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  • MODOC

    Written March 2024

    CIRCA – 1942

    Recently, my old Gehl 95 feed grinder literally fell apart. This grinder was in less than poor shape when we were forced to buy it, four years ago after a barn fire here on our farmstead that destroyed our four bay barn, all of our tractors, hay equipment, corn planters, bean drill, two mold board plows, a tandem disc, a newer ponderosa stock trailer, parade-ready Farmall M, the list is endless. Of course, the one in the fire, we had just purchased from some older gentlemen, and it was in pristine condition. The old relic that finally gave up had been causing me nothing but pure grief for the last several months. The loading auger that takes in the ear of corn and feeds it to the cutting knives moved so slowly and got so choked up that I had to hand-feed every ear of corn that went up the auger. Grinding two tons of feed that way was a long, daunting task.

    Last Sunday, while grinding corn, it finally broke apart and spit parts and pieces everywhere. For the first two days, I would climb down into the grinder bin and fill buckets of feed for the cattle and calves and hand them down to someone else. The bin is only 12 feet deep, and besides being a tad claustrophobic, I cannot climb out to the round tower prison without someone having to pull me out or lower a ladder through the 16-inch opening.

    After a few days of retrieving feed that way, my son-in-law asked me why I didn’t cut a hole in the side of the grinder. Ingenious. The heap of metal had already won an all-expenses-paid trip to the scrap yard, so what difference was it going to make now? Well, for another two days I dug the ground feed out of the cone-shaped bottom of the grinder and scratched up both my arms and hands trying to get it all out to feed. I look as though I have fought with several cats at once.

    The “panic hunt” commenced, with the aim of finding another grinder as soon as possible. There are two key considerations when introducing a new piece of equipment to a small farm like mine. One, it isn’t considered a good deal unless it is at least two hours from home, and two, pay close attention to ads on the internet or in papers/magazines etc. Some sellers can be sneaky and NOT post pictures of all sides of the unit, and you make the drive for nothing.

    I finally found a grinder we could afford and a good friend, and I began our journey south, about two hours from my farm. It was a beautiful October morning. Once we arrived at the dealer’s, we located the few feed grinders they had on their lot and began assessing which one would be the best one for me. The one I went to look at was very decent on ONE SIDE, the other three sides were mangled and broken, rusted, and looked like they had been dented with a wrecking ball. No, Jack, a few bearings are missing. I was disappointed, to put it mildly.

    Two other grinders were available, which were more expensive than I wanted to spend. Within another half hour, I decided on a New Holland 355 brand feed grinder, and we asked if someone there could hook a tractor up to the PTO (Power take-off), so we could see it run. The man they sent out to help us was slower than a sloth. Soon, the grinder began to run, but the auger inside the grinding bin was not. A few moments later, we discovered a pin had been sheared. We ask the man if he could find another one in their shop somewhere. Forty minutes later, he returned with nothing that we could use. At this point, we suggested they run down to their local hardware store and find a bolt or shear pin, and we would grab a coffee somewhere, return, and give the machine one more try before we took our trailer and headed home without a grinder. It was already 12:30 p.m.

    We drove about 8 miles into a town called Wabash, Indiana. This small vintage town is riddled with boutiques, antiques, bookstores, make-and-take art studios, a movie theater, and several other quaint shops. The whole town sits on a slope. The main street is somewhat level, but from there, the buildings go up, up, up, at a steep climb. The town had a warm country charm about it the minute we started walking on the sidewalks. (There isn’t a place to park a truck and trailer anywhere in town, so we parked several blocks away and walked.) It was a Nice Walk.

    We stumbled upon a small coffee shop on 205 South, Miami Street, known as Modoc’s. We stepped inside and stepped back in time. The room held about 5 tables with a few chairs, vintage coffee cans lined some shelves, and had candy bars, gum, and several different varieties of homemade chocolates. While most of the town is closed on Mondays, Modocs are open and offer a special soup and sandwich of the day. We passed on the soup but decided to share a sandwich.

    Throughout the store, you could see enlarged circus-type photos that were 3 or 4 feet tall. A few Ringling Brothers Barnum and Bailey Circus advertisements were hanging on the walls, and silhouettes of elephants had been chiseled into the plaster near the old tin ceiling.

    In a room adjacent to the coffee store, there was a reading nook over in the far left corner, made up, especially for children to read and relax. There were several pieces of vintage leather furniture for adults to sit and read, along with a couple of additional tables for those who just wanted to work using their Wi-Fi.

    As we walked around, sipping our Peanut Butter coffee, a woman sweeping the floor began conversing with me. She ask if we were just passing through the town and rather than explain the Grinder mess, I smiled and said yes. She then asked if we knew their store’s history and the reason for all the circus memorabilia. She gave us a small slice of the history, but then I was captivated and had to know more. This sentence will no doubt date me, but as my favorite mentor, Paul Harvey, used to say:

    HERE IS THE REST OF THE STORY:

    On November 11, 1942, the circus came to Wabash, Indiana. They set up at the Wabash High School, and at the time, the circus owners said this would be their last circus for a while, as the war was on and workers and visitors were becoming too scarce to merit the moving and setting up, and hauling the animals.

    There were three gray elephants known as Judy, Empress, and Modoc. The girls were all tethered outside the Wabash school before a performance of the GREAT AMERICAN CIRCUS was to begin. A couple of stray dogs started barking and jumping, which spooked the elephants, causing 12-year-old MODOC to bolt. Weighing 4,000 pounds, she was able to break free from her handlers and run.

    Her first stop was a nearby garage, where she walked through the garage door opening and tore out a furnace and hot water pipes, and she made her own exit out the back of the building. Then she walked down Main Street where she spotted 48-year-old Mrs. Chauncey Kessler. She had just finished work for the day and was standing outside the news office, reading some of the bulletins in their window when she saw Modoc. At first, she thought she was seeing things, but then she remembered that the circus was in town. By the time she realized the elephant was real and on its own, it was uncomfortably close to her. She ducked into the Bradley Brothers Drug Store for cover.

    The Elephant followed her into the store, and before she could take cover behind a counter, the animal knocked her down with her trunk and began rolling Mrs. Kessler between her front and back legs several times, before Modoc moved away from her because the smell of roasted peanuts grabbed her attention. The elephant pushed a solid marble soda fountain 12 feet off its base and smashed chairs and tables, while she made her way to the peanuts. She ate all of the roasted peanuts she could find, yet never touched a beautiful glass candy display standing by the end of the counter. Finally, using her trunk again, Modoc picked up Mrs. Kessler and then gently placed her back on the floor, nudging her out of the way with her foot. Then, she made her own exit through the back of the store, a door that was only 42 inches wide initially, which was pushed much larger to accommodate Modoc’s exit. Mrs. Kessler suffered a severe cut on her jaw, and forehead and multiple bruises up and down her body from being tossed between the 4000-pound elephant’s legs.

    For four days, the elephant plodded through farm fields and crisscrossed through the Wabash and Salamonie rivers several times. In an attempt to flee from Modoc, a farmer stumbled into her path.

    Kenneth Kindley, a 38-year-old farmer of the community, said he walked up towards the elephant, intending to lead her out of the timber, when she suddenly ran forward and knocked him down with her trunk. While he was on the ground, before he could get away from her, Modoc then sat down on top of Kindley and rolled on him. He was carried out of the woods by five fellow farmers and taken immediately to the Huntington County Hospital. He had sustained a fracture of the neck at the base of the skull, was in critical condition, and was hemorrhaging from both of his ears. Paralysis then developed in both his arms and one leg, and he had a long, severe gash on the back of his head.

    For five days, Modoc was on the run and roaming the county.

    Her eventual capture took place in the thickets of a farm owned by Claude Kreig, 9 miles outside of Wabash. Over fifty adult and child spectators defied the local sheriff’s orders to remain behind barricades and secure safety lines. They climbed high up into the trees to watch Modoc as she passed below them.

    At Claude Kreig’s farm, one of her circus playmates, Judy was led into the woods where she finally let out a cry for Modoc to emerge. Modoc walked up to her friend, and they entwined trunks. Her trainer, Terrell Jacobs, approached her with thirty loaves of bread. While Modoc enthusiastically ate them, Jacobs strapped and shackled her legs and then led her to a waiting truck, where she was given twenty more loaves of bread and 7 quarts of whiskey for medicinal purposes to handle her better.

    It should be noted here that during her five-day adventure, Modoc lost 800 pounds. Jacobs later explained that while Modoc crossed two rivers, she may have been too afraid to stop and drink. Elephants require a considerable quantity of water a day, and contrary to popular belief, she couldn’t have foraged enough food to meet her daily requirements.

    For five days, local papers and those from surrounding states capitalized on the crazy elephant’s escape and capture. The Bradley Brothers drug store was repaired, and the name was changed to Modoc’s. A mural of her antics graces the exterior of the building, and a historical “elephant” marker was placed to mark the event.

    It should also be noted here that on March 25, 1945, the Logansport, Indiana, Newspaper printed several articles regarding the Modoc follow-up. Mrs. Chauncey Kessler was suing Terrell Jacobs for 10,000, and the farmer, Kenneth Kindley, was suing Jacobs for 25,000. 00 in damages.

  • The Angels Carried Them Away

    Mom, August 28, 2021 – Dad September 01, 2023

    This is a photo of my in laws that was taken near their 25th wedding anniversary, in November 1986. I met them when I was just barely 17. I worked for the Tri-County Head Start program as a work release through school. Janice was a cake decorater among many other talents she had. On my birthday that year, she showed up at my work and had a sweet little two layer cake she had made for me. Of course it never made it to my home, my co-workers devoured it.

    On that day, as she was leaving she hugged me tight and said “I want you to know whether you ever and Carl Jr ever stay boyfriend and girlfriend or not, you will always be the daughter I never had but wanted, and I know this in my heart and we both share the same birthmark on our legs.” It was the sweetest day for me. Someone really loved me that didn’t have to, she wasn’t required to.

    As it turned out I did marry their son, in December of 1981, and she made our wedding cake. I was able to help her do it, but it was mostly her while I watched and learned.

    Then come Easter Morning April 03, 1983 we made them grandparents for the very first time. Now that in itself would have been splendid, however, we had a baby girl and there had not been a girl born in the Shelby family for two long generations so they thought that we had hung the moon. She came from God but we sure enjoyed some of the notoriety for it.

    Mom fell asleep in a hospital on August 28, 2010 and she never woke up. She was gone. The loss was staggering. It still is. She had the sweetest, kindest spirit and I still have one of her last phone messages to me, because she also began by saying, “Hello Sweetheart, this is mom.”

    A lot of things have changed since her death thirteen years ago. Life has a tendency to do that I suppose. A little over three years ago, we moved Carl Sr to our property to stay in a one-bedroom, bath/laundry kitchen living room apartment. His health was slowly declining. There is one thing you need to know, this man loved his television. It was the one hobby/habit he enjoyed. Even when Jr and I were dating, Sr would come home for lunch which Janice made the days big meal. Meat , potatoes, corn bread etc. Sr would come in and sit at the table and from noon to one oclock no one was supposed to talk to him as he watched the Young and the Restless. I know it sounds funny today, but he loved that show and followed it to the very end.

    Once he retired that was all he still enjoyed doing was watching his television. Twenty four hours a day, seven days a week. On top of that he was taking almost 40 prescriptions a day, one of them being oxycoton which really took its toll on him. At one point, his medical doctor told us and him that this was a narcotic and that it would slowly kill him. It would eat up all the muscles in his body and then hit his organs and he would be left almost paralyzed with a sound mind and a non working body. Unfortunately, we saw this come to pass.

    This last year has been a hard one for him. I would go get his groceries each week, and his scripts which were never ready all at the same time. He would have me call an ambulance for him constantly for any little ache or pain he had. Sometimes, I could talk him out of it, other times I could not. Most of the time, they wouldn’t transport him as they could see nothing wrong.

    In April of this years, he had a severe UTI infection that spread to his kidneys. He had them all the time without ceasing because his diet consisted of real mountain dew, pop in the oven cinnamon rolls and candies or cakes. He was taken by ambulance to a hospital and after four days there, he was resistant to all the antibiotics, they called in a specialist and within a few more days, they released him but only for rehab as he wasn’t strong enough to stand on his own and BCBS insurance would not pay for the continued stay. I met him at the nursing home facility in our local hometown, and when I saw made me sick, He was lying on a cot, in a little room without a window, barely dressed, just a sheet. It was too sad. I woke him up and told him I brought him clothes and his tablet and other things. He sat up and told me he wanted to go home. He didn’t belong here. I walked out and told the nurse he was signing himself out and then we loaded him up into my Super Duty pickup truck and headed home.

    All the way, we both cried. I told him he was going to have to do some serious changing. He needed to eat better, move around the house more and get off his couch. He said he was going to , he was so happy to be out of that home. I called a friend to help get him into the house safely as his legs weren’t very strong. When we finally had him back inside his own home, he cried harder, and so did I.

    Then in mid July, he had another spell, we called the ambulance again, though the paramedics said it was nothing to transport for, I knew the fever and chills meant something was wrong. Sr and I insisted they take him to the hospital. Again, another severe UTI, more antibiotics and then they sent him again to a nursing home rehab home near the hospital. It was over an hour away from us, but he was only supposed to be there a few days for therapy.

    For the next several days he was there, but refused to participate in the therapy and soon the BCBS called me again, and said if he wasn’t going to cooperate he couldn’t stay there. I got on the phone and found a place for him to move closer to home, only twelve miles away now. The first week, every time I went to see him, he seemed to be doing fairly well. Soon, he went back to refusing physical therapy and would not eat anything they brought him, unless it was a Chocolate milk or a strawberry milkshake. Those he would drink. Again, more chronic UTI’s and them a pic line was put into his arm for meds. He ask to come home, and I told him as soon as this round of antibiotics was finished they said he could come home.

    Early one Sunday morning at 1230 a.m. they called to tell me he was spiking a fever again, and that in his sleep he had lost his oxygen hose and his oxygen was down to 60. We raced over there in the middle of the night, and waited by his bedside for two hours, but soon he rallied, and he was back to his old self. That morning he ask me to take him home. They said there was no one there to release him at 3 in the morning. He grabbed my hand as I was leaving and said “You are going to come back and take me home right.” With tears in running down my face, I nodded and said “Yes, I will be back in six hours. I will be here by nine a.m, to take you home.

    I went back the next morning, and I borrowed my mother’s mini van, so he could climb in easier. All the way home, he was looking out the window, and I would ask him over and over again, are you ok. He would say he was fine. Again I called on a friend to help me steady him and get him into his house. It was a little more difficult this time but we made it and he was sooo happy to be in his bed and watch his big television.

    For the days that followed, things between him and I were different. Different in that he would say thankyou to me for getting his drinks, and helping him change his clothes. He would thank me for wiping his face or combing his hair. He wasn’t very appreciative in the past, and complained about everything.

    Changing my father-in-law of 42 years wasn’t on my bucket list of things to do before I check out of this life, but we made it through together. He said, “we should have thought this through more before I came home.” I ask him why, wasn’t he happy to be back home. He said, “Yes, I am but it put alot more on you”. I patted his white t-shirt-covered chest and told him it was alright, we would persevere together and we did, and I made sure to give him as much dignity as I possibly could. I would get him drinks in Styrofoam cups like he wanted. We would alternate back and forth between real coke and real Mountain Dew.

    No one expected him to go as fast as he did, but I know that is what he wanted. He kept telling me that he was laying in that rehab center just dying every day and he wanted to do that at home. He wanted to be in his bed, watching his tv anytime he wanted and as loud as he wanted and just fall asleep. His wish was granted.

    I gave him a drink that morning, changed him, and ask him how he was doing, he said fine, wanted more ice in his coke and then I told him I was running to town and I woud be right back. Town was only seven miles away. When I came back, I walked in,and noticed the television wasn’t playing anything, it was in stand by mode. I woke him up and ask him if he wanted anything. He wanted another drink, I got him one, ask how he felt, did he have any pain, he shook his head, whispered the word fine, and then turned his head and he was gone. It was so sudden, so hard to believe he was gone.

    I believe it is a true gift to be with someone when they pass from this world and step into the next one. I have been the care taker now for ten people as they made their own departure, in their own way. It is incredibly sad, its painful to watch someone you love slipping away, and its terribly sobbering to sit with a deceased loved one while you wait for a coroner to come. They aren’t there, the body is just an empty vessel, but its still the vessel that you touched, and took care of, the one that used to laugh or hug you. Now, its just a worn out glove that has been shook off and left alone. The spirit, the soul, the person they were on the inside is gone.

    There are people in our lives that we meet, and some we will come to know and know well. Others we will say we knew them, but we really never did. As I mention, in the last few years, Sr has been a bit difficult. He was grumpy and irritable. He never said thankyou for anything I did for him and I couldn’t quite please him no matter what I tried to do.

    When people pass sometimes we tend to make them into saints. Its a common practice some humans do to endure the loss, i suppose. The truth is, I find it refreshing to be able to say…I knew him as a happy man, knew him when he was cross and not happy at all, and I was able to see him soft and kind again before he left this troublesome world.

    Healing is what we get after we have experienced discomfort, acceptance and we gave allowed ourselves to grow. If you haven’t been down in the trenches with someone, where you discover what they and you are made of, then perhaps you didn’t know a person for all they were. It isn’t always a delight to see the real side of someone, they may be abusive verbally to their children or their spouse, sometimes physically abusive, but at least you really knew them. All sides of them. My father in law died just thirteen years and four days after my mother in law did. They are the end of a beautiful era, from when I was a young teen girl, who felt all alone in a giant world.

    One week to the day, we had a small graveside service per his request, and his only granddaughters, and grandson in laws and two of his great grandsons carried him from the hearse to the grave. A hard moment, from the minute we saw himi waiting there till they placed the coffin where it would be lowered. It was heartbreaking, still a moment i believe one day the children will look back on and be grateful they carried him, his last few feet. Carl Sr and Janice had three sons, and five grandchildren. Three grandsons, two grandgirls, and they had fourteen great grandchildren.

    These are OUR twelve Grandchildren….we are BLESSED to have each and every one of them in our lives.

    Savannah, Leah, Alaina, Benjamin, Allyson, Matthew, Andrew, Emmalynn, Jacob, Carly, Norah, & Logan,

  • Our Kitchen Table

    March 2017

    ITs just an ordinary table.  It’s oak, its solid, and it holds more memories, more words, more pictures that a human brain or even a computer could recall if you wanted it to.

    There are folks that have gone on to Heaven now, but they once sat at our table. They were once a part of some  beautiful conversations that took place there. Secrets of the heart were shared , along with countless cups of coffee. It was a teachers table as the children were  learning the combination of school lessons as well as life lessons. We as a family had hundreds of conversations around it. We made decisions about our  farm, about our crops, about our  finances,  about our children. We talked and planned and talked so more.

    Most every Sunday now  our children, and  their spouses and all their children come to our home for breakfast.  The meal  normally consists of southern made biscuit that fill at least four large cast iron  skillets, and we  fry up about 3 or 4 pounds of whole hog sausage , 3 dozen eggs and multiple kinds of jams and jellies adorn the table.  There is lots of chaos, lots of laughter and lots of love.

    About the time that the breakfast debris is cleaned up , dishes are  washed and put away and then its time to  begin thinking about lunch. We  figure out an impromptu menu that will be enough to feed the hungry masses, (depending on the days work project) and then we get started.  Again, once lunch is cleared away and dishes done, we begin trying to figure out  what’s for supper .

    Through the winter months  on Sundays , the men folk gather together to  cut and split and stack firewood for the outdoor burner we use to keep this farmhouse warm. The women work on meals and keeping all the children in check. Winters are hard on the kids, not to much outside play and no matter how large the rooms are they never seem large enough when there are 12 grandchildren racing about. If the older kids want to play a board game, the smaller kids steal cards, and checkers and they tend to be a bit of an interference. When the  weather permits, they all  go out side and build snowmen, and snow forts.

    Once Spring arrives, the farmstead is alive with activity. Each grandchild has a bike here and there are bikes flying up and down the driveway ,  around the barns, between the other out buildings and any people who may be in their way.  Sometimes we play baseball, which gets better every year as the children are getting older. Sometimes we play soccer.

    There are usually baby sheep, a few calves, some baby pigs, baby chickens,  lots of fun stuff to keep a child occupied and keep them grounded in family values and life.

    Its good stuff, that we all learn how to work and eat together , its good stuff to learn to turn the other cheek, to grant forgiveness for the small things as well as the larger ones and this life on our family farm is  just plain “Plain good Stuff”.

  • Please Pray for Joey Martin Feek

    March 2016

    According to the Bible, there are close to 124 miracles mentioned throughout its pages—three dozen just within the four gospels.
    Joey Martin-Feek is a beautiful, vibrant daughter of God who is in desperate need of a miracle. In fact, all around the world, there are folks in desperate need of a miracle. God is no respecter of people. He loves all His children the same and does not place one above the other.

    As I sit here these last few weeks and ponder on God’s job, I can assure you that I am glad that I do not have His job. For most of my adult life, I have been a firm believer that the business of living and dying is God’s business, not mine, and therefore we are to accept his decisions of who goes and when and who lingers behind for a spell. Yet I cannot help feeling the MAGNITUDE OF THIS SITUATION……


    WHERE WERE YOU WHEN KENNEDY WAS SHOT,
    WHERE WERE YOU WHEN MARTIN LUTHER KING WAS SHOT
    WHERE WERE YOU WHEN THE MEN LANDED ON THE MOON
    WHERE WERE YOU WHEN THE TWIN TOWERS WENT DOWN
    WHERE WERE YOU WHEN YOU HEARD THE SAD NEWS ABOUT JOEY’S CANCER RETURNING…


    Yes….She and Rory have made THAT KIND OF A DIFFERENCE in the world.
    Our entire nation is coming together tonight in the form of a prayer vigil for Joey at 8p.m. Her and her husband have always kept Christ front and center in their lives. They have continuously given God the glory for their good fortune, their voices, and any successes they had, even in difficult situations, they continued to praise the Lord. No matter what life handed them, they continued to lead His army, their brothers and sisters in Christ, with dignity, honesty, and grace. They have been true inspirations to millions of people. Whether it was their laughter and love towards one another that NEVER STOPS shining, or the way they give back, always paying forward all that was given to them, or just the beauty of their joined voices, they are pillars in the Christian Community and in the Country Music world.


    Over a year ago Joey had surgery for cancer….. (the same stage IV type I myself had ten years ago). She has been a real trooper and gone through every chemo and radiation process as the doctors have prescribed and it appears to have served no purpose. Now, they have ceased all medical intervention and chosen to go home and trust and pray ….and trust and pray more.

     
    I imagine small children usually stomp their feet and get loud when they think we cannot hear them or we are not paying attention to them and they need to be heard, to communicate to us.
    For the last several weeks I have walked around in my own life trying to make some sense out of this situation that is trying to take Joey from all of us. I realize we aren’t supposed to be angry with the Lord, we are not supposed to question His judgment or ask why. However the human side of me is asking why. Day after day on the Inside I ache and hurt and cry over this whole sad story, on the outside I want to jump up and down and stomp my feet, grit my teeth and shout for how much I don’t understand this, how unfair….ill timed….

    Joey has a little girl who needs her momma, needs to have a few more years with her, GOD PLEASE GRANT JOEY A MIRACLE, please don’t take her.
    Life is a voyage, and we cross some pretty turbulent waves at times, there are storms that come out of nowhere and threaten to shake us to our very core, capsize our vessel and possibly dump us at the bottom of our ocean.
    We are all on this journey, and it is not an easy one. Let’s join hands and remember we are all walking one another towards HOME.

    When we have reached our final destination, it will have been worth it all. I believe this. The trials of the “trip” of our “Voyage” it will be lost in the GLORY of the reunion/celebration that awaits us. But for now, please join our nation tonight at 8 p.m.
    Whisper a prayer for Joey tonight….for a miracle, her miracle. And a peace that will surpass all understanding, for if our Father does not hand out a miracle, there will be literally thousands of people crushed, crying and praying…an entire nation that will remember where they were when ……..

    shs

  • Joey Martin Feek- February 2016

          Anyone that knows me, would know that it is NOT like me at all to steer clear of anything that touches my heart. The death of Joey Martin-Feek on March 4, 2016 was more than I could deal with.

    Here IS a beautiful, talented, young Christian Singer, Wife, Mother, Daughter, Sister. She never hesitated to give ALL THE GLORY to GOD. For everything in her life, and she strived to be a fine example to all. Yet the Lord saw fit to call her home. She  was so young, too young. She left behind a baby girl, (Indiana Boon) a precious reminder to  everyone that she was here, and a part of her will now remain.

    I know the Lord could have kept Indiana in Heaven, but He chose to share her with Joey for two years. He chose Rory and Joey for that little girl with Down syndrome. The LORD KNOWS what HE is doing, He knew the future, He knew the outcome of a terrible cancer diagnosis back in 2014.

    Still, I have had a very difficult time with her death. I have followed her and her career since its inception. I have identified with her and Rory on more than a few points of life and I so much wanted her to be healed. For at least a couple of years.  Many people who walk this earth are filled with hate and anger towards others.

    There is nothing on this Earth that will satisfy us.  Nothing.

    Contentment is a difficult Horse to catch!!

    We can’t be satisfied. Not out of greed so much as just because we are all hungry for something that cannot be found on this earth.  We plan trips, take them, and then start planning the next one. As a child, we think “oh, when I’m a teenager”, then we think “when I have kids”, and the “Someday…when I get a minute”, and the somedays never really show up. I believe that only God can satisfy and fill the void that sometimes plagues us. We can chase up and down every avenue in our own lives and believe that if we could just get that room finished, get the yard looking better, get those bills paid down THEN we would be happy and content. But it isn’t as true as we would like to feel it is.

    I believe in God. I believe in the Bible. And all it says.  But I can’t begin to understand why He took Joey.  I am very touched and impressed with the way in which she left this world, and the way her family is going forward and walking through the painful battlefield of loss. I realize there are thousands of people in the world walking through troubled waters……we all do it. Its a part of living this Life, but it makes no sense to me.

    And I will miss seeing Joey on her television show. I will forever miss the duo that she and Rory were, the love they shared that was so BEYOND real that it captivated you from the word go. They were the real deal, the authentic American love story, the country kids gone to Nashville but still kept their dirty farm boots on their feet.

    Joey sang more beautiful hymns that I can name here, my recent favorite was Softly and Tenderly she recorded during one of her chemo treatments…and Precious Lord, Lead me home.

    The Lord saw fit in HIS PLAN, on HIS TIME SCHEDULE, to lead Joey Home, a little earlier than we all wanted it to be. The sun hadn’t set yet, there was still daylight left to play in… but it was “Supper time, at Jesus’ house”.  And who could pass up that invitation?

    I am grateful that JOEY MARTIN FEEK didn’t leave this world “an Unknown”…. because of her music was needed in this world to make it a better place, I am a different person, a better person.  I hope.

  • Message In A Bottle

    Social Media is an interesting topic. I really appreciate when people use it to keep others informed of hospitalizations of a loved one, when prayers are needed its a very effective tool. Some folks use it to promote their businesses, orchestrate family gatherings , birthday parties, anniversaries, a baby’s birth, first day of school etc.. It can be a very effective tool in our day and age.

    Now and then, because someone sees your name come across a post that they commented on you can get reacquainted with folks you haven’t seen or heard from in years. That is what happened to me.

    A few months back, I received a message asking me if I was related to the people who lived on such and such road 35 years ago. I replied that I was in fact related and that my family stills dwells on that road , and on that farm.  The older gentlemen then began to communicate every couple days with me. Asking about extended family members that he once knew.  It was an enjoyable exchange as I attempted  to bring him up to date regarding relatives . Some were still here, others had passed on.

    The strangest thing happened that neither one of us could have known or foreseen. We began talking about other things in life besides just my family members that He used to know. He is a Mountain Man. He chose a tougher, harder way of life among the mountains and streams.  He took his wife and children many years ago and ,moved to the Mountains .  Together they built their  own log cabin on their own property.  He has  hunted and trapped for their food, grown their own vegetables. Has been a Guide for other men to come in and hunt bear ,or track  moose, elk etc.  He is an avid fisherman. He is entirely unique and I am proud to call him “FRIEND”.

    Living somewhat off the grid as they say today, he taught his Sons how to be independent and how to survive in the wild, in the bitter cold of winter, how to keep warm and fed and hunkered down until a storm passes. How to rely on their own knowledge and instincts.   He has  many wonderful stories to tell of his life and the journey he chose. 

    Recently I received a package in the mail. It was an unexpected delight from my Mountain friend. I opened the box and there inside was an old long john shirt that had been worn almost through and  wrapped around a bottle. I pulled the bottle from the box…it was a vintage Milk bottle  as unique as He is. Also inside the bottle was a letter on lined notebook paper all rolled up and tucked in neatly inside.  I tried to pull the shirt out but one sleeve had been rolled up half way and duct taped .  I removed the tape and found a piece of Copper Ore . 

    The letter stated where the milk bottle had come from, where it was found, and the chunk of copper from his mountain near by.  The  “Message ” itself was absolutely priceless to me.

    Upon the white paper the black   letters  were shaky and the pen strokes were heavy.  This wonderful man took the time to write me a HAND WRITTEN letter.  What a treat. Who does that now days?  He talked about his life, things he had done, the joys of living off the land. The hardships of life sometimes. The complications of just living and surviving the day to day when your body has stopped functioning as it used to.

    For almost 28 years I had a treasured friend (37 years my senior) and he sent me a letter at least once a week and filled those letters with everything and anything under the sun. I would race to the mailbox, see  a letter from him and I would get all my work done just so I could sit down and absorb his letters. at one point we lived 3 miles apart and the last 15 years of his life we live 50 miles apart. Still when his letters  arrived it felt like someone had sent me a bouquet of flowers through the mail. I loved them. I craved them. I appreciated them. I always told  Burton that I knew one day one of us would out live the other and what a sad day that would be …especially if I was the one left behind. And I knew then that NO ONE would be sending me letters anymore. I have a suitcase full of his cards and letters and they are still just as touching and precious to me as the day they arrived in the mail. Burt has been gone 5 years now.

    Now you can understand the thrill of receiving a package from “The old man in the woods” as he calls himself. To him perhaps it was just a message in an old milk bottle….but to me it was as if He had sent a beautiful bouquet of flowers right to my mailbox. 

    Social Media =  Old Acquaintance = New Friend = GRATEFUL HEART

  • Thankful….Grateful….BLESSED

    July 2015

    My life is full of   WOW’s.

    Three beautiful grown children that still today sometimes I stop, scratch my head and look towards the heavens and ask :  Lord, how could these great people have come thru me.”  They are truly good people. The kind of folks I would want to know more if they weren’t our children.  They love one another and treat each other with care and respect and love and that is a precious gift in itself.  WOW!

    Thom, Catherine, Tonya

    Ten, beautiful Grandbabies. There isn’t an ugly one in the bunch.  Haha  ( I may be a tiny bit prejudice). Each and every one is so incredibly precious, young beautiful skin, new hair, and teeth, chubby arms and thighs, twenty feet and twenty hands all moving at once when they are all here together. Beautiful laughing eyes and pools of giggling all about me.  WOW!

    A beautiful farmstead that is always in need of my attention.  Repairing, replacing, or renovating. The barns need painting, the grass needs mowing, the fields need tilling, and the vintage equipment needs greasing and updating.  This farm steals my time and some that I don’t even have. It leaves me dog-tired at the end of my day, worn out, yet happy, and my heart so full it feels like it could burst. I am grateful to be the steward of this farm and land, and I pray that i am bringing honor to the previous caretakers.  

    UPDATE AS OF 2025.

    We have 12 beautiful grandchildren, our oldest grandchild has added a wife to our brood, and this home is filled to the brim every Sunday with laughter and happiness and lots and lots of love. Some people live in houses fit for queens; some people walk around with bulging pockets of cash……..I live comfortable, clean and extremely blessed with all that MONEY cannot buy.

  • Drinking From My Saucer

                               MOTHERS DAY  2014

    QUESTIONS without answers.

    REASONS we may never know.

    Why does GOD answer “yes”, “Not at this time” or “ I have a better plan”.

    Every day I try to remember to ALWAYS be grateful and appreciate all that is before me and around me. Something is always lurking in the back ground of the day waiting to steel your love, your joy, your calm. We struggle and hustle to make ends meet and pretty soon we (I) end up in what I refer to as my “Robot Mode”…where I am functioning like a machine but not living in the moments with my whole heart and wide awake.

    Tragedies generally make all of us step back and reevaluate our lives. Makes us promise ourselves to slow down, take time to breathe and really be awake. Kinder, softer, more loving, easier to forgive and let go of grudges.

    This last Mother’s Day, we were blessed to have our three grown children here, their spouses, and all ten grandbabies. It was a full blown loud, crazy fun filled day. We grilled out, the children played in their two story playhouse with 3 slides, the guys pulled the corn planter out of the barn and greased it up so I can plant the fields if the rain stops. After several attempts with the help of the oldest 5 grand kids, the men also ended up helping us corral the sheep. (I haven’t seen our son Thom sprint across a field since his high school days).

    At the end of this day, I was presented with a VIDEO of my life. Thomas and Brandy sat down TOGETHER  and created the most heartwarming….sweet video. It touched me so deeply. Still does.  There was not a dry eye in this house including Papa. And the poor little kids kept looking all around and asking “Why is everybody crying”. It was precious. Thom chose the songs and this one makes me cry everytime I hear it.

       FIGHT LIKE A GIRL

    Little girl alone on the playground
    Tired of gettin’ teased and gettin’ pushed around
    Wishin’ she was invisible to them
    She ran home cryin’, why do they hate me?
    Her Daddy wiped her tears and said,
    Baby, you’re brave and you’re beautiful

    So hold your head high
    Don’t ever let them define
    The light in your eyes
    Love yourself, give em hell
    You can take on this world
    You just stand and be strong
    And then fight like a girl



    10 years of climbin’ that ladder
    All the money and power don’t matter
    When the doctor said, the cancer spread
    She holds on tight to her husband and babies
    And says, this is just another test God gave me
    And I know just how to handle this

    I’ll hold my head high
    I’ll never let this define
    The light in my eyes
    Love myself, give it hell
    I’ll take on this world
    Yes, I’ll stand and be strong
    No I’ll never give up
    I will conquer with love
    And I’ll fight like a girl

    The thing is, when I was fighting cancer, I remember Brandy ( our daughter in law)  was carrying our first grandchild.  I was so sick and so exhausted (mentally and physically) from all the treatments and doctoring and existing from one apt to another for over an entire year I didn’t think I would be here to see BENJAMIN THOMAS  born. I stood in my kitchen on Sunday and though I would like to think that I am appreciate to God from whom all my blessing flow I was in complete awe that I have ten grandbabies and I have the joy, pleasure, and blessing of KNOWING and HUGGING on each and every one of them. I am so Grateful that we have been able to watch our own children grow up, to see the people they became. Strong, sincere, wise, kind, loving…. well rounded people that I would want to know and spend time with  if they weren’t our own babies.

    I spent that year NOT DREAMING, NOT PLANNING for anything. You crawl into this survival cave, you keep your thoughts and feelings and details of procedures to yourself and just function through your days like a robot.

    Afternoons I spent in a park wishing that someone would try to take me out of this world, so wore out from doctor appoints and procedures that wouldn’t work, hotel stays because of procedures that requires hospitalization but I would not comply so I stayed near by. Hoops that the insurance company made me jump through time and time again with stage 4 cancer before finally agreeing after exploratory surgery with a scope that it was time to eradicate it all.  Not wanting anyone at the hospital when the dr flew in from Mayo clinic in case I wore up wearing a bag….the hardest part was learning to really live all over again, to allow myself to dream about tomorrow or plan for something more than just a week out. . Today I am grateful and I anguish over why some are spared and “healed” and some are just taken. Appears to be no rhythm or reason to the madness.

     

    This is Ben …..and there are 11 more grandbabies  that have followed him. Once again I realized…….I’ve done nothing on Earth to deserve the beautiful life that stood before me and filled our kitchen this particular Sunday Evening with so much love and warmth towards one another.

    There are two babies…Norah and Jacob missing from this photo

    I can attest that truly :

    I AM DRINKING FROM MY SAUCER FOR MY CUP HAS OVERFLOWED

    UPDATE as of 2025. We have been blessed with 12 beautifully, intelligent grandchildren.

  • The BEST Brothers

    April 2015

     Recently, I was invited to visit a farmstead that belonged to two elderly brothers who had lived their entire lives on the farm where their parents and grandparents were raised.  They were in their late eighties, and they were brothers and a team, all of their own. Many area people referred to them as “the boys” . They never married. Instead, they chose to spend their lives together farming approximately 800 acres (some of which were rented). They shared the same room up until the end. Each had their own bed and dresser, their own recliner and tv tray beside them… They simply enjoyed one another’s company. They entrusted their estate to their 72-year-old niece, who had devoted the last eight years of her life to caring for them. Running them to doctors and such. She was honest and as genuine and kind and trustworthy as they come.  “JO” asked me to come look at the house contents and give her my opinion on whether there was anything there worth selling.

    I made my maiden voyage to that farmstead and I was hooked. The beauty of the place, the beauty of the story surrounding this family for three generations, the life Albert and Ralph continued to carve was amazing to me .

    Allow me to state here quite honestly that I would have PAID THEM for the adventure I was about to embark upon. I would have paid them to wonder through the leaking, hot, dirty, dusty attic , or the damp, wet, Michigan dirt wall basement. I am always into the old things of life. Not just antiques…I treasure the old ways of life. I tell my family over and over that I was born about 100 years too late. I have the heart and  mind of person who should have been born  in the 1860’s.

    After crawling around and digging around I gave this gracious Lady Jo…my opinion about a sale. Most definitely there was enough to have an estate sale and most everything was what people today are searching for.  Treasure from the past to be repurposed. Second Chance trinkets.

    So the daunting task began. Four days later, after enlisting the help of my older brother for one afternoon we successfully brought down all the large things from the attic and the upstairs. There was only room to crawl through.  The downstairs of the house was loaded.  Beds…beds and more beds. Did I mention their were 13 children born to the original parents. I imagine a lot of beds were needed. And I imagine they kept them all for I found them in the attic..lol  Old secretary’s, old side boards, desks, tables, dishes, crocks, milk bottles.  I mean this was a treasure hunters paradise. You know you cannot take it with you when you leave this world, and I  know even it were all given to me I would have no place for the stuff, but still you cant stop the heart from pumping with excitement over it all.

    We set up for the sale on a Friday and Saturday. It was tight for folks to get in the house and moving everything outside was out of the question with the heat index and temps of 90 degrees outside. So people came in and out of the house all days and we slide open and slide shut the heavy old metal glass door and kept the air conditioner going.

    Its the PEOPLE part of this sale that I enjoyed even more. There are of course the occasional person or two who just cannot be happy. They don’t smile, they bark. They don’t act appreciative for the chance to buy vintage pieces at yard sale prices…they almost throw their money at you like you are robbing them. Those folks need to stay home and keep their bad attitudes with them. We had only two people like that in two days. Of which we were thankful.

    Most folks came in, with reverence and respect and honor to be entering a home of someone who had passed…they realized that while this was an estate sale, there are family members still around and still trying to grieve through it all.

    Some folks  looked around, slowly, carefully, ask a few questions about some items and if they didn’t buy anything they simply nodded their heads and smiled or thanked us and left.  Others would come in and comment on how sad it was that they would never get to see “the boys” out farming again when they drove by, or how sad it would be to never see their tiny figures walking around the barn and house.  Sometimes they shared stories about the brothers, and everyone would laugh . The TWO BROTHERS left behind a rich legacy that did not have anything to do with money or power.  It was touching to be a part of it….to be able to hear all the neighbors….family….all the stories.

    THEN…we had the few scoundrels that stopped by and all they cared about was what was going to happen to the farms,  to the ground,  to the equipment. They wanted to go out and look at the trucks, tractors, etc and make offers. Even though they were told the auction for equipment would be next spring. A  few were persistent…arrogant in my eyes. I actually had to at one point get very stern with a man that he was not allowed to walk out and look at a couple of old stake trucks. Twice I told him we could not allow the liability of him walking around the farm and when he said again that he was going to walk out there I had to say “NO SIR…you cannot ,” I think it was the tone of “SIR” or perhaps it was the way I clipped off my words with gritted teeth that caused him to retreat back to his truck. I have few patience for pushy arrogant people who think because they have money they are better than the average person or that they do not have to adhere to the same rules as everyone else.

    NEWSFLASH RICH PEOPLE;  When your time comes, you are just as gone, just as dead as the rest of us.

    The sale was a good one, money was collected for the estate….the house was emptied of about half its contents and I got to enjoy spending some time with some good quality people. Jo will be forever in my heart, I treasure and respect this woman and all that life has dealt her, and let me tell you, she had sustained the heaviest blows, a couple times and still she smiles. Still she is good and kind and pleasant.

    One afternoon digging through the attic I found this item. It was so awesome in my eyes…and I told Jo, who was waiting at the attic door..how cool was my find and how much she was going to be awe struck by it. I carried it to the door and showed her with the biggest gust of excitement and she gave it a once over and said “That is so not me…not interested in that at all”. We both just roared….I bought the item. Its a hand made cabin that dates back quite a few years and  I believe it was the beginnings of a childs  pioneer farm set. I found this other oddity and thought it looked like a building of some sort it wasn’t until I was home cleaning up the cabin that it dawned on me that was a hand made silo to go with the cabin and then of course that had to come home with me also. My plan is to leave the cabin sitting in my farm house and at Christmas time I will string some tiny lights on it and place animals all around it..but first I will have to figure out a way to make the top of the silo and keep that older  vintage look .

    THANK YOU GOD that folks like these brothers kept the old things that belonged to their parents and grandparents and didn’t clean house and toss these things away. Sometimes when I ponder on my own mortality I get nervous at what my children might have to sift through, I worry about the history behind the special family heirlooms I have , will they mean anything to them, will they understand the significance they held for me…..should I burn 37 years of journals…will anyone want them…who will know my great great grandfathers pocket watch, who will carry on with the genealogy research and keep the history up to date…..

    Its sad that when we leave nothing goes with us, and most of the time we don’t get to say any final goodbyes or leave last minute wishes or instructions. We are suppose to enjoy today, and not worry about tomorrow and not waste time on yesterday…but how do you live in today and not remember or discuss  yesterday and not plan for  tomorrow.  Crazy…life questions.

    I don’t know those answers….I am a mere human being and I am doing the best I can each and every day to appreciate all that is around me , to let people know through my actions or words that they hit the mark for me just as they are. I believe in loving and being kind and giving , and forgiving.  Its a wonderful life….if we just don’t weaken and can sustain all the storms that inevitably come.

    An estate has always been a place of reverence for me, no matter who’s it was. This Family sale will be etched in my heart forever and I hope that “the boys” were able to see us, and the care and respect we gave to their possessions and how much we learned from them and appreciate that once upon a time there was a set of brothers. THE BEST BOYS.

  • Santa Hand Working Man Hands

    December 2023

    As Christmas draws near, my mind travels back more often than usual to when I was a child and all our Aunts and Uncles were still here. They were the family icons, the main stain, and life seemed simpler.

      We lived in a family neighborhood. Literally. My Dad has six siblings, and all but 2 lived in the same country block. Every Christmas Eve, my parents, my three brothers, and I, my dad’s brothers, sisters, their spouses, and their children would gather at Aunt Mary Helens & Uncle Dales. Everyone would bring their favorite dish to pass, and there were so many different cakes, candies, pies, cookies, and a wide variety of fudge. Talk about “Visions of sugarplums”.

    The men would gather around the kitchen table, and play cards while the women visited with one another, set out all the food, and tended to the children.

    A real Christmas stood in the bay window of their living room glistening with tinsel and brightly colored ornaments and shimmering lights of various colors adorned the balsam branches. Real candy canes hung on the tree on that night and were handed out to all the children before the night was over.   

    My Dad and Uncle Merle would bring their guitars and amps and set up a small stage in the farmhouse dining room between the large table and a buffet. They invited a couple of their nephews to grab their guitars and play along as they were just beginning to learn how to play also, and they were excited to be included.

    Familiar Christmas carols would fill the air, and everyone would sing along, and holler out their requests for the next tune. This would last for a couple of hours, and soon Grandma would ask Dad to play a couple old classics like “Silver Haired Daddy of Mine” or “There’s an old Spinning Wheel in the parlor,” and Dad would happily sing them for her

    All us children would grab a cookie from the table, line up on the stairway that overlooked the dining room, and wait for the “old people” to get back to singing real Christmas songs. Near midnight, an adult would point to a tiny red flashing light far off in the eastern sky and announce to the children that it was Rudolph, and time for everyone to get home and tucked in their beds so Santa could make his stop. These Holiday Gatherings still live on in our hearts and minds. That kind of magic never melts away.

     Christmas at our house wasn’t about the gifts that we received or the earthly possessions that we had. Dad often reminded us, it was more important how we treated people every day, that we were all together and healthy, and how that was far more valuable than anything we would find beneath the tree on Christmas morning.

    As a young girl, I used to watch my dad intently. Every move he made; the words he spoke seemed so worldly-wise. I would record a lot of them in my journals at night. Even back then, many decades ago. He was the kind of person that all four of us kids wanted to be just like when we grew up.

    Dad worked during the days at a factory, worked the farm from early evening till midnight, and would repeat this practice season after season, year after year. Back then, all farmers did. We kids would lay in our beds in the evening, and listen to the sound of that popping Johnny crawling up and down the hills of our farm. There is nothing like the sound of a  2-cylinder engine in an old John Deere B. When the popping sound grew louder, we kids would sneak out of our beds in the dark, sit below my north bedroom window, and watch Dad drive in the farmyard, park the tractor, shut off the barn lights, and walk to the house. All seemed right with the world now; we would all go back to bed and sleep soundly.

     I loved my dad’s hands. I still do. I still snap photos of them with my cell phone across his kitchen table while he sits drinking coffee, completely unaware of my strange fetish.

    Those hard-working hands gave us a good swat now and then when we needed it and deserved it. They pulled out our splinters and tended to our colds and earaches in the middle of the night. I recall one evening, he was standing over me at the kitchen table. I was in the 6th grade, and he was trying to help explain some new math to me. I realize today he probably thought I was a bit dense. I wasn’t, but I was lost in the essence of him. Mesmerized by the large veins that protruded out of the top of his hands, and he smelled of coffee mixed with dirt and diesel. I loved it that smell. I still do. 

    Those working hands wrestled angry sows a hundred times, delivered newborn calves, soothed a spooked horse, sewed up a couple of pigs on the kitchen floor with needle and thread, and still took time to pet the family dog while doing evening chores.

    Those working hands could drive a tenpenny nail all the way in with just three whacks and then waited patiently while we children tried to do the same thing. Unsuccessfully, of course, but he waited.

    Those working hands farmed and played a Gretsch guitar in a band every weekend since he was sixteen. That duo jet Gretsch sat in the corner of our living room all the years we grew up. We kids would pick it up as teens and try to play it, strum on it, and try to be like him. He never scolded us for touching it, never told us not to touch his stuff, but whenever he needed to practice or play it, he would patiently put it back in tune.

    He encouraged us to play. He said when the world gets crazy and things start to pile up on a person, your guitar will always be there, waiting like a long-lost friend for you to pick it up.  It will soothe away most of life’s problems. He was right about that. Then again, what hasn’t he been right about?

    As Christmas draws near, I still BELIEVE IN SANTA CLAUS, and I believe in the spirit of warmth, love, and kindness toward one another.

    Our Santa had hard-working hands. He has never been arrogant or rude to others and treated anyone like a second-class citizen. Because He so unselfishly gave of himself to us and others, and LED BY EXAMPLE,

    THE SPIRIT OF CHRISTMAS LIVED IN OUR HEARTS ALL YEAR LONG. SHS 12/2022