Laurinda Wallace's Blog, page 13

School Days

My uncle Cecil was my favorite childhood storyteller. I sat mesmerized listening to his adventures of growing up on a farm and the funny scrapes he got himself into.  One of his best tales happened at school, a one room schoolhouse just outside the Village of Castile.  It seems that he was in charge of getting the wood fire going in the morning, so he had to arrive extra early to accomplish the task. One cold winter morning, he loaded the old stove with wood and soon had the usual hot fire going. However, a delinquent type student arrived there well ahead of him one morning and  liberally smeared Limburger cheese inside the stove. As the heat increased so did the smell. The teacher was not happy and immediately punished my poor uncle. I believe school was dismissed for the day until the stove could be cleaned. Uncle Cecil also lost his early morning job, but I don't think it bothered him a whole lot. The culprit wasn't apprehended, so it remains a mystery to this day.

The real twist to the story is that we ended up living in that one room schoolhouse for 25 years before moving west.  Now, the house saw many additions over the intervening years (1920s and onward). It was always fun to think about my great aunts and uncles doing their lessons in our living room area all those years ago.

There's a always a good story from school days to laugh about and I have every confidence that my beloved readers have a few of their own.  A trip in the Way Back machine takes me to Castile Elementary School, which is sadly a ruin today. But if you did attend there, the Chicken Run will ring a bell.  We'd converge on that long hallway that sloped to the main hall and dash to our classrooms. How about lunch in the little cafeteria with Mrs. Miller serving up beef burgers? Miss Everett was our principal and you didn't want to get sent to her office. There was a paddle there. We played dodge ball, Red Rover, and other "dangerous" games in the gym. I do remember my brother getting a concussion playing Red Rover. Apparently he thought he was Superman or something and didn't apply the brakes before hitting the wall. He wasn't tagged, but he was hospitalized overnight for that particular stunt.

Riding the bus was always an adventure.  Some of the bigger boys practiced the dubious art of cussing, only impressing themselves. They were also experts at teasing girls and bullying. I rode Bus #75 and our driver, Mr. Ayers didn't hesitate to haul a few of the offenders to the front of bus for the duration of the trip when they were especially offensive.  Then there was squirt gun season. Those same boys would declare war sometime right before the end of school in June and everyone would be packing more than a lunch when they stepped onto the bus.  Of course, I was not allowed to carry a weapon until my mother got tired of me coming home wet. She, herself loaded an empty dish soap bottle with water and sent me out the door with a concealed weapon. I must have looked guilty because the bus driver (now Mrs. Washburn) asked me to hand it over before I made it up the steps.  It was terribly disappointing not to have the opportunity to soak one of the back seat felons. Feeling glum about losing my defense, the day brightened when Mrs. W. demanded  that the offending boys hand over their respective squirt guns as they strutted up the steps. Victory for the little people was within sight and it was sweet. Thus, the water war ended for another year.


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Simply Sweet

The West has captured our hearts, but there are a handful of events, foods, etc. from New York that make us a little homesick. This time of year it's certainly not the cold and snow, but the maple syrup. Although real syrup is available in the grocery store, it's made in Northwest and not the Northeast. No, I'm not talking about the row of corn syrup products on the shelf, but bona fide maple syrup.
If you were a kid back in the 60s or earlier  the sight of tin roof covered buckets on sugar maples was a common sight during February in Western New York. I remember a local family who borrowed trees to collect the thin, clear sap that would eventually turn into sweet amber syrup.  A big farm wagon and tractor would pull up to the neighborhood (a rural dairy farming neighborhood) loaded with buckets and taps or spiles.  A mallet quickly drove the metal spile into the tree and bucket would then be hung to collect a steady drip of maple sap. Big maples usually had two or three buckets dangling from their trunks. Sap was collected every day and poured into the old-fashioned metal milk cans. It was back breaking work for 4-6 weeks.  That was just the beginning. The boiling off process takes hours and constant care before it's ready for pancakes. 
Real maple syrup requires an average of 40 gallons of sap to produce one gallon of syrup. You can immediately see why the stuff is so expensive. American Indians were the first to discover syrup making and it's one of the few agricultural practices indigenous to America rather than Europe. That in itself makes it special. A true American made product. Even though technology has significantly improved over hundreds of years, the process remains labor intensive. The weather also has to cooperate - above freezing during the day and below 32 degrees at night. Chancy business in the Northeast. Weather there is a harsh taskmaster, and sap quantities are excruciatingly linked to the weather. 
There are so many wonderful maple products: syrup, sugar, candy (traditional maple leaf shape, please), and my all-time favorite, maple cream. Without a doubt, the best topping for ice cream, yes better than chocolate in my book. 
Photo by Cold Climate Gardening

A favorite jaunt in the bleak mid-winter of WNY is a trip or two to Cartwright's Maple Tree Inn in Short Tract. Not only do they serve the best buckwheat pancakes, but the syrup is made downstairs. The sugar bush (the stand of trees used for sap collection) cover the rolling hills around the little restaurant and syrup factory. Rather than buckets, plastic tubing is run from tree to tree and emptied into a collection vat. They use a reverse osmosis technology which shortens the time from sap to syrup. This year they're celebrating 50 years in business. How I wish we could meet old friends around a long table with stacks of steaming pancakes, plates of eggs, bacon, and sausage. Of course, I'd purchase a jar of maple cream before we left. Since that's not to be, we'll still enjoy New York maple syrup over buckwheat pancakes here. This is thanks to my sister, Amy, who keeps us supplied with syrup and New Hope Mills pancake mix (another NY tradition).
If you've been lulled into complacency with colored corn syrup, how sad. I recommend you get a hold of the real stuff and put that over your waffles. It's OK if it's from the Northwest, but New York syrup is still the best. (I know I'll hear from Canadians on this one.) Let it run willy-nilly over pancakes, oatmeal, waffles, or ice cream. At our house, it's one of those necessary luxuries that makes life sweet.

The Refrigerator Gallery

Today we received a package in the mail from our grandsons.  As you might guess, it was filled with special drawings, just for Grandpa and Grandma. There were also photos from their latest adventure at Busch Gardens. Obviously they'll go on the refrigerator to be proudly displayed for quite sometime. We're always happy to receive these special packages of drawings or get them hot off the press when we visit.  They warm a grandparent's heart.

The crayon drawings are also reminders of years past, when their mom and aunt provided a steady stream for the refrigerator gallery. Back then, I wondered how I would be able to get them all on the door. Teachers must plot to overload parents with all sorts of assignments that require display at home and not at school. Of course, each one is quite special and better than their sister's, thus it demands the center of the refrigerator door.Whether a drawing or a spelling test with a perfect score, it has to be on the appliance marquee. It seemed fitting that while reorganizing some craft supplies and miscellany in the guest bedroom today, I ran across several old treasures provided by our daughters years ago.  A tattered Christmas ornament from the 80s, photos from a high school musical, a primitive clay Easter basket full of blue and brown eggs, photos of ribbons won at dog shows, and a dish fashioned for a college ceramics course.

So no matter how old the kids are, parents still receive the odd treasure now and again.  After comparing both clay creations, I decided there wasn't much difference between the grade school art class and college one. It makes me quite happy our oldest daughter didn't pursue ceramics or drawing. Although, I was in a throwing out mood, none of that memorabilia was tossed. They are treasures after all.

I will pass on some advice to moms who may be inundated with too many of these treasures.  When we were in the throes of paper collecting, I finally purchased small file boxes and set up folders for each of the girls. Once the display time was over, the very BEST were put in a folder, and then the box. This worked all the way through 6th grade. It was always their choice about what to keep.  Eventually the boxes stuffed with all those school memories have gone to live with them. There were some things that I secreted away for myself from time to time. Some of those were rediscovered today.  It brought back pleasant memories to go along with the new ones we're making. But I do hope the boys don't take up ceramics. There are only so many coil pots you should have to save.

Lose the Baggage, Take the Yoke

A familar sight around town is a homeless man who pushes an overloaded grocery cart.  He's got problems with mental illness and his family has given up on him. The man has refused to stay on medication that will help him and he prefers to live on the streets. 

Over time the contents of the grocery cart he pushes have grown.  I'm not sure what's in it, but he's decorated it with colorful flags and tattered bits tied to wooden poles. The cart is never far away from him. Pushing it requires all his might, but he perseveres. As I watched him struggle with the cart the other day on the sidewalk, he was bent completely over pushing the cart holding all his worldly possessions. It seems the whole focus of his world is the cart with the stuff.

We may feel sorry for the man and how sad his life must be, but aren't we the same?  We carry the burdens of seeking wealth and success. Or we may carry tremendous loads of guilt over past sins. There are burdens of self-righteousness and the standard we place upon others. Maybe it's the burden of a broken relationship.

Just as the homeless man has chosen to keep his ever-growing burden of the cart, we do the same. We may try to dress it up with some decorations, but it's still bad stuff. How can we escape it? It has become a part of us, and we willingly bow beneath the familiar load.

Then Jesus said, "Come to me, all of you who are weary and carry heavy burdens, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you. Let me teach you, because I am humble and gentle, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke fits perfectly, and the burden I give you is light."  Matthew 11:28-30 NLT

 Yoked Oxen
Photo by PlanboxDecide to take the cartload of stuff to Jesus. He knows you're tired, discouraged, defeated. He longs to come alongside you.  Take His light yoke of obedience, love, and trust. You can lose the baggage. Yes, it's a paradox. Why would we trade burdens for a yoke? Aren't they the same? In a word-no. 

The heavy burden of sin, guilt, and judgment can be a thing of the past. The yoke of love and trust promises strength and grace for today, while guaranteeing our eternity in Heaven. The One who gave His life for us is also willing to be yoked to us. Are you getting this?  The Son of God wants to walk next to you everyday, every second. He loves you that much. He wants us to trust Him, walk with Him, learn about Him.  There's forgiveness, restoration and rest in that relationship. It's your decision though; the homeless man has made his. What will yours be today?

The Seedling Commitment

Last week, I bought one of those mini greenhouses that you start seedlings in. It's always exciting to push  seeds into the tiny peat pots and dream about the harvest to come. I haven't always had the greatest luck and with these setups, usually because I lose interest and become negligent over time.
What kind of gardener is that? Answer: a lazy one. So I'm trying to turn over a new leaf, if you'll pardon the pun and really pay attention to those little tomatoes that have peeked their heads out of the soil. I do have such high hopes for fried green tomatoes, BLT's, salads, salsa, and fat slices drizzled with balsamic vinegar, topped with fresh mozzarella.  
The planting schedule for them will be early April. That seems a long ways off, but not really. What kind of seeds are you starting now? It might be too early for your area, so you might be dreaming about the ideal garden as you thumb through the gardening catalogues. Count the cost of the kind of garden you want because they require more time and commitment than we estimate. I'm trying to hold back my enthusiasm and curb the desire for a whole new look in the courtyard while increasing the size of the vegetable garden. It's so exciting to think about the possibilities and how magnificent your garden could be.
While my husband sighs and braces himself for the onslaught of all these wonderful ideas and the pile of work it's going to create for him, I continue to scheme. Of course I help him. I'm a great supervisor and give clear directions. And yes, I'm willing to dig, plant, weed, and just about anything else. Who else could be his trusty assistant when he's putting an all those additional drip lines to the new plants?  The infrastructure part is really my weak suit so that is all on his shoulders. He's really good at it.
So that now that it's public I'm starting my own tomatoes this year, I hope that the accountability to my readers will stir responsibility and proper commitment to the seedlings. Yes, there will be a garden report in early April.
If you're looking for ways to improve your heart garden, get a copy of Gardens of the Heart. That's a garden that's way more important than the tomatoes. So let's get growing on all fronts!

The Siren Call of Shiny Objects

The idea of getting a smartphone has been under consideration for a couple of weeks. Everybody has one, why shouldn't I?  I could fit right in with everyone in the restaurant who's texting, checking in on Face Book, and in general ignoring their dining partner.  The phone I haul around is at least five years old. There's nothing wrong with it. I can receive calls, call others, and sometimes even receive or send a text or two.  It fits nicely in my purse or the pocket of my jeans.



The cellphone company wants to "give" me a new smartphone. Why they're shiny, have Internet access, and most importantly apps.  I can check my bank account, read a book, listen to music, play games, and so much more.  Since they're sleek and shiny, off I went to the cellphone store to see what an upgrade would entail.  The customer service person tried not to laugh at my old phone without any apps. She was kind and explained how wonderful the smartphone is. Enticed, I wandered through the land of smartphones. There were so many varieties, and yes, they were all shiny.  How cool it would be to have the latest technology, text others, download amazing apps to astound my friends while having lunch in a restaurant. I too could text and play games while waiting for my salad.  While my husband checked basketball scores or email on his BlackBerry a/k/a Crackberry, I could play Mahjong or shop for shoes. The whole idea was rather enthralling and you know, it was easy to envision myself texting in abandon and checking email every few minutes. You never know who might need an immediate answer.

Alas, when at the counter and the dreaded question was asked --"What will this cost?", the answer was disappointing. The monthly bill would increase exponentially. That's because the current plan is quite low end. Now, I've been married to a Scotsman for a very long time, and his frugal mindset has become mine as well. While adjustments were made to the plan and the cost decreased by pennies, the amount still made me blanch at the thought of paying such an extravagant amount for a shiny object, however cool it was.

In the end, the cellphone is a phone in my book. I have an aversion to texting and who wants to constantly peer at a screen you can barely see. In one shining moment the phone had lost its charm. Then came the realization that the shiny objects more fun to have around were the shekels saved to be enjoyed in other ways. Might not be as cool, but there won't be any groaning about a monthly bill.  Besides it's way cooler to talk to that handsome dinner partner of mine, rather than check junk email. Hmmm...but maybe an iPad...

The Letter

This week I received a four page handwritten letter from a longtime friend (Thanks MKR). She shared the traveling adventures she and her husband enjoyed last summer.  As always, it was full of great descriptions and humorous insights to their road trip. It was a welcome break from the endless stream of junk mail and bills. I've received a few handwritten letters over the past year and each one is a delight to receive.

Who takes time to write a letter anymore?  We dash off an email, a text from our phone, and call that good enough.  A letter takes time, effort and a stamped envelope. Our handwriting has to be legible. Then comes a trip to the post office.  No wonder we are reluctant to actually pen a missive.

There's nothing like some fine paper and a good pen to write down a cheery, newsy note to a friend or relative. It's probably a lost art, but one we should consider reviving.  When I was in high school, I had a pen pal in Japan and we corresponded regularly for two or three years. She was practicing her English (which was outstanding) and I was learning about the culture in Japan. Those air mail envelopes filled with neatly written letters on rice paper are packed away in the attic as keepsakes. My best friend growing up spent three years in Ethiopia and we wrote each other frequently.  I could hardly wait to get a letter from Deb, telling me about her exotic adventures in that mysterious land. And then there is the single letter that I received from my husband while we were dating. That is safely tucked away--there may be a ribbon around that too.



We've lost a bit of romance in not writing letters. We've also lost our penmanship.  Remember all those circles we had to make when we were learning cursive?  That  has also gone out of fashion. Have you looked any young person's handwriting recently? My father-in-law had fine handwriting.  For years, he hand wrote every paycheck for Wyoming County employees. His loops and curves were consistently beautiful, all very readable. I know because he wrote mine for awhile. Yes, those were the days.

So, if you're looking for a way to surprise someone, write them a letter. It doesn't have to be four pages to start, but you might be surprised how the time flies after you get going. Get some nice paper and a pen that sits comfortably in your grip.  You might enjoy it and be surprised yourself.

Low and Slow

There's nothing like ribs cooked low and slow in the smoker or stew simmering in the crockpot.  Can you smell those rich, BBQ ribs or that beefy stew?  Some things just take time and they're well worth the wait. 

Our culture doesn't promote waiting of any sort--enter the very medium I use everyday (Internet). Shopping, finding information on everything from diseases to clothes, and so much more. The spinning circle indicating that something is slow in downloading--not good. Waiting is not popular --I'm usually not a fan. But I've gained some wisdom over the years, and find that waiting or patience is necessary for much of life. So you can either continue to be frustrated that life isn't instanteous or accept that the line you choose at the grocery store will be the absolute slowest.

After printing off the Bible reading schedule that will get me through the Bible within 12 months, I decided to go low and slow.  What's the hurry?  Why not get rid of the list and try a different approach?

There's absolutely nothing wrong with reading through the Bible in a year. I've done it a few times and have found it to be valuable experience every time.  There is a certain sense of accomplishment to check off the little boxes on the schedule, especially for me since To Do lists are important daily companions. But going low and slow in 2013 means that there's time to actually to savor the Scripture, rather than dashing through it to meet the appointed daily reading.  I've decided to read through a book in each section of the Bible for this year.  History, poetry, the Gospels, the Law, wisdom, epistles, and prophecy. Already a lot of pressure has been lifted.  There's time for the Spirit to speak, time to be still, and time to get to know the Author of the book.  His Word is like honey, a two-edge sword, flawless, beautiful, and alive.  Those striking descriptions are found in the pages of 66 books written over a span of over 1,600 years by 40+ people, who wrote as God inspired them. 

Here's your challenge: read the Bible every day in whatever way works for you. Try the low and slow method if you're feeling overwhelmed with the schedule or just want to slow down. Stay in one book all year if you want, read through the Gospels, or try the method above.  Get to know the Author who pursues you with love and redemption. His Word contains everything we need for living life well.

    All Scripture is inspired by God and is useful to teach us what is true and to make us realize what is wrong in our lives. It straightens us out and teaches us to do what is right.   It is God's way of preparing us in every way, fully equipped for every good thing God wants us to do.   II Timothy 3:16-17 NLT

The Winter Garden

The temperatures plunged into the teens this weekend and the highs during the day didn't get out of the upper 30s. That's pretty unusual for our area, even though cold weather is not. Although the Farmer's Almanac and the local weather people said we'd have a mild, wet winter, it just hasn't happened. We'll see how our little winter garden fares after a few days sub-freezing weather.

The winter garden is our experiment, which so far has proved itself quite successful. Since our winters are oh so mild as compared to Western New York we decided to put the raised bed garden to use despite the cold weather.  Choosing the more cold hardy of vegetables, we planted lettuces, beets, chard, and carrots back in October.  We've been enjoying greens and lettuce since late November. We're still waiting for the carrots since they require more time.  There's nothing like fresh picked lettuce for salads or sweet beet greens with all those wonderful antioxidants. It's also fun to walk past the bags of salad greens in the store and know that my lettuce at home is way better and much cheaper. 

So as the mercury drops, the little garden is bundled up in straw and draped with old sheets to ward off what they're calling killer temperatures.  We'll see what survives. Sure glad we had some beet greens and a salad this week because I'm not confident there will be any to enjoy tomorrow morning. But I sure hope it makes it because some more greens would be nice, and it would be a shame to lose those carrots that are starting to get some size.  It'll be a mystery until tomorrow morning.


The Summer Garden
 

Beep! Beep!

Who doesn't remember Looney Tunes adversaries, Wiley E. Coyote and the Roadrunner? The poor coyote wasn't nearly as clever as the nonchalant bird, who blithely stuck out his tongue and kept on running. Both of these critters are common sights around Casa Wallace.  The neighborhood roadrunner visited the property today, prompting this text sketch of this bold and sometimes ruthless bird.

The roadrunner is a member of the cuckoo family and has a clacking sort of call. They're good sized - around 22 inches from beak to tail. It's streaked in brown, black, and white--perfectly camouflaged to perform acts of violence against smaller critters. They're not particularly picky about their cuisine and will feast on bugs, small mammals, reptiles, and cactus fruits. It's true they're great runners--up to 20 mph, and really prefer not to fly. It's unusual to see them in the air unless they're escaping the grill of a motor vehicle or a predator like the red tail hawks that frequent our area. Not every roadrunner escapes the moving car or truck as evidenced by flattened birds every so often on the asphalt. They don't always escape the hawk either. We saw a large raptor capture one in his talons in the middle of the road while the terrified mate looked on from the shoulder. The law of survival is rough and a little disturbing sometimes.

Roadrunners do enjoy a panoramic view occasionally because I've seen them hop from the courtyard wall and flutter to the patio roof, then scramble and half fly to the roof peak to take a look around.  They're clever and quick in chasing down lizards, gulping them down usually headfirst. Just as I was developing an affection for a small speckled ground squirrel that played in the shadow of small mesquites one summer, a hungry roadrunner rushed through and ran off with him.  The poor little thing dangled helplessly from his beak. It was a grim scene.

There haven't been any sights of coyotes and roadrunners mixing it up so far, but you never know. They are monogamous and the pair that frequents our property has been been around for several years. They keep the snake population down, so despite their proclivities to carry off cute, furry prey, they perform a service for which I'm grateful. Snake control is much more important on my list and Mr. and Mrs. Roadrunner are welcome to continue their residence in the mesquite thicket out front.

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