Archive | May 2024

Hooked and Cooked

May29

Once supper was over, I washed the dishes and cleaned the kitchen. My husband Arnie left the house once he finished eating. From the window over the sink, I spotted him walking into the shed where he kept his boat. Golden evening sunshine streaming into the dining room and living room windows made me feel happy and content. I loved the longer, warmer days of spring. I was reaching into one of the cabinets to put away kettles when I heard the back door slam. Arnie walked into the living room.

Having finished my evening chores, I strolled through the dining room, sniffing appreciatively. The scent of our delicious supper still lingered in the air. We’d had one of Arnie’s favorite meals; potatoes, pan fried in my trusty old cast iron skillet, kielbasa, and Van Camps pork n’ beans. I came to a sudden halt when I reached the living room. My husband was sitting on the sofa. He had his fishing tackle box on a small tv table in front of him and was sorting through the fishing supplies.

 I exclaimed, “Arnie, what in the world are you doing? And why would you do that in the living room?”

My husband defensively replied, “I’m going fishing on Saturday, and my tackle box needs to be cleaned and put in order. I thought I’d do the job here so I can watch television as I work.”

Dropping into a chair across from the sofa, I warned, “You’re going to be in big trouble if you drop a fishhook in the carpet and I end up stepping on it.”

Arnie promised, “I’ll be careful.”

The next day I cleaned the house and vacuumed the living room in preparation for having my daughter Tammie home from college for the weekend. Figuring she’d arrive late Friday afternoon since she was hitching a ride with a friend, I decided to run a few errands after work before going home.

I heard Tammie screaming the minute I unlocked the back door. Rushing into the living room, I found her laying on her belly in the middle of the carpet. “Help me!” she demanded. My mouth dropped open in amazement. A fishhook from Arnie’s tackle box was tangled in the carpeting. Its sharply hooked end had completely gone through one of my daughter’s finger pads, effectively preventing her from being able to get up to call for help.

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Learning to let Go

May22

I thought, “I’m going to do it. It’s dangerous, but I probably won’t die… Probably? Anyway, I hope I don’t die.” Pulling myself up out of the sandy bottomed shore water, I slowly followed my brother Billy to the other side of the park picnic area. I felt like I was carelessly stepping out onto a wobbly, dangerous ledge.

Being the coddled youngest child of our family, I felt fearful to try new things. At seventeen years of age, I became fully aware that in one short year I’d graduate from high school and would need to find a job. I recognized that my fears and inhibitions could prevent me from living a normal, functional life if I allowed them to. I resolved to grow up brave and strong because the one thing I desperately wanted was to experience being independent, to get married, and to have children.

After Mass earlier in the day, Mom made lunch for a Sunday picnic at the Eau Pleine park. Using her old crank grinder, she ground a large chunk of bologna and several of her dill pickles into a mixing bowl. Then, after stirring a large dollop of Miracle Whip into this mixture, she generously spread it on slices of bread for sandwiches. Cookies made yesterday were packed in the cooler, along with potato chips, a watermelon, several bottles of Marshfield brewery beer and a jug of green Kool-Aid.

            After enjoying our meal together at a park table, several of my siblings went boating and water skiing. Mom and Daddy sat under the shade trees to visit with other folks their age. I put on a life jacket and wandered to the beach. I knew there was a sudden drop-off further out in the water but wasn’t sure where it was. Earlier in the summer I had taught myself to dog paddle, but I wasn’t sure that I could do it well enough to save my life if I got in too deep.

Playing in the cool water felt wonderful. Confident that the life jacket would hold me up, I practiced different swim strokes. When I was tired, I sat in waist deep water to rest. That was when my brother Billy came to the beach and yelled, “Kathy, come on! You’ve got to try getting up on water skis!”

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Sunny Day Ark

May15

Mom looked over her shoulder at me and chided, “It’s about time you got up.” The fresh batch of dough she placed into a pot of hot oil sizzled. I sniffed appreciatively, knowing by the sweet smell in the air, Mom had already rolled some hot doughnuts in cinnamon sugar.

Plopping down on one of the chrome and red vinyl chairs at the kitchen table, I protested, “I’ve been awake. I just didn’t want to get out of bed.” A big flash of lightning made me jump and a roll of thunder rattled the farmhouse. Sheets of rain pounded against the window over the sink. I grumbled, “I should have stayed in bed.”

Handing me a freshly sugared doughnut, Mom suggested, “Drink a glass of goat milk with this.” Turning back toward the stove to watch the doughnuts brown in the hot oil, she complained, “You never want to go to bed, or take a bath when I tell you to. When you finally get to bed or into the bathtub, when it’s time to get up or to get out of the water, you want to stay where you are.”

Taking the bottle of goat milk from the refrigerator, I admitted that Mom was right. “When I’m supposed to go to bed, I’m never tired. In the mornings I feel cozy and sleepy. Before a bath, I dread feeling cold and uncomfortable when it’s time for me to get out and get dressed.” At ten-years-of age, Mom expected me to be a little more independent than I was.

Finishing my breakfast, I put the empty milk glass next to the sink, and questioned, “Is Casper going to start building his boat in the old house today, despite the rain?”

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Nibbles

May8

At the top end of the garden, I looked down and exclaimed, “Oh no!”

My sister Agnes, who was walking a few steps behind me, questioned, “What’s wrong?” 

Feeling exasperated, I sputtered, “Nibbles, nibbles, everywhere I look, I see nibbles taken out of plants that aren’t surrounded by a fence!”

Familiar with my Elmer Fudd-like hatred for rabbits, my sister glanced around at my mostly barren garden, she asked, “What did those naughty rabbits even find to eat?

 Pointing to a row of fresh, green onions tops directly in front of us, I explained, “Last fall I didn’t bother taking in the onions because they were too small. The coldest temperatures of this mild winter didn’t kill them. During this past month, as the weather became warmer, I noticed that they started to grow again. Since I don’t plan to till my garden for another month, I thought I’d let them grow. I like the idea that maybe they could possibly give me an early, worthwhile onion harvest.”

Leaning down to make a closer inspection of the freshly chewed bulb tops, Agnes commented, “Wow, I didn’t think rabbits would bother onions, but they clearly chewed on several.”

Sighing, I suggested, “Let’s finish our walk. There’s nothing I can do about the rabbits right now.”

My favorite thing to do in April is taking what I like to call ‘bud-check walks’. So, when Agnes arrived for a visit, I invited her to join me. Bud-check walks require close inspections of all flowerbeds, shrubs, trees, and bushes. Early in the spring it is impossible to see if life has returned when looking from a window. But close-up, I get to see the first green sprouts pushing up from under wood chip mulch, and the tiny swelling of tightly furled leaves on the tips of trees and bushes. Some plants send up life at the first hint of spring, while others wait to make sure spring has really sprung.

Two winters ago, the rabbits in my yard spent the winter nibbling away all chances of my having any blueberries. So now my five blueberry bushes have a fence around them, too. Then, last winter, rabbits completely girdled the fire bushes below my office window. I expected them to all die. Much to my surprise, although I had to cut off several lifeless branches, the shrubs survived. To prevent that from happening again, last fall I put up fencing to keep rabbits from being able to sit near their trunks where they can nibble the bushes to death.

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The Plum Grove

May1

Flowerbeds in the yard had been flattened by heavy snow drifts during the winter and were now bleak and washed out from the recent heavy run-off when the ice melted. Apple trees in the orchard were naked, with gnarled branches reaching in every direction. A cool breeze swirled around me. It carried the scent of the nearby barn and the sound of a calf bawling and the mother’s long-winded answering moo.

All my siblings were at school. Next year, I would be attending school, too. Today, for the first time in my life, Mom was allowing me to wander around our farmyard by myself. Not sure what to do or where to go without having my sisters or brothers to shadow, I glanced around. I spotted Mom peering out of the kitchen window, checking on me.

I loved the cows, calves, and even the smell of the barn. They all reminded me of happy times I’d spent with Daddy following him around as he did his daytime chores. However, Mom said I couldn’t be in there today, though. It would be too dangerous. Daddy had to let the bull out of his pen. I shuddered, thinking about the huge, nose-ringed monster being on the loose. I once stood close to his pen, and he snorted and bellowed, acting as though he wanted to break down the bars to get at me.

Walking away from the farmhouse toward the garage, I spotted an intriguing sight. Just beyond the garage was a small grove of wild plums. Despite the dreary day and all the other bare-limbed trees, these had limbs tipped with clusters of small white flowers. As I got closer, the swirling spring breeze carried their sweet, spicy perfume to me.

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