Blog Posts

The Functional Apron

5/9/2013

This morning as I went about my chores here on our little hobby farm from God, it occurred to me that a woman's apron has got to be one of the most handy items around the kitchen.

For over 20 years I have put on the same apron or two in the living history realm, and at events I strap the ties and proceed to "live" history using that apron. I never gave it a thought at how much I used that apron as I plodded to and fro on the historical sites. So many times I cupped that apron to haul kindling for the wood stove, or covered my hand with it to secure a coffee pot or hot cast iron off the top of the same stove. I guess I never really thought about how functional an apron can be.

"You can never have too many aprons or too many memories!" ~EllynAnne Geisel~

Today when I look around on Etsy or Ebay I can find a myriad of unbelievably adorable aprons. "Aprons for Spring" ..."Aprons for the Holidays"... "Mommy and Me Aprons"..."A Grilling Man" apron.
The choices are phenomenal and truth be told, the prices are as well. I should go into the business of selling them at the price they fetch today! With all the Iron Chef, Chopped, and Rachel Ray cooking shows sweeping the cable stations aprons have once again come into a sort of functional fashion.

Our ancestors however considered the apron nothing but work attire. Even in the higher classes, once you put on an apron...you planned on performing some sort of chore and Heaven's to Betsy if someone stopped over unannounced you quickly took that apron off! The typical farm wife had a few aprons hanging in her kitchen which she wore most of the day. The handy pockets kept all kinds of needed items at the fingertips, and were quite convenient for the egg or two missed earlier in the day walking through the hen house. The corner of that same farm apron worked wonders on a crying child as the tears were wiped away and the scrape or bruise was attended to. And those apron strings...my how some of us needed to cut those apron strings! Ever wonder where that saying came from? From the farm wife that strapped on a wool apron to shovel manure to the high class lady who wore her apron for needle point, many women wore aprons.

A few years ago, having a tight budget and the season being Christmas I purchased many yards of basic cotton prints. For hours I put together aprons of all kinds of prints and styles. Aprons for my Mom, for my daughters, for my daughter's friends, for my friends. It was fun piecing together the different colors for each person. I really enjoyed deciding who would get the blue checked apron (that one had Libby written all over it) and who would get the red and black bizarre design (totally Alex!) . I must have made 25 aprons that year...but I did not make one for myself. Last year I decided now that I am becoming an old (hobby) farm wife, I needed an apron. Basic brown is the color...100% cotton...and I wear it nearly every day! From collecting eggs, to wiping the flour off my hands I cannot get over how functional and almost necessary this apron has become to me. I wonder how the pretty frilly things they sell on the computer or at the specialty stores stay clean? I guess if you do not use it for the cooking and cleaning like I do it stays pretty pristine. I do have one special apron that my daughter bought for me; it is all white and frilly, I believe it is from about the 1940's. That apron is perfect for tea time...if I ever have any lady friends that visit for tea I will be suited up! But my brown apron is probably the handiest thing I have in the kitchen and is starting to show some wear. I think on my next weekend off I will make another one so when the brown one is in the wash I have a back up...after all I love my functional apron!

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I am weary.

2/25/2013

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HEBREWS 10:31 "It is a fearful thing to fall into the hands of a living God."

This week has brought many changes to the Flanagan Farmstead. Some good...some not so good. Even my personal Face Book page declares my stance of the day " I have seen better days, but I have also seen worse. I don't have everything, but I have all I need. I woke up with some aches and pains, but I woke up. My life may not be perfect, but I AM blessed." The barnyard has seen a lost dog come here to live with us making our family that much bigger. Recently we took in a little lost kitten. Oh how I longed to keep that little kitten, but alas we found a home for her. A good home, one that housed an 8 year old little girl in love with cats. Really, I am happy she now owns the kitten. There is just a little part of me that lingers on the dislike that the furry little thing had to go away. I have seemed to have lost so much over the years.

As I was tidying up the old farmhouse today I found myself looking at my hands. My how they have aged! Each and every line and wrinkle that I see really was not there even a year ago. Fine lines and folds of memories, hard work, and trials are painted upon the back side of my hand as a permanent tattoo of life experiences.

Now I know you are all thinking what kind of a farm wife sits and stares at the back of her hand! There is so much more than that though...I am not a well-learned woman, but this I do know, you can tell a lot by stopping to contemplate simple things...even the back of your hand.

I think of all these worn hands have done. Little visions like a small 8 millimeter film played across my mind. When they were younger hands...holding my first kitten; feeling the soft of her coat, and the warmth of her affection in her purr. The feel of the ropes of the homemade swing my dad put up for me between two huge trees at our cottage. Swinging for hours I would toss songs into the air for anyone to hear. Childish innocence and sweet abandonment prevailed as I pumped my little legs higher and higher sensing my hands developing blisters as I held tightly to those ropes.

Later the hours of dishes, warm water, soap, dishes upon dishes in the kitchen of a restaurant where I worked. The feel of the wheel driving my first car, a 1979 Chevy Impala. The negative destructive feel of my first cigarette; my attempt at fitting in with a world, years of experience has taught me, is not worth fitting into. I am very thankful that habit did not stick with me.

The softness of my hands remembers holding my first baby; her smell, her skin, her need for my hands to feed and care for her. Later the untimely death of our son. Small, a wondrously created baby so totally perfect in every way. The coldness of his skin, the lifeless small little man fit perfectly into my hands as I slowly mourned his death...still even today I remember the way he felt cradled in these hands.

Renewed hope sprung as my hands years later held my second daughter. Warm, vibrant, alive! How my hands crave to hold her and her sister again. I now can only imagine enclosing my daughters in a warm reassuring hug. A hug only a mother can give; encircling them with a love so strong they cannot grasp or fathom a way to entrap it to keep for when I am gone.

The feel of the pen, round, hard, metal, as I signed away my former life and marriage wishing it could somehow be the way it was years ago. "People change" I was told. "People fall in and out of love all the time" they exclaimed. "NO!" my heart screamed. My hands...as they enfolded my very own face felt so many tears, tears of regret, tears of pain, tears of questions, tears of longing.
It was after that my hands began a work of no good. A lost time. One in which I forgot myself, and I inflicted, and infected those around me.

Now these old wounds haunt me again. Once again they pronounce their festering and angry prodding. My hands again hold my head as I remember the pain; I am weary. All that has passed re-opened not only for me, but for all those that I love.

*Sigh* I am so weary.

That is when I remembered I am not alone. Isaiah 41:13 "For I, the Lord your God, hold your right hand; it is I who say to you, "Fear not, I am the One Who helps you..."
As if a gust of wind blew away all of time, my hands have aged, my heart has broken and healed. Though I have aged, and am even showing signs of withering, I am still strong. I am strong not on my own. I am not alone. I am forgiven. I am loved.

My how my ancestors' hands must have shown age as they plodded through every day life. A life that did not have all the modern conveniences we have in this time period. Who did they call upon for help?

I look at this day and age in which we have counselors, advisers, internet experts, television know-it-all's, cell phones, virtual (not always real) Face Book pals...yet people are still searching for answers.

They are just looking in the wrong place for the answer...

"For what good does it profit a man if he gain the whole world, yet lose his own soul?"

As Hebrews states, it may be a fearful thing to fall into the Hands of a Mighty God, but it is also a peaceful thing to be cradled in the Hands of that same Living, Mighty God.

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The Comforts of the Front Porch

1/27/2013

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Ofttimes now before twilight falls, when the sun's last rays shift slowly down the rolling hills, if I step outside on my front porch and let my thoughts stray back, I can hear a thousand echos from the years. Like a field sprinkled with lightening bugs, they come out one by one. Others come tarnished, nearly swallowed up by blackness, flickering too hastily, overzealous little lights...then gone. Beverly Lewis

Even though we are in the midst of Snow Storm Luna, and the ice is layered thick upon our windows, I cannot help but think of spring and sitting on my front porch. Of all the places in this old farmhouse I find my front or back porch to be the place I tend to plant myself the most. There is just something about sitting on the porch no matter what the weather. It seems as though the front porch used to be the way folks just sat a spell and got to know each other. Lemonade, a porch swing, a bunch of pesky flies, and perhaps a slight breeze always accompanied the small talk of the day between neighbors or family members. Who remembers watching The Walton's? Every time one of the Walton's needed to gather their thoughts, shuck some peas, work on some knitting, or blow off some steam they would venture to the front porch of the big old farm house. How many scenes did we find one of the Walton's perched upon that white porch swing mulling over a situation?

Well here at the Flanagan Farmstead front porch we get a few folks now and again especially in the summer and fall. I always make sure to have coffee ready to brew or lemonade or ice tea in the icebox to greet our visitors. Extra folding chairs are brought out if a few more folks stop by and before long the afternoon is filled with a few hearty laughs and good conversation.

The front porch for me though also holds a bit of soul searching and peace. More than once I find myself sitting on the front porch or the back porch taking in a vast landscape. I find myself saying evening prayers or rehearsing good and bad memories through my mind as I sit there. Though I am a sensible grown woman I still daydream. A vast landscape of memories in my mind seems to go on without end as I peer across the shadows of thoughts of another time. There I see mirrored images that I treasure. Images of my children when they were younger. Images of my grandparents. The playful antics of my two small grandsons. Thoughts of my folks and activities we took part in as a small family in the 70's. Vaguely my pets will play across my memories teasing me into a smile. Many an image will dance across my mind causing me to chuckle.

Like an old 8 millimeter movie, I also play thoughts of the dark and foreboding actions of the past that if I could I would change. As refined sand is burned and heated, melting into a mirror of shiny glass I rehearse over and over again what I could have done to do better, or to fix what I had done wrong. I reformat the memory placing the negative image out of my mind and construct a better, fixed end result. A lifetime ago, to be sure, but still haunting me years later. Deep in thought I seemingly forget I am surrounded by blessings of all kinds. I no longer see the orange and purple sunset, nor do I hear the multitude of birds singing around me. The deer just off to the right of the woods in the barren corn field melt into the horizon as I focus only on my thoughts of sadness deep in my thoughts. These things I know I must surrender as I will never change what has been since sown.

I am pretty sure my ancestors must have had times to sit upon their porches or in their yards to behold what they had planted, or to survey their handiwork, livestock, or barnyards. Can it be that like myself my ancestors took time to reflect and daydream? More importantly did they have the time?

It is good to take the time to reflect and watercolor those memories on a front porch in the cool of the day. But I must remember not to dwell upon just that... causing myself a deep pit of self-pity. To remain within that spectrum of thought would taint an otherwise perfect day full of blessings and joy. I count it not as loss that I have these times of memories, for each one, whether good or bad, is but a stepping stone to the final creation of who I am.

Isaiah 43:18 "Remember not the former things nor consider the things of old."

Press forward. Keep those thoughts close to heart and use them as a learning tool to do things differently or better than you have in the past. Move on and create memories to cherish upon that front porch of yours for years to come!

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Warmth of All Kinds

1/21/2013

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Image attributed to "The Back Roads Girl"

Well our January thaw for the Drift-less region is officially over. Sun and warmth (if you can call 42* warmth) has fled to the South leaving us in its wake a mere 4* for this mornings chores. Before the next 24 hours comes to a close we shall see temperatures in the below -0 catagory.
More wood for the wood stove, more hay for the horses, an extra heat lamp for the chickens, a warm flannel shirt for Mr. Flanagan to wear over long underwear, and a bit more bird seed in the bird feeders for our wild feathered friends will be good preparation to keep all warm.

We are so fortunate to have warmth of all kinds. Miles and miles of years separate us from the days in which all we had was wood or coal for heat, and keeping warm meant one had to invest a vast amount of physical labor to survive. There really was not the romaticized charm we seem to place upon an old pioneer log home. We capture images of a toasty fire burning; this same fire warms the hearth along with the day's stew thereby heating the entire room. Unfortunately this painted, or postcard image is most likely far from the truth.

If you were to travel back 125 years and enter that log home you could probably expect a drafty cold house with snow on the bed, no glass in the windows, and maybe two rooms. One room for the bedroom and the other for every other life function from cooking, eating, spinning, mending, and weaving to mending harnesses, and sharpening and oiling tools. Images of more than one in a bed come to mind as folks tended to sleep together for warmth; half the heads would be on the pillows at the head of the bed and half the heads would be on the pillows at the foot of the bed.

I guess one could say there are many ways to find warmth of every kind. It goes without saying that warmth can easily be found in 2013 by an effortless turn of the thermostat dial or adding another log to the outdoor wood stove. Thrift stores and rummage sales, department stores and clothes closets all hold warmth of all kinds from fleece jackets to down-filled coats. Scarves, hats, mittens, and gloves are mass produced and modified to stand up to all kinds of cold temperatures. We no longer have to labor for our warmth as we did once upon a time.

But what of warmth of another kind; one we do not think of when we first ponder the word "warmth"? I am speaking of the warmth of kindness.

Ephesians 4:32 "Be ye kind one to another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, even as God for Christ's sake hath forgiven you."

It seems to me that not only have we lost the old ways of keeping warmth, we have also as a people seemingly lost the art of kindness. Now I cannot lump each one of us into that statement, but there is something to be said for today's society and lost kindnesses. The kind act that one does even if no one sees. The kindness that does not expect a kindess in return. How about the kindness of a simple hello or a smile?

Not long ago we found out some elderly friends the next town over were both suffering from terrible colds. It was not a chore to pull out a bit more chicken from the freezer and opt to create a HUGE pot of homemade chicken noodle soup to share with our friends. Slowly the soup simmered in my great big stew pot on the stove until just the right amount of seasoning infiltrated the contents. Then about 4 in the afternoon we took a drive over to their home hot soup in hand, hoping to provide them with a warmth of the healing kind. Well you would have thought we brought them the moon! Over and over again they talked of how nice it was of us to bring them some homemade chicken noodle soup. They almost seemed surprised...as if it was a kindness one just does not see or do anymore.

What a pity that our society has become so socially based; many of us now only see "friends" upon a computer screen. How sad that we have lost touch with such a simple act of a visit and some homemade soup. What can you do to rekindle warmth of all kinds? Well in the words of Winn Collier I quote, "...look for fresh opportunities to love, for new ways to extend undeserved kindess." We just might have to move outside of our computer screen and learn how to b

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Wood for Heat and Fast Food...

1/15/2013

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Is it just me or have we lost perspective on what "hard work" is?
Since Mr. Flanagan and I have taken residence on the 'ole farmstead, life has introduced us to a new set of work rules. Don't get me wrong we had known the sense of work before this time. Mr. Flanagan worked very hard as a teacher of over 20 years instructing many generations of 8th graders (the formative years you know) on multiple facts of our American history...over and over and over again for almost 29 years. No wonder he is such a whiz at remembering historical facts! I myself had invested into the workforce as museum administration sided with a number of years working with individuals with special needs. Certainly we are not adverse to working hard and completing a days work.
Often with our work day ended at around 4 pm, we would head home to the comforts of our warm home or apartment never thinking twice about whether or not the place was heated, and how. One of us would pull whatever would be for dinner that evening out of the constantly cool refrigerator or the icy freezer. I guess we never thought about the fact that we could grab a pan out of the cupboard and instantly we had heat to cook it on the stove top or in the oven. Perhaps it was a pizza we had for dinner that night. I guess I never thought about how 'fast' fast food was when I was living in the big old city of Milwaukee.

My how things have changed! Now before we go to work we head outside first to do chores. If we want to turn up the heat in the farmhouse...we need to make sure the outdoor wood stove has more than a few coals in it...and if we want it to be warm for the winter we sure as shootin' have to make sure there is enough wood in the barn!

And fast food...? Well fast food for me these days is what I processed myself. Now instead of the Orv's or Jack's pizza, I have my own pizza dough in the freezer...my own pizza sauce in glass jars on the shelves grown from my own garden (spices and all). The cheese and meat is processed and purchased from a local farmer who keeps his livestock grass-fed and healthy without all those pesky steroids, hormones, and GMO feeds. And almost all of our fast food here comes from the gardens we grew, and the local farmers' markets. Hours I spent in the farmhouse kitchen watching over the pressure cooker and the boiling water canner processing fruits, berries gleaned from the land, vegetables, soups, and meat.

In addition to our employment outside of the home, Mr. Flanagan and I have entered a different "work day". One that gets us up before the sun rises..and often we don't get back into the house until the sun has set. Gathering and cutting wood (and making sure we had more than enough to last the winter) was quite the job. Usually at the end of a wood cutting, loading, hauling, and stacking day we would lament, and rub our sore shoulders and arms. At the same time we would appreciate the work we invested for the day knowing the growing piles of stacked logs would provide us with warmth, and save us money on hefty heating bills. My mind has a hard time wrapping around how our ancestors took the time to procure wood for shelter and heat. I cannot imagine how long it took a man or woman from the past to slowly and methodically "saw" up some logs for a home, or for heating and cooking. How thankful I am for the chainsaw, fuel, oil, and truck we were able to use to gather enough wood for the winter. In one month we gathered what would have taken our ancestors most likely an entire six months to gather!

There is always something to do on this here farmstead...feeding the horses, mucking the stalls, gathering the eggs, cleaning the hen house, hauling firewood, stacking the hay bales...the list goes on and on. BUT, those hay bales were grown by Roger, a local farmer, using tractors and balers certainly not sown or reaped by hand. Mucking the stalls is done by tractor certainly not by the sweat of the brow, and shoveling out the pine bedding of the hen house, while relying on a shovel and wheelbarrow, is certainly not a job that would break one's back.

Many of us have it easy here in 2013 when it comes to the work day. As our pastor stated, "We have all this modern technology from cell phones, tablets, and computers to make our days easier and give us more time, but yet we all complain we just don't have enough time in the day!"

Why is that? Why do we not have enough time in the day to fit in the things we need to do? Our ancestors worked from sun up to sun down...folks in the summer time that was an 18 hour day! And we complain when instead of an 8 hour shift we have to work a 12 hour shift (I am guilty!) Quoting our pastor, "Heaven's to Betsy we do not get the 4 hours of television watching in we are accustomed to!"

From wood for heat and fast food, once again history is teaching me how to put things into perspective and to remember to appreciate a day's hard work.

Proverbs 6:6-8 "Go to the ant, you sluggard! Consider her ways and be wise, which, having no captain, overseer, or ruler, provides her supplies in the summer, and gathers her food in the harvest."

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Blest be the tie that binds...

12/18/2012

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"And she will bear a Son; and you shall call His name Jesus, for it is He who will save His people from their sins." Matthew 1:21

Christmas. Just saying the word sometimes evokes the very thought of warmth. What does it mean to you? To me it means so many things. Maybe even more than those that are so apparent on the surface. This Christmas will feature a huge..wait let me type that again...this Christmas will feature a HUGE snowstorm just prior to all the festivities. Wow! Looks like we may be sledding and skiing for the holiday!
I think about our ancestors. The grandparents that took the chance and "headed West" or maybe headed to the "new territory". When those family members left it was quite common to never see them again. Letters, if you could afford to send word, were the only form of contact after that family member or members left the area.
You know...there is just something special about going home for the holidays. Mr. Flanagan and I have chosen to relocate to the other side of our beautiful state as many of you know. This choice has been a phenomenal one and we don't regret in an instant moving. However it surely makes one homesick for what we are accustomed to having around us. For example, when my daughters are sick I am not just a drive away, I am four hours away. I made Christmas cookies alone. Baking cookies and Christmas candy is something I have done with family members for all of my life. My grandsons are growing by leaps and bounds...and I now only see them once a month.
With our decision to move the ties that bond become that much tighter. We appreciate the visits more. We wish for them to linger longer. We hope and look forward to the next visit.
The same 'ole, same 'ole is just not the same anymore. I cannot help but think of my great, great, great, grand-father Abraham Scholl. He was a great friend of Daniel Boone and the two men decided to move their families to the Northwest Territories. Imagine! Moving all the way from Kentucky and the only way of life you know to a vast land called a territory ...the Illinois area. Nothing. No one. Vast open space. Family as you know it now has changed and moved on to a new definition. So like Flanagan and myself, we moved on and family has taken on a different definition. We now have adopted family where we live...and we strive to make sure we travel back to see our family at home. Where once it took months to travel takes a mere 3.5 hours (except for this day in which I drove through an ice storm; this trip home took me 5 hours!) Five hours. I complain about 5 hours in a soft seat of a warm car traveling at 45 miles an hour because of the icy roads. Roads. Not hard, uncut terrain, but paved highways and roads. Imagine hours, days, months on a hard wooden buggy seat with only your "necessary for survival" possessions with you.
My children complain that they do not get to see me as often and that I am missing out on so much. (Well they could come and see me sometimes which they do not). "Over the river and through the woods to Grandmother's house we go..." Imagine having your folks decide to load up the wagons and leave never to see them again! I see so many images of the Conestoga wagon filled with barrels and boxes...drawn sad, maybe hardened faces of the families slowly plodding along to new lands. What were they thinking? How were they feeling?
Christmas. Again...just saying the word evokes warmth. "Blest be the tie that binds", a beautiful hymn...what does Christmas mean to you? It means so many things to me; it is a celebration of the birth of our Savior Jesus Christ. It is pretty clear that important celebration has lost its meaning to most. We are so caught up in the commercialism of the season. Living upon a hill on 725 acres I don't often shop. When I do my senses are flooded with stimuli. This year the commercial Christmas banter was almost too much for me to take. I was almost sickened by the pasty red Santa's, the red-nosed reindeer posters, and the little elves everywhere. And can I just say that "A hard candy Christmas" is about one of the worst Christmas songs I have ever heard!!!!! Over and over and over. ENOUGH!

I am looking forward to a simple Christmas. Maybe a gift for Mr. Flanagan and I. Certainly not five or six or seven of them competing with whoever else is giving gifts.
This year Mr. Flanagan and I are going to take Christmas dinner and ourselves out to the barn. There where the horses are bedded, and the chickens are nestled we will lay out our little, simple celebration. We will have candle lanterns and oil lamps lit carefully and strategically. Maybe some hot chocolate or a warm toddy? Nothing dressy, no big expensive meal, not a ton of gifts, no huge, bright Christmas tree, and no noise. Sounds lovely to me. It is quite fitting isn't it? After all our Lord was born into just as humble of an estate. It almost seems appropriate to celebrate our Savior's birth outside of the warm farm house and inside of a barn filled with hay and critters. I quite look forward to it myself. Christmas to me is not the gala's, the lights, the music, the colors, or all the other trappings. Christmas to me is the "presence" not the "presents". In lieu of the recent tragedy in Connecticut I find my views on family, moving, celebrations, and priorities to be so much more. So much more dear and precious.
A very Merry Christmas to you dear ones. Please remember we celebrated the holiday way before Santa or Rudolf came into existence. We celebrated this day because of our Savior's birth. It is a poverty that this very reason has seemingly been taken out of this season...

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As the Autumn Passes into Winter...

12/6/2012

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"Fragile as a leaf in autumn
Just fallin' to the ground
Without a sound

Crooked little smile on her face
Tells a tale of grace
That's all her own"

Norah Jones

Sir Acton Scott

No offense to my former work place at the Wisconsin Maritime Museum. I LOVED my job there but why was it each morning as the autumn passed into the cold winter I just hated getting up in the morning? Early before the sun decided to peek out I would wake up and cringe to the sound the alarm clock made. Silently I would curse that old alarm clock and hit the snooze button. Five more minutes...five more minutes...just five more.
Autumn is simply my favorite season. I watch as winter slowly creeps in and it used to be I dreaded having to go out in the cold weather, and drive myself to work each day.

My how things have changed.

Is it because I am slowly aging? Is it because I appreciate the day more? Is it because I am no longer am committed to the daily grind of an 8 to 4 job? (Well that does have its advantages now doesn't it?)

Yesterday morning I opened my eyes to a room yet dark with night. The house was quiet and still from all sounds except for the playful patter of my kitten Daisy. Even that old, loyal alarm clock which once had awakened me to a day of work at the museum had not chimed its morning tune alerting me to the new day.

Our new, old dog Chester (formally known as Shasta), wagged her tail in a good-morning greeting and happily followed me down the worn wooden stairs of the farm-house. I slipped into my favorite threadbare jeans and my old flannel shirt, and headed out the front door. The morning was cool, frost still biting the blades of grass. To the East there was a purple and orange glow just behind the wispy clouds, and the distinctive Drift-less curves of the hills. A bit of wood smoke teased my nostrils; both horses knickered at me causing a slight steamy condensation to curl out of their fuzzy noses.

Once I had hated getting up before the sun rose...now this is the part of the day I look forward to seeing, and I am glad I did not linger in my four poster bed too long to have missed it.

Our rooster, Sir Acton Scott, heard me talking with the horses and he began to crow and flap his wings in an angry fashion. It is not yet daylight but he was not going to let me steal his thunder of announcing a new day to the world. The dog followed along as I chattered to the hens looking for eggs. She sniffed the ground and the air looking for remnants of last night's guests that might have wandered through the barnyard. Perhaps she smelled the stray black cat that mysteriously appears occasionally, or the possum we shot at a few nights back. I threw hay to the horses smelling the grassy, green scent as I tossed it over the fence. I found myself brushing its remnants from my flannel sleeve as a slight wind had taken it and placed it upon my arm causing the forage to mimic the appearance of a light snow.

Mr. Flanagan was not up yet even though the coffee had been slowly brewing in the kitchen sending its heady, earthy smells his way. I didn't want to go in the house yet even though it was cold and damp. The sun now boasted its dark -orange splendor getting smaller as it continued to rise. I could now gaze upon points of the farm yard and dream of where I will plant my garden. Next year the vegetable garden will be much larger with hopeful yields. I looked for the last bud and bloom on the honeysuckle tree next to the front porch; I know that my autumn is slowly fading into winter and will silence, and put to sleep such beauty for a time.

I finally entered the house taking in the warm scent of a good strong coffee. That morning oatmeal was on the breakfast menu topped of course with freshly churned creamy butter, brown sugar, and cinnamon. Once my chores were finished in the kitchen I headed to the sewing room to finish construction on a baby gift I am making for my brother and his wife. Christmas music playing courtesy of Trans-Siberian Orchestra, I worked there in that little room a good part of the day setting aside time now and again to pat the dog's head or scratch the cat's back. The afternoon had settled its warmth upon the yard fooling me once again into believing my autumn was determined to stay. Being December 5th I knew this was a false claim; soon soft, white, glistening snow will silently fall bringing yet another beauty to behold for my eyes and senses. Joy to the World!

I feel blessed to have this life to wake up to...to rise to each day. Just like my yeast breads set in the loaf pans, I automatically rise. Without a prompt or the old alarm clock, I set my internal self to rise and take in each brand-new day waiting for me to enjoy. If I live to be 80 my life is already half over. I desire to, if allowed to live to the age of 80, still open my eyes to welcome the day without the poking of an alarm clock to make me do so.

Readers, our dear friend David Dresang now struggles to see, live, breathe, or experience yet another sunrise. I continually shed tears for him, his wife Theresa, and their son Bryan.

Let not the obstacles of self-pity or ploys of non-contentment steal your joy. Christ has given us, each and every one of us, the ability to rise with the sun and thank Him for life. As David clings to the last bit of life he has been given, I plead with you to enjoy your blessings. Ponder your every breath. Enjoy your every moment.

As the season of Christmas approaches make new memories with those you are able to...no blessed to be with. It may not be the 'ideal' picture postcard by Currier and Ives for some of us, but so important are these times we have here each day.

Dear ones, it is time for you to rise as the sun and behold the world around you created perfectly by an awesome creator...

"From the rising of the sun from the going down of the same the Lord's name is to be praised." Psalm 113:3

"The holly and the ivy,
When they are both full grown
Of all the trees that are in the wood
The holly bears the crown
O the rising of the sun
And the running of the deer
The playing of the merry organ
Sweet singing of the choir"

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"Oh! You live in the old Moore Farmhouse!"

11/19/2012

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As many of you know we recently moved to the western side of our fair state of Wisconsin. We are about a crow's flight from the Mississippi River, and from our upstairs windows in the fall and winter we view the lovely hills of Iowa. Living in the Drift-less region of Wisconsin has really made me feel as if I have been transported to the 1940's and Mayberry. In those days people called you by your first name, a handshake and your word was a deal, "why buy new when good enough will do" was the motto; when folks stopped to visit they were always served ice cold well water, lemonade or coffee and cake.

The Old Moore Farm House (now known as Flanagan Farmstead)

Our address reflects the town of Bagley but when we wish to vote we have to go the Wyalusing Town Hall. Being new to the area we tend to notice folks are a bit reserved when they look to find out information about you. A few weeks back we went to our town hall to cast our ballot for the President of the United States. The gals behind the resin table were busy chatting away drinking their coffee and nibbling on their dry dollar store cookies when we walked in. Registering to vote was really not a problem; finding out who we were, and where we were living was pretty important for these "born and raised here" ladies! After a bit of small talk they were able to find out information that satisfied their curiosity, but were still a bit reserved until I mentioned that we knew Norbert and Marge Moore. "The Moore's!? Oh we know the Moore's! Such nice folks aren't they? SO your friends with the Moore's? How nice!" After taking information down on our address they elaborated further on the house we currently reside in. "Oh! You're living in the old Moore farm house!" One gal proceeded to tell me the many times she spent at the Moore farm house on the hill playing with Marilyn Moore in the summer. Immediately we were an accepted part of their little community simply because we knew the Moore's and lived in their old farm house.
We met the Moore's through the land owners we care-take for, Jerry and Joan . Norbert and Marge Moore and Jerry and Joan have been great friends for many years ...and now we find the Moore's to be...well, good friends, teachers of the way it once was, and mentors also.

Pictured to the right is Mr. Norbert Moore. A survivor of two by-pass surgeries and "living on borrowed time" as he states it. "Heaven's to Murgatroyd" is one of his favorite exclamations, and never will you see him leave the house in anything other than his functional bib overalls. Norbert's family owned this farm house that we are so privileged to live in. "Not after too long of a time," Norbert tells us, "It was pretty clear to me I was not made for farming". I guess I can't blame him. Even when he was living here in the mid-1930's it was rare to find electricity in the rural areas. Many farmers were still storing sawdust covered blocks of pond ice in ice houses to be used for summer. It was hard to learn how to change the farm lifestyle with such a daunting thing as electrification. Imagine the products one had to purchase just to use the electricity! What a cost! Nevertheless, Norbert and his young bride Marge lived in the farm house with his family for a time. Based on the hard rural life and the fact that he just didn't like farming, he left the farm life to pursue a different vocation that he felt he would like better. They moved themselves to Bloomington and Norbert became a heavy machinery worker. He operated the huge Caterpillar and bulldozer machines we see working our road ways, and digging our ditches. He really seemed to have enjoyed his career choice. On his time off he would go down to the local drop off points and was overjoyed if he was able to help unload the big semi-trucks. He would make $5.00 a day unloading those big trucks and loved every minute of it! In those days, $5.00 was a good amount of money! Heck, I can remember when $1.00 was a good amount of money. You can't even buy a candy bar for $1.00 these days, but don't get me started on our awful economy! He tells us many stories about the farm house when he lived here, when his father lived here, and his grandfather. He pointed out all his siblings names carefully carved into the concrete in the pole barn, and tells how the telephone company came in and "drove" the huge poles into the ground at no extra charge. "Bet they would not think of doing a service like that today!" he states. Norbert is the king of saving a penny and making do. He and Flanagan talk numbers, and of the good 'old days when a man's word was solid and full of integrity.

This photo to the right is Mrs. Marjorie Moore. She is a twin although her twin sister looks nothing like her. She and Norbert make the perfect couple. In this day and age where the divorce rate is at 49% for a first marriage, I commend these two as well as my own parents for sticking together and making it work. One anticipates what the other will say, do, or what they have a need for. Today, folks sometimes seem too selfish to care about someone else that same way. Marge is fun to talk with and to learn from. Of course, she knows nothing about "Becky's Blog" or what a blog even is. The Moore's do not own a computer and have no desire to subscribe to this modern way of thinking! It is from Marge that I learned how to make the best tasting homemade egg noodles this side of the Mississippi! When you first meet Marge you might notice how shy she seems to be. Quietly she will hide herself partially behind Norbert as a group of folks converse; once in a while she will throw a comment out here or there to see if you will respond. After time, she warms up in conversation, and will talk of the good times she and Norbert had all through their marriage. It wasn't all good times. They like all of us have had many bad times. She talks of her only son Mark, who has tragically passed, and his antics as well as her only grandson Jim, who also tragically passed as a young adult. I could listen to Marge talk for hours on her ideas of marriage, family, and keeping a home. A frugal woman, Marge just has a way of making things stretch to make it through the hard times. Marge is a housewife that lived through those times that we like to think were better times. In those days every good wife needed:

Several neat, becoming, washable house dresses
At least two pairs of well fitting, low-heeled work shoes
A substantial stove with a reliable oven
A kitchen sink with running water, and an ample supply of hot water from the range reservoir
A handy cellar with steps that do not threaten to break the wife's neck or back
A washing machine (if the power is available) or a tub; a wringer, unchipped washboards, clothes lines, and a comfortable place to wash outside of the hot kitchen

Boy do we have it made in 2012! Looking around at my small kitchen Marge can tell me just how it used to look when she lived in the farm house. "I sure wish I had my wood cook stove hooked up where the farm house once held a wood/coal cook stove" I tell her. Quietly Marge looks around and says, "You have a nice kitchen. I like the way you have this kitchen set up. It is a good working kitchen". I swell with pride as she looks around at my efforts to make the small area serviceable. "Thank you Marge" I say fully knowing that compliment lifted more than my spirits; OH! how I attempted organization in such a small kitchen! Her compliment reaffirmed my desire to continue to learn how to step back into time, and do my kitchen work the way my ancestors used to!

These photos are from the last week of October. You see every Wednesday, unless it is raining or snowing, Norbert and Marge drive over to the area on the property where the spring flows out of a hill into a small pond. Every Wednesday like clockwork around 11:15 they light a fire in the tin insert, and break out the hot dogs and condiments for a good old fashioned "weenie roast". Shortly after we moved here to this little neck of the woods the Moore's decided it would be nice to invite us to participate in their Wednesday tradition. We could not have been more pleased! Each week we make sure to get most of our required caretaker hours done on Monday and Tuesday so we are ready to go for the Wednesday "weenie roast". It is so much fun to sit and listen to the Moore's tell us about days gone by and how bad (sometimes repulsive) this current time period is to live in. "Sometimes I don't even want to turn on that blasted television set" says Norbert, "There is so much junk and perversion on that screen."
Like a worker bee Marge is busy setting the small plastic table. Gingerly she covers the worn table with a faded round gingham cloth then covers it with little containers of cold pork and beans, pickles, and raw onions; she lays out various small bags of chips, hot dog buns, relish, and ketchup packets. Almost done, she makes sure we all have the re-usable black plastic ware from McDonald's (why not wash and re-use it right?) and our paper plates. The men load up the sticks with hot dogs placing them over the flames as Marge and I talk about the last few days.
Once we are done feasting on our weenies...we finish up the meal by roasting some marshmallows. What a great time we have each and every time.
Sometimes I am not sure they realize how nice it is to just sit and listen to their memories. One thing I have learned from sitting for hours at my grandparent's knees is how precious it is to simply listen.

Now that winter approaches our picnics have ended. Kind of makes us feel a bit lonely! Once we went out for breakfast together at Ma's Bakery in Bloomington. We talk about getting together on Wednesdays for sandwiches now and then. I guess this farm lady better start planning some Wednesday lunches!

I for one am looking forward to this Thanksgiving week. It is my favorite holiday! I have SO MUCH TO BE THANKFUL FOR! My parents are driving over for to spend some time with us. It will be nice to light some oil lanterns, cook up a nice meal, set the puddings, and bake the pies. Whether or not we feast on a big meal Thanksgiving Day is of no importance; spending time together and enjoying the company is.

Maybe we will see Norbert and Marge sometime over the holiday week. I think I should call them up and invite them over for coffee and cake.
After all, I bet you can tell that I like to get out the old cast irons and make a buttery or tasty treat.

Let's just say I like to make these days my good 'ole days.

Readers and loved ones...what are the good 'ole days you are making for yourself?

Psalm 107:1 "Oh give thanks to the Lord, for He is good, for His steadfast love endures forever."

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Re-purpose?

11/16/2012

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Maybe you would look at this quaint little crafty item and think, "Hmmm...how creative!"
I mean that is what I thought when I looked at it. I guess if you have the old pair of boots and you no longer have use for them it would be a great craft to try your hand at. It would work as a cute bird house as long as there is no lingering foot stink to chase the birds away from nesting in it.

After a bit of contemplating I started thinking of our ancestors and what they would do with that old pair of boots. I am not a betting woman, but I bet my grandparents would have found a way to re-tool that leather and re-sole those boots to get quite a bit more use out of them.

It seems to me that we have become such a wasteful society, so much so that we think nothing of throwing away a perfectly good pair of boots for the birds.

Yesterday as I was fondly hang my grandma's handkerchiefs on the line, I recalled a comment my older daughter had once remarked years ago. After watching me wipe my nose with my lilac and pink hankie she exclaimed... "YUK! Mom! Gross! Why do you use those for your snot? Get some Kleenex! "

Am I that old-fashioned and frugal? Why do I like to use "hankies" of all pretty sorts and save the $2.00 on buying a few boxes of Kleenex? Do we not use and re-use our underwear everyday? Isn't that just as gross?

What ever happened to "Make Do and Mend"? My grandparents certainly subscribed to this philosophy.

During WWII German U-boats were threatening importation of goods. Rationing and recycling was put into place to ensure the citizens of Britain were adequately enabled to survive such a plight. From June 1941 clothes were also rationed; this meant that people had to make their clothes, shoes, undergarments, and so forth last longer. The government started a Make Do and Mend campaign to encourage people to recycle and reuse the old clothes, fabrics, and other resources.

So if I am using "hankies" am I just making do, old fashioned, or am I hip and trendy as I re-purpose? Sheesh.
I guess I must be all of the above. I can tell you that if I find a good old pair of cowgirl boots for a cheap enough price I am certainly not going to re-purpose them into a bird house. You can be well assured I would clean them up and put them on my feet to go riding on my horse!

Now I suppose most of you would look at the photo to the right and know exactly what you are looking at. Then there will be some of you that will think it is some sort of a fancy dish to hold soup. To those of you that think it is a pot for soup...ummm...well...sorry. It is not. This is a photo of a chamber pot. NOT just any chamber pot. This is our chamber pot. I was totally enthralled to find this chamber pot in a small "off the beaten path" thrift store for only $12.00. This to me was a good buy as most of the time you are not able to find one complete with its lid! For those of us that like antiques the price was perfect. I also had in mind that perhaps when we present to school groups we could show the kids the 'chamber pot' and tell of its use for a sort of a shock effect. "Ewwww! Gross! Yuk!" are the comments I imagined those students proclaiming as they learned of the use of this bone china beauty.

LITTLE DID I KNOW that Mr. Flanagan decided to "re-purpose" this gem for use at night! GROSS! Yes dear readers, you are reading my words correctly. Those of you who know our Mr. Flanagan will not be surprised at this tid-bit of news. You see, our only bathroom is located downstairs and our bedrooms are all upstairs. Mr. Flanagan got annoyed with having to go downstairs each time he "had to go" in the night, so on a whim he decided to use the chamber pot! Well...is that so bad? Our ancestors had to go outside to use the outhouse; at night they used a bucket or a chamber pot. Why not use the item for what it was created for in the name of convenience? I should add no matter how good of wife I try to be, I refuse to empty and wash out that chamber pot each morning. I am pretty sure we won't be using this item for our presentations now. I cannot stomach the thought of "passing around" the historic antique knowing it is currently being used. BUT..didn't I purchase the item and tote it home with excitement? Did I not place it on the hard wood floor of our farmhouse bedroom? Did I not ponder how often this purchased antique held umm...well...waste? Yikes.

I guess that just shows how we change as a society.

I have to tell you living on this little hobby farm has its experiences that is for sure. How can it not with Flanagan for a husband! I also have to say the environment kind of lends itself to the re-purpose-recycle-homemade movement. Once considered "old-fashioned" now considered "cool".
Now I am looking forward to learning how to use and re-use everything! Heck, in this economy it will be one of the smartest things I can do for our little household!

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When a Lady was a Lady

11/9/2012

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In light of the recent presidential election I had posted a photo on my Facebook Wall. It showed the following photo...

Now I for one cannot imagine suffering torture, prison, and beatings just for the right to vote. Today we find many liberties that our ancestors were not able to take part in, and I am very thankful for those liberties. To think that women just 70 years ago went through such turmoil just to voice their choice in an election; today we have slews of women that do not exercise that earned right, nor do they wish to even involve themselves in the election process, or inner/outer workings of our Government. I guess that is their choice, but wow...did our fore mothers go through the pits to earn that right! Despite who has taken the office of the presidency, I truly respect that office and pray for the man to which the authority has been given. As I ponder the plight of our fore mothers my mind wanders to third world countries in which even today events such as beatings, prison, and suffering occur for simple things such as carrying a Bible or exposing the hair or face. What a poverty to hold a race in such a menial caliber.

Many of us study history and how it affected the human race over time. Sometimes when I look at the female race within the boundaries of history I reflect upon when a lady was a lady. There were and always will be good ladies, and bad ladies. I feel overall a lady acted, dressed, and emitted being a lady even in the poorest of conditions. The picture to the right is one we would all agree features a beautiful lady. She is adorned with a lovely scarf and wears her tresses demurely around her face. Her bosom a pale and lovely shade, and roses surround her as if to say one would smell them if she walked into a room.

Then there is the farm woman or the working woman. Even though she totes a bucket and wears a wool work apron she still emits femininity. Graciously and respectfully, she wears her hair off her face if not for a bit of style for practicability as she does her daily chores. Perhaps her hands are not soft or supple, and it may be that her scent is not of roses, but you can almost smell the bacon upon her clothing from the recent breakfast. I am not one to say that folks in the represented time frames were not smelly; they had to be smelly after working in the humid heat of the day in long sleeves, skirts and the like! I do believe our human race has found many ways over the years of masking the odor of a hard day's work.

THEN along came the roaring 20's! WOW did women change. The photo to the right is a pic of my Gram. Some say I resemble her; I know I can sure cook a good dinner like she could! I can remember my grandmother telling me that when she was a mere 18 years of age she decided to cut her hair. Now mind you her hair was a long braid down her back, and it touched the top of her tail bone. She and her sister took that braid and made one smart "clip!" Well, "As I held that braid in my hand," she said, "I thought of two things...1. I am liberated from it hanging in my face and all over, but I loved having long hair ...and 2. my mom is going to be so angry!" She was right her mom was very angry and my grandma officially became a flapper type of gal. Not long after she found herself married and quite pregnant. Ooops. So much for her freedom! I still have that braid. She kept that piece of her youth and passed it on to me. I love remembering the story she told me when she handed it to me. I also thought, "Hmmm....who keeps their hair like this? Why?" I think it was because my gram was a lady. Her long hair kind of made her feel like a lady. After she cut it off I believe she regretted the femininity of what she had.

WHAT HAPPENED?

What happened to a lady being a lady? Now instead of embracing our fair sex we change it. Women inject things into their bodies to become fuller, rounder, bigger, smaller, browner, or paler than than how they are. Clothing has become tighter, shorter, skimpier, smaller, well let's just say almost non-existent. And to think folks were appalled in the early 1800's by the empire waist and sometimes sheer fabric! If our ancestors...if my gram...could come back today and see the state of what a lady is today I bet they would almost pass out and die all over again. I cannot avoid what some call "artists" or "stars" like Lady Gaga repulsive. Really...what makes a person named Gaga a lady? I cannot in any way think of her as a lady. No apologies here I am not quite an old geezer, and I am allowed an opinion. She is not an artist to me. She happens to be a focal point of our youth unfortunately leading them down a terrible "this is what we are supposed to look like and act like" path. I cannot drive past a billboard, go to a local department store, or watch a commercial on television without being inundated with what the 'lady' is supposed to look like today. HOGWASH! Now I am not overweight, I have some wrinkles, I am not pale or brown, I have a few rolls here that should be there, but I refuse to inject pig fat into my lips so I can look appealing. I would rather fry my pig fat in a cast iron skillet thank you very much. So here is to the ladies that take the time to look like ladies. The gals that appreciate who they were created to be and embrace modesty while promoting a social moral compass that steers the rest of us.
When I see the "hey guys look at me" woman in a mini-skirt with make-up everywhere and an exposed cleavage to boot...I cannot help but think of the Bible verse that says: Proverbs 11:22 "Like a gold ring in a pig's snout is a beautiful woman without discretion"!

Bottom line to me is...it doesn't matter if you wear make-up or not, it doesn't matter if you wear long or short hair, it does not matter if you wear jeans or skirts, it is not for me or anyone else to judge...what matters is that a lady is a lady. Keep that moral compass shining and protect the femininity we still have! Dress, act, talk, portray, be...a lady.

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The Functional Apron

I am weary.

The Comforts of the Front Porch

Warmth of All Kinds

Wood for Heat and Fast Food...

Blest be the tie that binds...

As the Autumn Passes into Winter...

"Oh! You live in the old Moore Farmhouse!"

Psalm 107:1 "Oh give thanks to the Lord, for He is good, for His steadfast love endures forever."

Re-purpose?

When a Lady was a Lady

Dawn Marie also known as Rebecca
Flanagan

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Psalm 107:1 "Oh give thanks to the Lord, for He is good, for His steadfast love endures forever."

Dawn Marie also known as RebeccaFlanagan

Archives

Categories

Dawn Marie also known as Rebecca
Flanagan