Sunny Days...

 ...chasin' the clouds away, ah yes, the lazy, hazy, crazy days of summer. WARNING:no new pictures here. Just pieces from the scrapbag that is my life. A small sunny project, a little quilt to accompany the doll that went off to ilve with granddaughter H.
 And some sunshine on a stem. A favorite of mine, Betsy's and Van Gogh. Beautiful AND delicious!
 Leisure, a shady spot on a summer day. A time and place to reflect or just dream. Lately my dreams have been a mixed bag. Looking, seeking, wishing..a place or a way to jump start my enthusium for fabric and sewing(of quilts, primarily). A sense of guilt, as if I were lying about my passion, which seems to me missing.
 
And last, but not least, summer joy. My candy corn bandits, re-living the history of my kids. Oh the joy of doing belly-flops onto the shiny wet grass after a horrific rain storm, and sliding clear across the lawn on a sheet of standing water. Wish I had a picture of that *VBS*

Places of the heart....

that were so real, so vibrant and the 'stuff' of daily existence. Time, ticking along, replaces those on a daily basis. Gradually at first, and then faster and faster. First the places, and then the people, who held our hearts, fade. But fading is not the same as disappearing. A lyric from a song, the scent of lilac on the warm spring air, a particular full moon, a passing glimpse of something...and we are once again in "that" place...the one that thing which is 'of the heart'.
 We could collect this random bits of stimulation, like pieces for a quilt. Rain on your face, the smell of freshly cut grass, flickering fireflies at dusk. A waft of homemade bread or fresh strawberries, the graduation march played across our nation as May rolls into June. Or the Wedding march ringing out from churches across the land. A baby's laughter or the scent of baby powder. Gather them up and put them in our scrap baskets.
 Long carefree days of summer...it seems they will never end. County fairs and spitting watermelon seeds. Dripping popsicles and brown bags of penny candy. The thump of a beloved pets tail as they greet us *VBS*
 Friends, Grandmas, little sisters, Mom and Dad. Favorite cousins, smelly Aunts. Each of these, a 'piece', that held a place in my heart, of my heart....gone now, passed into eternity, but existing in memories that take me back to there.
And for our country's celebration of Indendence tomorrow, "Catch a falling star and put it in a basket, never let it get away....".

Wednesday's work in progress....

It's been a busy week in my little corner of WI. There have been so many storms that my plants have more miles on them than my car!! High winds and lots of hail... yup, I put them in the garage til it passes. My neighbor and I joked last evening that it would be foolish to take those hanging thingies off our basket plants. They make for speedy moving to the garage! I'm back to volunteering at the nursing home with the Tuesday bingo games. The church ladies take the summer off. And I spent Monday at Jean's, quilting *VBS* Almost no sewing this week....except for this... EBBY! If you are going to help...pay attention!!
 That's better...these are the blocks for my Quilts for Luekemia. Remember when Clare challenged me to make a quilt and donate it? On Wednesday, after a bit of prodding from Clare, I finished up the blocks. This fabric is what I will use for sashing. Then a red border and binding. Hope to get this done today.
 The tissue paper playground still rules at our house. This first one is nearly a "goner" now...more holes than paper....I'm standing by with a new one for her pleasure.
 And a glimpse into July memories *VBS* Celebrating July birthdays for my Grandpa and my Mom,(she took the picture of my Dad and Grandpa) with a home made strawberry shortcake. Grandpa looked so very much like Burl Ives, I think. Wish I could have gotten to know him and his tall tales.

I am.....

 from week long hospital stays, from beaded bracelets that were pink or blue and contained beads that spelled out the baby's last name. From gleaming white, high ceiling hospital rooms with starched sheets and a lingering incense smell from the Chapel down the hall. I am from cloth diapers, belly bands and shirts that tied with little strings on the side, shirts will long sleeves worn by both summer and winter babies.
 I am from an era of baby contests, both beauty and 'look alike'. I am from a time and place of being a Junior Princess in a Baby Sandy 'look alike' contest. I am from so long ago that no memory of this exists anymore. I am from a 3 adults family, from being an only child for nearly 7 years.
 I am from hair worn in pigtails with ribbons,and little cotton dresses for all seasons,from scratchy wool sweaters and long brown or white stockings. I am from tangled garter belts with twisted shoulder straps to drive you crazy. I am from nickle photo booths in dime stores to capture memories. I am from corner grocery stores with squeaky wooden floors that slant and slope, from penny candy counters where a nickle went so very far. From regular business hours and closed on Sundays. From fresh butchers meat counters and nickle tablets and penny pencils. I am from 8 crayon colors in my box. I am from comic books and paper dolls.
 I am from first day of school pictures, from hanky pinned to your dress, and ribbons to match what you wore. I am from dusty, chalk filled blackboards and President Washington on the wall. I am from Pledge of Allegiance to our flag, and from "Duck and Cover" drills. From wooden school desks with pencil holder across the top. From recess on the playground and games of hopscotch and jacks. From swings on iron chains and merry-go-rounds. I am from ringing school bells on old red brick school buildings, and cinders on the playground. From elderly spinster teachers in dresses smelling faintly of perspiration and Mum antiperspirant, in it's white cream form. From sensible brown shoes that laced and tied and blue jeans that zipped on the side. From all that and so much more, in the years from 1940 through 1945.

Friday again...how did that happen??

That old devil "Time" is at it again. Always the enemy, always eluding us. As I think about that, the passing of time, years in particular, I think of lyrics from the "Old Devil Time" song.." ..and when you have me in your icy grasp, my friends all gather round, and help me rise, rise and defeat you, one more time."...I am thinking about a gathering of friends this year. My graduation class will hit the BIG 50 on May 29th, 2008. Our gathering is scheduled for August 8th in the town of my birth.Looking back at the beginnings... my first grade class. I'm the one on the far right, front row. It was my birthday. Wearing my special blue dress and blue ribbons in my hair. The camera clicks, the first grade class of South Side School is captured forever...An October day in 1946. I remember nearly all of their names *S*
Fast forward...last day of 6th grade. Different time, different place, still my home town, but the south side kids were transported to a larger school for 5th and 6th grade. I have learned to 'mingle' with the 'uptown and hill' kids. They will become part of my 155 member graduating class. The country kids haven't arrived yet.Next year, we will hit another building, the Junior High,for 7th,8th and 9th grade. Most of country schools stopped at 6th and then transporting the kids to town. I got to know many of these particular kids very well. Our class was divided into 'sections' alphabetically. I was an S-4, in the R-Z section. Meaning home room every year with the same kids. I'm not in this picture, I was the one taking it...*VBS*
And then you're at the 'end', graduation. I graduated on a Friday night at the local Fair Grounds. The only seating facility big enough to hold us and our families. The class of 1958, were the last class to graduate from the old high school. September would find the doors opening on a new, single level sprawing high school in a different part of town. Our school is gone now, torn down, leaving only the foundation and oddly enough the steps. They leading up to a door that is no longer there. I've always thought "how strange", those step that lead you to no where but memories.
The $64 dollar question, these dsya, is "will I attend the reunion?" I don't know. Time will tell.

Shadow catching....

is difficult at best. And to get your hands on the elusive April, is proving difficult as well. The snows of last Monday, April Fools Day, have melted over the past week. Temps in the low 60's will do that to fresh snow. The first promise of spring arrived in the form of chirping robins, hungry for their worms. But the character of April is fickle, and it's best to keep your feet on solid ground until the Lady May arrives. April doesn't let go that easily.
 In the Cottage,a tea kettle sings,the scent of cinnamon is in the air,and shadows from Aprils of the past are here for the taking. I reach deep into my scrapbag and pull a scrap with glistening,swirling marbles. The kind that children pull from their pockets. Tiger Eyes, steelies, swirlys and more. A colorful and innocent doorway to Aprils past.
A circle drawn on the blacktop of the playground, or on cleared-off, packed-hard dirt beyond the cement. A stick to draw the circle, someone to play with. A shooter, and your bag of miggies. Watch out!..your friends warn,"don't put in your best marbles, nor you favorite." Don't subject them to 'lost'. Many a marble changes hands during recess.
My marble bag was full. And every once in awhile, nearly empty. I was a serious marble player!
A mesh bag of the shiny little globes, available for a dime, maybe a quarter. Just hit the local Ben Franklin or Woolworts. Prices seemed to change from year to yaar,
Finding marbles for your child isn't difficult, the jump ropes only slightly more so...but jacks, especially the metal ones, in the original size with their little red rubber ball, now that IS a challenge.
Marbles figured largely in my childhood, and I have them still. One of the few things to survive the years. I'm not sure what it is about marbles... the colors, the roundness *VBS* Maybe the cool glassy-ness, or the tendency to roll away from you.
Remember the frustation of the teacher, as one marble escaped and rolled across those wooden floor?? It sounded like a cannon ball in a quiet room. And then the embarrasment as you picked it up and placed it on the teachers desk until recess? Ah yes, some of the shadows being caught are a bit more gray than silver. Are there marbles in your life???

Pieces of Easter...past...

Looking across the years, so many Easter bonnets...back when we wore hats and Easter bonnets to church. So many new dresses and maybe a new spring coat or jacket. New shoes for Easter...maybe even shiny ones, like patten leather. And Easter baskets and Easter bunnies, or coloring books, or new jump ropes. Easter seemed like the perfect time for a little 'pick-me-up' after the long spell since Christmas. And of course, the religious observance and an Easter dinner to celebrate the Risen.Little Sister, probably about 6, which would have made me going on 13. Just a 'little' attitude about picture taking, right ? *VBS* Mom always wanted "one more". I think Little Sister wanted her chocolate bunny and I wanted O.U.T.! But it was a pretty dress, a full whirl skirt and the palest shade of lavender, almost a frosted lilac.
Both little sisters, all dressed up for church and looking pretty for Easter. Even when Mom didn't get anything new( Dad almost never did) we had Easter finery...and treats. Many years and many miles separate us now. I'm miles from the sisters, and an eternity away from parents and grandparents, I have the bits and pieces in my scrapbag. The lingering images of those early years, and the baskets I made, or filled or purchased. Bunnies, chicks, red wagons, jump ropes, coloring and story books. Dying eggs that the kids never ate, and all the candy that they loved to eat. I don't think ,as a child, you see or sense this as the 'time' of earth's renewal. Easter is a calendar holiday, a church holiday, a time for family. Spring is what happens later, while you are swinging or playing baseball or jacks or jumping rope. The trees are bare and the grass brown, and then one day the puddles are gone, the sky is blue and green grass greets you in the morning..,.*VBS*, and it's spring!
A little Cracker(pattern name)doll quilt I made last Easter. I brought it back because the colors are soooo Easter, to me *VBS* How is everyone coming in their preparations for the big day occurring on Sunday???

Foundations....

...the thing upon which we build. Not necessarily a house. Maybe a piece of paper or cloth in making a quilt. Maybe a marriage. And just maybe....a life. None of us are without a foundation. Even if that is a negative thing such as an orphanage, or foster home,or a hospital in a war torn country Your life's foundation is based, in part on where you find yourself at the age of reason, which is about 7 years.This is my foundation. My beautiful young mother and father, my beloved Grandma Lottie. I don't know what year this was taken, but the engagement was short so probably 1935. She met him during deer hunting season of 1934, and married him the following August. There is only one word on the back of this faded picture...prophesy? Yes, the question mark is there, behind the word. I'm sure the writing, which was my Mom's, was added later.The picture foretells what is to be the future.
She and my Dad had from 1935 until January of 1942 to be their own family. I was born in the 5ht year of their marriage. Then the unthinkable happened, my maternal grandfather died suddenly. He left my beloved Grandma virtually penniless and with no job skills. Needless to say, she came to live with her only daugther. And that changed the course of everyones life. But that scenario is the foundation of my life.

I stood by the stove a few evenings ago, slicing cold boiled potatoes into a smail frying pan. That was what I wanted most in the world right then. I didn't think about why or what the foundation of my craving was. I wanted fried potatoes.
The undescrible quirks of memory took over, and I followed them along a dimly lit path. What I found was my mother, standing by the stove, slicing cold boiled potatoes into a iron frying pan...feeding a hungry family. At first it was just the 4 of us, and then, as I reached the age of reason, and an awareness of myself as an individual, a new sister and 4 years later, another. That completed our family I grew up in.
Potatoes were almost always boiled at our house. I'm not sure I ever had a baked potato until I began eating "out". That must have been part of her foundation in life. Peeling potatoes to boil one night for supper, and frying the leftover the next day for lunch or supper. One of my best 'home from school for lunch' meals was a fried egg on top of fried potatoes.
As I stood there, turning my few fried potatoes, I remembered thinking about how many thousand potatoes she must have peeled, cooked and fried in her short 52 years of life. I have her black iron frying pans, most of them. Some I shared with my middle sister. I don't use them often as I dislike cleaning them.
My DD#1 called the next day, and as we conversed, I mentioned I had made fried potatoes for my supper. Her instant response was "oh, comfort food" and I could hear the smile in her voice. I never gave much thought to what or how my kids felt about being served fried potatoes on occasion. It was just "part of the whole deal" growing up in the family I raised. We had rice sometimes, mashed potatoes on other occasions. Some times boiled potatoes and some times baked. I covered all the bases..LOL Apparently she remembers fried potatoes as a good thing. That's really nice to know, after all these years *VBS* I think my Mom is smiling down from Heaven about that.

Christmas past....

It's been a very odd sort of day today...not quite like any thing I've experienced before. I've spent most of Christmas Eve and all of Christmas Day alone, except for Ebony. I've tried hard not to slip into that 'place' where all the ghosts of Christmas Past come calling, but I guess with 67 Christmases behind me, it's easier said than done.This very faded picture from 1946 is a window into a sad Christmas past. My baby brother had been born and died in December of 1945. It didn't stop Christmas from coming...and also a baby from the WI Welfare Dept. for my Mom to take care of . They took the baby away in mid December of 1946, as a new baby was due to be born at our house in 1947. There were presents under the tree for me, but not much visibility of parents. A quiet and lonely Christmas. The doll in the picture is a Candy Kid, made by the Effenbee Co in 1946. I got one dressed in pink that Christmas and another dressed in blue for my birthday the Oct. of 1947.
This is an original Candy Kid doll, the picture is from Ebay. I didn't win that auction, but I kept the picture.The original dolls were composition material, and didn't hold up well over the years. They chipped very badly. IF you can find one to bid on,it will be very expensive.
This is a reproduction Candy Kid doll. The company used the original molds(but cast the doll in a resin type material)in 1996 and produced a limited edition for the 50 year anniversary. I bid on and won a doll dressed in pink, and another in an original(reproduction) box. This one(in blue)isn't mine, but another picture from Ebay. I'm sad that I don't have my original dolls, the 2 Candy Kids and others from over the years. My Mom decided they should go to needy families. I was not consulted before hand, and it's too late once the toy is in the hands of another child.
This was our tree from Christmas, 1951. I know that because I had turned 11 in Oct and was getting too big for dolls. But Santa brought me one anyway...a blond one for me, a dark haired one for my 4 yr old sister. Our baby sister was 6 months at Christmas. I have a Kodak picture of the 3 of us, on the couch, with the 2 large dolls.
And this one is probably 1953...I don't remember much detail about most childhood Christmases...just a glimspe here and there.
Finn Family DIDN'T get to gather on Sunday. The Grinch, or someone, stole Christmas and kept it from coming. Heavy, heavy snow and then dropping temps and high winds kept my kids and grandkids with their home fires burning. As it turns out, there was misery all across the nation, weatherwise. 19 deaths are blamed on the Storm that roared through the midwest and up across the eastern seaboard. What can you do? What can you say? Better luck next year? Nope...we aren't going to try this again. In the multitude of phone calls that resulted from the storm, it was decided that WE are MOVING Christmas to another month entirely...! Probably Christmas in July or maybe in September....but NO MORE of this 'weather dance'.
Yesterday was clear, sunny and bright....and I'm happy for all who were delayed in their air and road travel. Today is overcast, but basically clear and moderate. Of course all of my fkids had other plans for yesterday and today.
DD#1 and her sweet DH came driving in about 9, bringing presents and breakfast! It was wonderful to get to see one of my kids at least, and after a few hours visit, they were on their way again.
Today I was suppose to have Christmas Dinner with friend Jean, but on Saturday she fell victum to the season flu that is going around. She called today to say I could still come if I wanted to, but of course she is in NO shape to eat what she would be cooking. I declined and stayed home *VBS* Better for both of us that way.
I've NOT been sad today, or depressed....just rather confused by such an odd set of circumstances....wondering how, after all these years, and so many people in my life, I managed to be completely alone this Christmas....LOL.
I've watched Christmas movies and sorted Orphan blocks, and reminded myself often that there are MANY, MANY people in the world who are alone most of the time. Whether due to life style, circumstances, or choice.... I'm not the only one. And I'm ok, warm, safe and I have Ebby for company! And so I wish a Merry Christmas to one and all, around the world. May a year of peace,joy and good fortune be yours. Hugs for everyone, Finn

Snow, snow, and more snow...plus plaid shirts....

My Mom loved pictures. She loved taking pictures. Not sure that she loved snow, but apparently I did *VBS* Do I still love snow?? Hmmmm...guess I'd say 'yes, but in moderation please'.This one was taken in Dec. of 1941...I was 14 months old. Pretty cold stuff!
And in Dec. of 1943, I had a little neighborhood friend to play with. His name was Billy. He's on the left. I stayed taller than him all the years I knew him.
By 1950 I had grown pretty tall...a whoppin' 5'2". And those are the heavy woolen jacket and snowpants I spoke of in the slidding post.
It was a special occasion day when this was taken. A Christmas visit from my Sunday School teacher, Mrs. Bartz. She was a very special person in my troubled life. I really wished I could live with her, and not at home. Of course that was just my childish wishful thinking *S* I particularily LOVE the little thing on my head in this picture. I wore one of some sort or another every winter. We called them "jibbers"..they were knit, narrower by the lower ears and chin, and got wider as it crossed you head. It did have some shaping up each side. The best year of all was 1953, when as a new teenager, I had a white angora jibber and matching mittons...I was in 'heaven' *VBS* Does anyone out there know of a place I could get a pattern for one of these??????
And my "last-but-not-least" picture for today is quilty!!! A friend's PLAID SHIRTS quilt top, in progress. This was to be a memory quilt for a SIL. The gal's brother had died of cancer, and she took his shirts and made this quilt for his widow. I love that particular block, which is known as a 'four patch variation'. I've done one double bed size quilt of it, in scraps. I think it would also look great in Christmas fabrics. How is everyone coming on their holiday sewing???? Happy Weekend one and all!

My own winter wonderland...

and if you don't like snow...sorry! Looks like it's here to stay for awhile.The view from my patio...compliments of Sat.'s storm..6".
Gosh, could it be my fault?? I put my "I love snow" snowman by the front door...*VBS* Naw, couldn't be that...
And with December it's time for Frosty. Mine is immune to melting...a bird feeder that the birds don't recognize or accept...oh well, he looks cute on the chair.
Snow means time to get out the old sled. An early 1940's version...very much a one person sled. I spent many, many happy hours on one just like this. A block from my house was the most wonderful sliding hill. The city thought so too, and every winter they blocked off the top and bottom with saw horses and put the old kerosene burning 'pots' at each end of the saw horses. The pots burned brightly in on cold winter nights from early December til the thaw in spring. The hill,you see, was a side street in a quiet neighborhood. Traffic was deferred a block to main street. Kids by the dozens gathered after suppper on cold winter nights to slid and play, warmed by mittons, stocking caps and zip up or buckle boots, heavy snow pants of dark wool, and layers of sweaters under their jackets. We were so well insulated from the cold that the snow clung to our jackets and pants and didn't melt but needed to be brushed away. Our noses got drippy, our eyes watered from the wind and cold, and our cheeks were rosy! It was the grandest of times, that innocent social interaction between boys and girls, neighorhood friends and cousins. We slid solo, or 2,3 or 4 on a sled, sometimes piled 3 or 4 high on our bellies. A topple off into the snow was always a possibility with double-deckers. Our laughter rang out in the cold, clear night, and off in the distance the churches played Christmas carols from their bell towers. It was truly a glorious time in my childhood. I have the very best memories of years and years of sliding on cold winter nights. By 9 p.m., most of us had to trudge home, happy, tired and ready for our jammies. And oh the sweet dreams a child had on nights such as that *VBS*
And of course, since I'm a 'last-but-not-least' mood lately, here is my newest treasure from last weeks thrift store adventure. I collect pitchers... I love cream pitchers(in all sizes) the best!! I got this adorable little guy for only .49!!! On the bottom it says Made in China(stick on tag) and is insized with "1/2 cup" and a pottery logo that I don't recognize. I have only a couple of the 'mouth' pitchers, which makes him all the more special. OK...dishes are done, laundry is washed and dried...now I can sew!!

School days, school days.....

....happy golden rule days....reading and writing, and 'rithmatic...
and what else did we need except an apple for the teacher, a hanky pinned to our dress, hair neatly braided and a bright yellow pencil? *VBS*
So simple then, so very, very simple.The excitement of summer sliding into the cooling days of autumn, the first blush of color on the maple leaves. Dry, tired worn out grass and a senses of anticipation. The county fairs come, and go...a sure sign that summer is nearly over. The fruits of the garden harvest glow in bright glass jars, proudly bearing ribbons of many colors. Crisp veggies grow limp on the their judging plates as the days slip by. The fattened, prime animals have been judged and counted and found worthy. Another chapter is ending...summer, soon to be a memory. And then that long awaited day...coolish, sunny with shadows, a new freshness in the air, and off in the distance, the telling call of the old bell in the tower. Ringing to summon you back to the classroom, to pencils, books, spelling tests, the smell of paste, chalk, newly waxed floors and varnished furniture. It's all so familiar once you've passed the first year of school. It becomes a thread woven into the fiber of your being. Always another autumn, always another first day of school. Even ancient hearts stir with excitement and memories as that big day approaches. Perhaps it is not so for everyone. Perhaps it is different with males. I can only speak my truth. And every year, about this time...in the far distant part of my memory, rises a sense of change coming. Of new beginnings, and old continuings. Of leaves to scuff through, and apples to crunch. Of creaky schoolyard swings, and the strange metal smell of the slide on the playground. Of lunch room odors drifting up and outward. All the parts of that particular 'piece' come drifting up from my mind's scrapbag. Dig in your scrapbag today and see what you can find...*S*
And buy yourself a bright new pencil, in red or blue or green, or maybe even yellow. Strange,in adulthood, how we grow away from the idea of writing with a pencil. Draw a picture, write a note, make a heart with Billy loves Susie written there, just for fun! And sing outloud.."school days, school days..." Dare Ya!!!

The Joys of Fishing....

I suppose it helps that I was suppose to be a boy. And that my parents waited 5 years to have a child, and that I was an only child until I was nearly 7. My Dad was a woodsman. Raised in the

old growth timber of Northen WI and worked the woods as well as the farm. His father's brothers were settlers in the Chippewa valley, known for it's timber industry and lumber. The mighty Chippewa River floated many a log down stream to the Mississippi.

Rivers, woods, wild open country are part of my heritage. My Dad loved to fish, and luckily my Mom adapted to that life style. I am talking about REAL fishing. The kind in which you and fish have about 50-50 odds of success. He has all the fish-like skills and knowledge of the water. You have that old cane pole, a cork bobber, some black threadtype line, a hook, a wiggley worm and determination. You are COUNTING on the fish to need a meal and be tempted. That way YOU get a meal...heheheh! Don't tell the fish!

Do you remember "fishie, fishie in the brook, come and bite my little hook...I will catch you if I can and fry you up in my little pan"? *VBS*

I never trudged the dusty roads of WI, fishing pole on my shoulder, unless you count the walk from the car to the lake shore or river bank. We were 'land' fishermen. Occasionally a fishing trip would include a row boat rental. WI's lakes are many, and the resorts of the 1940's and 50's usually had a string of bright green row boats that you could rent. I wish I remembered what they cost, but as a child that's nothing that occurs to you.

My adored getting to go fishing with my Dad, just us two, out in the boat. He was very tolerant and let me just hang over the side, watching the lily pads go by, seeing the minnows dart and the golden, mysterious shadowy bottom get darker and darker. Nothing about being on the lake scared me until I saw my first water snake lurking in the lily pads. After that it was hard, but I didn't trail my fingers along in the water at the side of the boat as much!

I had a good toleration for fishing, I could stay out there hours and hours and be still and be happy. I always got tired before my Dad did, but that's to be expected.

We often had a lunch(of sorts) in a brown paper bag, accompanied by a glass vinegar jug of water. Never anything fancy or elaborate, but did a jelly sandwich ever taste as good as when you were fishing? That and a crunchy apple?

Mostly we caught 'pan' fish. I suppose they are called that because you fry them up in a pan. This was before filleting became popular. Dad cut off the heads and tails, gutted them and scrapped off the scales. Mom washed them well, floured them and fried them up in a big black cast iron frying pan. They were crispy and tender, moist and tasty. You had to pick out the bones, being careful not to swallow one. You were a BIG girl if Dad didn't have to 'bone' your fish any more..*VBS*

The fish we caught in summer were a staple in our summer diets. Once really HOT weather began, the lakes develop their 'dog days' of summer algae growth, the fish get softer of body from the warmer water, and we didn't fish a lake unless it was spring fed. Many of the lakes around Chippewa Falls are just that, spring fed. Chippewa was known for years and years for it's famous Chippewa Springs water...even back before spring water was fashionable.

In winter, we fished through the ice on lakes frozen deep, deep, deep. Again, more pan fish, but occasionally a muskie or a northern pike.

My family didn't eat catfish or bull heads, but it was fun to catch them as they put up a really good fight. The hook had to be removed with a pliers as those stingy things on their face are nasty!

I fished with my DH through many years of marriage, and fished with my kids during their growing up years. Sadly I do not fish anymore, not that I wouldn't like to. The opportunity no longer presents itself. I have wonderful memories of refections on the water, the sounds of the river, the birds, and the lulling of the water as you sit and watch for that bobber to go down.....just once more!

Any Child.....

and a seriously, desperate 'hombre' from the expression. "I mean business, reach for the sky". My very most favorite thing to 'be' in my childhood, a cowboy. Complete with imagionary horse who whinnied and embarassed my Mother endlessly. My horse stomped and nickered, whooshed and galloped, all to her dismay at the local mom and pop corner grocery. I had to swing my leg over and off to dismount, and then tie him to the rail. She turned every shade of red in the book, but I didn't notice. I was in heaven, even if it was imagionary. Much of this lasted through my pre-teen years. 12 and 13 brought changes, and horses became something to dream about, not own invisible ones. The holtsers and guns and hats and shirts were lost to childhood, probably adopted by my little sister. OK..now the pictures are explained...*VBS* In the second and third pic, I'm slightly older, but still not that strange transforming age of 12 or 13. Childhood lingers around the edges, and you can see I
am still delighted and charmed to be "with my Dad". I hope I didn't give you a wrong impression in my post Remembering my Dad. The later part was what happened in my 17-18 year old self. A time when one should begin to make some life decisions and be ready to act upon graduating. My Dad owned at least one suit besides his wedding suit. He hated wearing a suit and tie, but would when it was necessary. I have NO idea why he has one on in these pictures. They probably are dime store(vs.fair)pictures. He's never wear a suit to the fair. It might have been our joint birthday month, October. We both look pretty happy and relaxed.
My Dad was a very, very hard working man. He has farmed and logged with his father and brothers in Northern WI. He married my mom just as the Depression was ending, having worked WPA up north, planting trees. How they survived in their little cabin on Depression rations amazes me. But they did and were happy and heading into a better life with my arrival pending. He had the new job with a future, a place to live, and a baby on the way. Of course, I WAS suppose to be a boy..sorry Dad! He had always been a hunter and a fisherman, and they ate a great deal of vension and pan fish. We did all through my childhood. My Dad read to me as a toddler, buf that fell by the wayside once Gram moved in with us. I think it was about that time that he took whatever part time work he could get after his regular 8-4 shift at the machine shop. But on weekends we went fishing, and he taught me to fish, patiently baiting my hook with worms. We were cane pole fishermen, with corks. Bobber in bright plastics were far off in the future. I helped him dig worms, carefully picking up each one as long as it didn't wiggle too much...LOL He taught me to pick blueberries, and wild blackberries. How to look for and find wintergreen plants in the woods, with their shiny red berries. I rode along to my Uncle's house while he hoed potatoes, and I got to play with my cousins. Eventually I would get to hoe potatoes, picked them up in the autumn, and begin to appreciate how much work it is to grow cucumbers for money. It takes a long time to pick a pound of the tiny ones they use for gerkins. They pay the best, and as they grow bigger they can still be picked for other grades. I spent alot of time with my dad, being the tomboy that I was. Especially after my baby sister was born when I ws 7. I tagged along after Dad whenever I could. I went to the pulp wood forest with him, riding his Uncles big draft horse, and played in the woods while he skidded logs for paper. We ate lunch from our brown paper bag, drinking water from a gallon glass jug that had previously held vinegar. Plastic still was an unknown. Sandwiches were wrapped in the wax paper bread wrappers. Summer seemed endless to me, and that was a good thing. For when the school year started I saw little of my Dad except at supper and on the weekends. With 3 adults and 2 hungry kids to feed, he worked evenings often, pouring iron in the iron foundry of our landlord. I think the rent was often paid that way. In autumn he picked apples at one of the local orchards, every weekend, and sometimes taking one week of his vacation and working out there for the apple harvest. Sometimes he just worked his vacation for the double pay. One week was always saved for deer season....you could hardly blame him.
I love him fiercely all those years. I ached for him with an awareness of how hard he worked and how little he complained. I ached when he and my mother quarreled, which was often. I ached at seeing him mend his own overalls by hand with a large needle and size 50 black thread. I begged to do it for him, but was told it was too hard to pull through, or that he was almost done. And I suppose when the ache becomes too much, you run. You disappear into the scenery, you get as busy as possible elsewhere. You begin working at 15 without working papers. You are home to eat and sleep and as little else as possible. Learning to cook or sew wasn't an option. I learned to do dishes, lots and lots of dishes, wash clothes and mop floors but not much else. By now Gram has her own little 2 room apt in our building, and I spend alot of time with her. Keeping her company, or playing marbles or hiding out from my Mom.
There really isn't much I can say in my defense except when faced with the choice, you either stay or you go. To stay was to agree(or something) to that place in life, that lifestyle or something similar.I didn't stay. My life has been completely different. My sisters stayed. Their lives, in my opinion, has been achingly similar to my parents....lots of struggle.
I believe my Dad to be one of the very finest people on the face of the Earth, I admire his strength in the face of impossible odds. Life was not kind to him. The only choice I see him making was in marrying my mother, whom he loved dearly. But that falls on top of being born at the end of WW1, of growing up 'into' the Depression, and then life happened. A first child born, and then another mouth to feed, forever, the MIL. A son born in 1945, after a difficult pregnancy of bedrest, the death a few hours later and an unexpected funeral on top of hospital bills. And so it went for him. He didn't complain, he didn't quit, he didn't turn to drink until very later in his life. And he went on to conquer that also. He left 3 daughters who loved him dearly, and 9 grandchildren, 5 of them mine, adopted. His worldly posessions were few, his retirement had been modest. He lived with my DH, 4 kids and myself the last 2 years of his life. He died at age 79 of bone cancer. He was the best possible kind of Dad on the face of the earth.