Janet's Blog

(God) provides rain for the earth; he sends water on the countryside.   Job 5:10 Northern Michigan is known for its precipitation, averaging 110 inches of snow every year, and 33 inches of rain. In fact, the sun only shines there 163 days a year, on average. When I taught kindergarten in Traverse City, my students knew how to dress themselves for the weather, wearing one-piece snowmobile suits in the winter, with their hats, mittens, and snow boots, and raincoats and boots whenever it rained. I remember one little, blonde boy named Christopher, all smiles as he came in from the bus one rainy morning, wearing his bright yellow, hooded slicker. He could hardly wait to show me the treasures he had collected while he waited at the bus stop near his house. He thrust both of his hands deep into his coat pockets and gleefully pulled them out again, full of wiggly, slippery worms . Obviously, his mom had sent him outside to wait for the bus while she remained inside where it was dry, watch

I'm sure you've seen a cute picture, perhaps in a child's story book, of a darling little fairy sitting on a stylized toadstool. But, just in case you don't know what I mean, here's a perfect example: Very cute, but very wrong ! I am currently fighting my own, private, toadstool war, and it's anything but cute.  When we lived in Michigan, I was amazed at the variety of colorful mushrooms we found when we hiked in the woods. Those large, inedible fungi were eerily beautiful. Even the edible morels, considered to be a delightful delicacy among those who knew where to find them, were at least interesting to look at, as well as delicious. But, thankfully, the mushrooms in Michigan stayed out of my yard. For the past couple of years, ever since we had to remove the huge hackberry tree that  shaded our back yard, I've been fighting some prolific toadstool colonies that feed on the decaying, underground roots of that old tree.  This spring has been wett

I was just a preschooler when we left the farm, but I still remember the beautiful red and yellow tulips that grew there, in the houseyard. Even then, I loved spring, with the fresh smell of rain showers, followed by sunny, blustery days; the greening grass, the little new leaves sprouting on each tree branch, and, of course, the flowers. A spring garden, not too far from my house The daffodils and tulips were the best because they were the first to bloom. The purple lilacs smelled the best. Even when we lived in the hotel in Norfolk, and later, in Fairbury, where we had no yard of our own, Dad would find some abandoned farmstead close to town, where he would cut arm loads of gorgeous, fragrant lilacs to bring home for Mom. I can still smell them, sitting on the kitchen table in the old, pink, ceramic pitcher that always listed a little too far to one side. Spring has always been the best time of year, if only because of the flowers.  Flowers appear on the earth; the season of

Grandbaby #4 is scheduled to arrive sometime in June. He has a name, or so I've been told, but Meagan and Andy have decided, yet again, to withhold that information until he arrives, just in case they change their minds at the last minute. Choosing a name can be a difficult proposition. Before Erin and Meagan were born, I remember checking out various "Name Your Baby" books from our local public library. Back then, thirty-some years ago, we didn't have the luxury of the Internet to make our research easy and relatively painless. Neither did we have the option of finding out, halfway through a pregnancy, whether we would be having a boy or a girl, so we had to be ready with two complete names. Choosing a baby's name should be much simpler now, or at least, you would think so. But now, in addition to choosing just the right name that sounds pleasing to the new parents-to-be, young couples often consider the all-important meaning of each name, and whether or n