Deer Hunting

I have just returned from another visit to my daughter in Iowa. We tend to hurry and get in as many visits as we can before it begins to snow. For a country girl from the south the snows of Iowa are more than a little intimidating.

This trip coincided with the beginning of deer season. Now I grew up with hunting seasons in Kentucky so the rush to the woods at the beginning of deer season wasn't anything really new to me. However, deer hunting in Iowa is a little different. For one thing all the rules favor the deer. Most of the season is strictly for bow hunting. After a week or so of bow hunting there is a week that you can hunt with a shotgun and slugs. Then back to bow hunting. In Kentucky you hunt with rifles that could bring down a buck two counties away but with a shotgun you have to be close enough for "howdy-do's" before you shoot. To make it more challenging you have the sparsity of cover in Iowa. They have lots of open, flat cornfields but relatively few wooded areas. It's hard to hide and sneak up on a deer in a picked corn field. They also limit the number of hunters by making it a lottery to get a permit. In short, the deer are definitely given the edge.

You'd think that this was because they needed to protect a limited population of deer. Far from it! The truth is that there are deer everywhere. Lots of grain and wide open spaces have created a haven for deer. We never left the house that we didn't see deer...in fields, crossing the roads, in the yards in town, behind the school, walking down the road. Driving becomes a defensive art to keep from hitting the deer as they wander back and forth. In fact, we looked up from breakfast one morning to see an eight-point buck leisurely walk by the window on his way to the woods across the road.

It seems the only people not seeing deer were the hunters.

Daddy's Cooking

I come from a long line of people that just like to cook. Even the men in my family could be found pottering around the kitchen whenever they had free time. In fact I have one cousin who carried this on to becoming a chef. Most of us just became ordinary cooks or in today's vernacular, foodies.

My grandmother was a creative cook who loved her sweets. From her I learned early on to appreciate puff pastries wrapped around delectable fillings, rich pies with fluffy meringue, tall cakes with gooey fillings between the layers, and cookies of all shapes and sizes for small hands. My mother, with her artistic leanings, created beautiful food with elegant presentations. She was the one who would think of sugared grapes to accent a salad, chocolate curls atop a delicate cake, or whimsical cut-outs gracing the pie crust top of the apple pie. My aunt was the party planner. She always was thinking of what tastes would compliment each other, which dishes would look attractive together, the balance of hot and cold, sweet and sour, heavy and light, and the total presentation.

However, it was my dad's cooking that was the most fun. He cooked for the shear joy of eating it. It would all start with an idea of what would taste good to him that day or maybe a recipe he just happened to see, or even a dish mentioned in a book he was reading. He would head for the kitchen and mother would head for the couch. If he was cooking it was best to just leave him to it. Daddy never did his cooking in moderation. If he felt like homemade bread, he might make six loaves. If he was making soup, he would make a vat full. So it was best just to get out of his way and let him cook.

One day he decided, since he had an abundance of rabbits that had until recently been raiding his garden, that he wanted to try hasenpfeffer, a German dish made with rabbit. Out come the cookbooks and soon the table is covered with books as he hunts for a recipe that fits his needs (and the supplies on hand). He settled in for an afternoon of culinary adventure. I decided this might take a while so I begged a ride to the local movie theater for the Sunday afternoon show.

After the movie was over my dad showed up to give us a ride home. There were about six of us that usually met at the movie and got a ride home with whichever parent showed up to get us. With a wave of his arm he ordered us all into the car. "Are you hungry?" he questioned. We all grinned and chorused "Yes, sir!!". Hey, we were teens, we were always hungry, especially the boys. With that he drove us home. The six of us fell in on that "stew" with a will. It was delicious, a heavenly blend of flavors I remember to this day. We soon had licked the last from our plates. I'm reasonably sure none had ever eaten hasenpfeffer before and probably not a lot of rabbit. They may not have even figured it out, but they didn't let that stop them from enjoying every morsel.

No wonder I had so many friends!

Report Card

My daughter attended her first parent-teacher conference today with her little girl's kindergarten teacher. She arrived home with a neatly printed assessment of her daughter's potential and achievement (a report card to us old timers). Not surprisingly, most of the marks showed she was above average and thoroughly enjoying school. However, one criteria caused the teacher to point out that she could certainly use some improvement in "talking too much". My daughter was much concerned. I figured that she is a product of her genes. After all her grandmother had this note on all her report cards from kindergarten on. I'm sure if there had been a place to report it in college I would have gotten it there, too. I once had a colleague comment that she had never known anyone who loved words more than I did. I guess that's a nice way of saying I never outgrew "talking too much"!

This little girl is definitely a chip off the old block. When she was just a baby she would babble on indefinitely. The difference from her babbling and others is that she managed to babble in paragraphs with complete punctuation. You actually felt like you were listening to a long story in some foreign language. My daughter swore she was talking in Chinese. Of course, she was surrounded by family that loved to tell a good story and did so on the drop of a hat. Soon she was following suit, rattling off long sentences of blab and gooble, often punctuated with pauses, emphasis, and exclamations. Then she would end the story by slapping her knee and laughing to beat the band. Don't tell me she wasn't sharing a really good, funny story!

Her parents have never talked down to their children, explaining complicated ideas carefully and simply. This has caused her to recognize and use unusual words for small children. We once overheard her using the term "populations". This one threw us since we couldn't figure out what she was referring to. Then her daddy explained that it was a term he used in talking about the amount of seed that you use to plant a corn field. Shows that sometimes grandparents aren't as smart as they think they are.

She was somewhere between two and three when she astounded my hubby and I when she interrupted a discussion we were having by announcing that we needed to "compromise". He turned to her in amazement and asked, "Just what do you mean by that". She looked him straight in the eye and said, "It means that you have to give a little and grandma has to give a little".

I think we could use her in Washington.

Harvest

As far as the eye can see are fields and fields of corn. Dotted through this landscape are the reds, greens, and occasional blues of combines, tractors and huge trucks. It's harvest time in the heartland. To a country girl raised in the rolling hills of Kentucky (translate-not much land that will grow crops) this is fascinating stuff. The huge combines lumber through the rows of corn until they fill with the golden grains. Then they load up the big semi-trailers and it is hauled to the scales to be weighed and unloaded for storage. It's an all day and sometimes late night job until the weather breaks or the harvest is finished.

Occasionally you will see a combine stopped in the field surrounded by a cluster of pick-up trucks. That usually means trouble. Every farmer keeps a vehicle loaded with tools, parts, oils, and various other supplies ready to run from field to field in the event that there is a break down. Farmers become masters at taking equipment apart and repairing it in the field. They have to, time is literally money when you are rushing to beat the weather.

It's the farm wives who carry the heaviest load during all of this. They not only have to continue with their usual chores of getting kids up and off to school, washing, cleaning, cooking, housework--you know the usual routine. Now however are added all the chores that the hubby can't get to. For some that is feeding and checking cows, picking up supplies, getting replacement parts, finding equipment repair books. calling manufacturers for parts, paying bills, and in short, keeping the rest of the farming operation running. Also, added to the routine, are the lunches and suppers that are served in the fields. The fields are too big and too far apart to make stopping and coming in for meals a possibility, so every farm wife becomes a master at packing and delivering hot meals in out of the way places.

Like one wife said, "It's like being a widow for about two months, except you have this dirty, tired, grumpy man that wanders through at odd hours for a hot shower and a little sleep--during which time the world is supposed to stop so he isn't disturbed."

This has been a good harvest year and they will soon be finished in the fields. The weather has been unusually warm and dry, so there haven't been a lot of down days. The harvest will be done in time for a special Thanksgiving (sometimes they are still struggling at Christmas!).

The Adventure

I have spent the day traveling through nature's fall extravaganza in the heartland. As I have driven through Indiana and Illinois on my way to visit my daughter in Iowa, I have been visually overwhelmed with the beauty of the fall landscape. Everywhere I have looked have been fields of tan corn, the reds of flaming maples, the golds of fall flowers and highlighted here and there have been picturesque red barns against soft green fields. The only problem has been that you can't stop and take pictures on an interstate!

It takes me eleven hours to drive to my daughters and I have come to look on these trips as a special get away time for me. It's not often that I take out across the country completely on my own. Since my marriage 43 years ago, I have made most of my trips accompanied either by my husband or children. Actually, when you have family it's hard to do about anything by yourself. So this is an adventure for me. I get to stop when I need to, even if it is only twenty minutes after the last stop. If I want a frappe from McDonald's I can just stop and get it! I quit driving early enough to explore the small mall in Galesburg. Then I ordered out from Applebee's and ate watching something besides football!!!! See, it's an adventure.

This trip is a special time of "girl bonding" with my daughter. Tomorrow we will take her girls to gymnastics then the four of us will have a "girl" dinner together--probably at McDonald's. Then after a couple of days of visiting, my daughter and I are heading for Chicago for the clothing Market to purchase spring merchandise for her children's store. I can't believe how much I am looking forward to the trip. Chicago is such fun and watching your daughter function as a polished and confident buyer at market is wonderful! (My job is to carry her stuff around and take pictures of clothes so she can match tights and accessories.)

In short, if you don't hear from me for a few days, it's because I am busy having an adventure!

Fall Canoe Trip

It's a beautiful fall day in Kentucky. The temperature is about 76 degrees with a cool breeze and lots of sunshine. It's what I call a hot fudge sundae day. Warm sunshine with a cool breeze. The leaves are turning, creating a visual feast of yellows, greens, reds, oranges, browns, golds and tans, spread out over the hills.

Hubby just ran through the house to tell me that he was going with our son to move his truck. Huh? Translate please. It seems that the boys are going to take a canoe to one spot and float down the river to another spot. Hubby is going to move a truck to the getting out spot, so they will have transportation home. It's a wonderful way to spend the afternoon, lazily floating down the river enjoying the peace and quiet. With no outside noises you can hear the calls of the birds, see the fish jump, and maybe even catch a deer coming to the river for a drink.

However, the last time we were involved in a canoe trip it was a little different. My son's best friend, and owner of the canoe, decided to take his girl friend on a Sunday afternoon canoe ride. He loaded up the canoe,with a picnic lunch, a couple of bottles of wine and his fishing pole and off they went. The afternoon was perfect and romantic. They drifted down the river, ate lunch on the river bank, napped a little and then canoed a little further. The afternoon progressed and the girlfriend was getting a little sunburned, the shadows were beginning to lengthen and the air was getting a little cooler. Questions of "how much further" were met with "just a little further until we get to the place to get out."

It seems they had entered the river at a place described by a friend with instructions on how far to float down and where to get out. Unfortunately either the directions were a little skimpy or the navigation was a little off because they couldn't find the spot they were to leave the river. It was late afternoon when we got the call. "Hey, could you come and get us?' "Sure, where are you?" "Well, that's a little tricky. Do you have a map?" I was pretty sure at this point we were in trouble. "Check on the map down river from this point, where we put in. We're beside a road and a bridge and we've passed two or three bridges. I think we might be in the next county." Now I knew we were in trouble.

It took 30 minutes, a call to the local game warden (who had been down most of the rivers), another call to the friend who gave them directions but we finally figured out where they were....sort of. Off hubby went to collect the explorers and bring them home.

I sure hope they took a map and a compass this time.

Benevolant Dictatorship

We were old fashioned parents. I don't think the children of today would approve of the methods that we used in our parenting. I think my son said it best when he announced he was raised in a "benevolent dictatorship". There wasn't much doubt in our house that dad was the captain of the ship and mom was first mate. While we didn't really make them walk the plank, they were never sure we wouldn't if we could find enough water and a plank!

We loved our children but we weren't always loving to them. We felt our first responsibility was to teach our children how to be responsible adults. That meant that sometimes they had to learn that in society there are rules and they have to be followed or there were consequences. Sometimes the consequences were punishments that involved loss of freedoms or treats. Sometimes it was more immediate and physical.

Did we hit our children? Yes, but not in anger as an outlet for our frustrations. Sometimes the lesson to be learned has to be immediate and unforgettable. You cannot reason with a two year old about the dangers of crossing the street. However, he will remember to ask if an impression of consequences (a swat on the bottom) is in his mind. It's a lesson that cannot be taught gradually. One dash into the street could mean a fatality.

Children are all different. My daughter could be brought to tears and remorse with a stern lecture. She still to this day says that I "beat her to death with my lips"! Some children don't hear you at all until you physically touch them. In our house, mom didn't appeal to your better nature, she issued ultimatums. Were my kids perfect, hardly. Was I a perfect parent, only in my dreams. However, we did manage to raise two responsible, accountable adults who are doing a pretty good job of raising their children.

I remember one event that made a lasting impression on my son and became a family legend. I had come home from work and frantically cooked dinner. A challenge every working mom faces, to get a hot meal on the table before the kids have driven her crazy complaining of starving. I filled the plates and set them on the table. It had been a long, stressful day and the kids were being particularly skilled at getting on my last nerve. My son, with the total disregard for self-preservation that only a 7 year old can show, curled his lip in distaste and whined, "Wha-at is this? YUK!"

Something in me snapped! To the amazement of my husband and daughter I snatched up his plate and snarled, "You don't have to worry about what it is because you don't have to eat it!" With that I marched to the garbage can and scraped his plate into it. Husband, son, and daughter sat in stunned silence. They looked at me in total astonishment as I calmly sat down and began to eat my dinner. It was not my finest hour, but I did get my point across. (My husband confessed later that he snuck a plate of food for my son, so he didn't starve.)

Years later we were sitting down to dinner with one of my son's friends. As the food was passed around the table the friend was heard to mutter, "What is this stuff?" My son shot back, "Don't ask, just eat. She'll scrape your plate in a heartbeat!" The friend looked at us like we were lunatics as we all burst out laughing.

Thank You God

It is amazing how quickly your life can go from carefree to terror stricken.


On Thursday our daughter-in-law received the call you pray you will never receive. "Come quickly. The baby has stopped breathing. I've called the ambulance." My son and wife arrived in minutes, before even the ambulance, to see the sitter holding the limp, lifeless form of their 3 month old daughter. She was breathing, but with great effort, and was only semi-conscious. The paramedics quickly arrived and she began to revive upon receiving oxygen. Within minutes they were on their way to the local hospital.

At the hospital they discovered her blood sugar was at 375. Everyone feared the sudden onset of diabetes. She began to show signs of returning to normal but remained lethargic. The decision was made to send her to the children's hospital in Louisville. She was once again loaded into the ambulance and mother and baby started on the trip to Louisville. At this point, my son returned home, (stopping by our house on the way ) to pack bags and gather up what they needed to stay with her in the hospital.


My first instinct on seeing the pain and fear in my son's eyes was to fold him into a hug and comfort him. Not the easiest thing to accomplish when you are 5'4" and he is 6'4". ( I wish I had a stool to carry around for these emergencies.) As one mother told me, "You hurt twice. Once for the infant, who is suffering this event and once for your child who is hurting, too." We assured him that we would take good care of the three boys for as long as they needed us to. With that he was off to be with his baby and wife.

Thank goodness for technology. Through facebook, texting, and phone calls we were able to keep up with the progress as they eliminated one thing after another in the search for the cause her spell. They quickly eliminated the threat of diabetes, thyroid, hormone imbalance,and seizures. The poor little thing suffered through CT scans, EKGs, x-rays, hundreds of sticks and blood draws, with each test showing that she was perfectly normal. The last test was an upper GI to check out the reflux she had suffered from since birth. That too, resulted in a finding of nothing abnormal.

The doctors gathered in her room to deliver the results. With all the major tests finished they were calling this an episode of ALTE, Apparent Life Threatening Event. Which, as my daughter-in-law said, is doctor speak for "We haven't got a clue what caused it, but it was bad!" With that bit of information they released them to return home. They did reassure them that it doesn't "usually" happen again, however they should be sure to burp her and to maybe let her sleep in an inclined position for the next few months.

They arrived home with a tired, but happy baby and rather shell-shocked expressions on their faces. I would guess that for the next few months they will be checking on her numerous times through the night. I don't imagine they will rest easy until she passes that magical 6 month age, after which these events seem to become very rare. In short, the baby is fine but the parents may take a little longer to recover.

I suspect if it hadn't been for a very vigilant and alert sitter we would have been dealing with a mysterious SIDS death.

Thank you God for watching over this little angel.

Walnuts for Sale

Today was a beautiful day in Kentucky. Sunshine, mild temperatures and clear blue skies. Just the sort of day to enjoy being outside.

My son dropped by the house this morning bright and early to bring me yesterday's paper. The paper man leaves it in the middle of our drive at the foot of the hill, so he had picked it up to bring to the house....then forgot to deliver it yesterday. While he was here he mentioned that his oldest son, who is out of school for fall break this week, would be on the farm all day. It seems that he wanted to earn a little extra money and had seen a sign that a neighbor was buying walnuts. This is a dandy little business opportunity locally. They buy all the black walnuts you can bring in and pay you, according to my grandson, $1/pound. The buyer then hulls them and sells them to a factory that will shell them and package them to sell to you in the grocery.

Now one thing we have in this section of Kentucky is lots of walnut trees. They grow in lots of fence rows, or in scrubby woodlands or about anywhere you don't want them (I have two in the yard that just volunteered). They aren't a very pretty tree since they have sparse leaves that they drop in late summer. So there they stand, mostly leafless and covered with big green balls. Rather like a strange decoration. These balls contain the walnuts, but mother nature didn't intend to make it easy to enjoy them. The outer green hull has to be removed then the nut dried and then cracked open to enjoy the rich nutmeat. We used to put them in the driveway and let all the machinery drive over them to crush the hulls and get them to come loose. When they start to rot and come off they turn black and stain everything they touch. Thank goodness now they have a machine that will do this nasty part for us.

Anyway, my grandson decided this was a quick way to get rich. He gathered up some feed sacks, a couple of buckets and some gloves and started on the trees in the yard. It wasn't long before he came in for a little help. Naturally, I "volunteered" to help him. We picked up several buckets but still had lots of walnuts on the trees. A search of the barns yielded a long piece of quarter-round molding left over from a remodeling project some years ago. This became our "whacker". We would stretch it up and "whack" the limbs and walnuts until they rained down on us. When we couldn't reach any more we resorted to a piece of stove wood. My grandson has a great arm and he could really wing it into the top of the tree, raining down more walnuts.

We spent a great afternoon riding the four-wheeler, picking up walnuts, and visiting. We managed to get nine feed sacks of walnuts but more importantly, we had a time of sharing...sharing the work, laughs, secrets, hopes, dreams, and a beautiful day. We probably earned all of $12 after they were all hulled, but the day was priceless!

Alaska Memories

My mind is so full of Alaska memories that I'm going to do one more post to clean out the corners of my mind. Just some random thoughts.

We were in Fairbanks, discussing how on earth you deal with temperatures that can go to forty below zero. One of the guides said that she lived in a cabin out of town with no running water. (That's one way to avoid frozen pipes) My thought was about living with no bathroom. She laughed and said that she did indeed have an outhouse. My mind refused to even think about "bare-ing" it all for a potty break. She replied that you simply kept your toilet seat inside and took it with you when nature called. Good story, but I'm betting they all have a good old fashioned "thunder mug" under the bed.

Ketchikan, of Deadliest Catch fame, is a wonderfully picturesque town that rambles along the shore with mountains jumping up right behind it. The locals tell you that the town is 3 blocks wide and 1 mile long. One of the neatest places is a series of shops that tumble down the banks of the creek running down the mountain, through the town, and to the sea. When it is high tide, you can stand on the bridge and watch the salmon begin their struggle from the sea to their inland spawning places. Creek Street is now home to a thriving collection of shops catering to the cruise trade.

It was in one of these shops that we paused to view the collection of beautiful hand-made jewelry, needle crafts, and wood carvings. The owner shared that this was her studio and she lived here year round. She said that the best part was all the fresh fish she could eat. At the end of the day she simply walked out on her balcony and dropped in her line to catch her supper.

A little further down was a prime example of Alaska ingenuity. A small booth was renting out fishing poles for $25. (They also sold fishing licenses for another fee). You would then take your pole to the bridge and fish for salmon. The salmon, which were pooling under the bridge waiting for high tide to flood in to start their journey, were quickly being reeled in. As you reeled it in a young man would help you land your catch and take your picture (with your camera) of your great Alaskan salmon catch. The fish was then returned to the water, unless you wanted to deal with icing it down and flying it back to the states. During this time, you can keep up to six fish a day, but these people were on a cruise ship, so it was a moot point. Tidy little profit for the local boys.

The people in Ketchikan think that anyone that lives in Fairbanks is crazy. The people in Fairbanks agree with them.

I spent some time talking to a lady in Skagway who lived there year around. Once it was a boom town that grew out of the thousands of miners who landed there to begin their trek to the Yukon over White Horse Pass. It is now a sleepy little community with the main income derived from the cruise ships that arrive during the summer months. The rest of the year they just snuggle in and do whatever they can. There is no hospital and no roads to get to a larger place. The common source of travel is either boat or plane. One shop owner revealed that a quick labor almost had her little boy delivered in the plane on the way to the hospital.

Alaska is our last frontier. It is occupied by that segment of the population that doesn't always take the easy road, look for the easy solution, or yearn for the easy life What they are is independent, hardy, and best of all, free to do things their own way. They live life to the fullest and meet all obstacles head on. It's the spirit that settled America and continues to make it the great country that it is. I hope, after visiting with these new acquaintances, I remember their zest for life and bite off the complaint about my "hard times" that was on the tip of my tongue.