Granapple55
 
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AARP Member
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Background
Birthday: November 24
Gender: Female
Religion: Spiritual
Location:
Michigan
Work:
Waitress
General Office Work, Ins
Secretary ( DAC Army)
Bus Driver, Custodian, Secretary (School District)
LPN, RN
Hometown(s):
Washington
Michigan
Oklahoma
France
Illinois
Wisconsin
Minnesota
Quote:
Things change!
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My Journals (6)

Cowbells in the Mist

  

The white morning mist muffles the sound of the cowbells. As I look out the open upstairs window, the mist hides the cows behind the barn. The warm red of the painted barn is dimly visible and the sun glances brightly from its’ corrugated metal roof.
 
Dew covers the grass. Dew in thick clear droplets that soak my barn shoes and my bare legs. The night cow pasture is the hayfield since the hay has been cut and piled in the barn. Big warm bodies come into view as I approach our cows. I move around to the back of them to urge them into the barn for feed and milking.
 
Inside the whitewashed walls of the barn, the cows find their stalls. Huge timbers run the length of the barn, supporting the hayloft above. Chains loosely tether the cows and their noses go down to feed from grain filled wooden boxes. The cows drink from the iron water cups, depressing the lever that releases the water with a metallic sound and musical gush. The smells of grain and hay and manure fill the warm air.
 
Mitten pawed black, yellow and white barn cats beg for their share of warm, fragrant milk. Udders are washed, four legged wooden milk stools are placed just right and with milk pail clenched between knees, the cows are milked. First, the front teats and then the back. Tails swish. A stream of milk is squirted toward the face of one eager tabby cat who licks the creamy liquid from her face and paws . The tinny sound of the streams of milk change to a deeper swish, swish, as the milk fills the pail. A good milking, the pail is nearly full. Into the strainer and the ten gallon milk can, the milk from the pail is poured. Small kittens scramble into the barn from an opening where the water pipes enter through the wooden floor. Their dish is filled and they mew and lap. One by one, the cows are milked. The Dutch doors to the barnyard are opened and the cows sent out into the sunlit day and pasture.
 
The woods the cows pasture in is free of undergrowth. Here and there are patches of tag elder or hazelnuts. It is mostly poplar, with some pine, balsam, birch, maple and elm trees mixed in. Here and there a wild apple or thorn tree grows. There are old railroad grades running through the woodlots. These railroad grades and a rare large pine or elm tree that escaped the saws, axes, and forest fires are relics of the turn of the century logging boom. Huge five foot, splintered, blackened and weathered pine tree stumps are scattered throughout the woods.
 
Sometimes the cows come when called. “Come Boss, Come Boss” is the rallying cry. I call and then listen for the cowbells to hear which direction the sound is traveling from. If I do not hear a bell, I repeat the call. The sound of my call echoes off the wood line at the southern edge of the far field in back of the barn and bounces back to my ears.
 
The railroad grades make a easy path into the woods as the clanging cowbells mark the movement of the herd. Located, the cows need me to change their mind about grazing, or laying down and chewing their cud. Up the hill and into the creek I go, my feet wet again, tan legs scratched and bug bit, but I’m full of energy and love the woods.
 
As the cows and I approach, crows caw from the huge, sparse, soaring branches of the elm I call the “Crow Tree“. I go around the spring at the foot the huge old tree that towers above the second growth timber. The dark water in the mostly still pool is outlined by cattails and lush green plants. Spotted Leopard frogs croak and jump at my approach, splashing into the water with round ripples marking their landing. Hot and sweaty, the cool woods feel good.
The twigs, branches and leaves of the forest floor crack and rustle as the cows and I move through them. Across another creek and into the dusty lane that leads to the barn, the cows lumber, cowbells sounding light or deep with each step. It is music in the warm late afternoon summer day.
 
The cows are milked, the kittens are fed. Evening descends. The sun is low above the western treetops. The sky is pink-orange. The light fades. At the northern edge of the woodlot, a white ground mist forms across the back of the hayfield at the wood line. It rolls toward the barn and house slowly. The grasses in the field are swallowed up, then the fence line and the apple trees that line it. The crow tree towers above the fading woods. It stands sentinel as the sound of cowbells fade into the white, rolling curtain and another mist filled, star-studded northern night begins.   
 
 
 
 
Granapple's Story, Copyright

Added: June 27, 2008
Views: 26 | Comments: 0 | Bookmarks: 0

The Supper Group

 

  

 
The supper group usually meets once a week at a restaurant that varies according to the whims and schedule of the participants. This has been going on for a long time. I and my husband joined the originators in about 1998. This function had been going on for at least five years before that. 
 
That is a lot of meals at a lot of restaurants over the years. Friends, relatives and in-laws make up the group. Sometimes, a guest or two join the group for awhile. Over the years we have seen a lot of changes. One by one, three husbands passed on.
 
 Since 2002, we have been down to one gentleman who graciously kept us company week after week. He was a brother to one, a brother-in-law to another and a friend to all. We jokingly called the group “Harry and his harem”. He laughed. 
 
Last week Harry too, died. The funeral is today. How we will miss him. It was nice to sit and visit, share a laugh, and just talk about the weeks’ events with him. We will miss him every time we meet for supper. He was our touchstone; a reminder of our men who one by one gradually left us.
 
I know I will cry today at the graveside service. Tears are coming now. I weep for my loss, for the friendship and companionship Harry gave by just coming out to eat with our little group. I will miss his stories, his adventures of the week just past. His trials and tribulations and angst over a $1.50 cup of coffee.
 
Five of us will meet again for supper next week. There will be an empty chair at the table.
 
 
Added: June 18, 2008
Views: 61 | Comments: 2 | Bookmarks: 0

Housebound Hazard
I am staying out of the kitchen.  Well, I did wash the dishes.  I left the kitchen and came back to the computer that is in the back room.
 
The TV is on; my soap is playing in the background. Today is Wednesday, so there may be some action in the story.  Not to worry, it is taping just in case I get engrossed in the computer project.  It only takes 40 minutes to fast-forward and pick up what I may have missed.  After being a fan since my daughter was in college in '78 (and she was a fan) it doesn't take much to keep up with the story.  Tad is getting gray too, isn't he?
 
I have to develop a new routine for my time.  I have been dealing with inner ear related balance problems for the past four months.  I have improved but found it necessary to leave my part time job.  So.., I have lots of time on my hands. 
 
I am finding that Kitty is making good use of her time. She sits in front of me just staring when I am relaxed in my recliner.  I offer her entirely too many treats. This is so she will stop eyeballing me and go take a nap on my sunlit bed instead.  When I am at the computer, I will get a nudge on the leg, and when ignored she will leave.
 
Speaking of treats, with this time on my hands, I have been indulging in baking.  Dump cake this past week was my choice.  Very good, very fast and hopefully that recipe is on the shelf to be forgotten for awhile.  I was going to say I didn't share any, but I remember I did.  Had company, that's why I made it in the first place.
 
But, the next culprit, the French bread recipe was just lying in wait!  Money was a little tight this month. So since I had flour and yeast, I made French bread. It is an old recipe, very good.  Almost like the real thing (the kind you get in France).  Flour, salt, water and yeast is all it takes.  I have trouble kneading the dough, but I have discovered the dough hooks do a beautiful job. I just read in a book, that by law in France, at least back in the 70's, the four ingredients listed above were all that was allowed in French bread.
 
Good stuff, Maynard!  I did give away a few loaves.  The crust is crusty, chewy and light brown.  When it is warm, you must tear a piece off.   A torn piece of crusty warm bread with butter and jam; served with a fresh cup of coffee.  A feast!
 
So, now you know why I am at the computer and not in the kitchen. 
 Tomorrow is another story. A potluck dinner is on the schedule.  Brownies, I think.  Hershey Syrup Brownies with Walnuts and Fudge Frosting to be exact.  They will be leaving the kitchen intact. 
 

 

Added: June 12, 2008
Views: 38 | Comments: 0 | Bookmarks: 0

Postive Woolgathering

  

 Have you ever realized that a delay you have experienced, or having forgotten something at home and turning back to go get it has protected you by preventing you from being several miles up the road and missing the bad accident? 
 
Sometimes woolgathering bears fruit too.  A long time ago, as I was driving school bus, I was musing what would I do if I was pulling out on the highway and turning left to get in the right lane and there was a car coming in the right lane.  I decided that I would gun the gas pedal and turn into my intended lane as fast as possible.  Stepping on the brake would not stop me soon enough if the road was icy. 
 
A few months later after a very large snowstorm and new higher snow banks, I was going to an evening church program with my children in the car.  I had to get out of the car to see if there was anything coming down the road.  I didn’t  see anything so I got in the car and headed out of the driveway.  As I pulled out, I heard a car horn blaring very near to my vehicle.. 
 
I reacted by instinct as I had thought it through months ago.  I stepped on the gas, turned the wheel to turn the car into the right side lane as a car sideswiped me on the right side of my car. (A ways down the road there was just enough of a blind spot to hide that car)  She ended up on top of the snow bank, unhurt but with a totaled car.  My right front fender was dinged but I and my three children were unharmed.. 
 
We were shaken,  but unhurt.  Neither of us got a ticket that day.  I shook with an adrenalin surge for hours afterward.  I know it was the hand of God that evening that protected us.  That "what would I do" exercise saved our lives that winter night. 
 
Added: June 12, 2008
Views: 37 | Comments: 0 | Bookmarks: 0

Remember When

 

 
 
 Remember When....
Sometime when my children were young we decided to take the Sunday school kids on a weekend to Crystal Lake.   Fourth through eighth grades, boys and girls and about a half dozen adults, mostly parents came along as chaperones.   That was our first mistake, taking too wide a range of ages in one group. What the little ones didn’t think of doing, the big ones did. They were on a holiday and wonderful good spirits.
 
 We had the use of the church camp building which was a lodge type with sleeping rooms up in the loft on the upper level. It was quite new and a beautiful building with everything we needed.
 
The drive there was about an hour and a half from where we lived. We arrived on Saturday afternoon. The kids found their bunks and started to do what kids do, have fun! We the adults, having worked all week, planned and organized the outing, driven a load of excited kids to the camp, looked around at our surroundings and chose the various tasks we wanted to do. We were starting to tire out.
 
Supper was first on the list after sorting out who slept where. It was no easy task cooking for 30 or so people, especially in a strange kitchen. I remember it was a job! I think we had spaghetti, salad and of course dessert. After everyone ate, it was time for cleanup.  Not many children that age appreciate doing the dishes.  Meanwhile the noise level of the children escalated accordingly.
 
Came evening, we the adults, were exhausted. The children fueled by supper and dessert were in fine form. The shouts and yelling and general mayhem echoed around us as we sat around a central table in the lodge. Admonishments to “cool your jets, stop it, please be quiet”, were just adding our voices to the crescendo of noise. 
 
About seven or seven-thirty that evening, the noise level did not abate, indeed it was getting louder.   We, the adults, were reaching the end of our rope. Not knowing what else we could try to get the children to settle down, we gave up. Ignoring the noise, the adults joined hands, and started praying. We gave thanks for the good day we had,  prayed for a variety of issues not really addressing the tumult upstairs, and we sang the songs of praise we liked to sing,.
 
Some while later, it suddenly dawned on us that the chatter and noise level up in the loft had quieted, then ceased altogether. While we were praying, what felt like a miracle to us became apparent.   The children, watching us, had calmed, quieted, and sought their beds and were sleeping! What an answer to a prayer, we really didn’t voice but desperately needed. We looked at each other, and knew God had touched our group. We had been given respite. We rested and awoke refreshed and renewed, all of us. We knew God had touched us that night and given us a special gift.
 
 
 
 

 

Added: June 10, 2008
Views: 51 | Comments: 0 | Bookmarks: 0

May 31, 2008

Today is Saturday, a Saturday that is the last day in May, this year of 2008.  I have C-Span tuned in on the television in the background.  They are trying to settle the seating of the Michigan and Florida delegates in the Democratic Convention. 

It is cloudy and cool outside today, 10:00 AM.  I haven't made up my mind what I am going to do today, beyond spending time on the computer.  I haven't decided what I want to write about other than sending out a few Hi there's and a smart remark or two (I think) to those sites that ask for the same.

I am 70 this spring, the only spring I will be 70.  My circle is filled with ladies that are also 70.  In talking to them, we look in the mirror, each of us and note the increasing number of wrinkles on our faces as we apply our creams and pale shades of lipstick.  These days, my crowning glory is my hair.  It is white (mostly), still thick (fairly), and a cut that I can manage to maintain with a blow dryer and brush.  I am fortunate, the hair color is the genes.  I am of Finnish descent and courtesy of Grandma, Mom and Dad took after the blonds in the family who all had white, white hair when they reached the senior years.

The tulips are finally blooming.  Leaves are newly sprouting on the trees, still a tender green and small.  I have a small tub of plants I picked up from the greenhouse Friday sitting on my handicap ramp outside my front door.  It stayed warm last night (no frost) so I left them there to toughen them up.  There are blue patches of sky visible now through the window.  Maybe later I will put them in the ground.  Three tomato plants, two cucumbers and some parsley, not a big job by any means.  But I like to watch them grow. 

I bought some seeds too last week.  A mammoth sunflower (the squirrels don't let the seeds develop, they decapitate the sunflower and haul it off to devour), a multiple variety pack of sunflowers (too small for the squirrels to bother with), and nasturtiums for the border between sidewalk and house.  I have to move the tulips when they are done blooming, because I want to put the tomato plants in that bed.  I can daydream,  can't I?

I hear my cardinal outside, chirping.  He and she have a distintinctive sound as they land near the birdfeeders.  They started coming by the day I buried my husband.  It was July, 1999.  There had been a storm that afternoon and after the storm I looked up, at the feeder near my window, and there was this beautiful red bird.  The first I had seen in this part of the country ever.  They have been coming ever since.  Raised a young one last year that I was privileged to see. I take it as a sign, a gift from my love, I think of him when I see the cardinal and its' mate.

Sorry, I have to answer the phone.  It seems that no planting today.  Going to go see a movie.  The new Harrison Ford one of course.  Have to see it on the big screen to enjoy the special effects.  So, I bid you adieu for now.  Enough meandering through my thoughts for today. 

 

 

 

Added: May 31, 2008
Views: 83 | Comments: 1 | Bookmarks: 0