Fay Risner's Blog, page 23

Cancer Awareness Month & the loss of a loved one-Excert from Sunset Til Sunrise On Buttercup Lane

Connie Risner

September 30, 1952- July 21, 1913


A romance book is released written by Connie Risner. The title is Sunset Til Sunrise On Buttercup Lane. You can find the paperback version on Amazon. The ebook is in Nook and Kindle stores and soon to be on Smashwords.com.



This month is Cancer Awareness Month so it's only fitting that a book by Connie that talks about the aftermath of cancer for a love one is ready to release now. Connie and I were sister-in-laws in the Risner family. We shared sort of a sisterhood of two members and always a close one.



We all have goals we want to complete or dreams that should end happy. Years ago, Connie and I both dreamed about being an author. We even took some writing classes together. I was committed to work on my writing skills as was Connie, but the future held a different path for each of us. She went to work which limited her time. Still she found a few moments to revise the story she was working on a couple of times before her life changed for the worse.



In 1999, Connie was diagnosed with stage four breast cancer. From then on her goal was to live as long as possible, and she did a good job of keeping the cancer at bay for years. Her dream became to live long enough to spend as much time as she could with her grandchildren.



Connie passed away in July of this year at theyoung age of 60 after her long battle. She put up one heck of a fight to stay alive, and she did it with with courage and grace. Early on, she told me she'd cried her tears when she was first told she didn't have long to live. Whatever time she had left she wanted to laugh not cry. Her outlook and brave face when she was around the rest of the family helped make it easier for us to except what was going to happen to her. We faced the future with her as she held on as long as she could.



In those years of struggle with cancer, Connie didn't have time or the energy to think about her book. Before the last few years, authors didn't have the option of being an Independent author like they do now. After she was gone, her husband, Aubrey, found a box with her manuscript in it. When he told me of his discovery, I grew excited about the prospect of turning the story into a book for Connie, and that's happened. All of us close to Connie felt so helpless as we watched her in the last months of her life. We knew she was losing the fight. We couldn't make it better for her, but I sure can do something for her now. I can make her dream to become an author come true.



We hear many stories of survivors, and about people who didn't survive. Connie held out hope for a long time that some day a cure would be found so that she might live to see her grandchildren grow up. We wished for that with her. It wasn't to be, but that day will come for future cancer patients as it has for other illnesses. We have to believe that.



In the meantime, we've helped Connie's dream come true to be an author. It's a bittersweet moment for me. Connie would have been so proud of this accomplishment had she been here to enjoy the moment. She left us behind to enjoy it for her never knowing that her book has been published.





Connie wrote a general romance fiction book. With her sense of humor, I can hear her distinctive laughter as she wrote some of the passages. In other places, we see how upset and depressed Jessica Showman Cartan has become with the lost of a loved one who died from cancer. Here is an excerpt from Sunset Til Sunrise On Buttercup Lane by Connie Risner.



The weekend passed much too quickly in spite of all the interruptions from Mark. He called several times, wanting to apologize, but Jessica refused to talk to him and hung up. It was probably wrong not to smooth things over with one of the lawyers in the firm, but on a personal level, she was angry yet. That was how she felt, and she didn't care about making up with Mark. If he really thought about her the way he described, he wasn't worth trying to straightened things out with.



Monday came. Though she dreaded another run in with Mark at the office, the day was hectic enough to keep her busy. That kept her from thinking about anything else.



That morning, Mr. Cartan rushed from his office, carrying some new reports that he wanted done immediately. “When you're finished bring the reports in right away.”



“Yes, sir, Mr. Cartan,” she replied. “Is there any certain one that needs my attention first?”



“No, just do them all.”



Marsha waited until Steven closed his office door and glanced behind her at Joan's vacant desk. Considering that a perfect moment to talk to Jessica, she hustled over and plopped herself down on the edge of the desk. “How are things going with Mark?”



Jessica scrunched up her shoulders and let them drop as she kept fingering through the reports that needed typed up. “He called a few times too many over the weekend to say he was sorry. I just couldn't discuss what happened with him so I hung up on him. Every time I think about what he accused me of I get really upset. I feel if that is what he thinks of me he isn't worth my time.”



“Don't be too hard on him, Jess,” Marsha said. Glancing over to make sure Joan was still gone, she whispered, “Like I said Joan probably put a lot of those ideas in his head.”



“I'm sure of that, but that's no excuse for how he acted. He has a mind of his own, and he knows me a lot better than that. I thought we were best friends,” Jessica said.



“Jess, wake up. Mark must think he has more than just your friendship,” Marsha exclaimed.



“Obviously, he does, but that makes it worse that he wouldn't believe my explanations,” Jessica told her.



“You should look at this from Mark's viewpoint. He felt his territory was being invaded. Men are that way you know. Being protective is what makes them so irresistible.”



Jessica gave that a moment's thought. “Marsha, you may be right. Mark may have been ready to push me for a commitment, but I just don't know if he's the one I want to spend the rest of my life with.”



“You're such an old fashion girl. I love you for that,” Marsha said. “I sure don't have your indecision problems. I know what I want, and I go get it. Let me give you a piece of advice. Sometimes you have to give a little of yourself in order to get what you want.”



Marsha was a bright but impulsive woman. Jessica just didn't happen to go along with her point of view. “Oh, Marsha, that isn't me. I can't use your advice. I want all of it my way or nothing at all. The ring first, then marriage and then whatever goes with it.”



Marsha pushed her lower lip out in a pout. “If I waited around for a man to offer me a ring, I'd never have any fun.”



Jessica gasped at the brazenness of that statement. She heard a giggle across the room and glanced over her shoulder. Joan was back. She hissed, “Honestly, I can't believe the things you tell me. Doesn't it bother you Joan is listening to us? We shouldn't be talking about this subject in the office. It just makes more office gossip for her to repeat.”



“You're right. I'll catch you some other time outside the office and take up where I left off with more advice,” Marsha whispered with a wink.



It didn't take Jessica long to finish typing the reports once Marsha stopped bothering her. She knocked on Mr. Cartan's door. He called come in. She opened the door. “Here are the reports.”



“Thanks, Miss Showman. That was quick. Would you please take a seat. I want to talk to you.”



Jessica sensed the talk was going to be about something troubling her boss by the look on his face. Here it comes, she thought as her stomach did flip flops. He's going to fire me.



Steven Cartan cleared his throat and rested his chin on his hands as he gaged her with an intent look. “I want to talk to you about what happened at your desk Friday.”



“I really don't feel like talking about it,” Jessica said flatly.



“I feel we should clear the air. I know you're upset. I've seen it all day,” he said with a worried expression.



“All right, I'll say I'm sorry for making a scene, Mr. Cartan. I know what happened was out of line. It will never happen again,” Jessica said, hoping that was noncommittal enough without going into details about his partner to help her keep her job.



“I'm not worried about what it looked like in the reception room. There wasn't anyone else to witness Mark and you arguing except me. What I wanted to say was I want to apologize if I made any trouble for you with Mark by taking you out to dinner. That wasn't my intention.” Steven gave her a weak grin. “Actually from what I heard of your conversation with Mark, he had that slap coming. I just wanted to say I'm sorry if I caused any part of the disagreement between you two. The last thing I want is to have you unhappy at work.”



“Oh,” Jessica said weakly. She didn't expect him to say that about his business partner. “No need for you to apologize. Mark and I do need to work on the problem ourselves. You didn't cause his issues by taking me out to dinner. He did that all by himself by coming to the wrong conclusions and assuming too much about our relationship.”



Steven's eyebrows flew up.



“By that I mean Mark and my relationship,” Jessica corrected.



Steven concentrated on turning a pen end for end on top of his desk. “I see. I know it's none of my business, but I wondered if you and Mark had straightened everything out over the weekend and made your peace,”



“I see. Was there anything else you wanted, Mr. Cartan?” Jessica asked.



He said casually, “That's it. Would you like to have dinner with me again tonight?”



Jessica gasped. “I can't!”



“You can't or you won't,” Steven said quietly. His face was unreadable.



“I can't. I don't have time. I told you my sister is getting married. She needs my help getting ready for the wedding,” Jessica said.



“Maybe some other time. I really enjoyed dinner with you last night. If you ever need someone to talk to I want you to know I'm a good listener,” Steven said.



“Thank you. I better get back to my desk now.” Jessica hurried out before he had a chance to respond. She wondered what he had up his sleeve, standing up for her like that against his business partner.



Did he mean it when he invited her to have dinner with him again after how badly last night turned out? Next time, if there was a next time, she would drink less wine so she could remember how the evening ended. However, the evening must not have ended badly enough to bother Steven since he asked her for another date. That was an encouraging plus in her favor providing she decided she wanted to date her boss.



The rest of the week went by fast. Every night, she was with Jenny and the other bridesmaids. They had the rehearsal at the church on Wednesday night. The practice went off without a hitch. Jessica was so happy for Jenny. Seeing her glow with love was special. Charlie was going to make a great husband, and they were lucky to have each other.



Thursday was a short day at work. Jessica planned to run errands that afternoon. At noon, she rushed from the office out to the parking lot. Of all things, her car had a flat tire on the rear driver's side. “Stupid car! I haven't got time for this,” she snapped, kicking the deflated tire hard. “Ouch!” She exclaimed as she stood on one foot and rubbed the other one. Of all days! Why me?”



“I don't know why you,” came a calm reply behind her.



Jessica nearly jumped out of her skin. She wheeled around to face Steven and struggled back into her shoe. “Don't you ever do that to me again. I've lost track of how many times you've done that lately. If you keep scaring me, I could have a heart attack.”



“Sorry,” Steven said. The corners of his mouth quivered. “I wouldn't want that to happen to you. Now why are you so upset?”



Jessica pointed to the tire. “As you can see if you look at that tire, I have a big problem. I took the afternoon off to run errands for my sister all of which involve a running car with four stupid tires inflated,” Jessica vented.



Calmly, Steven sympathized. “That's too bad. Would you like me to help you?”



“You turned up at the right time. Do you have ESP or something?” She asked. Steven tilted his head to one side and stood there, waiting for her to answer. “Okay, I'd appreciate it if you can change my tire,” Jessica said as she unlocked the trunk. She lifted up the spare tire. “I can't believe this.”



“Can't believe what?” Steven asked, coming up behind her.



“My spare is flat, too. Of all days,” she groaned. “Stupid car. It will take forever to get the tire fixed, and this spare aired up.”



“I can help you out,” Steven suggested. “I'll be your personal chauffeur.”



“You're too busy to waste your time on me, Mr. Cartan,” Jessica said, distracted by the flat spare.



“I've taken off the rest of the day anyway so let me help you out. I offered, didn't I? And by the way, I wouldn't consider helping you a waste of my time.”



“If you really mean it I'm desperate enough to let you help me,” rushed out of Jessica's mouth.



Steven said shortly, “Oh.”



“I didn't mean it that way. Oh for Pete sake, I can't refuse an offer like yours when I have so much to do,” Jessica declared.



“While I'm helping you with the errands, I'll get a mechanic to come fix your flat and fill the spare with air.” Steven motioned toward his car. “Let's get going. My chariot awaits.” He led her to his car and once they were in, he dialed his car phone and placed a call to a repair shop. “When he finished, he said, “Now that's taken care of. The car will be ready for you when we finish your errands. Where do you want to go first?”



“I have to go home and change clothes. I need to get the decorations out of my bedroom closet and take them to the reception hall for the wedding reception,” she told him.



Jessica unlocked the apartment door. Steven followed her in. “Make yourself at home while I collect the boxes. There's tea, Pepsi and bottles of water in the refrigerator.”



“Just do what you have to do. Don't worry about me. I can take care of myself.”



I've never doubted that for one minute, ran through Jessica's mind. As she rummaged in the closet for the decoration boxes, she heard Steven's footsteps. The refrigerator door opened and shut. The flip top on a soda can popped.



She heard Steven say, “Good to meet you, too, Cat.” Jessica assumed he got a glimpse of B.J..



After she changed into a blouse and jeans, she came back down the hall with one of the boxes and set it down by the door. “I'm just curious. Can you tell what kind of person I am by the way I live?”



“I think so. You like to read benign mysteries.” He picked up Agatha Christie's Sleeping Murder on the lamp table, looked it over and put it back. “Odd since most women would rather read a steamy romance book. You like that sewing stuff beside the couch in the wicker basket which is old fashion. Most women these days don't know how to do that.” Steven tipped the Pepsi can for a drink and sat down at the breakfast counter.



“That sewing stuff is called needle point, and I do like doing it. It calms me down at night. Makes me feel creative as well. Do go on,” Jessica urged with a smile.



“Besides smelling woodsy and lemon scented, which I happen to like, you're always dressed nice. You're a neat person to a fault from the look of your place and a home body. Also, an animal lover from the look of that fat, sleek cat I saw fleetingly as it dodged under the couch to get away from me.”



“You met B.J.. He doesn't like strangers, but he's more like my friend than a pet. We have many interesting conversations, and he doesn't argue back with me,” Jessica said cryptically.



Ignoring the jab that might have been aimed at Mark and him, Steven asked, “Like what kind of conversations can you and a cat have?”



“Usually since he's a little self centered like most males, the talks are about what he's going to be fed. He always hopes it's something he'll like. Sometimes we talk about how much attention I'm going to give him before I pick up my needle point or a book and ignore him. Well, now if the analysis of me is over, I have to keep moving.”



Steven set the empty soda can down and headed for the box, picked it up and said, “Open the door for me.”



Jessica followed him to the car and opened the door so he could put the box on the back seat. “Now I have to go back for the other box, then we will drive by the reception hall. Later tonight when everyone can get together we'll get the decorating done.”



As soon as Steven had the next box in the car, he asked, “What now?”



“Head for the reception hall.”



They each carried a box inside the hall. Steven asked, “Now where?”



“Next is the airport to pick up my parents. Do you want to go with me to get them or would you rather I call a taxi?”



“Hey, I said I'd help. So to the airport it is. I'd really like to meet your parents,” Steven said.



The plane hadn't landed yet when they arrived at the airport. Jessica paced back and forth. “I hope the plane is on time. I hate wasting time here.”



The loud speaker announced the flight coming in.



“That's their flight. Come on,” Jessica said excitedly. She rushed to the gate. Her dad recognized her racing toward them. When he got to her he gave Jessica a big hug as he looked at the man behind her. “So this must be Mark?”



“No, Dad. This is my boss, Mr. Steven Cartan. He offered to help me out with my errands today since I had a flat tire on my car.”



Her dad' asked, “Couldn't you fix it or get it fixed?”



Steven broke in. “Her spare was flat, too. She would have been late getting here, and it wasn't any trouble for me to help Jessica out.”



“Mr. Cartan, meet my parents, Jerry and Marion Showman,” Jessica introduced.



He looked at Jessica. “Steven, please. It's nice to meet both of you,” he said, shaking hands with her parents.



Jessica said with the emphasis on his name, “Steven's going to take us over to Jenny's.”



“I'll take your bags, and we'll get going.” Steven picked up the suitcases and headed out of the terminal.



Jessica's mom whispered, “He's a nice looking man. Anything serious between the two of you?”



“Mother, not so loud. He's my boss,” Jessica hissed.



As she went ahead of her parents, she heard her mom whisper to her father, “I can aways hope, can't I?”



Jessica turned and hissed, “For once stop looking for someone to marry me off. Isn't it enough you have one daughter getting married tomorrow?”



Jenny was surprised when they came into the apartment with Steven toting suitcases. She held out her hand to him as soon as he set the bags down. “We've met before, haven't we?”



Steven gave her one of his disarming smiles. “Yes, how are you?”



Jenny folded her arms and said, “Nervous and growing more jittery by the minute. Never mind me though. Everyone tells me this is normal. So I'm curious. Is there a story behind you being with Jessica today?”



Steven shrugged. “Just helping out while a flat on her car is getting fixed.”



“Well, sounds like you certainly saved the day. Jessica could use a knight in shining armor once in a while. Are you free tomorrow evening? As payback for all your help, you're invited to come to the wedding if you like. Actually, you could help out again. That way Jessica will have someone to escort her to the reception later.”



Steven said eagerly, “I'd be delighted to come and be Jessica's date for the evening.”



“Good,” Jenny said. “See how easy it is to get you a date, Sister.” She winked at Steven, and he winked back.



Through the whole conversation, Jessica had been looking from one to the other of them. Jenny planned her whole evening for her without asking her. The conversation between Steven and Jenny happened as if Jessica wasn't even in the room. Wait until she got Jenny away from her parents so they couldn't hear. She would chew her sister out good for doing this to her.



Friday morning, Steven showed up early on her doorstep. Jessica answered the door dressed in a lavender blouse and jeans. She asked brusquely, “What are you doing here this morning?”



“Good morning to you, too,” Steven said teasingly. He looked her up and down. “Are you wearing that to the wedding?”



“No, I'm not. I happened to have a very pretty bridesmaid dress to put on as you well know. There's a few errands I still have to run before I change.”



“I could help again,” Steven said eagerly.



“I'm sure by now my tire is fixed so if I had a ride to my car, I can drive myself today,” Jessica urged.



“I know that, but I want to help,” Steven insisted.



“For the life of me, I don't know why you would,” Jessica said.



Steven looked put out.



“All right, I give up, but I warn you it's boring stuff. I have a hair appointment, and I really should go over to Jenny's and check on my parents. You really want to do this, Mr. Cartan?”



Steven looked exasperated. “We back to last names again? You're supposed to call me Steven.”



“All right, I forgot. Steven, are you sure you want to drive me around?”



“I asked didn't I? I'd be glad to spend the day with you doing whatever needs to be done. Let's go,” he said.



When Jessica came back to the car after her hair appointment, Steven whistled. “You are beautiful with your hair up like that.”



“I suppose it does change my looks. Being a bridesmaid requires a fancier hairdo. Now I have to go over to Jenny's apartment. See if my parents need anything and help Jenny get ready for the wedding. My dress is there, too.”



“When do you need me to pick you up?”



“Five would be fine. Listen I feel like Jenny trapped you into going. Are you sure you want to come with me to this wedding?”



“I don't mind at all,” Steven assured her.



“Come to think about it, I don't remember Jenny or you asking me what I thought about you escorting me,” Jessica said.



“Sorry about that. You're right. I should correct that over sight. Will you do me the honor of letting me be your escort to your sister's wedding?” Steven asked formally with a twinkle in his eyes.



“Yes, but I still say Jenny shouldn't have put you on the spot like that.”



“I'm not sorry. I'm looking forward to it,” Steven insisted.



“Well, I'm not sure how I'll ever be able to repay you for being so helpful,” Jessica worried.



“Oh, I'll think of something,” he said with a devilish grin.



Jessica didn't like the sound of that remark. Too late to take back what she said, and she had too many other things to worry about at the moment.



Steven slowed to a stop and parked long enough for Jessica to get out of his car. She went inside and found Jenny and their mother hustling around from one end of the apartment to the other.



Her dad was sitting on one corner of the couch trying to keep out of the way. “What's the matter? Couldn't you talk your boss into coming in for another dose of Showmans?”



“Oh, Dad, don't start. Thanks to Jenny, he's coming back to drive me to the church later,” Jessica told him.



Jenny hesitated in mid rush to look at Jessica. “I'm glad Steven is bringing you. Seemed like a good idea at the time and still does to me. You should get to know him better. He seems like a really nice guy.”



“It might have been nicer if I was let in on the plan and had the opportunity to asked Steven myself,” Jessica groused.



“That would have been the ideal plan, but I didn't trust you to follow through on it. I felt like I had to take things into my own hands to make sure you had an escort,” Jenny said frankly.



“Mark would have escorted me if I'd asked him,” Jessica said.



“The key words there are if I'd asked him. You didn't. Besides, I like Steven,” Jenny said.



“Oh fine, now you're picking men for me to date,” Jessica said.



“That's what sisters are for. To help,” Jenny said, giggling as she left the room.



Later that afternoon, Marie kept an eye on the time and told them, “Let's get this show on the road.”



“It is time to go,” Jerry Showman agreed. “Jess, you best go get your sister.”



Jessica went to Jenny's room. “We have to go now. Are you ready?”



“Does my hair look okay? Is my makeup on right?” Jenny fretted.



“You look just fine,” Jessica said, smiling at her. “Take it easy and try to calm down.”



Jenny took a deep breath. “I don't know if I can do that, but here I go.”



When they filed out of the apartment, Steven had just parked out front. Jessica got in with him, and they followed her sister's car and the other two bridesmaids in Dawn's car. The traffic was bumper to bumper. Jessica was anxious when they had to go so slow, but they arrived at the church in plenty of time.



The women each took their garment bags and headed for the Sunday school class room to get dressed. They kept up a running chatter for a while. Finally Jessica said, “Jenny, how are you holding up?”



“Oh, Jess, I wish the wedding was over,” Jenny said, wadding up a Kleenex. She passed it from one hand to the other.



Jessica laughed, “If you're this nervous just think what poor Charlie is going through right now.”



They all laughed at that thought.



A hush came over them when they heard the wedding music start.



Jenny's smile dried up.



Jessica said, “All right, everyone. Take one last deep breath, and let's get this show on the road.”



The bridesmaids gripped their white rose bouquets a little tighter so the guests wouldn't notice their trembling hands and walked slowly down the aisle to the alter. When they lined up, the Wedding March began. Jenny's dad gave her a hug, and they marched down the aisle. Jenny's eyes were on Charlie. He watched her admiringly with a trembling smile.



Jessica searched the seats, smiled and nodded slightly at several people. What almost unnerved her was the way Steven's eyes were on her. He nodded ever so slightly and winked. She hoped that was a signal that she was doing all right so far. By that time, the bride made it to the alter, and the wedding party had to turn around to face the minister.







So look for Connie's books in all the places you would find my books if you would like a sweet romance.

The Pumpkin Tree & Excerpt from Emma's Gossamer Dreams-Book 5-Nurse Hal series

The sight might have looked like a natural phenomenon at first, but it wasn't. I just wished I'd have my camera with me. What happened was my mother-in-law uses every inch of her garden to plant something edible in. So one corner on the end next to the peach tree was where she planted a hill of pumpkin seeds.



Sure enough the fast growing beefy, large leaf vines took off, and the vines grew toward the peach tree, attached themselves as vines tend to do and climbed the tree. No one took much notice as long as green vine leaves mixed with green tree leaves, but when the pumpkins turned orange we could easily see them dangling from the limbs. The variety was pie pumpkin which doesn't get as big as a Halloween pumpkins, but still the orange globes were easily spotted.



Minnie made the remark that she was going to have a good crop of pumpkins. More than she needed. I said I'd love to have one to make pies with. She said take two. When the pumpkins were ready she reminded me. I took Harold to the patch with me to help carry. There they were above our heads. Good thing I had Harold helping me. He pulled down two for me.



I worked in a nursing home for years and have always been safety conscious where the elderly is concerned. My imagination went to my mother-in-law hoeing weeds in a stiff Iowa breeze with the pumpkins swaying on the branches above her. Those pumpkins had to come down one way or the other, and it should be of our choosing. Not on Minnie's head. So Harold took them all down.



Since then I've made two tries at creating a pumpkin tree. The first try when the vines went up the woven wire fence under the peach tree, the small green pumpkins perched in the wire spaces and wedged in as they grew. Wasn't easy getting the misshapen pumpkins off their perch. This spring I made another try. This time I cheated. As the vines lengthened I picked them up and wrapped them on a tree limb. The vines didn't do much growing. We had a drought this summer. That end of the garden is a jungle. By the time the artichoke plants grew six feet tall around the tree, I couldn't get close enough to take a picture of the one pumpkin that seemed suspended in the air. Oh well, better luck next year, but I may have to plant in a different location. The peach tree has lost most of it's limbs, and each winter when the snow banks up around it the weight of the snow is a burden on the frail branches. We have other peach trees so it isn't a great loss for potential peaches, but a pumpkin tree is another thing.





My Pumpkin crop for 2013
Excerpt

Emma Lapp and her brothers in Emma's Gossamer Dreams, book five of my Nurse Hal Among The Amish series, has a pumpkin and squash patch. They bring the produce out of the cornfield in a toy wagon to sell at a roadside stand in front of the house. Nurse Hal is looking for something she can do outside. Emma is teaching school, and both boys are in school so while the two baby girls are taking a nap, Hal thinks she will help out Emma by picking the pumpkins and squash.











One mild day in October, Hal decided to spend the afternoon picking pumpkins while the babies napped. As she pulled the red wagon down the lane, she noted the day was one that all the animals seemed content to do nothing. The cows and sheep relaxed in the pasture. Some of the cows stretched out flat, letting the sun's rays warm them. Just so there wouldn't be any doubt that this was a farm, once in awhile, a cow bellowed. A ewe gave a sharp baa, and a horse added a neigh.



Hal stacked pumpkins in the wagon and unloaded them into a pile close to the roadside stand. She didn't plan to make much progress before the children came home since she stopped every trip to check on the babies. She was just helping Emma.



After a few trips, Hal was weary. She unloaded the wagon and went to the house. Redbird and Beth laid on a quilt on the living room floor. They snuggled up under a blanket, enjoying the comfort of being together. The babies were growing fast. Soon they would be crawling and need more watching.



Hal thought she could get one more trip in. By then, the babies should be fretting. She took a drink from the dipper in the water bucket and went out through the mud room.



The afternoon was cool enough to need a jacket but not really uncomfortable. The sun still had some heat to it as it lowered to the West. Walking certainly helped to warm her up, and she liked being in the fresh air more than in the house.



The jenny wren followed her from the patch to the road and back. He perched on a post and sang, encouraging Hal to keep trudging with her load. When she walked close, he flew away, perched and took up where he left off. How neat was that?



Hal pulled the wagon over by the acorn and butternut squash and various shaped gourds. They were smaller. She could load more of them into the wagon. She stacked the squash as high as she dared and plodded slowly down the lane, watching where she walked to keep the squash from tumbling off.



On the slow walk, Hal was deep in thought about a cold glass of tea and the chance to sit down. Suddenly, she sensed something was wrong. It was too quiet. The wren wasn't singing. She looked at the fence posts ahead of her. He wasn't there. The sheep bunched by the pasture fence and stared through the woven wire.



Hal looked where the sheep fixated. The worse of her fears had come true. Barabbas was rambling toward her. To make matters worse, Tom Turkey raced to catch up to the raccoon, chirping a war challenge.



Hal considered escape. It was too far back to the gate hole. She couldn't get out of the way, and she couldn't go around the raccoon and turkey. Barabbas must have gotten a whiff of her. He stopped, stood up straight and sniffed the air. That gave Tom time to close in on his predator. He pecked the raccoon in the behind. Barabbas whirled around, growled and batted Tom. The turkey backed away, bristled up and fluffed his feathered coat out to twice its size. Immediately, Tom went on the defensive. He raced at the raccoon. His feet came off the ground with all ten toenails aimed at the raccoon's face. Barabbas ducked and flattened. Tom sailed over the top of him and turned around, fanning his tail feathers out to the limit. He stomped a foot in warning. He wasn't done with Barabbas yet.



Hal watched helplessly. If only the raccoon would run away. That would solve the problem of persuading Daniel to let Barabbas go, but that wasn't going to happen. Barabbas accepted Tom's challenge. Hal had to figure out a way to stop the fight before Tom or Barabbas got hurt or killed. But how? Tom wouldn't be any friendlier to her than the raccoon if she interfered. Hal gazed around, frantically trying to come up with an idea as Barabbas and Tom connected in combat.



Her eyes lit on her wagon load. She picked up a sharply pointed acorn squash, screamed like a banshee and hurled the squash. It connected with Barabbas's back and broke into chunks around him. He turned loose of Tom and attacked the offending squash pieces, scattering them at the turkey. Hal had halted the fight, but she didn't want the battle to start up again. She hurled one squash after another as fast as she could lob them, screeching loudly.



Tom backed out of the line of fire. Barabbas hunched down and waited for the assault to stop. Squash raining down on the warriors took the fun out of their battle. Tom was just far enough away to give the raccoon the chance to skitter through the fence. He took off across the pasture and headed for the protection of the picnic grove. Watching him scramble away, Hal hoped, for Barabbas's freedom, the raccoon kept going. She didn't want to run into the coon when they went picnicking and have Daniel bring him home again.



Tom's beak touched the wire fence as he watched the raccoon leave. He stretched his neck high up and chirped a challenge. “I took care of you. Come back, and I'll give you more of the same.” With more pressing matters on his mind, Tom trotted away. Hal patted her chest with a shaky hand. She hadn't known which critter to fear more Barabbas or Tom.



Strewn on the battlefield were yellow and green chucks mixed with a pulp and seeds mess from her squash ammunition. Now she worried what would be the more difficult thing to do; clean up the nasty mess, tell Daniel his pet raccoon escaped or explain to Emma how she went about destroying the girl's roadside stand inventory.



Hal unloaded the remaining squash, cleaned up the broken squash and gave the load to the hogs. She parked the wagon and pumped water into the bucket at the well. As Hal washed her hands to rid them of dust and sticky squash goo, she noticed feathers scattered in the grass and heard Tom Turkey. He made mourning chirps as he circled around two half eaten hens. No wonder he was so angry at the raccoon. Barabbas killed two members of the turkey's family.

The fall migration has begun. Geese and ducks fly l...

 The fall migration has begun. Geese and ducks fly low over us, heading south, and it reminds me of one wild duck that stopped at our house and stayed for awhile.









At one time, I had a large flock of white Muscovy ducks. The hens liked to hide their nests out like the chickens. As soon as the ducklings showed up with the mothers, I'd take the babies away. Some of the hen ducks had three hatchings in a summer. I raised the ducklings, butchered and sold them.







The duck in question arrived after a light skiff of snow in the night. The duck flock always came running when they saw me in the barn yard to eat the corn I scattered on the ground. To my surprise that morning, a wild mallard duck was in the middle of the flock competing for the grain with loud quacks that said, “Move over. I'm hungry.” The Muscovy ducks tolerated the noisy intruder with hisses gasps. They can't quack.







The wild duck didn't seem to mind my presence. I noted band on one leg which might have explained his calmness. Conservation somewhere had raised him and turned him loose, banded so they could track him. This duck was a curiosity to me so I watched him for awhile. Why was he there? When I carried a bale of hay out to the pasture to scatter the sheep, I found duck tracks in the light snow all around the brush pile. A flock had spent the night in the sticks for shelter during the storm. Why did the mallard stay behind when the others left? Did they waddle quietly away before daylight to keep from waking him? Did the other ducks think the rest of the trip would be more pleasant without this odd duck getting on their nerves. He did talk an awful lot. That earned him the name Mr. Quacker. It did seem strange he'd over sleep and missed the departure time. As soon as he rested and filled up with corn, I was sure he'd continue the migration and catch up with the other ducks.







Soon winter was upon us. The mallard was still with my flock. I couldn't blame him. The flight from north to south is long and arduous in the company of others. Maybe he didn't care to go by himself.







By spring, Mr. Quacker was just one of the flock. Of course, his green head and brown body stood out like a sore thumb in the white flock. Yet he seemed content. That spring we acquired 6 rouen ducks, four hens and two males, that look like mallards except they are bigger. When we turned them loose, they quacked excitedly about their new surroundings. The muscovy ducks stretched their necks and stared at the strangers, wondering if they should run. Mr. Quacker quacked back to them and waddled to greet the rouens. At last, someone who spoke his language.







Turns out Mr. Quacker was quite an arduous lover. He took up with all four hens much to the dislike of the two drakes. It was fun to watch the smaller mallard following along so proudly behind the large brown hen ducks. One morning, he completely surprised me by flapping his wings profusely and taking off so close over the top of my head that I ducked. Pardon the pun. Mr. Quacker glided in a circle around the barn yard and landed back in the middle of the rouens. That caused quite a stir among the hens. I couldn't figure out if Mr. Quacker was trying to show off for his girlfriends or boost to the two drakes that he could do something they couldn't. The girlfriends were excited. The drakes not so much. I'd often wondered if Mr. Quacker had a balance problem. He hadn't flown before where I could see him. Maybe now he thought he could convince the girls to go north with him. He didn't know they couldn't fly. When Mr. Quacker figured that out, he didn't try flying again.







That fall, I heard the first faint quacks from the north. The ducks froze as they listened. I just knew this would be the time Mr. Quacker would leave with his own kind. Soon the ducks were visible over us, low and loud. My ducks took off in a dead run for the cover of the open shed. They hid under the tractor and manure spreader. Mr. Quacker was hunkered down in the middle of the flock. Guess he didn't hear any familiar family voices, and he wasn't about to leave with a bunch of strangers. Why should he when he had it made? He was well fed, had shelter when he needed it and four girlfriends to keep company with.







So for three years we had Mr. Quacker to entertain us. Spring rolled around again, and one day, the flock was eating grain when I noticed Mr. Quacker wasn't with them. He hadn't failed to carrying a conversation when he was around, much of which was ignored by the others after they got used to him. At first, I dreaded that he might have been supper for a fox or raccoon during the night. A quick search for his remains turned up nothing. My hope is that finally Mr. Quacker decided he'd had enough of being domestic. He wanted to give his wild side a try. The rouen hens gave voice to being disturbed by his absence for a few days as if they could call him back to them. The two drakes were quiet. In fact, I thought they looked duck-gone happy to have the girls all to themselves again.





As with much I write about the rural stories, Mr. Quacker's visit is where I came up with the story for the ducks hatched under Emma's hen in The Rainbow's End, book 2 in the Nurse Hal Among The Amish series. Emma takes caring for her chickens very seriously, and she isn't amused by her brothers practical jokes.







Emma toted her filled bucket carefully as they walked by a wooden coop beside the chicken house. A long, burst of clucking came from inside.



“What is going on in there?” Hal wanted to know.



“That is a setting hen. She must of hatched. Hear her talking to her babies?” Emma opened the door. She hunkered down and looked in. “I see a little yellow head sticking out from under her wing.”



“That is good,” Hal said.



“Ach! Oh, nah. It can not be,” Emma moaned.



“It isn’t good?” Hal asked bewildered.



Emma clutched her apron in her hands and gave Hal the most disconcerting look. “We can let the hen out so you can see for yourself. She might as well go to the chicken house tonight. Stand back.”



“Didn’t the hen have a good hatch?”



“When the hen and chicks come out, you will see for yourself. Help me count to see how gute her hatch was,” said Emma, sarcastically.



The hen slinked to the door and peeked out. She looked back at her babies, clucking all the while. When she saw Hal and Emma, she bristled up, warning them to stand back, before she stepped into the grass. Twisting around she called her chicks to come to her. The chicks darted out and zoomed under her. The hen wasn’t about to stay that close to the coop now that she had her freedom. She walked off the chicks, clucking to them to follow her and keep up. Peeping in protest, they scrambled along on shaky, newborn legs.



Pointing her finger at each to keep track, Hal counted seven chicks covered with reddish fuzz mingled with yellow. The top of their head had a dark brown stripe that ran down their backs. They reminded Hal of baby quail. Four others were larger, covered in downy, yellow fuzz. They had large, orange web feet and flat, wide, yellow bills.



Emma stared at the brood, shaking her head in disbelief.



Hal said, “I count eleven.” She pointed at one of the yellow babies. “Why are some of the chicks so much different looking from the others?”



“They are not chickens. They are ducks,” Emma said tersely.



“That can’t be. A chicken can’t have baby ducks. It’s not possible,” Hal protested.



“Oh, it is very possible if duck eggs were put under my hen.”



“Did you do that?”



“Nah, but I am going to ask my brothers if they know who did,” Emma responded brusquely. She hustled to the house, set the egg basket on the table and headed out the front door to the barn. Still in his rocker, John looked up in surprise as Emma flashed by. He gave Hal a questioning look, but she just shrugged her shoulders. How would she know what had the girl so upset. Her intention was to trail along behind and find out. This afternoon had been bad enough for her. Now it didn’t seem to be going well for Emma.



The only consultation Hal had was whatever was wrong with Emma wasn’t her fault. “Emma, what’s so wrong with hatching ducks?”



The girl turned around. “They are bigger and stronger than my chicks. The ducks will crowd out the chicks when they need the mother’s warmth. If the chicks survive that, the baby ducks will steal all the little chicks food because they grow so fast. Grown ducks are nasty. They will murk up the chicken’s water. The yard will be full of nasty piles of poop.”



The screen door banged shut. John came down the steps with his hands in his pockets. “How do you know the boys are guilty of such mischief?”



“The ducks are wild mallards. Easy to find eggs in nests around the pond,” said Emma hotly.



As he stepped around Emma, John mumbled, “I had lost track of time, reading my bible. Generator’s going. The boys started milking already. I need to help.” He opened the barn door and stepped in.



Looking one way than the other in the barnyard, Emma called, “Here Zacchaeus.”



No rooster in sight. Not even a hen. The flock had gathered around the chicken house, ready to roost.



“He’s not here, either. I’ll ask my brothers if they have seen him.” Emma waited for her father to clear the barn door. She stepped inside. “Have either of you seen my pet rooster today?”



Staying put outside seemed like a safe idea to Hal. She peeked past Emma. Noah was letting in a round of cows. Daniel was behind the stanchions, putting feed in the troughs. The boys yelled a loud no in unison, raising their voices over the generator motor.



Emma snapped, “You both say no so easily. Now answer this question for me. Do you know anything about my brood hen hatching ducklings?”



His eyes intense, John leaned on a scoop shovel handle, watching his children. Noah looked at Daniel. They shrugged their shoulders and gave their father an innocent look. Noah bent down to attach the milking cups to a cow. Daniel flew by Emma and opened the feed room door to get a bucket of pig feed. He rushed back by his sister to feed the cows.



“My sons should own up to a practical joke,” said John evenly.



Daniel’s scoop stopped on the way to the feed bucket.



Noah rose up, placed his hand on the bony flank of the cow and turned to his father. “Jah. We put the duck eggs under the hen. Emma, I am sorry we did that.”



John prompted, “Daniel, do you have something to say?”



Daniel emptied the scoop into a trough. “Jah, Daed. Emma, I am sorry we upset you.”



“All right. I should be fixing supper. You, my brothers need to finish your chores. We can finish this subject later.” She turned to Hal. “One of these days, I will show you Zacchaeus after I figure out where my brothers have him hid.”

A family book excerpt - Apple picking and Trip to Centerville, Ia.

The night was dark and cold. What was left of it anyway. On Thursday morning, we woke up at four thirty before the alarm went off at five, anxious to start our day. There was breakfast and chores to do before we made the journey to Centerville, Iowa. It takes a little over two hours to get there, but the scenery kept us interested, and coffee from a thermos kept us alert. As the sun peeked over the horizon, we were well down the road, watching for deer and turkey.



The back seat was empty for the first time in years, and I wished it could have been different. This time my Aunt Jean didn't get to go with us. Twenty years ago when she knew we were going on a vacation to visit her sisters she called me and asked to reserve the back seat. When she declined to go this week, she said she'd miss pestering Harold. For sure he missed her. I'm not as observant at their game of “I Saw The Deer First.” Harold usually wins the first go around with Aunt Jean coming up a close second. One time Aunt Jean was determined to come out the winner. She declared she saw a deer first. It was dead on the shoulder. Harold told her she couldn't count that one. The deer had to be alive. She accused him of making up the rules so he could win.



Cousin Lawrence was watching out the window when we arrived in Centerville. Before we had a chance to get out of the car he and Aunt Liddie were coming to greet us. Aunt Liddie opened the garage door so we could store the trunk full of fruit and vegetables in the cool we'd brought with us. A few weeks ago, Aunt Liddie said she'd like to have enough apples to freeze for pies, but she hadn't been shopping. We had more than we needed. I asked if she wanted a bushel. She said that was a great plenty. We took her three bushel. In half filled feed sacks the amount was deceiving. Half of the apples were yellow delicious anyway. They're still green so hopefully she'll have the red apples worked up before she has to start on the yellow ones.



We sat around the kitchen table drinking coffee for awhile, checked out their new flat screen television and the went to Manhattan Steak house to eat. I always take pictures in front of the place when we're there in the fall. A display of corn shocks, mums and pumpkins make for a nice back ground. Guess we were a couple weeks too early this time. All I could find for everyone to stand beside was a silly looking duck with a story to tell. Seems a Chicago gangster once hid out in the area and even applied for a marriage license in the Centerville Courthouse. He was killed two years later in a shootout at Milan, Missouri where he'd been hiding from the law.







After lunch, we traveled south of Bloomfield and shopped at a newly opened Amish Discount Store. I couldn't find anything I wanted, but Aunt Liddie had a small box full of goodies. South on highway 63, we drove to an Amish grocery store we go to every time we visit. This time I went wild buying Jello, a sack of each flavor of bulk Jello to use with fruit. Also, I bought four dozen can lids in a sack. Not sure which is going to run out first my empty jars, the canning lids or my enthusiasm for the job. Either way it will be good to know I've finished my fruit canning project.

We enjoyed the visit which seemed much too short, and after one last cup of coffee, we had to leave. Dark comes early now. Harold had to get home if he was going to gather eggs before the chickens went to roost.





The following story was in Aunt Jean's share of a book I wrote for my mother's family titled Digging Up Brights and Bishops. I didn't put the book on the market, because I thought only our family would be interested. However, I have started a version of this book with stories and pictures about the advancements that made a difference in our lives from the early 1900's to the 1950's when I was a kid in Vernon County, Missouri. Things like going from a wood ice box to electric refrigerator. A wash board and tub to a wringer washing machine. That book will be on the market soon. So here is another story about me picking apples with my Aunt Jean and my cousin Debbie.



It was in 1980's when Jean, Debbie and I decided we were going out to Art Allen's Apple Orchard east of Belle Plaine, Iowa and pick apples to make money.



I didn't think that job through as throughly as I should have so I made a good candidate for Murphy's Law. What could go wrong did. Art Allen was tickled to have the help. I can see why now.



We began by filling our baskets from down falls on the ground the first day until Mr. Allen came along and catch on to what we were doing. He said we had to climb the tree and get the good apples. Those were the ones that made him money. He showed us how to pluck the apple stems off the limbs in just the right way so next year he'd have a good apple crop. He pointed to where some of the wooden step ladders were sitting among the trees. I didn't mind carrying a ladder over to the tree, but I'm afraid of height so climbing the ladder as high as I could go wasn't a good thing for me.



But eager beaver I was so I went through the trees after the ladder. When I tilted it toward me, I didn't realize how top heavy the ladder would be. I lost my grip when the ladder came at me and bent my thumb backward farther than it was ever suppose to go. In just a short time, my thumb was three times bigger than it should be and throbbing.



Debbie Showers, good sport that she is, offered to climb up the ladder to pick so Jean and I let her. The apple crop was good that year. The limbs drooped to the ground. Jean and I could easily picked what we could reach.



The next day, the ladder was in another spot so I went after it again, making sure to be more careful this time. At least I thought I was going to be. As I carried the ladder I tripped over a stick in the grass and the ladder whammed me in the shin. Ouch! I sucked up the pain and managed to limp on over to Debbie.



For outdoor women, the days were beautiful fall days, crisp and dewy, to start with then the sun put just enough heat in the air that we warmed up. Now is where I tell you the ladder I chose had a false bottom at the top. The bees hibernating in that ladder top warmed up to with Debbie sitting on it. Next thing we knew, darting buzzers was flitting all around us. Debbie screamed as she came down the ladder and grabbed her legs one place than the other. The bees had crawled up her slack legs. She was in misery and making the bees really mad. One of them came at me and stung me on the cheek.



There was an old man high in a tree a few apple trees away. He saw what was happening and he yelled at Debbie, “Get out of those pants.”



Jean and I agreed with him.



Debbie said, “I can't take my slacks off in front of that man.”



“Take them off,” yelled the man.



Jean looked over in the next row at a yellow delicious weighed to the ground with apples. A good place to hide. “Go behind there, Debbie, and get rid of the bees.”



Meanwhile, Jean and I were moving over to another tree without the ladder to get away from the angry bees. Debbie came back out, smarting in various places but she shook loose the bees. All of a sudden, the boss, Mr. Allen, showed up in his golf cart and wanted to know what the commotion was all about.



I told him about the ladder being full of bees, and Debbie was stung several times. If he wanted proof he should just look at my cheek. It was swelling up even as we speak. The old man came very close to me to study my cheek with his jaws working back and forth. He said with sincerity, “Chewing tobacco is good for bee stings. Stand still and I'll spit on that sting.”



“No thank you,” I replied as I backed behind Jean.



Now that I know the story about curing Short's snake bite with chewing tobacco perhaps that old man had the right idea. At any rate when I limped into the house that night, I took inventory. In three days I'd sprained a thumb, bruised a shin and had a smarting bee sting that disfigured my cheek. I'd had all the apple picking I wanted so I called Jean and told her I quit. That was the only job I didn't stick with. I so admired Aunt Jean and Debbie for sticking out the season that fall. Now that's what you call hearty Bright stock. I'm not sure why I didn't inherit the genes but oh well.

Excerpt Apple Butter Party from My Children Are More Precious Than Gold & Picking Apples

I'm switching from the Amish Series to my children's book since this chapter of My Children Are More Precious Than Gold goes along with apple picking season. When I wrote this book I thought it might be informative for children to know what life was like in 1903 in the Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia. Perhaps, adults will like the book as well. Read the chapter and then I'll explain more about the book.













Apple Butter Party



Returning from the cold, clear spring that bubbled out of the base of the ridge behind the cabin, Nannie tucked a stray wisp of graying brown hair back into the bun on top of her head with one hand. She walked across her rock strewn, sparsely grassed yard, balancing a tin dish pan full of water on her hip with the other hand. Uncovering her high top shoes when she pulled her long skirt up, Nannie stepped from the plank sidewalk onto the porch, then she paused at the kitchen door, and turned to survey the laughing, shouting children playing Ante Over around the smokehouse. A good portion of those children were hers, and she searched for one in particular.



"Sarah Elizabeth!"



Wiping her straight, brown bangs from her eyes, Bess, waiting for the ball to sail over the smokehouse, studied a barn swallow's vacant dried mud, bowl shaped nest attached to the underside of the roof. A few weeks ago to protect her babies, the sassy barn swallow would dive down on the children when the ball came too close to her nest. Now the nest was empty.



At the sound of her mother's voice, Bess turned. "What, Mama?" When Mama didn't call her Bess, she knew she was in trouble for something.



"Ya and Jimmy Bob Parkins quit playen and take yer turn stirren the apple butter kettle. Alma and Jacky Tyler told me ya been shirken yer turn, and they’s getten tired of stirren."



"All right, Mama. Come on Jimmy Bob. We've got to go stir now."



As they turned to leave the game, a big red ball sailed over the tin smokehouse roof, and Bess heard a thud, then a loud, "Ow!" She looked back into Jimmy Bob's pained face. He was gingerly rubbing the unruly shock of black hair on the top of his head.



"Ouch. Bess, that dang ball hit me square on top the head. That hurt!"



"Surely not, Jimmy Bob. There's nothen up there to hurt, is there?" Bess giggled then darted off to the corner of the yard with Jimmy Bob chasing after her.



That corner of the yard was bare of greenery due to the frequent fires under the large, black kettle that was used for soap making, lard rendering, heating water for wash day, and apple butter making. The only living plant within that corner of the yard's wattle fence was the mulberry tree. Now with the very sweet, blackberry like fruit long gone, the tree showed the fall coloring of mid September.



Right away Bess noticed the grouchy look on Alma's flushed face. She was tired of standing over the steamy, bubbling apple butter mixture while it simmered. Handing over a long stick with the T- paddle board tied to the end of it, Alma grumbled, "About time ya two took over. Yer late. Jimmy Bob, get some more wood from off that rick yonder. The fire's getten low," ordered Alma.



"I'm sorry, Alma. I hated to miss out on the fun," Bess confided, lowering her voice to a whisper, "Besides why do I always get stuck with Jimmy Bob? It’s not fair that he never wants to stir. Makes me do most of it while he sits and talks."



"Cain't hep that. We had our turn and then some. Come on, Jacky." Bess watched wistfully while Alma and Jacky ran to join the fun around the smokehouse.



Arms full of wood, Jimmy Bob returned. He threw a stick at the fire under the kettle then dropped the rest, scattering it on the ground.



"Jimmy Bob, don't throw that wood down like that. Ya jest got ashes all over my apron."



"So? It'll wash."



"Wash day's not fer two days yet. I'll jest have to turn it over and use the clean side when we're done, but I'll know it has ashes all over it on the underside," growled Bess.



In those days, the girls were given three dress and two Mother Hubbard aprons. One dress was for good and the other two for ever day. One of the ever day dresses was worn to school for a week. The first two days an apron covered it, then the last three days the dress was worn without the apron. The next week, Bess wore the other ever day dress and apron while that dress and apron were in the wash.



Looking at the dried brown ring crusted on the top of the fifty gallon iron kettle left as the apple butter boiled down, Bess wondered if the apple butter wasn't thick enough to empty out of the kettle so they could start over. "Jimmy Bob, go to the kitchen and tell the women one of them should come take a look at the kettle and see if this apple butter is done."



As she watched Jimmy Bob scurry for the cabin, Bess listened to the sounds of happy voices and laughter coming from the kitchen while the women worked together. The neighboring farmers had dropped their women, children and apples off early that morning. As soon as two or three big wooden barrels of apples were pared, a fire was started under the iron kettle, the apple slices dropped in, and a little apple cider added to keep the apples from scorching. While they shared stored up gossip and family happenings, the women peeled apples and prepared a noon meal of smoked ham, sweet potatoes, corn, boiled potatoes, turnip greens, and of course, apple pies.



Outside the children played games while waiting for their turn to stir the apple kettle. For some reason, the children were always paired, a boy and a girl, to take turns. Bess suspected it was because the boys didn't like to work so this was the way the women made sure the apple butter wouldn't burn.



Stick thin Mrs. Parkins came from the house, carrying a large crock to ladle the apple butter into. "Sit down, younguns and rest while I empty this kettle then we'll bring out more apples for ya all to start stirren again." She talked so slow that Bess wanted to finish her sentences for her to hurry the conversation along, but Mrs. Parkins had always been a hard worker. Jimmy Bob’s looks favored his mother, but he sure didn’t inherit worken from his mother, Bess thought.



Sometime later as she wipe sweat from her brow, Bess pleaded, "Jimmy Bob, take a turn stirren. I got to get away from this fire fer a minute."



"I reckon I kin take a turn," Jimmy Bob drawled out.



Forgetting about keeping her dress clean, Bess flopped down on the ground in the shade of the mulberry tree so she could stretch her dusty, tanned legs out before her. She spotted the blue-gray blur of a mockingbird when it fluttered through the branches above her, causing almost as much of a gentle swinging motion to the tree limbs as did the light breeze.



"Jimmy Bob, feel that cool breeze. It's comin' off the ridge. I kin hardly wait fer evening to bring some coolness, then it won't seem so hot by the kettle fire directly."



"Yep," grunted Jimmy Bob as he half heartily moved the T- paddle around in the kettle and at the same time wishfully watched the children playing by the smokehouse.



It’s somethin’ how quiet Jimmy Bob gets when he has to work a little, mused Bess while she watched the boy. "Jimmy Bob, did ya ever see so many apples as people brung this time? This year must have been the biggest apple crop in years. My Pap said there must have been ice hangin' on the tree branches on Valentine Day fer sure this year. He says that's a sign of lots of fruit in the fall." She shifted positions, then continued, "I didn't think the men were ever goen to get all those apple barrels unloaded and carried up by the house this mornen."



"Yep. Sure was a lot of apples. Is it yer turn now?" Jimmy Bob backed away from the kettle and quickly sat down before Bess could answer.



Late that evening in the yellow glow from the pitch pine torch stuck in the middle of the yard, the younger children listened to ghost stories told by the older children. From the underbrush on the ridge, whippoorwills cried their lonely cries, "Whip - Poor -- Will." The resounding hoot of a barred owl echoed across the ridge, adding to the uneasiness the children felt from listening to the ghostly tales. They watched weird shadows rise up, grow, disappear and reappear on the cabin wall as the women moved back and forth from the kitchen to across the yard, emptying the kettle for the last time.



All the women furnished a portion of molasses or brown sugar to flavor the apple butter before they ladled the thick, brown mixture into one and two gallon crocks. White cloth lids were cut and securely tied on to prepare for the journey home on the dusty roads. Once home the apple butter would be stored in the cool underground storm cellar or in a spring house where it’d stay while portions of it were ladled out to use on hot biscuits.



Around eleven o'clock the party began to break up. Bess, head nodding, roused at the creaks and groans from horse drawn jolt wagons and oxen carts coming down the lane. The ridge farmers were returning to pick up their families. The empty apple barrels were loaded on the wagons by the men while the women brought out their crocks of apple butter, then gathered their children to settle them in the wagons. By then everyone was exhausted from a long day of work and play and ready to go home to their beds. Bess, along with her brothers and sisters, headed to bed too as soon as everyone left.





This was the first book I wrote. The inspiration behind the book was from a copy from a newspaper my mother, Sylvia Bullock, kept in her sideboard in the kitchen. My grandmother, Veder Bright, gave it to her. This was Veder's sister, Bess's interview by a granddaughter for a Four H project. The questions were about the Bishop's family life in the Blue Ridge Mountains near Riner, Virginia at the beginning of the 1900's. Bess was two years older than Veder, and they were near the end of a brood of 12, one of which was stillborn. They lived on a hardscrabble seventy acre ridge farm until they moved to Lakota, Iowa that was called Germania in 1910. Bess was ten and Veder was 8 at that time. Bess's memory of how hard life was in Virginia was still etched in her mind at an elderly age so she gave an interesting interview.



I got the title and ending for the story from my Grandma Bright's bible. After she passed away, one of the daughters was looking at the family page. Grandma had put down each child. After the last one, number eleven, was born she had a hysterectomy. Under his name was the passage My children are more precious than gold. Life was never easy for Veder and John Bright with so many children to take care of, but they were loving parents and raised great children.



Not all of the stories in the book are from Veder's childhood. There's one my father told about fishing with dynamite, and another about robbing a bee tree for honey on a cool fall morning when Dad took John and I along.





Harold on the ladder picking apples


I did a author interview for Smashwords.com last week where I sell my books and ebooks. I want to share the link with you https://www.smashwords.com/interview/...

Excerpt from Hal's Worldly Temptations-book 3 in Nurse Hal Series & Old Thrasher Reunion

Nurse Hal decides she wants to have a family outting with her new family. Read on to see how she talks her husband, John Lapp, into letting her drive the family in her car to Mt. Pleasant, Iowa for the Old Thrasher's Reunion. What should have been a day to enjoy turned into a disaster when the Lapp family get caught.







One evening in late August. Hal delighted in listening to summer sounds coming through the living room screen door. Living here was so totally different from the apartment in Wickenburg. In town, she'd been closed in. The only sounds were the rumble of the air conditioner, and cars.



Living in a house with a screen door and dim lighting, a person could imagine being outside in the evening in the fading daylight without having to put up with mosquitoes or gnats. The green peepers yeeped, and crickets rubbed their scratchy legs. Moths fluttered against the screen and lightening bugs glimmered just beyond the porch.



An owl hooted, causing Hal to jump. The bird was perched close. The children had already gone to bed so Hal and John had the living room all to themselves. Hal carried a chair over by the rocker so she could sit close to John.



“That owl is really close,” Hal said, patting John's knee.



“He's high in the shade tree, looking down on us. Probably smells the chickens. Gute thing they have a building to live in. That owl would be eating one right now,” John told her as he concentrated on the newspaper.



“John?”



“Jah?” he said absentmindedly.



“School will be starting soon. We need to do something fun for a change as a family while the children aren’t in school,” Hal said. “The summer has gotten away from us.”



John put the newspaper, Die Botschaft, down on his lap. “What did you have in mind?”



“How about going to the Old Thrasher’s Reunion at Mt. Pleasant this Sunday? Have you ever been?”



John nodded. “Jah, when I was small my parents hired a driver to take us.”



“I know the kids would love seeing all the exhibits -- the machinery and horses. It starts Thursday but coming up is the in between Sunday so I thought instead of visiting anyone, we could go to Mt. Pleasant,” Hal suggested.



“Sunday is only a few days away. This is maybe too short a notice for me to find someone to drive us,” John said, debating whether to say yes.



“We could take my car. I’ll drive,” suggested Hal offhandedly.



John lifted an eyebrow in annoyance. “Hal, you know better than that. You are not to drive your car anymore.”



“What would it hurt this one time? I still drive my car to work in Wickenburg, and no one has said anything. Sunday we would be a two hour drive away from home. No one will know that we went anywhere in the car or how we got to Mt. Pleasant if they knew we were gone,” Hal argued.



“I would know,” John said shortly.



“Yes, but I haven’t been told yet by the bishop that I have to get rid of the car. Technically, I should be able to still use it, shouldn’t I?” She asked.



“I don’t think so. Now that you are Plain you must obey the Ordnund laws. It seems to me you must do as the laws say without being told so by the bishop. Let me think about this matter,” John said.



“Just keep in mind, Margaret told me I was getting too serious about being Amish. I should lighten up. This trip to Mt. Pleasant seemed like a good way to do it,” Hal informed him.



John gave her a weak smile. “Margaret said you needed to lighten up? Perhaps, she is right, but I think you will catch on to your lot in this family and the community in due time.”



“Thanks for the confidence in me, John Lapp,” Hal said, patting his hand.



The next morning, John came in the kitchen while Hal was alone. “All right. We will go to Mt. Pleasant in your car, but please do not ask to drive us anywhere else after this. I am afraid this is not the right thing to do. The Ordnund is set against such things.”



“I won’t ask again. At least not unless the bishop says it is all right to use my car,” agreed Hal.



“That is not going to happen. You should face it,” John said exasperated. “I’m telling you Plain people can not drive a car according to the Ordnund. You really should get rid of the car so you ---- er we are not tempted anymore.”



“I don’t want to face that yet. Give me time to get used to the idea of not having a car,” Hal pleaded. “Now let’s tell the kids what we're doing on Sunday.”



Sunday morning by daybreak they were packed in the car and on the long drive east of them. The children enjoyed the ride and the scenery. There was plenty of chatter in the back seat as they pointed out farm sights that interested them on the way. A John Deere tractor crossed a hayfield, pulling a rake that bunched up hay into windrows. Cattle herds, goat herds and various colors of horses speckled the hillside pastures.



When the Lapps arrived at the Mt. Pleasant city limits, Hal followed the signs along the streets to the Old Thrasher Reunion grounds. A man in the driveway of a parking lot a block from the ground’s entry way motioned Hal in. Another man pointed to an empty space on the end of the row of cars, facing the sidewalk. Hal maneuvered the car into the parking spot.



They walked along the sidewalk and stopped at the crosswalk that led to the ground’s entrance. Two policemen stood in the middle of the street, directing the traffic and pedestrians. One held his hand up to stop the Lapp family at the cross walk. He waved his arm to keep traffic moving slowly by. Finally, he held his hand up to stop the cars and motioned for the family to cross the street.



Ahead of them was the small building with a sign that indicated it was the ticket booth above the open window. Hal asked for tickets for five people. At the corner of the building, a man put a colored paper band on their wrists to show they had the right to be on the grounds and could come and go for the day.



Hal stopped at a visitor center not far behind the entrance. She bought a program book that was good for the whole Old Thrasher Reunion. Now they would know the where and when information for all the demonstrations.



“Each demonstration is at a certain time. Let’s see.” Hal ran her finger down the list of times. “It is 10:30 now. There’s a talk about old cars in the Antique Car Building about the 1909 Stanley Steamer,” Hal read and added, “Whatever that is.”



“Any discussions for Plain people about antique horses?” John said, grinning at her.



The children giggled.



Hal skimmed over the pages. “Very funny. I’m afraid not. Someone is telling how the boiler and cylinder on a steam engine works. West of the tractor collection is a demonstration on threshing wheat and baling straw.”



“That sounds interesting,” Noah said, and Daniel agreed.



“I’d like to look at the items for sale in the buildings of exhibits and crafts over there,” Hal said, pointing at the long buildings ahead of them.



Emma said to Hal, “I will go with the boys. You and Daed look around.”



“Are you sure, Emma?” John said.



“Jah,” she answered.



“Then I will go with Hal. We should meet up by lunch time at the gate entrance so we can eat together,” John planned.



John and Hal walked through the first long building filled with tables of crafts. They dodged around people and rented golf carts driven by people who had trouble walking. As they strolled to the next building, they listened to gospel music as a band played in the family tent.



Hal didn’t get excited until she spotted a bread pail in a tent full of old items. “That looks like the perfect birthday gift for Emma,” she exclaimed.



John slanted his head toward his shoulder. “What is it?”



“The price tag says this is a bread pail. See the crank on the side and the paddles in the bottom. The pail beats the bread,” Hal explained.



John chuckled, “I think bread gets kneaded. Not beat.”



“Fine then, but all Emma has to do is put the dough in and turn the crank. The paddles do all the work,” Hal told him.



“Not all the work if Emma is turning the crank,” John said in good humor.



Hal picked the pail up and looked it all over. “You know what I mean. This galvanized pail looks brand new. It should be worth the price.”



“Maybe the fact that it looks new should tell you something,” John surmised.



“What?”



“That the pail didn’t work for what it was intended so that is why no one else has bought it.”



“In that case, it won’t go to waste at our house if it won't work for bread making. You can figure out how to take the paddles and crank out. Emma can water her chickens with it,” retorted Hal. She picked the pail up and made her way around the line of people to the counter.



With so many exhibits on the vast grounds, it was hard to get through everything going on. They walked though the rows of old tractors which took awhile since this exhibit interested John. Hal tried to keep him on track to come out at a line of booths with canvas overhangs for shade.



About half way along the booths, Hal stopped and pointed excitedly. “John, that's interesting.”



He looked doubtful. “An old machinery seat on an old painted milk can? Why is it interesting?”



“Will you look past what it is and think what it could be?” Hal complained.



“All right, Hal, I give up. What can it be?”



“An incentive to get the boys to fish in the pond more for the fun of it. This can be our winner’s fishing throne,” Hal decided.



John caught the tag flopping in the wind and groaned, “For that price, it should have a place at our table.”



Hal brightened up.



“I was just teasing,” John said quickly.



“I want one of those milk cans. The bright blue one I think with the red seat. It would be so good to get the boys to think of the pond as a place of enjoyment again instead of conjuring up sad memories. I’ll buy it, but it's heavy. You carry it back to the car for me, please.” Hal took the pail from him.



“Using this seat will not take away the bad memories the kids have about the pond,” John told her.



“I know that, but I'm hoping maybe the seat will make new and better memories,” Hal said.



“Maybe so but don't expect the boys memories about fishing in the pond to be any better as long as their sister, Emma, catches the most fish. She will probably be the one sitting on the seat most of the time,” John predicted.



“So be it.” Hal said, not about to change her mind.



The milk can seat dangled from his hand as John shook his head all the way through the entry gate. Hal walked along beside him, holding on to the bread pail. She thought this was a great outing for the Lapp family, and she was pleased with her great buys.



Since it was near noon, Emma and the boys made their way to the entrance. Noah pointed as he spotted their parents in the distance, headed along the sidewalk toward the car. He frowned as he asked, “What are they carrying?”



“Looks like Daed has a milk can, and Mama Hal has a milk pail,” Daniel guessed, squinting to get a better look. “Does this mean we are going back to milking cows by hand?”



“Ach, I hope not,” Noah retorted.



“Ach, nah,” cried Emma softly, covering her cheeks with her hands.



“I am glad to see you agree that we should not go back to the old way of milking, my schwestern,” Noah said, smiling at her concern.



“That is not what is worrying me,” Emma said abruptly.



“Was ist letz?” Noah asked.



“Turn around to face this way quickly, and I will tell you what is the matter,” Emma said urgently. Grabbing both boys by their shoulders, she swung them around so they faced a shelter house with pony rides for young children.



“What is wrong with you?” Noah repeated tersely.



“Stella and Moses Strutt are standing by the visitor center booth. They are staring at Hallie and Daed. I do not want Stella to see us and come over here,” Emma hissed.



Noah looked over his shoulder. “Uh oh! Emma, she is watching Daed open the trunk on Mama Hal’s car.”



Emma looked back. Stella had moved and was now leaning on the grounds fence. With her husband beside her, she had a hand shading her eyes and was standing in a wide legged stance. A look of discovery was on her face.



“I think we’re in big trouble,” Emma predicted. “We must tell Daed and Hallie.”



“Maybe not,” Daniel replied. “We can not be sure Stella Strutt will do anything.”



“Daniel is right,” Noah reasoned. “We are having fun. We are already here. We should just not say anything about seeing Stella. What harm is there in our being here if it is a place that Stella Strutt comes to see. Why should we leave early because of her?”



“It is not that. It is the fact that Hallie drove her car, Noah,” Emma explained frankly.



“Still maybe this will turn out all right. Why spoil the day?” Noah reasoned.



“You are probably right,” Emma agreed although she looked doubtful. “Quick, get out of sight until Stella and Moses move on.”



“I hope that is before Daed and Mama Hal run into them,” Noah said as they took shelter behind the public restrooms.



When an a man on the loud speaker listed the name of church tents furnishings lunch, Stella and Moses turned from the fence and disappeared into the crowd. The children edged back to the entrance in time to meet Hal and John by the ticket booth, getting their wrist bands checked. Hal stopped to checked her guide book for places to eat and what was happening next. “There is the Cavalcade of Power parade. We could watch all the steam engines start up and parade around the grandstands. After that, we can pick one of the tents to eat in.”



Emma readily agreed with that plan. If they picked the same place to eat as the Strutts, maybe the couple would have finished eating and be gone by the time they got in the lunch line.



That afternoon, the Lapp family visited the North Village. John ushered his children past the Golden Slipper Saloon as fast as he could. He’d heard the loud music from down the block and the feisty singing. He took a quick peek over the bat wing doors at the scantily dressed women, in short black and red skirts, doing a cancan dance. One glance at the black fishnet stockings on bare legs caused John to avert his eyes. He certainly didn't want his children to see the dancers.



Hearing the boastful challenges in the middle of the street, they stopped to watch the gunslingers American West Show. That was fun. The blustering bank robbers argued with the sheriff and his deputies until the law was forced to kill all the bank robbers in a shootout.



School was in session at West Pleasant Lawn School at the end of the block. Anyone could come into the one room school house for the spelling bee. Hal tried to talk Emma into trying, but she refused.



At two that afternoon, they watched a horse powered saw mill in action, splitting a large log into boards. Then they walked through the RV park to the pioneer village. The log cabin, one room school house in session, and a barn with cows, ducks and chickens was fun to see. Everything helped them imagine what it was like in the 1850's. Hal bought each of them a large cup of ice tea at the concession stand before they watched the blacksmith at work. Finally, they looked through a wood work shop. Noah and Daniel really showed an interest in watching the carpenters when they made dovetail ends on a drawer to put it together without nails. At the log barn, Emma got a kick out of watching two small English girls trying to see under a brood hen. When the hen finally moved over, four fuzzy yellow chicks were exposed. One of the little girls pointed out the chicks had their beaks open, panting.



The man in charge of the barn said, “This is a hot day. The chicks are too warm.”



“I'd be too warm too if I had to sit under a mother with that heavy coat on,” replied the girl.



That remark tickled Emma.



After awhile, the family headed back to the main grounds. John gave the kids money to buy each of them a bag of popcorn. They got in the long line. All the time, Emma kept a watchful eye around her, hoping against hope that Stella Strutt had tired of all the walking and went home.



At four o'clock, Hal read off the list of events. “Some of these are a repeat of the morning shows.”



John said, “I think we should head for home. It will be after milk time when we get there.”



“I think you’re right,” Hal said. “My feet are tired. I feel like I’ve walked miles today.”



“That is because you have, Mama Hal,” Daniel chirped.







Soon the women were busy chatting and putting the finishing touches on supper. What Hal was too busy to see before the milking was done was the buggy that pulled up by the barn. Bishop Bontrager and Deacon Enos Yutzy climbed down and disappeared into the barn. Looking way too serious, they nodded at Luke Yoder, leaning against the barn wall.



Elton said in a staid manner, “Preacher Yoder, we are all together at last.”



“Jah, we are. This is the right time to have our meeting. I will get John,” Luke said solemnly. He turned toward the milking parlor and walked past the boys. Noah was wiping a cow's bag with the iodine solution. Levi was sliding a full scoop shovel toward the end of the gutter. Daniel held the milking cups under a cow's bag and released them as they sucked up the teats. Josh stood, hands in his pockets, relaxed against the barn wall with no intention of helping. Luke tapped John on the shoulder as he took milking cups off a cow. Rather than yell above the generator rumble, Luke pointed toward the ministers by the door. John straightened up and spotted the men. Luke motioned for Josh to take over. The young man reluctantly unfolded from against the wall and sauntered over.



John handed Josh the milking cups and went to greet the minister and the deacon. “Wilcom, Elton and Enos. What brings you here? Coming to Emma’s birthday party?”



“Nah,” the bishop said, looking apprehensive.



“We want to have a private talk with you, John,” Enos said reluctantly.



“It looks serious. Come away from the noise.” John led the way down the alley between the stalls to the far end of the barn so they could talk without shouting. “Now what can I do for you?”



“This is official church business.” Elton cleared his throat before he finished. “Bruder Lapp, we all realize there are certain temptations for all of us. Always ----,” his voice trailed off as he licked his lips and studied his shoes.



Enos stroked his beard as he continued, “What Eldon is trying to say is we have been made aware ----.” He looked over John’s head at a cobweb and tried to find the words.



“Was ist letz?” John asked point blank.



With a somber expression, Preacher Luke Yoder finished with, “John, give us time to explain what is the matter. These gute men are finding this a hard meeting to have with you, because we have all always been gute friends. What they want to say is, we have been told you were tempted and broke one of the rules of the Ordnund.”



“Which one?” John asked, but he knew before he had to be told.



“No riding in a car driven by a Plain person,” the bishop got out. “Stella Strutt has been to see me. She says she saw you at Mt. Pleasant with your family. She says you went there in Nurse Hal’s car. Tell me, did someone else go along and drive the car for you? That would make a big difference.”



“Ach, nah! I can not tell you that,” John said, wiping his sweaty forehead with his shirt sleeve. “Hal drove. I knew it was wrong when we went. I tried to talk her out of driving, but I was weak and as you say tempted by my wife. I have anguished over it ever since. I do not like the guilty feeling, knowing that I sinned against the church. I am so very sorry that I was weak.”



Bishop Bontrager looked relieved. He nodded at the deacon and then Preacher Yoder. “If the two of you are satisfied, I am, too. We all know John Lapp. He has never been one to go against Ordnund rules before. I accept his admission of guilt and his willingness to not sin in this manner again. I say we should let him move on and put this in the past.”



Both the deacon and Minister Yoder nodded that they agreed.



“One other thing, John,” the bishop began and grimaced, reluctant to bring the matter up. “How much does Nurse Hal use her cell phone?”



John shook his head slowly, wondering where this question came from. If he had to guess, he'd say from Stella Strutt. “Hal never uses that phone. She has it laid away somewhere in the clinic.”



“That is gute, but perhaps it would be better to throw the phone away to prevent more temptation on Nurse Hal’s part,” the bishop suggested strongly.



“By now, the battery has probably run down. She has no way to recharge it here,” John said.



“We will need to talk to her about these modern conveniences. Can you please tell her Deacon Yutzy, Preacher Yoder and myself want to see her at my house for a meeting at seven tomorrow night? We have to tell her she has to make her things right with the church by giving up the car and phone,” the bishop said gravely.



“I will tell her and come with her to the meeting,” John said.



“We will let you get back to your chores now so you can get in the house for supper and Emma’s birthday party,” the deacon said, holding out his hand to shake with John. “Have a good evening, Bruder Lapp.”



John stared after Bontrager and Yutzy as they left the barn. Luke put his hand on John’s shoulder. “I am sorry this had to happened. I would rather have been anywhere else than here this moment, my friend.”



“So would those two men who I know are my friends. It is not your fault that this happened. I strayed from the Ordnund. I have admitted it. If I am forgiven by the church, it is a big relief to me. I have felt such a weight because of my sin,” John told him.



“You are forgiven, but you realize the bishop has given you a warning with this forgiveness. If you are caught another time in Hal’s car with her driving, you will be called to a member meeting to make your things right. The punishment will be worse next time,” Luke warned.



“I know. I have learned my lesson,” John vowed. “Now if I could only figure out a way to talk Hal into getting rid of that car.”







Read Worldly Temptations in the Nurse Hal Among The Amish series to find out what happens to the Lapp family and Nurse Hal for driving her car.



My husband Harold and I have been to the Old Thrasher's Reunion many times. I've taken quite a few pictures I've used in books and blog posts. Many of the exhibits I found educational when it comes to writing about times gone by. Listening to people make comments about what they see is fun. I happened to be standing by the little girl that worried the hen's coat was too hot for the baby chicks. The bread making bucket was a source of amusement when I saw it. I looked it over well enough to describe it and connect it with Nurse Hal and Emma, but I didn't think it worth $20.



The last of August Harold saw an advertisement for the Reunion. He wisptfully thought about going, but the days were very hot. Walking around in the sun all day during record heat didn't sound like fun. There will be another time.

My Nurse Hal Amish Series book two - The Rainbow's End excerpt-and Gardening

My blog post today is an excerpt from my book The Rainbow's End which is book two in the Nurse Hal Among The Amish series. The series is set in the rolling hills of scenic southern Iowa on an Amish farm outside of fictional Wickenburg.





This excerpt takes place in the spring when Nurse Hallie Lapp is given gardening lessons by her step daughter Emma Lapp.







After lunch as Hal put a handful of silverware away, she asked, “Emma, what are we going to plant in the garden?”



“This family likes many different vegetables,” Emma said. She opened a drawer and took out a worn, frayed notebook. She handed it to Hal.



“What is this?”



“Turn to the last page that is written on. You will see where I have drawn lines for rows. Beside each row is the vegetable or flower’s name we will plant this spring.”



Hal opened the book on the table. The two of them leaned over it as Emma pointed out rows labeled peas, beans, beets, carrots, turnips, potatoes, lettuce and more. Around the edges, she planned to plant orange cosmos and yellow marigolds. The very back row nearest the house, Emma saved for her tall green cannas that bloomed a red flower. She had a basket of dried bulbs stored in the basement.



“I didn’t realize a garden took so much planning,” Hal said, mystified by the thought Emma had put into her garden.



“It is important to rotate the crops so I do not grow a vegetable in the same spot too long. If I keep track each year, I know that will not happen,” Emma told her.



Hal heard the restless shift of feet. She looked up to find John leaning against the doorway with his hands in his pants pockets. He had been listening to them. The smile on his face and the beam in his eyes told Hal he was proud of his daughter’s friendship with the woman he planned to marry.



He said, “Are you two about done planting garden in here?”



“Jah, for right now. We are going to continue for real soon enough.” Emma said, putting her notebook back in the drawer.



In another chapter -



Holding a handful of garden seed packets, Emma interrupted Hal’s revelry. “If you are not busy, want to help me plant some garden?”



“Sure. Looks like no one needs my nursing help this afternoon.” Maybe the fresh air will revive me, she thought.



“That is gute,” Emma said.



Hal opened the door and followed Emma out on the porch. “Where is the garden?”



Emma nodded toward the road. “That bare spot.”



“I wondered why there wasn’t any grass there, but I kept forgetting to ask. Why did you put milk jugs in the garden?”



“There is danger of frost until in the middle of May. The jugs protect the cabbage and tomato plants I set out,” Emma explained.



Hal couldn’t remember seeing vegetable sets in front of the feed store or at the tree nursery. “You bought sets somewhere this early?”



“Nah, I raised them from seeds.”



“Why do you have the garden along side the road?”



Hal could tell that sounded like a silly question to Emma. “Why not?”



“No reason. It’s just that my mom had her garden back behind the tool shed. It was sort of out of sight,” Hal told her.



“Why would I want to hide my garden?” Emma seem perplexed by the idea. She dropped the seed packets at the end of the garden. “It is of interest for Plain people to see how their neighbors gardens are doing when they drive by. Even English like to see what kinds of vegetables and flowers are planted in them.”



Changing the subject, Hal said, “Nothing better to eat than fresh vegetables from the garden.”



Emma nodded agreement as she went down on her knees. “We have to raise enough to can for winter. You want to learn how to preserve food?”



“Yes, I do. If you think you can stand trying to teach someone who is as dumb as I am about such things,” Hal said sincerely.



“Oh, Hallie. You are not dumb. Now we are going to start by planting radishes and lettuce,” Emma said, sorting the seed packets. A distant rumble turned her attention to the western sky. “Looks like a rain is coming. Dark clouds are banking up. If we hurry maybe we will have some of the planting and my chores done before the storm. I have been trying to start chores early so I can look for Zacchaeus.” She handed Hal the seeds before she picked up a hoe she dropped in the grass earlier. Giving the mellow dirt a whack with the hoe, she walked backward, making a small trench.



“What do you think happened to him?” Hal asked. Opening a packet of radishes, she bent over and dropped the seeds in the furrow.



“If he decided to roost out, a coon, skunk or possum could have got him. Maybe even a coyote. But he never does that,” Emma declared. “I think my brothers had something to do with his disappearing. It is a joke on me.”



“I can’t believe that Noah and Daniel would do that to you,” Hal said, opening the package of lettuce. She followed Emma as the girl made another row.



“Remember the duck eggs under my brood hen?”



“Oh.” Hal didn’t have a defense for that.



Absorbed in what they were doing, Emma and Hal forgot about the approaching storm until large, crystal clear drops pelted them. Emma dropped the hoe. A gust of wind caught the pile of seed packets, causing them to tumble over and over across the garden. Emma and Hal scrambled to gather up the remaining packets.



After Emma chased down the last packet, she yelled, “This is it. Run for the porch.”



Leaning against the porch wall, Emma closed her eyes and turned her face toward the sky. “Ain’t it something how a spring shower keeps up making down. Smell the clean air and wet dust.”



Hal stood beside her and looked out over the hayfield and pasture. The shower draped the fields in a silver veil. She took a deep breath. “As clean as the smell of fresh washed clothes drying on the line.”



“Jah.” Emma’s tone changed. “Oh, no! I forgot to bring in my clothes,” she cried. As an after thought she giggled. “Oh well, too late now. They will have to dry over.”



As quickly as the downpour started it ended. The overcast sky suddenly changed to sunshine. The sun caressed the earth and both of them with its light and warmth.



With excitement in her voice, Emma pointed. “Look a rainbow!”



The ethereal jewel-tone mist arched in the pasture just beyond the barn. “How lovely. As a child, I was told if I could find the end of the rainbow I’d find a pot of gold,” Hal said.



“That’s an English tale,” Emma scoffed. “The rainbow came about because God made a promise to Noah. He said, “I have set my rainbow in the clouds, and it will be the sign of the covenant between me and the earth. Whenever I bring clouds over the earth and the rainbow appears in the clouds, I will remember my covenant between me and you and all living creatures of every kind. Never again will the waters become a flood to destroy all life.” She paused, studying the rainbow, before she continued. “If they feel the need to make wishes, English people should not wish for something that has to do with wealth.”



Hal learned early, on once she got to really know Emma, she should listen to this wise girl’s thoughts. She was so very perceptive. Her insight into Amish life would be what was going to help Hal fit in. “What kind of wish, Emma?”



Emma paused to think before she spoke. “This could be many things. Maybe you should wish at the end of your rainbow to find happiness or health.”



“Happiness. I like that wish. For quite a long time now, I've felt as if happiness is just out of my reach. If I wish on that rainbow, I’m going to have to wish really hard if I expect my wish to come true,” Hal said softly.



Emma answered sagely, “Hallie, wishing for happiness does not make it happen. You have to work to get and keep happiness in your life. Now come with me. We have eggs to gather.”





This excerpt came from the second book in the series so to be properly introduced to Nurse Hal and the Lapp family you should start with A Promise Is A Promise book one. If you want to learn more about Nurse Hal and her life with the Lapp family my books and ebooks can be found in the Amazon and Kindle stores in English and several foreign languages, Smashwords and Barnes & Noble. I sell all the books I've written on my website http.www.booksbyfaybookstore.weebly.com. The site has my blog and so does Author Central on Amazon. You can find me on Twitter and Facebook if you want to follow and like me.



I haven't mentioned much about my books this summer so it's time I refresh everyone's memory. I'm an author of thirty books as well as a gardener. My books have a lot of my life experiences in them. A wise English teacher once told me to write what I know about. That's what I've been doing. I write the books I like to read with humor in them. My books are meant to entertain and for the most part be light hearted and easy for the readers to relate to the characters.



The books are written in 12 font which make them reader friendly, and though not advertised as large print, the books are easier to read. I used the larger print because I have elderly relatives that like to buy my books. I've since found the same easy reading that worked for my relatives is appreciated by other readers.



I'm busy this time of year taking care of my garden produce much like Emma Lapp so I can relate to her gardening techniques. My mother and the generations of women in my family before her grew up knowing how to plant, care for and preserve vegetables, berries and fruit for the long winters. They had large families in the Missouri Ozarks and very little money during the Great Depression. What they bought at the store was items like flour, sugar, and coffee. Their garden and meat they raised.



This year and last we've seen dry summer in central Iowa. That means watering the garden if we want it to produce. We're lucky to have a deep well. Not everyone can afford to use their water for fear of running the well dry.



We plant two gardens a year. The first one is in early spring, and when spots where we raised potatoes are cleared off, we plant a fall garden in late July or early August. After last year's fall garden didn't do well even with watering, we debated putting in another one this year. But we are eternal optimists. It had rained almost every day in Iowa during this spring. Rivers and creeks flooded around us several times. So maybe the summer's dry spell wasn't going to last. We planted. Maybe because it is in my husband and my DNA to keep sowing seed.



Picture is of radish rows when the plants were smaller.

So now we are reaping the harvest of lettuce, spinach, radishes and a late crop of tomatoes. Perhaps, we enjoy the fresh vegetables even more when we have to work so hard to keep them hydrated.

Throw Back Day Every Day Here

I'm a fan of Good Morning America so today I'm watching as they discussed Throw Back Thursday. The topic was how much the set had changed from thirty years ago. It occurred to me that I just posted a picture on Facebook that might fit in a Throw Back Era except it's from last week. The picture is my husband, Harold, mowing hay in our acre and a half hayfield. Let me make myself clear. I don't consider him the throw back. Just the hay making equipment. The machinery he uses works for our small hayfield. He often recalls sixty years ago in Arkansas when he ran the dump rake for his grandfather. He was small and the lever to release the hay clump was hard to tromp on so Harold had to stand up and use both feet to release the hay. He considers the equipment he uses today much easier than what he remembered as a kid.



Most of what we do around our acreage might seem like a throw back from another era. A while back I put another picture of my cherry pitter on Facebook. There are newer pitters on the market, but I didn't know that when I found the pitter in an antique store. Before I bought it I spent hours pitting the cherries by hand. Even then it took me a year to decide the pitter was worth $20. We were visiting my Aunt Bonnie near Cabool, Missouri when I first saw the pitter in a small country shop. I backed off. It had been a few months since I pitted the cherries in the spring. Guess my memory was short. The next spring, we had a large crop of cherries again. All the time, I pitted I imagined that pitter laying idle on a shelf hundreds of miles away. So on our annual visit to the Ozarks my aunt said where would I like to go. First stop I wanted to make was that antique store. Aunt Bonnie reminded me it had been a year. The pitter was probably gone. She wasn't about to dash my hopes. Oh, please, can we go look? I have to know for sure. We entered into the rather dark shop interior, and my aunt said, "Okay, where do you think the pitter was?" "I know exactly," I said and walked right to it. I grabbed it, paid for it and laid it in the closet until the next spring. Harold set the table up out in the yard, and the ripe berries squirted on me, the table and the ground. Hey, I was happy. I saved so much time with my throw back pitter.



We've lived on this acreage for almost twenty five years. When we moved in, we planted all kinds of fruit trees. The advantage to having our own place had been to raise all the food we could eat and then some. For two recent springs, a freeze killed any chance of having fruit. This year we are blessed with crops. That means if I don't want any of the fruit to go to waste I must freeze or can the excess so we can enjoy eating our apples, pears, cherries, plums, and peaches during the winter. Forget about the peaches. We only had ten on our very old tree so I made a pie. That will be gone very soon. Two small peach trees are growing fast so my hope is for a good crop of peaches in a year or two. Plus, I saved the peach seeds to start another tree.



The plum tree has lost several limbs lately so the plums are up high. I used the apple picker to reach what I could. To make preserving plum sauce quick, I've cooked the plums whole. Next I wait for them to cool and take out all the seeds by hand so I can put the plums in the blender and make sauce out of them. I've canned a six pints. Not as many as other years, and I worry the tree won't be alive much longer so I saved seeds to plant. The tree came from an older tree in town near my brother-in-law's garden. I suppose the variety is damsel. I know I like the size and flavor of this plum so want to keep from losing it.





A few days ago I canned pears. We've heard that fruit isn't ripening as fast this year because of the dry weather. I picked the pears on lower branches that were about to touch the ground. It took a week for them to soften in the house. Since that worked, I had Harold pick more. I'm waiting for them to ripen. The pears left on the tree seem to be growing yet. I like the idea of larger pears to eat fresh. By the time we eat the two quarts I put in the refrigerator, a pint in Jell-O, the bowl full on the table and the pie that is now gone, I will be ready to can most of the rest.



I wonder how many women in this area preserve their food or have a large garden and orchard like we do. It happens to be in my DNA as they say these days. My earliest memories in the fifties are of my mother with her pressure cooker hissing on the wood cookstove in Missouri. Hot humid days made for miserable work with no air conditioning and not even a fan. The house stayed hot forever after canning season began. Jars filled with vegetables, fruit and meat replaced the empty ones in the root cellar. We had a top notch root cellar, cool and sometimes a black snake's retreat in the summer heat, but the safest place to be during tornado season.



Before pressure cookers were cold packers. I still use one of those, too. Back in my grandmother's day, the cold packer took hours to preserve vegetables and meat, but the wood cookstove was on all day anyway. Grandma Bright had nine children so she kept a large pot of beans or stew simmering all the time. Before cold packers, women put a zinc lid with a rubber seal on the blue jars. They probably thought to smell the food when they opened the jars to make sure it smell safe to eat. Rule of thumb was boil any canned food hard for fifteen minutes. Between poorly processed canned food and leaving left overs on the table from one meal to the next because there wasn't refrigeration, food poisoning happened often. It was sometime in the forties before canning flats and rings became popular in our area.



My filled jars go on shelves in our basement. A couple years ago, we had our hot water heater replaced. The repairmen were amazed at the amount of food I had preserved. In the winter, I don't have a very large grocery list. No need to get out on a snowy or frigid day. Between, my freezers, my basement shelves and my bread maker we can hibernate. My food preservation is a source of accomplishment made easier by having air conditioning. This is our second year with a cool house during a very hot week. Once upon a time, I froze vegetables in the blanched stage and thawed them out to can in the fall.



Today I've canned four quarts of downfall apples. The tree is loaded, but not as ready as I'd like them and the downfalls don't seem to ripen like the pears did. I've always been interested in older recipes so I kept one for apples probably from a Capper's. Most of my older recipes came from relatives or older canning books. This Canned Pie Apple recipe can be used to put in Jell-O, too.





Canned Pie Apple



1 quart of sliced apples



¼ cup sugar



Using the above ratio, fill a large nearly air tight container with apples. Mix the sugar slightly into the apples with each quart added. When the container is filled and packed down add the cover and let stand on the counter overnight. In the morning, pack the apple slices into jars and seal. Remember to pack the apples down in the jar to avoid a lot of shrinkage.



Cold pack in water no longer than 10 minutes after the water comes to a hard boil. Apples will stay very white. Treat as fresh apples for a crisp or pie.



Bullock Family garden near Schell City, Missouri from 1948 - 1961 in the fall when the weeds had taken over. All the vegetables were in the root cellar by then in jars.

Is This How A Squirrel Feels In Fall

Is This How A Squirrel Feels







Have you noticed when the temperatures began to feel like fall, the squirrels stopped chasing each other and started their search for food to bury for the winter?



I get the same urge though I don't bury food. I've seen how forgetful the squirrels are when it comes to finding their food supply. In the spring, their acorns and walnuts sprout in my flowers. I would be just like the squirrels if I tried that except my tomatoes or cucumbers wouldn't come up in the spring to remind me where to look. The safest place for what Harold brings in from the garden is going into jars stored in our basement or baggies in our freezer. That way the food supply is centrally located for me to get at when the ground is snow covered. Perhaps, that is a suggestions the squirrels should try. Pick one spot, dig down and bury all the nuts there to make it easy to find. The idea works for me. I wouldn't have so many tree sprouts to pull up in the spring.



We are fortunate to be able to raise our food. Gardening is good exercise and a safe way to have healthy food. We have a large garden, but there are times we wonder if it's going to hold all that we want to plant. We like a variety of vegetables so we plant our spring garden as early as possible, and when that has finished producing, we start over with a fall garden. Just like last year, we're now carrying water to the plants. Our new lettuce, radishes and carrots are up and growing, but some of the other veggies have yet to sprout. The seeds are dormant under the soil. What we need is a good soaking rain and soon.

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Picture is of radish rows in what was the potato patch. Wire rolls are old fencing I use to discourage the chickens from scratching my plants out of the ground. I've tried so many recycling ideas to get rid of varmits in the corn patch and berries that one of our neighbors says our garden looks like a land fill. Beyond the radishes is the strawberry bed.

Preserving all the good foods to eat this winter really limits my time on the computer. I'd like to spend more time working on a new Amish story right now, but I console myself with this winter when I'm making lunch with quick to cook dishes from the freezer or jar, I'll be writing more.







Right now my writing project is a special one. If you remember I just finished publishing a book written by a cousin about his time spent in the Vietnam War - 199th Light Infantry Brigade Redcatcher M.P. Now I'm soon going to publish another book for a dear sister-in-law that lost her battle with cancer recently at age 60.







The two of us started out in the late eighties thinking we would like to write a book. I signed up for a six weeks summer writing course in the back of the library. That was a very helpful course and fueled my fire to some day be an author. The next summer the course was offered and both of us signed up. There was only a class or two before the classes were canceled. We were on our own again, and life seemed to get in the way. After that, our conversations weren't on a possible book. Though I kept working on my skills every time I had a spare moment, the sister-in-law didn't. Her possible book was placed in a metal box for safe keeping until she had the time to finish it. She didn't get the chance. The metal box surfaced recently and brought back memories of our bright hopes to be authors.







So now I'm going to make her dreams come true by publishing her book. The story is a romance. It needs much work and an ending which I've already figured out. So the day will come when I'll be able to share the book with the author's name on the cover. What a special legacy for her to leave her children and grandchildren. This woman lived her life with courage. She embraced her life with humor and bravery in the last fourteen years all the way to the end. She enjoyed the few remaining years and then months and days she had left and always kept in mind ways to make it easier for her loved ones to live life with her and without her. We were sisters with a common dream. If the situation was reversed, she'd have done the same for me.







Now time to get busy again. On my list of to do today, as a reminder that this is still summer, is making homemade ice cream from an aunt's recipe.







Pudding flavored Ice Cream







4 eggs



2 cups sugar



1 small bowl of Cool Whip



2 3oz. boxes of instant pudding or one large (any flavor) We love Butter Pecan. Doesn't come on the grocery store shelf anymore, but can be found in bulk in many of the Amish stores. I buy a supply just for ice cream.



½ gal. cold milk. (I've been using Silky soybean milk.)



1 tsp flavoring to match pudding or use vanilla. Can even omit since the pudding makes the ice cream's flavor.







Beat eggs in large bowl. Add sugar and pudding. Beat thoroughly. Stir in cool whip and flavoring. Pour in freezer can and add milk to the fill line. Freeze.

Summer Fun In The Country

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Summer is showing off its best in Iowa right now. Pleasant temperatures, warm not real hot, during the day and cool at night. This makes for a perfect time to have company come enjoy our country place. My husband keeps the area mowed like a park. The lawn chairs are in the ash tree's shade. My flowers are blooming bouquets of red, pink, purple and white. The multitude of cats laze about in the sunny driveway or hide for a nap in the butternut tree or the grapevine, seeking shade and solitude. The goats wander back and forth from the cool darkness of the barn to the tree groves or pasture to graze. The free range chickens are busy scratching in all the wrong places, the garden and my flower beds. The two red and black roosters proudly crow and strut around their domain until they find some eatable morsel, an ant hill, hidden small black beetles, Japanese beetles or the biggest ripe tomato in the patch. That excites the roosters into a clucking tune that calls the hens to come to dinner.



All this activity that we take for granted is a natural wonder to our city relatives, especially the children. My husband's niece reminded me about when she and her cousins were small they each used to spend a week with us in the summer. Our son had a different playmate every week for most of the summer and his cousins got a taste of country life, because I put them to work doing chores. That's what made for wonderful memories for this niece. She wanted her children to experience a taste of that. So one day this week four generations, my husband's mother, his sister, her daughter and two children, came for the day. My husband grilled brats and hot dogs to go along with the rest of the meal. I made sure to have everything prepared before they got here including my strawberry freezer dessert which cuts like cake and reminds me of ice cream with a crumb topping.



We ate lunch right away so the tour began as soon as possible. My husband is in charge of tours. I take pictures. We're raising six turkeys this year so they were a new sight. Also new was the birth of eight chicks in the hay loft which was a total surprise, but one we expected since it always happens to us in late summer. There is always a hen or two that out smarts my husband with a well concealed hiding place. We set three hens on purpose in early summer, and they hatched twenty chicks which we thought was enough for this season. My husband gave all the chicks to one hen. I told the children she was like the old woman in the shoe who had so many children she didn't know what to do. At that time, the temperature was cool day and night. Most days were rainy. Mother hen had to worry about fluffing out her feathers enough to cover so many babies. As the offspring grew covering them became impossible so some of them roosted on the hen's back for warmth. What was even more vexing to the hen was when the chicks began to wander away from her to explore on their own. She clucked sharply, but that never did work. They ignored her so she'd wind up running after them to gather the chicks back into the brood, forcing the remaining chicks to keep up. Since the chicken room is in the barn loft, we hear the loud tromping overhead and all those tiny feet sound like a herd of elephants.

The children and their mother made a quick trip to the rabbit room. Nothing very exciting there. A black and white buck and doe sat at the back of the cage. One white doe hid in her nesting box, and no babies to report yet this summer. Since the rabbits are my husband's project I don't ask for an explanation. You see all of the above had been my domain for many years while my husband worked. He took over what we call chores several years ago. Though I still do the vet work, the rest of the time I stay away from the barn as much as possible. I tell him I'm retired.

 The doe goats are very friendly this year as long as the kids stayed on the outside of the pen. They came to smell hands extended through the gate in case the children had something good to eat and remained long enough to be petted. Once in awhile, they took a nibble of a shirt sleeve. In another pen, the smaller buck goats circled around out of reach except for one. When he's called he still holds out hopes of getting a bottle. Most of the time I consider him a pest when he's underfoot like a dog or pressing his head against my leg to get my attention, but this once, I was glad he came for the children's attention.







Last was the tour of the garden and flowers which was given for Harold's ninety two year old mother benefit. She has always been a lover of all plants. She still has a large garden and appreciates the effort that goes into a well weeded and productive garden. Now our fall crop of veggies, radishes, lettuce, spinach and peas, can be seen in the rows hidden among the spring crops that are producing so well. Harold's mother has made it her goal through life to try to get as many different varieties of flowers as she can, and from my inexperienced viewpoint, I'd say she succeeded. I know I can always go to her for advice on flower plant care so it's always fun to show her my efforts.









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That was the last of the tour as far as the grownups were concerned. We were ready for a break, but the children kept exploring.









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The kitten napping in the butternut tree is tame when he wants to be. Lizzy and her grandmother petted him until he decided he'd had enough of these strangers. He jumped down, thinking he'd escape to the barn. Lizzy followed, convinced the kitten she was as friendly as Uncle Harold and carried him around for awhile. Her love of animals has her thinking that she'd like to be a veterinarian. Her mother says she should be at our barn on the days I am doctoring the animals. Her mind might change. I wouldn't bet on her mind set changing as far as loving animals goes, but she does have plenty of time yet to come up with what she wants to do as a profession. In the meantime, it never hurts to have this one option. I love animals. Maybe I and my husband contributed to Lizzy's passion for animals. At least, we've given her good childhood memories to look back on when she's grown just like her mother.