Drumroll Please: The Giveaway!

And now....the CSN Stores Giveaway to celebrate my anniversary today!

102 of you commented this week, making you eligible for my giveaway. I have enjoyed reading all of your posts and thoughts. What a community this is--supporting, funny, thoughtful, and sharing. Thank you all for visiting.

I used the Random Generator to select the winner (boy, does that thing work great!) and the winner was number 94--Nance! Congratulations!

Please send me your email address, Nance and I will hook you up with CSN so you can claim your prize. Please be sure to let us all know what you selected from all the great things available at CSN.

Next I need to go outside and hug my honey, who is on the tractor plowing the ground for the pumpkin patch.

I promise, though, that our anniversary won't be all work. We'll be at the Vandalia Gathering later today to listen to good old-time music and see friends; maybe dinner out and then back to the Gathering for the evening concert. This will be a good day. Then tomorrow? I'm telling stories at Vandalia and judging the West Virginia State Liars Contest. Come on down!

Feathers-A Retelling of a European Folktale

This is one of my favorite stories; the message it carries is one we all need to remember from time to time.


There once was a woman who loved to talk about other people. It did not matter if what she said was kind or true; she loved to talk just for the fun of it, and to stir up excitement in her neighborhod with her stories. One day she told a friend that a certain neighbor was a thief. Of course, that story soon spread through the neighborhood and it was not long before people began looking at the man with distrust, unwilling to give him work or allow him to visit their homes.

The neighbor was so upset about the ruin of his good name that he went to see a judge, claiming that the woman had libeled him. The judge called the woman in front of him.

"Did you tell someone that his man is a thief?"

"I might have, I really can't remember. I say so many things, you see."

"Do you have any proof that he is a thief?"

"Oh no, I have no proof, I just thought perhaps he was. He lives well for his earnings."

The neighbor protested, "Your honor, I am frugal and spend carefully. That is why it seems I live well. I do not waste my money."

The judge thought for a moment. "So, you have no proof that this man ever stole anything?"

"No," the woman admitted. "I have no proof. It was just a good story to pass along."

"You have ruined this man's good name with your idle gossip. How do you plan to repair the damage you have caused?"

"Oh, well." The woman shrugged. "I will simply aopolgize to him, and I will tell my friends it is not true. That should fix it."

"Here is what you will do," the judge ordered. "You will get a feather pillow and take it into the market square. There you will rip the pillow open and scatter ALL of the feathers to the four winds. Then you will gather all the feathers, put them back in the pillow, and bring the pillow to me."

"How silly!" exclaimed the woman. "I will do as you say, if it makes everyone happy."

The woman did as the judge instructed. She carried her pillow out to the market square and ripped it open. Feather flew into the air as she grabbed handsful and scattered them into the wind. Some feathers landed in the river and floated away; others blew high into trees and lodged in the branches. Others drifted inside windows and doors, or were blown into fires where they were quickly burned.

Try as she might, the woman could not collect all of the feathers. She raced around the square, grabbing at the floating wisps of white. She waded into the river, climbed trees and knocked on doors. Feathers fluttered away from her grasp and at the end of many hours she had only a few feathers in the pillow to show for her work.

Wet, tired and bedraggled, she returned to the judge.

"I understand why you had me scatter the feathers. My words are like these feathers. Once spoken it is impossible to ever call our words back again. I am truly sorry for what I have done and from now on I will mind my tongue and speak only what I know to be true.

"My friend," she said to her neighbor, "I cannot repair the damage I have done to your name, but for the rest of my life I will say to my friends that you are a true and trustworthy man."

And so she did, speaking only good of her neighbor and of others, and refusing to listen to idle gossip for the rest of her days.

In Memoriam

Over the past few months my daughter-in-law and I discussed what to put on Jon's gravestone. It's not an easy decision or conversation. Going through the photos reminded us of so many good times, things Jon loved to do, and how much he loved spending time with his daughters.

After a lot of thought, his wife selected these images, which will be cast into a bronze plaque for his gravestone:

Top left, Jon holds his granddaughter;clockwise is Jon in the army in Korea as a radioman; then with his diploma for his Masters in Business Administration; then "sled dad" as he and he three youngest played in the snow; and then his favorite photo of him playing golf. Center is that beautiful smile we miss so much. In the background is our homeplace, which grounded Jon and was the place he came to relax and recharge. West Virginia was always in his heart, and he was proud to wear the WV logo on his clothes. His favorite suit and tie outfit was a dark suit with a blue shirt and deep gold tie--a mountaineer through and through.

These are some other photos we considered but in the end did not use. They show some of the range of his passions:

Skiing; a highlight for him was skiing in the Pyrenees with his friend Todd several years ago;

Water skiing in Kentucky, a sport he first tried on the Ohio River as a teenager;

Playing guitar was a short-lived interest--he loved it but soon found he didn't have what it took to be good, so he gave his Martin guitar to is daughter, who plays beautifully.

Scuba diving in the Caribbean on vacation--he was thrilled with it and wanted to learn all about it, even talking about becoming an instructor one day;

And of course, his racing motorcycle, which scared the wits out of me but which he loved and still owned. His love for bikes started in his teens and never waned, much to my dismay!

He was a man of many hobbies and interests, but his deepest passion was his love for his family. Other things came and went, but this one was the driving force of his life.

Missed every day, but loved even more.

Storytelling Again

I am finally getting back into storytelling after a six-month hiatus. I'm nervous about getting onstage again, but with two performances scheduled for this week, I better get over it. These two shows are different enough that I have been busy thinking about stories to tell, and working on some new material.

First up is a small school in the very tiptop of West Virginia's Northern Panhandle. I have only been that far north in the state once, just to say I had been there, and can claim to have seen the Great Teapot of Chester.

For this event, the organizer requested character education stories--stories with a moral. This is not a difficult set to plan because so many stories have morals; sometimes these are evident , as in Aesop's Fables, but some have layers of meanings and address ethical questions on many levels. Since this is a Kindergarten-fourth grade group, story selection has to be appropriate for their developmental level. One interesting thing about storytelling to children is that children's oral vocabulary outstrips their reading vocabulary so stories that seem too advanced are actually easily followed. Some of the stories in my bag for this program will be familiar (like Just Enough to Make a Story); others will hopefully be new to them.

Sunday is the Vandalia Festival on the Capitol Grounds in Charleston, WV, and I'm one of the judges for the Liars Contest. This annual contest draws many entrants hoping to win the grand prize--a "golden" shovel and a cash award. I'll be telling stories prior to the event, and since the liars tales are usually humorous I will include some funny stories in my set, and a new story about my parents in honor of Memorial Day. And because it is Memorial Day, I will certainly include a Jack tale in my son Jonathan's memory. He loved those old stories about the boy who managed to turn every bad situation into a win for himself.

The following Saturday I'll shift gears again and tell West Virginia ghost stories to middle-school age children in eastern West Virginia. This will be an easy set for me since ghost stories are my most requested program, and I am planning to add a new story to this set to continue to expand my repertoire.

So I'm back on the storytelling trail. I hope it will feel good and that I can once again find the joy I always expected from telling stories and meeting new audiences. Wish me luck as I start on this next leg of the journey.

Giveaway--5 days and counting!

Don't forget to enter my giveaway for $125 to spend at CSNStores.com.

Comment on any post this week or from last Thursday, Friday or Saturday to enter. The more times you comment the more likely your chance at winning.

The winner will be announced on Satuday, May 29th.

Good luck!

And speaking of giveaways, here's a story about a man who had no luck at all giving something away:


WALI DAD THE SIMPLE-HEARTED
Based on the story from Andrew Lang's Brown Fairy Book

Once there lived a poor man whose name was Wali Dad Gunjay, or Wali Dad the Bald. He lived all by himself in a mud hut and made his living by cutting grass to sell as fodder for horses. He only earned five halfpence a day. But he needed little to live, so he was able to save one halfpenny daily. This was his life for many years.

Then one night he thought, "I should count all the money I have saved. I wonder how much it might be?" He had hidden his savings in an earthen pot under the floor. He pulled the pot out and looked at the pile of coins that poured out onto his floor.

"What riches! What can I do with all this money? I already have everything I need."

He put the money into a cloth bag and put it under his pillow. The next day he went to a jewellers shop and purchased a gold bracelet. He wrapped the bracelet in cloth and tied the cloth around his waist like a belt. Then he went off to visit a friend who was a rich merchant.

Wali Dad sat down to visit and after a while he asked the merchant who was the most virtuous and beautiful lady he knew.

'That is easy," said the merchant. "The princess of Khaistan is well known for both her beauty and her generosity."

" When you see her again, would you give her this little bracelet, and tell her it is from a man who admires virtue more than he desires wealth." Walie Dad pulled the bracelet from his belt and handed it to his friend.

"I will do this for you," said the merchant.

One day the merchant visited Khaistan. He sent the bracelet, with Wali Dad's message to the princess. The princes sent back a reply that the merchant must stop to visit her again before he left the city. As he was leaving town the merchant came back,and the princess presented him with a return gift-- a camel loaded with rich silks, and some money for himself.

The merchant took the princess's gift to Wali Dad.

"Oh my!" cried Wali Dad. "I have no use for such riches. Do you know of some young prince who might be in need of them?"

"Well," said the merchant, "I know many princes. But there is no one more worthy than the young prince of Nekabad."

"Please, take take the silks to him, with my blessing," said Wali Dad.

The merchant did as Wali Dad requested and the prince, as you might have guessed, sent back an even richer gift--twelve fine horses, and a gift of money for the merchant for his services.

The merchant took the twelve horses to Wali Dad.

"Goodness," said Wali Dad when he saw the horses coming, "a caravan is cominf! They will a lot of hay to feed that many horses!" Of course, the horses were for him.

When he learned this, Wali Dad thought for a moment and then told the merchant, "Keep two of the horses for yourself, and take the others to the princess of Khaistan."

The merchant agreed to follow Wali Dad's instructions. This time the princess sent for the merchant, and asked him, "Who is sending me these wonderful gifts?"

The merchant replied, "It is one who has heard of your goodness and beauty and wants to send to you the best he has to offer." How could he tell her that the gifts actually came from an old many whose only income was 5 half-pence a day? She would never believe that!

The princess went to her father and told him about the gifts she had received. "What shall I do, father?"

"Well," said the king, "You cannot refuse them. The best thing you can do is to send this unknown friend a present so magnificent that he is not likely to be able to send you anything better, and so will be ashamed to send anything at all!" The king ordered twenty mules laden with silver be sent back to the unknown giver of gifts.

Suddenly the merchant found himself in charge of a splendid caravan.

"Well, now," cried Wali Dad, when he saw the caravan at his door, "Please my friend, take six of these mules for your troubles, and the rest straight to Nekabad."

The prince was so embarrassed by this expensive gift that he questioned the merchant closely about the giver. The merchant did not think the prince would believe that Wali Dad was just a poor old man, so he made up a story about Wali Dad's riches. The prince made up a caravan on twenty horses dressed in gold embroidered cloths with fine leather saddles and silver bridles and stirrups. He added twenty of his best camels and twenty elephants, with magnificent silver howdahs and dressings of silk embroidered with pearls. The merchant hired many men to help him with these animals and people came out from everywhere to watch as the rich caravan passed by.

When Wali Dad saw the cloud of dust approaching he thought, "A great caravan is coming! They will buy much grass!"He hurried off to cut more grass, but when he got back he found the caravan had stopped at his door, and the merchant congratulated him on his new riches.

"Riches!' cried Wali Dad. "What has an old man like me with one foot in the grave need riches for? Please take for yourself two horses, two camels, and two elephants, with all their trappings, and take the rest to the princess."

"Wali Dad," said the merchant, "Thank you for your generosity to me. This is becoming embarrassing to me to be paid so richly for carrying your gifts to the princess and the prince. Please, I will go one last time but that is the end."

"Very well," said Wali Dad. So, after a few days' rest the caravan started off once more for Khaistan. As soon as the king of Khaistan saw the many animals and the men entering his palace courtyard, he hurried down in to see what it was all about. He was astounded to learn that these were a gift for his daughter from the great Wali Dad.

The king hurried to his daughter. "I can only think this means one thing--this man wants to marry you! We must go to visit him. Such a wealthy man surely would be a fine husband for you."

"Yes, father," said the princess. "I admit I am curious to know who he is and where he lives. We should go see him at once. The merchant can be our guide."

Can you imagine how the merchant felt? He would have gladly run away but there was no chance to do that. How could he explain to these people that Wali Dad was just an old man living in a hut? As the caravan traveled, the merchant tried desperately to find a way out of his situation. He laid awake at night, thinking he would surely be executed for his part.

When they were only one day's travel from Wali Dad's home, the merchant was sent to tell Wali Dad that the King and Princess of Khaistan were coming to visit. The merchant arrived and told Wali Dad all that had happened. "What shall we do?" the merchant wailed.

"My friend, I have put you in this position, and for that I am sorry. I must think of a some way to tell the king and his daughter what I have done. Please, go back and ask them for one more day that I might find some way out of my foolishness."

As soon as the merchant left Wali Dad decided that there was only one way out of the shame and distress he had created--to kill himself. So that night he went to a place where the river wound along at the base of steep rocky cliffs and determined to throw himself down and end to his life. When he got to the place he drew back a little and began to run toward the cliff, but at the very edge he stopped. He could not do it!

He sat with his hands over his face in the darkness, until a soft light made him pull his hands away. Was it already morning? But there before him he saw two lovely beings he knew immediately were not of earth. "These must be Peris from Paradise!" he thought.

"Why do you weep, old man?" said one.

"I weep for shame," said Wali Dad.

"What are you doing here?" asked the other.

"I came here to die," said Wali Dad. And he told them his story.

Then the first stepped forward and laid a hand upon Wali Dad's shoulder, and his old cotton rags changed to linen and embroidered cloth; on his hard, bare feet were warm, soft shoes, and on his head a great jewelled turban. Round his neck there lay a heavy golden chain, and the little old bent sickle, which he cut grass with, and which hung in his waistband, had turned into a gorgeous scimitar, whose ivory hilt gleamed in the pale light like snow in moonlight.

As he stood wondering, the other peri waved her hand; and, there before him a shining gateway stood open. The peris led him up a broad avenue and on the very spot where his hut had stood, a gorgeous palace appeared, ablaze with lights. There were hurrying servants and guards pacing to and fro who saluted him respectfully. There were grassy walks and lawns where fountains were playing and flowers bloomed. Wali Dad stood stunned and helpless.

"Fear not," said one of the peris. "Go to your house, and learn that God rewards the simple-hearted."

With these words the peris disappeared. Wali Dad was sure he was dreaming as he walked into a room more beautiful than any he had seen, and he soon went to sleep.

If Wali Dad was amazed, imagine the the merchant, who came to see him just after sunrise!

"I have not slept all night," the merchant said. "I did not know what we should do, and now I see this!"

Wali Dad told his friend about what happened during the night. "Invite the king and princess of Kaistan and all their train to come to my home--even the lowliest of their servants should come."

For three nights and days a great feast was held in honor of the royal guests. On the fourth day the king of Khaistan took Wali Dad aside, and asked him if he wished to marry his daughter.

"I thank you for the compliment," said Wali Dad, "but I am much too old and ugly for such a lady as your daughter; but stay a while, I will invite my friend the Prince of Nekabad to visit us. I am sure he will want to try to win your daughter's hand."

"Very well," said the king. "I would like to meet anyone who is your friend, Wali Dad."

You know how this story will end: the prince and princess were married, and Wali Dad lived to the end of his days continuing to help all who were in trouble. And he remained always the simple-hearted and generous man that he had been he was only Wali Dad Gunjay, the grass cutter.

You can find a retelling of this story for children in a picture book by storyteller and author Aaron Shepard.

I hope

Scotland: Brothers Journey

Jon, golfing last year.

Two of my sons are on a golfing trip in Scotland. The story of this trip is perhaps one of the most touching, sad, and happy stories I can tell you.

Regular readers know that we lost our second son, Jonathan, in February. what you don't know is that his wife and my oldest son had been planning a golf trip to Scotland for the three brothers who golfed as a surprise for Jon's 40th birthday, which would have been this September 4.

The planning had been going on for about 2 years as details were worked out--which golf courses, reservations, flights, rentals, etc. It was to be the trip of a lifetime and would include playing a game at the famous St. Andrews course which I believe is the oldest known golf course in the world. The plan included stops at golf courses all around the Scottish coast.

All went well until the past January when Jon began planning to do something on the very days George and Jennifer had reserved for the trip. What to do? There was really only one thing they could: tell him about the trip.

The last time I spoke with Jon, he had called me in excitement.

"You'll never guess what Jennifer has done!" He said, and I let him tell me all about it. I'd known about the trip for some time, but I wanted to hear him tell me. He was amazed and humbled that his wife loved him so much that she would go to all the trouble to plan this trip--and that she had been working a lot of extra hours to pay for it so he would not see anything on bank statements or elsewhere that might give away the secret.

Jon talked happily for a long time that night, telling me about the trip, his delight that his brothers George and Derek would also be going, his pleasure in the recent accomplishments of his daughters, and his deep love for his wife. He was very,very happy, and totally contented with his life at the moment. We ended the conversation as we always did:

"Bye, Jonnie. I love you."

"I love you too, Mom. Bye."

Those were my last words to my son, and to this day I am grateful for the habit begun with my parents, to end calls to loved ones with those three simple words.

After Jon's death, the guys decided to call off the trip and take a refund on the tickets. But after a few weeks, they reconsidered. If Jon had been the one to survive, he certainly would have gone. What better way to honor their brother than to continue with their plan and celebrate his life and love of golf?

They are now working their way around the Scottish courses and sending brief messages via Facebook of their travels. George is trying to keep up a blog of their travels, although so far has hasn't been able to spot much except the first day of their trip. If you're interested you can follow along at http://www.wvhighlands.blogspot.com/

Tappan Deluxe

photo from flickr.com

Years ago, when we first moved to West Virginia, I bought a used gas stove for my kitchen. The salesman at the used appliance store said, "This is an old stove, but I guarantee you'll like it better than these new ones. I bought the stove he recommended, a large, curvy white Tappan from the early 1950's.

He was right. I loved that stove. I used it hard for the next 8 years and slowly, things began to break--one burner would not work, the oven hinge broke, things like that. I decided I needed something newer and bought an avocado green stove that was smaller. I thought I'd made a good decision. Soon we went to an electric range because LP gas became so expensive. As the years past, I remembered my Tappan and realized it had really been a very good stove. I should have fixed it, I thought. Ah well, it was gone and that was that.

When we learned that we would have free gas, I thought about my Tappan. Could I find another stove like that? I started looking a few months ago, and found them all right--for prices ranging from $250 up to $3000! Apparently I was not the only person who understood the value of these heavy, well-made stoves.

I mentioned my quest to my son Aaron one day and he said, "You know, I've seen a stove like that up near my house. It's out under someone's gazebo with a for sale sign on it."

A week later, Aaron's wife Jaime called. "Okay, I'm standing in front of this stove. It has chrome burners, chrome trim and it's kinda rounded looking."

"That's it!" I said. "Will you see how much they want for it?"

"Says right on the sign, $50."

"Buy it! We'll figure how to get it here later."

Jaime bought the stove for me, and Aaron picked it up--along with another 3-burner gas stove that is really an odd little thing, but for $25 he figured we might want it for a canning stove.

Aaron delivered my stove today, and I am so happy! The gas isn't hooked up yet but the stove is ready when we get it done. Best part? These two stoves turned out to be my Mother's Day gift from Aaron. What a guy.

This one is a 1950 Tappan Deluxe. It looks like it has been used very little because it's so clean. The original owner's manual is still in one of the chrome drawers.

It has three chrome drawers on one side, one labeled "Crisper." The burner covers, with a pretty design on the reverse side so they can be used as trays, are stored on the side doors, ready for use.

One the other side is storage for baking pans, a slideout drawer for utensils, and towel racks for drying kitchen towels. The broiler pan is chrome and looks unused. There are slide-out trays for cleaning under the burners, and lovely scrolled cast iron burner grids. The burners and burner pans are chrome, as is the oven door and the bottom kickplate. On top is a clock, a scrolling list of cooking times for many foods, and a light that still works. Best part? When the light is turned on, the red glass behind the burner controls lights up!

Looking online, I found a blog called TappanTalk that is devoted to discussing these stoves; various owners post photos of their stoves, along with questions and restoration projects. There are, I have found, many devotees of this stove, and I am now among their numbers.

I am in love again with a Tappan Deluxe. I've got a little cleaning to do, but I can't wait to get it hooked up and start cooking.

The last red light eventually came on, Aaron said. Isn't she a beauty?

Welcome home, Tappan!

Grits

photo from Wikipedia

I. love. grits. They make me smile.

I did not know what grits were until I was seventeen and a married woman--well, that's a stretch because it's difficult to think of seventeen as a woman. Still, I was married and had a young son and was learning to cook and keep house. My (first) husband was raised in Texas and he wanted grits for breakfast.

"What's that?" I asked. "It sounds like dirt."

To some people that might seem like an accurate assessment. People are pretty evenly divided between grits lovers and haters. If you're in the same place I was 40 years or so ago you're probably thinking, "Wait--what's she talking about? What are grits anyway?"

I'll back up and explain as best I can. Grits are made from corn--yellow grits are produced if the whole kernel is used, and white grits if the exterior of the grain is removed. When corn is milled, the finer-milled portion becomes corn meal, the coarser becomes grits. You can read a detailed explanation of the milling process here. The corn is dried to a specific moisture content before being milled. I doubt the native Americans who originated grits would have been able to tell you the percentage; they probably had their own test to determine when the corn was right for milling. You can read even more about grits at Wikipedia.

Since I was newly married and still in that husband-pleasing phase, I learned to cook grits. There were no "quick grits" back then. Cooking a pot of grits meant 20 minutes of careful boiling and stirring to produce the thick porridge-like substance without scorching. It was about like cooking cream of wheat, except that the propensity to burn is even stronger with grits.

I remember my first taste of this odd food. Yuck. "There's no flavor," I complained.

"You don't just eat them," my husband explained. "You've got to mix them with your eggs."

Oh. I tried it. Better but still not nearly as good as all his fuss would make one believe.

Over the next year, however, I too became a grits lover. Breakfast was not complete without them. I became adept at cooking them and rarely scorched a batch. No cook would want to do that, since a pan that has burned grits in it is one hard to clean pan. Easier to toss it and get another, honestly. Except for that wastefulness thing.

As soon as my young sons could eat table food, they got grits. The boys loved them too. They would run into the kitchen with happy little faces every morning yelling, "Eggs and toast and grits!" Grits were a cheap way to fill them up too, costing a little less than a box of oatmeal back then.

One of my best memories of my sons at that age started as a typical breakfast morning. We often played a game of "damming" up the egg yolk with the grits. They would push the grits around on their plates, soaking up and damming the yolk as it spilled from their over-easy eggs. It was fun and a sure way to get them to eat all of their breakfast.

On this morning the boys were playing egg-dam as usual when I heard something a little different. It was the sound little boys make when they're playing cars and a car gets stuck. R-n-n-n-n-n, r-n-n-n-n, r-n-n-n-n kinds of sounds. Puzzled, I stuck my head into the dining room to see what they were doing.

"I'm stuck!" Jon yelled to George. "Pull me out, Bud!"

"Okay," George yelled back. He picked up a small toy truck by his plate, slapped it down in Jon's grits and began driving it through the tough terrain, making appropriate mudding sounds as he went. "R-r-r-r-r-r-r-n. R-r-r-r-r-n" went his truck, as Jon's continued to dig itself deeper in his grits with good spinning-tires sounds.

What did I do? I'd encouraged them to play with their food by damming the egg yolk and now they were just taking it another step by adding other toys. So I stood by and let them get Jon's truck out, then took the toys to wash up.

The boys just ate their eggs and grits, proving the adage that a little dirt never hurt anyone.

Nowadays I admit to being lazy and using instant grits--they're fast, I don't have to worry about burning them and it's easy to make the right portions. I've also been known to carry those little packets of instant grits in my purse if I suspect I might be somewhere at breakfast that doesn't serve them. (Just ask the waitresses at the Downtowner Restaurant. I'm still lobbying for them to carry grits on the menu.)

And every time I eat my grits, I remember those little boys and their toy trucks, playing with their food on a bright spring morning.

That's why grits still make me smile.

Time to Celebrate with a Giveaway

It's giveaway time! My blog recently passed another milestone: 150,000 visitors! And my 24th wedding anniversary is coming up on May 29th. What do these two events have in common? I need to celebrate, so I am offering a $125 shopping gift from CSN Stores to a lucky reader! CSN Stores is an online one-stop-shop for anything you might need for home or office, from sofas to bedding, outdoor decor, kitchenware and more.

Here's all you need to do to be entered in the giveaway: post a comment on this post or any post from now until May 28th. I will use the random number generator to select a winner, and will announce that winner on Saturday, May 29th. That's all there is to it! The winner will receive an email with a promotional code to be used at any of the quality stores on the CSN Stores site.

Now, if you're wondering what you might be able to buy with your $125 gift certificate, here are some ideas:

Thinking about a new bath for your birds?

You might like these All-Clad kitchen utensils, or...

a Le Creuset skillet grill, in your choice of colors.

Maybe your home is in need of a new lamp, or maybe...

...you just want to see the world through ruby glasses? There are literally thousands of items from which to choose, so be sure to post so that you can help me celebrate and get your name will be entered into this drawing!

Note: I have received no compensation or goods of any kinds for this giveaway.

The Sisters

Getting all eight of us in the same place at the same time is a real trick. And wouldn't you know my camera decided to act up just before the reunion and I missed getting any shots of all of us together! By the time I'd worked out its issues (battery and replacement SD card) it was too late. However, there were many cameras at the sisters' gathering, so I borrowed these from Judy's Facebook album--thank you, Judy!

First, we had to get everyone to quit laughing...

back row, l to r: Theresa, Liz, Cathy, me, Mary. Front row, l to r: Maggie, Judy and Julie.

We sort of succeeded at long last, but as you can see below, still managed to catch Maggie and Liz in mid-stride. But folks, this seems to be the best of the many, many pictures we took that morning because we simply cannot be still and behave for a photo.

My sisters had a surprise for me: a scrapbook of their writings about Jon and how hard his loss has been for them. As they described their day putting together the book, I found myself wishing I had been with them to share their tears and memories as they worked to select just the right trimmings for their pages. Can you imagine how healing that was for all of them?



On the assembly day, each of them brought her writing to Julie's house, printed out on beautiful paper; then using Julie's huge selection of decorations they crafted each page. The end result is absolutely beautiful, touching and so moving. I have not yet been able to read all of it; tears get in the way. But this book will be a treasured keepsake, a reminder of all that family can be--not only there to laugh with in good times, but also to cry with and to be there for when the road is not smooth. This was truly a gift from their loving, sisterly hearts.

At the reunion on Saturday evening, we always have a time set aside for sharing stories and songs. While with my sisters the day before we'd traveled into Moorefield for a "junking" trip. We were a little disappointed in our finds, although most of us did manage to find something--but one thing we found, to our surprise, was that sister Maggie knew all the words to 'Down in the Valley;" Theresa, Julie and I also knew most of the words and we sang it together as we drove down the mountain to the valley below. We agreed to sing it for the family storytelling time. Here we are, just into the performance:

Theresa, Maggie, me and Julie, just a-singin'.

Early Morning Walk

Saturday morning at Lost River State Park dawned cool and crisp after a muggy day of showers and heat on Friday. I had not gotten much sleep Thursday night, so I was looking forward to a good night's rest Friday, but it was not to be, for three reasons. First was my sweet husband--a quiet guy by day, but a bear that night with his snoring! He doesn't always snore, but on this night he was a champ. Add in the young nephews and nieces next door who were happily partying the night away (as I would have at their age) and my stomach being in complete turmoil, you can see it was not to be a night of good rest.

I gave up on sleeping at 6:00 am, got dressed and decided to take a walk. I pulled out my map of the park and picked out a path: Laurel Trail to Razor Ridge to East Ridge to Staghorn Trail looked like a nice circle that would bring me right back to my cabin. And it did--three hours later.

The walk started promisingly enough. Laurel Trail was steep but it was early in my hike so I was okay with it for a while. After 30 minutes of climbing up and up the zigzag trail, I was not so sure this walk was a good idea. Then I saw this:

Ah! Not only the sun peeping through to light up the huckleberry bushes, but also the top of the hill! Or so I thought. The trail did ease a bit when I turned onto Razor Ridge, but I was still going up...and up...and up...

This streak of sunlight through the green canopy was not visible to my eyes, but showed up in the camera lens, like an errant bit of rainbow hovering in the forest:

Finally, I reached the trail shelter and was happy to drop down for a few minutes. Someone had left a bottle of water behind and I didn't care by then what germs I might pick up--I enjoyed a solid good pull at that bottle! I had not thought, you see, to bring my own water because I wasn't expecting to be gone so long. So far I haven't noticed any adverse effects from drinking from that bottle. Fingers crossed.

I admired what I could see of the view--I hope the park folks get up there to trim the trees a bit so hikers can actually see the view. I believe I was looking across to Big Ridge; I could see a house or two in the distance, between the tree branches.

A little further on, I came to East Ridge, and then the walking was much easier. No more tripping and slipping on loose gravel on a steep grade--this was almost flat trail through open woods.

Just a few hundred feet off the trail I could see what looked like an open area. I wandered over to see what it might be, and discovered this ridgetop meadow, dotted with locust trees. I picked a few of the locust flowers to munch on (just call me "The Locust-Eater") and enjoyed the clear air and morning birdsong.

The view from the meadow was pretty stunning too. Far off I heard the call of some animal I didn't recognize--bear? I didn't know but I was glad it was so distant because it was not a friendly, happy sound.

At the edge of the meadow I noticed this row of stones. They look like they might have once been a fence.

The last leg of the trip, I started down--and I do mean down. These are higher than the hills where I live, and Staghorn Trail was a switchbacking, rocky, gravelly descent. I trod carefully and it wasn't long before I began to wish, of all things, that I'd trimmed my toenails nice and short! I wear my shoes loose because of a nerve thing on my right foot, so my feet were sliding forward in my shoes and my toes were cramming up against the top of each shoe--with the not-very-long toenails digging into the flesh of the toe beside them. Ouch! I began to find ways to place my feet sideways on the steepest places.Lesson learned--and I have to wonder, is this something all hikers but me know? Wear shoes that fit well, and cut your nails!

A jutting rock provided a resting place and another opportunity to enjoy the views peeping through the trees.

A bit further down the trail I found one of my favorite flowers, the Mountain Laurel, in bloom. These little umbrella flowers bloom is clusters of pink and white; it seems earlier than usual for them to bloom, but perhaps not. We don't have this flower in my area so I am always happy to be in the places where it is in bloom.

Here the laurel is just about ready to pop open:

Near the end of Staghorn Trail, the path followed along the edge of a cliff as it continued down, down, down to where my cabin and a cup of good coffee waited for me.

The end of the trail that morning was a nap. After coffee, good conversations with a few family members who stopped to chat, and after making my pasta salad for the reunion dinner, I was ready to find the sleep I'd missed the night before.

There are many more trails at Lost River that I have not tried. Next year, I've got my eyes on two or three others. For quite a few years I had so much trouble with asthma and allergies and then a bad knee that such walking was out of the question. Now I am back in shape for it and can't wait for another chance to get out in the woods.

A Satisfying Find

I've looked for this plant every time I'm in the woods, but this is my first sighting.

We were driving to Moorefield after the family reunion, following a shortcut road called Big Ridge. The views from this mountain are stunning, and many of the wildflowers in bloom there are different from what we have at home. So we weren't hurrying. We were meandering and I was digging up starts of some things I'd seen and wanted for my garden, like spiderwort (a garden escapee, I think, although it was scattered over an area of hillside pretty thickly), wild creeping phlox, a couple mints, and others. I'm careful to only dig up plants

that grow thickly enough that my digging does threaten its existence.

We were coming down off the mountain when I spotted something yellow on the roadside. You know what happened next.

"Stop!" Larry obligingly stopped the car and I got out to look at a flower I have wanted to see for years: yellow lady's slipper. Can you see it in the above photo? Here it is, closer up.

Yellow Lady's Slipper comes in two sizes, small and large. What I found was the large variety and it was indeed large. I took several photos, but I did not dig up this plant because it is on the endangered species list, probably because so many people dig it up.

Now I have a photo to recall the excitement of seeing this plant in the wild for the first time. I can be satisfied with that. I know where it is if I want to see it again, presuming of course that someone else does not see it and dig it up to take home.

Home Again

What a good time we had at the family reunion! Now we're home, tired, with piles of laundry to do and plenty of memories to savor.

Coming home would have been even better if the digs hadn't been skunked while we were gone. They were so glad to see us! We weren't nearly as glad to see them. A little rain shower seems to have dissipated the smell outside but for some reason I can still smell it in the house, even though our dogs are outside dogs and don't come in. Maybe it's my imagination?

This year I did not take many photos of the reunion; instead my camera aimed itself at the surroundings. A long hike Saturday morning yielded some good shots, and on the way home today I found a wildflower that I have always wanted to see, so I'll have some things to post later this week.

For now, these are pictures of some of the kids doing the "Toody Ta" with my sister Maggie. What a ham she can be! The kids love this and look forward to it every year. This year she said, "all kids 10 and under come on up." A hand shot up and a boy asked, "Can it be all kids 13 and under? I'm 12 and I want to do it too!"

On the Road Again

We're at my family reunion this weekend. I'll be back Sunday evening with, I hope, pictures and good stories to tell. See you then!

One Beautiful Morning in May

The new gravel arrived and my car no longer looks like a reject from a mudbog event,

the early vegetables flaunt their green against a wygelia backdrop,

the iris and other flowers cover up the fact that weeds run rampant beneath,

a shy white rose shows its petals in a shady spot,

and spiderwort, coneflower, coreopsis and sedum tell me that sometimes I just plant too much too close--but they forgive me anyway.

And that reminds me of one of my favorite ballads, one with a happy ending, surprisingly, called Pretty Fair Miss:

A pretty fair miss all in her garden,
when a fine young soldier come riding by.
and then he stepp-ed up right up to her,
Said, 'My pretty fair miss, will you be my bride?

Oh go away, oh go away

you're not the man I thought you to be

for if you were a man of honour
you would not have spoken such words to me.

'I have a true love in the army,
And he's been gone for seven long years.
But if he gone for seven years longer,
No man on earth could marry me.'

what if he's drown-ed in the ocean,

Or if he's ons on some battlefield slain,
or if he's to some other girl married,
And you will never see him again?

Well if he's in the occen drown-ed,

or if he's on some battlefield slain,

or if he's to some other girl married,

I'll love the one that's loving him.

He put his hand into his pocket

and he pulled out a golden ring.
she looked and saw it was the ring,

the very ring she'dd given him.

He pulled her into his arms,

and kisses gave her one two three.

said I am the man that once did love you

and now please miss, will you marry me?

Time to Gather

It's time to gather in the herbs.

Best time of day: late morning

Best weather: dry and sunny

Best herbs: all the ones you love the best

How to dry: And here is where simplicity ends. Not that drying herbs isn't simple: it is. But there are several ways to do it.

Here are the ways I've dried my harvests:

Method #1. Hanging them up, A and B.
A. pick the herbs, put into bunches using string, ribbon, rubber bands or what-have-you, and hang up in a dry, airy, out-of direct-sunlight place.
B.pick the herbs, put into bunches using string, ribbon, rubber bands or what-have-you, place inside a brown paper bag and hang up in a dry, airy, out-of direct-sunlight place.

Let them hang until completely dry, then either:
A. remove from stems and put into air-tight containers. Place in a location out of direct sunlight.
B. leave them hanging up because they look pretty and use as needed.

(Why the caution about sunlight? The sun will remove color, oils and nutrients from your herbs as they dry, leaving them colorless and pretty much flavorless.)

Method #2. Remove leaves from stems; place leaves in an open, flat basket and put in a dry, airy, non-sunny place to dry. Stir from time to time to allow the drier leaves to speed drying and to ensure even circulation of air. When completely dry, place in an airtight container and store away from direct sunlight.

Method #3. Remove leaves from stems; place leaves on a cookie sheet in a slightly warm oven. 200 degrees is too warm; you want something like 110-120 at the most. Stir occasionally so they dry evenly. Store as above.

Method #4. Remove leaves from stems; place on trays in a dehydrator and turn it on. Watch carefully so leaves don't get too dry and loose all their oils and flavor. Store as above.

Which method do I prefer? I like method 1A because it's simple and the hanging herbs add a beautiful touch to my kitchen. I have an old wood drying rack that is over a window that does not get direct sunlight, but allows plenty of air movement. The herbs dry quickly and keep their color and flavor if I take them down as soon as they are dry and store them properly.

I have been using method 2 this year for my teas like raspberry and blackberry leaves, peppermint and red clover, and I find that the herbs dry quickly and retain more flavor than they do using either method 3 or 4. Heat seems to remove too much flavor and body from the leaves, I think. And there's always the danger of roasting them instead of drying them!

The absolutely most important thing to do when storing your herbs: mark the containers with the contents and the date! I seldom do this, and end up with jars of mystery, green and fragrant but what is it and when did I put it up? Usually the smell is a dead giveaway, but not always--some herbs retain flavor and color pretty well. But if I've got a new harvest, I usually want to give the old herbs to my hens and enjoy fresh new ones. So mark your jars-- there's nothing quite as surprising as lemon balm in the spaghetti sauce (what can happen if an unknowing hubby picks up a jar that looks like oregano...)