Going Batty

In 2009, I went along with my grandchild’s field trip to the zoo. They didn’t stay in the cave with the vampire bats very long. I prefer the fruit bats because they’re easier to see in the tree limbs above. I remember as a child laying on our front walk & seeing a bat in the branch over my head.

My sister Karen K., said, “You did not! I think you’re making things up now!”

No, it’s very true, I was probably 10 or 12. I ran off screaming for mom. My second time to see a wild bat was in my living room on Marsha Street in Andover. It flew in as someone was leaving. Ginger and Larry are my witnesses. A friend, Terry Fleming, was bitten by a bat while on vacation 4 years ago and had to have rabies shots.

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A photo from Pixabay of bats taking a nap in a tree.

Karen K. -Ok, now that I think about it, there might have been bats in the abandoned homestead there on our property, although I never saw any, not even in that really cool cellar. I loved that old building! It fascinated me. We had a huge flowering badam (almond) tree outside our bedroom window in Ahmedabad and you could look right out at the large fruit bats. Our windows weren’t screened, but they never came into the house.

Gail’s Story – Panhandle Pup

At one of the first writing workshops that Gail Lee Martin attended at the East Wichita Shepard Center in 1995 they were asked to write 10 nouns and 10 verbs on pieces of paper that were placed in a container. Then each participant drew out ten pieces of paper and wrote a story using all ten words. Gail ended up with the following words: rose, treasure, Scorpio, rodeo, arrow, stride, deceit, gather, restaurant, terror. All are in this story, can you find them?

I’m guessing from the rich descriptions in the story that Gail had recently been researching the Woodward, Oklahoma ancestors in her genealogy work. She also had a strong interest in geology which shows up in the story. 

Gail Martin's story of the Panhandle Pup. puppy-pixabay Image by ariesa66

Image by ariesa66 from Pixabay

PANHANDLE PUP

Just west of the little town of Freedom in the panhandle of Oklahoma territory is five thousand acres of rose-colored sand, coated with a shimmering crust. Locally known as the Great Salt Plains it was a rugged escarpment of red shale capped with white gypsum the Indians called it the salt mountain because there they could gather a treasure in the form of salt that the tribal Indians needed in their diets.

A mile or two due north of the Great Salt Plains, but still in the sandhill country a salt collector’s camp was made in a ‘little bit of paradise’ that surrounded a tiny oval pool of cold water, that continually overflowed a slight depression to disappear in the hot sand a short distance away. Under the feathery, drooping branches of a lone tamarack tree on the downside of the pool almost completely hidden was a small, furry puppy. Lying flat on his belly he was watching the two boys in the nearby camp.

The boys were arguing about something they had found in the sand. The taller boy was correcting the pronunciation of his little brother, who was calling it a Scorpio instead of a scorpion. “So what? I’ll bet he’ll sure sting with that tail, no matter what we call it.”

Meanwhile, the scorpion was busy playing a game of deceit by hiding in the sand that was the very same color as he was. But the boys marked his spot with a stick so they wouldn’t be deceived.

The men of the camp had left early that morning while the sun was still below the horizon. The small mongrel pup had been relieved when the men disappeared in a mirage of trees that appeared in the middle the salt flats and soon returned his full attention on the two smaller humans sprucing up the campsite after their meal.

Even if this wasn’t a restaurant their Dad had instructed them to be sure and clean it, and he meant clean, like the restaurant they had lunch when they attended the rodeo in Woodward last fall.

The smell of frying bacon had been almost more than the pup’s terror-stricken and starved little body could stand. The sturdy red-headed boy with freckles scattered across his face and arms gathered up some leftover flapjacks and flung them with all his might, straight as an arrow towards the little dog’s hiding place, beyond the camp-site.

This was too much for the pup and he slunk deeper into the shadows. A couple of the flat cakes had landed not far away and the aroma was tantalizing to the cowering pup. Keeping one eye on the boys, the puppy crept slowly toward the enticing smell. In another stride, he quickly grabbed the pancake and gulped it down. Becoming braver he advanced on the other scrap of food.

Just then the older boy saw him and shouted. “Luther! there’s an old coyote getting those cakes you threw away!” As the pup quickly retreated to the hollow under the tree the redheaded boy declared. “Be quiet Francis! that’s just a puppy and he is must be awful hungry.” Kneeling he held out another pancake to the pup that had become lost in the panhandle of Oklahoma. That was all it took for the three to become fast friends.

(This story was first published on the Our Echo website.)

Any Family Memories of the Great Depression?

The 1930s were a long time ago, so not many people have firsthand memories of those. Some of us whose parents grew up during the Great Depression have family stories or learned behavior that traces back to the privations of that era.

I asked my friends how they felt it affected them or what family stories they remembered. Here’s a sampling of those.

Chuck shared this story, “I have two uncles who are brothers that lived through the great depression. A few years ago one of them decided to raise rabbits to eat. His brother would never eat any of the rabbits because, he said, though it is a bit of exaggeration, that all he had to eat during the Depression was swamp rabbit. They were hard times, but I know a lot of people who were made stronger from having lived through those years.

Phillip felt that we haven’t learned what we should have from that time of hardship. “The Great Depression was a lesson in greed that has been forgotten apparently. My grandparents wouldn’t talk about it because they lost everything and had to start over. I worry that my son might have to do the same.” His comment referred to the banking crash and how that happened again in 2008 and the effect of that on his family.

Kathryn had this to say, “I am one fascinated by this topic, as I think it is so applicable today. I grew up hearing the older folks talking about the Great Depression. I had some older relatives who saved everything in their sheds and attics, never throwing anything away after going through the Depression.” She said that her grandmother was a teenager at the time. Her family was not hit as hard as many because they owned a feed store, and people continued buying grains for their livestock and seeds for their gardens. “We could learn a lot from the generations before us.”

 

Bella felt her family was fortunate, “My grandfather had the brains to sell his stocks before the crash of 1929, however, he had several rental properties and suffered losses because the tenants could not pay their rent and he was too kind to kick them out. So many felt the pain of the 1930s.” Her comment reminds us that a rising tide raises all boats, but in the case of the 1930s, it was the opposite. When the people become too poor to pay their rent or shop for goods, then those at the top suffered as well.

Ady felt that the 1930s represented a simpler time that some people were nostalgic about.  “There seemed to be closer bonds between family, neighbors, and friends.” My thinking on Ady’s comment is that people might want closer family bonds but they certainly wouldn’t want to lose their jobs and money like most did during that era.

Here are some memories from my mother who was a child in the 1930s: Gail and the Great Depression. Please, share in the comments any family stories that you might remember that go back to that era.

Dreaming of Ireland

I wonder if my mom (Gail Lee Martin) would have liked to visit Ireland? After working on the family history for years, I imagine she would have liked to see the land of our ancestors. Our research and my own DNA show a strong Irish inheritance. My ethnicity estimate from Ancestry is 27% Irish and Scottish.

farmhouse-irish cottage pixabay

Wouldn’t you like to stay in a cottage in Ireland for a week or two?

I’ve always dreamed of staying in a cottage in Ireland and experiencing village life. What fun to travel around seeing the area and really get a feel for Ireland and its people. A stay of several weeks would allow you to visit places where your ancestors once lived but still have quiet time for relaxing in the wee house.

It turns out that it’s really possible to do this. Here are the steps for making your dream of Ireland into a reality.

Renting a Cottage in Ireland

Start by looking at the listings on the internet. Search for these using the terms “Irish cottage” + “rental.” Here are some examples that I found:

Rent a Cottage
Irish Cottage Holidays

Browse through the listings, looking at locations. Visualize yourself staying in the rustic cottages. Do you want to be in a village so you can walk down to the market for a loaf of bread and to the pub in the evening for a pint?

Would you rather be in the country with a hillside of sheep for company? Think about the setting that fits your dream vacation. Are long rambling walks with skylarks swooping overhead what you want? Would you love puttering with the flower garden and reading in the sunshine?

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Window in Ireland (photo from Pixabay)

Compare the prices of the different agencies that offer cottages for rent. What amenities are included? Do you want total authenticity with a real peat fire in the fireplace and a thatched roof overhead? Maybe your preference is a cottage setting but one that has some modernized comforts as well? Read the listings carefully for these details.

Now, start saving your money for this idyllic Irish vacation. I’m saving what I earn from writing. It’s exciting to see the savings grow and my Irish cottage vacation coming closer to reality.

Not My Mother’s Beef Stew

(Post by Virginia Allain)

I browned some beef chunks and onions and placed them in the slow cooker with some water. After peeling and chopping the carrots and potatoes, I added those. Then it cooked all day and during the last few hours, I added fresh mushrooms.

This is the version I use to make beef stew these days. It’s not my mother’s beef stew, but it always makes me think of hers. She didn’t follow a specific recipe but used a chuck roast cut into cubes and then added whatever vegetables we had on hand.

potato-Image by congerdesign on Pixabay

Beef Stew from My Childhood

What my mother called beef stew was really a beef vegetable soup. It would have potatoes, carrots, and onions but much more. Mom would send me to the cellar where we stored our home-canned foods. I was to bring back jars of green beans, corn, carrots, and tomatoes.

beans-jar Image by Johan1127 on Pixabay

Those made a colorful addition to the basic ingredients and turned it into a wonderfully savory soup.

I remember now, carefully taking the few stone steps down into the dirt-floored cellar under what must have been the original farmhouse. Merely the outer wooden shell of that house remained, but the cellar continued in use. Around the walls of the dank area, were wooden shelves holding the efforts of Mom’s summer canning.

Gathering the requested jars of vegetables, I’d hurry back up the steps and across the snowy yard to the current farmhouse where we lived for eight years. Mom opened the jars and dumped the contents into the big stew pot. This would simmer on the stove top for hours. It was ready to eat once the potatoes and meat were tender.

Coming in from our evening chores of feeding and watering the chickens and rabbits, the blended smell of beef and vegetables promised a warming meal for us. We placed a plate stacked with white store-bought bread on the table with a container of home-churned butter next to it.

white bread pixabay

White bread – Photo courtesy of Pixabay

I loved dipping that buttered bread into the stew and then scooping my spoon into the hearty broth. It came up with bits of potato, beef, corn, green beans, carrots, and onions. After reheating for another meal, the stew thickened and the flavors blended even more.

Eight of us sat down to the old-fashioned round oak table. It was one that our dad inherited from his parents, Cora and Ren Martin. Dad grew up eating at that table, Grandma fed the harvest crews at that table, and now a new generation of Martins ate hungrily and when replete, we lingered there telling stories of the day’s happenings.

 

Trying the Rule of Five

I just read an article about how clutter affects women and can cause depression. Although I don’t think I’m depressed, I do have clutter. I know that my clutter sometimes makes me feel overwhelmed and pressured.

Here’s one suggestion that I want to try. They said: Adopt the Rule of Five.
5 five pixabay

How the Rule of Five works:

“Every time you get up from your desk or walk through a room, put away five things. Or, each hour, devote five minutes to de-cluttering. At the end of the day, you’ve cleaned for an hour.”
Since my desk is one of my worst clutter spots, I’m going to try applying the rule of five to it. I’m ready for a break and want to go get a late evening snack in the kitchen. First, I’ll look for 5 things on my desk to take care of. Then I can have my snack.
How about you? Do you have a favorite clutter-busting technique?
Other articles by Virginia Allain on decluttering:

Photos of the Wagon Wheel Rugs

Post by Virginia Allan
My mom and dad tried out a lot of crafts after retirement. One that they revived was the almost-lost art of the wagon wheel rug. The metal rim of an old wagon wheel serves as the base for tying the strips of cotton cloth before you start weaving.

They used old sheets torn into strips and turned out many colorful rag rugs woven on the wagon wheel. Although these are intended as throw rugs for the floor, I’ve seen people use them on a round table or to drape across the back of a sofa or chair.

They even demonstrated this technique at various pioneer days and at local history museums. Mom and Dad would be thrilled that a growing number of people are taking up the weaving of wagon wheel rugs.

There’s now a Facebook group where those making these round rag rugs are helping others to learn the craft. The folks would be so pleased that the skill is being shared with new people. Almost 200 people have joined the Facebook group and are sharing tips on making the rugs.

Photos of Gail and Clyde Martin’s Wagon Wheel Rugs

I asked my family to send me photos of their rugs made by Gail and Clyde Martin. My sisters and nieces shared the pictures below. Thank goodness for email and digital cameras which made it easier for them to send these along to me.

It seems that family cats are also liking the wagon wheel rugs. They are just right to curl up on for a cat nap, it seems.

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Nikki’s cat and blue rug

nikki's rug blue

A wider view of the blue rug

Here are some more rugs from the family.

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orange and white wagon wheel rug made by Gail and Clyde Martin

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Close-up of the weaving

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Spokes of the wheel

I’m leaving the photos full-size so anyone trying to make these kinds of rugs can see the details.

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Wagon wheel rug made by Gail and Clyde Martin

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Detail of the center of the rug

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Detail of the spokes of the wagon wheel rug

Even more wagon wheel rugs –