persevering through hard times.  I also had to mature quicker as the oldest child & take responsibility for my sister & brother.  Note:  My dad now works as a customer service manager for a local company.
    G. Think about your early experiences with your family at mealtime.  Family mealtime (supper) was my favorite part of the day. We would all get a chance to discuss our day of school or work, sharing disappointments, as well as exciting news. It was also a time filled w/ humor & laughter.  My Dad, sister, & brother were gifted w/ a sense of humor, & always had my mom & [me] laughing so hard it hurt! I know we also had conflict w/ one another at the table, but all the good experiences dominate my memory overwhelmingly. After eating we almost always had family devotions.  These have changed as my siblings & I have grown up.  First my parents read Bible stories to us.  Then once we learned to read, we all took turns reading the stories.  Now we read the “Daily Bread” booklet.  These experiences really pulled us together.  I believe this is one activity that helped us through my dad’s blindness.  I will forever be thankful for these good times &hope to continue the tradition when I marry & have children.
    I have learned how much I value my family.  They are so important to me.  They are my support, my source of encouragement & of love.  The exercise on mealtime was the most valuable exercise as it made clear the importance I place on family.
    UNIT THREE:  Alfred Adler and Individual Psychology:
    I - Early Recollections:  “To understand a man we must know his memories.”  --Ancient Chinese Proverb
    A.  Beginning with your first recollection, identify your earliest specific memories.
    1 – My earliest memories begin in the trailer my family lived in from the time I was born until I was 4.  I remember that when I was about 2-1/2, I would crawl into my sister’s crib in the morning.  I was really proud of my baby sister.  I liked talking to her & playing w/ stuffed animals with her until mom got us up.
    2 – Another memory from the trailer that I have is when my family got a dishwasher.  However, my sister & I were more interested in the box that it came in than the dishwasher itself.  My mom put the box in the backroom & my sister & I would often play in it.  Our favorite game was to put a larger than normal beanbag on a small cart that some wooden letter blocks normally set on & place that cart on top of the box.  Then we would crawl inside and shake the box until the cart fell off.  Then we would repeat the process.  It was simple but great fun.
    3 – I remember moving in August from our trailer into our newly built house.  I remember going from room to room, checking everything out. The coolest part was the stairs.  For some reason my sister & I were absolutely fascinated by them.  Once we were fully moved in, we would pretend to have picnics on them.  Once again, it was simple but great fun.
    4 – In October, my brother was born.  I don’t remember a whole lot about this.  However, I do remember my dad dropping my sister & [me] off at my aunt’s house and picking us up at night for about 2 days or so.  I remember being excited about getting a new brother, but I also missed my mom & couldn’t wait for her to come home to play & read books again.
    5 – I remember going to the family farm & spending time in the barn w/ my dad & my grandfather.  I liked to sit on top of the feed cart w/ my own little scoop so I could “help” feed the cows. I also liked playing w/ the barn cats, & mixing up the formula for the calves.  I felt grown up when my dad would let me carry the flashlight as we walked home at night or allow me to help carry the milk pail.  I also liked riding on the tractors w/ my dad.  The only bad experience that I remember from the barn was a time that I was following my dad & was running to keep up.  I cut a corner too tight & ended up face down in the gutter of manure.  My dad picked me up and carried me home so mom could clean me off.
    II.  Reflect upon your early memories. My memories seem to be focused on experiences primarily w/ my sister (i.e. memories 1-3). We did everything together as kids & even today I feel close to her.  I am also close to my brother.  Overall, I think my memories reveal my strong attachment to family.  My memories reveal a happy environment in which I received love & had enjoyable times.  My family is very close-knit.  I think this has helped us in our times of trouble, b/c we knew we could lean on one another.
    As for explaining my present personality, I think the closeness & the trust that I built w/ my sister & my family as a whole has led to my tendency to trust others. I also think the pride I mention in memories about my siblings reveals my tendency to act “motherish” at times, specifically w/ my siblings.  My early experiences in the barn represent an early introduction to responsibility & my dedication to getting a job done on time.
    B.  Inferiority Feelings:  Adler believed inferiority feelings form the basis for all human motivation and striving. 
    Once my sister & I were both in school, I began to have feelings of inferiority. She always wanted to do what I could do, and once she learned it, she often performed better than I did.  I felt threatened; as the oldest child, I wanted to maintain my “superior” position.  I didn’t have an inferior organ, nor did anyone receive excessive indulgence & pampering, & I wasn’t rejected or neglected by anyone.  My parents consistently worked to temper any competition, & establish the fact that we each have our own individual qualities & strengths.
    E.  Style of Life: Adler believed basic life-style patterns and structures of personality are established early in life… 
    I value friendship.  I think it may come from the close companionship that developed b/t my sister & I as children.  I also don’t like conflict.  My mom deterred my siblings & I from fighting.  I remember having to sit on the couch & hold hands for several minutes after having arguments w/ them.  I also didn’t like seeing my parents fight during a stressful time in our home & try to steer away from it myself.  I’ve also been a very quiet & compliant child.  I allow other people to dominate conversation & I go along w/ the majority consensus – typically.  There are of course exceptions.
    I think I am a combination of the avoiding type and the socially useful type.  I like to avoid conflict. I know how to get around issues & how to choose my words wisely to keep from causing a problem.  However, when a problem does arise that requires attention, I do face reality & attempt to solve it.
    I also admit that I am shy & do not talk a lot.  But, those people who know me well, realize I am very interested in social activity. I care about others and wish to help them out as needed.  I also enjoy being involved in committees and other extra-curricular activities.  I was quite involved while in high school.  However, since entering college, I have found myself having to concentrate more time on studies & have not been able to do a lot of other things.
    G.  What are some of the important things you have learned about yourself?
    This entire unit on Adler’s theory of personality was very interesting & helped me learn a lot about myself.  I discovered how oriented I am around achieving excellence & wanting to be the best I can be in all areas of life. Working with children also seems to be a highly important thing for me.  I have a genuine concern for children who don’t have the same opportunities to succeed that I had.
    UNIT SIX:  Psychosocial Theory:
    1.a.  Think back to your early years in school.  Was this a discouraging time for you, or were you able to achieve success in learning and developing the skills necessary? I don’t remember a concentrated time of frustration although I did struggle with learning some things as any child does.  For example, in 1st grade I had a hard time learning to read.  With extra help from my parents at home, I soon caught on & excelled. However, I had already been molded into a stereotype at school and could not move out of the lower reading groups because of it.  So my parents stimulated my reading interests at home.  I think their efforts kept me from giving up.  In other subjects I tended to succeed & overall I enjoyed school.
    1b. My parents helped me a great deal with reading & I grew to enjoy it & excel at it.  I also remember participating in 4H.  A neighbor lady held meetings in her home once a week.  I enjoyed this & did well at cooking contests.  
    2.  In efforts to establish a stable ego identity, has your quest for an occupational identity been a major concern?  Maybe, to a certain extent.  I know that I want to work with children in some way, shape or form.  But I haven’t been able to fully identify what it is I want to do. I have thought about teaching elementary school and thus, I am an El. Ed. major.   I also have considered some kind of counseling, or maybe even a school psychologist. Thus I am also a double major in psychology.  I am slightly confused about which way to turn, but I haven’t totally panicked yet.  But my identity has not been solely based on my future occupation. There is more to who I am than the job will hold after school.  I trust God in that area of my life and have tried to develop my other characteristics.
    3.  We are living in a time of changing sex roles and patterns, and there is much sex-role confusion in our society.  Have these social changes contributed to your personal difficulties in achieving a stable ego identity?  No, this has not influenced me at all.  I come from a “non-traditional” home in some sense, because my dad is blind and I’m used to him being a house-husband.  He, of course, does have a regular job now, but he continues to help my mom out with laundry and grocery lists and cooking, etc.  I believe both males and females can share in household duties.  I also see nothing wrong with a woman choosing to be a housewife. If I ever have children, it is in fact my desire to stay home to simply be a mom and a wife.
    As far as occupations go, I think each person should do something that will best use their skills and talents and will make them happy.  I, however, am against any legislation that will make it mandatory for men and women to be absolutely equal.
    5.  Discuss the strengths you have developed and the tasks yet to be completed.  I think I have established a stable ego identity.  The values I have formed are ones I hold to quite strictly.  I am capable of handling responsibility given to me by others.   I have set goals for myself and am considering various options for my future beyond Houghton.  I know I am shy, yet able to voice my opinion when necessary.  I have established preferences for what I like to do in my free time, food I like to eat, etc.   I generally know who I am and am satisfied with the roles that I play in the relationships I have with family, friends, etc.   
    6.  Am I strong enough in my identity to fuse myself with another without fear of losing my own identity, autonomy, and integrity?  I think I am ready and have been ready to be in a close relationship with another person.  I know who I am as a person.  I have confidence in my special skills and abilities and I am able to respect others for who they are and am willing to help as needed. I began my first ever relationship almost exactly a year ago.  It has been a very healthy and satisfying relationship.  We get along very well.  We are both mature individuals and are able to discuss our differences (when they occur) in an appropriate manner.  We have also had to deal with our relationship being long distance.  We have very open communication lines with a “no secrets” policy. We also allow each other to continue the development of our varying interests.  We are both interested in learning about what the other person does or likes.  Lastly, we build each other up and encourage one another in our individual pursuits.  We complement each other well and I am grateful for him being a part of my life.
    7.  How are your mother and father each expressing and developing ego maturity through generativity?  I remember when I first left home to come to Houghton and the difficulty my mom had with “losing” her first born.  She cried a bit.  However, it has gradually gotten easier.  She recently made a comment that she and my dad will like having the house to themselves after having a weekend of no kids.  I had to smile.  My mom is also becoming engrossed in a genealogy project of my dad’s family and would like to do one of her own family. It’s a little harder for my dad since he’s blind.  He can’t just choose to do something.  He doesn’t appear to be bothered, but I can’t really judge for sure.
    F.  Old age – integrity versus despair with old age, the final psychosocial stage of ego development and maturity. 
    (Note: I am talking about my dad’s parents since I see them more often.)  I think my grandparents are developing integrity as they are now in the final stage of ego affirmation.  They are both still very much in love with each other.  They also have an excellent sense of humor.  Laughter can be expected when we visit them.  I also enjoy hearing about the past – including experiences that were good and others that were bad.  No matter how a situation turned out, they’ve accepted it and have moved on with life.  They are also very willing to help others and to give advice.  Before my sister and I got a car this semester, my grandparents helped my mom with the task of driving us back to Houghton after breaks.  They do, of course, have problems, but generally I think they are quite well adjusted into their last stage of development.
    G.  Summary - What are some of the important things you have learned about yourself after doing these exercises?
    I have learned that the environment my parents provided me as a child and as a teen has facilitated a healthy outcome at all of Erikson’s stages.  I also think my faith in God has been an asset in my development.  It helps with things like careers to know that God is in control and He will guide you.  He has been a source of strength through all sort of problems and trials, and a blessing in times of happiness.  In addition, I’ve learned how important healthy relationships with others are in developing yourself.
    The entire unit was quite informative and I found it interesting to reflect on the issues that were raised.
    Professor:  Great – A wonderful job overall!  Thanks Jennifer!
  14. Linda Roorda
    As we conclude our discussion on how and where to begin your ancestry research with suggestions based on my experience, I thought it would be helpful to collect the online resources in one place.  The following is a list of some of the many online sources which I found most helpful. 
    I also continue to stress that not all submitted family records on any given site are totally accurate.  Unintentional errors and misspellings in data do creep in.  It is up to you to seek out and prove the accuracy of whatever data you find online about your ancestors.  Unless you know a book is truly accurate and can prove the author had sound documentation, do not take a published book as fact “just because it says so.”  That’s how I proved errors that had been accepted as fact for decades as I noted previously.  The extra footwork involved can be extensive, but it’s worth every effort put forth to have solid documentation for your family’s ancestral heritage.
    Click on each website you wish to visit entitled in bold black and underlined:
    Ancestry.com – free 1880 census record; but, for an annual subscription fee, you get in-depth census records from 1790-1930, military records, city and national records, land records, international records, family trees, baptisms, marriages, death index records, and so much more.
    Family Search - free website with 1880 census records, baptism, marriage records, death records, and submitted family data.  Books and documents on microfilm can be ordered and viewed at a Family History Center of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints, locally in Owego or Elmira.  They also have a free down-loadable Personal Ancestral File, PAF, which I have used, though I prefer the Family Tree Maker.
    My Heritage – discover your roots in a free trial to a subscription-based genealogy compilation.  I have not used this site.
    Olive Tree Genealogy - free old church/cemetery records, 1600s ships’ lists, records for New Netherland, Palatines, Mennonites, Loyalists, Native American, Military, and Canadian data, etc.  I found this website to be very helpful in my early research nearly 20 years ago.
    RootsWeb – free source of records, county genweb sites, surname lists, e-mail lists, posted documentation for cemeteries, church records, family websites and more. Recently underwent a full-site rebuilding, so I am not as familiar with its changes, but it's well worth checking out for valuable resources under various sections.
    CyndisList - free listing of American and International records and resources – a great resource.
    Vital Records – U.S. birth certificates, death records, and marriage licenses for a fee.
    U.S. GenWeb – free County GenWeb sites with a lot of data to aid your research.
    Three Rivers – free source for middle-eastern New York families in the Hudson, Mohawk, Schoharie river regions, family genealogies, books, etc. 
    Sampubco - Wills from several states, but not all wills.  Fee for copies.  I purchased several wills from this website and was very pleased with the service.
    National Archives and Records Administration –  Click on Veterans’ Service Records section to begin searching.  You will find military service records, pension records of veterans’ claims, draft registration records, and bounty land warrant application files and records available. Order forms are free, but you pay a fee to order copies of records. Well worth the cost.
    NARA contact/forms – see various forms listed for National Archives Records Administration, government war records.  Obtain free forms from which to order military records including pre-Civil War full service records or pension application files (on NATF Form 85 and/or 86; forms are free).  Some list family members, others do not.  You will find a good amount of information in files re: a soldier’s service, enlistment, capture, discharge, death, etc.,; these records provide valuable documentation.
    Soldiers and Sailors Database - Civil War Soldiers and Sailors Database for military records.
    Statue of Liberty and Ellis Island Foundation - search passenger and ship manifest records free, or order quality record copies for a fee.  Ship manifest records are also found at Ancestry.com, a subscription resource.
    New York Biographical and Genealogical Society – very trustworthy site with many online articles/records; they are working to put more records online; however, most are limited to membership in the Society.  The Steele Library in Elmira has the full set of the New York Genealogical and Biographical Record and the New England Genealogical Journal.  I can attest to the high quality of published research and records in both journals.  I used these journals in my research, with my documented research articles published in the NYGBR.  Search my name and you will find my published articles.   In order to publish, you must prove all of your statements with solid documentation.
    Making of America, Cornell University – old books, magazines, newspapers online in searchable/readable format – worth wading through this free resource.
    Higginson Book Company, Salem, Mass. - old maps, family surname genealogies, county/state historical books, published cemetery and church records, etc. Contact for free catalog; copies books/records obtained for a fee but worth it, from which I purchased a few books.
    Olin Uris Library, Cornell University - Cornell University’s guide to research in their extensive holdings.  They note that, unfortunately, not all their genealogical books are kept in one section. 
    Find-A-Grave - free resource of many gravestones around the United States.  Be careful of family notes – I found errors in a family of my close relatives; when I contacted the contributor who added notes tying my family to theirs by error, there was no response, no correction.
    Tri-Counties Genealogy & History by Joyce M. Tice - A local website for genealogy research and local history in Bradford Co., PA, Chemung Co., NY, and Tioga Co., PA.
    TIPS ON FRAUDULENT LINEAGES:
    Family Search Fraudulent Genealogies
    Genealogy Today: Good Researcher Gone Bad
    Gustav Anjou, Fraudulent Genealogist
    Genealogy.com, locating published genealogies
    Genealogy Bank:  Researching your Pilgrim Ancestry from the Mayflower
    Again, locally, the Steele Library in Elmira has an excellent genealogy section on the second floor to aid your research.  I spent many a Saturday morning searching through their collection for documentation on my ancestry data and can highly recommend it.  Cornell University also has a major genealogy library collection, but I was afraid to go on campus for a personal visit. 
    I purchased several books for my personal library of my family ancestry with records of the Early Palatine Families of New York 1710 by Henry Z. Jones, Jr., history of settlement and families of Montgomery and Fulton Counties, NY and Schoharie County, NY, CDs of the New York Genealogical & Biographical Record articles, early Schenectady families by Pearson, and so much more if anyone is interested in a lookup.
    And, last but not least, your local library can order books through the interlibrary loan system.  This was a tremendously helpful resource to me for out-of-county and out-of-state historical/genealogical books, including those in Cornell University's repository.  I could not have done it without these resources. 
    I must also give credit to the many friends I made along my genealogical journey, some of whom proved to be distant cousins and have remained close friends, and from whom I learned.  We shared data, books, and a love for our ancestral families.
    And now, I wish you every success as you search for your ancestors.  Enjoy your journey!
  15. Linda Roorda
    If I give all but haven’t got love… then what good is my all that I have given… for what good is the giving without the right intentions?
    The biblical love chapter, I Corinthians 13, says it so well. We can’t perfect on those great words.  But I do enjoy putting my own words to the intent of Scripture… that exercise helps me contemplate the deeper meaning and truth within God’s Holy Word.  And if a poem emerges for us to enjoy, then praise goes to the Lord for helping me find the right words.
    I once saw a poster with the words, “Love isn’t love until you give it away.”  I focused on those words and their meaning.  They burned a path into my thoughts, and became forever embedded… for they were the words that saw me through labor the afternoon that my second daughter, Emily, was born… and I gave my love away to a beautiful precious little girl.
    Love is a meaningless word unless there is meaning behind the word love.  On giving even the least of gifts, if it comes from the heart, the depth of caring is felt and treasured by the receiver.  With faith and hope, we cherish each other from a heart of true love… it’s simply unmistakable.
    But it can also be said that the opposite of love is a rude and self-serving attitude.  Yet, even in this, love can break through.  Though accountability may be necessary to explain and denote the wrongs that were committed, when genuine repentance meets true love and forgiveness they walk hand in hand, and the wrongs are forgotten.  How like the grace-filled love we receive from our Lord!  When we confess and repent our wrongs, He showers us with His all… as mercy and grace flow over us with overwhelming love and forgiveness.
    If I give all with love, how I give will reveal the depth of love in my heart… 
    If I Give All
    Linda A. Roorda
    (based on I Corinthians 13)
    If I give all but haven’t got love
    Where is my heart when the poor I aid,
    For without love nothing will I gain
    When glory I seek in praises of men.
     
    And if I speak in language diverse
    Expounding on life and the meaning thereof,
    And should I teach, mysteries to explain
    But don’t have love, how foolish the sage.
     
    For love is clothed in virtues of truth
    Is patiently kind without envy’s greed
    With modesty’s joy and humility’s garb
    Courteous to all, a generous heart.
     
    An evil heart is not my delight
    In truth alone does wisdom rejoice
    For love that trusts and always protects
    Will always hope and always persevere.
     
    I once was a child in actions and words
    But as I matured, reason spoke wisdom
    As I left behind my childish ways
    To reveal in part imperfections laid bare.
     
    For if I give all with a heart of joy
    Integrity’s voice will lead the way
    As faith, hope and love remain resolute
    Convincing the world the greatest is love.
    ~~
    2015
     
  16. Linda Roorda
    Ever have visions and hear voices? Ever have a hunch, a sixth sense about something? Seems like it guides us to do something positive, or maybe helps us make a decision. I’ve had many instances. Most times I paid attention to the message; but, I’m ashamed to say, sometimes I did not heed the voices. Deeply touched by my friend Ann’s blog about her visions and voices, she encouraged me to share my own.
    Twice I sensed something bad was going to happen and couldn’t shake that feeling for weeks, until…
    Another time I had the strong sense a friend was very sad as I sat down at my work computer, but didn’t write her a note then…
    Many times, I’ve heard a loud voice speak as though someone was right next to me…
    And one time I had a heavenly vision…
    When I finally shared about my vision, it was a few weeks later. I’d worried what people would think. It’s not normal to see visions or hear God speaking to us, right? Well, wait a minute… not so fast. Let’s back up a bit. I should have known better…
    One of the clearest voices I’ve heard was after leaving an abusive employment situation. I’d resigned from the new job because of an unexpected inability to function and make decisions… I was hearing my former boss yelling and belittling me in my mind, and felt like an absolute and total failure. I literally could not think how to address an envelope!! Driving home, contemplating ending my life by crashing my car into just the right tree, I passed the home of my Dad’s friend and former Army buddy. I’d known him since I was a 2-yr-old toddler when my family lived in Alaska as my Dad finished his Army foreign assignment, before statehood. Roland lived out his strong faith in God, and now, driving past his house, I clearly heard the voice of God say, “I’m here for you. Your family needs you. You will be okay.”
    Nightmares and flashbacks then began of abuse from my teens and by my former employer, while also having very real property and car damage, but the cops did nothing to find the perpetrator. Yet, like David wrote in Psalm 91:2, “I will say of the Lord, ‘He is my refuge and my fortress, my God, in whom I trust’”, God was there for me in many ways during this extremely difficult time… as I took encouragement from His spoken words to me in the car that day. Seeking professional help, I was diagnosed with PTSD which had actually started after verbal rape in junior high. God knew why He allowed me to go through all these circumstances to get counseling, and my healing process began…
    Another time, I had the strong sense that something bad was going to happen. It was a few weeks before Christmas when our kids were little, and I couldn’t shake the feeling. Ed didn’t think there was anything to it, saying I was just being overly pessimistic. That heavy feeling stayed with me until Christmas Eve when he was taken to the hospital with severe chest pain. The doctors found he had a pulmonary embolism. A blood clot from his leg had passed into his lung, but he was going to be okay. I’d sensed something bad was going to happen…
    One morning as I sat down at my work computer, I had an overwhelming sense that Mary Jane, my friend since junior high in New Jersey, was very, very sad. Thinking about sending her an email, I decided my negative feelings were inappropriate and did not write. The next day, Mary Jane emailed me that her mother had passed away… a few hours before my premonition. I felt so badly about not writing her… if only I’d written a note of love and compassion when prompted…
    I also had a strong sense I needed to visit my Uncle Pete and years later an elderly friend, Edna. It was the last time I saw my uncle before his passing. Edna was in the hospital, more serious than I knew. Taking her last breath while I was there, my simple presence meant a lot to her family…
    Then came the spring of 2003. I had an overwhelming sense that something ominous was going to happen. The thought that the world was going to end that summer kept coming to mind, but just as quickly I’d push it away. It was too dark a thought, until…
    We awoke on June 11, 2003 to a hot and humid morning. I considered canceling the trip to the Watkins Glen Gorge with my girls, Jenn and Em, but we decided to go anyway. Anticipating a great time, we climbed the winding steps hewn out of rock in the entrance tunnel, rounded a curve, and stood at the top… gazing out at a downpour! How’d that happen so fast? We looked at each other and laughed – there had only been a few scattered rain drops when we entered the tunnel… someone had turned the faucet on! As it slowed to a drizzle, we walked on, enjoying the scenery of waterfalls and pools, plants and flowers.
    “We walked along, taking a few photos, as I held my umbrella over the cameras to protect them from getting soaked. I noticed the plants, telling the girls what they were, absorbed in the many varieties of ferns, flowering plants, and greenery. The girls were chatting together, enjoying the gorge, usually walking behind me, sometimes in front. As I enjoyed the plants, rock formations, and waterfalls, several times I clearly heard the words spoken loudly as if someone stood next to me, “Watch them.” Each time, I’d pay attention to my girls for a bit, but then drift back to observe the plants or the beauty of the gorge. I felt uncomfortable hearing those words, paying more attention to my girls for a while; but, the pull of nature was too strong and my focus would shift again. How could I have known that God was prompting me, and I didn’t heed His prodding better to “watch them…” Why didn’t I listen and watch them more closely?” (from Watch Them… A Mother’s Memories, by Linda A. Roorda)
    About 2-1/2 weeks later, Jenn collapsed at home in Alfred, suffering heart failure as blood clots passed through to her lungs, disrupting heart and brain function. Life support was removed two days later on the afternoon of June 30, 2003, and our precious daughter, wife of Matt, entered the joys of Heaven. Having asked God, “Why? I don’t understand?”, He provided Scripture in the Rochester International Airport! Waiting for our other daughter Emily’s arrival from California that morning, above us and to our left hung a plaque with Psalm 139:13-16: “For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother’s womb. I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful; I know that full well. My frame was not hidden from you when I was made in the secret place. When I was woven together in the depths of the earth, your eyes saw my unformed body. All the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be.”
    “The morning after Jenn passed away, I sat on the bench in my flower garden in the eastern corner of our back yard. It was sunny, but still cool. This was my favorite spot, enjoying our yard from that perspective. I could look back at the house and think about my family. I could admire God’s creation in peace and quiet, listening to the chattering of the birds fluttering all around. As I prayed, thanking the Lord for Jenn’s life, praying for peace and comfort in our loss, I had a vision of Jennifer. She was at the base of a hill, in a sunlit field of beautiful flowers, standing near a tree, surrounded by children, and indescribably happy. I heard Jenn say, “Be Strong.” And then she was gone as quickly as she’d appeared… leaving me with an overwhelming sense of peace…” (Watch Them… pg.11)
    Even Ed had a vision of Jenn with long hair, describing how she sat on the sofa in a manner he had never seen due to his blindness. But I knew it was for real because that’s exactly how Jenn “sat” – stretched out, feet and legs curled “under” her, while she cupped her chin in her left hand with that elbow leaning on the arm of the sofa!
    I’ve had more premonitions, though I cannot recall the details. And, on two occasions, I clearly heard a voice with a message. In one, I was told to get out of a friendship, and the other time told not to reply to someone’s inappropriate words… but, thinking I knew how to handle both situations, I did not heed the words heard… later confessing to God how wrong I was not to trust the validity of the messages… learning the hard way to always be attentive to His voice, His messages…
    God shows His love to each of us in many different ways, ways that are as individual as we are, and in ways we may not always recognize as coming from Him. Yet, even when we don’t give Him our full attention, He continues to reach out to us, drawing us closer to His side. Both Psalm 139:13-16 and the words “Be Strong” have continued to be precious words from the Lord that I’ve clung to. With visions and voices from our awesome God, He has held me in His hands, wrapped His love around me and blessed me with His peace, a peace beyond understanding…
    My friend, Carla Cain, had asked me late last year if I’d join her podcast, Balms for the Soul, as a guest speaker with my poetry and reflective blogs. I’ve really enjoyed this project to record them. Click to listen to this podcast here. Sharing some serious difficulties I’ve faced in life, you’ll hear how God used them to work in my life as I recovered from traumas and abuses, in the hopes of reaching others who might need encouragement in their own difficulties.
    I’ve also expressed to Ed that sometimes poems burst forth faster than I can write them down. And, also expressed discouragement in wondering why God gives me words that express storms of life instead of love poems. We both feel strongly these are the words God is bringing out of the depths of my soul, healing my wounds, giving voice to what others might be feeling, while also sharing the depths of God’s loving care in all we face… confirmed in hearing how deeply some poems have touched the hearts of others.
    There’s just something of a personal touch in hearing the spoken words, so I encourage you to take a few minutes of your time to listen to this as a podcast. And God bless you in knowing He walks beside you, including on those most difficult days, as He leads and guides us along the way. With much love and hugs...
    The Hollow of Your Hands
    Linda A. Roorda
    In the hollow of Your nail-scarred hands
    You gently hold my fragile life.
    You carry me and protect me
    And whisper words of wisdom’s wealth.
    ~
    You wrap me in your calming presence
    You shelter me in the raging storms.
    Your comfort brings a gentle peace
    With endless joy that overflows.
    ~
    Your arms of strength enfold the weary
    My faltering steps you gently guide.
    You lift my face when tears rain down
    And give more grace when You I seek.
    ~
    Your voice of wisdom sustains my soul
    With lamp held high You lead the way.
    When You I trust, forsaking folly,
    The winding path for me You straighten.
    ~
    In the hollow of your loving hands
    You gently hold my fragile life.
    You keep my soul in perfect peace
    When all my heart abides in You.
    ~~
    Listen to this Poetic Devotions podcast by clicking here:  Visions and Voices
  17. Linda Roorda
    Today, I’m celebrating the gift of my mother. When I pulled this together, she was still with us, though terminal. Sadly, she passed away late Monday night, August 23, a month before turning 88. Through her hospitalization and return to the nursing home, I was once again reminded how thankful to be for each new day.  Growing up, we kids heard very little about my Mom’s growing up, though I loved visiting my relatives on The Farm, sleeping in the big feather bed with feather blankets and pillows, admiring all the antiques, waking up to the clinking milk cans put on the truck to go to the creamery, walking through the barn and fields with cousins Sandy and Gary, seeing the opening to a ground cave whose waters came out in Cobleskill, eating my first bowl ever of Life cereal at their huge table, the large kitchen with floor to ceiling cabinets from one end to the other along one wall, and playing inside the big farmhouse where once upon a time my mom and her siblings slid down the long railing on the stairs. This was a place I loved, of which I carry my own special memories. Enjoy this look back to my mother’s childhood, the "good ol' days", a time and place that emanates with images of “home.”   
    My mother, Reba (Tillapaugh) Visscher was born and raised on a farm in Carlisle, NY at the corner of Cemetery Road and Rt. 20, the Great Western Turnpike. Her parents were Leo and Laura (McNeill) Tillapaugh. 
    As #11 of 12 kids, she grew up on a large dairy farm which included pigs and about 3000 chickens, and the ubiquitous draft horses for field work.  They did okay during the depression because their farm and large garden provided food for the family.  Her parents drilled a well for running water after they’d been married about 20 years and had 10 kids.  Though they had an old pump to bring water up in the well, I cannot imagine the work of running a home and farm, and a large family, without running water! 
    Grandma T. cooked large meals every day, made delicious homemade bread in her old-fashioned woodstove oven, made scrumptious cookies (I fondly remember her big tin of molasses cookies in the huge pantry from which she let us get our own cookies, after we asked her of course!), homemade ice cream, plus fed traveling crews at harvest time.  She also found time to tat and embroider, raise a vegetable garden to can for winter, grew gorgeous flowers, visited the sick and shut-ins, and more.
    My mom remembers that the winters were much worse than they are today -  “It seems like it got cold earlier in the fall than now.  We would pick drop apples in the fall and have cider made.  My mother kept a 20-gal. crock by the back door of the farmhouse.  I remember coming home after school and running to that crock, breaking the ice, and drinking some of that tasty cider!  My favorite black farm cat, Skippy, had 7 toes on his front feet; he’d stand on his hind feet, reach up and turn doorknobs with his front paws!!
    I attended the one-room schoolhouse, William Golding, which used a dry cell system for power like my dad did before electric was put in, and the school had an outhouse.  My favorite teacher in the one-room schoolhouse was Miss Santora who went skiing in the fields with us kids!  We had a big woodstove in the center of the schoolhouse, and when it was very cold we would sit around it to keep warm.  I remember the temperature was -25 degrees one morning, but my father was not able to convince the principal to close school that day.  Somehow, we got there, but then it closed at noon.  My sister and I tried to walk home but it was hard to breathe in the bitter cold and wind, so we called my father to pick us up at the Brand Restaurant opposite the school. 
    It was normal to get 2 feet of snow in storms or blizzards.  The wind was so bad in big snowstorms you didn’t know which way you were going.  I’m told that in the Oswego area, people tied a rope around their waist to keep from being lost.  We didn’t think of that, but we always made it. 
    My father had a big wooden scoop pulled by the horses to clear snow out of the driveway.  In 1943, my father bought a Massey-Harris tractor; later he had the steel lug wheels changed to rubber tires, and a plow was rigged on that tractor.  We had an ice storm, I believe in February 1943, and light poles snapped like toothpicks.  The town had an old Lynn Tractor and it was used to plow town roads; for state roads, they had big motorized trucks.  I don’t know what they did to clear the roads before tractors and trucks were available, but I assume horses were used.
    I think it was in 1945 or 1947 when the snow came and the wind blew for three weeks, and we were out of school all that time!  Drifts were so high and hard we could walk the horses on top.  The workers broke all the snowplows in town, but the county had a snow blower which was used to open all the roads.  I heard they had to keep the blower between the light pole wires as they could not tell where the road was.  I don’t know how my dad and other farmers got their milk to the creamery then, but, again, I assume they used horses.
    Rt. 20 was the first to be kept open in snowstorms.  My parents often put people up overnight when the road conditions became terrible.  Before Rt. 20 was widened about 1941, the road was very slippery when raining and was icy in winter.  One time a Greyhound bus went off the road and into the field off Rt. 20, south of our house.  They used a bulldozer to pull it out of the field. 
    A state trooper would ride a big Harley during the summer.  When he arrested someone, my dad, as justice of the peace, would hold court downstairs; we would be in the room above the dining room, listening through a stovepipe hole!
    We had about 3000 chickens in a building west of the main house and we kids helped to water and feed them.  The eggs were weighed, cleaned and crated by hand on Sunday night, and sometimes as many as 7 large crates of eggs went to the hatchery in Albany every Monday morning.  My mother candled hundreds and hundreds of eggs to ensure a quality product was in those crates. 
    We took milk to the creamery every day in traditional milk cans, and supplied wood to heat not only our house but the church and one-room school.  We raised several pigs with my father holding a neighborhood butchering day on our farm in the fall.  After the butchering was done, he cut up meat for the smokehouse, put some in crocks of salt brine, and made homemade sausage, etc.
    As gangs of local farmers traveled from farm to farm to help each other at harvest, my mother fed the crews when our farm was harvested.  She had all her recipes tucked away in her head, and made the most delicious ice cream, hand cranked by us kids clamoring for a turn!  She even shared beautiful flowers from her gardens with local shut-ins.
    About 1938 or 1939, Admiral Byrd’s snowmobile, the Snow Cruiser, was run up Rt. 20 on its way to Antarctica. As a child, age 5 or 6, I was afraid to go inside when it stopped near our farm on Rt.20.  The rubber tires were not appropriate for use in the severe cold, and it was abandoned in Antarctica.  There was an article and photo about it in the July/August 1996 “Reminisce” magazine, pp. 39-40.
    My family made our own maple syrup and sold some, and still do that now, nephews still farming the original family homestead from the very early 1800s.  Even the original house is still used!  Back when I was little, my brothers would tap 300 maple trees (which grew to hundreds more over several decades, now limited numbers again) for sap to be boiled down to syrup, so sugar rationing during World War II was not a problem for us.  We trudged through deep snow in the woods each spring to help. 
    My brothers also cut ice off the ponds in the winter, stacking and packing it in sawdust in the icehouse on the back side of the barn.  Ice was cut from farm to farm the same way summer crops were harvested - by harvesting bees of many farmers working together.  It doesn’t seem like ponds freeze over long enough or thick enough to do this now.  That ice sure helped make my mother’s delicious ice cream – I think hers was the best at the ice cream socials!"
    My Mom shared that growing up in the Great Depression you had to make your own fun.  She and a few sibs took their Little Red Wagon out by the road to pick up the grass mown by the highway dept. They’d pile the wagon high, and pull it back to the barn. Mind you, this was in the days of real horsepower.  So, imitating how their dad and older brothers put hay up into the mow with the huge hayforks on rope pulleys with the horses doing the work (as my mother, and other young sibs, walked the horses back and forth repeatedly), she and her sibs took ice tongs and smaller ropes, slinging the rope up over and above the cow stanchions.  With kids on each side, the ice tongs held bits of hay as the kids on the other side lugged on the rope to pull the hay up and over, and down into the feeding trough for the cows!  Now that’s imagination!  Reminds me how I used to milk cows when I was 4-5.  In the barn with my dad as he milked in Marion, NY, I stood on a bale of hay, moving an old teakettle along on the road-side wall ledge, and stop to “milk a cow” every few inches! 
    There are so many memories my mother has shared of her family who she treasured. She greatly appreciated my extensive genealogy research and documentation of every line in her ancestry back to the 1630s New Netherlands Dutch, English, and French, the 1710 German/Swiss Palatines (Tillapaugh came from the Swiss Dallenbach, each of her parents descending from two brothers in one particular German line), 1720ish New England Scots-Irish.  She was proud my work was accepted for publication in three research delineation articles on her Hutton and McNeill ancestry in the New York Genealogical and Biographical Record. 
    My mother's father was a jack-of-all trades, not just a farmer, but a man before his time, passing away too young, when she was only 16.  I learned from my Mom that it was from him I had inherited green eyes.  He built a top-quality registered Holstein herd with Canadian Holstein-Friesian bulls before most other farmers.  I remember seeing bulls as a kid in their pens as I peered between cracks in their wooden stalls.  Besides a dairy herd and chickens, he raised pigs, and sold extra hay. He took community responsibility seriously as Carlisle town highway superintendent, Carlisle school superintendent, Justice of the Peace, and Cobleskill school board member and president. A highly respected man of the community was my Grandpa Leo, as well as Grandma Laura.
    Photo Credit: Professional photo taken in 1910 of Hutton Family Reunion, Cemetery Road, Carlisle, NY, original farmhouse built in early 1800s, where my Tillapaugh cousins continue to farm today.
     
  18. Linda Roorda

    Your Voice I Hear

    By Linda Roorda,

    What our thoughts focus on tends to tell us where our heart resides.  We may focus on our loved ones, our hobbies, fun and games with friends, climbing the corporate ladder, earning a vast estate, and collecting things… reminding me of the popular saying, “The one with the most toys wins.”
    Don’t get me wrong.  These are not, in and of themselves, inherently wrong.  Instead, it’s the how and why behind that which we focus on.  I’m no different than anyone else.  I like my “things” – especially my collection of reproduction Delft, particularly the tiles hung in my kitchen which remind me of our Dutch heritage.  My grandfather had remodeled their kitchen, putting Delft tiles into the wall design, something I had always admired.
    But these things mean nothing to my spiritual and eternal well being. Instead, it’s who I heed in my heart, whose word I focus on to direct my life.  And I willingly admit, it’s not always easy to stay focused… for this life calls in all its many splendored ways.  So I especially appreciate my favorite Psalm 139:1-18, 23-24 (NIV):  “You have searched me, Lord, and you know me. You know when I sit and when I rise; you perceive my thoughts from afar. You discern my going out and my lying down; you are familiar with all my ways. Before a word is on my tongue you, Lord, know it completely. You hem me in behind and before, and you lay your hand upon me. Such knowledge is too wonderful for me, too lofty for me to attain. Where can I go from your Spirit?  Where can I flee from your presence? If I go up to the heavens, you are there; if I make my bed in the depths, you are there. If I rise on the wings of the dawn, if I settle on the far side of the sea, even there your hand will guide me, your right hand will hold me fast.  If I say, ‘Surely the darkness will hide me and the light become night around me,’ even the darkness will not be dark to you; the night will shine like the day, for darkness is as light to you. For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother’s womb. I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well. My frame was not hidden from you when I was made in the secret place, when I was woven together in the depths of the earth. Your eyes saw my unformed body; all the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be. How precious to me are your thoughts, God! How vast is the sum of them! Were I to count them, they would outnumber the grains of sand - when I awake, I am still with you… 23 Search me, God, and know my heart; test me and know my anxious thoughts. See if there is any offensive way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting with you.”
    Years ago on the farm, a gate was accidentally left open.  Late that evening, Ed’s dad got a phone call.  Cows were in the fields of another farmer about a mile or so up the main road, and the caller was trying to determine to whom they belonged.  Ed and his dad went up to see if they were their cows, and, sure enough, they were.  But they were scattered all over!  The neighbors wondered how in the world they’d gather the whole herd and get them back to our farm.  “No problem,’ said Ed’s dad.  He simply started clapping his hands and began walking up the road.  And to the stunned amazement of the neighbors and other farmers, every one of those cows calmly and peacefully gathered behind their leader and followed him home… back to the safety of their own pasture. 
    For you see, those cows had been trained since they were little calves to come to the clapping – it meant food and a clean stall in the barn. As they grew older and became part of the milking herd, they continued to respond to their master’s call… for clapping still meant food and a clean stall in the barn at milking time!
    And isn’t this how we respond to our master, our shepherd… our Lord?  If our heart has been trained to listen to His words of wisdom, we will respond and heed His call.  When we find ourselves in time of need, we’ll seek Him and follow His leading along His path.  As Jesus said in John 10:14:  “I am the good shepherd; I know my sheep and my sheep know me…”
    God knows my every thought, He establishes my path and guides my way when I wander off, calling me back to His side.  What peace and comfort are found in His words.  And may it always be His voice that I hear and pay attention to.
    Your Voice I Hear
    Linda A. Roorda 
    On You above my thoughts do focus
    You see my heart and the depths thereof,
    The secrets hidden away from the world
    For You know the thoughts that reside within.
     
    Yet I freely admit I wander away
    What You expect is beyond my grasp.
    Though I stumble, and now and then fall
    You pick me up to try once again.
     
    As Your tender voice calls gently to me
    In the midst of life and trials of pain,
    What shall I fear though my frets alarm
    When your face I seek and You are my guide.
     
    May I ever hear Your voice in my ear
    But more important may I heed the nudge
    Of a still small voice down deep in my heart
    A voice whose wisdom guides my every step.
     
    It’s a voice that brings singing to my soul
    With a joy that fills my heart with peace.
    For I cannot fail to see You around
    You’re always there to hear my heart’s song.
     
    How great is Your love that You’d call me near
    Close to Your side from out of this world,
    A world of cares, a world of troubles
    Gently enfolding, Your love touches me.
     
    For You called my name before time began
    You cared for me with a tender joy.
    You carried my heart gently in Your hands
    And stretched out Your arms to wrap me in peace.
     
    You gave away Love, the depth of Your heart
    To make my heart sing with joy each new day.
    You lift up my soul and fill me with praise
    As Your love for me encompasses all.
    ~~ 2015 ~~
    Photo taken by my friend's husband, Hugh Van Staalduinen, 
    of churches where I grew up in East Palmyra, NY.
     
  19. Linda Roorda

    The Stalwart

    By Linda Roorda,

    The old red barn stood tall on an open flat, alone against the gray sky, testament to a long life.  It had weathered countless storms, looking just a bit worn… another great photo by my friend Kathy’s husband, Hugh Van Staalduinen.  And once again, the picture painted a thousand words that raced through my thoughts.
    As we celebrate Father’s Day today, and my husband’s 70th birthday this coming Saturday, that barn seemed to be the perfect illustration of Ed’s character over the years.  In fact, the day I saw the photo, and wrote this poem in a couple hours five years ago, I was waiting to bring him home from yet another hospitalization.  Stalwart and steadfast, he’s remained standing no matter what life has sent his way… a true gentle giant.  And like that barn, he’s faced many storms head on, never bending or collapsing as the winds attempted to shake his foundation.  He’s remained firm with his faith in the Lord, resting secure in God’s provision and love, a pillar of strength for all of our family.
    Yet, it hasn’t been easy.  There have been some serious storms that sent waves crashing against him… and against us as a couple.  Despite some plain old-fashioned trials, dashed hopes causing great disappointments, the loss of a daughter, and his losses of sight, physical strength and ability, he’s overcome those trials with an inner strength and peace that comes from his faith in the Lord. 
    And now, facing a continued ebbing of strength and ability with the progression of permanent muscle damage caused by statin/cholesterol drugs, and worsening congestive heart failure, we’ve begun discussing what we should do when he can no longer function and get around on his own.  In all honesty, we don’t know what our options will be in the not-so-distant future.  We’re facing new frontiers.
    Still, through each difficulty, his and our faith has grown stronger, for we’ve learned “[We] can do all things through [Christ] who strengthens [us]” (Philippians 4:13)  As I’ve said many times before, James 1:2-4 puts it so well, even though we don’t want to welcome another difficult challenge.  “Consider it pure joy my brothers and sisters, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith develops perseverance.  Perseverance must finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, lacking nothing.” 
    Being “strong in the Lord and in His mighty power” (Ephesians 6:10-13) is the foundation on which we survive great storms and come out standing. (Proverbs 10:25) … Just like that barn in Hugh’s photo.  If we have a good foundation on the solid rock (Godly wisdom), weathered by time (experience), the structure (our character) will stand tall… and prove stalwart and unwavering. 
    The Stalwart
    Linda A. Roorda 
    Stalwart and stoic through the test of time
    Facing the world to weather life’s storms
    Meeting head on whatever befalls
    Humbly proclaiming, steadfast I stand.
    ~
    Bringing together nature’s harmony
    Weathered and worn, reliably true
    Dependably there to meet others’ needs
    Asking for nothing but structural care.
    ~
    Like the pioneers who settled this land
    And carved their place from wilderness wild,
    Weathered by nature midst elements raw
    They kept life sheltered from all threats and harm.
    ~
    Without proper care, wood planks become warped
    Foundations fail without wisdom’s base.
    Oh, can’t you see!  The meaning is clear!
    How like old barns are patriarchs wise.
    ~
    Learning through hardship true wisdom is gained
    Taking a stand for what matters most,
    Sometimes enduring alone in the crowd
    Serene and secure midst turmoil and storm.
    ~
    God bless the stalwart, unwavering friend
    Who braves the path no matter the storm.
    Of foe unafraid, on wisdom standing
    Steadfast and loyal with comforting peace.
    ~~
  20. Linda Roorda
    How do you write a tribute to celebrate a life, and capture the essence of 70 years in just a few words? I couldn’t, but will share some snapshots of Ed’s life that I read yesterday at Ed’s burial service with several family and friends present.
    When he went back to the ER yet again on January 13th, Ed calmly told me he was praying for God to take him home. He was tired and worn out from the constant health issues he’d had since October 2008. He wanted me to know how much he loved me and our family, and that he could not have done life without me at his side for those 48 years - well actually 49 years if you count from Christmas Day 1973 when we started dating.
    But I also want to share that Ed’s cousin Kevin called me March 29th.  He told me something he was hesitant to tell Ed when it happened, and now wishes he had. He had wanted to tell me after Ed passed but was afraid of breaking down so he waited … but in November, he’d had a very vivid dream of Ed.  Kevin was in front of his house when Ed appeared and said “Hey Kevin! Look what I can do!” as he ran back and forth!!  Kevin believes it was a premonition that he didn’t realize at the time, a treasure!! 
    Ed was an easy-going, laid-back kinda guy, with a great sense of humor. When his friend and coworker Jeff Grover, who he thought highly of, picked him up for work at VTI and apologized for oversleeping and being late, Ed would simply say, “It’s ok. You must’ve needed the extra sleep”. Ed was kind and compassionate to a roommate who’d had a terrible night after surgery such that Ed got very little sleep. Bruce, who grew up a dairy farmer and was a disabled policeman, so appreciated Ed’s kindness and reawakening of his own faith in God that when Ed was discharged, he got out of bed to give Ed a hug and broke down crying on Ed’s shoulder for the friendship bonding they’d shared that week.
    Ed did not like attention on himself. He was quite a fighter in life and never gave up, working hard to prove he could do things with his limited vision. Over the past several years of his illnesses, he was determined to do whatever he could, for as long as he could, rather than sit back and do nothing. His faith in God was a very real part of his life, praying for God’s wisdom and guidance. He told me he even prayed for a wife, and God had sent me. And he was very supportive of my endeavors, often reading my blogs before posting and gave constructive advice. Yes we had difficulties as a couple, but we made a commitment when we got married and worked through those hard times with God at our side.
    He was a two-month premature twin, spending a month in an incubator with pure oxygen which damaged his eyes. With no vision in his right eye, and only 20/200 vision with glasses in left eye, he managed to do a lot. With new glasses at age 5 or 6, he was ecstatic to see kids sledding down a hill, something he’d never been able to see before. He used to lose his glasses regularly, with the family finding them in odd places like hanging from a beam in the haymow after haying! He wouldn’t let it be known he couldn’t see the board from a front row seat, but one special teacher caught on and let Ed copy from his notes. He was appointed swim team manager for the state championship team while at Warwick High School. He swam like a pro, but wasn’t allowed to compete on the team for fear he’d hurt himself or someone else by not being able to see his lane, a great disappointment to him, but he accepted it and moved on.
    Ed had helped on the farm since he was a little kid. As he grew older, he wanted to do what his brother Marv did – like driving tractor and doing field work. His Dad said, “Okay, you can try, but you’ve got to be careful” – not telling his Mom till later.  He tried, and was very careful, proving he could handle their John Deere 520 and machinery like he was born to the job. He loved nothing better than doing fieldwork, alert to machinery sounds and problems. He was always extra cautious, never reaching over or into running machinery for the danger that posed. He was also great at rhyming words, making short silly “poems,” telling me it was from all those years of endless hours on the tractor! Ed also had a close friendship with hired hand, Mat Donnelly, who was surprised I was Ed’s wife; we knew each other in Lounsberry.  Ed and Mat really enjoyed working together, and visiting together over the years, talking and listening to Ed’s records or CDs.
    Ed had also milked cows since he was young; but by getting his head under a cow to see where to put the milking machine, his Dad advised him that if he was going to milk cows, he’d better find another way to put the machines on or he’d be getting his head kicked in a lot!  So, like for other tasks, he put the machines on by feel.
    He loved working with his Dad who allowed him the ability to succeed by trying, and did so well at many things that I took his abilities for granted. He grew up on rented farms in Orange County, NY, before moving to their own farm in Spencer in April 1968. That lasted until June 1985 at age 33 when he had a major retinal detachment. Imagine going to the eye doctor, being told you need urgent surgery, and you can’t even do barn chores that night… or ever again. He was devastated. And we had three little ones to raise. But moving forward after recovery he helped take care of the house and kids while I went to work. He made the grocery list until a few weeks before he passed away. Tho he’d given me his master list, I struggle with actually making that list now!
    Ed held a life-long love of music, from traditional hymns to classic country music, and classic rock from the 1950s thru the 80’s, especially the Beatles!  As a little boy, his parents and relatives were amazed at how he knew which little 45-record was which. If someone asked for a song, he always knew the right one to put on the record player his grand-parents had given him. He told me that he never understood why they were all so amazed because, “I just memorized the picture on each record that went with each song!”  Of course!  How simple… so like Ed, a man without pretentions!
    But he could have been a DJ.  He often knew a song by just a few initial notes, and the background stories of so many singers and their bands, and who left what group to go solo or start another group.  Without vision, he knew every CD he had in several boxes, and knew which song was on what track on which CD, just like he’d known his many records! While dating and after we were married, he took great pains to patiently play a record, stop it, write down the words in a letter to me, play the next phrase, stop, write it down, repeat, repeat, repeat. Later he did this with internet songs, writing down special lyrics for my birthday and our anniversary. I loved that he took the time to do that for me, or that he’d ask someone to take him to the store so he could buy me a card.  That’s true love!
    Eventually, he had more eye troubles with hemorrhaging and surgeries, and was left with additional vision loss. He went to The Carroll Center for the Blind in Newton, Massachusetts for 6 months of personal training from November 1989 to April 1990, spending every weekend by his Aunt Ethel and Uncle Harry, helping them with firewood!  He learned Braille well with large dots, but when he had to use smaller dots, he could not feel them to read. After returning home, he was hired by Vergason Technology in Van Etten.  He worked as a customer service rep, teaching himself to write programs for the shipping and receiving clerks with the assistance of an engineer and listening to tutorials. He could read large white-on-black print on a closed-circuit TV, was able to see some colors, but lost the last remnants of vision in 1998. Going through another bout of deep depression, we learned from counselors it was a typical response, as his old self gradually rose again to deal with being totally blind. But then he was laid off a month after 9/11/2001.
    AVRE (Association for Vision Rehabilitation and Employment) in Binghamton again assisted him in seeking new employment. His aide took him to an interview at Cornell’s vet school office. Afterwards, the woman doing the interview told him he’d been the best candidate she had ever interviewed with his knowledge, calm demeanor and ability to think on his feet, but they really needed someone with vision. He understood, appreciating her input, while the aide from AVRE later asked why he wasn’t nervous. Telling her he had been very nervous, she replied, “You never showed it!  You were one cool cucumber under pressure!”  And that too was so like Ed!
    A few weeks after Jenn died in June 2003, Ed was still on the Federated Church’s prayer list, looking for work. He told me he had prayed and asked God to bring the job to him because he had done all he could do with no results. That week there was a knock on the door. Ray Maratea came in, pulled a chair by Ed in his recliner, sat down, and asked Ed what he could do for them because they wanted to hire him! God answered Ed’s prayer by sending the job to him! Ray had seen Ed’s name on that prayer list!  Working with AVRE, Raymond-Hadley Corporation set Ed up as an office assistant with his customer service background. He set up tractor trailers for pickup and delivery, tracked certificates for files, and made collection calls. When he wasn’t able to work in the office, they willingly set him up at home to continue doing collection calls because he was so good at it - he never got flustered, never got upset at customers, and handled situations with a calm and easy-going manner.  Just a few days before he died, he asked me to write his resignation letter as he knew he would not be able to handle the job when he came home again, saying it was one of the hardest things he’d ever had to ask me to do for him - he absolutely loved his job for the company and the wonderful people he worked with.
    Ed loved his family deeply, and it hurt him that he couldn’t do things with them, go places with them, or visit them. He was very proud of all their accomplishments, and the wonderful adults they became - Jennifer (who’d married Matt), Emily (who married Nick) and Daniel (who married Beth). He also loved his 5 grandchildren very much – Liam, Wesley, Gwen, Samuel, and Maxwell, and always wished he could have seen them, read to them like he did with our own kids before bedtime, or played with them. We love and miss Ed, but rejoice that he’s in his heavenly home with his Savior, and can see and run!
  21. Linda Roorda
    I love to see a beautiful rainbow at the end of a storm, don’t you?!  I’ve even seen the occasional double rainbow emerging as the sun begins to shine, leaving a lustrous shimmering sheen on everything wet.  Then there’s that elusive pot of gold we joke about finding at its end… wouldn’t we be rich!
    Rainbows have come to symbolize many things.  Since the early 1970s, the rainbow has represented the LGBT community with bright bold colors, used by gays as far back as the 19th century to identify themselves.  In some cultures, rainbows are a bad omen, a portent of evil, while on the flip side they’re said to bring good luck, especially double rainbows. 
    But spiritually and biblically, the rainbow represents God’s love and covenant to all of mankind that never again would He destroy the earth.  In that one-and-only 40-day flooding deluge of rain, only Noah and his family members survived in the ark he built because of their faith in the one true God… while the rest of the world mocked Noah and worshiped their false gods.  With representation in twos, male and female of every living creature, including mankind represented by Noah’s faithful family, that must have been one full and noisy ark!
    After the storm, Noah and his family saw a magnificent rainbow as they left the ark. “God said, “This is the sign of the covenant I am making between me and you and every living creature with you, a covenant for all generations to come:  I have set my rainbow in the clouds, and it will be the sign of the covenant between me and the earth.  Whenever I bring clouds over the earth and the rainbow appears in the clouds, I will remember my covenant between me and you and all living creatures of every kind.  Never again will the waters become a flood to destroy all life.  Whenever the rainbow appears in the clouds, I will see it and remember the everlasting covenant between God and all living creatures of every kind on the earth.”  So God said to Noah, “This is the sign of the covenant I have established between me and all life on the earth.”  (Genesis 9:12-17 NIV)
    And what a blessing of love and hope God gave us as represented by that rainbow! We are showered with mercy and grace when we come to Him in faith, admit our sins, and ask for His forgiveness.  We all face the difficult trials of life, some more than others it seems.  As one of America’s favorite poets, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, once penned, “Into each life some rain must fall.” 
    “Be still, sad heart! and cease repining;
    Behind the clouds is the sun still shining;
    Thy fate is the common fate of all,
    Into each life some rain must fall,
    Some days must be dark and dreary.”
    Yet, just like the rainbow given as a sign to Noah after the flood, God has promised He will be with us, and never leave us… forever. (Matthew 28:20) 
    I’ve always been touched by the story of Israel’s Joseph, sold into slavery by his jealous brothers.  Taken to Egypt to become a slave, and though a faithful servant, he was falsely charged and imprisoned for many years.  Eventually released by Pharaoh for his ability to interpret the king’s dreams, he became second in command!  As a “prime minister,” Joseph led the nation through tremendous harvest successes followed by extreme drought and famine.  During the famine, his brothers sought assistance from the foreign nation, not knowing their younger brother was in control of grain disbursement.  When later identifying himself to his brothers, Joseph shared how God had blessed him through the difficulties, “You intended to harm me, but God intended it for good.”  (Genesis 50:20)
    Though we all face our own share of difficulties, we have the hope that our gracious Lord will walk beside us, guide us, and see us through the storms.  As Joshua told the nation of Israel on going into the Promised Land, “Be strong and Courageous.  Do not fear… for the Lord your God goes with you.  He will not leave you or forsake you.” (Deuteronomy 31:6) 
    Many generations later, the Apostle Paul wrote that he had asked God three times to remove the thorn with which he suffered.  Instead, God’s response was simply, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness…”  Paul was able to boast in his hardships because it was then he felt Christ strengthen him, “For when I am weak, then I am strong.”  (II Corinthians 12:7-10)
    Yet, all too often, like me, we often see only the bad in the difficult situation… initially at least.  When we raise our eyes to see how God walks through the storm with us, we see the good, the blessing, that comes as we look back in hindsight.  Paul reassured us by saying, “And we know that all things work together for good for those who love God, who are called according to his purpose.”  (Romans 8:28)
    The beautiful rainbow arching across the sky after the storm is a beautiful reminder of God’s love for us, His gift of salvation, His promise to always be with us… no matter what! 
    The Rainbow’s End
    Linda A. Roorda
    ~
    The richest treasures at the rainbow’s end
    Reveal the blessings of abundant grace
    Joy from the heart to brighten your way
    Wrapped up in love and joy unending.
    ~
    Yet the pot of gold always out of reach
    Taunts our goals with pursuits of pleasure
    Tempting the heart to envy another
    To yearn for more that’s not ours to gain.
    ~
    But when we release our wants for more
    And humbly embrace to persevere
    We face the trials standing firm in faith
    As blessings pour out from our Father above.
    ~
    Such treasures rich we cannot fathom
    For in His plan all things work together
    That from a rough path we find His promise
    And see His face at the rainbow’s end.
    ~
  22. Linda Roorda

    Peace in the Storm

    By Linda Roorda,

    There have been many times when my peace was shattered... in difficult storms, painful wounds, and major losses... and I was in turmoil.  Like December 2019 when my husband was found to be in life-threatening diabetic hyperglycemic hyperosmolar syndrome, a rare complication of diabetes type II.  We were both overwhelmed with the new diagnosis of type II diabetes, and a new treatment regimen on top of his multiple other health issues.  We fully realize countless others have successfully dealt with this diagnosis, but the initial shock left us overwhelmed. 
    This year, Ed was hospitalized twice in July, again at the end of September, in the ER in early December for severe asthma and severe congestive heart failure with pulmonary edema.  Arriving home that night after spending 8-1/2 hours in the ER, I found two “thinking of you” cards in the mailbox from dear friends. What perfect timing! God knew we needed a special reminder of how he uses each of us to bring His love and caring to those who need a cheerful lift.
    And just a few days after Christmas 2022, Ed was hospitalized for 8 days with fluid overload on chronic congestive heart failure. At cardiac catheterization, three stents were placed to open a fully blocked artery, with more near total blockages and damage throughout his heart, and prolonged atrial fibrillation.  Now, he’s been readmitted with Covid, multiple blood clots in his lungs, more difficulty breathing, and major weakness. But the cards mentioned above, and the many kind comments of loving care and prayers to my updates, remind me of the following blog I’d penned based on words written so many centuries ago.  
    Reading our devotions one evening several years ago, my husband quietly asked me to read Psalm 91.  He wasn’t sure what it said, but he had a strong sense God was urging him to have me read this Psalm for a particular difficulty I was facing.
    In reading Psalm 91 aloud, I found these words by King David spoke to my heart:  “He who dwells in the shelter of the Most High will rest in the shadow of the Almighty.  I will say to the Lord, ‘He is my refuge and my fortress, my God, in whom I trust’… He will cover you with his feathers, and under his wings you will find refuge; his faithfulness will be your shield and rampart… If you make the Most High your dwelling – even the Lord, who is my refuge – then no harm will befall you, no disaster will come near your tent… ‘Because he loves me, says the Lord, I will rescue him; I will protect him…’ He will call upon me, and I will answer him; I will be with him in trouble, I will deliver him and honor him.”  (vs.1-2, 4, 9-10, 14-15. NIV)
    Despite the tears rolling down while reading the entire Psalm that night, I felt a great sense of comfort and peace… that peace which passes all understanding despite the trial.  (Philippians 4:7)
    None of us is immune to the trials and storms of life.  Though sometimes God graciously allows a storm to pass us by without disturbing our equilibrium, other times He fully heals our difficult storm, while other times we have no choice but to wend our way through the storm… for neither are we promised a life of ease.  As Jesus reminded his followers in John 16:33, “I have told you these things so that in me you may have peace.  In this world you will have trouble.  But take heart!  I have overcome the world.” 
    The one who is ill may not even look ill.  They remember their busy fulfilling life of the past, replaced by a limited worth or useless feeling that permeates their days.  We’ve learned it is normal to grieve life changes with sadness and frustration, even as my husband’s great sense of humor pops through despite a difficult day to envelope us in therapeutic hearty laughter. 
    But I will also admit to a touch of envy knowing most friends can do anything or go wherever they want, not an option for us to enjoy.  It can be hard to identify with those who deal with chronic illness… facing health issues and concerns other folks don’t ever seem to encounter.  And the grieving process can initially leave you devoid of the joy which James 1:2-3 speaks about as we learn to accept chronic illness.  
    Guilt may even be felt by the chronically ill person and family when prayers for healing seem to go unanswered.  To hear a casual or flippant response, to be told we’re not praying right, or to sense a lack of genuine care can be crushing. As we pray for healing, we especially ask for strength to handle each day… because healing as we want may not be God’s plan.  The Apostle Paul was not healed as he desired, but learned that God’s grace was sufficient with Christ’s power and strength evident through his (Paul’s) weaknesses.  (II Corinthians 12:7-10)   Relying on God for wisdom and strength each day, God’s power shines through.
    I will never forget a hospital chaplain who sat with me when Ed was in the ICU in 2010 for severe life-threatening grand mal (tonic-clonic) seizures.  Gradually pulling out our life story, he listened and cared deeply, saying that in 30 years as a chaplain, he’d never met a family who’d dealt with the many issues we had, and I hadn’t even told him all, praying with me in facing a new major stressor.  Six months later, Ed was back in the ER, hearing his favorite ER physician say, “I’m so glad to see you! Oh, not that you’re ill again, but that you survived those seizures and have no damage!”  Wow!  She truly cared!
    We appreciate the support and prayers of family and friends as we face each new trial.  Take time to hear concerns as a new norm is accepted, leaning on God as He walks beside those in the storm.  Share your heartfelt hugs.  Convey a depth of feeling and understanding in asking “how are you doing.”  Friends and family who ask and truly listen to understand what anyone with chronic illness faces bring much comfort.  Offers of help are gratefully appreciated, even if they cannot be readily accepted.
    While we're inside the storm, though the wind and waves batter our world, we do remember God is still there, still in control.  We know we can trust Him to hold us tightly, to shelter and protect… even though we may lose everything, including life itself, as when we lost our daughter.  Yet, through the difficulty, He will make a way, perhaps close one door to open a better one, and shine His light to guide us as we move forward… one step at a time.
    It’s where we place our trust that peace will be revealed.  And when it’s placed in our Lord’s perfect will, trusting that He has our best interests at heart even in the most difficult times, we see Him help us handle what’s come our way as we grow in faith to become more like Christ.  With such trust, our faith remains unshakable and we find a renewed peace… with a joy that passes understanding.
    There’s a painting I love entitled “Peace in the Midst of the Storm” by Jack E. Dawson.  One story is told that a wealthy benefactor searched for the perfect painting depicting peace.  The first two beautiful tranquil scenes were rejected.  When the artist returned to his easel, frustrated at his work being rejected, his prayer prompted the design of a riveting scene.  On a dark and stormy night, water gushes in torrents over rocky ledges…as a mother bird calmly sits upon her nest tucked under a ledge, protecting her young while the elements rage. Now that’s peace! 

    Studying that painting, I also notice a profile of Christ in the rock formations and a cross created by rocky fissures.  Considering how our heavenly Father gently guides and protects us during the storms of life, however fierce they may be, it’s His canopy of love and peace that shelters and comforts.  And I can be at peace when life is in turmoil knowing that “[He] will keep in perfect peace those whose minds are steadfast, because they trust in [Him].  Trust in the Lord forever, for the Lord…is the Rock eternal.” (Isaiah 26:3-4 NIV) 
    Peace
    Linda A. Roorda
    ~
    There is a peace in the depth of my soul
    A joy that only comes from Your love,
    For in the midst of storms and trials
    My heart is steady when focused on You.
    ~
    But peace is fleeting when I fail to heed
    When I take charge and grasp hold the wheel.
    I need to trust that Your ways are best
    When through the darkness I walk gripped by fear.
    ~
    For as the waves relentlessly toss
    Your face I’ll seek for comforting solace.
    I know You’ll guide me safely to shore
    As Your light shines down to brighten my way.
    ~
    For what is peace without Your mercy
    The hand held out to offer refuge,
    An ear to hear burdens of the heart
    Arms to envelope the soul in turmoil?
    ~
    Grace beyond measure You pour over me
    Yet I don’t deserve riches of mercy.
    Prone to wander, to follow my will
    Still You pursue to seek and to save.
    ~
    There is contentment just in the knowing
    Whenever I feel the world crashing down,
    You call my name and draw me with joy
    Out of the chaos and into Your arms.
    ~
    And like a fresh rain washing over me
    Peace like the sun envelopes my soul,
    It covers my life with joy unreserved
    Tranquility found as I rest in You.
    ~~
    07/08/15
  23. Linda Roorda
    Father’s Day… a time to remember the dads we treasure.  They’ve taught us well in the ways of life.  And I remember a lot about my dad.  In fact, it would be fair to say that I had put him on a pedestal while growing up… not a wise placement for anyone. But it seems he could do anything and everything, a jack-of-all-trades, almost perfect in my little girl eyes.  Though none of us can measure up all the time, there is One who is perfect… who forgives all our failings… our heavenly Father.
    But, yes, there is so much my Dad, Ralph, taught me and my five siblings, including all about the love of Jesus.   As a small child on the farm, I would say, “Jesus is my best friend!”  But, for a time as a teen, I forgot my childhood friend until my Dad reminded me of those words I used to say as a little girl.  Oops! 
    I loved playing board games on Sunday afternoons with my Dad, especially Scrabble. I love the challenge of this game and tend to play aggressively, perhaps because I was in tough competition with my Dad.  Though I won only one game against him over those several years, it was a sweet victory knowing that I’d accomplished the win without his having given me an edge… his way of readying us for the world.
    He taught me honesty was the right way such that in 8th grade English class I chose to write an essay entitled “Honesty Is The Best Policy”, receiving a coveted A.  Actually, I think I may have gotten writing and art abilities from him.  Although he was an exceptional storyteller, perfectly imitating voice and mannerisms of various comedians, I speak best through the written word.  He also had a gift for drawing with his talent for art passed on to me and my son.  He loved trains, especially the old steam engines, having grown up next to the tracks in Clifton, NJ.  I loved watching him as he built a passenger car for his train set, using a tweezers to handle those tiny parts.  I watched him build Packard and Duesenberg model cars, and a German Focke-Wulf plane from W.W.II, taking us with him as he flew it using a remote-control system… until an unexpected gust of wind dove and smashed the plane into the ground.
    As we grew up, we loved hearing Dad tell family stories of his and our childhoods.  He had a gift for telling any story in a humorous unique way, and how I long to hear them all again.  I’d ask him to write them down for posterity, but he never did.  When he drove truck in the 1960s through the 1990s (and later huge tractors for an Iowan farmer), he’d come home with stories from the road.  He shared radio routines by Bill Cosby and southern Cajun comedians, recalling their stories and imitating accents perfectly!  That was way better entertainment than TV any day! 
    I recall a few stories of his time in the Army at Fort Greeley, Alaska (1956-1957), a foreign assignment before official statehood.  From 18 months to 2 years of age, I was too young to remember my six months at Delta Junction with my baby sister.  But I do remember having heard how he, his best buddy Roland, and two other friends found a sunken rowboat.  As it lay not far below the surface of a lake, they pulled it up, cleaned it off, and took it out to fish.  It made for an interesting adventure to say the least – while they took turns fishing, the other three worked hard at bailing to keep the boat afloat! Now that’s dedicated fishermen! 
    Fort Greeley is also where he learned to drive big rigs.  With someone ill, he was asked to take over in the motor pool one night.  Proving he could handle backing up a trailer perfectly, the commanding officer asked where he’d learned to do that since everyone else struggled.  “Backing up a manure spreader, Sir!” was his dutiful reply.  They kept him in the motor pool, where he gained invaluable training for later driving 18-wheelers.
    He also was given a rare promotion because he took the time to thoroughly clean an office coffeepot, a skill learned from his Dutch immigrant mother who had taught him all aspects of housekeeping while growing up, like any good Dutch mother.  With a general visiting Fort Greeley, the coffee-making task was passed off to my Dad as no one wanted to be making coffee for a general!  He didn’t complain but took pains to provide a clean urn for making fresh-brewed coffee… which greatly impressed the general.  When the general asked who made the coffee, the aide who was supposed to have made it “blamed” my Dad.  Instead of the feared reprimand for the typically bad-tasting coffee the office was known for, the general complimented my father on the best cup he’d ever tasted!  Turning to the senior officer, he told him to give my father a promotion!
    When we were younger, he always had time for us. I loved it when we lived in Jersey and he took us fishing at Garret Mountain in Clifton, Lake Hopatcong and Upper Greenwood Lake. It got me out of the city and into nature where I felt at ease.  And, though I could never bring myself to touch those worms (still can’t!), let alone put them on a hook, and never did catch “the big one,” it was the quality time with our Dad that meant so much to us kids.  As a tomboy, I especially enjoyed working outside with my Dad whether it was in the barn learning to care for the animals, in the huge vegetable gardens, or traipsing the fields and woods to hunt rabbit and deer.  That love just naturally transferred to enjoying time spent working alongside my husband in the barn or in the yard, and growing and weeding gardens of my own.
    As we grew older, we teens were often in our own little world yet I still adored my Dad.  He listened and gave sound advice.  I recall the day he didn’t go to work, taking me instead for a drive to discuss a problem I was dealing with.  At times though, I wasn’t ready to listen to him because, as life moved on, his anger took control and he wasn’t always there for us as a family, causing division with his divorce by expecting full support for his side.  No parent in a divorce situation should ever do that their kids.
    But I treasure our renewed relationship later in life.  With apologies for my own errors as a teen, I heard his sadness as I expressed how family dysfunction affected all of us, and he understood my saying I/we all had needed him more than he realized when he was on the road for 2-4 weeks at a time.  I appreciated his compliments on my writing for a local newspaper, my own blogs, publishing genealogy research in a national journal (The New York Genealogical & Biographical Record), and for how well I raised my family and took care of my Mom, even saying he’d never realized all the difficulties I’d faced in my life. Honesty and forgiveness cleared the way for a better relationship with love expressed to both my parents.  God truly takes our most difficult situations, working them for our good when we love Him, admit our errors, and make amends.
    My Dad’s careers changed from his love of farming, to driving a grain truck delivering feed to dairy farmers (winning top NY State Purina Feed salesman awards for 1961 and 1962), to carpentry with his Dad, a general contractor in northeast New Jersey, to driving an 18-wheeler hauling tanks locally and later OTR (over the road/cross country).  When we lived in Clifton, NJ, he drove chemical tankers locally in northeast Jersey, southern New England, and New York City.  What stories he brought home from his experiences!  I got to ride with him only twice and wish it could have been more.
    I was never so happy as when we moved back to New York in 1969!  Though I hated city life, I can now look back at special memories in Clifton where I was born.  As we settled into “backyard farming,” he taught me how to care for our mare, War Bugg, a granddaughter of Man O’ War, a retired Western working ranch registered Quarter Horse.  One of his trucking buddies also rode the rodeo circuit and put War Bugg through her paces – she did a figure-eight so tight you’d’ve thought she’d fall over!  I helped Dad build her corral and box stall in the barn, along with re-roofing and remodeling the old chicken coop for our flock.  And then came the heavy-duty barn chores of bringing hay down out of the mow, hauling 50-lb bags of grain, mucking out the pens, learning to groom War Bugg and pick up her feet to clean the soft undersides, devouring books on horses and their care, dreaming of being an equine vet.  I saw his deep concern when I stepped on a wasp’s nest in the haymow with 11 stings on my leg, and his gratefulness for my dousing him with a 5-gallon pail of water when a torch threatened to catch him on fire while trying to burn tent caterpillars, chuckling later that I almost drowned him!
    But I also learned the hard way that running War Bugg flat out up the road and back could have killed her.  Not realizing the depth of War Bugg’s Western training, I’d simply clicked my tongue and she took off like a rocket, so I let her run… on the paved road.  I was scolded hard, yet taught to walk her slowly, allowing her to have only small sips of warm water till she cooled down.  After riding her another time, I dismounted, tied her to the backyard light pole, and ran into the house briefly.  On returning, I realized she’d pulled on and broken her bridle, standing as if still tied with reins straight down.  And it was then I realized she was Western trained to be “ground tied” and to take off at the click of the tongue, very responsive to touch, the absolute best horse!  I still miss her…
    Soon enough, I got married and began a new life with my new family, while my siblings and parents scattered themselves around the U.S.  Life changes, and we change with it. We learn from those childhood mistakes, and grow up wiser for them.  As a child, I teased my Dad when he turned 30 that he was old, and that when he’d turn 50 he’d be “over the hill!”  Well, Dad, guess what?  Your oldest daughter reached that milestone a good ways back, and she’s still kickin’!  Giving him this writing in 2014 before he passed away April 17, 2015, his wedding anniversary with my Mom, he knew I felt blessed to have him as my Dad.  Sometimes I wish I could go back and relive the childhood fun of days long ago, but I treasure those memories that linger still... and I love you, Dad!
    May you each be blessed with very special memories of your Dad, too!  Happy Father’s Day! 
    I Remember A Dad
    Linda A. Roorda
    ~
    I remember a dad who took me fishin’
    And remember a dad who hooked my worms,
    Who took those hooks from fishy mouths,
    And showed me the country way of life.
    ~
    A family of six, two girls and four boys
    Fun and trouble we shared as we grew.
    From farms and fields to paved avenues,
    Walking and biking, exploring we went.
    ~
    I remember a time spent playing games,
    A dad who’d not cheat for us to win.
    Family and friends and holiday dinners,
    Lakes and farms and countryside drives.
    ~
    Weeds were the bane of childhood fun,
    So ‘tween the rows we ran and we played.
    But as I grew and matured in age,
    Weeding was therapy in gardens of mine.
    ~
    I remember a dad who thrived on farming
    Livestock and gardens, and teaching me how.
    I remember a dad who took me huntin’
    Scoutin’ the fields, always alert.
    ~
    I remember a dad who taught us more
    For growing up we learn by example.
    I remember working alongside my dad
    Roofing a barn and building corrals.
    ~
    I remember a dad whose gifts were given
    In fairness to meet each child’s desire.
    I remember a dad whose wisdom we honor
    In memories of caring and love in small ways.
    ~
    I remember a dad who brought us laughter
    With Cajun and Cosby stories retold.
    For blessed with a gift of retelling tales
    Family and childhood events he recalled.
    ~
    I remember a dad whose time was given
    To help his children face life’s turmoils.
    Time spent together are memories treasured
    For things done best put family first.
    ~
    I remember a dad who taught me more
    To treasure my faith in Jesus my friend.
    In looking to Him as Savior and Lord,
    Salvation by Grace, not earned by my deed.
    ~
    As I look back to days long ago,
    I remember the dad I knew so well.
    For I miss the dad who took me fishin’
    And remember the dad who taught me more.
  24. Linda Roorda
    What does an old broken antique rocking chair have in common with Christmas? Read on... 
    Christmas is the most wonderful time of the year!  We all have special memories wrapped up like treasures from holidays past - the smell of fresh pine when just the right tree is brought in and set up, strands of beautiful colored or pure white lights, decorations from gorgeous and fancy to simple and elegant in an array of colors and styles, scrumptious cookies and candy being made with their aromas wafting through the house, busy days of shopping, and either making or looking for just the right gift for each loved one on our list, the stores beautifully decorated like no other time of the year, gifts wrapped and topped with beautiful bows and placed gently beneath the tree, Christmas music filling the air as we sing favorite carols, a fresh layer of snow to reward us with the white Christmas we’ve been dreaming of, as children (and adults) wait in eager anticipation of Santa’s arrival…  Ahh... memories!  Aren’t they wonderful?
    But, in the hustle and bustle of the holiday season, I long for quiet time to pause and reflect on why we celebrate Christmas.  It’s too cold to sit out in one of my gardens to contemplate, so thoughts run through my mind as I sit in an old rocking chair.  
    My antique wooden rocker reminds me of when my dad brought it home from one of his cousin Howard’s auctions in Nichols 50-some years ago.  It was broken.  Needed one of its rockers replaced.  So, he fashioned a new rocker to make the chair whole again.  Then, my mom lovingly restored the dark mahogany wood to its natural shining luster.  There’s a second rocking chair I often sit in to be near my husband in his recliner.  Outwardly, it looks like new; nothing broken - but it squeaks if I rock too slowly.  My in-laws knew how much I liked to sit in it over the years in their home, so they blessed me with it.  
     But, why am I talking about rocking chairs, and a broken one at that?  And at Christmas time no less!  Because they remind me that that’s why Jesus left His heavenly home and came to this earth as a wee tiny precious baby to live among us.  Our lives are broken… though perhaps not outwardly evident.  We need someone to lovingly restore us… back to the luster and shine that we were intended to have, just like that old rocking chair.  There is Someone willing to come alongside us, to forgive us on our repentance, to walk with us… gently calling us to Himself… a Savior ready to tenderly restore us with His gift of love…  
     I have often wondered what it was like to have been Mary and Joseph, traveling from Nazareth to Bethlehem, their first baby due soon.  It was census time, and Bethlehem was Joseph’s home town.  Caesar Augustus had decreed that every citizen should be counted in the entire Roman world.  And so they went.  I cannot imagine Mary riding a donkey all that distance, heavy with child, only to learn that they had arrived too late to get a clean, warm room.  Ever have that experience?  Traveling on the spur of the moment without making reservations ahead of time for your hotel of choice, only to find some convention has slipped into town, filling every room available?  Now what do you do?  Where do you go?  Well, just maybe the next hotel will have a room…
    But, Joseph kept getting turned away, again and again, from every inn where he stopped.  He must have felt so frustrated.  He couldn’t even provide a warm, clean room for his dear wife, who was likely in labor by then.  Finally, an innkeeper took compassion on the young couple and told them they could find shelter in his stable out back.  Oh great!  This was not exactly what they had hoped for, especially for the birth of their first child.  But, at least it was warm, dry and quiet.  Well, sort of…  There were all those animals they’d have to share the smelly stable with – donkeys, sheep, oxen, a few cats chasing mice hither and yon, maybe even a few roosting chickens – and animals at night are not exactly that quiet.  But, it was warm and dry.  And, at least there weren’t hordes of people rushing around, talking loudly and keeping everyone else up all night long while they partied.  Yes, a lowly stable would have to be good enough.  Now, they could finally get some rest for the night and find a little peace and quiet…  
     And then, in the dark of night, with only a small torch for light, Mary gave birth to her first-born son.  She wrapped him in swaddling cloths and snuggled him close.  After he fell asleep, she kissed his precious little face and lay him gently on the hay in a manger.  And then came the visitors, some local shepherds, who told them how they’d heard about their baby’s birth.   
     The shepherds told Mary and Joseph that while they were out in the fields, watching over their flocks for the night, they saw the angel of the Lord in all His glory.  He shone so brightly that he lit up the world all around them!  And they even admitted to Joseph and Mary how afraid they had been.  Nothing like this had ever happened out on the hills before!  What could it mean?  But then they told how the angel had spoken gently to them saying, “Fear not!  For behold, I bring you tidings of great joy which will be to all people.  For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, which is Christ the Lord.  And this shall be a sign unto you.  You shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling cloths lying in the manger.’”  Then, all of a sudden, a multitude of bright angels appeared in the heavens, surrounding them, praising God and saying, “‘Glory to God in the highest, and on Earth peace, good will toward men.’”  [Luke 2:8-14] 
    Mary pondered all that had happened in her heart and soul during the days and years ahead.  If we could only know what she was thinking as she watched her precious baby boy grow up, as she wondered about the life her Son would live… and ultimately give… for her… for us…  just to make us whole again.
    ONE HOLY SILENT NIGHT
    Linda A. Roorda - 12/11/10
     One bustling and boist’rous night
    A man sought a room,
    A special room for his wife
    About to give birth.
     
    No room! No room at the inn!
    Joseph kept hearing,
    But go look for your shelter
    With cattle o’er yon.
     
    A warm and pungent stable
    Mangers filled with hay,
    Peaceful, serene, inviting,
    Cattle mooing low.
     
    A cry pierces the darkness
    Mary tenderly smiles,
    A precious baby is born
    Jesus, Emmanuel, God with us.
     
    Shepherds gaze up astonished
    As angels descend
    Amid dazzling-lit heavens
    Singing, Peace on earth!
     
    To Bethlehem town they run
    Lowly stable to find,
    Promised Messiah to see,
    Savior of the world.
     
    Would I have recognized Him,
    This new baby boy?
    Would I have known His purpose,
    My Savior, My Lord?
     
    One holy and silent night
    God came down to man.
    In humility He served,
    His grace-filled plan to redeem.
  25. Linda Roorda
    More than just the popular Christmas evergreen to celebrate the holiday, the Christmas tree has a storied background. Holding treasured memories for each of us, it’s been said to represent strength, perhaps to resist temptations or to remain strong in harsh times.  We often consider it a symbol of our Christian faith, a reminder of Christ’s birth and everlasting life, but it has also been an ancient symbol of wisdom and longevity.  President John F. Kennedy referred to the durable evergreen as a symbol of character by saying, “Only in winter can you tell which trees are truly green.  Only when the winds of adversity blow can you tell whether an individual or a country has courage and steadfastness.”
    Martin Luther, credited with starting the Protestant Reformation in 1517, is said to have begun putting lit candles on his family’s tree to represent twinkling stars. Along with the beauty of candles or lightbulbs, various types of homemade decorations have been strung on trees, including popcorn, cranberries, and fancy ornaments from paper to glass.  To serve their many customers, trees were brought to the cities by traditional means of delivery via teamsters with horse-drawn wagons and the popular steam locomotive.  
    But, of especial interest among old-time city clientele, were the roughly 60 Christmas tree schooners which plied the waters of Lake Michigan between 1868 and 1914.  They were among the nearly 2000 or so beautiful three-masted schooners carrying cargo like tractor trailers on today’s highways.  Sailing south from northern Lake Michigan with loads of evergreens in late November, these hardy mariners risked their lives in stormy weather to bring great joy to their customers.  Far from summer’s calm, late season sailing often became a ride on roiling and dangerous waters described as “hellish death traps [in] violent hurricane-force storms.” 
    Many of us recall Gordon Lightfoot’s song, “The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald”, a haunting tale of loss on Lake Superior on November 10, 1975 – “…The legend lives on from the Chippewa on down, of the big lake they called 'Gitche Gumee'.  The lake, it is said, never gives up her dead, when the gales of November come early…”  This last phrase was oft quoted by long-forgotten mariners on the Great Lakes who knew stormy tragedy; and, I’m sure, are among the fears of those who ply the late-season waters even now.  Yet, not many of us know about the tragic loss of the three-masted schooner, “Rouse Simmons”, the famed and fabled Christmas Tree Ship.
    Born after the American Civil War’s conclusion in 1865, Capt. Herman Schuenemann, the son of German immigrants, knew Lake Michigan like the back of his hand. Sailing since his youth, he knew how storms could blow up in an instant, causing havoc with sailing vessels, just as he knew about storms which took ships down to their dark and bitter-cold watery graves.  After all, he lost his brother, August, in the severe gale of November 9-10, 1898.  His ship, the two-masted “S. Thal”, also held Christmas trees bound for Chicago when she sank in a violent storm. 

    Loyal to folks of Chicago, Capt. Herman Schuenemann faithfully brought in his schooner loaded with Christmas trees every year.  While not the only Christmas tree ship on the Great Lakes, the good captain was extremely popular at Chicago’s Clark Street Dock.  The annual arrival of Capt. Santa’s ship was made more popular by the reciprocal love of his many friends and neighbors.  He couldn’t think of disappointing the faithful who hoped to buy his trees for their homes, nor the poor families, orphanages, and churches which welcomed his free gift of a tree.  It simply gave him great pleasure to sail into the Chicago harbor with his cargo of evergreen joy.  
    Yet, some would later claim Schuenemann had overloaded his schooner that year, making her top heavy.  At least one sailor, possibly several, refused to get on board when it was claimed rats were seen deserting while she was docked.  Sailors can be a superstitious lot.  Still, it’s long been known by old sea hands that if rats desert a ship, they know something’s amiss in what the inexperienced or unconcerned observer may overlook. 
    Even so, Capt. Schuenemann set sail on a nearly 300-mile journey from Thompson’s Pier at Manistique, Michigan the week before Thanksgiving… November 22, 1912, a Friday, another bad omen.  To the old mariners, you never set sail on a Friday… just past midnight into Saturday, but never Friday.  Knowing a storm was brewin’, Schuenemann wanted to get ahead of it, ignoring advice from friends in the Northwoods of Michigan’s Upper Peninsula.  “The people of Chicago have to have their trees for Christmas.”  (See film clip of Classicsailboats.org, “Herman Schuenemann, Captain Santa”) 
    In the captain’s defense, though, even the official weather forecast on the day he sailed was not one that would have given rise to grave concern.  “Washington, D.C., November 22, 1912 – For Wisconsin: Local rains or snow Saturday; colder at night; variable winds becoming northwest and brisk; Sunday fair.  For Upper Michigan: Local snow or rains Saturday; variable winds, becoming northwest and west and brisk; Sunday fair.  This would not be the kind of weather which a recreational yachtsman would relish, but it was hardly cause to stop the merchantmen.”  (“Anchor News”, publication of the Wisconsin Maritime Museum, January/February 1990, by Fred Neuschel; p. 87, Pennington.)
    And so, undeterred, Schuenemann sailed out into the lake with his cargo of roughly 5000 trees… until the 50-60+ mph winds caught up with him.  The gale-force winds laden with snow and ice took their toll on the hardy old ship built 44 years earlier.  She was seen by a steamer about 2 p.m. on November 23, 1912, the car ferry “Ann Arbor No.5.”  Noted to be riding low and listing badly, the captain of “Ann Arbor No.5” later claimed the “Simmons” was not running distress signals.  He didn’t attempt to get closer to offer aid thinking she could make it safely to shore, later taking blame for his decision.  
    Less than two hours after that sighting, however, the U.S. Lifesaving Station had received notice and sent a rescue motorboat out from Two-Rivers, Wisconsin during the fierce storm to find the “Simmons”.  The rescuers briefly saw her riding low and listing with distress flags flying, reporting that “…she was completely iced over, with most of her rigging and sails tattered or gone.”  As they drew within an eighth of a mile of the schooner, a sudden snow squall overwhelmed and “blinded them.  By the time the squall blew itself out, the ‘Rouse Simmons’ was gone… There was no Christmas Tree Ship, no Captain Santa, and no trees for many needy families’”. (p.135, Pennington, quoting U.S. Coast Guard Magazine, Dec 2000) 
    The late-season cold and stormy Great Lakes does not bring a pleasure sail.  High winds angrily whip the lake into a mountainous frenzy, sending waves crashing over ship decks.  The captain and his crew would fight the elements as their ship was tossed to and fro.  Though all hands knew what to do in riding out such storms, surely they must have also realized they could go down at any moment.  Realistically, there was only so much they could do.  “Freezing temperatures would sheet rigging, sails and spars with heavy coats of ice.  The accumulating weight of ice on the ship could ominously drag her deeper into the water, changing the center of gravity and making her prone to a sudden roll, from which she would never recover.  Running any cargo on the old schooners was especially dangerous in the late season.”  (“Went Missing II”, Frederick Stonehouse, Copyright 1984; pg.87, Pennington)
    Actually, four ships with all hands sank in that horrendous storm of 1912 – “South Shore,” “Three Sisters,” “Two Brothers,” and the “Rouse Simmons.”  Having lost sight of the “Simmons” despite an extensive search which risked their own lives, the unsuccessful Two Rivers Point men returned to the rescue house.  When the “Rouse Simmons” failed to appear at any dock after ten days, let alone her destination of Chicago’s Clark Street dock, it was determined she must have gone to the bottom of Lake Michigan.  She was believed to have sunk on November 23, 1912, possibly somewhere between the Two Rivers Point light and Kewaunee along the Wisconsin shore. 

    The Rouse Simmons
    Surprisingly, there were numerous conflicting reports of sightings and stories of her final hours, including supposed sightings that she had braved the storm just fine, confusion on the number of crew aboard, and even confusion as to why she had gone down. 
    For years afterwards, evergreen trees and their remnants, including a few ship artifacts and skulls, were caught up in numerous fishing nets.  Not until October 30, 1971, however, did diver, Kent Bellrichard, accidentally discover the “Rouse Simmons.”  While searching for another ship with his sonar, he dove down into the depths to investigate his target at the bottom.  Quite sure he had found the “Rouse Simmons”, Bellrichard returned a week later for another dive.  This time, with better lighting, he found the schooner’s name and hundreds of Christmas trees in her hold, some tucked deep inside with needles still intact.  (pg. 232-237, Pennington)  
    Many more years passed before a fishing trawler netted a captain’s wheel in 1999.  Determined to be from the “Rouse Simmons” by the year 1868 etched into the wheel’s metal, it was found in an area dubbed the ship graveyard for the many ships which have sunk in storms over the numerous past decades.  It is now believed the “Simmons” did not break apart from age as had been initially surmised.  With her wheel found a mile and a half north of where the schooner rested on the bottom, and noting the specific type of damage to the wheel, there seemed to be sufficient evidence as to why the good Capt. Schuenemann was unable to bring her safely in to shore.  Judging from the damage to the wheel, it most likely broke off and sank when the massive mizzenmast driver boom, which supported the ship’s main sails, broke loose.  Without the vital wheel to guide the ship’s direction, and with her larger-than-usual load of evergreens, being heavily coated with ice, her sails in tatters from gale-force winds, riding low and listing badly, she all too quickly sank below the surface with a total loss of life in the worst storm folks of that day could remember ever hitting their great lake.  (pg. 214-215, Pennington)
    Despite the family’s loss, the captain’s wife, Barbara, was determined to continue her husband’s tradition.  She and her daughters, Elsie, and twins Pearl and Hazel, began their annual trek in 1913 to the Northwoods of Michigan’s Upper Peninsula.  They cut down and loaded a schooner full of Christmas trees for the good folks of Chicago, sending more by train. Over time, fewer schooners brought Christmas trees into ports as the safer railroads took over.  But, for now, Elsie, age 20, the Captain’s oldest daughter, a very capable trained mariner under her father’s tutelage, sailed the lake on a new Christmas Tree Ship to bring home the greens. Bringing shiploads of trees and green boughs to Chicago’s Clark Street dock at least until 1925 before sending all evergreens by rail, Barbara and her three daughters continued to bring the joy of the season to town just as the good Captain Santa had done.  The family was beloved for their kindness and generosity in many ways, but especially during their own time of deepest grief when they thought of others.

    Hazel and Pearl Scheunemann, 1917
    Yet, one little girl clearly remembered waiting for Capt. Scheunemann’s Christmas Tree Ship to sail into the Chicago harbor back in 1912.  At age 5, Ruthie Erickson held her father’s hand as they waited at the dock for hours only to have her father finally say, “Ruthie, everybody is gone.  It’s cold.  The wind is blowing.  We should go home now.”  “But Daddy,” she replied, “it isn’t Christmas without a Christmas tree!”  (p.316, Pennington)  
    Decades later, 83-year-old Ruth (Erickson) Flesvig attended a play in 1990 about the beloved Captain Santa and his Christmas Tree Ship.  As the play concluded, her presence unknown to anyone, the real “little Ruthie” walked up onto the stage to say that she had been there at the docks waiting and waiting for the good captain and his trees.  Portraying Capt. Scheunemann was Capt. Dave Truitt, former Chairman of the Christmas Ship Committee who, in conjunction with the U.S. Coast Guard, helped restore the annual Christmas Tree Ship event in 2000.  (p.304-305, Pennington).  With tears in his eyes and everyone else’s, Capt. Truitt took one of the Christmas trees on stage and handed it to Ruth.  With these words, he spoke for Capt. Scheunemann by saying, “I couldn’t give you a Christmas tree in 1912 when you were five because of reasons you now know, but I give this tree to you today.  Merry Christmas, Ruthie!” (p.316-137, Pennington)  
    Donating free trees to Chicago’s needy, the U.S. Coast Guard’s annual Christmas Tree Ship continues Capt. Schuenemann’s beloved tradition.  Since 2000, the U. S. Coast Guard Cutter Mackinaw, an imposing icebreaker, arrives at Grand Avenue’s Navy Pier bearing a banner proclaiming her “Chicago’s Christmas Ship”.  As large crowds gather, a memorial ceremony pays tribute to the “Rouse Simmons,” the lives lost when she sank, and others in the merchant marine trade who have lost their lives over the decades on Lake Michigan.  Then, a large number of volunteers help deliver free Christmas trees to needy families throughout the city of Chicago in honor of Capt. Santa, their dear Capt. Herman Schuenemann. 
    As author Rochelle Pennington concluded, “Captain Herman Schuenemann touched the lives of people he would never know, and the volunteers of Chicago’s Christmas Ship are doing the same… dispelling some of the darkness in this ‘weary world’ that there may be rejoicing in The Season of Miracles…  [For] the strength of humanity lies herein:  in the willingness for each of us to leave the walls of our own hearts, and our own lives, and connect with the hearts and lives of others.  A Babe born in Bethlehem told us so.  The Life born in the hay had come to say, ‘Feed the hungry, clothe the naked, serve one another in love, and share.  And do unto others, for it is more blessed to give than it is to receive.” (p.317, Pennington)
    Merry Christmas and blessings to all!
    From the larger article, Of Christmas Trees and Christmas Tree Ships, on my blogsite, Homespun Ancestors, 12/14/2018.
    Painting used for featured image is by Charles Vickery
     
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