Linda Roorda

Taking notice of some issues lately, decided this blog from the past bears repeating today. Oh, that we lived in a perfect world! … but we don’t. Not everything goes our way, but our response can make a difference. So, why am I hesitant to express my opinion? There's a place for respectful disagreements, including of each other's faith, or lack thereof as espoused a few years back by Joy Behar of “The View” and those who admire her. They mocked former Vice President Mike Pence for his Christian faith and talking to Jesus, even calling a “mental illness” his listening to Jesus’ voice. I, too, have heard the "voice" of God... sometimes loud and clear as if someone were next to me uttering the words, other times nothing more than a gentle nudge in my soul. Prayer is a powerful communication. But, in re: school and public mass shootings, Ed and I have long felt there's something eating away at society, like a cancer. A shooting near a school happened in Binghamton this past week. It’s doubtful if stricter gun laws will make a big difference in overall statistics of violence, since criminals always manage to get them. Though we do believe some laws strengthened may be more of a deterrent than others, it’s interesting that cities with the toughest gun laws have not curbed their gun violence. But you know, my Dad's guns were freely available to me and my brothers as teens, after training in appropriate use and cleaning, and we never considered using them wrongly. As crime rates increase, we see an obvious lack of respect for the value of another human being… with an increase in bullying and rage issues, taunting, mocking, and blatant killing of our law enforcement officers. We can argue gun crime stats, but I don't believe access to guns by teens or any criminal is our main issue. We have seen over time that any manner of weapon can be used besides guns - knives, a heavy object to bludgeon the victim, vehicles, even a rock by Cain to kill his brother Abel in a fit of jealous rage in earliest biblical times. Even in states and cities with the strictest gun control laws, crime rates have risen considerably recently, especially when “catch and release”/so-called bail reform allows criminals to walk with great leniency… including repeat offenders. There are no real consequences for bad behavior. Many at-risk youths have not learned how to appropriately redirect their losses, upsets or rages other than to lash out at those around them - especially when adults use violence to release their own anger. There seems to be a lack of discipline – some kids know what they can get away with and readily test the limits. And, sometimes, kids lack appropriate role models as we adults can also be poor models. We witness or become the target of bullying, verbal attacks, abuse and harassment in many forms. Amidst the violence, angry rhetoric, and sexual harassment and misconduct in our society, something seems to be missing. What happened to the respect we once showed each other? Showing courtesy, consideration and honor to others fits together under that one term – respect. Displaying an attitude of humility with respect shows the depth of our own character and integrity. Yet, it seems that mocking or hateful vitriol is the language preferred from many directions. Like you, I find it appalling. Anger against sin and abuse is not wrong, but a righteous emotional response which God gave us. When anger stems from a heart with sinful intention, therein lies the abuse and lack of respect. And it should make us stop and think. Perhaps, instead of taking a knee to the American flag and finding fault with America, those with ability, financial or otherwise, could help the underprivileged within current charities or create new ones. Perhaps, simply from their own heart of love, instead of violence and destruction to have their demands met, they could become a mentor to show the disadvantaged a better way. I grew up without much of what my peers had. I earned my way in life. I’ve been mocked and ridiculed. But also grew up with parents who cared enough to discipline. I grew up with kids of all races, including black friends and those of international heritage, and they and their parents did all they could to accomplish their goals with respect and gratitude within the community. Where has morality gone? Why are certain “politically correct” attitudes condoned while those who disagree are held in disdain? With the push to set God aside as irrelevant in our lives, to live as if we are unaccountable to anyone or anything, I think we have also brushed moral ethics and values aside. After all, if we do not believe we’re created in the image of God, but simply exist because a few cosmic molecules exploded with a bang, then of what value is another person’s life. I find it ironic that huge fines are levied for killing animals, yet our unborn children are aborted/killed because they might be defective or an inconvenience. Is a conscience or a moral obligation obsolete? Do we do whatever seems right to us alone? Without moral absolutes and the ensuing guilt regarding what is or is not considered sinful behavior, we don’t have to hold ourselves accountable to God and His word. Still, how often don’t those who hold to a belief in God tend to live by certain moral standards that have their very foundation in Holy Scripture. With so many accusations of sexual misconduct/harassment among public officials coming to light, has this pattern of behavior become prolific because of Bill Clinton’s ability to “get away with it” during his past presidency? I remember someone saying to me then that it was no big deal, “Everyone does it!” Oh really? Does everyone lie to cover up the truth, or only abusers? What’s lacking in one’s character to cause such rampant abuse? The predator or abuser knows how to shame his victims into silence. Silent no more, many are speaking out more readily, calling attention to the abuse and harassment suffered quietly for too long. The victims are trying to bring accountability into the picture for restitution and a better way to live responsibly. Yet, too often victims are still silenced and looked upon as the problem. We feel free to disparage and mock the opposition of our dearly-held beliefs, yet we’re appalled if our own perspectives are attacked. Once upon a time, we honored each other… despite our differences. Once upon a time, we agreed to disagree. We were able to debate and argue our points in a respectful manner, but now it seems that mocking, hate-filled rhetoric, and even violence is “de rigueur.” Why? I’ve pondered the societal denigration which brought about the November 2008 Black Friday shopping stampede. The epitome of greed fed that mad rush, pushing and shoving throughout the crowd, just to satisfy selfish desires… for Christmas gifts no less… resulting in the trampling death of a Wal-Mart employee. I remember hearing this story on the news then, saddened and appalled that such a tragedy could have even happened. But, isn’t it greed and selfishness which results in any crime, whether it be robbery or murder? We’re jealous. We dislike. And we allow minor slights to fester. We have our rights, hold grudges, and can’t forgive. Someone has what we want so we take it to satisfy our pleasure, or destroy the one who owns it. How unutterably sad that society has stooped to this level, even to condemning those who bring attention to abuses they’ve dealt with. Yet, there’s nothing new under the sun, as Solomon once said. (Ecclesiastes 1:9) Even Adam and Eve’s son Cain killed his brother, Abel, out of jealousy that festered and grew into a murderous hatred. (Genesis 4:4-12) These thoughts reminded me of the vitriol espoused by and against various public officials, particularly during election time. There’s a hatred and cancellation of the opposition, those holding and expressing conservative and/or Christian biblical values. Whether by, or against, the president of our nation or any of our local officials, including law enforcement officers, such words seem to be the norm lately. With hatred and anger fueled perhaps by abusive rhetoric, and a loathing of that with which we disagree, passions are fed and all manner of evil erupts from the human heart… rather than allowing the opposition time to express their opinion. In the Summer of 2017, many thought it was “the right thing to do” by taking down statues erected in memory of our nation’s historical past. We cannot rewrite history by destroying that with which we disagree, and instead are setting a dangerous precedent. In removing what is considered a negative, perhaps we miss the opportunity to learn from past mistakes… personal and collective, national and international. Perhaps there are teachable moments that would draw our divergent beliefs together in common ground. In the slippery progression to remove more and more references to our historical past, what’s next? Think long and hard of the consequences… because it just might be us next… me and you…for our beliefs. A contrast to such rhetoric and violence can be found in Jesus’ teachings that we call The Beatitudes, especially one simple phrase we all know as the Golden Rule. “So, in everything, do to others what you would have them to do you…” (Matthew 7:12 NIV) As the physician Luke expressed in his gospel (17:3), “If your brother sins, rebuke him, and if he repents, forgive him.” What better way to show Christ’s love to our neighbor or enemy than by lending a helping hand with courtesy and forgiveness… while respecting our differences. When an expert in the old Jewish law asked, “Teacher, which is the greatest commandment in the Law?” Jesus replied: “‘Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind.’ This is the first and greatest commandment. And the second is like it: ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’ All the Law and the Prophets hang on these two commandments.” (Matthew 22:36-39 NIV) With such love, we “encourage one another and build each other up”. (I Thessalonians 5:11) Wow! What a depth of perfect wisdom we find in Jesus’ words! In taking them to heart, there’d be no more abuse, petty fights or squabbles among us, or even great wars. We’d be so in tune to each other’s needs that our selfish ego and desires would vanish. All out of a simple respect for each other and their needs. May God bless each of us as we practice that kind of true humility. Respect Linda A. Roorda It seems we’ve mislaid respect and value. We want what we want, and deserve it now! We’ll step on your toes, fight and destroy Not caring to pause and treasure your worth. ~ Entitled am I, my wants come first. I rush and push, and trample on through. How dare you think that I could be wrong I have my rights! Get out of my way! ~ Oh, to our shame, what have we done… We once shared love but now foster hate. We once treasured folks for who they are And valued their rights as much as our own. ~ Common courtesy, we salute your ways With manners polite and outstretched arms Welcoming others with civility’s mores Regarding humility as our tone of grace. ~ With deference and honor we highly esteem Others before self with gratitude’s praise Rendering tribute where homage is due Tactful and kind, we respect you for you. ~~

There’s a question that’s been at the back of my mind over the years… and it’s a question we’ll all come to terms with some day. “What good will it be for a man if he gains the whole world, yet forfeits his soul?” (Matthew 16:26) While considering that question, I was reminded of another set of verses: “Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust destroy, and where thieves break in and steal. But store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where moth and rust do not destroy, and where thieves do not break in and steal. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.” Matt. 6:19-22 And I asked myself… have I gained worldly assets, worldly wisdom, and stored up treasures for myself which praise my own deeds, or have I used my gifts to meet the needs of others? God has blessed each one of us with special unique gifts and talents. Have I used my talents to benefit others, or have I simply set them aside because I’m too busy to reach out to others around me? Which thoughts all brought me to a parable Jesus told as recorded by His disciple Matthew. Before the master went on a long journey, he handed out talents (money) to three of his servants. To the first, the master gave five, the second servant was given two, while the third received only one talent. The first two put their money to work, presumably in sound investments. The third was afraid of his tough master, and decided to hide his gift by burying it. (Matthew 24:14-30) When the master returned from his long trip, he learned the first servant had doubled his money to a tidy sum of ten talents. The second servant had done equally as good by doubling their master’s money. Both were blessed by the master who told each of them, “Well done, good and faithful servant! You have been faithful with a few things; I will put you in charge of many things. Come and share your master’s happiness!” (Matt. 24:21) But the third servant, who did not even put his master’s money into the bank to earn interest, hid it by digging a hole in the back yard to bury the gift. Needless to say, the master was not pleased with this servant, calling him wicked and lazy, and throwing him outside into the darkness. (Matt. 24:26-30) That seems so harsh and so unforgiving! And I didn’t really understand why! As I continued to think about this parable as a whole, I realized that our master (our parents, our spouse, our boss at work, but especially our Lord above) is looking for us to use the gifts and talents we’ve been blessed with to benefit those around us. Only then can we shine the light of God’s love outward through our deeds and into the world around us. It proves that if we can be trusted in small things, we are worthy of being rewarded with a promotion to care for even greater things. At the same time, this parable shows that if we’re lazy and don’t prove worthy of our master’s entrusting us with even an insignificant task, he then has no obligation to us in turn. By doing nothing, we show we don’t care, that we’re lazy at heart, and are of absolutely no value or benefit to anyone around us, especially the master… our employer, our spouse and family, or our Lord above. And then my thoughts went a little further to ponder which servant I want to be. What have I done with the talents the Lord has so graciously given? Have I blessed those around me with the same love the Lord has shown me? And how can I share these blessings with others in the coming new year? Wishing each of you, my readers, a wonderfully Blessed and Happy New Year! Have I? Linda A. Roorda Have I gained the world to ask at what cost? With whom lies my heart, to whom goes honor? Is it my self, an ego to serve, Or is it with Christ, humble Son of God? ~ Have I offered my heart in service, And have I given to care for the poor? Have I shown love while holding the heart Of someone in need who cannot repay? ~ Have I yet walked the downtrodden path? Have I then gazed through eyes uncovered To see the pain within hurting souls Who plod along, unnoticed, alone? ~ Have I given that others will gain? Have I let go that which I’ve clutched tight? Have I traded these worldly riches For washing of feet and cleansing of stains? ~ Have I felt tugs of heartstrings with tears An empathy deep to carry burdens? And have my prayers helped release cares To the One who holds our soul in His hands? ~ Have I stored treasures upon this earth That destroy the soul like bitter deceit? Or have I gained a wealth eternal With love’s pure gift from our gracious Lord? ~ How precious then is this love unearned That the One who served should redeem my soul. He lay down His life that I may arise To bring Him all praise, glory and honor. ~ Have I then served wherever I am? And have I shown grace with humble wisdom That others may see Your love shining bright From within my heart to the depth of their soul? ~~

A fence… just a simple snow fence… part of it standing as straight and tall as the day it was put up, while other sections lean askance or lay surrendered to the elements. Sometimes we see things that trigger thoughts and emotions. And that’s what happened when I saw this photo taken and posted by our good friend, Hugh Van Staalduinen. His wife, Kathy, and I have been friends since childhood; together, we’ve been family friends ever since our respective dating years. Hugh, a retired truck driver, has built a reputation with his hobby of taking beautiful bird and butterfly photos. He finds Sodus Point a favorite spot for taking photos of not only birds, hawks and eagles, but of the lighthouse and gorgeous sunsets over the lake. But, every now and then he ventures beyond the aesthetic… and his photo of a simple snow fence on the beach at Sodus Point, NY caught my eye. It spoke volumes to me, and a poem was born. The Sodus area holds a special place with my earliest memories. When I was about 3 to 4 years old, my dad worked for the Wychmere Dairy Farm. I remember a trip to a Lake Ontario beach near Sodus then, and I can still visualize a ship on the horizon as I floated in my inner tube. Years later, on a drive to Chimney Bluffs near Sodus Point, Hugh drove us down the exact same woodsy lane to the exact same spot on the beach which has been in my memories since childhood! Then, as a teen, I climbed a section of Chimney Bluffs with steep spires of earth in constant change from effects of the weather. But, in Hugh’s simple photo of a snow fence stretching along the beach, we see strong upright sections still connected to those which are leaning or have fallen down… as though the sections are connected by helping hands reaching out, an apt reflection of life. For me, this fence evoked images of how we often become support for others to lean upon… the stronger supporting the weaker… be it the younger assisting the elderly, the parents helping their children, or the healthy aiding the sick. In James 1:19-27, with admonishment to “be quick to listen, slow to speak and slow to become angry…[and] to look after orphans and widows in their distress…” my mind saw the arms of love reaching out like those of the snow fence. With our loving acts of listening, kindness, respect and gentleness, we come to the aid of those in need. By showing this love in many ways, we meet others where they’re at…and shower them with true Christianity in action. To sit silently by and do nothing is to stifle God’s love. But, by abiding in His word and in His love, we are led to help those who simply need a shoulder to lean on, or a hand to lift them up after a devastating blow has laid them low. Oh, the images that come to mind in the simplest of scenes! Just a simple snow fence... with some sections standing straight and tall, some leaning, and some fallen down, covered by snow and ice… an image that speaks volumes if we but listen with our heart. Fences by Linda A. Roorda As I gazed upon a fence with slats Meant to protect and divert a storm, Significance seen in sections displayed Some standing tall, some twisted askew. We build our fences for reasons many Some to protect and some to lean on/for décor, Some as evidence of hearts hid from view For a fence speaks well what words cannot say. This image evoked by words unspoken Is strength within that others may lean. Blessed with a vigor which few can maintain The stalwarts shelter when the weary falter. Yet there are times when a fence is built As a wall of sorts to block out life’s stress, Some meant to hide, some shielding from harm Both meant to offer a refuge from pain. So fences we build across life’s terrain Uniting with strength to carry burdens, Supporting others in facing the storms With hands held out like friends intertwined. ~~

As we approach Christmas and remember “the reason for the season”, I think back to the time when this poem and reflection were written nearly 10 years ago. Thinking about Mary, I wondered what she thought of all the simple, special and amazing events. As a Jew, waiting for the Messiah, she must have been awed and humbled to know she was especially chosen by God to bear the “Son of the Most High,” (Luke 1:31), the “Son of God.” (Luke 1:35) Even as the angel explained, and Mary accepted God’s will on her life, did she truly understand the significance of the life she would give birth to? And out of my ponderings, came these words. The precious little baby whose birth we again celebrate grew up with a purpose. I’ve wondered what it would have been like to have watched His life unfold. We have the advantage of looking backward with Scripture in hand. Mary would have known the old Jewish prophecies from the past which looked to a future Messiah. And I wonder what her life was like as she watched her little boy grow into manhood. But first, what did Mary think when told by an angel that she had found favor with God... that she would conceive and give birth to a son…before she was even married? What would everyone in town think of her?! After all, it was a punishable offense to be pregnant before marriage; she could be stoned to death! What did she think on hearing this angel say that her son’s kingdom would never end? (Luke 1:26-38) Yet, Mary willingly gave of her life, telling the angel, “I am the Lord’s servant. May it be as you have said.” (Luke 1:38) Later, she sang a beautiful tribute of praise to God, which we call The Magnificat: “My soul glorifies the Lord and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior, for he has been mindful of the humble state of his servant...” (Luke 1:46-48) And in Matthew 1:18-25, we learn that after Mary informed Joseph she was pregnant, he decided to divorce her quietly and to not make a public spectacle of her. He loved her that much. But an angel appeared to him in a dream and told him not to be afraid to take Mary as his wife, and to name her son Jesus, “because he will save his people from their sins.” Still, it must have been hard for both Joseph and Mary to deal with the community at large as all their neighbors knew of her pregnancy before their actual marriage had taken place. What courage and faith it must have taken on their parts to follow God so explicitly while others may very well have talked behind their backs. May I be granted even a fraction of that kind of faith to follow my Lord. Can you imagine what Mary thought when shepherds sought them out to see their son in the stable… because the angels had told them they would find Him there. And what did she think later when three wise men from the east showed up at their home… bearing gifts for her child… gifts fit for a king? Luke 2:19 tells us she kept these things in her heart and pondered all that had taken place. What did Mary really think about as she watched her son grow up? What were her thoughts during a time she and Joseph couldn’t find Jesus? When Passover celebrations concluded in Jerusalem, the family began walking back home. After a bit of time had passed, they realized their oldest son wasn’t with them. Oh no! Where could He be? I can just imagine the fear in their hearts as they casually and then frantically searched among the crowd. Not finding their son anywhere, they turned back towards the city with heavy hearts. He had to be around somewhere… but, where? He couldn’t just disappear! Eventually, they found him – teaching in the synagogue. And here these men, the Rabbis, the leaders of the synagogue, sat in rapt attention listening to all that this young lad, their son, had to say! My word! He was only 12 years old! I’m sure they must have been just a little perturbed at his having caused them so much concern. When they told him to come home, he replied, “Don’t you know I must be about my Father’s business?” Hmmm… they must have thought that was quite an odd reply. His dad, Joseph, was a carpenter, not a rabbi. Did his parents realize Jesus meant his heavenly Father’s business? This was just the beginning of Jesus’ unusual life and ministry. What he did, how he grew up, where he studied… these are all unknown to us, but not to his mother. Dear Mary must have watched with pride as her little boy, now a grown man, had quite a following. People eagerly came to hear him and came to be healed, with many healed miraculously. Nothing like this had ever happened before! And though there were people who were not pleased with her son’s ministry, still, the majority seemed to listen closely to every word he said. What were her thoughts as she watched her son’s special life unfold while she raised her other children? What did she think about when her first-born son was despised and rejected, and then crucified like a common criminal? The anguish she must have suffered as tears flowed down her face. And what were her thoughts on learning her son had risen from the grave, just as He had said! Did she realize then that He truly was God… that He was the promised Messiah to save us from our sins… and that her son was her Savior, too? And did she understand that this was why He was born? I’m sure she must have recalled His words, “For God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten son, that whosoever believeth in Him should not perish but have everlasting life”! (John 3:16) For this is why Jesus, her precious baby boy, was born. This is why we celebrate Christmas! Oh, the joy of it all! To Be Mary… Linda A. Roorda What was it like to be Mary… A betrothed young woman Not yet married but promised, As she carried the stigma Of unplanned pregnancy. What was it like to be Mary… To wonder at this baby boy Foretold by visiting angel, To love the Lord, her God And follow His will without question. What was it like to be Mary… Giving birth to her child In a stable among animals, And to gaze in wonder On the life of her precious son, Jesus. What was it like to be Mary… To find her son teaching Scholars trained and wiser than He, To wonder and ponder At His knowledge beyond their ken. What was it like to be Mary… To follow crowds of people Who looked for healing and comfort, Observing her son’s miracles With His divine words of wisdom. What was it like to be Mary… To watch her son teach and minister As He was loved yet despised, Revered yet rejected, Fully God and yet fully man. What was it like to be Mary… To watch her son be crucified As He paid for our sin with His life, But then to see Him risen, Our lives redeemed for eternity! What was it like to be Mary… To know her Son was born for this To think He’d save the world But not in the way she’d hoped For His life was given that others might live. May you be richly blessed as you ponder the life of this precious babe in this season of joy! Merry Christmas! ~~

I was asked to speak at a local women of faith retreat in December 2014 on their theme, “Wise Men Still Seek Him.” It was an honor to have been asked to share my life’s faith testimony, but it was also a humbling experience to open my heart in a “public” venue. It’s entirely different from writing poems and reflections for my blog, Poetic Devotions. While God has graciously given me more understanding and wisdom gained over a lifetime of spiritual growth, He has also continued to draw me into a deeper faith through all of life’s ups and downs. Like this past week... Ed was in the hospital a few days for worsening congestive heart failure causing increased pulmonary issues with his COPD. And then, multi-tasking, running in a gazillion directions at once, I walked nose first in the dark into an open door I’d forgotten to close. Thankfully it wasn’t broken, tho it’s still sore. Ed is “ok” but continues to struggle with his ADLs, i.e. activities of daily living, as exercise-induced shortness of breath and weakness take over… as does frustration and learning to accept more limitations with his many diagnoses. But God… is still here, still guiding us each step of the way. And with all that’s happened lately, I needed to re-read and remember these words taken from my larger essay written in 2014. Listening to our favorite older Newsboys CDs which Ed played this morning, I heard the phrase “…’cause every time a teardrop falls, it's kicking up dust in our world of pain, let’s get drenched under God’s good rain, caught in a deluge of mercies… caught in a landslide of love.” Because nothing separates us from the love of God even when we deal with the difficulties of life… and I needed to be reminded of that, too. This may not seem like a Christmas type message, but without the birth of our Savior, who would we seek? My prayer is that God will use these words taken from my larger speech to bless your heart. God bless you today and always. I’m the oldest of six children, blessed to be born into a Christian family, albeit a somewhat dysfunctional and fractured family, with my parents divorcing not long after I married. There was never a time I did not know about Jesus from church, Sunday School, Vacation Bible School, and Christian elementary school. At 14, having moved 15 times, and to a new school district for the fifth time and saying I had no friends, my father reminded me that as a little girl I would say Jesus was my best friend. Ouch! I’d forgotten that! At 15, I recognized my need for Jesus as my Savior and asked Him into my heart. Still, I did not seek God and His will as I should have during my late teens. Yet, it’s in knowing that when I seek the Lord with my confession and repentance, He forgives me and wipes my slate clean for “…as far as the east is from the west, so far has he removed our transgressions from us.” (Ps.103:12 NIV) I was married at 19 to Edward in October 1974, waiting until the fall crops were in. Celebrating our 47th anniversary this past fall, I look back and see how immature I was. But I also look back and see how faithful the Lord has been, always beside me, guiding and drawing me closer to Himself, and He has given me a husband whose love, insight, and wisdom have met my needs. Like other young couples, Ed and I thought we’d live happily ever after without problems. Instead, like so many others, our life together seems to have been one struggle after another, though it’s how we react and what we learn that makes a difference. There was a time years ago when I did not understand that… when I felt lost, questioned whether I was truly saved, not knowing how to accept or learn from problems sent my way. But the Lord took the wounds and scars in my life and turned them into blessings as He helped me grow spiritually through those tough times. Admittedly, it’s been the journey of a lifetime learning to seek God, to listen to His still small voice and nudges within my heart. Sometimes His message is loud and clear. Sometimes God is quiet and doesn’t seem to hear my prayers, with no clear answers, no direction, no healings. Yet, it’s in those times that I remind myself to keep moving forward in faith knowing that God is with each of us through the tears and difficulties, not just the best of times, for “…we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose.” (Romans 8:28 NIV) Despite my share of struggles and failures when I take the reins instead of allowing God to have control, I can honestly say, as I look back, that it’s also been through the toughest days that God has blessed me in many ways. Sometimes I long for a quiet simple life, one without any difficulties. But that is not the life given to me. I need to rest knowing that He is in control. He uses our struggles to teach us, to draw us closer to Himself, and to reach others through struggles we go through. He understands what we face and allows our difficulties in order to help mold us into the person He wants us to become. And I can’t help but wonder if I would have grown spiritually if I had never faced the various trials sent my way. For God does not heal us of our problems the way we want just because we pray for healing. Literally being told that Ed was not healed of his blindness because we were not praying right, or that we should pray certain ways for healing, set dangerous tones of self-centeredness, not seeking God’s will. As we scroll through Scripture, we find that Paul sought the Lord three times to be healed of his “thorn in the flesh.” Instead of healing, he heard the Lord say, “’My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness…’” and Paul responded by saying “That is why, for Christ’s sake, I delight in weakness… for when I am weak, then I am strong.” (II Corinthians 12:9-10 NIV) Yet, Ed and I know how hard it is to live out those words of faith when we have not seen the healing we have prayed for. So, it’s the Lord’s wisdom I seek to guide my steps, to direct my path, to cover me with mercy when I am weak and fail yet again. And when I’m stressed to the max by life and its busyness, I find He is there, even in the mundane. He’s teaching me to seek Him… to lean on Him… giving me peace and contentment in the turbulence. In this, I can find satisfaction doing what He expects of me even when it’s not the easiest path nor the direction I want to go. For our walk of faith takes us to new dimensions with Christ that we would not have known without those difficulties. As the Lord has drawn me and Ed closer to Himself, He has strengthened our faith, taught us forgiveness and patience under his grace and mercy, and carried us when we feel so overwhelmed. He has been with us through days when we wondered why it seemed He wasn’t answering our prayers… when we lost our unborn babies, later giving birth to three beautiful healthy children; when Ed, a premature twin who was legally blind from pure oxygen in the incubator, went to an eye doctor for vision issues, told to quit farming that day, had 9-hr retinal/eye surgery, and I had to find a job; long-term effects of my undiagnosed PTSD from past abuse; my Tourette’s syndrome since age 10; when our son was diagnosed with a rare congenital heart defect needing an implanted defibrillator; when our oldest daughter died at age 25 from an undiagnosed heart abnormality; when Ed went to The Carroll Center for the Blind for training, then lost his job as customer service rep after 9/11, telling God he’d tried everything he could to find work, putting it in God’s hands to find him a job – and God answered him with a new job when the company’s owner knocked on our door to ask what Ed could do for them! When I had multiple neck fusions, back and hand surgeries, an autoimmune disorder (sarcoidosis) with severe IBS necessitating a very restricted diet, and breast cancer. When Ed had permanent statin drug muscle damage needing multiple surgeries to repair torn cartilage in knees and shoulder from struggling to stand from sitting, neck fusion, a brain shunt causing seizures, unrelenting pain and dizziness since 2008, severe CHF, COPD on chronic asthma, diabetes; and so much more I'm not going to list… And now, retired, I’ve been blessed with a sub position in our local public schools, hoping to make a difference in the lives of youngsters. Through it all, God showered us with love in answering our prayers in ways that best fit His plan. As my friend Natalie wrote, “God does not always reward faith with blessings. He allows our faith to undergo challenges - to be tried through a fiery testing.” Job, Paul and James all speak of God knowing our path through trials as we persevere in faith and wait on God’s timing, as hard as that may be at times. And in seeking Jesus this Christmas season, may we each find Him in the humblest of places within our heart… not in the rich embellishments and trappings which boldly confront us. May we find Him in serving others with a heart of love, even the least among us… in caring for the hurting souls among the noisy din of humanity. Then, wherever love is needed, may we reach out to reveal Christ among us, and know the gift of His strength and comfort, and hope and peace in the midst of life’s turmoil. For with that peace comes the gift of inner joy because in Matthew 6:33 we are told to “Seek first His kingdom and His righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well.” In this joyous Christmas holiday season as we celebrate the birth of our dear Lord and Savior, may we all remember to wisely seek Him first… whatever comes our way. Seeking You Linda A. Roorda Seeking you Lord, Your will in my heart Giving all thanks and praise to Your name, As Your loving hand with mercy and grace Guides through rough seas to calm peaceful shores. Seeking you Lord, in the dark of night When sleep won’t come and dreams bring on fears, As I arise to the morning dews And greet the sun for a bright new day. I’m drawn to Your side when cares overwhelm Teach me Your ways from words filled with hope. Grant me Your peace when life darkens doors Guide every step, Your wisdom impart. With riches great we travel secure Thinking we have control of our life, But when troubles come we turn quick to you Pleading for strength to carry us through. This strength I seek from Your loving arms Moment by moment to face new demands With head bent low my prayers rise to You To humbly shine Your light from within. May I ever know You walk alongside Guiding my steps and the path that I take May words expressed show love to others From a heart that seeks your wisdom and truth. Then may I know Your mercy and grace Covers my soul with comforting peace Granting wisdom from within Your word As I praise Your name and seek Your will first. ~~

December 5th is a day my/our Dutch ancestors celebrated Saint Nicholas Day or Eve, part of traditional European Christmas celebrations for centuries. My cousin Sytske Visscher in the Netherlands shared that “St. Nicolas Day/Sinterklaas Day is celebrated on December 5, or the weekend before or after. According to the myth, the Bishop of Myra in Turkey (St. Nicolas) was born on December 6 and started to give presents to the poor members of his congregation on the evening before, December 5. Families nowadays decide to celebrate the weekend before or after the official day. Especially celebrating with only adults can better be organized on a weekend (Friday or Saturday evening) when most people do not have to go to work the next day. Many not only give presents but also make poems to say something to the receiver of the present about what happened to him or her in the last year.” I think Christmas is everyone’s favorite time of year, especially a white Christmas! Right?! Even shopping begins in earnest the day after Thanksgiving. But many of our current holiday traditions either changed dramatically or began only in the 19th century. Writing in the “Broader View Weekly” local newspaper in December 2012, I explored the origins of many of our American Christmas traditions. The Dutch word “Sinterklaas” for Saint Nicholas is considered the origin of our American “Santa Claus” with Washington Irving and Clement C. Moore helping to make him who he is today. The earliest writing in America of a figure resembling our modern Santa can be found in Washington Irving’s satire of Dutch culture. In “History of New York” published in 1809, Irving writes in chapter IX: "At this early period…hanging up a stocking in the chimney on St. Nicholas eve…is always found in the morning miraculously filled; for the good St. Nicholas has ever been a great giver of gifts, particularly to children." Clement C. Moore immortalized St. Nicholas in “’Twas The Night Before Christmas.” In this ode to St. Nick, he appears on December 24th, Christmas Eve in America, not the traditional St. Nicholas Day/Eve of December 5 or December 6. Moore’s poem, published anonymously in a Troy, New York newspaper on December 23, 1823, promotes a new appearance to the original lean St. Nicholas: “He had a broad face and a little round belly…He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf…[with a] "sleigh full of Toys" [and] "eight tiny reindeer…[as] Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound." The two original reindeer names of Donder and Blixem were later changed to Donner and Blitzen. Once again, the Dutch influence in the former New Netherlands was involved as “donder” means thunder and “bliksem” means lightning. While Irving and Moore both present the jolly gift giver as Saint Nicholas, political cartoonist Thomas Nast is considered the first to refer to “Santa Claus” in his illustration for the January 3, 1863 edition of “Harpers Weekly.” President Lincoln had requested that Nast depict St. Nicholas visiting the Union troops. Nast’s illustration shows Santa Claus sitting on his sleigh at a U.S. Army camp, handing out gifts in front of a “Welcome Santa Claus” sign. Another treasured tradition of our modern Christmas is Charles Dickens’ short story, “A Christmas Carol,” written as a commentary on the greed of Victorian England. Available in bookstores the week before Christmas 1843, it sold very well, never being out of print since. Scrooge has the distinction of being one of the most well-known literary characters. But what do we care… Bah, humbug! Our decorated Christmas tree comes from German traditions with Queen Victoria’s husband Prince Albert putting up the first decorated tree at Windsor Castle in 1841. Based on illustrations of this event published in America in 1849, Christmas trees then became fashionable on this side of the “pond.” Small candles were used to light the tree, with popcorn and cranberry strings typically used for decoration. From the religious aspect, Christmas celebrations differed in many ways based on national origin. I found it interesting to learn that Christmas celebrations were outlawed in Boston by the Puritans in the mid to late 17th century with fines for violations, while the Jamestown, Virginia settlers enjoyed their merry celebrations under Capt. John Smith. After the American Revolution, Americans looked down on English traditions, including Christmas. Apparently, Congress was even in session on December 25, 1789! In fact, Christmas did not become a federal holiday until Congress declared it such on June 26, 1870. By the late 19th century, celebrating Christmas was made popular through children’s books and women’s magazines. Church Sunday School classes began encouraging celebrations, and families were decorating Christmas trees with everyone “knowing” Santa Claus delivered gifts on Christmas Eve, traditions which have been carried on into the 21st century. Other popular traditions we all look forward to include decorating our homes and trees, baking scrumptious special treats, singing carols, and either making or shopping for just the right gift for each special person on our list. But, alas, the years have also taken a simple celebration in honor of Jesus’ birth and made it into a highly marketed holiday, one often filled with ostentatious materialism. Personally, I prefer to step back to the simpler traditions of my Dutch ancestry and childhood home, one without “all the trappings” and media frenzy. With my dad being a first generation Dutch-American, we veered from Dutch tradition in some ways. We maintained Christmas Day with a morning church service and a big family dinner; but, our gift-giving was held the Saturday before Christmas, not the Dutch traditional day of December 5. My husband’s Dutch family opened gifts on Christmas Eve as they had Christmas morning worship service too, but we decided on Christmas morning for our kids to open gifts. My first and last adoration of Santa Claus came the Christmas I was 5 years old when Santa visited my grandparents in Clifton, New Jersey. We three oldest granddaughters shyly sat on his lap to share our wants. Afterwards, my grandmother took us to an upstairs window to watch Santa and his reindeer leave. All I saw was a car with red tail lights driving away between the snowbanks. At that moment, I was crushed and disillusioned, and just knew there was absolutely no Santa Claus because, despite dressing the part, he did not have a sleigh and reindeer! After all, everyone’s favorite reindeer is Rudolph with his nose so bright! Supposedly written by Robert L. May for his daughter when her mother was dying of cancer, “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer” was actually written in 1939 for his employer, Montgomery Ward, as a Christmas book given out free to customers. Though May’s wife did die around the time he wrote the story, he read it to his 4-year-old daughter as he worked on it simply to ensure it held a child’s interest. With memories of his own childhood, May decided on a tale with roots in “The Ugly Duckling” and the taunts he had suffered as a child. Poor Rudolph was ostracized by other reindeer for being different, having an obvious physical abnormality… a glowing red nose. No one else had one! Regardless of his defect, Rudolph thrived under his parents’ love, overcame his disability and the taunts to become a responsible young deer! And then one foggy night, Santa noticed how Rudolph’s nose shone through the dark, and asked him to lead the team of reindeer pulling his sleigh on Christmas Eve! How excited and honored Rudolph must have felt! We’ve all been blessed with special Christmas memories over the years. While visiting my mom at Elderwood nursing home in the past, she shared that her mother had always put up and decorated a large Christmas tree in their front parlor. It was a big change for her to learn that her new husband was not so inclined to such displays due to his more austere Dutch upbringing. With limited decorations and no trees until my mid-teens when my dad finally gave in to the pleading of his six kids, I have found it difficult to step out of that mold. Yet, I have enjoyed putting up a tree with lights and decorations when our three children were young. And now, since my mother-in-law gave me her ceramic tree the Christmas before she passed away, I am honored to share her generosity in this smaller and simpler display. My favorite Christmas memory was when my husband, Ed, farmed with his dad. With finances tight, I usually sewed clothes for all of us. But, one year I also made doll beds for each of our children by taking free boxes from the local grocery store, gluing the bottoms together, and covering them with wood-grain contact paper. My step-mother gave our three children a Cabbage-Patch type girl or boy doll she had made, while my grandmother sewed clothes and blankets for each doll. And our kids could not have been happier! Our local churches do not have a Christmas morning service like Ed and I grew up with, though we have enjoyed the local Christmas Eve candlelight services and singing of favorite carols. We also began a tradition of reading the Christmas story with our children before they opened gifts on Christmas morning. And another favorite of our family has been the TV special, “A Charlie Brown Christmas” by Charles M. Schulz. With the busy holiday shopping extravaganza and commercialization, I think we sometimes lose a little of the wonder of that very first Christmas. “Narrator: It was finally Christmastime, the best time of the year. The houses were strung with tiny colored lights, their windows shining with a warm yellow glow only Christmas could bring. The scents of pine needles and hot cocoa mingled together, wafting through the air, and the sweet sounds of Christmas carols could be heard in the distance. Fluffy white snowflakes tumbled from the sky onto a group of joyful children as they sang and laughed, skating on the frozen pond in town. Everyone was happy and full of holiday cheer. That is, everyone except for Charlie Brown…” “Charlie (to Linus): ‘I think there must be something wrong with me. I just don’t understand Christmas, I guess. I might be getting presents and sending Christmas cards and decorating trees and all that, but I’m still not happy. I don’t feel the way I’m supposed to feel…’” “Later, after a day of frustrations, Charlie says: ‘I guess you were right Linus; I shouldn’t have picked this little tree. Everything I do turns into a disaster. I guess I don’t really know what Christmas is about. Isn’t there anyone who understands what Christmas is all about?’” “Linus: ‘Sure, I can tell you what Christmas is all about.’ [Walking to the center of the stage, Linus speaks:] ‘And there were in the same country Shepherds abiding in the field, keeping watch over their flock by night. And lo, the angel of the Lord came upon them, and the glory of the Lord shone ‘round about them, and they were sore afraid. And the angel said unto them, ‘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 clothes lying in the manger.’ And suddenly, there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host, praising God and saying, ‘Glory to God in the highest, and on Earth peace, good will toward men.’” [Luke 2:8-14] Did you notice Linus drops his blanket? He knew who to trust. And, for me and my family, that’s what Christmas is all about… As we begin to celebrate this Christmas season, share your special memories!

Gotta admit, my favorite of the above is Little Drummer Boy, but by King & Country:

Do we remember what it was like to view the world through the eyes of a child? Sometimes yes, but a lot of times no … too often, I see the world through the lens of adulthood, from various angles and tints of the life that’s come my way. This poem came to me a few weeks before this particular evening news segment which prompted the following blog several years ago. We all have much to learn in being a living example of Christ’s love for us… He, who came to this earth as a newborn babe, to experience life through the eyes of humanity, and who, while being fully God, came with a purpose to redeem us from our sinful selves. And every once in a while, we are vividly reminded of the unselfish core of child-like faith and vision. God bless you as we remember “the reason for the season”. I think that we, as adults, have forgotten how to view life through the eyes of a child. Their wide-eyed innocence and purity come to us like a breath of fresh air… like a flower opening its beauty to the sun’s warm rays. As adults though, we sometimes become hardened by the realities of a harsh world. The evening news on Christmas Day 2014 (as told in Huffington Post, “Prankster Gives Homeless man $100…”) showed a brief documentary of what one homeless man did when given a $100 bill by the commentator, Josh Paler Lin. Standing at the side of a highway with a cardboard sign, the poor man must have felt like Lin was his savior when he was handed that much money! He was reluctant at first to take it, but then gladly accepted the free gift and walked away. From a distance, the cameraman inconspicuously trailed the homeless man as he took the money and walked into town. There, the man promptly entered a liquor store… exiting with two large and heavy bags. The assumption spoken in the video was that the money had been used by the homeless man to buy an awful lot of alcohol. I will admit that I, too, had felt great disappointment as I watched the man enter the liquor store. And, I, too, made an assumption by association. But, as the cameraman and Lin continued to follow the homeless man without his knowledge, the gentleman walked directly to a nearby park, set his bags down, and began to pull out packages… which he handed to others sitting around at picnic tables. And what was he handing out? Food. After watching for just a little bit longer, Lin went over to speak with the homeless man. Lin explained what he was doing in his documentary, pointing out the cameraman a short distance away, and then asked the homeless man to explain what he had just done with his $100 bill. I was impressed and teary-eyed to see a youthful Lin, with hair dyed both blond and black, tell the older man he owed him an apology for his wrong assumptions. They hugged as Lin shared that he assumed the older man had come out of the store carrying two bags full of liquor. Instead, he had learned a valuable lesson from this selfless, older man who carried all his worldly possessions in a bag… and who thought of the needs of others before his own. “You just touched my heart,” Lin told him. It was then the homeless man told Lin: “There's a lot of people that are just victims of circumstance, and they didn't go homeless because they're lazy… There's a lot of good people that are homeless.” And I was reminded of this poem I had written a few weeks earlier. May I have the ability to see the world through the eyes of a child, coming to the Lord with a simple child-like faith as I put my trust in God’s great love. For as Jesus said, “…I tell you the truth, unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven… And whoever welcomes a little child like this in my name welcomes me.” (Matt. 18:3,5) With a child-like faith, may I show the world around me the same love the Lord has lavished upon me, a sinner, in need of a Savior…. quite like the homeless man in our story. It was his simple and generous love for his friends which allowed him to share the food he’d bought with the gift he’d been given. He hoarded neither the money nor the food. And in this, I learned a valuable lesson and must ask myself, “Would I have been so generous?” Yet isn’t that why Jesus humbled himself to be born into this world of sin, a world far different from the glories of His heavenly home… to share His generosity by coming to us as a newborn babe, to view this world from our perspective, and to save us from ourselves? Thank you, Lord, for loving me so much that you saw my world through the eyes of a little child so long ago… Wishing each of you, my readers, a Merry and Blessed Christmas!! The Eyes of a Child Linda A. Roorda Through the open eyes of a little child We see our Lord without the blinders To know His love as gentle as a lamb And feel His arms envelope with peace. ~ The tender faith of one so young Is a gift from God through eyes without fear A simple trust with expectant hope Holding out hands for others to lead. ~ No guile is found within this wee soul Whose love is pure like a heart of gold Who freely gives to others in need That all may praise and bless His name. ~ Untainted youth by worldly vices Pure and trusting are innocent minds With hearts that see the best in us all And faith that hopes with unfailing love. ~ To tenderly hold the hands of a child And feel secure, encompassed by love, To view the world through innocent eyes Is to see the best in all whom we meet. ~ For judging others is not their concern They simply believe that all will be well And though their pride may rear its revolt How willing are they to forgive when wronged. ~ Their trusting heart accepts our reproof When patience is taught by living examples For character grows with perseverance As praises true will confidence build. ~ What would we see through the eyes of a child Is it pure love that encompasses all? Is it a trust in those who provide? And through such faith do our eyes open wide? ~ Faith to trust Him who holds us through storms A trusting belief in His loving heart And with this love to simply accept He knows what’s best as He leads the way. ~ With eyes of a child may we see our Lord The giver of life, bestower of gifts The One who guides with a Shepherd’s voice Who lay down His life that we might live. ~~

I suspect we’re all beginning to think about Thanksgiving, planning guests and menus…time to spend with family, fun and games… yet knowing we each have so much to be thankful for… every new day. But, if you’re anything like me, some of those blessings tend to be taken for granted… some things are just such an “every-day” part of our life, we forget to stand in awe of how special they really are. Being in contact with those less fortunate than we are, my heart goes out to them while seeking God’s guidance on how best to meet those needs. God gives us these opportunities to share from the bounty He’s provided us. And may you be richly blessed this Thanksgiving in so many ways! Blessings... those gifts given with no expectation of payback. They arrive unexpectedly from many sources… from our dear family and friends, from strangers we pass on our daily path, from a special moment in time, and all from our God above. Blessings convey love from the sender. They invoke inspiration as we face nature’s finest moments of grandeur. Given by our Creator God, blessings take our breath away as we pause in awe. Blessings come in the simple form of a thankful heart when we’ve given to meet someone else’s need without expecting a reward… Blessings come within the deep sense of pleasure for that special little something done as a random anonymous act of kindness and generosity to cheer another soul on their journey of life… Blessings come specific to each person… for we are each created unique. My blessings are different from yours, and yours are different from those who you know. When we truly stop to think about it, we realize that all of life is a blessing. I remember the old hymn from my childhood, “Count your blessings, name them one by one. Count your blessings, see what God hath done…” But, in reality, I cannot even begin to count all my blessings nor to comprehend their great number. And that’s the key – understanding that all of life, from this entire world and universe down to our little life in and of itself, is a blessing in every way imaginable from our great and awesome God! Blessings come with prayer and a thankful heart as we receive them from God. He, as creator of this universe and each of us within it, owes us nothing. Yet, He loved us so much, despite our disobedient ungrateful hearts, that “[He] shows his love for us in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us. (Romans 5:8) We owe Him everything… every ounce of praise from our thankful heart… for from Him, we have life, even the air we breathe, and so much more which we take for granted every day… and from Him, we have our precious gift of eternal salvation that nothing can destroy. And when we see our life and the world around us that way, we truly see our blessings with a grateful heart… ready to offer praise with thanksgiving to God for such awesome gifts in even the simplest of treasures. May you be blessed, today and always!! Blessings Linda A. Roorda Like dawn awaking to a gentle rain Are blessings showered upon our lives From seemingly small to greatest of all They are the simple, and yet not trivial. We take a breath with no thought to the gift Each second, each minute of every new day Yet it’s a blessing we take for granted With nary a thought as to the Giver. From dawn to dusk the sun bathes our world As our eyes behold the beauty around us With its warming glow is our life enhanced While we think naught from whence it came. A whispered word of gentle praise And loving concern expressed with feeling Abilities shared with ease of talent These, too, are blessings which touch deep the soul. An act of kindness, random or thoughtful Given from the heart is but a reflection, An image of grace like that received And bestowed in mercy by our Lord above. Love from the heart, in tenderest form Treasures each life we meet on our path, To bless another aside from our wants Enriches us both as God leads our way. ~

Absolutely loved this! No... I did not grow up on Fluff, or fluffernutters! Never knew such a thing existed until my kids were growing up... and then I was shocked that such a white sweet goo would be used for a sandwich with all that sugar!! No way was I going to spend hard earned dollars on that for my kids! Never mind I fed them Kool-Aid with all that sugar! But what was my favorite snack growing up? My Mom's homemade bread/toast (until a few years and a few siblings more later, we had Stroehmann's bread and thought we were coming up in the world!) slathered with oleo and white sugar with cinnamon sprinkled on top, or taking some of her fresh-made raw bread dough, and rolling it in sugar and cinnamon! Mmm! Mmm! Good! LOL! The irony is not lost here!

To whom do I owe allegiance? In whom do I put my trust? To whom do I give credence? Important words to contemplate for each of us in this world of conflict and hypocrisy. Because, when we are individually or collectively silenced or canceled for our beliefs or opinions, for the sake of those who consider themselves to be “in the know” about any and all subjects, we, as a society, have ceased to listen and to understand. We have lost our empathy, compassion and love, the ability to agree to disagree, but most of all we’ve lost true tolerance, loyalty and respect… allegiance. I’ve said it many times before… we are each created differently. Our kids often heard that phrase from us as we rejected comparisons and envy around us. We are each unique, to be respected and loved for who we are… even in our infirmities. Just as every snowflake, every leaf, and every creature in the world of nature is different yet similar, even imperfect, so are we. Not just physically and outwardly, but also emotionally in our thinking and reacting. We each have different life experiences that contribute to making us who we are today, and why we think the way we do. Have we not read or heard of the Golden Rule, “Do unto others as you would have them do unto you”? (Matthew 7:12, Luke 6:31) In other words, haven’t we been told to put ourselves in someone else’s “shoes” to understand their life and perspective? In so doing, we understand just a little better what their life is like, enabling us to show empathy, compassion, true tolerance, and loving kindness. And that exemplifies Jesus’ words in Mark 12:29-31: “the most important is this: …Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind and with all your strength. The second is this: Love your neighbor as yourself.” With trust placed in our God, He keeps us from stumbling. He gives us the ability to love and respect those with whom we disagree. But when we take our eyes off Him and His wisdom and we stumble, He is right there to help pick us up to start over again. He welcomes us back, just like the little lost lamb He sought and brought back from danger. For all that our great God does for each of us, I, we, owe Him our thanks, our praise, and our adoration… our allegiance. To Whom Allegiance… Of Christ and His love Linda A. Roorda Suppose my voice were threatened to silence By those opposing my faith in Almighty. To whom allegiance, the question I’d face Would I still speak or in fear acquiesce? Some think it’s fair to believe at will Whatever goes, whatever seems right, To each his own, a designer faith That which best fits their values perceived. I’d hope my faith through testing and trial Would stand ever firm in the Lord of my soul. For the great I Am with mercy and grace Will gently guide when His face I seek. His wisdom my source for dealing with life, Yet often my search still draws me away. Why do I think my knowledge is best, And why do I fight His hands on the reins? Time and again He’s proven to me He truly knows best, His way unequaled. He pulls me up short to rein in my will With reassurance as He directs my steps. My voice will then share the Truth it has known A comforting Peace in the storms of life A gentle holding in the palm of His hand A vision of Light ever guiding my path. ~~

And Chris, thank you for the perfect header photo, and for adding Ernie Pyle's photo! Much appreciated!!

I've never been there, wish I/we could, but Ed is not able to travel, even going to the dr's takes everything out of him. I can only imagine how touching/emotional it would be for you or anyone to stand among those who were honoring their fallen friends and family members at the memorials. One of my younger brothers is a retired 20-yr Navy man, in the Gulf War, on a ship's tender out to sea. One of our son's best friends was among the very first going into the worst area in the middle east war after 9/11 as a Marine, Special Ops I believe. But, earlier this year, this summer, a long-time friend of ours, my mom's age, was at the D.C. memorials as part of an Honor Flight out of Binghamton. Bob sent us the WBNG-TV news clip; they had spoken with him, a Korean vet, and he was deeply honored, in tears just to be part of the event and share the time with other veterans. He'd told us quite some time ago that his plane had been shot down by a Russian plane; he was the radar man, with a few survivors. I'm ashamed that I can't remember the exact story. So I totally understand how honored you felt to simply be in the presence of those veterans, like your Dad. Thanks for sharing, Chris.

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

Yes, you should! I used to get a special packet of spices for the dill; my mom grew her own dill. And she invented putting slices of her homemade dill pickles on toasted cheese sandwiches made with her homemade bread - unless her mother did that too that I never knew about - out of this world delicious! The bread-and-butter pickles are super easy. Love, love, love sweet gherkins but they do take time with the brine, soaking and heating it up, etc., but so worth it in the delicious munching!! Enjoy!

PS - I just saw the photos you added above - love them! That's what my canning shelves sort of looked like decades ago! all the many dozens of quarts of tomatoes, fruit, pickles and certain veggies! Do you make pickles? Used to enjoy making dill and bread-and-butter pickles, but also the sweet gherkins that took alot of soaking in brine to process but oh so good!

Oh my goodness, Chris! That's still quite a loss! But, as you said, at least you were able to make a good amount of cider to enjoy! and glad to hear your potatoes were so successful and happily taking up residence in the basement! I remember our huge gardens years ago - growing potatoes was fun! In fact, our oldest daughter as a youngster enjoyed digging in the dirt to find them! It was like a treasure hunt to her at that age 🙂 I know you'll all enjoy them on the table this winter!!

Admittedly, I laughed! Does the beret come with an eye patch? But... admittedly, don't think I want "you" in one of the classes where I'm subbing LOL!

What is our worth, our value? How do we even measure such an entity? Have we been so downtrodden that we feel like a failure… like we’re unworthy of the love of others? Or do we hold our head up knowing we have inherent worth among the rest? Feeling unworthy is not new to any of us. We’ve all been there at times throughout our life. Haven’t we at one time or another made a simple mistake, yet were left feeling so ashamed we just wanted to disappear? I have. Frequently belittled in the past by a sibling and peers, those with a bravado making up for their own insecurities, I’ve felt defeated and worthless, without importance or value. After my family moved from farm life near East Palmyra, NY to city life in Clifton, NJ in February 1965, I struggled to accept this new way of life. I hated the move and city life with every fiber of my being. At age 10, I’d essentially lost all my good friends and the value of who I was… or so I thought. I had to start over in a new city and a new school, trying to make new friends. Initially, this small school did not represent the love that I had been used to. Here, at a city Christian school, I initially knew only two people – my younger cousin, Susan, and our minister’s daughter, Kristin. Amazingly, her father had previously been our pastor in East Palmyra, and Kristin and my sister and I were already good friends – we used to visit each other’s home for play dates. So, on the very first day of school, Kristin brought me and my sister inside to take us to the office. Instead, we were met in the hall by the principal who yelled at us for being inside, insisting we go back outside until the bell rang. I felt so belittled, worthless, like I’d done something terribly wrong, all because the principal did not listen to us, nor recognize and understand that we were trying to tell her we were new students. At that time, I was smart, looked up to by peers. However, there came a day that spring when I made a mistake so blatant that I was shamed. Waiting for the school bus at the top of our block, I saw a truck pass by with S.O.X. written in very large letters on the side – and South Orange Express written beneath. That’s an interesting name, I thought. I’ll have to look for that truck again! That morning in school we had a surprise spelling bee – something I excelled in. I read extensively already in fourth grade, being allowed three books for the week from the school library while everyone else could only take two. As the spelling bee progressed, I was given the word “socks.” Of course, I knew that simple word. Yet, what proceeded to come forth out of my mouth was “s-o-x.” And, then I was laughed at… Oh, my goodness! What had I just done! I knew how to spell socks! But that trucking company’s name had become embedded in my brain that morning, and, without thinking, that’s what I blurted out! I was so utterly ashamed that I went back to my desk fighting tears, refusing to show outwardly my devastated emotions. I felt absolutely worthless… On reading this story, my husband encouragingly said, “Hey! There are two baseball teams, the Red Sox and the White Sox. You weren’t so far off after all!” Acceptance by peers is not where my value and worth truly comes from. Too often, we put stock in how others perceive us, even as adults… and in what they consider to be of value – like intelligence, good looks, possessions, and how much fun we are. Instead, those things are all part of worldly superficial values. My family could not afford the latest new toys, nor the current fashion in clothes. I often wore and appreciated hand-me-down clothes… especially appreciating clothing gifts from my grandparents, or fabric to sew clothes for myself once I learned how. But the simplicity taught me to value what I did have, and to consider others no less worthy than myself. I do not look down on someone else, and developed empathy toward others in their struggles. Remembering that when I meet someone new, or see someone who’s been hurt by mocking and shaming, I know how it feels as it had once been me. Reaching out to others shows they are worthy, too! Though we may doubt our worth, God does not. He knows our value. After all, He created us and designed our individuality. There are no two of us alike. In this way, we each bring our uniqueness to benefit the world. Unfortunately, our inherent value, our worth, has been undermined... by sin. Yet, God loves us so much that He sent His beloved and only son, Jesus, to take the punishment for our wayward ways, our sin… to die in our place. And with that gracious gift we realize, “How great is the love the Father has lavished on us, that we should be called children of God!” (I John 3:1) God knows our worth! He values and loves each one of us for who we are! Though we may think we’re not worthy, we truly do have value… for we are totally and unconditionally loved by our awesome God… we are worthy!! Worthy Linda A. Roorda I am not worthy to be called Your child I’ve willfully gone about my own way I threw caution away with the wind Thinking alone this world I could handle. But here I am down on my knees Knowing I’ve failed time after time How can You care and how can You love Someone like me still bucking the reins. You gently seek and call out to me Drawing me close, my wrongs now to see Had I listened to Your voice all along I would not feel the shame I do now. Yet as I reach for Your loving arms Hear my heart’s cry acknowledge my sin Knowing Your grace now covers my soul As once again, mercy washes clean. I give You my all as I surrender now And give You the fears that grip at my soul What will I gain by taking the reins When Your guiding hands hold gently my heart. For You hold me up and prove I’m worthy You lead me on to stand on Your words It’s then I feel Your arms surround me As Your love pours out its comforting peace. ~~ April 2015 ~~

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.

In the autumnal season of life, as we age and retire out of the workforce, some of us may begin to feel unwanted and useless. We’ve done our job, and certainly did our best… we put heart and soul into our family and career. But now that we’re a few years removed from a busy active life, and no longer able to do what we once could, maybe some of us feel like we’ve been “put out to pasture” and left to watch time slowly tick away. I hope you’re enjoying a great autumn season as the leaves turn colors, the geese form their entourages and fly south, colder weather requires jackets, and tinges of wood smoke make the outdoor air aromatic reminding me of what pioneer days must have been like. We still have not had a frost but expect it later this coming week. Like life, a lot of changes happen in this season of fall as we prepare for winter just around the corner, reminding me I need to prepare for the inevitable and get those snow tires put on. And so, we prepare for our latter season of life… and enjoy this time of change. Admittedly, though, I am not a big fan of change… like arthritis creeping in, realizing I need to buy a magnifying glass to read the fine print… but I roll with it, accept the changes, and move forward… These thoughts came to mind on seeing some photos several years ago, like those at this tug graveyard, taken by Will Van Dorp, aka Tugster, another friend from childhood days. As Will documents and blogs about the daily traffic of his aptly-named watery “Sixth Boro” surrounding New York City and its environs, we see tugs hard at work towing and pushing barges or assisting an array of ships. Once upon a time, newly minted, they slid off the ways into the water, freshly christened with a shining glow, eager to face whatever responsibility or danger came their way. Tugs of various shapes and sizes actively plied the waters for many decades, sometimes sold to be rebuilt, repurposed and renamed to fit a new owner’s need. But, it saddens us when these workhorses of watery roads are abandoned in a lonely inlet graveyard to slowly rot away. They deserve a more fitting tribute for their hard-earned rest. Sort of like us… who begin to feel more like the months of autumn as the effects of aging take their toll… despite our thinking we’re a few decades younger and that we can still handle what we used to do with ease! Maybe we had only one job, one career, or maybe we embraced multiple careers in our lifetime. Maybe we lived through an era in history with a personal perspective that today’s youth just don’t understand. Be willing to share your life stories… the blessings, the fun and laughter, and the tears in tough times. What was learned through your experiences may help someone else understand how to face their own difficulty. With the end of life coming to us all eventually, be it boat or person, we can still make the most of our time that’s left. We don’t need to retire to the proverbial rocker in the corner… at least not yet anyway! We can be repurposed in retirement to benefit others. We can volunteer our time in any number of ways within our local community. In so doing, we can bring a smile, a sense of joy and love to someone who truly can’t get out and about as they once did. Listen to the stories, memories of the heart. Help a friend share their life’s history. Perhaps you can be the catalyst to writing down their memoirs. Create the opportunity for such remembrances to be passed on to their children, grandchildren and great-grands, even to others beyond their immediate family. Every one of us has a story to tell… our place in history to share. Like us, those old tugboats are deserving of recognition for what was accomplished during life’s journey with a fitting salute and tribute. Tug Salute Linda A. Roorda They ply the waters, these boats called tugs Each bow riding high with a stern slung low A workhorse they say for river or sea Vital to traffic of watery lanes. ~ Now gaunt and faded like lifeless fossils Left to corrode alone with their mem’ries, Who can recall the day of christening When futures shone bright as colorful hulls. ~ Riding waves high to rescue the dying Pushing and tugging behemoths of the deep Gently nudging, tucking in a berth Or pushing deep scows hauling upriver freight. ~ No matter the calm, never minding the storm They’ve a job to do without laud or praise Handling with ease by a captain’s trained eye Who knows safe channels like the back o’ the hand. ~ But came the day they were put to rest No hands at the helm, their days were numbered Silently rocking as waves tick off time Lapping relentless to a tune not their own. ~ Haunting images mere remnants of honor Come close and listen, if you dare tread near Listen to whispers of tales long ago As we salute you, the pride of the harbor. ~~ PHOTO CREDIT: Will Van Dorp, "Tugster".

Anniversaries…I like to think of them as brackets that hold our special memories marking the ever-flowing years. October 26th is our wedding anniversary, and goodness, but how the years have flown! There’s a lot of life lived within those years, a lot of water under that bridge… years that took a young bride and a little older and wiser groom through many stages of growth… years that saw carefree and happy days, but also years which saw many losses and changes that left their marks. Truth is, some days were harder than we ever could have imagined possible when we first became a team and dreamed of living together happily ever after. For me and Ed it has been learning to listen to each other (sometimes to what isn’t being verbalized), to make time to work out hard life issues, to accept each other, faults and all, to apologize and forgive, and to choose to love and remain committed to the vows we took on our wedding day. Whether we faced the happy days of easy love, the normal day-to-day mundane aspects of life, the difficult challenges with Ed no longer being able to farm with his dad as he lost the last vestiges of vision, the acceptance of a new way of life while he spent six months learning new skills at The Carroll Center for the Blind in Newton, MA, the joy and excitement our children brought into our lives by just being who they are, love for the spouses they married and the Grandchildren they blessed us with, staring at unbelievable sorrow and pain when our oldest daughter unexpectedly passed away at age 25, or the changes which multiple difficult health issues and disabilities have brought us, there is One who has walked beside us every step of the way… In fact, like the poem, “Footsteps In The Sand,” I know the Lord has carried us during those times when we were utterly overwhelmed by life. And, praise God, we have overcome what life has tossed our way, and our bonds have become stronger than when we first began our married journey 47 years ago! Once There Was A Time Linda A. Roorda Once there was a time I gazed into your eyes serene And there beheld the depths of your soul With all the love entwined in your heart… I miss the twinkle and the wink I miss the many tones of your gaze For your eyes spoke tender volumes Of adoration and undying love. Once there was a time Of holding hands on carefree walks Cherishing how you protected and led And lifted me gently over the fence… You shared your music, humor and wisdom As we walked and talked, laughed and pondered Sweet dreams and plans for our life ahead O’er paths unknown but bright with love. Once there was a time I breathed in deep the ambience Of fresh-baled hay and farming life And snuggled close, safe in your arms… I loved it best to work with you A shadow beside your every move Watching with pride my farmer’s hands Caring for cattle and crops and fields. Once there was a time Three precious babes arrived To bring us joy and share our love As we watched them grow and learn at our side… Then changes came, sudden and unbidden For life doesn’t always go as we plan You lost your vision, you lost your dream, We lost ourselves to a new way of life. Once there was a time Of joyous blessings and bittersweet days When dreams took root and on wings did fly From a nest that emptied all too soon… Then just as surely as rejoicing came The agony of death descended dark Yet hidden deep within the walls Lay healing and peace only God could give. Once there was a time We watched each other struggle Overwhelmed by cares and concerns of life From darkened doors to windows of light… For sometimes wisdom can best be learned By facing trials of hardship and pain In Faith, Hope and Love we persevere As we walk a path covered by prayer. Once there was a time When life seemed just an empty slate Waiting to be filled and made complete O’er paths now trod and bright with love… Yet in gazing back upon our days Never did we walk alone For gently guiding and lighting our way Were the grace-filled loving hands of our Lord ~~

Great read! My sentiments exactly. I do not like corn mazes, never tried one, have no interest! I already fear getting lost driving to a new-to-me destination even with directions, and not about to try a corn maze... ever!!! 🙂

I’m sure we’ve all heard of Johnny Appleseed and those apple seeds he planted “everywhere.” The 1948 Disney movie, “Melody Time,” and their 2002 version, “American Legends,” both include a short story about him with a simple upbeat song: “The Lord is good to me, And so I thank the Lord, For giving me the things I need, The sun and rain and an apple seed, Yes, He’s been good to me…” But who was this legendary man? Not many Americans know the real story behind the myths perpetuated in film, song and verse. And, since I didn’t know much more about Johnny Appleseed other than the fact that he went around planting apple seeds, I thought it was about time I did a little research. John (not Jonathan, his youngest half-brother’s name, as some websites call him) Chapman was born September 26, 1774 in Leominster, Massachusetts. But, he died far from his birth home, an apparent pauper, near Fort Wayne, Indiana in mid-March 1845. He may have died the 11th, or the 18th, or was it the 17th? Accounts vary, rather indicative of his life, but his obituary was dated March 22, 1845 in the “Fort Wayne Sentinel” of Fort Wayne, Ohio. John Chapman's Birthplace - Leominster, Massachusetts He was a simple man, walking virtually everywhere in bare feet, even in inclement weather, wearing baggy pantaloons and a coffee sack from which he’d cut holes for his head and arms. He often wore one or more hats on his head, including a cooking pot with a handle, and carried his belongings in a satchel on his back. Then, one dreary evening when the precipitation coming down was a bitter cold mixture of rain and snow, he appeared at the door of the William Worth home, friends with whom he’d stayed before. After satisfying his hunger, he shared his usual news “right fresh from heaven” with the family (Means, p.1) – the truths within the Bible as seen through his eyes and those in the teachings of Emanuel Swedenborg as was his favorite past time. He was a faithful disciple of Swedenborg’s religious philosophy, carrying the church’s books and pamphlets with him and eagerly expounding upon his favorite issues to anyone available to listen, for this was “…in many ways, the driving force of his life.” (Johnny Appleseed: The Man, the Myth, the American Story, Howard Means, p.6) Chapman apparently awoke the next morning with a fever from an infection which seems to have settled in his lungs. He died within days, or was it just hours, of what was then called the “winter plague” which could have been anything from pneumonia to influenza. And, apparently he died with his face the picture of serenity as the Worth family and their physician later pointed out. (Means, p. 2) Chapman was a simple and gentle man, not one given to drunkenness or fighting. He was very much at home in the wilderness, preferring the untamed wild country to the inside of a cabin. But, at times he did appreciate the hearth of those who welcomed him inside their home - that is, when he chose to enter. Interestingly, he was accepted by virtually everyone with whom he came in contact despite his odd and uncouth appearance - from the Native Americans to the domesticated early settlers and the wilderness frontiersmen. He was respected as an odd eccentric, a larger-than-life character wherever he went. He had an uncanny ability to be “here one minute, gone the next.” (Means, p. 3) The famed Civil War general, William Tecumseh Sherman, born and raised in Lancaster, Ohio, may have known Chapman, or perhaps just knew of him, as Chapman passed through the area while Sherman was still in his teens. After Chapman’s death, Sherman is purported to have said, “Johnny Appleseed’s name will never be forgotten… We will keep his memory green, and future generations of boys and girls will love him as we, who knew him, have learned to love him.” (Means, p. 4) Born in 1774 as above, Chapman was the second child of Nathaniel and Elizabeth (Simons) Chapman. His father was a member of the Minutemen Militia and fought at Bunker Hill. Both families have ties to the very early New England settlers, with descendants of Chapman’s mother’s extended Simonds/Simons family known to include the George Bush family. While Nathaniel Chapman was off fighting the war for independence that summer of 1776, his wife gave birth to their third son, Nathaniel, on June 26. On July 16, however, Elizabeth succumbed to an illness already affecting her as she had written in a letter to her husband earlier that month. Barely two weeks after her death, her tiny infant son also died. There must have been intense heartbreak felt by the two young siblings left behind. With their father at war, it has been presumed their mother’s family took them in. With very little documentation of their early childhood, we only know that little Johnny and his older sister, Elizabeth, are next found with their father and step-mother in Longmeadow, south of Springfield, Massachusetts by about 1781. Into a very small house, about 400 square feet, Nathaniel Sr. moved with his new wife, Lucy. In time, ten more children joined the family. The assumption can only be that of a home in utter chaos and squalor as the older children helped to care for the newer infants. From this noise and chaos, it appears John Chapman escaped with his half-brother, Nathaniel, Jr. Again, though we know very little of Chapman’s growing up years, he and Nathaniel Jr. are found about 15 years later (about 1796) in far western Pennsylvania. The western frontier was just beginning to open up with wilderness land ready for settlement by Revolutionary War veterans. How fortuitous when, in 1792, the Ohio Company of Associates (actually formed in Massachusetts, among other companies with land deals) began to offer one hundred acres of land free to anyone desiring to settle the “Donation Tract.” This land encompassed about one hundred thousand acres of wilderness beyond Ohio’s first white settlement in Marietta, used to help create a buffer zone between the white settlers and the warring Native Americans. There was one catch, however, to obtaining this free land: you had just three years in which to plant 50 apple trees and 20 peach trees as proof of your intention to settle the land. (Means, p.8-9) Chapman, with his uncanny ability to know where frontier settlements were likely to spring up, would trek into the wilderness, often along fertile river bottoms, stake out his claim and clear several acres to plant the apple seeds he had obtained from cider mills. He usually surrounded his plantings with a brush fence, though that did not always keep the small seedlings from being destroyed by critters and river flooding. In a few years, a small apple orchard would be waiting the arrival of settlers. However, he did not profit much from property he sold. Quite often, he simply used up whatever profits he’d made to buy and care for abused horses he saw on his travels. He also had a habit of just giving away seeds or young trees to those who couldn’t afford to pay much, if anything, for them. (Means, p.9) Chapman’s eccentricities abound, promoting a mythical aspect to his life story. Supposedly, he had been kicked in the head by a horse, perhaps in his twenties, suffering a skull fracture that required he be trepanned – that is, he had a portion of skull bone removed to alleviate pressure on his brain from internal hemorrhaging. Some have contended there might be validity to this story to explain some of Chapman’s oddities. Again, even this accident cannot be proven beyond that which W. M. Glines of Marietta, Ohio claimed. (Means, p.13) And so, into Pennsylvania, John (23 years) and Nathaniel (about 16) traveled – whether by foot, by horse, or by canoe no one knows for certain. Nor can various authors’ claims of various routes be proven beyond doubt. Regardless of how they arrived, John and Nathaniel planted apple seeds in the ground which they’d obtained in apple mash at cider mills; their intent was to plant seeds to prove their land throughout the wilderness. Their first plantings were made in what later became Warren County of northwest Pennsylvania during 1796 to 1799. Proof of their travels here is recorded in various journals and records at trading posts along the Allegheny River between Warren and Franklin. At some point before the turn of the new 19th century, John and his half-brother Nathaniel parted ways for reasons unclear to historians. John Chapman is recorded in various land deals, buying and leasing, signing promissory notes to family members, and selling land and apple seedlings all through the early part of the 19th century. It should also be noted that, by planting apple seeds, Chapman’s trees would not grow fruit true to the parent apple. Unless limbs are grafted onto sturdy root stock, apple seeds will revert to growing into one of thousands of varieties from their unique genetic coding, making apple tree propagation by seed totally unreliable. Among logical explanations for Chapman’s planting of apple seeds for fruit trees have been his desire to quickly establish ownership of the land his seeds were planted upon, knowing that whatever type of apple was produced would simply be pressed into cider. This beverage was consumed more often as hard cider at a time when liquor, hard cider and wine were used in large quantities by adults and children alike. Thus, Chapman’s apple trees would be a welcome addition to any homestead on the frontier. (Means, p.97) Another important part of Chapman’s mystique was his religious devotion to Swedenborgianism and the so-called New Church founded in 1787 in Britain after Swedenborg’s death. In fact, after visiting Ohio settlements in1801, Chapman became a convert and devoted disciple, leaving literature for settlers, often announcing himself with the words, “Here is news right fresh from heaven for you.” (Means, p.121) Armed with his own philosophy of not harming anything or anyone, plant, animal or human, Chapman was ready to share his religious beliefs with anyone who would listen… an avid missionary, as noted by the New Church. Briefly, Swedenborgianism was founded by the Swedish scientist and philosopher, Emanuel Swedenborg (1688-1772). In 1768, Swedenborg was tried for heresy. In 1770, he and his followers were ordered to cease their teachings. Swedenborg claimed to have psychic gifts, saw visions, and believed he was given special revelations directly from God. He imputed his own philosophy into the divinely inspired words of Scripture to propagate his own beliefs. Swedenborg also denied the triune character of God, believed that Christ was born with inherent evil from His mother, denied the personality of Satan, denied that Christ’s death was a substitution or atonement for our sin, and denied that Christ arose from the dead. (Sanders, p.167) Thus, he was in opposition to the doctrinal tenets which are the substantive foundational components of the Christian faith. Moving over into Ohio not long after the turn of the 19th century, Chapman is found planting his apple seeds from Steubenville and Wellsburg near the eastern border of Pennsylvania to Dexter City north of the Ohio River, Marietta on the Muskingum River to Newark on the Licking River. He purchased or leased land in several northern counties as well, including Knox, Richland and Ashland. Later, he also covered ground in Indiana. Chapman roamed far and wide in wilderness territory, always with an eye for a good place to put his seeds in the ground, having that keen ability to discern where new settlements were most likely to spring up. In early September 1812, he began to merge into myth during a period of hostile Indian attacks with counter-attacks by the white settlers. Chapman apparently ran 26 miles each way, in bare feet, from house to house in the middle of the night through the wilderness to yell out a warning to settlers that the Indians were on the warpath. He, more than anyone else, knew the trails like the backs of his hands from his own meanderings and plantings. With this singular feat, he alerted settlers of an impending attack by the Indians; though the Indians lay low for a brief period, they eventually overtook the settlers in a deadly surprise attack. Ohio was then a wilderness fraught with an overabundance of wild animals to be on the lookout for, along with murders and scalpings by Indians in retaliation for various events by the whites as they saw the loss of their territory. It was also a time of hard, back-breaking physical labor for settlers to get their acreage up to par in order to earn a living from the land. In this lifestyle, men and women both lived, on average, only to about age 35, though occasionally much longer. In this wilderness, Chapman lived as a modern, unkempt “John the Baptist.” He was dressed in assorted rags, with long and scraggly hair and beard, with not exactly a pleasant aroma about him, and with dark eyes that seemed to sparkle and glow in the excitement or passion of his conversations. In the wild, he typically ate “honey, berries, fruit, some cornmeal for mush, [and] milk whenever it was available.” (Means, p.168) He was seen to walk barefoot in snow and on ice; he stuck pins and needles into his feet without flinching. In fact, the mid-19th century poet, novelist, and Ohio native, Rosella Rice, wrote that neither she nor her childhood friends made “fun of the man [or had] sport at his expense… No matter how oddly he was dressed or how funny he looked, we children never laughed at him, because our parents all loved and revered him as a good old man, a friend, and a benefactor.” (Means, pp. 176-177) In 1805, Chapman’s father and step-mother moved with several of their younger children from Longmeadow, Massachusetts to Duck Creek on the Muskingum River near Marietta, Ohio. If they had hoped for it, the welcome mat was not put out by their “long lost” son. Chapman’s father died only two years after arriving, but there had not been the usual happy family visits one would have expected between father and son. Instead, Chapman appears to have continued to keep his distance from his family except on rare occasions. Many thoughts fuel the speculation as to why, including the fact he had signed two promissory notes to family members without any documentation as to whether he paid his debt off or not. Perhaps he and his step-family did not get along. No one knows for sure why he kept his distance from them. Let it be said, however, that being with his family wasn’t anathema to him; rather, his on-the-move personality simply didn’t fit to make him into someone he was not, as in someone who would stay on the homestead, tending to the fields, animals and family. In his later life, Chapman’s work of planting both apple seeds and the New Church’s “fresh news” was considered to be that of an “extraordinary missionary…” by the Swedenborg church hierarchy. “Having no family, and inured to hardships of every kind, his operations are unceasing. He is now employed in traversing the district between Detroit and the closer settlements of Ohio…” (Means, p.192) In an 1821 letter regarding Chapman’s desire to trade land for religious books of the faith, something the church could not do, a Daniel Thunn called him “the Appleseed man…” A Reverend Holly wrote in a letter dated November 18, 1822 that Chapman was a man in Ohio “…they call…John Appleseed out there…” This is considered the first written record of the name given to an eccentric man who gradually evolved into the myth we call Johnny Appleseed. (Means, pp.192-193) As elusive and eccentric as he was in his lifetime, so he was in death. While the actual circumstances and date surrounding his death are somewhat sketchy, it comes as no surprise that his actual burial plot is also now unknown. Several witnesses stepped forward and claimed they knew where he was buried, including a self-proclaimed grandson of his half-brother Andrew - until it was determined John Chapman did not have a half-brother by that name. Not until 1916 did the Indiana Horticultural Society chose an area at the top of a grassy knoll to forever be known as Chapman’s burial site. Here, in Fort Wayne, an iron fence was erected with a plaque that reads as simple as the man was: John Chapman Johnny Appleseed Died 1845 Near Dexter City, Ohio is another monument. It stands seven feet tall, and is built with stones brought from every state in the nation. This plaque reads: “In Memory of John Chapman, Famous ‘Johnny Appleseed…’ Without a Hope of Recompense, Without a Thought of Pride, John Chapman Planted Apple Trees, And Preached, and Lived, and Died.” (Means, p.227) After his death, his estate was appraised with salable assets including one gray mare, 2000 apple trees in Jay County, 15,000 apple trees in Allen County, and multiple parcels of land. With the sale of all he had to show for his life, Chapman’s estate was valued at $409 (about $9,300 in 2011), not exactly pittance. However, every cent of it was eaten up by back taxes along with other unpaid bills owed to family and friends. Rather symbolic of how Chapman lived his life… with little true income or money in his pocket, living off the land and largesse of friends and strangers, nothing ostentatious about him. It is also interesting to note that Howard Means (author of Johnny Appleseed: The Man, the Myth, the American Story) was able to trace several plots of land on which Chapman had established orchards, but which have now become part and parcel of very modern cities, minus the orchards, of course. Many stories of Chapman/Appleseed have been proven false by Means’ extensive research as he ferreted out the details behind the stories. Various contemporaneous writings have also set forth romanticized versions of Chapman’s life which were then carried on into the 20th century, perpetuating the myths about the man. In attempting to explain an element of Chapman’s eccentricity, Means recalled that he had once worked with a psychiatric response team in Washington, D.C. Here, he found legally insane people often dressed in odd rags and tattered clothing and who smelled terrible – as eyewitnesses claimed of Chapman. Means found it interesting that the eyes of many seemed to glow as they talked, just as it was said Chapman’s did. These people clearly heard voices in their heads, often with acting-out behavior in response to the voices. Chapman also told his listeners he was given revelations directly from God. Means feels that Chapman meets the modern definition of insanity and shared “the old adage [that] if you talk to God, it’s prayer. If God talks to you, it’s schizophrenia.” (Means, p.274) Whether Chapman/Appleseed was schizophrenic or otherwise insane is not mine to determine, but merely to pass along as explanation. This was not the direction I expected Johnny Appleseed’s story to take. However we look at the life of Johnny Appleseed (aka John Chapman), he was a man who respected everyone he met, who harmed no one, not even a mosquito (putting out at least one fire rather than cause the death of more insects, per one eyewitness). He was an eccentric man who has loomed larger than life, yet a man about whom we have known very little… with often that little bit being erroneous. Among other authors who have worked at fleshing out the myths and stories behind the elusive Chapman/Appleseed, Means has done a remarkable job to give us the clearest picture possible of John Chapman’s life. While pointing out what is merely conjecture versus documented fact, to prove or disprove various and sundry reports, the colored stories and facts of Chapman’s life come alive. And therein we discover the enigma of one for whom truth has evolved into romanticized myths regarding a simple man we’ve all admired… Johnny Appleseed.

I puttered around the kitchen yesterday, an early October morning, baking Ed’s favorite chocolate chip cookies and my hearty squash. Every now and then I glanced out the windows. I love the scenery of our backyard… the gardens, bushes and trees… all planted by us once upon a golden time. And the creek, fields and hills beyond, all formerly part of Ed’s family’s farm, now filled with cart paths and well-kept green grass circles that swallow up dimpled golf balls… with a few that manage to find their way into our yard by some awesome force behind them! But, instead of a summery sun, I glanced out to see a dreary day… I know many of my friends say fall is their favorite season. And rightly so, I suppose – for the cooling temps are welcome relief from summer’s intense heat and humidity, and the typical brilliant leaf colors reflect different types of trees framed against the backdrop of a bright crisp azure blue sky with puffy clouds which all make for a gorgeous display of nature’s beauty. But this year, without a hard frost yet, our leaves are rather dull, devoid of those bright colors. I do enjoy the aromas of baked spiced apple and pumpkin pies, the odor of wood smoke wafting on the air (at times Ed can able to tell just what wood is being burned), familiar barn smells carried by a gentle breeze down the valley with a hint of well-cured silage, along with enjoying colorful fall flower arrangements, and the countrified pumpkin and gourd displays with corn stalks and hay bales some folks set up by their front door. But, truth be told, I find autumn to be the harbinger of a gray cold world with dying leaves that bequeath us with stark-naked tree limbs. Yet, when studied, those limbs have a distinctive roughened beauty all their own etched against the sky of any shade. And, though there are gray drizzly skies, and cold, damp days that chill to the bone… they do have a plus side with lots of delicious homemade baked goods, stews, soups and chili with cornbread! I much prefer spring and its promised return of new life and summer’s golden rays. So, as this poem began to form several years ago, I tried to focus on the whispered secrets of fall – in its colorful beauty pointing to winter’s pristine white splendor, and the resurgence of life in the future that can only be hinted at now. October Whispers Linda A. Roorda The lonely parade of falling colors a silent drizzle and cocooning fog consuming dampening turn thoughts inward melancholy bereaved for the joy of summer basking in bright warmth now shrouded by hazy sheen forcing hearts to gaze ahead and to leave the past to fall behind etched in time yet even now renewed in visions of white and whispers soft of secrets hidden for the way it is and soon shall become. ~~ Photo taken by author in 2019.