Janet's Blog

I was reading an article the other day about a mom in England who let her young daughter ride her horse to school one morning. The mom rode along, too, on her own horse, and led her daughter's pony home afterwards. The main issue with this was the fact that the school children all gathered around the pony, just outside the school gates, to pet the horses. When one entitled eight-year-old insisted that she wanted to ride the other girl's pony, the horses' owner let her know that it wouldn't be safe for her to do that, since she had no helmet or prior experience. Upon hearing that response, the girl's equally entitled mother pitched a fit, insisting that her daughter be allowed to ride and, when that failed, she complained to the school authorities that horses should not be ridden to school unless everyone (especially her darling daughter) was also allowed to ride. I guess that riding horses to school has become a novelty. I've ridden horses since before I could w...

When I was a baby, I lived with my Mom and Dad in a tiny little trailer house on the home place, a few steps away from the main farmhouse where my paternal grandparents lived with their two youngest daughters. The trailer, which was considerably smaller than many modern-day RVs, had a kitchen, living room, and bedroom, but only one sink, in the kitchen, and a toilet in a little nook all by itself. When any of us needed to bathe, we had to use the clawfoot tub in the farmhouse bathroom. One-year-old me, in our cramped trailer house. Around the time I turned two, Mom and Dad rented a farm a few miles away from the home place, just a mile outside of town. I am sure they were excited to move to their own place, with a real house, but they were not so excited to discover that the new house didn't have any indoor plumbing. They set out to remedy that situation as quickly as possible, but it takes some time to bury a septic tank and install plumbing in a house that has never had it before...

Doves and pigeons, pigeons and doves: ever since I was a little girl, I’ve noticed them. In my experience, I've found pigeons to be city birds, while doves live in smaller communities or in the country.  Years ago, even centuries ago, people hunted both birds for food. Even now, they are still hunted in some parts of the world.  Over the years, I’ve been acquainted with a few people who hunt doves, and I’ve known some who shoot pigeons because they are considered to be nuisance birds, but I've never known anyone who hunts pigeons to provide food for their families. I’ve enjoyed eating pheasants, quail, and wild turkey, and I’ve suffered through meals of duck and goose, but I’ve never eaten either pigeons (sometimes called squabs) or doves.   In the US, pigeons are not currently a popular food because they can’t be raised commercially in large numbers, making them too expensive to eat. I suspect the same is true for doves. Additionally, even country pigeons are associated...

It's been more than three months now since Uncle Gary left this earth. He knew he might not survive the surgery to repair his aortic aneurysm. After living with the aneurysm for years, and enduring several other procedures along the way, his last surgery was his surgeon's heroic, final effort to fix something that was finally beyond repair. Gary would be the first to tell you that he had lived a satisfying life. Except for one rather brief marriage, he lived alone in the house he had bought in North Platte. He had a large, loyal group of friends there, where he had retired after working there as a dispatcher and, eventually, communications supervisor, for the Nebraska State Patrol. I would characterize Gary as usually soft-spoken, diligent, determined, ethical, hard-working, and loyal to family and friends. He loved sharing his garden space with his neighbor, and sharing his produce with his friends. After his sister, my Aunt Ellen, was no longer around to make jelly, he learne...

I have been counting the days since last week's oral surgery, until I am allowed to exercise again. Today's the day! When the weather cooled off a little this evening, I was out the door with Jackson to walk the neighborhood. In the summer, the best time to walk is often just after the sun sets, when the air is cool and still. It's only been the last three or four years that I've been making a conscious effort to walk regularly. At first, I used the Health App on my phone to track my steps, but I have been more motivated since Bill brought me a FitBit from some convention he had attended. This time of year, I walk more than 10,000 steps nearly every day. It's become a habit now, except when I'm sick, or when the weather is nasty. When I was growing up, first in northeastern Nebraska, then in Fairbury in the southeastern part of the state, exercise was not a priority for most people, probably because it just wasn't necessary. Farmers and their families got pl...

Skinny jeans are in style or, perhaps I should say, back in style. When I was a girl, jeans weren't a style choice at all. Some workmen wore them, and farm kids wore them, too, but rarely in town. Jeans were for riding horses--and mucking out the chicken coop. By the late fifties and early sixties, teenage boys were wearing slim fitting jeans, with rolled up cuffs, but girls still wore dresses to school and church. If girls wore jeans at all, they were riding horses--or doing chores. I don't remember when I got my first pair of regular blue jeans, but I'm guessing it was in the late 1960s. Then, they would have been boy's jeans that needed to be tailored to fit me. Mom was the tailor, and I was the picky one. I don't know why I insisted that my jeans should be skinny. I was pretty skinny myself, and the boy's jeans were not, so I'm sure that had something to do with it. Mom didn't complain too much about taking a couple of tucks in the waist band, ...

It seems like no one fries chicken any more. After all, fried chicken is time consuming to make, and high in fat content--and besides, most kids these days prefer chicken nuggets to chicken with bones. When I was a preschooler, when my family still lived on a farm outside of Bloomfield, fried chicken was practically a household staple. Mom raised chickens--lots of chickens--so we had plenty of eggs and no lack of chickens to roast or fry. Fried chicken was my favorite, and a fried chicken heart was the choicest tidbit. Back then, no edible poultry parts were ever wasted. Sometimes, women chopped up the organ meats and put them in stuffing or gravy, but Mom always fried them, along with the back and neck, and someone always ate them. Dad liked chicken gizzards and liver, but the heart was the only giblet I ever wanted. We always ate our big meal at noon, so Dad would be provided with sufficient fuel to complete his strenuous farm work each day. During harvest, it wasn't uncomm...

I was speed-walking my way through the neighborhood last night, just at dusk, with my little Shih-poo, Jackson, in tow, thinking about some long-lost sights and sounds, and even smells, and it occurred to me that I've experienced countless things that my grandchildren will never encounter. Oh, I know, they will undoubtedly be faced with a wealth of experiences, throughout their lives, that I can't begin to imagine. Just think of the stories they will tell their own grandchildren someday... But today, I wonder if Tobin, and Evelyn and little Lydia, and the newest grandson, due any day now, along with any of their future cousins, will ever get to milk a cow by hand, as I did, with limited success, when I was three or four. And, I wonder if they will ever get to hold a newborn piglet, or hear the eager snorts of a dozen little pigs as they crowd together to nurse from a patient sow. I don't remember bottle-feeding my little lamb, Lola, but I suppose there is some chance ...

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 seaso...

Dad had been out working in the field on that sunny, spring morning, when he stopped to come into the house, and called me over to see what was in his pocket. At three or four years old, I was curious about everything, so I hurried over to see what he had brought me. Carefully, he reached his hand into his coat pocket and pulled out a tiny, fluffy, brown, baby bunny, staring at me with its beady, black eyes. I reached for it eagerly, and he taught me how to hold it gently, while Mom went to find a shoe box. We lined the box with grass from our yard, then placed the bunny in the shoe box when I tired of holding it. For the next few days, my nameless bunny lived in the box, behind the cookstove, where it was warm. After the chores were finished on Sunday morning, we all got ready for church and Sunday School, leaving the bunny safely in his box behind the stove, while a savory beef roast, and pared potatoes and carrots, cooked in the oven. We only lived a mile northwest of Bloomf...

It seems like the laundry is never done. At least two days a week, I trudge up and down the basement stairs to wash and dry the clothes, Bill's, Levi's, and mine. Thankfully, Victoria does her own. And, I'm beginning to think that it won't be long until Levi will learn how to do his own laundry. I'm just not sure if I'm ready for the amount of supervision that will require... I really shouldn't complain. I have a large, front-loading washing machine and a matching dryer that do their jobs quite well, most of the time. All I really have to do is sort the laundry, carry mine and Bill's to the basement where I combine it with Levi's, which he is supposed to have tossed down the laundry chute from the second floor hallway. Then, it's just a matter of switching loads between the washer and dryer, folding the laundry into a couple of baskets (assuming that Levi and Victoria have returned them to the basement) and putting Bill's and mine away. Lev...

The evidence is all around us: the warm days of Summer are coming to an end.  The days are shorter, and cooler in the mornings and evenings. Mid-afternoon temperatures may soar into the 80's or even low 90s, but those temperatures are fleeting. By sundown, the air feels cool and, sometimes, the night breezes are downright cold! Tuesday's balmy breeze turned into a raging gale. When the September wind velocity nearly equals the speed limit, we know that Fall, with its blustery breezes, is just around the corner. I thought twice about opening my car door to step outside  into the bone-chilling gale so I could snap this picture. The corn fields are beginning to take on a golden sheen. It won't be long before the area farmers start their corn harvest. The south side of Scotts Bluff National Monument provides a beautiful backdrop for this cornfield. But here in the Nebraska panhandle, I've noticed that most farmers complete their harvests alphabetically...

When I was a very little girl, I loved to eat a bowl of sliced bananas, sprinkled with a teaspoonful of sugar and drenched in fresh cream, straight from the separator. Bananas were cheap, and cream was plentiful, so it's no wonder I learned to love my bananas and cream. Years later, bananas are still inexpensive, still used as a loss leader in every grocery store in the USA. Perhaps you don't know what a "loss leader" is, and I certainly don't know why I remember such a trivial bit of vocabulary, but a loss leader is a product sold, at a loss, to attract customers. Store managers figured out, long ago, that people who go to a particular store to buy cheap bananas are very likely to buy other, more expensive groceries while they are at the store. It's been a long time since I enjoyed a simple bowl of sliced bananas and cream. The last time, after we left the farm, Mom poured a little half-and-half, a commercially produced mixture of milk and cream, from the...