Random Thoughts

50 this morning but feels colder. Rain and showers all night, cloudy this morning.

So little time to write these days, even this blog. Every spring seems to be the same though. I am sure all of you are busy as can be too, getting things ready for summer, even though the weather has been cold and not promising much yet.

Larry has built another light along our front walk, using bricks and glass bricks we had on hand. These look so nice, and it's good to have light out there since we have no other outdoor lighting. He does love masonry work. It was his lifelong trade and it's been hard for him to give it up, but his back is too bad now to allow any but the smaller projects.

Even with this chilly weather, the green is on the way. Each day plants are just jumping from the ground it seems. We planted celery and spinach plants the other day. My poor cabbages, though--Larry thought it would be a good idea to cover them with straw when it went below freezing, and something has eaten them up. I'm not sure what, maybe a mouse? So I'll have to plant again. We have had such bad luck with cabbage the last few years, they just seem cursed in my gardens. If it's not bugs, it's rabbits, deer, too much water, or now whatever this was. Ah me.

A few tulips and later daffodils are beginning to bloom. I picked a few of the daffodils that were bent over from being frozen and then took one tulip to add color to the bouquet. There's nothing that raises my spirits like flowers in the house.

Ebay sales have been very busy lately, so I've been doing a lot of packing, including this tall ceramic lamp that someone bought for a friend--in Los Angeles. You can believe I packed it well for its long journey. The lamp was given to me to sell, so nice profit there. 

Another quick sale was this light globe, bought for 2.00 the other day and sold for 50.00 this morning. I like a profit like that too. 

We've been restocking our booths, of course, an ongoing task. Yesterday we were at Marietta. Sunday I worked at the other mall, and Larry created a tool corner to sell the many old tools we've been gathering up. He also built the coolest tool rack to put rakes, shovels, etc outside to display. It's on wheels so the owner can move it in at night. Now we wait and see if tools will actually sell. It's something different, anyway. I need to take some photos to post.

I met some interesting people while working Sunday. One that stays in my mind was a tang, rangy man, probably in his mid to late 70's, dressed in jeans and chambray shirt and boots. His skin showed years of outside work, well weathered. He showed me his hands. "Look at this," he said. "I'm on 6 different pills, but look at them." The knuckles were all gnarled and swollen, and even his wrists showed the ravages of arthitis. "Years I've worked, and now can't hardly do anything with these hands of mine." His eyes showed surprise and disbelief that his hardworking hands had let him down. 

Then there was the couple, probably in their 40's/ She was as round as a bowling ball and short, he was tall, trim, a welder and good-looking too. They were happy as larks together, exclaming over things they found, their shared joy in each other evident. 

And the man whose hand was bandaged up, another working man but young and right goodlooking. He came in with his girlfriend and two teenage daughters who were into the goth/shave-one-side-of-the head/piercings/etc look. The girls were standoffish at first but gradually warmed up, and bought a few things themselves. The adults shopped for quite a while, buying an assortment of interesting things--little vintage pill box, records, a plastic kit to make a ship in a bottle, Fiesta dinnerware, etc. 

People-watching, and seeing the dynamics of relationships is just interesting, isn't it? Most days I see no one but Larry, so it's nice to meet the wide variety of people who come into the mall.

Looking outside yesterday through the kitchen window, I caught this little vignette, which I shared on Facebook but thought you all might like it too. 

My favorite little teapot, and vases waiting to be filled. Feels like spring, doesn't it?

Off I go to pick up some buys, so I'll say goodbye for now.

Copyright Susanna Holstein. All rights reserved. No Republication or Redistribution Allowed without attribution to Susanna Holstein.

Coincidences: Birth, War and the Moon Landing

I was looking through my photos for one specific picture, taken on July 16, 1969, during the moon landing.

I was sitting in a rocking chair in my neighbor Ah How Ching's apartment, and I was nursing my firstborn, who was just 2 months old. I remember the dress I was wearing, a pale orange dropped waist cotton knit with small flowers sprinkled over it. I remember the small TV set that my friend and I watched the landing, and I remember her delight at watching me nurse my baby.

I never found that photo. I know it is here but where remains a mystery. Perhaps this winter I will finally get to the long-put-off job of sorting and organizing our boxes of pictures. Maybe.

What I did find was this blurry, worn Polaroid photo of my husband, also taken in 1969, and with it a letter he'd written home to his mother. The photo shows a young man--a boy really--trying to look like a tough soldier. He's filled out from the good grub the military fed its recruits, better chow than he'd ever had growing up in the coal camp. The thing the picture doesn't show is how scared he is, because he knows that very soon he will be shipping out to Vietnam.

The letter speaks longingly of home, wishing he was there and going hunting with his dad. He talked about calling soon and hoping his mother will be home when he calls, and that he wanted to talk to his father too, although he says, "I know he don't like to talk on the phone much." He also mentioned getting to come home soon for a visit. The visit never happened, as just three weeks after writing the leter he was on his way overseas.

Larry was a long way from West Virginia and the Olcott coal camp in 1969, and I was a long way from knowing he even existed. I was a happy new wife with a little baby, living in northern Virginia, with no idea that my first marriage would end or that I would ever live in West Virginia or meet my second husband there.

So while I was nursing my baby, watching the moon landing and comfortable that my husband was safely in the Air Force Reserve, Larry was somewhere in the jungles of Vietnam and wondering if he'd ever get out of there alive, and why he volunteered for the Marines in the first place.

One thing struck me when I read the letter: it was dated April 18, 1969. On that same day I was in the hospital, giving birth to my first child, who was born about 5 weeks early, and whose due date was actually May 25th--Larry's birthday. April 18th was also my English granny's birthday.

Today it is 50 years since the moon landing. My son is a strong 50-year-old man, and Larry and I have been married for 33 years. Such an odd weaving of destinies life can be.

Copyright Susanna Holstein. All rights reserved. No Republication or Redistribution Allowed without attribution to Susanna Holstein.

Snowy Day, Inside Comfort

It snowed a little last night and has continued to sputter a few flakes all day long. And cold, my goodness yes! It hasn't gotten much over 20F all day.

So it is a good day to be indoors taking care of my patient.

He's a very good patient; he doesn't complain and I have to watch out or he'll try to do things he isn't ready to do yet. At only 2 days after sugery, he can get all over the house with his walker! I am trying to keep him busy with things he can actually do--sort his medications, read, etc. And take naps. He's done a lot of sleeping.

I've been busy taking care of the chores he usually does, along with my usual housework, writing, ebay, and so on. The only problem I have had is my hands. They get so cold. I can't wear gloves because for some weird reason my hands just get colder if I wear them. Mittens don't work either as then my thumbs freeze. The only kind of "gloves" I have found I can wear are socks. Well, today I decided I could manage without any hand covering, just pulling my hands up into my coat. Bad Idea. Very Bad. My hands got so cold I had to run cold water on them before trying warmer water. I won't be going bare-handed again, that's for sure.

Inside, I have done laundry, have venison roast in the crockpot, and have worked on ebay and a few poems on my poetry blog. I've cleaned house and chased after Larry, fixing little meals for him because his appetite is not too good yet. And I've done some small changing up in decor now that the Christmas things are put away. We have music playing and the house just feels--and smells--so good after being away for those few days at the hospital.

A quick look at some of what I've been doing while inside today:

The big table got a fresh look with the prettiest handmade tablecloth I've seen in a while--and it was only a quarter! I put vintage valentine cards in the card holder. The two teapots and the crystal plate and compote in front are for sale, but this is a safe place to keep them until they're sold.

Valentines in the living room too. I made the collage last year. The Fenton clock was a happy Goodwill find, works well except the alarm is broken. The little book is one of my favorites, and gives the meaning of the names of hundreds of flowers.

More hearts on this small side table. This table was my mothers; I repainted it several years ago.

And another favorite book on this table. I am working on a program of nature lore, with a focus on wild flowers and plants, so these two books will in use for that. I painted the two boxes on the table several years ago.

The lamp has been a work in progress for a year or more. It was such a sad, ugly thing--brown faded wood with a fake brass base that was so bent we had to remove it. I re-wired the lamp, painted and distressed it, and found a replacement dark wood base. The shade was another Goodwill find, made out of neckties! It is perfect with the ruby glass font on this lamp. I am so happy with the way it looks now.

I've had the milk glass heart dish for several years. It's for sale on ebay, but I use it for display in the meantime. It's from the Victorian era, and is over 100 years old.

In the kitchen window, ruby glass still glows. I started to change it up, but changed my mind.

Venison cooking in the crockpot. This will be tomorrow's dinner, when Larry's appetite is better. I'll made the broth into gravy and bake some potatoes to go with it. That and a salad will make a good winter meal.

I bought these books a year or more ago--maybe two years ago, come to think of it! Finally got them listed on ebay this morning. These were printed at least as long ago as 1887, and are so beautiful.

Marbled page ends,

and look at this cover. For their age they are in pretty good condition, the bindings as tight as can be.

So that's what's been happening here today. What's going on at your house?


Copyright Susanna Holstein. All rights reserved. No Republication or Redistribution Allowed without attribution to Susanna Holstein.

A Bit Like the Pied Piper, and Family History

A bit like him because today I was storytelling in Hamlin, WV whereas the Pied Piper was in Hamelin, Germany. I was also in the tiny, busy library in Alum Creek, WV, and that's where the family history part of this post comes in.

I am almost finished with my summer library programs, and it has been great fun traveling to different parts of the state to tell tales, sing songs and engage children and adults alike in the delightful world of stories. A favorite this summer has been the indomitable Molly Whuppie, who in my telling is transported from Scotland to our mountains, and is one clever mountain girl. There's a bit from the story "The Well at the End of the World" mixed into my version too--all is fair in love, war and the telling of tales.

Another favorite this summer is the story of Jack and the Giant, known throughout the world of folktales as Tops and Bottoms. Again, this is an old European tale transplanted to the Appalachian mountains, and a fine story it is too.

While en route to Hamlin, my husband was engrossed in what he was seeing--places he had not seen in years, when he sometimes traveled this road. For a while, he said, he was seeing a girl who lived out there near Sumerco (pronounced Some AIR Co). She told him about a nearby church where snake-handling was part of the worship service. He wanted to see that, so one evening he and the girl walked down to the church. They went just inside the door, afraid to go any further. Sure enough, there were people dancing and holding up bibles with snakes on them. He was looking for the door as soon as he saw that, and left pretty quickly.

On our way home I suggested we drive through Kanawha State Forest. This was the former site of a CCC Camp, and I was interested in seeing it.

Oddly, though we live only 50-60 miles from this forest, I'd never been there. The road into the forest is long, narrow and winding, and lined with homes for almost the entire route. Once in the forest though---well, it's a magical, green place, and on this weekday almost deserted.

This land was once the property of the Black Band Coal Company for which Larry's father once worked (we still own some scrip from that company, and I just bought the pieces pictured below). The 10,000 acres was deeded to the state of West Virginia in the 1930's. The coal company got its name from the kind of coal mined from these hills, of a quality so high it won first place in the 1889 World's Fair.

Larry remembered many happy times in this forest. He said he would ride his bike about 10 miles over the mountains to come to the park by the back way, so he could go swimming in the pool there. He's do all kinds of work--helping people in the gardens, carrying water, bringing coal, etc--to get the money to get in. He'd leave early in the mornng and stay all day. For a boy from the coal camps, that must have been a real treat. I admit to being a bit jealous because even though I was raised in town, I do not recall even one time going to a public pool.  He also recalled once coming to the park for a picnic with his brother, sisters and mother. His father, he said, would never go on an outing like that, although his Dad would find ways to get into the forest to gather ginseng. This wasn't allowed, of course, but for those who knew where to find it, 'sang was a good source of money and when times were hard a man did what he had to do.

A small enclosure caught our attention, and we were both surprised to find ti contained an old family graveyard, for the Shrewsbury family who were early settlers in the area, owning over 4000 acres here. The area is still called Shrewsbury Hollow.

Although there is no readable stone to mark his grave, Find-a-Grave gives the following information about John C. Shrewsbury:

"John C. Shrewsbury was born in Bedford County, Virginia, and at the age of nineteen came alone to Kanawha, settling about ten miles from Charleston. Three of his uncles, named Joel, Samuel, and John, preceded him and engaged in the manufacture of salt above Charleston. He engaged with them as wood-chopper for the furnaces, and later he learned to manufacture barrels which were used by the firm. Afterward, he manufactured salt on his own capital in the same neighborhood. About 1837 he went to Missouri, but returned in 1840. and resumed salt making, which he kept up until 1846. In that year, he settled on a 4,000 acre tract of land about six miles west of Charleston on Davis Creek, where he resided until his death in 1878. He was married in Kanawha County about 1828, to Elizabeth Farley of Virginia. Her ancestors were Virginians who settled in Kentucky in an early day. The marriage of this couple resulted in the birth of the following children: Dabney, Columbus, John, George, Hutson, Samuel, and Elizabeth."
From "History of the Great Kanawha Valley With Family History and Biographical Sketches”, Published 1891 Brant, Fuller & Co.Madison Wisconsin.

Their son Columbus eventually settled just north of my county, in Pleasants county, WV and was an oil and gas driller.

The Civilian Conservation Corps memorial:

We left the park by the back way, over a very steep mountain on a gravel road. The beauty and the sheerness of the mountains were both breath-taking, a reminder that such beauty and wildness could exist just a few miles away from the city of Charleston.

The view was marred in some places by a giant mountaintop removal coal mine, a sad sight to see.

In the distance you can see the destroyed mountain, which will be much more visible in winter. The road below in the photo is the same one we were on, just further down. It snaked back and forth across the face of these steep hills for many miles.

We emerged in the small community of Hernshaw, and as we drove through Larry pointed to a garage and said, "That's where we used to buy dynamite." I don't know about you, but dynamite played no role in my childhood memories. But for Larry, it was all part of living in the coalfields.

It was truly the long way home, but I am glad we took the time. I'd like to go back in the fall; the colors will be glorious, and perhaps a bit more of the views will open up as the leaves fall.

We'll be back over some of the same route tomorrow, and I am hoping to get more photos to share. Til then!



Copyright Susanna Holstein. All rights reserved. No Republication or Redistribution Allowed without attribution to Susanna Holstein.

Catching Up: Birds, Knees and Gardens

It's been a busy time since we got home last Wednesday. Spring really burst upon the scene while we were gone, or so it seemed. Everything is in bloom and greening up.

Larry is healing nicely from his knee replacement, although of course there's still a long road to go. Today he was able to graduate from using the walker to using a cane some of the time. That made him feel pretty good.

The days have been a whirlwind of exercises, icing, visits from the home health people, the arrival of his EZ Stretch machine, more exercises, more icing and so on. He's had a few visitors and that has helped him not be too bored. His appetite is back, the swelling came and has subsided some, and he gets good reports from the visiting nurse and physical therapist.

He is a good patient--he doesn't complain at all, and willingly does his exercises and icing. The only problem I've had with him--and I expected this--is that he wants to push ahead too fast. Yesterday I found him out in the very cluttered workroom, rummaging for tools to do some small thing he had on his mind. It was tough going to convince him that it wasn't a good idea to be out there!

Taking care of him keeps me plenty busy, but in a good way. I have different chores to do, for sure, but I'm enjoying it. Last summer I kind of complained that he'd shut me out of the gardens--this year, they're all mine! Which is not all that good since I can't run equipment. But I can plant and hoe, and I've got some things in the ground--a few tomato, cabbage and pepper plants, onion sets and beet and carrot seeds. A good neighbor came over and worked up the ground so tomorrow I'll go get more seeds and plants. It may end up a weedy mess, but we'll get something out of it for sure.

The hens are confused--they miss their man! They are slowly getting used to me, though. I changed the waterer to a different one, fixed a few holes in the fence where one renegade keeps getting out, and I'm training them to recognize the sound of sunflower seeds rattling in a bucket--my ploy to get the renegade and any of her cohorts back into the pen. This evening I began cleaning out the bedding--apparently a job Larry does not like because he hasn't done it in a l-o-n-g time. It will be slow going but I hope to get it all cleaned out eventually and new hay or straw put down for them.

I also straightened up the shed where Larry feeds the dogs and cats. He is not like me, who likes organized chaos. Everything was piled willy-nilly in there--now it's at least in straight rows. We have completely different ways when it comes to things like this. I want things placed so it looks like I care about it; he just tosses it in there however and moves on. But somehow we both get done the things that need to be done, and that's all that matters in the end.

My flamethrower (Granny's Firestick) got a workout this weekend when it rained--I was able to know back a lot of weeds! I love that tool, but have to be really careful using it. For weed control without poisons, though, it's the berries.

There are many things I need to deal with in the coming days, like spray for the carpenter bees, weed-eat around the gardens (ordered a new battery-powered weedeater that I will be able to handle), continue to get after weeds with my firestick, plant, weed, etc. But all will get done, or not. I'm not stressing over it, just doing what I can when I can. One of our sons will be over soon to cut the grass, and that will be awesome.

In the meantime, I'm enjoying time at home--time to cook, clean, and take care of little things I've been putting off. Even getting a few things listed on ebay, and especially spending plenty of time on the porch watching the birds, deer and squirrels. The migratory birds continue to arrive and it's such a pleasure to see them. Here's a few recent arrivals:

We saw the female summer tanager first, a surprising bird all green and yellow, not a common color combination here! Then this afternoon I spotted the male.

The Baltimore Orioles are still hanging around. They drained this hummingbird feeder overnight.

I saw the first rose-breasted grosbeaks yesterday; we don't get them every year, so they're a real treat.

He and the red-bellied woodpecker seemed to be having a power struggle over the feeder.

I realized today that we have many birds with red on them somewhere:
Cardinals
Ruby-throated Hummingbirds
Summer Tanagers
Scarlet Tanagers
Red-bellied woodpeckers
Downy Woodpeckers
Rose-breasted grosbeaks
Pileated woodpeckers
..and probably others I'm not thinking of right off.

That's a quick update on what we've been up to. Maybe now that we have a sort-of routine established, I can get back to regular blogging.

Copyright Susanna Holstein. All rights reserved. No Republication or Redistribution Allowed without attribution to Susanna Holstein.

Porch Conversation

Larry and I were talking on the porch the other morning as we drank our coffee. These morning conversations take circuitous routes, starting with the hummingbirds, moving on to the dogs and the cats to what is wrong with the riding mower to what canning needs to be done. This particular morning the conversation included some political talk too, as we discussed how the President's pastor seemed to be advocating for a nuclear attack on Korea, and how religion has in some cases been so twisted and so far from what it should be--or what it should be in our view anyway.

This led to talking about praying. For those of you on Facebook, you know how many prayer requests come on any given day. Some for terrible, serious events in our friends' lives, others for what seem to be pretty trivial reasons, still others so vague that no one really knows what they've been asked to pray for.

I remember as a child we said the rosary in our very Catholic home almost every night for years. The custom pretty much ended when Mom began working evenings. I guess Dad didn't have the heart to continue it without her, although he did try. By then my older brothers were working and seldom came home after school, often rolling in late at night; the times were changing and everyone seemed to be on the go. I moved out when I was seventeen, and I do not know if the rosary was continued after that for the rest of the family or not. But when my parents were elderly they joined several prayer warrior groups, and prayed a lot, both morning and evening, for long lists of people. They also said the rosary every night as part of their prayer rituals.

After Mom's death, I would call my father every evening and say the rosary over the phone with him. I had long ceased going to church and the words were rusty and strange at first, but as the months passed I got better at it, even remembering the various mysteries. Those were tranquil times; Dad and I would talk a long time both before and after the rosary and I got to know my father better than I ever had. We were complete political opposites but that didn't matter. I did not argue with him about his views, because what would be the point? He was 83 years old and not likely to change; arguing would have only upset him and that was the last thing I wanted to do, as he was dealing bravely with the grief of losing his love of 61 years. The last time I talked to him, the evening before he died, we'd said the rosary, and as one of my intentions, he asked me to pray for him, something he'd never asked for before. I should have realized that he know he was close to death. I treasure the memory of those evening phone calls.

As Larry and I talked that morning, our conversation moved on to those calls with my Dad, and how being religious or spiritual doesn't necessarily mean going to a church, it can happen anywhere. Then Larry said, "I remember one neighbor, well he and another man would go out in the middle of the road and pray."

"What?" I asked. "In the middle of the road? Literally in the middle of the road?"

"Yes, they'd kneel right down in the road and pray sometimes. I don't know why, but I remember seeing them do it. No one seemed to think a thing about it."

Vincent Van Gogh, Man Praying, 1883.

I try to envision these two men, both coalminers, probably wearing bib overalls, on their knees in the road praying out loud, and the neighbors just passing by with a nod, and maybe a word or two. Why would they pray like that? What were they praying for?

One of the men, Larry said, had a large family, 11 or 12 children. They lived in a house with a dirt floor, although in earlier years they'd had a big house with lots of windows. He didn't know what had happened that made them move to the small, dirt-floored house. Maybe an injury in the mines; the man couldn't work, so he wouldn't get paid and there was no disability or worker's comp pay back then. Maybe the mines had shut down for a while, putting the man out of work. So many things could happen in the days before the social safety net was in place. Larry said the man's wife had the biggest, widest feet he'd ever seen, and that her feet were so tough she could have walked on hot coals and not felt the burn.

Another thing he remembered--the man was hard on his family, and drank a bit. His wife left him a few times but she had to come back because she had no skills beyond housework and cooking and couldn't survive on her own. And then there was all those children who needed her. Despite her husband's temper, she would return. Maybe this was why his friend took him out to the middle of the road to pray?

I will never know the answer to that question, but this story, like so many of Larry's memories, tells certainly recalls a time and place, where life was hard, the people harder, and where the power of prayer was probably called upon regularly to help them get through troubled times.


Copyright Susanna Holstein. All rights reserved. No Republication or Redistribution Allowed without attribution to Susanna Holstein.

Talking with my Husband

I think I am blessed to in a marriage where we truly enjoy talking to each other. When I retired I wondered if we'd ever get bored with each other's company, and I am happy to report that so far that has not been the case.

The best thing about my husband, besides his sense of humor and his willingness to make breakfast most mornings, is his stories. He has such a good memory, and his childhood was so different from mine that I am endlessly fascinated and amazed by the stories he tells me.

Take this morning. There we were on the porch, both of us very tired from a busy, busy weekend. He'd gone with me Saturday to the Inland Waterways Festival where I was telling stories, then helped me re-stock our booths at the Antique Mall of Marietta before we took the evening sternwheeler cruise. We were late getting home; it was almost midnight before we got to bed. We were up early again Sunday, me to return to the festival for one more performance, and Larry to go with our son to pick up a hog we'd bought. I bought groceries on the way home so I was a tired puppy when I got here; he'd worked outside, got the hog, and had it in a trailer behind the truck, ready to go to the slaughterhouse.

This morning he was up and out early to deliver the hog (hams, bacons and more on the way soon!). I did pick-up-tidy-up, as the house got pretty cluttered as we ran in and out. Then we sat down with our coffee to watch the rain and talk.

The conversation turned to the eastern timber rattlesnake that had been killed a few miles away. As far as I know it's the first one sighted in our area in about 40 years; the last one was killed about a half mile from our home by a neighbor, in the 1970's. (I am not a fan of killing snakes unless they're threatening me or someone else, and in both of these instances that was the case.)

Larry hates snakes; where he grew up there were many, many copperheads. The area was rocky, with steep hills and plenty of forest. There were abandoned mines and slag piles at mine sites. The slag piles hold heat, and the snakes love a warm rock.

"I remember once I was out in the woods," he said this morning, " and I passed an abandoned mine. It was all caved in inside,and I could hear them, moving around in there. Rattlers, moving and shaking their rattles."

His words painted an instant, vivid image in my mind. Big snakes, in the half-light that filtered in through the brush-covered opening, coiling around and between the fallen stones, eyes glowing...it gave me chill bumps.

from NY Dept of Environmental Conversation's

website.

This story reminded me of the tale of the man who would go up on the mountain every evening to practice his fiddle and drink because it annoyed people when he played. One day a rattlesnake slithered out from under a rock. It scared the man but he continued to play, and the snake started swaying to the music. The snake eventually left when the man stopped playing.

The man returned day after day, and more and more snakes came out to listen, swaying to the music. His playing improved; people down below began to comment on how good he sounded up there, the notes echoing off the cliffs.

One night maybe the man drank too much; maybe he stumbled and accidentally stepped on one of the snakes. Maybe that's what caused the snakes to turn on him, because when he didn't return the next morning and they went looking for him, they found him on the mountain, his fiddle still in his hand, covered in snake bites.

Talk about chill bumps! I have heard that this supposedly happened in West Virginia, but most people claim it happened at Fiddler's Rock, Tennessee. You can read that version on The Moonlit Road's site.

The other morning we were talking about Larry's elderly cousin, who can no longer drive and lives in a fairly remote place in the coalfields. Most of  the men in Larry's family were coal miners, so I assumed this cousin was as well.

"No," Larry said, "he never worked in the mines. He was a gravedigger."

"All his life??" I was amazed. I guess I knew someone had to do that job, but never gave it much thought.

"Yes, I guess he retired from it. He was digging graves back when they dug them by hand."

Now I need to talk to this cousin again. I can just imagine the stories he might have to tell.

And that reminded me of this photo, found in my grandmother's scrapbook. The scrapbook contained photos from around 1915 until 1925, as best I can tell. Who is this, where was she, what was this place? Although there is writing on the back, it's illegible so we'll never know. But oh, the stories one could spin around this image.

All of Larry's stories do not spark such dark thoughts! His tales of childhood escapades, like telling everyone he had been bear-hunting and almost caught a giant bear, or stories of hiding in the outhouse, about his pet crow and so many others are hilarious and make my tame townie childhood pale in comparison. I don't think this man will ever bore me.


Copyright Susanna Holstein. All rights reserved. No Republication or Redistribution Allowed without attribution to Susanna Holstein.

Feels Like Spring; A Catch-Up Post

It's unseasonably warm--again--for this time of year. So warm that we had our morning tea and coffee on the porch, and have the front door open to let the house air out.

(No pics today; my camera is still in Marietta.)

The bees are out and looking for food so we've opened some jars of really old grape jelly (I don't like it and we never use it--why do I make it?) and mixed it with some water for them to take to the hive. All hives are still doing well, so my fingers are crossed that they will all survive this winter.

Bulbs are pushing up too, daffodils and tulips and here and there some crocus. I have bad luck with crocus. Apparently the ground squirrels love the bulbs and so  do hand moles. Those are Larry's names for chipmunks and moles, by the way. Southern West Virginia seems to have its own lexicon; doves are rain crows, turtles are tarpins, morel mushrooms are mollymoochers, etc. We sometimes have to pause a conversation to make sure we're talking about the same thing.

We talked about planting some lettuce this morning. Some years we have had the seeds in the ground already. Lettuce, onions and radishes can grow in a hotbed even in February, so Larry might get the bed ready today if the rain holds off. We still have onions growing that we planted last fall. Fresh green onions in February is a treat for Larry. I wish I liked them but raw onions are not on my list of foods I will eat willingly.

The new chickens are laying like crazy now. These are Golden Comets and the man who raised them treated them like pets so they are very friendly and like to be petted. they lay big brown eggs and should be steady producers, unlike the older breeds that take the winters off.

Larry's feeling more spring-like himself, now that he finally got cortisone injections in his knees, a knee brace and a back brace from the VA. He's been in a lot of pain for a year. This is the worst service we've had from the VA; usually they are very quick but this has been dragging on since April. He still has pain in his neck, we think from a pinched nerve, but they have not yet addressed that. I've bought some braces, cold and hot packs that seem to help. He'll get cortisone in his back in May, I believe. A career in bricklaying is hard on a body, and he's one hard worker. So hurting like he has been has made him not a happy camper. He would still work like a horse, no slowing him down, but by night he was in misery. He got his first night of good sleep in months last night.

I have been working on cleaning out, and I'll be doing more. I've taken things out of the booths that have been around too long and aren't worth keeping, and sent them off to the thrifts. Now I am working on my eBay stockpile. The longer I am into this selling thing the more I realize that some early buys were bad ideas. Those things will be out of here and free up space for the stuff that does sell. I don't mind too much because I bought most of it at cheap prices so I'm not losing a lot of money. And I can write it off my taxes, so it's not a total loss.

Today I am back to painting. I took a break to deal with other things but I will be back to work on a variety of projects today. The booths are doing moderately well, especially for this time of year, so I am needing new items to fill the places of things on layaway or sold.

I've been writing again, working on a couple projects. More later if I still with it. I find that writing gets back-burnered when there are so many other things to do, and I am trying to change that. It's not easy!

I'm off now to have coffee on the porch--time for mid-morning break!--and then it's back to what passes for work around here.

Copyright Susanna Holstein. All rights reserved. No Republication or Redistribution Allowed without attribution to Susanna Holstein.

Why I Like Talking to My Husband

I am supposed to be the storyteller in this house, but the truth is, my husband is the real storyteller. He can tell more stories about his childhood than I can about my entire life, I swear.

Take this evening as an example. We stopped for a break after a day of working on things for our booths in the antique malls. He's been cleaning up a huge school bell, getting some pieces of picket fence and some old doors ready to go. I've been working on some small items and a dresser my son is buying.

We talk. A lot. It might sound odd since we're retired and spend a lot of time together. Sometimes days go by with no one else's company but each others. I guess we should get on each other's nerves and sometimes we do, but most of the time we're too busy. And we enjoy talking to each other.

Today as we sat talking in the kitchen, Larry mentioned that he was glad we had sold that old pot belly stove that he'd cleaned up a few weeks back. And that reminded him of a story.

Larry at the Holstein family cemetery

"There was this bar down to Olcott (the coal camp where he grew up) that had a big pot belly stove right in the middle of it, and they'd keep that thing red hot. The place had a high ceiling so they needed all that heat. They had two doors at the back. One door said MEN and the other said WOMEN. But if you tried to go through them thinking they were bathrooms, well, look out! Because they open to the outdoors and it was a five-foot drop to the ground."

A few minutes later we were discussing a big pot of beans we'd cooked for me to can. I was tired, and not feeling much like doing it and Larry said, "Well, they'll just have to go sour then." And then he remembered something else.

"That reminds me of when I was working for the City of South Charleston. We picked up the trash you know. And back then people didn't use liners in their trash cans, they just put it all in there and we had to dump it out. Pretty disgusting. There was one old guy you could count on. Every Thursday there would be a big old pile of sour pinto beans in his trash can, and it smelled, oh my God, did it smell! He'd come out and say, "Boys, I thank you for your trouble. And he'd give us a dollar bill tip. Shoot, I'd have given him two dollars not to have to empty his trash!"

Bill Holstein's grave

Larry grew up when times were hard and money was scarce in the coalfields. As our conversation continued this evening, he got to talking about his distant cousin Bill, who lived in a log cabin with his two sons, so far back in the hills most people would never have found that cabin. Talking about Bill reminded Larry of a story.

"There was a baseball field at Olcott where guys got together to play ball. People didn't have a lot of money, and a lot of the guys didn't bother to register or license their vehicles . It didn't really matter, since it wasn't like they were driving on the highways.

"Well, one day someone called the law on the guys at the ball field for some reason. Maybe they were being too rowdy or something.Anyway when they saw the cruisers, well, cars and trucks took off in all directions. One guy pulled up under a bridge and the law drove right over top of him. A Kirk boy took off for Bull Creek and a cruiser went after him. There was this big mudhole in front of Bill's house and the Kirk boy almost didn't make it through. Mud was slingin' everywhere. But he pulled out and took off up the road. The cruiser hit that mudhole and son, that was all she wrote. I never did know how they got that car out of there but it was sunk good, mud slung clear up on the roof."

So, who's the real storyteller here? I bow to the competition!

Copyright Susanna Holstein. All rights reserved. No Republication or Redistribution Allowed without attribution to Susanna Holstein.

Tomatoes, Scrub Brushes, Saucers and Childhood Memories

My husband is a source of great stories and memories. Little commonplace things will spark a tale or perhaps just a fleeting memory of something from his childhood. Growing up in the small coal camp of Olcott, on Brier Creek in southern Kanawha county, WV had its share of hardships to be sure. But it also had many golden moments.

This morning was a good example. Breakfasts these days include sliced ripe tomatoes, a summer treat we both look forward to. As Larry put tomatoes on his plate, he said "This reminds me of when I was a kid."

"How so?" I asked.

"I was too little to help, but I'd go up to the garden with Max (his older brother). I'd take the salt shaker with me and while Max was hoeing I'd sit in the garden with my shaker and eat tomatoes."

I could just picture him: a little boy with hair bleached white by the sun, wearing his bib overalls and barefoot. I can hear his steady stream of happy chatter as his brother, almost 8 years older, sweated over his hoe.

Another memory surfaced when he was putting away the band-aids. "One time my sister Mary (his twin) was sassing Mom off really bad. I think it was this time of year because I remember it being really hot. Mom was scrubbing something with one of those old wood-handled scrub brushes and she just let it fly at Mary. It caught Mary on the head and the blood flew everywhere! I told Mary, 'Don't do that! She'll kill you!' I always liked to look at the excitin' side of things." His mother must have been at her wit's end at the time, although other tales about her reveal a woman with a some fire in her who didn't take much guff.

Larry's memory sparked one of my own.It was a hot, hot day and Mom was canning something in the steamy kitchen. I stood in the door and just sassed her something awful. Mom picked up a nearby saucer and flung it through the air. I ducked and it missed me, so I called out, "Ha ha! You missed me!" Mom, pregnant as she was, chased me right through the house. Believe me, she didn't miss when she caught up with me. It's the only time I can remember my usually peaceful mother spanking me. And I knew I deserved it.

Childhood memories--they come back to us at surprising moments, don't they?

Copyright Susanna Holstein. All rights reserved. No Republication or Redistribution Allowed without attribution to Susanna Holstein.

What Else Has Been Going On in July

I am almost finished posting my Oregon photos--today I will download the ones from my phone and post those. I have been doing other things this month, really I have!

Most of what I've been doing is storytelling. July is always a big month for me with library Summer Reading programs. I hit the ground running when we returned with three programs as soon as I got home, and then followed up with six performances the following week. The gardens have managed pretty well while I've been gone so much, thanks to lots of rain (LOTS!). A small tornado passed through while we were away one weekend but fortunately missed our place by a couple miles.

Last week, though, we had a really wild time.

You see, while I was gone overnight on a storytelling trip, Larry managed to roll the riding mower and cut his fingers pretty badly. He also broke two of them. This was just before three of my sisters were coming to visit, and I still had another day of storytelling to do. His hand was a real mess--and he did it at 3:00 in the afternoon and was still cutting grass with that bloody mangled hand when I got home at 6:00! He said, "Just wrap it up and tape it, it will be fine." I about fainted looking at it, it was so bad. After some persuasion ("I'm going to call an ambulance if you don't go with me now!") he agreed to go. He slipped in the shower and blood went flying everywhere. It looked like a murder scene in there by the time I got him cleaned up and dressed.

So about 40 stitches and much bandaging later, we got home around midnight. I was up and out early the next morning for my last summer reading programs and our son Derek took Larry to the VA Clinic for follow-up. The next morning I did not like the look of his swelled-up hand, called the VA and we were off to the VA hospital a couple hours away to have it looked at again. Meantime, my sisters were on their way here. I called them, told them to make themselves at home until we could get back. Derek (who wins Best Son Prize this month!) offered to cook dinner at his house that evening. His barbecued chicken is the best I've ever eaten, and his grilled bread and veggies are excellent too. So that wild day ended on his patio with a nice fire in the firepit, good conversation and time to finally relax.

Liz looking like a movie star--
and Theresa caught in the act of dishing up some salsa!
Judy got lucky and missed out on getting snapped.

The next morning my sisters and I took off junking. We hit a good sale in town, visited my booth at the Ravenswood mall, then drove over to Pomeroy for lunch at the Wild horse. Who knew it was Blues & Brews week in Pomeroy? Lots of traffic, music and people but the Wild Horse, with its outside covered deck overlooking the river, was a perfect place to eat--and their food is awesome.

We wound up that day with a fire in our own firepit, lots of laughter and conversation. Next morning was blueberry pancakes, sausage, and breakfast on the deck, and then my sisters left for home, and my house was quiet once more.

Larry's hand is healing nicely. I've had a little time to do some cleaning of this house which has been neglected for weeks, and even got started on organizing the workshop in the new room--the room is nowhere near finished but I don't care. I desperately need a place to work besides all over the house. One day maybe we'll get it done but my need for space to paint and repair has taken priority. It's covered, it's heated, it's lighted and it will do.

I've also been working on my upcoming performances for the Inland Waterways Festival this weekend in Marietta, starting August off right with storytelling. I have found so many intriguing facts, legends and stories about the Ohio River and the areas surrounding it I will have a hard time deciding what to tell. Today I'll be whittling and honing the list, a fun task with such a wealth to work with.

That's a little bit of a catch-up. There's more of course, but that can be a later post!

Copyright Susanna Holstein. All rights reserved. No Republication or Redistribution Allowed without attribution to Susanna Holstein.

In the Pacific Northwest: The Veterans Powwow

The day of the powwow arrived. The new powwow grounds with the arbor built of trees from the reservations' timberlands was ready. 

 All was quiet when we visited the day before the powwow, but vendors were already setting up and workers were busy getting everything set up. The center pole was stunning; the wires will support an awning that can be used when the weather is very hot, or if it is raining. It was not needed for this inaugural event in the new facility.

The entranceway, with Larry checking it out.

Junior Miss Grand Ronde Ayanna, Reyn's niece, with other family members.

Reyn making a welcoming speech.

Ready to begin! These photos are a composite of Friday night and Saturday events, followed by a video of Saturday's grand entrance.

The eagle staff was stunning.

Larry marching with the other veterans. I think those guys enjoyed this!

Dancers followed the veterans.

Larry and Reyn. Ayanna is dancing in the above photo.

Posing with royalty:

 Grass dancers enter the arena. These are dancers in the prairie tradition, as I understand it. Very colorful, with intricate moves.

And then the Grand Entrance! This video is 7 minutes long and really captures the excitement of the powwow.

Copyright Susanna Holstein. All rights reserved. No Republication or Redistribution Allowed without attribution to Susanna Holstein.