Writings from a farmHER….about family, and farm….as we harvest life's BLESSINGS together….one moment at a time

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  • 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

  • A Double Tricycle

    THE SUMMER OF 1965

    Stan, is the oldest of us four kids. I came along just fifteen short months later, and though I was second in the birthing order. I was the CEO of my three brothers. {we laugh about it now days, but they used to salute me and say, “yes Sir, Sargent General Sir”. } We had to keep the house and rooms as clean as possible to avoid upsetting our mom, and since they were boys, and tended to play and not worry about things like that. I acted like I was the resident police office. Always giving orders and telling them what we needed to get done before mom got home.

    When Stan and I were 5 and 6, we were playing in the back of dad’s old garage where things had accumulated since he was in high school. There were old swing sets, old planters and plow parts. On this particular excursion around the garage, we stumbled onto a couple of “MORE RUSTY THAN RED tricycles.

    One of them was in decent shape, with one back tire bend and unable to roll. The other tricycle had a crooked handlebar, and front tire was folded in half. There is not telling the story behind these two trikes but when we mentioned them to Dad and ask him if he could fix them, he had that pensive look. You know the look, the one says he’s doubting what you are wanting but he about to agree to check it out and see what he can do about it. We didn’t have any bikes at all, so the prospect looked for us.

    Dad was born right on the tail end of the Great Depression; he never threw anything away. His theory was we might need it someday. He was usually right more often than not, and he was repurposing all sorts of things before Pinterest…. and before it was cool.

    We ask Dad if there was a way he could take the two bikes and at least make one that worked, and Stan and I would take turns riding it. Big brother was in total agreement with this idea at the time.

    Dad told us he would go look at them when he got a few minutes and for us to run along and play. Later that afternoon, just before suppertime Dad hollered at both of us to come up to the house. We went running up the hill from the creek where were always digging in the water for old treasures or trying to catch big fat green bull frogs. They were awesome to look at and so much fun to catch.

    As we ran around the corner of the large two-story white farmhouse towards the old garage, we saw Dad standing in front of his creation.
    The minute I saw , I knew our Dad was a genius.! He had cut the front tire off the mangled tricycle, pressed the frame together in front of the seat of the second tricycle, drilled a hole in the it, and then connected the front half of that tricycle to the back half of the good tricycle.


    We were so excited………well…. I should say I was excited. Because the look on Stan’s face was anything but happy. He looked up at our Dad with a scowl of disbelief, and then he turned sideways and cut his eyes in my direction. WOW, I can still see that glare in my memory. Lol

    While Stan was generally in a pretty complacent mood. We built tree forts together, played hide and seek all over the farm, once we even pull a Campbell soup can lid from the burned-up garbage and cut our thumbs to be blood bothers. IT was something he saw watching Leave it to Beaver or something. (Looking back that wasn’t one of his brighter ideas.)
    Dad was proud of his invention, and holding onto the handlebars he said

    “Stan, you hop on the front seat, and Sherry will have to ride in the back.” Stan didn’t move. I of course jumped right on the back half of this new tricycle. I couldn’t wait to ride together all around the farm.

    Stan didn’t attempt to move. He looked up at Dad and said, “Why do I have to be up front peddling?”.

    “Because you’re older, and bigger than she is, now get on. ” Dad tried coaxing my brother again. “

    ” Sherry is going to hold on to your shoulders because she doesn’t have any handlebars, come on, get on and try it.” Dad finished encouragingly. Come on, get on.” He finished still with an encouraging tone. Dad was suggesting that Stan get on the front, he was telling him politely. I felt like this was going to be the greatest invention of our young years.
    That look on my brother’s face was still there. That’s when I stopped smiling. I realized, Stan was not on board with this idea. He was not a fan of this new two-seated tricycle contraption that our Dad created but he also knew he really had no choice at this point except to climb on the front and start peddling. Dad watched us for a few minutes then he went on to his next chore.

    Now this was the life. I loved it this trike redo. I was enjoying a free ride pulling on stans shirt trying to stay on the little seat behind him. I am sure he was enjoying that about as much as our new contraption because much to my own surprise Stan began peddling faster and harder. I was too busy trying to hold on and keep my feet hooked on the back of my part of the trike and I was clueless as to what was fueling him on.

    A few more rounds around the driveway in the thick sand and dirt and grass. He was going a bit fast but it was great fun. When he was sure that we were out of Dads my older, bigger brother ceremoniously jump off the front of that tricycle built for two and when he bailed the front end came up off the ground and landed me flat on my backside.

    (Stan in brown, myself in Red) Christmas 1968)


    Our family has laughed many times about this memory over the years and about our Dad’s Rural ingenuity.

    Recently, it hit me. All of our 12 beautiful grandchildren have outgrown tricycles. There must be 12 or 15 2-wheel bikes reused, regifted, in the shed and on any given weekend when they’re all here for a visit, this circular farm drive looks like a NASCAR race for bikes. The teens ride fast and stop quickly showing the younger ones how to ” break and slide or pop some wheelies”. You know, the safe stuff. Not only do they take blocks and boards and make ramps so they can get up speed and make a cool jump or two. This Omie, (German for Grandma) has helped them all on more than one occasion to build said ramps. LOL

    Yesterday. I had an idea. My Dads must be rubbing off on me.
    I decided to try my hand at welding. I took an old vintage tricycle that I once bought just because it was old and was using in the front yard as a decoration. I cut the front of another tricycle that wasn’t vintage, that was just worn out and I hooked the two tricycles together.
    I RE-CREATED THE tricycle built for two that Dad made for Stan and me. My intention is just to have it to look at or perhaps sit it around my garden shed as a decoration.

    The memory of our shared bike is precious to me. I wanted to recreate the contraption to show our Dad and send a picture of it to Stan. I thought he would get a real kick out of it.


    I can ALMOST see his eyes GLARING at me now, clear from Kentucky.

  • Toy Story and Woody

    GRANDPARENTS WILL GET THIS.

    Circa 2007,
    We were down in Syracuse Indiana visiting with our son Thomas Shelby and his young family.  We all zipped through the local k-mart grabbing a few groceries.
    Our FIRST Grandchild Benjamin Shelby was not yet 2. He saw this big display of Woody Dolls from the movie Toy Story. He picked up one of the boxes and stared at Woody behind the plastic window for several minutes before putting it back. He NEVER ask for it. About that time his Daddy walked up, reached down to take hold of Benjamins hand and began to walk out of the store. Our whole family was going to grab a burger and then head back to their house to visit a little while longer. Ben turned his head sideways as far as he could and began waving. He wasn’t waving at his Omie and Papa, or his Aunt Tonya or Aunt Cate. I can STILL hear his little voice saying “Bye bye Woody “.

    Twenty minutes later, we were all sitting together sharing a lunch at McDonalds. I had already made up my mind. I was going back for Woody!

    Twenty-some-odd years ago, 25.00 was more like 40.00 today, and though I knew we didn’t have the extra money in the bank.  (Yes… We lived that tight, and yes, I knew there was a chance the check might bounce) but I went back to Walmart, and tried my hand at that “beat the check to the bank” game. When everyone left McDonalds and headed to Thoms house, I motioned that we would be right there. Back to Walmart I raced.


    The look and squeal from our little Benjamin when I walked into his house and handed Woody to him made it all worthwhile.  He was beyond elated, and so were we just seeing the happiness on his little round face. Ben has always been a tender heart, and an appreciate little boy. He hugged my legs so tight that day. Several times.


    It was the sweetest thing to watch Ben carry Woody everywhere for months. As grew older, Ben lost interest in Woody and moved on to the movie Cars. A year or so later, I was cleaning the second story playhouse we built here on the farm for all our grandchildren. And there was Woody. He was nestled among many other dolls and toy trucks and cars. That was when I wrote Ben’s name on the bottom of Woody’s other boot and brought him inside for safe keeping. The other grandchildren were able to play with him, but for the last several years, Woody is a decoration around the family Christmas tree. That tree is full of family memorabilia. Baby hats, first black church shoes, sippy cup lids, bracelets and necklaces made by our grand girls for me. I am constantly trying to save or preserve all the beautiful memories from these moments in my life. I have always been a keeper of precious, silly things that touch my heart. Our three children, their wonderful spouses, and our beautiful 12 grandchildren have always made my heart blossom.

    Now for the rest of the story.

    Did the check bounce?  Yep, and I kept it for posterity in my journal.   Would I do it again? Yep, in a New York minute.

    We all love our children and struggled to raise them and provide all the basics…. by the time our grand babies descend upon our hearts, it is an incredible precious time.  It’s a second chance… to love our children again, to see the world through the eyes of babies one more time. OH THE MAGIC IN THE ORDINARY DAYS…….when we stop running around, going constantly, and buying everything that doesn’t make us happy. Look at all you have to be thankful for within your own backyard……within a hugs reach.

    Our Ben is a grown married man now, with a beautiful wife……and time continues to speed by like a phantom Jet.

    shs/Dec 2024

  • My Dad’s Hands

    July 2024

    I have always been intrigued by my dad’s hands, and the beauty of them as they worked and toiled through the years.
    Those hands have played a guitar since he was 16,( nonstop) planted crops, processed pigs, deer, cattle, and even ran a trap line along the creek to keep his family fed through some lean years.
    Those hands have baled hay, built barns, built a home, changed motors, and transmissions in his vehicles, replaced hydraulic lines, hydraulic pumps, gears, pulleys, and built miles of fence in his lifetime.
    Those hands have taken many state and national ribbons for his artistic talents in Taxidermy which made him a bit famous around these parts, and he still remembered to pet the family dogs.

    He took the time to help us kids with our homework, late at night at the kitchen table, after his factory job during the day, and after he came in from working the fields till dark-thirty. He would eat his supper and help us between bites of food and drinks of strong coffee.

    I can still see him leaning over my shoulder at the kitchen table explaining the beginnings of algebra to me. It was such a foreign concept in my mind to “marry” letters and numbers together….but as he stood over me, I could smell the strong black coffee on him, I could see the grease impregnated into his skin and beneath his nails, i would follow all the large veins that looked like a roadmap a crossed the tops of his hands, with my eyes and I was more in awe of THOSE HANDS, and THE MAN, than any school lesson he was trying to help me with.

    I have always said that I was born a hundred years too late. The way my mind and heart work, I would go back to 1862 in a minute. I am antiquated in my ways, and quite possibly an incurable romantic. In kindergarten, I married off all my crayons. A small yellow box, Crayola 8, and they had to have someone too. Orange married red, Green was married to yellow, Blue was married to purple, and black was married to brown.

    Today, at a funeral, I had a hard time keeping myself together, the world is down another GOOD MAN. My cousin David Bainbridge was taken from us. I will miss all our conversations about history. It’s hard to find people that like to talk about that stuff with such vigor and enthusiasm and knowledge as Cousin Dave had.


    During the service, I would glance over at my dad, and my heart would overflow with how grateful I feel to see him sitting there. Still here, still healthy, still so wise, still treating all people with common decency, STILL SO HUMBLE………. and STILL……….I am mesmerized by HIS HANDS, and the stories they hold.
    I have his hands, the same shape, and length, arthritis in the same places, enlarged thumb joints, knuckles larger than my fingers. I couldn’t cup my hands together and carry any water to anything. The joints won’t allow them to squeeze in for a temporary bowl or cup. I confess, it feels like a rite of passage. After the funeral we sat together during the luncheon, and I ask my aunt to snap a photo of us. It wasn’t a good picture of me, but ……IT WAS A GREAT SHOT OF NOT JUST HIS HAND, but our hands together. Solid Gold in my heart and memories.

    I am proud that God chose him to our Dad, proud of any trait I may have inherited from him. He is a good, kind man, who taught us right from wrong, taught us how to work hard, always do our best, and to take PRIDE in anything we laid a hand upon. Be it a task, a job, ourselves, and our country. He was adamant, that we honor those who have fought and died for our right to still be here living in this great country of ours. He still believes that if each one of us in America would get up every morning and try and do one thing to make the world a better place, do what thing that makes this world richer than we found it, he believed we would be able to keep our country great.

    LORETTA LYNN sang it best:
    They don’t make em like my Daddy anymore; they’ve thrown away the pattern through the years.
    In this great big land of freedom.
    At a time, we really need em…. they don’t make em like my Daddy ANYMORE.

    And they don’t make hands like his anymore either. You would walk a long hard mile to find hands that are calloused from working hard, picking a guitar, and wrenching on machines.

  • FOLLOW ME

    July 2023

    Yesterday, I ran across the field to spend time with my youngest daughter’s four children while she and her hubby ran to extract her wisdom teeth. Young Jake and I were riding bikes, up and down their driveway, giving pause now and again to visit the chickens, ducks, and horses. Truth is, I was taking advantage of the ” pausing” since I haven’t ridden a bike in too many years to count. lol.

    After we parked the bikes inside the garage, Young Jake said, “Omie, come here. I want to show you something. (Omie is German for grandma). I hesitated for a moment and explained that we should get a drink of water first. He was walking towards their woods and still urged me to follow.

    “Jake, honey, I don’t want to walk through the woods now; maybe later. I can see the path you have made from here. It’s neat.” I replied.

    “No, Omie, it’s not that; Just follow me, I want to show you something. Jake kept his demeanor perfectly casual, with no change in his voice that would try and entice me to keep moving in his direction. He didn’t try to convince me or entice me. He walked a few steps and stood there to see if I was following him. Finally, I decided to follow the boy and see what he had to show me, as he seemed pretty intent on the matter.

    WHAT A SHOCK AND A TOTAL BLESSING for me, as I rounded the corner to see this. His little primitive hut blew me away. I almost screamed with excitement.

    “My Goodness, Jake, this is so awesome. I love it. Did Daddy help you make it? He told me no, that he and his older brother Logan, who is 11, made it. There are no nails, or screws in this structure, no string to hold it all together. I couldn’t believe the imagination, determination, and creativity it took for two small boys to make their fort from what they found lying on the ground.

    For many years, these boys have spent time here at our farm, and I subscribed to an app on the tv called Adventure Agents. All the grandchildren enjoyed the shows, where a Dad and his children are always out in the woods discovering and building without causing harm to the environment. And I have bought several Wilderness Books for them; apparently, they have flipped through the pages and put all that knowledge to work.

    What a gift to me. I am so thankful I continued following him. I would have missed something this special, rare, and unique. I share it on my blog site today, in the hopes that one day, the little hut has fallen apart and lays again on the woodland floor, they will see this post and “REMEMBER WHEN” they built such a cool fort and the day the Jake shared it with me. I am still in awe of the precious little building and feel deeply touched that Jake wanted to share it with me.

    July 2023