Kentucky Winter

Daffodils were one of the first things I noticed when we viewed this property nearly two years ago and decided to buy the little farm.  That was at the beginning of March and the yellow trumpets were just starting to unfold.  When we returned March 20th, we were met with sprawls of daffs [called March lilies here] spreading across green fields and along roadside ditches.

These stalwart buds were photographed yesterday in the south-facing patch beside the carport.

Today a morning rain persisted half-heartedly through a day that became ever more grey and dismal.

I went out late in the afternoon to empty litter boxes and gather my kindling twigs. The rain was turning to fat squashy snowflakes. 

I have a sinus/head cold [misery!] and was unpleasantly chilled by the time I returned to the house, my wellies leaving damp muddy tracks on the basement stairs as I carried in my twigs.

D. drove up tonight for a visit--chortling that school has been called off for tomorrow.

Admittedly Kentucky roads are narrow and winding, and when they are sheltered by a ridge hulking up to the north, any ice that forms on the roadway is slow to melt.

Still, the near panic with which an inch or two of snow is greeted here is amusing to this family, having spent most of our winters in New England or Wyoming.

I have kept the sliding door shut today, not wanting the damp chill to seep in nor the cats to go in and out with muddy paws.  They have been disgruntled.

M. and G. arrived mid-morning with M's latest culinary triumph--easily the best chocolate chip cookies I've ever had.

Several of them went down very nicely with a mug of tea.

He added dried cherries to Betty Crockers classic recipe.

Willis exercises his privileges as a cat who lives outside but is allowed to saunter in and stay for awhile.

Sometimes he takes over a prominent spot such as the sofa or curls tidily on the hearth rug. He's been known to roost on the shelves above the fridge, hiding cosily behind several large crocks.

I am monitoring his indoor visits quite warily at present.

J. knew that Willis had spent the evening indoors on Friday, but couldn't locate him to put him

outside at bedtime.

Where the canny feline hid, we can't imagine, but there he was was next morning, smugly eating

kibble in the kitchen.

I spent most of my time in the basement room for several days working to finish a quilt, using my laptop in the livingroom for a few brief minutes online.

When I entered this room on Tuesday it had a suspicious 'whiff.'

A cat had 'peed' in the middle of the guest bed!

The puddle had dried, but the odor was unmistakeable.

"But you didn't see Willis do it, " argued G. defending him.

NO--but the only other time we've had misplaced cat pee, Willis had also spent the night in the house.

On that occasion J. woke suddenly and unpleasantly just after daybreak as Willis let fly --down his back.

Enough said!

I have washed a considerable amount of bedding this week--hanging it out to air dry as much as possible, then bundling it into the dryer to finish.

I remade the bed with sheets that smelled of January winds, spreading a quilted coverlet and topping the bed with a favorite smaller quilt--one of the first ones I had machine-quilted at the shop where I eventually became an employee.

I love the muted floral fabrics--very becoming to Mrs. Beasley the Cat.

All Serene

I beleive the wind and rain abated soon after midnight.  I wasn't conscious of hearing either whenever I roused slightly during the night.  Morning dawned beautifully clear and sunny and I was up early.

It was cool, a good time to make a fire in the fireplace to take away the sense of chill and damp.

M. did some online research today re the frequency of tornados which have actually touched down in Adair County---only 15 recorded since 1933.

This should be reassuring news for daughter G.

We appreciate the inquiries for our safety.

M. and G. announced they had a very restful night in their make-shift beds in the basement family room--it is very quiet down there, and of course dark.

G. woke to see Teasel peering down at her from the staircase above.  [G. and Teasel are finding their way into a relationshp--wary on Teasel's part as she has not in the past liked G.]

J. is battling the head cold which I enjoyed last week, so he slept in this morning.

G. and I took the car and headed to the Catholic Charity shop which opens early and closes at noon.

We had a good rummage which produced among other things, 2 pair of dressy trousers for G.--tags still on, brands that are very pricey when purchased in a department store.

The County Library is along the street from the charity shop, so I took G. there to get a library card.

I'm less than impressed with the library selection of books, but they do have inter-library loan service.

Our next stop was at a local furniture store.  We looked at the pretties, but agreed that we are both happier with "found furniture" for the most part--treasures which can be refinished and repurposed.

Our last stop before getting the inevitable groceries at Wal Mart was at the

recently opened Good Will Store.

I found a dainty blouse made with all the tucks, tiny ruffles of lace and inserts such as I used to make for myself and for G. and her cousins back when the Gunne Sax label was all the rage.

We came home to find that J. and M. had given up on us and gone out for a buffet lunch.

The weather was so wonderful that we quickly ate leftover chicken/vegetable soup, stripped all the beds and pegged linens out to billow in the wind.

During this wet spring we're glad for J.'s garden plan of leaving strips of mown grass between the planting rows.  Although the soil is wet, we can scrape out a trench with the hoe and tuck in seeds.  I planted 1/2 # of green beans late this afternoon and J. put in a short row of sweet corn.

The cucumber and melon seeds are up, as well as the Swiss chard we planted last week.

Many of my tomato plants are out-growing the head room in the cold frame.  We're hoping that by late tomorrow it might be dry enough to set them out.  I have smaller seedlings waiting their turn for the cold frame.

J. took me round to see that he had staked up a Double Knock-Out rose which had been leaning and staked and tied up the two huge pink peonies.

I grieve when these lovely seasonal flowers get hit by rain at blossom time.

A peaceful bucolic scene--the view down Big Creek valley late this afternoon.

Rain-battered but still lovely--rosa rugosa Blanc Double de Coubert.

Rosa rugosa Hansa.

This clump of aquilegia is just coming into bloom.

We made a trip to South Fork on Tuesday, to introduce M. and G. to the cluster of Mennonite shops in the area.  I bought this dianthus at the greenhouse there--it is called Strawberry Parfait.

Speaking of strawberries: M. called us just before supper to look out the window at grandson D. who was carefully inspecting the progress of J.'s ripening berries!

Raging Waters

We have had several days and nights of rainy weather.  The temperatures are warm, ideal for thunderstorms.

The booming of thunder has awakened us at night.  The rain pounds at the landscape, then tapers to a drizzle. The photo above was taken by J. at 11 a.m. today [Monday] and shows the swollen bend of Big Creek which loops below our house.

Driving out Old Gradyville Road at noon we noted the waters of the creek surging level with the banks already covered in fresh green grass.  It is not difficult to imagine the even greater force of  the flash flood which swept away homes and their inhabitants in this neighborhood just over a century ago.

Long-time area residents still speak of that flood as though it had happened a mere decade or two ago.

Sensible folks stay at home on wet days and find rainy day things to do.

Instead of being sensible we decided to search out a number of homes listed for sale at the other side of the county. We encountered several scenes such as this--here Sulpher Creek is surging over the road.

We had to make several detours, exploring unfamiliar side roads which plunge down into the "hollers" and then climb along the ridges.

Seeing these ordinarily peaceful creeks in spate we can understand better the tragic accident which claimed the lives of four Amish children in the north-western part of the state on Thursday evening.

http://www2.journalnow.com/news/2011/feb/26/WSOBIT02-four-amish-children-drown-when-buggy-flip-ar-814799/

This is one of the many reports of that accident, if you care to read about it.

The loss of these Amish children has brought to mind a tragedy which happened nearly a century ago in the upstate New York area where my Mother's family have  lived for over 200 years.

I remember a visit from Aunt Belle when I was a very little girl. We were still living in my grandfather's farm house before my parents built our own little house just along the road.

Aunt Belle was sister to great-grandmother Eliza, the beloved lady [actually step-grandmother] who had raised my great-grandfather's three children as well as bringing up my mother and her brother.

Aunt Belle was prettier than Grandma Eliza, a plump, comfortable looking woman with soft white hair.

It was decades after this visit  that my Mother told me  Aunt Belle and her husband Leroy had lost three children who drowned in the brook which ran through their propery.  This happened some years before my mother's birth and I think it was not much mentioned.

My cousin Barb found the clipping which tells the tale, tucked in her grandmother's scrapbook.

She kindly transcribed it for me and I include it here--a somber piece of family history.

Aunt Belle became the 2nd wife of LeRoy Fleming and was 22 years younger than he.

Aunt Belle gave birth to two more sons in the years that followed the drowning of her boys.

LeRoy was by then in his mid-60's and passed away at age 73, leaving Belle to bring up these younger sons.

She supported them by working as a cook and housekeeper in some of the "summer homes" and "camps" of the well-to-do who could afford leisure homes in the Adirondacks.

When WWII came, the younger sons enlisted and Aunt Belle came to the Vermont farm to stay with Grandmother Eliza.

Drowning of the Three Fleming Boys circa 1913

THREE BROTHERS DROWN IN BROOK

Three little tots meet death in Ticonderoga stream while going after a cow.



One of the saddest tragedies that Ti has ever known and one that cast a pall over the entire community, making hearts throb with sympathy for the grief-stricken parents, occurred shortly after 5 o'clock Saturday afternoon, when 3 little boys, the only children of Mr. and Mrs. LeRoy Fleming, living in the Weedville section of the village, were drowned in Trout Brook. The victims of the horrible tragedy were little more than tots, the oldest boy, Kenneth, being but 9 years of age and the other two, Robert and Louis, being 8 and 7 respectively.

The drowning occurred about a quarter of a mile from the boys’ home. The little fellows were sent to the Trout Brook pasture after a cow. When they did not return to their home in half an hour their mother became alarmed and went to the pasture after them, suspecting all the while that they might be at the bottom of the sluggish Trout Brook.

She hastened directly to a footbridge, made of three logs across which boards are nailed, that crosses the brook. One can have but an inkling of her horror and agony when she saw the body of one of her little ones at the bottom of the brook near the bridge. In some way, given strength by desperation, she managed to get the body out on the bank and in the meantime her agonized cries brought people running to the brook. The bodies of the 2 other little boys were found near the first and were soon laid side by side on the grass.

Nurses came from the Moses Ludington hospital, only a short distance from and within sight of the scene of the drowning, and with Dr. Knapp, who came from the village, immediately began using the usual methods of resuscitation. They worked desperately for nearly an hour before giving up the hope of bringing back the sparks of life. Then the little bodies were tenderly picked up and carried to the home of their heart broken parents.

While nobody knows exactly how the accident happened it is generally believed that, after driving the cow across the brook, the little fellows started over the footbridge and that one of them fell into the brook. The other 2, all three inseparable companions, it is thought, immediately jumped in after their brother and their attempts at rescue resulted in all three going to a watery grave. The brook at this spot is of just about sufficient depth to drown boys of their size. The funeral services were held at the home at 8 o'clock Monday evening with Rev. Torrance, pastor of the Methodist church, officiating. Many friends and neighbors flocked to the home before and after the funeral to offer consolation to the broken hearted parents, who bear bravely their great grief, and many testimonials of sympathy were offered in the form of floral contributions, one beautiful piece in particular coming from the Boy Scouts of Troup 1. To say that all of Weedville is in mourning is putting it lightly. The 3 boys, manly, bright little fellows, were loved by all and their absence will be sorely felt for many a day in the neighborhood of the afflicted and now childless home.

The 3 bodies were taken to Hague Tuesday morning for interment, services being held at the grave by Rev. Mr. Dow of that village.

An Almost Balmy Day

When we woke this morning and opened the curtains we realized there had been rain in the night.

Lingering traces of roadside snow were washed away.

This was the temperature [F.] at about 11 a.m.

J. took the photo as the old thermometer is fastened high on the side wall in the carport.

There was a boisterously playful wind for much of the day.

The bird feeder bounced on its wire hanger.

Much of the remaining seed landed on the ground.

The juncos will enjoy picking it up.

Goldfinches found the mesh cylinder which holds niger seed.

They are beautiful birds, even in their winter olive-drab.

New growth of catnip flourishing at the edge of the wooden barrel planter.

The cats relished some, fresh-picked.

Is it our imagination, or has the lawn greened up from the snow and rain?

There is mildly squelchy mud in places and that earthy scent which I have before associated with early spring in New England.

I don't know the name of this wiry shrub which grows in the corner of the garden fence.

There are abundant crimson berries but the birds seem to take no notice.

It was so pleasant outside that I couldn't settle to inside chores [in spite of 'dust kitties' floating about]

so put on my wellies and tramped along the boundary fence and about the dooryard.

These twisted vines caught my eye. Not sure what they are as the honeysuckle is usually evergreen.  I'll have to remember to look when there are green leaves again.

This may be a dead cedar--there is white cedar scattered through the adjoining woodlot.

I was looking out today for interesting textures and shapes.

Goldenrod seed fluff.

This dooryard maple still has clinging leaves.

Their texture is not crisp, more like a stiffened fabric.

Sun slanting across the yard to the north.

Honeysuckle rampaging over a dormant shrub.

The ground under the magnolia tree is thick with fallen cones.

Pods on the redbud, black shapes against late afternoon sky.

Christmas Week Reviewed

Both December 23rd and Christmas Eve were mild days, not bright with sunshine, but not clouded with gloom.

Our neighbors, Joe and Delila Yoder, invited us to attend the Amish School Christmas party held on the evening of the 23rd. . Their two older children, Elizabeth and Caroline are students at the school.

We picked up Joe, Delila and the little boys about 6:15. The schoolhouse is only a few miles away located on a side road. On arriving we wished we had thought to bring flashlights as the only illumination in the school yard was the yellow glow which spilled from the windows.  The school room was lit by two lanterns of the type which have mantles and a pump device. We stumbled up steep wooden steps into a dark entry and then into the warmth of the school room. The space was very warm with heat radiating from a large wood stove. Rough wooden benches were ranged on both sides of the room---one side for the children, who were separated by sex as well as age. The Amish women took seats in the front rows of benches reserved for the "audience", the men filed into the back rows. Small children and babies were held by mothers and older sisters; occasionally one was passed back to be dandled by father.

The teacher, a young Amish girl of 15 or 16, sat nearly out of sight at a large desk burdened with wrapped packages.

A table in the corner held a large insulated carafe of coffee and a stack of styrofoam cups. We noted that several of the men entered the school carrying mugs of coffee.

After a certain amount of noise, scuffling in the entry, jostling for seats, the program suddenly began.

Children popped up and came to the front of the room for recitations.  Without exception these were delivered in a monotone, scarcely above a whisper, while the performer gazed steadfastly at the floor.

There was unaccompanied singing of familiar carols and secular holiday songs. The songs were pitched quite low and while not untuneful, were sung with a strange sliding effect between notes.  The last several words of each line were completely swallowed.

We were surprised to note that throughout the program, the men helped themselves to more coffee, consumed "black," and continually smoked the thin short cigars which seem to be their preference.

J. and I were seated in the back row but one, surrounded by a haze of smoke.

The children had drawn names for gift giving and when the songs and recitations were finished, apparently at some quiet signal from the teacher, one by one the children collected the gift they had brought and proudly presented it to the recipient. When the last gift had been handed out, pandimonium ensued. Paper was torn off, boxes wrenched open, treasures displayed.  At this moment, the women produced huge trays of homemade sweets and buckets of popcorn which were passed up and down the rows of children and guests. There were no plates so the sugary treats were held in our warm hands.

And warm it was by then! Two of the windows were pushed open, but the warmth of wood stove and jostling bodies was intense. [It also became evident in the heat that the Amish sense of personal hygiene doesn't include the use of deodorant!]

The sweets circulated again and again, children slid through the debris of paper, the men smoked, babies began to fuss. I picked my way to the door where it was cooler.

Delila sailing by said to me, "Will you want to do this again?"

Perhaps we will--only another time I will take a flashlight and I will not wear layers of wooly tights and sweaters!

Looking to the east from the carport on December 24.

Willis the kitten helps to get in wood.

I had been outside to give the kittens a treat at about 8 p.m.  All was quiet, a small wind sighing through bare branches.

At 9:30 I turned on the light outside the dining room glass door and called J. to come and see the snowfall.

This is the "burning bush" snow-covered and glowing in the light.

Christmas Morning.

The nandina bends under its burden of snow.

Taken from the front window--an Amish buggy carries a family through the falling snow to a neighbor's house.

Birds at the feeder.

The juncos are appealing, plump and tidy in their charcoal grey and white suits.

The tiny red berries of the burning bush lure them close to the glass door.

Their presence provides day long interest for the pampered house cats.

The Shortest Day

Yesterday was dull and overcast, though not cold.

I had hoped to catch a glimpse of the lunar eclipse but the sky was too cloudy for it to be visible.

I lay awake as light filtered through the bedroom shutters slowly turning the darkness from grey to discernable colors.  I've always loved to watch for the moment when daylight arrives.

Yesterday I lay quietly noticing the deep reds, golds and greens of the quilt hung by my bed as they became colors rather than dim patches.

All day the cats were alternately restless--as above with Charlie glaring out at Willis--and then retreated to cushions in the dusky rooms, curled up tightly with tails over their faces.

 

 

J. had an errand at a nearby lumber supplier, so while he was gone I put on my wellies, a hooded jacket, and went out along the road with my camera.

There is almost no verge to the narrow black-top road which loops to follow the creek.  No really safe place to get out of the way of traffic in a hurry. I walked beneath several oak trees which over-hang the road.

Acorns lay in shiny heaps on the damp ground.

 

More acorns, which should provide food for some sort of foraging creature--although the proximity to the road would make for dangerous feasting.

 

An old tobacco barn on a neighboring propery.

I beleive this is the time of year when the cured tobacco has to be stripped and bundled, taken to the tobacco broker.

 

The creek below the road.  This is the same waterway which over-flowed its banks at the beginning of May.

 

Knotty branches of a redbud tree.

 

Can you see the bulky nest built in the crotch of the tree?

In early summer both robins and cardinals were busy round that tree.

I wonder which bird family built the nest.

 

Whenever I walk about in the yard I trip over the kittens--who are really half-grown cats.

Sally sitting on my boot and attempting a hike up my leg.

Good thing those are heavy jeans.

 

In the perennial border the foliage of spice pinks is still crisp and appealing.

As neighborhood trees shed their leaves we wondered about these evergreen clumps clinging to the branches.

I've learned this is mistletoe.

Driving home from the local post office this morning I pulled into the drive of a vacant house and took these photos from the car window.

Close-up of a mistletoe clump.

Beyond the mistletoe laden tree is a bare field which surrounds the historic

Gradyville Baptist church.

The church, built near the path of the 1907 flood, is not regularly used.

A few words about the poem below:

High O'er the Lonely Hills

Jan Struthers

I found this years ago tucked in the section of Christmas hymns in the Pilgrim's Hymnal.

I've never heard it sung although it has a lovely plaintive melody.

Several of the phrases "speak" to me as they describe simply and beautifully those moments of dawn when light seeps into the spaces that have been dark, bringing back warmth and color.

There is the familiar Christian allusion to Christ's birth as a light-giver but the imagery is solidly that of a keen observer of nature.

Since I was too lazy to laboriously type the verses from the faded hymnal I did an internet search and found the poem.

I also learned that the poet, Jan Struthers, was none other than the author of the tales of Mrs. Miniver.

I remember my Mother reading those.

Of interest to me was the biographical note that Jan Struthers though considered an agnostc, penned a number of hymn-poems.

I hope that whatever your spiritual persuasion you'll skim the verses--the word-pictures are particularly descriptive of early winter.

High o'er the lonely hills

Black turns to grey,

Birdsong the valley fills,

Mists fold away;

Grey wakes to green again,

Beauty is seen again–

Gold and serene again

Dawneth the day.

So, o'er the hills of life,

Stormy, forlorn,

Out of the cloud and strife

Sunrise is born;

Swift grows the light for us;

Ended is night for us;

Soundless and bright for us

Breaketh God's morn.

Hear we no beat of drums,

Fanfare nor cry,

When Christ the herald comes

Quietly nigh;

Splendour he makes on earth;

Colour awakes on earth;

Suddenly breaks on earth

Light from the sky.

Bid then farewell to sleep:

Rise up and run!

What though the hill be steep?

Strength's in the sun.

Now shall you find at last

Night's left behind at last,

And for mankind at last

Day has begun!