it's so quiet As morning's occupations and ablutions take place, the reminders tumble forth... your feline voice that made its morning greeting when the bedroom door swung open and you wound your way around my ankles with murmurs of affection and hunger as you fit your day into mine.
It's the little things. The care to avoid stepping on your foot or tail when prepping our foodstuffs in the kitchen, yet this morning the floor is bare of the food and water dish, and you.
The nearness we shared at each others' sides... during our days and evenings, when you perched or snuggled within arm's reach for a random stroke, sometimes a visit on my lap.
At my elbow, there's no eager windowsill companion as birdseed and peanuts are tossed out to the waiting birds and squirrels.
The brush sitting on your carpet tree lies quiet with hairs from your orange, tiger-patterned coat still caught among its bristles.
No evidence of activity have disturbed the sands of your litter, the door to its space closed, its chore concluded.
As the end came for your body, tears muddled my vision,
my heart filled again with affection and love for the little fella, my friend.
Many, many small reminders will fill the rest of this day and time ahead-- when morning's birdseed and peanuts are flung out the window, or our space together on the couch beckons, it's the little reminders, that will welcome a mind and heart visit with Toby
my feline companion who sometimes shape-shifted into a dog or Toby Wan Kenobi.
Arlo Guthrie's account of his 1967 Thanksgiving might entertain you while you get ready for your holiday tomorrow. For those who were around in 1967, you will remember the Vietnam War generated lots of turmoil from multiple sources, including the compulsory military draft in America. Eventually, we found multiple ways forward.
Here we are decades later, preparing another Thanksgiving. Now, different turmoil from multiple sources is upon us. Let Arlo inject humor into our day so we can laugh together, keep our hearts and minds open, and give thanks. May we help each other--family, friends, everyone, everywhere, find multiple ways forward...
"I went to the library to pick up a book I wanted. There, I saw written on a whiteboard that a poetry-writing group was about to start. So I sat in with a whole bunch of people who write poems. Some of them have been in that group for 37 years. It was fun and kept me awake even though it lasted through my usual nap time."
"Did you write any poetry?"
"Yes, we all did during the workshop part. The leader read a prompt that was supposed to get us going. We wrote for 10 minutes and then took turns reading our work out loud."
"Did you write anything?"
"Yep. I grubbed around in my purse until I found a tiny notebook and a pen. So yes, I wrote on that."
"Read it to me!"
"Here, I'll show it to you..."
"Ah ha! there's your dancing friend again, JM."
"Yes! She reminds me of good stuff."
"You must need that with all the worrisome stuff humans have gotten themselves into."
"You're right, Toby! Let's start a Worry Group!"
"Yes, we could call it Awfulizers Anonymous! But I don't worry much. Still, I'll support you and join. I think you'll soon have lots of company."
"Yeah, before it was just The Bomb we all worried about. Then, the USSR collapsed so that worry went away. Now it's one calamity after another; wars, pestilence, political upheavals, refugees, homeless people, guns, people with gobs of money, lots more people with hardly any money, AI, climate crisis. Oh, and we're back to The Bomb all over again."
"Well, at least now if there's an atomic bomb blast you know hiding under your desk won't help."
"Hmmm. That's pretty worrisome."
"See, JM, you need a worry group!"
"Somehow, that doesn't make me feel better."
"Well, then, let's go dance with Daisy and forget about Awfulizers Anonymous."
"Tobyyyy," I called. Where was he? After a quick search around the apartment, I found him sound asleep in the magazine basket. He woke when I approached.
"You woke me," he said.
"I'm sorry."
"I was having the best dream...there I was back at the farm...the sun was out...the grass was tall in the pasture..." His words trailed off, his eyes closed, and he was back in dreamland. I quietly stepped away.
Happy dreams, Toby!*
*My first Procreate Dreams animation. Thank you, Aidan!!!
"Ai-yi-yi. ¡Verdad! mà amigo gato. Our company has gone home. I miss them very much."
"Me too!!! Gosh, that was fun to have all those laps to sit on. What's next?"
"Hmmm. Groceries. Appointments."
"Not the veterinarian!"
"Calm down, Toby. I'm untangling my own appointments. Two of my doctors from different practices quit medicine. It's a mess, getting my appointments lined up again with other practitioners."
"Why did they quit?"
"No one told me, but I've read here and there in newspapers that medical people are burned out and quitting. My primary physician didn't quit but when I asked about it he said he sold his practice to Penn Medicine. I asked him why, and he told me it was going through the pandemic, plus all the insurance issues and problems, the pressures of running a medical practice."
"Sounds like healthcare needs a doctor!" Toby exclaimed. He started to bat his tail with his front paw which he's been doing a lot lately. I worry that he's becoming neurotic from boredom. Then, he surprised me by stopping his game and said, "Maybe, doctors need a cat to talk to."
Sometimes, I think he's the student of a mystic.
Then he sat up, stretched, and said, "Will you need to be rescued from that phone tree like a few months ago?"
"Maybe. Will you be on standby to help me?"
"Sure, anything for a friend caught up in a phone tree. I'll call one of the arborists who helped me."
"How are you going to do that?" I asked, wondering what a cat could do about me stuck in a phone tree.
"I'll go to the window you leave open a crack and yowl as loud as I can. People pay attention when they hear a cat yowling."
"Well, thanks, Toby. I appreciate you having my back. Let's go to the window now and feed the squirrels and birds."
He clambered right up a chair back, then onto the windowsill.
"I'm all set," he said.
I went to the little pantry closet and returned with the seeds and peanuts that I toss to the birds and squirrels every morning. Toby was all aquiver with excitement. Keeping an eye on him, I raised the window, then the screen, and tossed out my two handfuls of bird seeds and one handful of peanuts to the area below between a bush and the exterior wall of my apartment. Then quickly shut the screen so the eager wildlife didn't become cat food. The small space behind the bush has afforded birds and squirrels some protection from hungry hawks flying through our campus area. Also, some small fallen tree branches I piled back there help keep hawks from dive-bombing our smaller friends.
I shut the screen, went back to my phone, and left Toby to enjoy his entertainment.
Memories of early mornings during my pre-school years include an electric glass Silex coffeemaker situated near the middle of the table, close to the kitchen wall. Alongside it sat the turnover toaster.
The coffee brewing in the Silex fascinated me then, and might even do so today. When I'd wake and come into the kitchen to sit at the table, water bubbled in the glass, bulb-shaped pot sitting in its curved, electric hot plate. On top of that sat another glass container that held the ground coffee. A filter kept the grounds from falling into the bottom part. The top container had a hollow tube reaching deep into the water heating in the pot below it. As the water reached the boiling point it rose, miraculously all by itself, up the tube into the top container where the coffee brewed. Soon the brewed coffee rushed back down into the bottom pot ready for Mom to remove the emptied top container and put the lid on the bottom, full pot of coffee.
I had a job to do that required quite a bit of concentration. Flip the bread slices in the turnover toaster.
The first side toasted, then, if you guessed right--that it was nicely browned--you quickly opened each side and the curved flanges at the base of the bread slices caused it to slide down to "turnover" the bread so that the untoasted side was now up. Then, close the toaster sides to toast the second side. Successful, guesswork timing yielded nicely toasted bread.
Mom added buttered toast (oleo) to a plate of bacon and a fried egg for me to eat. Even though I could cut the egg up for eating, I'd ask her to do it for me because when she did it each square stayed in place, just so. I've never been able to duplicate that. I liked seeing Mom's pretty presentation.
"Hmmm, let me think," I replied. Where does he get these ideas? After a bit, I answered, "It's a little like years ago when I told about Plan A and Plan B when Keoni and Aidan were little kids."
"Oh, yeah, I remember you telling us about those times."
"Okay, sit back, Toby, I'll tell you my food philosophy. Here goes..."
________
I organize, but that is Plan A. An important component of A is finding the kitchen tools in their usual spots, so I stay fairly organized.
When I'm cooking I have a Plan A. Often, it develops into a Plan B or even C. That's OK and gives me the latitude to use what feels right. And, if (ugh) Plan Z results, it might make the family dog happy. I start with a Plan A but allow flexibility and that's true for my grocery lists, budgets, shopping; any stage of cooking or serving, or even setting the table. It seems like continual re-invention while still minding the balances of the structural parts (e.g: baking a cake from scratch relies on structure and procedure a lot or it won't rise), with the feel-right parts of the moment. But isn't that true with everything?
I'm mindful of the earth, animal life, and workers our food systems exploit, and try not to make things worse. When possible, I buy locally and organic. Organic dairy especially because of the added hormones in conventional. Some GMOs are bad, some are good. I avoid hydrogenated fats since we learned they're much worse for our health than other fats. I source online information about commodities that do or don't have a bad insecticide or herbicide story.
Best of all, Toby, something happens when I sit down at a table with family, friends, and others to share a meal I've made or perhaps collaborated with, but whatever it is, it's satisfying and affirming. I treasure those meals.
A memorable meal that actually came to take place at the farm was wishfully on my mind on March 21, 2021, when I blog posted It's Time to Begin Again as the Pandemic separateness was beginning to subside...
"One of Mark Bittman's food-world-related, email newsletters of the last few days asked us to write what we're most looking forward to now that we can cautiously, protocol-consciously come together soon for meals. I posted that I'm looking forward to this--
A family meal, a holiday, or an everyday. A daughter, her husband, and two (now OMG young men!) grandsons. There will be homegrown, homemade, or local foods on the table that will sit under the big tree near the barn. The late afternoon sun will dapple us and the chickens will slowly make their way back toward their roosts, the goats in the close-by pasture will comfortably lie in the late sun to chew cud while the mare munches grass. The cat will wind around our feet and the dogs will lie about watching the perimeters for action. Our masks will be laid aside. Our bodies will have had time for their immune response since we'll have nearly completed the vaccine doses. My hearing aids will be in place since mask bands won't interfere or flip them away. It will be grand to hear and see what is said and laugh again until tears when the conversation veers into hilarity. We'll linger and talk and eat and laugh some more. A breeze will slide by, and dusk will meld into night. We'll carry the table's remains to the kitchen--clean some, put away some. We'll sit at the kitchen table for dessert made by the grandson who explored uncounted pandemic dessert-makings. Soon music will start and we'll listen to the two young men with their viola and cello or maybe the piano. I will be enchanted just as I was before the pandemic began. I will know again that it doesn't get any better."
_______
"Toby, What made you ask about my philosophy of food?"
"Well," he said, "I've been watching YouTube cooking shows on your smart TV while you are gallivanting around without me."
I was shocked but then remembered how he had listened to the neighbor's audio coming through the loose wire in the video cam in the barn. "How do you do this now that you reside with me in senior housing?"
"When you leave the remote on the couch it's easy to watch some YouTube or catch up on the news and what's happening now."
Great heavens! I thought. Toby's watching the news?! "Say, Toby! For the record, you could go out with me but you are the one who won't wear your kitty harness and leash and won't even get into your crate I put on wheels."
"Slava Ukraini!"* he shouted and stalked out to the kitchen.
warm, crumbly earth rows of corn the long leaves overlap in front, overhead
slapping, abrading sometimes cutting they drag over my arms my face while my bare feet take me running down the long rows deeper and deeper into the sun-struck green— the field breathes dampness into the warm air my panting nostrils smell the corn
the earth
the air— the imprint lasts many decades and I run through corn --JM
***
Recent solar eclipse from NASA via Keoni.
From Keoni--late night PECO blocking Ridge Road next to the farm.
Miss Schoebaum, she of my 1954 high school Freshman year, taught my compulsory one year of Home Economics for female Freshmen and led the FHA, Future Homemakers of America, our four-year female membership was also mandated by school policy and so was FFA, Future Farmers of America, for the high school males.
Neither Miss Schoebaum nor I were favorites of each other. She bore her disaffection with me gracefully and kindly. A crabby and self-preoccupied 14 years of age, I was sure she had little to offer but boring drudgery since Mom's home kitchen was turning out three meals a day, 365 days a year; give or take a couple of times a year when we could get Dad to drive us 50 miles to a St. Louis holiday meal at one or another of our relations.
At home I was the kitchen minion, potato-peeler, dishwasher, and/or dryer of my seven-person family, I preferred to know nothing of Miss Schoebaum's subject, and that included the sewing part because I'd already been sewing for four years. Still, what took place in that Freshman class glued itself to me. I can't explain that. My apologies to Miss Schoebaum.
Here is the most basic cooking thing I learned from her:
White Sauce
Some definitions I use:
T = tablespoon t = teaspoon C = cup Whisk = spiral coil whisk
Melt in a 2-3 quart saucepan over medium to low heat...
1 T butter --She used oleo—today we know it's trans-fat (hydrogenated), use butter, it's OK, or if you insist, a good choice oil—olive, canola, grapeseed
With a whisk, stir in...
1 T all-purpose flour (or gluten-free* cornstarch Nobody had heard of gluten-free my Freshman year.)
1 t salt, less if you're taking care of your blood pressure
When all is dissolved, slowly stir in...
1 C milk warm it in the microwave...You're right! no microwave in the 1950s! A second pot on the stove warmed the milk.
Keep stirring slowly until the sauce thickens. If it bubbles, it is too hot—reduce (or remove from) heat immediately, returning to heat when it simmers down. When the sauce is thickened, remove from heat.
If it scorches on the bottom throw it out, and start over. A couple or three times you'll have it down. It's only a smidge of ingredients in the scope of life.
*A word on gluten-free. Ignore. It's a fad unless your doctor confirms that you have celiac disease. It sells books and products, just like the Atkins diet and South Beach diet (that went south! LOL).
Next is the fun part; you can do all sorts of things with this knowledge and the White Sauce you've made.
________
Tomato Soup (Basic)
Prepare White Sauce in a 2-3 quart pot.
Heat to very warm:
1 - 15 oz can of tomatoes* or, 1 pound of fresh tomatoes, pureed
Miss Shoebaun pureed the canned tomatoes through a large strainer squashing them through with a big spoon. (Modern kitchen: puree canned or fresh tomatoes with a blender or hand blender.)
Slowly stir tomatoes into the White Sauce keeping all just below the boil.
Red into white
Comes out right
--Miss Schoebaum
Add...
salt** and/or pepper to taste. And, now you have tomato soup.
So, now you have Miss Schoebaum's version of Tomato Soup. Of course, you are not limited to tomatoes. Other vegetables work, too. Tomato is still my favorite.
Want to make more soup than this? Increase portions in the same ratios. Be mindful of the salt.
Serve immediately. This milk-base soup is subject to easy spoilage so only make what you'll use up in one sitting. It doesn't freeze well.
*I quit eating over-salted food. I look for the “no salt added” canned tomatoes.
**Salt. Hmm. Only add if the canned tomatoes are unsalted.
________
Here are some substitutions or additions. Use your imagination--what's in the fridge? or cupboard?
Butter – fats of all varieties; bacon grease, oils, lard; avoid hydrogenated fat
Before you add the flour, saute in the fat: onions (any kind—scallions, shallots, leeks), or maybe: chopped carrots, celery, cilantro, red bell peppers, spicy peppers, etc.)
Flour – other thickeners; corn starch, arrowroot
Milk – unsalted chicken (or vegetable or meat) broth is a winner, or combine with milk
Tomatoes – any suitable vegetables or leftover cooked veggies
Sprinkle chopped hard-cooked eggs on top or oyster crackers
________
Now let's talk about applied learning...
Gravy
Gravy is really a White Sauce. Remember that. Like white sauce, it takes a little patience and a little stirring, but it is the same thing. Really.
1 T fat + 1 T thickener + 1 C liquid + 1 t salt (less salt any time other ingredients have salt or for medical reasons)
Oven Roast Meat or Poultry Gravy
Say you make a nice roast or turkey in the oven. Simmer any poultry scraps with water, onion, celery, a pinch of salt, and pepper to taste to use later for gravy or freeze for soups. When the roasting is finished, put the meat on a serving platter to rest for 20 minutes. In its pan, there will be meat juice with fat floating on top and lots of browned bits. Spoon out excess fat beyond the approximate tablespoons of fat needed for gravy, and save it; it's unparalleled flavor for other dishes. Leave all the meat juices in the pan. Estimate, or roughly measure, the fat remaining in the pan. Remember …
Increase ratios to amounts desired; roughly. Don't get obsessive.
Measure out the...
Thickener Flour makes an opaque gravy, and cornstarch will be somewhat translucent.
Liquid any meat broth or water heated to hot—not boiling—in the microwave or stovetop
Set the roasting pan on the stovetop on medium heat. I like to use the same roasting pan because there will be tasty brown things in the pan along with the fat and meat juice, and it is hard to scrape out these precious bits into a pot without wasting some.
Add, while stirring with a spiral whisk
Thickener
Until well absorbed by the fat; scrape loose the brown bits with a spoon, if needed.
Liquid: Method 1 or Method 2.
Method 1. While rapidly stirring with whisk, add the liquid nearly all at once. Stirring must continue until the gravy thickens.
Method 2. While rapidly stirring, add the liquid in smaller portions. It will thicken rapidly, and be subject to lumps if more liquid is not quickly whisked in each time the gravy starts thickening. Advantage: You can stop adding liquid when the gravy is at the consistency you want.
If the gravy is too thin, increase the heat and bring to a boil for a minute or two, and keep stirring. Remove from heat as soon as the consistency desired is reached.
Cream Gravy
Excellent for pan-fried chicken or pork chops. I haven't tried it for sausage gravy yet (biscuits and gravy). Let me know the results if you do.
Follow the directions for Roast Meat Gravy except milk or cream is the liquid used either by itself or combined with a broth. It can be stirred in at the very end after some other liquid has made a thick gravy, too, for a less rich gravy. Caution: do not let the gravy reach a boil. It separates into an unappetizing glop; or worse, it scorches.
Pot Roast and Stew Gravy
The gravy for Pot Roast or Stew with meat thoroughly browned and then braised for hours to tenderness on the stovetop or in the oven develops much more liquid due to braising (lid on), and the vegetables added in the various stages of braising. The abundant liquids may or may not need thickening. We'll delve into the whole Pot Roast and Stew subject later.
Mom had enormous, well-directed, calm energy. She moved about our home quietly cleaning, laundering, ironing, sewing, cooking, baking, gardening, canning, preserving, churning, and milking the cow some days when I couldn't. Occasionally, there would be a lovely time when she whistled; usually while she was cleaning. It was beautiful. I have never heard anything like it since.
No big splashy messes while she did things. There was a frugality, husbanding of resources and commodities, even motion. You might say she had to with five children to rear and Dad away in the city--pre-dawn to late night. She took the initiative where we children were concerned and though money was always extremely tight, she saw to it that we were decently clothed and shod, and certainly well and healthily fed.
In our current culture, we are finding out that much of the foods she prepared and served in what is now a renaissance of “real” food and how to make it after a couple generations of hyper-processing and creating an industrial empire of sadly, harmful methods of obtaining nutrition. Notwithstanding, bacon, and the WWII oleomargarine and hydrogenated vegetable oils (Crisco), etc., she did a fantastic job of feeding us healthily and well.
***
sun warms the damp earth
it makes lettuce seeds grow fast
soon we'll eat salad
I have warmly remembered lunches of loose-leaf lettuce that had been just minutes earlier in Mom's garden...
Wilted Lettuce*
In a large serving bowl put
Fresh-picked, washed/dried, tender, loose-leafed lettuce (red or green leaf lettuce, Boston Bib)
Fry in medium pan:
2 strips bacon until crisp
Remove bacon from pan, crumble. In the remaining bacon grease saute until translucent:
5 or 6 green onions, thin sliced, include a little of the green part
Remove from heat and add to pan:
1 teaspoon cider vinegar Pepper to taste
Stir in the crumbled bacon. Slowly drizzle the hot mixture over the lettuce. Toss. Serve. The lettuce will be somewhat wilted.
________
Yes, I hear you—bacon! We know so much more about it now. As tasty as it is, there has to be something else that would offer such a flavor contrast with the delicate lettuce while helping our planet. How about this...
2 T olive oil to saute the onions Add toasted Sesame seeds instead of bacon 1 t cider vinegar Pepper to taste
Or, we welcome you to tell us what you think would be a tasty, healthy, bacon substitute.
* T = tablespoon
t = teaspoon
***
Watching...It's now 3:33pm. The solar eclipse peaked 10 minutes ago. A friend lent me her viewing glasses to have a look. Lots of watching...me too...
...a pano...
...from Wendy...Big Duke and Bert on watch duty...
'What in the world have you been doing?" asked Toby. "You're way behind."
"I know, I know! You're right. The truth is I've been writing, but just not on the blog."
"Are you writing a book?"
"Well, no. The other day I remembered that my granddaughter Sonja had asked me a long time ago to write some recipes for meals I made at her house when I was visiting. I was surprised when I looked at old files on the laptop that I still had what I'd printed and sent to her. When I paged through them, I could see they often veered off into story-telling. So, I began to write some background for them. It looks like I'm doing some family story-telling. So that's what's been taking up my time."
"Are you going to tell me a story now? You know how bored I am."
"Well, yes, I could do that. I don't think it'll cure your boredom though. Do you want me to tell you the Milk Cans story? It's that background writing I've been working on."
"Sounds like a good place to start. Go ahead."
"Are you sure? It's a little longer than usual."
"That's okay, no problem, I'll just go to sleep if it's too long. Go ahead." He sat up like a student in a front-row classroom seat.
I wondered how long it would take for a cat nap. "Okay, here goes..."
***
In the summer of 1952, Mom and Dad, my four younger siblings—a brother, three sisters, and I ages one through 12— moved into a rural Missouri farmhouse after a long series of uprootings, both in and out of state, due to Dad's various work relocations. The farmhouse, barn, and outbuildings had been abandoned by that time except for the mice and rats still thriving on the remaining contents of what had once been a granary building.
The farm’s owner still cultivated most of the fields though he and his wife had moved to town. His tractor and equipment sat around the property wherever convenient for him to leave it. Retired machinery from the earlier horse and mule power era was everywhere inside and outside the farm’s buildings. A very early edition of a truck sat rusting on its tire-less hubs in the barn lot. Multiple dust and cobweb-covered harnesses lined the barn tack room. Those were a source of fascination and longing for me to put them to use with the two retired workhorses, a bay mare and brown gelding, that lived in the connecting barbwire fenced barn lot and pasture eating grass in summer, and in winter hay brought in from the fields--the bales stored in the vast hay loft. Their water came from a perch, catfish, and frog pond in the barn lot. A second, unconnected small pond lay behind one of the outbuildings in a fallow field that was a source for wild ducks and, no doubt, plenty of other wildlife. We never saw any deer because by that time their population had been seriously decimated though that hadn’t yet entered my awareness.
The owner's brother didn’t farm. He had pursued a heating oil trucking business selling to local townspeople and farms, including us. Our two 50-gallon oil drums were linked to our single heater in the living room and to the kitchen stove. Both were our only source of heat in winter because the house chimneys were unusable, filled with soot and deterioration.
We dwelled in that corrugated, tin-roofed farmhouse among its outbuildings, barn, abandoned orchard, and 160 acres during my seventh-grade through high school days. Among the region's hills, bluffs, creeks, and woods was the human touch of sloping crop fields, pastures, ponds, fences, and farm structures. Narrow, dirt roads reinforced here and there by creek gravel were barely wide enough to pass oncoming vehicles which were mostly a few neighbors and the Rural Free Delivery (RFD) postman. (No women.) Our mailbox sat at the end of our quarter-mile lane on the edge of that road. In the summertime, a healthy patch of poison ivy grew around the mailbox. Even with great care to avoid touching the growth, I still got that itchy rash from time to time carrying out my chore to get the mail. Eventually, I became immune to poison ivy.
The farmhouse we rented was located between two small towns, each roughly three miles away in opposite East-West directions. To the West was the county seat. The road in that direction forded a creek three times. During those early '50s years, the county's one-room, rural schoolhouses were closing and consolidating with the town schools which were at the same time handling the increasing student counts by sending elementary children to scattered classrooms in the defunct, local college buildings and an unused church. In contrast, a new high school was under construction. Later, when the eighth-grade and high school kids could move into the new structure, the first through seventh-grade students all attended classes in the old high school building. To the East of our farm acreage, the road crossed only one creek over a small metal and wood-planked floor bridge. A couple miles further East it met the highway to a string of small towns and eventually, St. Louis. On late summer nights from my bedroom's open windows, I could hear the bridge’s boards clatter when my dad's pickup crossed it on his way home.
The area was served by a multi-party telephone of the early variety wooden box on a wall with a front-facing mic and a receiver on a cord that hung on the side. A crank on the other side was to alert the telephone operator in town to put a call through to the number you told her. (Yes, woman.) Or, put your call through yourself to a neighbor on the party line by cranking a code ring for them--the operator was one long crank. Our ring was one short and two longs. The codes rang on everybody's line so neighbors were free to pick up their receiver and listen to your conversation which diminished the volume. We didn't call very much because to connect via the operator, there was a 20¢ charge and that was not allowed by mom and dad.
Weather affected the electric line bringing power to us. There were no other utilities. The landlord's promised toilet installation never became a reality. Behind the house, next to the old granary was a two-hole outhouse. There was a hand pump at the kitchen sink that brought water up from a cistern outside which was replenished from the house roof's rain runoff into gutters and downspouts. Undrinkable, but used to wash anything or ourselves, and for anything boiled on the stove. The sink drain went on a direct line to the vegetable garden. Detergents weren't in wide use until later years. Hot water on rubbed Ivory Soap bars was used for dish-washing.
Sometimes, the cistern ran low, so to conserve it for kitchen use my mom and I went to a second cistern located near the outbuildings to get water for clothes washing or our wash tub baths. There, we moved two of the several heavy planks covering the cistern out of our way, tied a rope to a bucket, lowering to fill it with water; then, hoisted it up, bucket after bucket, to fill the wash tub balanced on my brother’s Radio Flyer red wagon to be pulled back to the farmhouse back porch.
We had no car. Mom didn't drive. Dad’s pickup was in service of his drive to and from work 50 miles away over the 1950s mostly two-way US Highway 40 into the city of his birth and childhood, St. Louis. He worked many union construction jobs operating and repairing heavy equipment and motors.
Dad brought home our drinking water in two, five-gallon, stainless steel milk cans from which Mom carefully, as needed, transferred water to scalded Mason jars she then refrigerated. The milk cans probably cost much more than the $25 monthly rent for the plumbing-less old farmhouse. That was low-rent even by 1950s standards but a brag-worthy item of discussion during Dad's many after-work stops for a quick one at the multiple small-town establishments along his homeward route. The two big milk cans frequently went with him for replenishment with fresh water at a gas station, or wherever there was a handy spigot. He supplied the family’s drinking water in this way for eight years—long after I’d finished high school and left.
My mother, for her part, literally fed us from the large expanse of garden alongside the house. Like most people in early 20th-century trolly suburban towns in St Louis County where she grew up, she knew gardening and chickens from first-hand experience and family heritage. Her mother was from a farm family close to the rural town of Sullivan, Missouri. Mom put that knowledge into use where we now lived.
A decade later, when Hippies were going “back to Nature” living off the land, I said, “No thanks, been there, done that!”
***
Toby had slid onto his side and now looked at me upside-down.
He asked, "Did you have any cats to enjoy all those well-fed mice and rats? Oh, and who in the world were the Hippies?"
"Yes, definitely, we had cats. We'll get to them another time. You might say the Hippies were a generation of young people in the 1960s that kinda emerged like the earlier Beatnik generation. By the Hippies' time, the Beatniks were getting older and ironing their blue jeans. Hippies wanted to get away from material stuff and opposed the Vietnam War. They said, "Make love, not war!" and pretty much did that which was helped along with their investigations of weed and mushrooms in the communes where a lot of them lived. After about another decade rolled by, the hippies were older and started ironing their blue jeans, wearing bras, and patching holes in their shirts."
"What became of all the weed and mushrooms?"
"Oh, that all went underground for a long time. The last few years though they're making a comeback in a newer science kind of way."
Toby said, "Far out!"
Make love, not war!
***
We can't leave you without the...
SPRING FARM REPORT.
And what better way to say Spring than brand new baby goats at the farm. Brought to you by Wendy...
At my visit today, they were sound asleep...
The red cast is from the heat lamp Wendy added for their comfort.
I set my cup of coffee down and swung my chair away from the news headlines on my laptop to look at Toby lounging on the fluffy throw on my bed. "Toby," I said, "I tried and tried, but I can't chillax."
"I'm not surprised," he said. "Look at what you've been paying attention to! One disaster after another, your species at each others' throats--it's like a catfight except for the hate part. Cats don't pay rent for some other cat to live in our brains."
"Yes--all that cortisol destroys brain cells. but go on..."
"Sure, we cats do get into a real fight once in a great while, but mostly it's caterwauling for boundary upkeep. Have you humans given up civility?" He sat up, licked his right front paw, and started washing his face.
"Hmmm," I said to lend myself a little time before attempting to answer. "No, I think most of us are still very social and want to get along. But a bunch of stuff people agreed on a long time ago so we could share the space, care for our homes and planet, enjoy harmony with everybody pursuing happiness...well, it's thrown out of whack. Sort of like an orchestra string section gets mad because the brass is overplaying their part so the strings play louder, then the wind section gets angry, and timpani thunders over it all, when just then the chorus begins their score in a different key, and that's when Maestro throws himself on the floor sobbing because it's no longer music and, guess what, Toby, it sounds like caterwauling."
"Wow, hurts my ears just to think about it!" Toby said. Then, he asked, "Well, what do we do now?"
"We need to find a way!!!" I got up and got another cup of coffee. Then sat down and said to Toby, "Okay...here's what I'm thinking...once upon a time we all agreed on a constitution and laws."
"I heard about that back at the barn when the loose wire picked up the neighbors' TV. What about all the heat-packing, Second Amendment stuff that's been going around with kids and people shot to death for no good reason?"
"Excellent point, Toby! We could do what Mahatma Gandhi and Rev Martin Luther King, Jr. did--non-violence. Gather and listen to each other to see what's on each other's minds, and sort things out together. Like you and me sitting here--discussing things and learning from each other."
"Yeah, I get it, you're a human and I'm a cat. We have differences and maybe sometimes get really strong emotions about something like 'Don't you dare take me back to that veterinarian again!' but that's the Kindergarten stuff of life. The big stuff --we work it out." He stretched out, relaxed, and then said, "Say! if we two of different species can get along--that's another thing-- EVERYBODY GETS INCLUDED! Not just your favorite color. We cats come in all colors but green. Well...maybe not red...nor blue... Still. You get my point."
"I get it, Toby! Here's something somebody I admire always said...'No matter who you are, or where you are on life's journey...you are welcome here.'"
"That's the kind way, not the highway!"
"Yes! The respectful way, not the highway!"
"Compromise way, not the highway!"
"Tell me about those headlines you were reading when you set down your cup of coffee. What are they mostly about this morning?"
"Oh, wars, disasters, elections. Electing people to keep the machinery of our Democracy running here in the USA. It's pretty rough these days."
"Didn't you say a minute ago that most people want to get along? So, how's that going?" Toby asked.
"Not so hot. In the USA a bunch of people forgot something important."
"What did they forget?"
"Mostly, what we've been discussing."
"Did they forget the Constitution, laws, everybody gets included, and, oh no!" The hairs stood up along his spine and his tail was two sizes larger, "Are they violent?"
"Not too much since January 6th, 2021, when a bunch of them were trying to ignore voters' ballots and attacked the capitol of America. It was scary."
"Whoa, kindness and respect flew out the window that day, for sure! I wonder, is there any medical research on developing a kindness inhaler, or maybe a respect pill?"
I haven't heard of anything like that in development. Actually, I think nearly everyone knows how to be kind and respectful. Sometimes we just forget.
He sat quietly for a bit. I could hear his purr. Then, he said, "But let's go back to chillaxing--you could try a news holiday."
"That's a good idea! And you know what! I have an earworm going on...
...I think it might have an answer for chillaxing. Wanna hear it?"
"Sure."
"Here it is..."
We listened together. I could feel myself chillaxing.
After a little while, I said, "I'm gonna go down the hall and see if I can spread a little kindness and respect."
Toby said, "I'm gonna go pursue some happiness and see what you put in my food dish."
***
Keep on the sunny side, always on the sunny side,
Keep on the sunny side of life,
It will help us every day, it will brighten all the way,
