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When I think back to April 2020, an episode with a neighbor comes to mind. She never became a close neighbor, but remains someone who lives down the street. We’ll just leave it at that.
Very curious to meet the newest lady on the block, she had raced down when I invited her into Winterpast. This was so long ago, I hadn’t even named to my new home, but was relieved to have most things out of boxes.
As she entered, she had looked around taking note of every single decorating mistake. She finally announced that I had way too much furniture and the house was a bit “crowded”, in her humble estimation.
Shocked at her truthful evaluation, I just told her that soon, I’d move some things to my new She-Shed. Immediately, she replied, “Honey, your whole house is your She-Shed!”
I understood what she met. As a widow, I no longer had to please my husband with the placement of this or that. I did find it funny, and for a time, referred to Winterpast as my very own “She-Shed”.
Since then, I’ve created my own She-Shed in the form of one very amazing greenhouse. Perfect for me in every way. I also have a studio/office right within the walls of our home that is girly in every way possible. I’m covered in the She-Shed Department.
When HHH and I married, we decided that because I had my own space, he’d claim the space of the RV Barn, which would now become his Man Cave. Since October 2023, he has busied himself decorating the walls of his very own man cave. It’s now the home to the biggest catch of his life, his Marlin. There are golf and fishing pictures, a fireplace, and a big screen television to watch live sports. All in all it’s a wonderful retreat.
Except that…..
With all the work on the garden, work stalled in the Man Cave until last week. After enjoying a golfing trip with seventeen of his closest friends in the Sierra Nevada’s, he came home re-energized and ready to finish his space.
It did take both of us and his truck to haul away the discards, but the task is done. It looks amazing and stands ready for any type of brotherly parties he wants to throw. After all, a man that has four loving brothers needs a place to entertain them!
Everyone needs their own space. Girls need to have time for garden parties and men need time to be men and hang out in their very own caves.
Whatever you do today, assess your living space and see where YOUR sacred space lies. Are you one that needs special mementoes and pictures on the wall, or one that prefers a minimalistic approach. Widowhood does provide a time in life for personal expression through decorating. So, think about your own space and get busy!!
One more day with the little wooklets……… Maybe there’ll be time for a swim today.
It’s hard to believe that June is almost gone. HHH’s granddaughter, a June bride, is now a wife vacationing in Italy. Summer enters it’s second week. And, three of the wooklets will go to their fur-ever homes tomorrow. It all happened in a flash.
It seems like just yesterday I took Oliver to puppy camp. Leaving the house, I patted one very pregnant Wookie on the head. When I returned to Winterpast, there were two. And quickly 3, 4, 5, and 6, and finally, 7. They all had specific personalities from the beginning, being the most vocal litter I’ve encountered in my 68 years.
This morning, I hear the wooklets in their room, barking, growling, yelping and causing mayhem. It’s 5:42 am. They’ve already received their breakfast. It’s play time, reminding me of my own boys playing early morning games over four decades ago. Play. Argue. Yelp. Repeat. It’s the same all for puppies and little children. If things turns quiet, you have problem.
This last week has reminded me of a few things.
Don’t breathe puppy breathe. It will slay you every time.
What goes in will surely come out in a smelly mess.
Little puppies will let you know when they need something. RIGHT NOW.
Never volunteer to take care of a litter for five days unless you REALLY, REALLY, REALLY are in need of a dose of puppy breath. Then, remember #1.
Off we go over Donner Pass towards home!
This morning, HHH and I will pack our belongings into the car, call Wookie to come along, and we’ll be off. She is quite done with the littles and missing the green grass of Winterpast. Here vacation in California is over, as well as her time as a great mom.
Whatever you do this weekend, change up your schedule a bit. Go for an early morning walk. Plant something. Talk to a friend. Find your own dose of puppy breath. All things to enjoy while on the road to healing!!
One of the many things HHH and I have in common is our LOVE for roses! We aren’t fans of every kind, just Hybrid Tea Roses with gigantic and fragrant blossoms.
On our first Christmas together, I gave HHH his favorite rose, Mr. Lincoln. I wrapped up a certificate for the rose, explaining that the bush would arrive in March, and it did. Having purchased it from one of the “best” rose companies out there and at a premium price, I was shocked when it arrived, unwrapped with bare roots exposed in a carboard box.
HHH lovingly planted it here at Winterpast long before he proposed and then it refused to thrive. For 365 days, it was on the verge of dying, while HHH patiently worked his magic. From then on, I promised myself I’d only purchase potted roses that we could inspect.
This year, we purchased nine rose bushes named “Serenity” to celebrate Mother’s Day. With sweat and brute force, HHH used his trusty pick ax to plant each one. Slowly, they are beginning to settle in, blooming for the second time this season. There are plenty of very healthy roses sold at Walmart or the hardware store. It’s not necessary to pay twice the price because you just might receive half the plant.
Rose bush names are interesting. I’m sure the proper name can market more roses. Who could resist buying a bright yellow rose named “Happy Go Lucky”? (We now own two.) Or a stately rose named “The Grand Dame”, which she is. Mr. Lincoln now presides over the rose beds, while Independence Day, Tahitian Sunrise and Stainless Steel (a very pale lavender color), all fall in place. Bliss pumps out bloom after bloom.
All roses need good drainage and lots of water. Don’t plant them too deep, leaving the crown exposed so it can breathe.
Roses do need regular feeding. Bayer Systemic Rose Pellets are long lasting and work very well. Here on the high desert plains of Northwestern Nevada, aphids are proving to be a big problem which the Bayer food will solve. Luckily, the systemic insecticide is okay for use around the bees because bees don’t visit roses. Simple as that.
During the heat of the summer, all the rose bushes will slow down, using their energy to survive the heat. They will bloom again when the weather tames down in the fall. Last week, we had 2″ of rain here on the desert and the roses were thriving. This week, a heat wave is coming with a temperature of 106 predicted for Sunday.
After blooms have faded and died away, be sure to clip them off. There are many articles online about the proper way to do this. While growing your bush larger, clip them back to the first place there are five leaves growing. If you are just deadheading, clip only the dead blossom. There are specific reasons on what to trim and why, so do your own research.
Whatever you do today, try your hand at growing roses. There is nothing prettier than a freshly grown bouquet sitting on your kitchen table.
Settled back into the routine here at Winterpast, I can tell you a few things. I’m not a chicken or duck person. I don’t understand them very well, and will continue to buy eggs at the store. I’m not a cat person, either. That’s good, because they don’t much like me. After staying in a house with three of them for five days and nights and only saw one, although the food certainly disappeared in the night.
I’m a true-blue dog person. Having just cared for thirteen dogs of various ages and sizes, that’s been established. I’m now a fan of hypoallergenic dogs of the doodle variety. It’s true that they shed almost nothing at all. Such a difference from those that do, like Goldens or German Shepherds. I was thankful for the lack of hair as I mopped the house twice a day while in California. Such is life with puppies underfoot. A lot of mopping.
Life pushed me to become the woman I am today and I’m at peace with the new me.
When I became a widow in 2020, I benefited from the fog made of my grief. Thank goodness I could only focus on the moment at hand. There were boxes to move to storage. Later, boxes to retrieve and unpack. My seventeenth day alone, I moved one hour away to a sweet little town on the desert plains of northwestern Nevada. I moved into a new home in a new town where I knew two people. That August one of them died.
I began driving after not having been behind the wheel for a full six years. This happened for no reason other than my late husband loved to drive everywhere and I didn’t. When he was gone it was up to me to take the wheel and carry on.
I began caring for 1/2 acre of land with the trusty help of a gardener named Mr. B. During the dark days of Covid, I dined out several times a week and occasionally drove myself to the biggest little city to the west to stay in hotels for a change of scenery. Both actions were scandalous, with everyone sure that I’d die from a silly virus. But, I didn’t.
I refused to give up or give in. Sun, fresh air, and garden soil kept me safe from viral infections. I slept way to much and didn’t eat near enough. I caught up on movies while consuming vast amounts of macaroni and cheese, tacos, and ice cream (three amazing food groups).
Shouldn’t were replaced with Maybe’s, Why-Not’s?, and Heck, Yes’s. Slowly, my life began to change for the better.
September 24, 2020, I decided to write a blog. Creating Grievinggardener.com on the computer in an afternoon, I started writing and haven’t stopped since. In the beginning, I was up at 4:00 am every morning to start the day with words. My words kept me alive. I hoped at least one person in the universe would read them. It didn’t matter who, knowing if I could help one other woman get out of bed to read something I wrote, it was worth it.
Through every day, I’ve gardened in one way or another. I developed my own therapies to deal with my unique and personal tragedy when all the grief-groups were closed down. I found a church and began to pray. I found God, and began a relationship. I fell into the loving arms of Jesus Christ, my Lord and Savior, and gave my life to him, finally baptized at 66 years old.
I’ve lived through desert’s worst winters and bought my very own Snow Joe to help me deal with the drifts. Loving every short day of winter, I cocooned inside with my little dog, Oliver. At times I didn’t shovel snow and dealt with ice. Throughout those days, I slipped. I slid. But, again, I’d find my balance and keep going.
In 2022, I became restless and went back to college for a summer. I applied for a teaching job and was hired, went to work, cried every night, and quit after a few months. Sometimes, you just need to reset your course when the headwinds are too strong.
That year, I also met HHH and fell head-over-heels in love with this man. This wonderful man loves gardening as much as I do. He’s man’s-man that still tears up at a sweet story on the news. This man now co-navigates life with me. This man I call my husband and best friend in life.
Together, we’ve built a greenhouse. We’ve grown a house full of seedlings and then turned them into plants blooming in our yard. We’ve experienced the beauty of Yellowstone for the first time in our lives as honeymooners. We’ve cruised the high seas and crossed back and forth over Donner Pass many times.
Together, we’ve whelped and help raise two liters of wooklets, which were born in the middle of our bed in both 2023 and 2024. Neither of us would have had that any other way, loving these 13 little pups while they were in our care.
My reason for highlighting the really great stuff going on is simple. I was a lost and lonely widow in 2020. Five summers later, I’m getting ready to spend the 4th of July with family I love while watching a parade down Main Street and greased pig contest. To go from knowing no one to knowing hundreds of people in my little town is a miracle about which I marvel every day.
Was it hard? Almost impossible. What it lonely? Beyond what anyone should need to endure. Were there setbacks? Every day. Was I on a journey without directions? You betcha.
The truth of the matter is, I didn’t take the journey alone. God get’s the glory on this one, as he carried me for many, many miles. As the days went by, I changed into this woman I really and truly like and respect. A woman that has charted her own course. How blessed am I to have found a new life in the midst of such sorrow.
Whatever you do today, remember that the sun will shine again tomorrow. No matter how dark, get up, get dressed, and get going. Life is what you make it!! Get started!!
Have I got a book to recommend to anyone that might enjoy some great historical fiction based on the journey of a very real family! The story centers around Emil and Adeline Martell and their beautiful boys during WWII. It has everything a good story should have from romance to suspense and bone chilling descriptions of the horrors of war. Most importantly, it’s about a family’s love for the Lord, each other, and life.
My ancestors were Germans that moved to the Volga region to farm starting in 1763. Simple as that. Along with land grants from Katharine the Great, they were promised freedom to worship while building great lives around farming. For a long time, everything worked just as promised and their lives flourished. Until it all came crashing down.
Catherine the Great promised a new life along the Volga River to German Farmers
In 1902, as live became more dangerous and uncertain, with a brand new baby girl, my Great Grandparents left their homes to travel to a new country. America would be their next stop. About their journey I know nothing, and wish I would have asked my Great Grandfather Christoph all those years ago. It was he that built the box that held all their worldly belongings as they made their trip in faith and love right through Ellis Island and on to the San Joaquin Valley of California.
Over a century later, their descendants have made wonderful lives in this great country, while citizens of Russia and Ukraine struggle to this day. I’ve enjoyed every physical luxury at my fingertips during my life, except for the six months I returned to live in Moldavia, USSR (now Moldova). A time in my life of hunger and horrors I wish I hadn’t experienced. Travel there required ten vaccines for everything from cholera to typhoid and typhus. One of the few times in my life, I was thankful to be fully vaccinated.
Can you imagine leaving every friend, family member, and possession behind, taking only what you could carry? Then, leaving those things along the way as you struggled through heat, cold, weather, snow, rain, and sun while avoiding tanks, bombs and crossfire? Always moving towards the goal and Never, Never, Never Giving Up?????
When I wrote about my own struggles yesterday, I should’ve included that my minor problems in life were nothing compared to those my ancestors endured. Unspeakable tragedy. Unbelievable faith. Unworldly strength and courage. Those are the things that are woven into my DNA, whether I think of them every day or not. My ancestors were courageous travelers on their way to dreams of their own last green valley. Some made it and some died trying.
With the summer heat spiking, it’s a great time to read a wonderful book about some resourceful people who lived. They REALLY lived. The Last Green Valley by Mark Sullivan won’t disappoint.
If you have any thoughts after reading the book, please drop me a line. I lived in Moldova and swam in the Dniester River they crossed in their wagon. People in the surrounding towns near Tiraspol still used horses and wagons for transportation and harvests in 1977. Many men had never used a wrench to loosen the nut off a bolt. Actual experiences in the place I lived so long ago.
On the eve of Independence Day, take a moment to be grateful for all the freedom and luxuries we enjoy. From refrigeration for our food to pasteurized milk, we are a fully developed nation that folks from 3rd world countries can only dream. Our blessings overflow in great green valleys of milk and honey.
Whatever you do, consider reading something outside the norm. If you choose this book, you won’t be disappointed.
How is it possible that TODAY we are celebrating Independence Day???? Just yesterday, HHH was cooking me a Valentine’s Steak and Lobster Dinner at the coast. Today, we’re off to enjoy a wonderful time celebrating in our home town on the high desert plains of Northwestern Nevada. The fire department has been ready since Monday when they started flying their huge flag off the town’s ladder truck. People are ready to celebrate.
Our town has the longest parade route in the area. At about two miles, it will fill up with everyone from miles around. AS a town of 25,000, we are expecting another 10,000 to join us. People grab their spots early, as HHH and I have already done. Last night, we secured our spot with HHH’s pickup and found the parade route already crowded with RV’s and cars to be left overnight, (which you can do in a small town). With an umbrella for shade, we’ll take folding chairs and enjoy the parade in style. It begins promptly at 10 so we’ll need to be sitting roadside by 9 am to get the very best spot to watch the Mayor stroll by.
With our pickup in just the right spot, we’ll head over to the Masonic Pancake Breakfast to get eggs, bacon, and flap jacks. Everyone needs to start their morning with a full stomach. T After that, we’ll take the car and head down Main Street where the parade will begin with police sirens from the local Sheriff and Nevada Highway Patrol.
The parade dignitaries will be followed by the high school marching band and all the other usual parade participants. I rode in this parade one time. It didn’t go well. That was one of the first times I realized that there are people who enjoy throwing water balloons at those in the parade. Decided, then and there, it was the last time I would willingly ride in a parade anywhere. Now, I realize that in our town, even the fire department with their hoses get involved. Remember, we do live in the wild, wild west.
Any parade wouldn’t be real with the Shriner’s and their little cars. These burly men work tirelessly to raise money for Shrine hospitals around the country. My own granddaughter got her little broken arm fixed at one years ago. Children across the world are helped by the generosity of others.
After a brief time out, there will be an “All-Call” for the Greased pig contest. Don’t worry about the pigs. Last year, they avoided grease (really soap) due to the hot weather. Each pig runs around a fenced area for a maximum of 60 seconds before it is caught. Last years pigs were of the Mangalica breed from Hungary. At first, I wasn’t sure if I was watching mutton busting or greased pig catching. They are just as adorable as this photo.
We’ll be fine. Really. — (Mangalica Pigs)
All this fun will occur at Out of Town Park, as opposed to other festivities that will occur at In Town Park. I love our little high desert town so much!
Of course, there will be fantastic food. I’m going to be ready for Dayton High School Booster’s Pulled Pork Sandwich with home cut curly fries. All this enjoyed while visiting with family and friends. The perfect small town affair.
It will all end up with HHH and I snuggled up together in the back of his Chevy Truck, as we watch the skies overhead light up. We have our favorite spot to watch the show….. The locals always know the best spots.
If we have any energy left, we’ll be off to dance under the stars and return home after midnight.
Whatever you do today, celebrate the Independence of our great nation. Sure, she has been through some tough times in the last few years. Hasn’t the world? She is still the grandest country in the world. The one in which people dream of starting a new life and then do it. Thank goodness my ancestors made it across the Atlantic to Ellis Island to begin their dreams in 1902. I can never thank them enough in my lifetime.
When you are dealing with 50,000 tiny animals, it’s bound to happen. Someone is going to break a wing or spike a temp. During the last month, something is going on with our hard working hive and it’s not good. They are not flourishing in abundance. They are barely holding their own here on July 4th. But, let me go back to the beginning.
We are being schooled in Bee-Keeping 101 by our beautiful friend, The Bee Lady. Having watched over bees for a very long time, she knows when to celebrate, worry, or run. We listen intently when she visits every other week to help us work our hive.
The most important lesson she has shared is that bees can kill us. A few weeks back, while enjoying a day of working bees, she was stung 8 times in the head. Suffering a huge reaction, she went into anaphylactic shock and was taken to the hospital by ambulance. Rule #1. Keep phone handy. Rule #2. Keep Epi-Pen closer. Those are two rules we won’t soon forget. Luckily, with the proper medications and emergency room care, she’s fine. Since then, she’s been stung a couple more times with no reaction. Just a very weird situation that could have turned deadly.
In case you are wondering, we have two Epi-Pens. Always be ready for the unexpected.
Since our bees arrived in early spring, our teacher has been assuring us that everything has been proceeding in the right direction. Our queen has been laying eggs on schedule while awaiting the bloom of the Russian Olive. We fed the right amount of simple syrup and pollen patties. The honey flow should’ve started around June 1, but, alas, it never happened. The bees are now making enough honey for their survival. They should be making enough to overwinter.
Although every flower seedling was selectedfor the bees, they haven’t been as interested as in years past. The flowers that they should have been thankful for remain visited. The flowers that they shouldn’t be interested, such as Fox Glove, have been their favorite. (More on that one in a bit.)
Zinnia
We’ve been awaiting the sign of wayward wax on the top of their second large super to tell us it’s time for the honey flow. It hasn’t happened. In fact, the honey and pollen storage have stalled a bit, along with our queens production.
If it were just us, The Bee Lady would let us know where we went wrong. According to her (and the latest talk around town), it’s every hive in the area. No honey or pollen. Just hives that would die if winter were around the corner. Ours included. They may not be able to overwinter at this rate and we may lose this bunch to start again next year.
So many people have asked us when the honey will be ready. This year, it’s almost a certainty that there will be NO extra honey. We’ll be lucky if the bees can put together enough for themselves over a hard winter. And so it goes. Farming is exactly like this situation. Some years you have bumper crops. Other years, you can lose you investment in the blink of an eye. And so, we wait.
We did need to do some housecleaning for the little ones. It seems they decided to lay their comb in creative ways, not following the pattern on the ten frames in their home. Not sure why, it seems the hive construction might have been off on the proper dimensions that bees require. Even 1/2″ off can make the difference between behaved and unruly bees.
The Bee Lady and HHH took time yesterday to fix the mess. In doing so, they brought me 6 1/2 pints of raw honey to drain and place in labeled jars. Our honey name was chosen by HHH and certified by me. Winterpast Honey. Simple as that. So far, we have 14 4 0z jars of honey and 6 8 oz. jars. That’s quite a bit from just four wayward frames.
The talk around our area is that experts are on the way. They will be looking at every aspect of the hive decline in our area. Thank goodness they are coming to the rescue, for without pollinators, we’re all in trouble.
Through their struggles, the bees remain sweet and calm. They are carrying on while flying in and out of the hive to forage for food. Time is running short and winter will arrive sooner than it seems. Please pray for our queen and the survival of her littles. We’re depending on it.
Whatever you do this weekend, you might want to learn a little more about bees. They are one of God’s most precious little creatures. There is still so much to learn from them. Patience is a lesson HHH and I are working on through this experience!
Last week, as afternoon temperatures soared well above the century mark, I found myself a a little bored. Having almost finished reading “The Last Green Valley”, I found myself haunted by questions about the journey my own ancestors had taken. With a new appreciation for the perils of traveling so far with a baby on the hip, I decided to go to Ancestry.com and begin.
With only my name as a beginning point, ancestors began to appear. In the beginning, they were familiar. Of course, it’s not unusual to be lucky enough to know grandparents. Mine built the very house in which I played as a child and later, grew into a woman raising her own children. My great-grandparents were a little more mysterious, most of them having died before I could memorize their face or voice.
Like images coming out of a fog, a sea of strangers appeared that possessed traits passed down through the ages to me. Reading the names of towns in which they were born, one fact remains. I am of German/Danish heritage, an undeniable fact.
To start your own journey, you simply go to Ancestry.com and choose the plan that works for you. Then you begin by searching your own name.
After a few nights of excitement from the computer, HHH became intrigued. The hook was set when I mentioned he could start his own research off my name now that we are legally hitched. And that we did.
So far, I’m just as enchanted with his stories as those of my own people. You see, he came from a family of writers who created and supported a major newspaper in the countryside of Nebraska. They were the movers and shakers of Nebraska and the East Coast. Some ran for political office, while others farmed.
One ancestor fought for the Union in the Civil War, even being a prisoner of war for a time. So far, only one of HHH’s great-great-great grandfather came from Germany. Surprising, as he is of Scottish heritage, a blue-eyed red head.
While studying different names and families, pictures and stories appeared that were downloaded by other. Details appeared that might shock some and confirm the suspicions of others. Don’t begin this journey unless you can roll with the answers you find which might be different than the ones you were sure you already knew.
One of HHH’s widowed grandmother’s homesteaded land in Nebraska while raising her young son. I would have loved to have been in her class as she taught school, or helped her in the fields after her school day was over.
While discussing these things with Auntie TJ and The Goddess of the Central Coast, the intrigue grew. How blessed I am to have Auntie TJ as a link to those names of long ago. She lived among German-speaking immigrants as the youngest of four daughters born to August and Lizzie.
She mentioned that the attending physician to her birth in a small country home was Dr. Pomeroy. After our conversation, I saw Doc Pomeroy’s name on many birth and death records. He was the country doctor who witnessed it all.
Whatever you do today, consider taking a little trip into the past to discover something new about your ancestors. Stories of those already gone is a lovely gift to share with family. Above all, stay cool while brutal heat of summer blazes on (5:54 am — 78 degrees).
The tree that never had to fight For sun and sky and air and light, But stood out in the open plain And always got its share of rain, Never became a forest king But lived and died a scrubby thing.
The man who never had to toil To gain and farm his patch of soil, Who never had to win his share Of sun and sky and light and air, Never became a manly man But lived and died as he began.
Good timber does not grow with ease, The stronger wind, the stronger trees, The further sky, the greater length, The more the storm, the more the strength. By sun and cold, by rain and snow, In trees and men good timbers grow.
Where thickest lies the forest growth We find the patriarchs of both. And they hold counsel with the stars Whose broken branches show the scars Of many winds and much of strife. This is the common law of life.
I hope that someday, when I’ve gone far away, someone compares me to Good Timber with deep roots and strong branches. You can fall for anything if you don’t stand for something. Standing for beliefs and values takes extra effort and courage at times. Doing the right thing isn’t always the easiest thing.
As I look through the decades at my ancestors, it’s obvious I came from an entire forest of strong timber. Life wasn’t handed to any of our fore fathers on a silver platter. They chose their own course in life and went for it, even when going for it was the toughest choice they could make.
Christoph and Anna Geringer — 50th Anniversary
When Christoph and a pregnant Anna (my great-grandparents) were deciding on a move to America, it would have made a lot more sense to stay put. The unknowns were deep and dark. Childbirth. Traveling through unknown and dangerous territory by foot. Depending on their faith and following their own Northern Star, they went for it. The courage and bravery of all the German’s from Russia that made the trek is awe inspiring.
Once here, they impressed upon their children the importance of education. Assimilation in the American culture was vital for success. Learning English, they became the Americans that helped build our country. They cherished the freedom that they had only read about while living under oppression in despair. In doing so, they found their own Last Green Valley.
Life in 1902 makes the troubles I faced in 2020 laughable. Too Cold? Turn up the heat. Too Hot? Turn down the AC. Hungry? Call “Door Dash” for a pizza. Just widowed? Order extra Kleenex from Amazon. The life of our forefathers made adults of children at an early age. What would they think of the state of things in 2024????????
Whatever you do today, think about being “Good Timber” in times of storms and strife. An easy life is promised to no one. In fact, if the truth be told, easy lives are a myth. With hard work and effort, some people are just good at making it look that way. So, buck up and carry on with one foot in front of the other. Life is beautiful and we are so blessed.
When there is nothing to do, try something new. Auntie TJ always told me boredom is a sign of a weak and lazy mind. I think Joni Mitchell sang about that, too. Not wanting to fall into that category, I was busy working on my ancestry yesterday.
Computerized genealogy is the best! I found some paper documents my mother had prepared in the 1900’s. Erasures. Arrows. Unknowns. Very limited in her access to records, she didn’t get further than the 1800’s before becoming frustrated. I’m impressed that she got as far as she did.
Yesterday, I had worked on my maternal side for some time and decided to turn my attention to my paternal ancestors.
Oy. Vey.
Never look to far into family history unless you’re ready to handle what you might find. Again, Oy. Vey.
One day, when I was a young girl, my father told me a story about the day his sister and her husband came from Los Angeles to visit in a Stuts Bearcat. This visit was quite shocking to a family that took their family cow with them to fish at the San Joaquin River. Quite a journey from Los Angeles to the Central Valley, as well.
A true status symbol, the young boy who would later grow up to be my dad couldn’t get over the beauty of the side lights. Probably the most exciting thing to happen to a sleepy little farming town in a very long, long time.
I wondered until yesterday how it was that one brother would be living a farmer’s life while raising eight children while his sister and her husband would be driving around California in a luxury car. I found my answer and it’s a shocker.
It turns out that this uncle was one of the most famous “bookies” on the west coast of America. His lovely wife raised and showed bulldogs as a hobby. They employed a Japanese housekeeper and lived the high life. Zeke and Helen Caress. Now, even as a writer with a great imagination, I couldn’t make up that name. Really? Of course, ZEKE would be a bookie.
Not just any bookie. They were part owners in Agua Caliente in Mexico. Huge racetrack and resort. There is a book written about the place I place to read soon. The bad guys I’d only heard about were doing business on a regular basis with my uncle. Go figure.
They were so wealthy that at one point, they were kidnapped for ransom along with their chauffeur. After a shootout with the police the kidnappers were found and arrested. My relatives went on their merry way, enjoying all the best Los Angeles had to offer, ending up buried in Vesperland at Forest Lawn Cemetery.
Now that I think of it, another Uncle was nicknamed “Slick”.
Oy. Vey. Oy. Vey. Oy. Vey.
Well. With all that information, I had to move on. I decided that HHH’s family might be more down to earth with a bunch of Nebraskan writers. And so, I worked there a little while.
I hadn’t gone very far when I made another shocking discovery. HHH has relatives that were also Germans from Russia. In fact, we both have the “Rudolph” family name in our lineage. You can’t even imagine what a shock that was to both of us!!!!! I guess HHH will need to read “The Last Green Valley”, as well.
Whatever you do today, you might want to take a little time to review your own roots. As Auntie TJ also reminds me often, “A Family is a Family is a Family.” We all have interesting stories just waiting to be discovered. I wonder what I’ll find next! Stay tuned.
