Down Memory Lane

Sunday was a perfect day for an outing. With sunshine, temperatures in the upper 70s, and a light breeze, nature was calling to come out and play.

So My Love and I packed up a delicious dinner and left mid morning to visit my Mother. When she came home from church, she found us in her kitchen preparing some of her favorite dishes, like scrumptious meatloaf, sweetcorn on the cob, garden fresh tomatoes and broccoli and cauliflower salad. This was followed up by sweet, ripe watermelon and cantaloupe with my Mother's own oatmeal logs as a kicker. Makes my mouth water again just to write about it!

Such a delicious meal demanded a short rest afterwards. Then with Mom in tow, we headed out for a tour of the countryside. For years we have traveled the road between Willey and Dedham with Mom commenting: "I grew up on a farm over there and drove 6 miles to school by horse and buggy." But I had never seen the "farm over there". So we retraced the journey she took each day to and from school. As we went up and down the hills, Mom pointed out farm places, detailing which families occupied them years ago. Many of the farmsteads are no longer standing. Finally we reached the corner where she spent most of her youth. The original home still houses a family, though with some additions and moderations. Mom regaled us with some of the activities that occupied their time during her youth. When I commented that I had never been by here before, she said that it had been "at least 50 years" since she had been there.

From there we traveled to Roselle to visit the cemetery and the graves of her parents and her brother, Norbert. We had been there several years ago, but it was time to return and touch base with some of our family roots.

Then we headed across the countryside to Wall Lake to visit the grave of Mom's brother, Gilbert, who died two years ago. From there we circled Blackhawk Lake, recalling memories of my childhood when we would visit the lake on a Sunday afternoon to swim or enjoy fireworks.

Finally we returned to Mom's home in time for supper. After the day's enjoyable trek down memory lane, we were renewed and relaxed, ready for a good night's sleep. My Love and I made our own journey home, grateful for another experience of God's blessings, for the chance to spend time with Mom and enjoy her company. As we come this week to the one-year anniversary of the hurricane striking our home in Texas, we look back upon so many gifts of God's love that have been ours in these past twelve months, gifts that would not be ours except for the push that Dolly gave us. Thank you, God.

Fields of Memories

I love this time of the year. Driving down the road with the corn fields beginning to tassel, the (few) oats fields turning brown as they ripen for the harvest, the fresh-mowed hay lying in neat windrows, and the bean fields covering the ground with their lush green bushes -- it is impossible to miss the abundant love of God surrounding us.

As a youngster, this was the season when I began to work on the farm with my uncles and grandpa. At age 10, I began to drive the tractor on the bundle wagons as the neighbors gathered together to thresh the oats. We young boys would steer the tractors between the rows of shocked oats as the men pitched the bundles into the hay racks. Then, when the rack was full, we would pull up to the threshing machine where the men would pitch them into the feeder. Sometimes, when we stopped for lunch or dinner, while the men were resting, we boys would be engaged in various forms of entertainment. It was not unknown that a simple drink of water could turn into a cooling water fight. Those among us who were a little more mischievous would climb up on one of the racks and tie some of the bundles together. This would make it very difficult, if not impossible for the man whose load it was to pitch them into the threshing machine. It was a carefree time with no concerns or worries beyond the fun of the day.

In later years, I worked with those same uncles in their hybrid seed corn fields. This was the season to bring in the detasseling crews to pull the tassels from the female rows so that the cross pollination could happen. Teenage boys and girls from the surrounding area would walk up and down the rows yanking out all the tassels in the assigned rows. It was my first lesson in the work ethic. I discovered that some people were hard workers, efficient and steady, while others either could not see the tassels or chose to overlook them. I remember especially one character whose nickname was "Blackie" (not because of any racial implications. After all, we were all white kids who had never encountered a black person.) who pulled tassels all the way across the field, carrying them all with him as he went. When he reached the far end of the field, he laid them all out on the ground making himself a comfortable bed, and proceeded to take a long nap. When we finally found him several hours later, he was given an early ride home.

It was a season of first loves. Many of the female detasslers stole my heart as I fell head over heels for them, at least for a week or two. Some of them even paid special attention to this young town-kid-in-the-country.

Every small town in the area had a men's fast pitch softball team. Once or twice each week we would attend the local game. At the end of the season, there would be a celebration for the team and all the followers. The menu would be bushels of cooked corn-on-the-cob, a big cauldron of melted butter, and lots of beer. If one was old enough to pronounce the name of a beer, it could be had.

All these memories, and more, come to mind now as I drive past the fields in all their verdant beauty. After being away from Iowa for the last 15 years, the rolling elegance of the abundant crops assures me that life goes on. Generations come and go. People live and die. But God continues to bless our land and the people who tend it. God's faithfulness is evident to those who have eyes to see. And hearts to be grateful.