Red Rose Revisited

I grew up with this tea. Every meal – breakfast dinner and supper – a big pot of red rose tea was made and drank by all of us, sometimes two pots. Our families consumption of Tea made me a confirmed “Tea Granny”, what my mom dubbed me as a little girl. I would slurp every spoonful with gusto, having three spoonfuls of sugar in every cup and a good dollop of milk to boot…

The Ways of the Past: Harvesting

When I was little, you saw wheat swathed, then you saw it combined like this. I saw many fields harvested like this growing up, even small fields right around my home in north St. Vincent. Mr. Bordeniuk, who lived just a half block south of us, had two small fields by our place - one directly west of the house between us and Philip Cameron's, and one north and a bit northeast between us and where the dike was. 

Believe it or not, he used to seed these fields the old way, by hand-casting the seed out of a big sling bag hung around his shoulders and laying again his chest. I watched him do this myself more than once. He had a rhythm, alternately grabbing seed with his right and left hands as he slowly walked, casting the seed in arcs. His skill in seeding this way was proven as the plants emerged and you saw an even field, no gaps or crowding. 

Before I had horses and fenced most of our pasture in, Philip Cameron hayed our pasture each year. In a good year, he was able to get two cuttings off of it; he used some of the same methods to cut the hay into rows that he would go over with again with a baler, to make into small square bales. He had seeded it in a mixture of timothy and alfalfa. Between his small fields behind his home - which bordered against the Red River - and our hay land, he was able to feed his dairy and beef cows. He and his wife lived a 'sustainable' life way before that became the modern term it means now. Years ago, many in St. Vincent lived that way. It was a simple, but GOOD life...

Long Ago & Not Far Away

I cannot believe how many years have passed by...on days like this, beautiful June sunny days I think of riding out under the sun and then I remember no, those days are gone, but boy I wish they weren't. 

I can still smell my horse's sweat and the leather of the saddle. 

Sarina, knee deep in clover, alfalfa, and timothy.

Summer 1973, it was her first day at our place in the new pasture that Dad & Ed Falk helped put up corner posts on. The tiny barn that was once my grandparents' garage up here then down at their uptown home, now brought back to where it started...but this time on the old barn's foundation - with a fresh coat of oil-based paint courtesy of my Dad.

Dad was my right-hand man in getting everything ready for my dream-come-true that I had worked so hard to save money for ...

a HORSE!

Weighted Blankets, Heavy Quilts

"Weighted Blankets" - I grew up with them. 

We called them homemade quilts made out of Mom's old polyester double-knit pant suits. 

Trust me, they were "weighted" (read: heavy!)

Mom's Secret Weapon

My cat Dusty - who loved me to pieces just like I loved him - was sent like a guided missile by my Mom every morning to push me OUT of bed. First Mom would yell up the stairs for me to wake up and get up, I'd eventually mumble, " getting up." I lied and Mom knew it. She'd yell again. Then I'd hear her call Dusty and I'd hear him run up the stairs a-thump-a-thump-a-thump...He'd jump on the bed, and come and STAND on me and start making serious biscuits...About that time I would surrender, laugh, pet him and get up.

Meeting my Irish Author

I'll always remember that night. 

I went alone, as I often did back in those days. 

Professor Sandra Manoogian Pearce had brought Irish author Edna O'Brien to Moorhead State University to read from her new novel HOUSE OF SPLENDID ISOLATION. 

 

It was October, 1995 and I had just bought a copy of the book at Zandbroz Variety, and O'Brien was going to do a signing after her reading. 

 

I arrived early to Weld Hall auditorium, where the event was taking place. I had not been there before, and I instantly loved its oldness and character. 

 

I settled in, and read from the book. I often will come very early to a venue to get a feel for the place before it comes alive with an audience. 

To hear Edna O'Brien read her own work was to forget where you were.

[Below is the rest of the interview shown above of Edna O'Brien, that was done the evening before the reading in Moorhead...]

Penmanship

I learned how to handwrite in 1967 in third grade.  Mrs. Knutson was our teacher for that year, and I remember her as a competent, pleasant woman but one that you just felt inclined to pay attention to.  I became very engaged and fascinated with learning to write in longhand.

The class was called Penmanship, and the activity itself was called handwriting.  I never heard it referred to as cursive until my own children were in school many years later...

An actual example of my handwriting from 1967 that my mother kept...

And another thing, what is the deal with how kids nowadays hold pens and pencils? It looks downright awkward. No wonder that many of them can't write very well! I also can't help wondering if they're not even making excuses for it...