Coddiwomple

Coddiwomple is British slang meaning to travel purposefully toward an as-yet-unknown destination.

Taken from the Mindful Travel Facebook page

That's King and I. We don't know where we are going, but we are heading there in a determined fashion.

Right now there is really no destination or set goal in our meandering. I know we will be back in Michigan for the summer. The plan is for  King to continue playing in his Tuesday golf league as well as participate in weekend golf scrambles with our sons.

For our daughters-in-law, golf scrambles are not top on the list of fun things husbands do. I must admit I was right there with them in my intense hatred of golf when our children were young. Now that the children are grown and I find my unencumbered time a joy...King can participate in as many scrambles as he likes. Sorry ladies. I feel your pain, but I don't participate in it. I just need to find King a summer man-cave so I don't have to join him in his post-golf celebratory late-night music-fests. (I despise those more than I ever did the golf).

In the meantime we will relish our purposeful travel to parts unknown.

One thing has changed.

When we first started out on this adventure I had this secret image of meeting people and writing feature articles about them. There are a lot of interesting people out there with stories to tell.

Case in point -- the gentleman who serves as the campground host at the remote national forest campground where King and I escape to quite regularly. He truly is a fascinating character, and in the four minutes I spoke with him, I learned he used to work for the city of Lemon Grove, Calif., and when the opportunity to take over as campground host was presented to him, he jumped at the offer. A part of me would like to know more. What it is like to live alone during the week only to have the solitude invaded on the weekends by people who are either seeking escape themselves or who are out to have a good time partying? What does he do all day long? Does he get lonely? What are some of the strangest things he has seen?  But my reality is, after years (and years and years) of talking to strangers and writing stories about their lives...I just don't have it in me any longer. I'm tired. So I settle for snippets of information.

My imagination serves me better than reality most times anyway.

In the meantime between campground visits, we are having a good time spending time with our daughter and her family.

This past week she has been attending a real estate seminar in La Jolla, which means King and I have been taking the boys to school for her. They attend school in a different school district so every morning we have a commute to school. And this is California. Land of the multiple highways and never-ending traffic. Although the school is just seven miles from their home, it takes 20 minutes or more to get there. (By the way, school districts in California do not provide free busing for students. Students either walk, pay to ride the school bus, or their parents take them to school).

And I am back in elementary school again. It's a little different from the school of my youth, or even that of our children's youth. Each morning after the 7:25 a.m. bell, a mini-assembly is held in the  courtyard outside the classrooms. Parents and children alike attend. Mom's in sweatpants, pushing strollers, Moms in business clothes, Dads in suits and Dads in jeans -- they all participate. The assembly starts with reciting the Pledge, (yes, even in "liberal" California, they still recite the Pledge of Allegiance. And just because my political views lean to the left, does not mean I don't approve of reciting the pledge -- don't get me going), announcements are made, and they sing a song, or hand out awards, etc.

Mornings are on the cooler side -- high 50s to low 60s -- I arrive in a t-shirt and jeans because "back home" this would be flip-flop weather. Other parents are wearing down-filled vests and scarves. I have to remember to dress the boys in their hoodies or I get the "what is wrong with their grandmother" look from other parents.

And speaking of weather...It's been different not having to dress in winter coats, boots, hats, mittens and scarves. I can (and do) run out to the mailbox barefoot. Although I will miss Christmas shopping with snow softly falling, I could easily get used to this.

Our new life

We have officially been "on the road" for about a month.

Technically that is a misnomer. We left Michigan on November 8, and drove like crazy people to arrive at our daughter's home five days later in order to babysit while they took a mini-vacation. We almost made it in four days, but strong winds in Arizona forced us to hunker-down early to wait out the wind. There is little worse than pulling a swaying trailer through mountain passes.

We have been staying at our daughter's home off and on since arriving and will continue to do so until shortly after the holidays or until our son-in-law runs screaming from the house, whichever comes first. The two of them have a lot of holiday parties, farewell parties for co-workers, and work conferences between now and the new year. We are needed and it has been enjoyable to do "grandparent duty" for them. But it is a fine line between helping out and "over-staying your welcome," as my mother used to say.

Flexibility is one of the joys of having no hard and fast plans, but it is also something we have to get used to. Or at least I have to get used to it. King keeps himself busy by working on all kinds of projects at our daughter's house. Some of them she asked him to do, others he found on his own. I'm not certain if she really wanted them done or is just too polite to ask him: "What the heck did you do now?" I know that is the way I was with my father.  So many times I wanted to say, "Thanks Dad but I really had different plans for the breezeway (or whatever)." My father had a difficult time with our project timetables, which generally were based on bills, golf outings and paychecks -- meaning projects would be started, bills would come up or an all-important golf scramble was scheduled and project completion would be pushed back months.

As I write this I am watching our daughter and King put together a lighted "Happy Holidays" sign to place on her garage roof. I THINK it is the last of the outdoor Christmas decorations.

I enjoy watching the two of them work together. Our daughter has grandiose ideas which she patiently explains to her father over and over again until that one "ah ha" moment when he finally "gets it." He really is not that obtuse, he just has problems conceptualizing abstract ideas. Where I will throw up my hands in absolute frustration while trying to explain something to him, our daughter will keep trying until her ideas come across. Of course it helps that they have not been married 42 years and that daughters and daddies tend to have more patience with one another than husbands and wives.

I have enjoyed being a part of holiday traditions in a new home. Our daughter has taken a mix of the traditions she grew up with and blended them with the traditions of her husband.  We spent two weekends ago shopping for a Christmas tree and decorating the outside of the house with lights that would rival the Griswolds from the movie "Christmas Vacation." This past weekend the tree has finally been decorated and Sunday night was the last night for lighting candles on the Menorah. They have been teaching the boys about reason, self-esteem, courage, freedom, love, loyalty, generosity and hope. I hope the traditions they are starting now are something their boys will continue when they are grown.

Back "home" in Michigan our sons have blended our family traditions with those of their wives. It has been enjoyable to watch this -- the give and take and working to make things work to create new family traditions -- traditions that I hope will become ingrained only to change again when the grandchildren become adults. My daughter and I were discussing this the other day. She was surprised to learn that some of the Christmas traditions we followed as she was growing up were a combination of Stehower and McCrossin traditions. Some were our own invention.

Wishing everyone a blessed holiday season and may your traditions bring you comfort and joy. Best wishes for a great New Year.

Ready or not, the time has come

Today is Friday. Provided our direct deposit ever gets here we will be leaving Monday. Or Tuesday. Hopefully before Thursday.

It's been one of those unseen bumps in the road. For eight years we had banked with a pre-paid debit card. And it worked great. Until it didn't. Now we are waiting for the State of Michigan to get King's pension check into our new (local) bank so we can hit the road.

Sigh. Small hiccups.

Despite our financial disaster we are slowing emptying the house. I am sewing like crazy...trying to use up my leftover fabric. When I decide I've sewn enough the rest of the materials and sewing supplies will be donated to the re-sale shop at the Al-Van Humane Society. I've already made several trips to the shop to donate other items.

We brought nine boxes of "treasures" to our son's house to keep in his storage shed. Forty-two years of collecting pared down to nine boxes. King went through all our photo albums and divided photos for each of our four children. I think it was easier for him to pass the photos off  than to actually get rid of them.

In the meantime we have been avoiding buying groceries by eating food from the freezer. When you get down to the bottom of the freezer you realize why the food at the bottom is there. I look at some of the things in there and say to myself, "What was I thinking when I bought that?" They are not exactly yummy items. King is not impressed with my creative endeavors. He bravely eats whatever I fix (I suspect because he can't cook). But I have to admit, I'm not impressed either. Last night's invention was eggs, cheese, rice and pumpkin, seasoned, mixed and baked. Don't try it.

So while we are getting ready for change, we are also trying to come to grips with the reality of what we are about to do. The realization that there is going to be a lot of "togetherness" for quite some time is quite sobering.  In the past, during those instances when the "bliss" seemed to be missing from "marital bliss," King would disappear to the workshop next door or I would take the dog for a long walk. Now I guess my alternative will be to hang my head out the truck window, or squeeze out the back window and ride in the truck bed. King, who never relinquishes the driving duties to me, will have to settle for giving me the silent treatment. He's pretty good at it.

We are also saying our goodbyes to as many friends and family members as possible.

King is getting in as much golf as he can with our sons (much to the annoyance of our daughters-in-law) and I have had farewell lunches with friends, cousins and my sister. I must confess, my sister and I are having a difficult time saying goodbye. We had a farewell dinner this week and decided to do "one more breakfast" on Saturday.

She and I know we will be back next summer. Just not to the place King and I have called home for the past eight years. It's not necessarily a bad thing. Just a change.

And things truly do change.

The new owners of the farm are settling into the routine of the place. Or creating their own. King is still stoking the fire and feeding the chickens and rabbits. He still gets out the leaf blower and keeps the yard leaf-free. The main tree in the front is an oak, so we will be long gone when it finally sheds its last leaf.

Long gone. Wow. That thought is rather exhilarating and sobering at the same time.

People ask if we are prepared for this. Well, yes. As much as anyone can prepare for the unknown.

I have been mapping our route for several weeks. Since our exact departure date is now up in the air, the route may change somewhat. Then again, if this trip is the same as the last trip, our route will change daily. Most time the changes are made on the fly while we are debating the merits of whatever talk show host is spewing left-or-right-winged politics. It seems the needed exit looms on the right lane and we are in the far left lane (no political analogy intended), and the debate changes to who was not paying attention. Maps, GPS and campground books are pulled out and spread out across the cab of the truck. Generally 40 miles later we decide this new route is probably the better one anyway.

So ready or not we will soon be off on our adventure.

Purging

In 24 days we will be leaving for parts unknown. Forever.

I am a sentimental person. So getting ready to purge my home of things I can't take with me is difficult.

The trivet hanging on the wall next to the kitchen window was a Christmas gift to my mother in 1965 from Winifred Sal a member of the Women's Guild at Haven Reformed Church in Hamilton. Mrs. Sal was also one of my Catechism teachers. The print hanging on my living room wall above Mom's recliner is one Mom had in her guest room in their last apartment. There are creamers in my creamer collection that were given to me as gifts from special people.... the list goes on.

But there is a limit to my sentimentality and after trying to eliminate some of my "treasurers" I realized my memories are better than my possessions.

I had a set of Mom's china which was given to Mom by my aunt when she and Dad were married. Mom kept the set in the cupboard above the washer and dryer in our kitchen. Every Thanksgiving she would take it out, wash the dust off it and use it for our Thanksgiving meal. I think I used it a total of four times before I gave it to my niece. Mom's silver-plate, (next best silverware) along with my sister Donna's dishes, went to our granddaughter for her first apartment. My sister has the sterling.

In the past seven years my sisters and I have lost our parents and a sister. The three of us have cleaned, purged and set aside many, many mementos. And slowly, slowly we have decided what is   important to keep and what we could let go. It wasn't always easy.

My younger sister and I held a garage sale after our older sister passed away. We sold a lot of Donna's things along with some of Mom's possession. There was a red glass oil lamp that Mom would use as a centerpiece on the kitchen table from Thanksgiving through the Christmas holiday. My younger sister and I had purchased it for Mom from the local Variety Store in Hamilton when we were quite young. I think it might have been a birthday present. As we watched the new owner walk down the driveway with Mom's oil lamp, my sister said softly to me, "Goodbye Mom's oil lamp." Neither one of us cried, but I think we both wanted to.

The thing is, no one else can share our memories. That lamp could sit on my kitchen table, or my sisters mantle and we could tell our children, "That was Grandma's lamp. We bought it for her from the Variety Store in Hamilton when we were little." The kids would say, "That's nice Mom." But it would not hold the same memories it held for us. One would have to have been there to hear the screen door at the Variety Store creak open and slam shut. One would have to have been there to hear the floorboards squeak as you walked across the store. One would have to have been there to feel the excitement as the lamp was lifted from the display window and placed in a box to take home. One would have had to seen our kitchen table with the lamp glowing in the darkness after the dishes were done and we had all retired to the living room to watch television. Otherwise it is simply "Grandma's lamp, that Mom and her sister bought for her as a birthday present."   It is the memories and not the thing itself that holds sentimentality.

And I am well aware that our memories are not always ours to keep. Our mother's memories faded long before her body gave way to age.

So it has come time to purge our home of "stuff."

King and I are finally taking the plunge and moving into our 19-foot (from hitch to bumper) travel trailer. We will be leaving the beginning of November. Of course we will be back next summer. King is not ready to give up golfing with our sons. But it is looking as if -- at least for the next year or two -- we will be living year-round in our trailer.

One day into my purge and I've already donated a box full of craft supplies, purses, clothes and shoes; I've ruthlessly dumped stuff into the dumpster, and boxed up a few, small treasures. My goal is to pare it all down to be able to fit everything into a closet-sized storage unit. If the kids want any of the furniture, they may have it. I'm pretty sure the rest will be set out by the road for anyone with a pickup truck to take home.

I may sound as though I have this all figured out and am ready to commit, but I must confess, there are days when I wonder if, instead, I should be committed. While I read a lot of blogs about people who travel full-time and live in their $65,000 travel trailers, that isn't exactly what King and I are doing. As usual we are "flying by the seat of our pants," as Mom would have said. (Meaning we have no hard and fast plans at all). But to be honest, King and I have tried doing what is the norm. We have tried to be the normal, all-American, apple-pie, money in the bank, save for retirement family. We were miserable failures.

After 40-some years of semi-normalcy, it is time for a little adventure. Are we ready? There is no such thing as ready. There is only now. And now seems pretty right.

Still more changes

We first moved to "the farm" in March 2011. It seems like a lifetime ago. It is interesting how our current life fell into place. Call it providence. Call it the universe in action. Call it just dumb luck. Whatever it was, whatever you want to call it, the opportunity presented itself and we jumped on it ... but not without some trepidation. King had just retired from the Alma School system as an administrator. I was still working for newspapers. We wanted to move back to West Michigan to help my sisters with our aging parents. While looking for housing I came across an ad in "The Caretakers Gazette" for a caretaker in South Haven -- free housing and utilities in exchange for taking care of a hobby farm for a couple from Chicago.
It was a scary proposition. Was this for real? Would it work? Would my city-slicker husband be able to handle this? We answered the ad and in a few days found ourselves traveling from Alma to South Haven to meet the owners. We were offered the position on the spot. Secretly I think it was because we were the only people to apply. Our gamble was a resounding success.This is our eighth summer here. King has learned to split wood, tend chickens, turkeys and rabbits. He can repair tractors, lawnmowers and rototillers. He has discovered he pretty much stinks at pruning fruit trees (we hired it out this spring), and he is fastidious about weeding and watering the gardens. He spends days weed wacking (is that a word?) and mowing the expansive yards. I have played in the greenhouse, planted gardens, weeded gardens, harvested, saved seeds and canned produce. For me, as a fan of "Mother Earth News" during the 1970s, it was a dream come true. Mom always said I was born into the wrong generation. She may have been right, but I don't think I could make do without electricity and indoor plumbing. But we are not getting any younger. We have been discussing for some time, "Should we stay or should we go?" We have not kept it a secret from the couple we work for -- we have discussed it with them quite a bit. It came down to "one more season" at least twice. Two summers ago we purchased an old travel trail and spent several months making it road-worthy. Our first foray into long-term traveling was an awesome adventure and we are ready for more. The ongoing debate -- can we do this full-time? And then things changed. Last week the owners listed the property for sale. If it sells we will certainly be moving on. If it does not... we will travel this winter and have "one last season on the farm" next summer. Perhaps it was our own wander lust that sparked our employers' desire for changes of their own. King and I are considerably older than them. I am sure they look at us, shake their heads and wonder "How can a couple that old be so unconcerned with their future? My goodness. They live paycheck to paycheck." Truth is, it is EXACTLY that -- concern for our future -- that sparks the desire to explore, have an adventure and see what else is "out there" before the coulda, woulda, shoulda takes over. I am filing for Social Security this month and more than ready to hit the road and never look back. King is not ready to give up summer golfing with our sons. We will find a compromise along the way -- be it a summer rental somewhere in the area or buying a bigger travel trailer and living in a park for the summer season. We will figure it out and change our minds at least 12 times before it is all over. Our discussions are not always harmonious. We have, after all, been together a long, long time. If you ask King, he will tell you he does the most compromising. I know for a fact he is not correct. But we WILL figure it out. It's part of the joy of living life to its fullest. Below are scenes from "the farm." Will I miss the beauty of it? I am sure I will. But I also want to visit the Worlds Largest Ball of Twine, and see the Ernie Pyle museum. It's a trade off.

Cindy Lou visits the Saugatuck Dunes State Park

My younger sister Norma and I are 20 months apart in age. I am the older sister. She is the smarter sister. She studied. I did not.

But we were always close. It was, without a doubt, our children who kept us apart in our adult years. Not in a bad way.

School activities, hockey, 4H, horse shows -- the usual stuff -- kept us busy with our respective families for a long, long time. It was probably a longer separation than most siblings as our children are 15 years apart. In fact, our youngest son babysat her children the summer before he started college.

Now that her children are spreading their wings and finding their own way in life, Norma and I are connecting again. It actually started before our sister Donna passed away. The three of us would meet on Saturdays at the assisted living center where Mom lived to take her out for coffee. Often the staff at Mom's living center would plan a special event for Saturday mornings and we would attend with Mom. Coffee/breakfast was always served by the staff but generally by the time we got Mom back to her room she would have forgotten and would be asking where we were going for coffee. I get it. Mom loved her outings. Even when Dad was alive she and Dad were always going somewhere. When Dad had his license taken away (by us) I suspect they would sneak away occasionally.

After Mom passed away the three of us continued to meet for breakfast. And Norma and I continued the tradition after Donna passed away. We had a major outing last spring when we traveled to Florida to visit our sister Kay and to go to Universal Orlando. Checking out all things Harry Potter had been on Donna's bucket list.

Our weekly Saturday meetings have changed for the summer as this year, in honor of her 60th birthday, Norma is preparing for her third marathon. (One every 10 years). She chose an event in Marquette, Michigan in September. "It's mostly downhill," she confided to me. Hey, kudos to her. I get tired driving 26 miles. But since it means Saturday mornings are training days we had to find an alternative date for our weekly get together.

This week we met at the Saugatuck Dunes State Park one evening after Norma got out of work.

Norma and Cindy Lou

Cindy Lou came along. Norma had not had the opportunity to meet Cindy Lou. We met at the park picnic area, had a quick taco and then set off on our hike. We chose to take the North Trail to Lake Michigan. It's a "short"  hike through the woods and over the dunes. According to the DNR it is 2.5 miles but I don't know if that is one-way or round trip.

Norma had no problem with the hike. I survived it and am ready to go back next week as my body should  recuperate by then. Thankfully the new knees made the walk bearable; however I am incredibly out of shape.  I was about 15  minutes behind Cindy Lou and Norma for much of our hike. I used the excuse of having to stop to take photos. It actually took me five minutes to stop breathing hard and another 10 minutes for my legs to stop shaking long enough to hold the camera still.  So Norma and Cindy Lou made it to the beach first.  As I stood on the dune overlooking the lake Norma called up to me. "Just stay there, I'll come up to you." I wasn't going to tell her I had just enough ooommmppphh left in me to walk back to the parking area so not climbing down and then back up the last dune was absolutely fine with me.

Cindy Lou was not impressed with the lake. I think it was too big. When she and Norma climbed back up to the top of the dune where I stood, Cindy Lou flopped down in the sand. Thank  you

 Norma and Cindy Lou along the shoreline

Cindy Lou, I really needed that extra few minutes to further catch my breath.

The Saugatuck Dunes State Park is an approximate 1000 acre day-use  park. I covered the dedication of the Saugatuck Dunes Natural Area in October 1988. I can't remember if I was working for the Holland Sentinel or the Grand Rapids Press at the time. Memories and newspaper clippings kind of fade and then blend together. The Natural Area has since been renamed the Patricia Birkholz Natural Area, after the late Michigan Senator Patricia Birkholz, who worked to make the natural area a reality. The "challenging" 5.5 mile South Trail winds through the 300 acre natural area, according to the Land Conservancy of West Michigan .

Both my sister and I had been to the park years before. Norma had explored the trails with a friend during her high school years -- long before the park was a reality. I had been there with a co-worker during the winter months and skied some of the trails.

With the warmer weather it is a popular spot for hikers. The trails are wide and well-marked. I must have been in better shape when I skied there as I don't remember the hills being quite so steep.  Maybe we skied an easier trail.

The park offers about 2.5 miles shoreline and a variety of hardwood and dune forests. According to the DNR website Saugatuck Dunes State Park has "freshwater coastal dunes that are over 200 feet tall." I will not dispute that fact.

The park is located at 6575 138th Ave., Saugatuck, Mich. A recreation passport is required for entry.

Cindy Lou made it back from the beach. 

View from mid-way up one of the many dunes.

Cindy Lou Who finds a home

Cindy Lou and King
getting acquainted
at the Al-Van Humane
Society.

Two  weeks ago King and I adopted a senior dog to travel with us. Cindy Lou (Who) is a mixed breed dog who was owner surrendered to animal control in

January. She tested heart-worm positive and was transferred to the Al-Van Humane Society where she was taken in by a foster mom who helped her

through her treatments. From what I understand the treatments are not fun.

The information that came with her says she is a lab/husky mix. The vet insists she is a "mixed breed," and I am guessing he would probably know better. I am reminded of a line from a children's Scholastic book my parents purchased for me when I was in third grade: As for the breed, I gave it no heed. (Blue Ribbons for Meg by Adel DeLeeuw). Cindy Lou knows who and what she is and I guess that is all that matters.

Cindy Lou has made herself at home and has taken over our hearts.

Mr. Meowgi is not impressed.

Only Mr. Meowgi, the cat, has decided Cindy Lou is evil and therefore must die. He sits on the stairs and glares at Cindy Lou, who for her part ignores him. Truth be told I think Cindy Lou is somewhat intimidated by Mr. Meowgi.

At any rate, Cindy Lou will be traveling with King and I this winter when we take off for parts unknown. (Mr. Meowgi will be moving with our granddaughter into her first apartment). We are getting Cindy Lou used to riding in the truck. It is a beast of a vehicle and pretty high off the ground. Cindy can get her front paws on the floor in the back and then I hoist her back-end the rest of the way. She can use the running board to get down, but has not quite figured out how to use it getting into the truck. When she is riding she sits like a lady and is generally pretty subdued. She rides with me when I take our granddaughter to and from school. I think I am going to have to purchase a mounting block (the kind we used for getting on and off horses) or have King build one for us.

King and I have started mapping out a route for this fall. While we generally just take off and head west, this year I have a few places I want to visit... The Ernie Pyle Museum in Dana, Indiana; the worlds largest ball of twine in Cawker City, Kansas; the fort where the television series F Troop was filmed... the list is quite extensive. In the meantime I have plans for Cindy Lou to travel around the area with me this summer while I take in the unusual right here in West Michigan. Starting right here in South Haven is the Blue Cow at Sherman's Dairy located a few miles from us. I also want to visit the big working Kaleidoscope in Three Oaks; the sculptures near Louis Padnos' business in Holland; the railroad trestle in my hometown of Hamilton  ...  I have a list of places in West/Southwest Michigan we can visit together.

So right now our plans are to take Cindy Lou to as many places as possible. Stay tuned for photos and stories from Cindy, King and I as we map out our next adventure.

Welcome spring

It is getting to be that time of year again. Spring. My second favorite time of the year -- fall being my favorite.

 Here on the "farm" I am getting seedlings started in the greenhouse.

Earlier this winter I could not take the stark grey of February any longer so I started broccoli and cauliflower in the greenhouse. I know I was a little early, but there is something very satisfying about seeing the little green seedlings poking their heads out of the potting mix.

Saturday I started beef stake tomatoes and some other tomato hybrid that the owner of the farm provided. I ordered my own Roma tomato seeds and a few other vegetables last week. They should be arriving any day now.

Broccoli seedlings

The flats get placed under grow lights until the seedlings are established then they are moved to the south facing window of the green house and we hope they make it to transplant time. The tricky part for me has always been hardening off the transplants, which is a fancy way of saying "getting the plants used to being outside."

I also started a plethora of herb seeds -- fennel, basil, Stevia and a few others. Potato and onions sets will be planted outside sometime in April. I am told some people plant potatoes in March, but we tend to flood a lot and often in the spring, so I usually wait. There is nothing more discouraging then having potatoes rot under several feet of water.

We have about 25 raised beds next door, plus a large "pumpkin" garden and two fenced gardens. I always graph out in detail where everything is going to go and when the weather warms I generally transplant them with wild abandon, purposefully forgetting my carefully planned garden planner. That has been the norm for as long as I have been gardening.

I have to say, however, I love the online garden planners. They are great and the little graphs I make are so pretty, neat and orderly. It gives me something to do during the dreary winter months. But when the time comes, there is nothing like planting wherever the spirit moves. Tomatoes and peppers here. Oh, I have extra onions, lets put them over there.... and where can I put all the potato eyes? Ahh yes --  next to the plastic green house garden. (That would be the garden next to our house where -- until the floods of this spring -- there was a plastic green house that I used in an attempt to harden off the seedlings).

And speaking of floods... we were hit hard late this winter. Warm weather caused a huge snowmelt and then several days of heavy rain took their toll. All this happened while our truck was in the repair shop, so we had to enlist the aid of a neighbor to help us move the farm trailers and our travel trailer to higher ground.

The water around our house rose to about three feet - just below the windows of our basement (our house has high basement walls for this very reason). The chicken coop, freezer shed, and cabin at the back of the property are all built on stilts -- about four feet off the ground. The water in the back rose to about an inch from the bottom of each building. King's helper person, who lives in the cabin, used waders to get to  and from work each day. The water in back was chest high while the water in our driveway reached a manageable thigh-high level. We used large garbage bags to wade out to the road and then walked to where our loaner car was parked. I used the garbage bags once and then decided the water was cold enough to sufficiently numb my feet so as not to feel the rocks and stones in the driveway. Since my knee replacement surgery the fear of falling on new joints is still pretty strong, so for me it was easier to simply roll up my pant legs and walk barefoot to the road. I also had visions of falling down in the garbage bag and floating downriver while trying to wiggle my way out.

The county road commission kept sending trucks out to check the bridge next to our house, but other than removing a log jam forming against the bridge, there didn't seem to be any undue concern.

A neighbor came and helped us move
the farm trailers and our travel trailer
before the water levels became
too high.

Years ago, when  the children were very young, I would often drive past this place and wonder to myself, "Why would anyone want to live on a flood plain?" Guess I know now. For us it is a great retirement gig complete with free housing.  King and I may have appeared to be what others would term typical middle class, but we've always had a sense of adventure and when we found this caretaker gig online it seemed like a fun thing to do.

The flood waters reached
the bottom of the chicken coop.

We had thought we were going to end our careers as caretakers  last fall with our going on the road full-time, but things always have a way of changing.

This will be our seventh summer here and we made arrangements with the homeowner to stay on a few more years. For now anyway, plans always change. In the meantime, our granddaughter will graduate high school this summer and move on. We will take off for parts unknown every winter and return to tend the land in the spring. Traditional snowbirds for a few years and then? Who knows. We can't commit.

Swear words

Swear words.

Does anyone even say that phrase any longer? Today I hear people referring to swearing as , " "dropping the F - bomb," or "cursing," but I seldom hear someone say, "they used swear words." Maybe that is a midwest/Dutch thing?

Anyway, Mom seldom, if ever swore.

I recall a time telling Mom I was pretty "pissed off." She looked at me and said, "You are greatly perturbed. It is not lady-like to use those other words.

Sorry Mom. I am no longer lady-like. In fact Mom, if you were to describe my language on some days you might have said to  Dad, "She swears like a sailor."

Mom also was fond of saying, "Swearing is the attempt of a small mind to express itself forcibly." And she was probably right. Listening to a stream of swearing does nothing to make me think the person using those words is anything but crass, vulgar and, well, stupid. So if I think others look that way when they swear I guess turn about is fair play.

And speaking of being stupid... my daughter is teaching her boys stupid is a bad word. I did not realize how often I use the word until I was visiting them over Christmas. And I don't use it as an adjective to describe others. I will say disparaging things about myself such as, "Well, that was a stupid thing to do." After uttering the remark I would hear, "Mommie, Grandma said a bad word." It is a good thing they don't hear me when I am at my most crass and vulgar.

It is interesting how acceptable language changes. When I was growing up, "Holy Cow," or "Hokie smokes," were words used all the time -- except in our house. If we used that language Mom would say, "Cows are not holy."  The time my older sister told her, "Well, in India they are holy," will forever be etched in my memory.

Also etched in my memory will be the only time (as far as I know) my mother used the f-word. We were playing dominoes and someone used a domino Mom was planning on using. Mom looked up from the table and said, "Well, you really f---ed my move."

I'm not certain, but I think it may have been the half-glass of wine speaking.