Where did we live? Come from?

 

Where did we start?  Where did we go? Where did we end up? 

My children have been in and then moving to different cities and states all over. My siblings live in Illinois and Ohio.  I live in California.  My husband's group live in Utah, Georgia, Missouri, Colorado, Vermont, and somewhere else. 

Our most eventful move took us to Ireland. We traveled with our children, saw castles and more.  And from Ireland our family headed out to distant places.

   

My daughter lives in Bern, Switzerland, with husband and our grandsons. Since Covid, our trips to see them were cut off. April 2024? Maybe?

My brother Don lives in Springfield, in Lincoln Land. This is a lovely city to visit. Lincoln lived there and ultimately was buried there. So much history surrounds this legendary place.

 

I grew up 100 miles from Springfield.  Our son now lives near Champaign-Urbana. St. Louis is about 90 miles from our farm.  Dad took hogs to market down in east St. Louis. I flew into St. Louis innumerable times over the 40 years when I visited my parents.

 

My brother went from farm boy in Illinois, to being a police officer in Texas, He was a cowboy at heart. But he lived around Galveston, along the coast. Bill had an adventurous spirit.

 

We have been to Phoenix many times. Irish Dance Festivals were our most recent ventures. Great city, do not go to visit in the truly Hot Season.  It is always hot there. We were once walking across mall parking lot; a man drove by in  a large golf cart to get the people to the mall stores alive.  121+ degrees is nothing to laugh at. 

 Small towns become smaller. Our farm was on the north side of town. The house was torn down (built in 1850+) and the pieces of the barn can be seen in between trees. We lived on the Nebo-Pittsfield road, in Pike County, Illinois.

Where we began and have ended up amazes me.  Once my siblings and I were wild cowboys, warriors, soldiers, wreaking general havoc. Now we have taken our own journeys, much milder and more introspective.

 

Lane in Ireland

Autumn has arrived

 

Every October, the blog world is bedazzled by posts with autumn photos taken by the blogger her/himself.  It makes me hunger for and a little bit jealous of the world “back where” there is such a thing as autumn.

Here in Wildfire season in California, the fall colors don’t exist, except for a sweet gum tree that also sheds little spike balls. What I do have are photos taken in late October 2009 on a walk with my brother, Don.  The photos taken were put into an album to give as a Christmas present for my mother who was in fading and failing health.

So, here are some memories of Autumn and a small town, Pleasant Hill in Illinois in 2009:

An old house next to the bank

Mom's neighbor.  Mom could tell me who they are, who their parents were...

Small rental apartments next to the train track.  This

used to be a veterinarian office when I was young. 

A house near the local funeral home

After my father retired from farming, he visited with at the John Deere

store almost every day.  Sometimes he drove to another John Deere store to pick

up parts.  These was pre-computer ordering.

The Methodist Church (which is in the sidebar).  Young couples 

would meet on benches (out of sight) and talk/kiss.

This log house was saved and then moved to this site.  It dates back to 1820 

and across from Stark Nursery, where the first Delicious apples were

created by someone who brought up a "scion" from Kentucky which

was grafted and cross-pollinated.

This house was restored and is now occupied by some very hard working 

people whom my mom knew.  Yes, she could cite their lineage. We

stopped and peeked in the windows while it was still

under construction.  Mom had no shame, and was friendly with everyone, who 

also knew her lineage.

Somewhere this road will come to an end, in Calhoun County

These are Autumn memories from a past shared by Mom, brother Don Peck.  This is a post from 2009.

My Hometown

T racy Chapman and Bruce Springsteen "My hometown"

 It is July and harvesting is stirring things up in Pike County Illinois. Tractors are on the road; pickers are going down rows to collect the summer's corn.  Hay balers are out in the sun, stacking bales, and sweating up a storm.

My mother always spread a table of sweet corn, meat loaf, mashed potatoes, tons of foods.  And then, she laid out her pies.  Four pies?  I don't know.  I was the bus boy, the dishwasher, and the general cleaner.

What wonderful memories.

                                        Crosby, Stills, and Nash  1970s

 Our home.  Our house, Our hometown. Even though we have grown, moved on, have our own house those videos are in my mind.

 Jason Aldean   Try that in a small town.

 I grew up on a farm surrounded by corn fields, and a smattering of small towns. Without a doubt, every farm has at least a double barrel shotgun, a rifle, and maybe a handgun. Wild animals and wild dogs roamed and attacked livestock throughout the year, even a farmwife could stand with the farmers.

I once joked that if the BLM came rolling to our town, there would be roads of tractors and trucks blocking every entrance. On those and on buildings throughout the business town there would be hunting rifles in the hands of farmers. 

Now, I have no jokes about this being cast as offensive, "Try that in a small town".

See what you think.  I am curious. 

 

Left Alone to Crumble

 

                            

Cold gray clouds scrambled across a dark sky as Joseph carefully opened the door to a shadowy house. It had been left empty, almost swaying in the coming storm, but once had been a solid home where families had lived in better times.

A curio cabinet had been left behind, a lifetime of collectibles. Peeling wallpaper dripped from time past and plates were set.  All rooms were part of frozen time, and framed photos seemed to float over the walls.

I gotta get outta here, Joseph muttered. No excuses, he wasn't afraid. No, he just needed to close the door behind him. Outdoors enticed him, so off he ran. But one photo would haunt him for the rest of his life.

I hope these opened up! Let me know. Others have said the same.

I wanted to post the site addresses, but there were too many to write.

Seeing abandoned houses and buildings fills me with a sadness that can't be described. These are just a few rooms shown from several houses. There are so many buildings like this. They feel like people decided they would leave today, grabbed some clothes, and left.

Wed. Words are above. Go to River and find these words. Join the WWwords. Take the challenge, experience. 

Above house: Haunted house

 

Wednesday Photo Prompt: Auntie Marie

 Wednesdays are always fun for me. The Wednesday Words are entertaining and challenging.  This week there photo prompts provided by Margaret Adamson, and her friend Sue Fulcher. The prompts will also include photographs taken by Margaret's friend Bill Dodd.  

Here is my take on those photos:

Auntie Marie reached a shaky hand to the iron work. It had been once black and strong, now it was covered with lichen and rattled. Pushing slightly, Auntie opened it with a creak and rattle.

What had been a garden with pinks, red, and yellows was a tangle of brambles. The house had been one filled with people and family. Now it was bare brick, windows long boarded up.

Auntie opened the heavy door, dust floating in the still air. Closing her eyes, Marie whispered, "I'm home. Do you hear me? I am home."

You may find more bloggers and their comments at Elephant's Child. Head on over there and also to River where prompts are posted.

Autumn from Back Where

This a maple tree outside Mom's kitchen window.

 Back in the Midwest, it was as if my world took a deep breath and said, "Finally." Then overnight my life would be surrounded by gold and red.  But now, my world is a desert in southern California and rich color exists in another place.

It makes me hunger for and a little bit jealous of “back where” there is such a thing as autumn.

Instead, we have wildfire season in California and the fall colors don’t exist, except for a few odd trees. What I do have are photos I took in late October 2009 on a walk with my brother, Don.  The photos taken were put into an album to give as a Christmas present for my mother who was in fading and failing health.

These are memories of Autumn and a small town, in 2009:

Tracks will go on for miles and miles, connecting

with other tracks.

An old house next to the bank

Mom's neighbor.  Mom could tell me who they are, who there parents were...

Small rental apartments next to the train track.  This

used to be a veterinarian office when I was young. 

A house near the local funeral home

After my father retired from farming, he visited with other farmers at the John Deere

store every day.  Sometimes he drove to another John Deere store to pick

up parts.  Now they are ordered and delivered through computer 

magic.

The Methodist Church from mid 1800s.  Young couples 

would meet on benches (out of sight) and talk/kiss.

This log house was saved and then moved to this site.  It dates back to 1820 

and across from Stark Nursery, where the first Delicious apples were

created by someone who brought up a "scion" from Kentucky which

was grafted and cross-pollinated.

This house was restored and is now occupied by some very hard working 

people whom my mom knew.  Yes, she could cite their lineage. We

stopped and peeked in the windows while it was still

under construction.  Mom had no shame, and was friendly with everyone, who 

also knew her own lineage.

This is a cornfield after harvest. Soon Canadian
geese will fly in to grab up corn kernels.
Deer will also be foraging.

Somewhere this road will come to an end.

These are Autumn memories from a past shared by my late Mom, brother Don, and me in 2009. My eyes ache to see the leaves and this part of my family, those whom I love.

A repost from 2014

You're Home

Source

Patsy shivered in the new home, despite the heat and the friendliness of the other occupants and the happy sounds, despite the good food waiting for her, despite…everything.

She had never, in her whole life, been in a place where she was welcomed and where nothing was expected of her.

Someone approached her and Patsy reflexively ducked her head and curled up, waiting for the first strike and subsequent kick, over and over again.

Instead Patsy found a kind hand and quiet reassurances that she was home, that this was now her home: love, friendship, food, and a warm bed were hers if she wanted them.

If she wanted them?

Patsy licked the offered hand and gazed into the gentle eyes, with her tail wagging for the first time in a long time.

How to find help organizations worldwide:

Lists of Animal Welfare

"The way we treat our children in the dawn of their lives,

and the way we treat treat our elderly in the twilight of their lives,

is a measure of the quality of  a nation."

Hubert Humphrey

"The greatness of a nation

can be judged

by the way its animals

are treated."

Mahatma Gandi

Measure of a Man

Hold my hand, daughter.

God, history, and hormones arranged how each gender performed in a family unit. Who did what? Man and Woman with their progeny struggled to survive in a sometimes harsh life. 

Man=hunt, impregnate, and kill. Woman=give birth, care for children, gather. Pretty straightforward, wouldn't you say? 

Some would say that there has been a radical turn-around. While many parts of this mixture remain solid, others shift around a bit. Given the changes in society and its needs, change in inevitability is natural.

Whether there is a dad or a mom in the home does not change a primary focus:
their family.

Mother's Day

Men walk through a mall carrying a pink diaper bag.  Women wear combat fatigues when walking their children to school. Men return from work on a motorcycle. Women take the cycle and head out. Men make quilts while women repair pipes. Men and Women both cook. Some better than others.

Things change, things stay the same. 

  It takes a real man to feel safe in his role, whether it has changed or not.

It takes a real man to accept what he will do, what he can do.

It takes a real man to be the husband or partner to his beloved while both hold onto their family unit. 

And, it takes a real man to change a diaper. 

There is no place like home.

Oh, so true

Huzzah!  We have changed residences!  After a month of painful effort and a fair amount of dedication, we sorted, tossed, culled, and packed, we now find ourselves in our new home. 

Not to say that we are completely unpacked and pristine, but there is food in the fridge, dishes (those haven’t quite been unpacked).  Wi-Fi and phone have been activated, Direct TV has kept my husband sedated, and generally, a feeling of “home” permeates.

Despite the maze of boxes, this is home. More on this later.

Huzzah!

Times Have Changed

The world is a scary place in this generation.  Perhaps it has always been scary, but in the 1950s, it did not seem so. 

“Baby Boomers” all share stories of the freedom we had in riding our bikes from the house to remote places, returning only for meals.  The neighbors knew us and we knew them.  We also knew who the strangers were.

Technology gave us radios and televisions, which opened a world view known by our parent after a horrible war.  Documentaries showed us what happened beyond the streets of our town.  We didn’t know, we just hadn’t known.

Recently my daughter shared a video that details perhaps the scariest and frightening of all the world has shown us.  Here it is:

In all the scariest experiences seen in our time on earth, this is the closest to home.