Blue Jeans and Cotton Tees

As we’ve been working on my dream house for the last ten years, I’ve been slowly picking things up at garage sales and auctions to use in it.

One of my favorite things to buy are wooden rockers. I love everything about old rockers- how they look, the feel of the wood smoothed by years of use, the memories each rocker holds.

Someday I would love to rescue old rockers, fix them up and sell them to other rocking chair enthusiasts- I’d call my business “Off My Rocker”!

But I digress…

A few summers ago I picked up a beautiful oak rocker at a garage sale, really cheap. We somehow got it in the mini van and brought it home, where it sat in the pole barn waiting for the new house.

A few weeks ago I dug it out, polished it up, felted the rockers and sat it in my sun room. It was beautiful!

Until some one sat down in it- whoops- it flew them backwards-  almost tipping them over!

I had brought home a preacher dumper.

Now you’re probably asking “What in the world is a preacher dumper?” (Unless your my mom – who is laughing at this point!)

Years ago my grandpa and grandpa had a rocking chair that tended to tip over if you leaned too far back. We all knew its tendency and sat in it with caution.

One evening their pastor came over on a friendly pastoral call. I’m sure he enjoyed a cup of tea and one of grandma’s oatmeal raisin cookies before settling  down in what we all knew was the tipsy  rocker.

He was a slightly rotund man who liked to talk. He sat down in that chair, took a deep breath and leaned way back -  fixing to wax eloquent when- whoops- he was dumped unceremoniously on the floor!

I never did find out what happened after that because every time my grandpa started to tell the story he would get to laughing. Even Grandma, who was quite embarrassed about the incident, would chuckle.

And so, in my family, all rocking chairs that tip over when you lean too far back are henceforth and forever called “preacher dumpers”!

So now is anybody interested in a beautiful oak rocker? I’ll sell it cheap…it’s a great way to get rid of pesky callers!

The snow is falling outside. Big fluffy flakes that fill the air and quickly cover the ground.

It makes me want to turn on Christmas music, drink hot chocolate with whipped cream, but mostly, it makes me hungry for Christmas candy.

Not the store bought stuff- I’m talking about the old-fashioned homemade kind, rich buttery penuche, fluffy white divinity and gooey chocolate fudge.

This craving for sweet stuff was ingrained in me at an early age. Every year in December, usually on a Sunday afternoon, when it started to snow like this, my dad would announce, “It’s time to make candy!”

Then there was a flurry to find the recipes, the right pans and that elusive candy thermometer.

Once he had his equipment and ingredients in place, Dad would begin the great candy making afternoon.

Snow would be falling outside, Eddie Arnold would be singing Christmas music, wonderful smells coming from the kitchen, and best of all, pans to lick!

It was a memory for all the senses to enjoy!

Now if you’ll excuse me… I think I need to dig out some recipes…

I have a unique family. A large, loving, fun, creative and very unique family.

A few years my mom realized that with the size of the family and the distance we have to travel, having Christmas in the winter was no longer feasible. We just didn’t fit in the house and often the weather kept some of us from attending.

So my parents decreed that we would have Christmas when everyone could travel and when it was warm enough so that we could spill out into the yard in tents.

So we now have Christmas over Labor Day weekend.

People look at you oddly when you tell them. But one gets used to odd looks when you’re a member of my family. We enjoy each other and like to keep our livers healthy by laughing.

Every year we act out the Christmas story on the lawn complete with animal costumes and a camp fire where the shepherds can hang out.

We exchange Christmas presents in the shade of the oak trees while swatting mosquitoes and nursing sunburns we acquired while tubing down the West Fork River with the kiddos.

And we eat! Everyone brings a meal and desserts to make it easy to feed this multitude. We have lots of chocolate and lots of fresh salsa! (Interesting combination?! Hey, I said we were unique!)

And the laughter! Meal times stretch out as we sit around swapping stories and sharing laughter.

(Did I tell you we eat in the garage? My parents set up a buffet line out of planks and saw horses to serve from and picnic tables to eat on. We are in the shade and away from the bugs!)

As you can tell, I can’t wait for our Christmas in September celebration to get started! I’ve learned long ago, it’s the people you want to share it with that makes Christmas, not the time of year.

Merry Christmas, everybody!

“Hey, Mom! We found these really cool berries that were hanging in bunches. I thought they were elderberries at first, but they aren’t. What are they?”

Those words changed the course of my afternoon! As I looked at their buckets I was surprised to see that they were full of wild grapes! Big bunches of wild grapes!

We grabbed more buckets and went to explore. I have never seen wild grapes so plentiful! My daughters and I spent over an hour on the edge of the gravel road cutting wild grape bunches off the vines growing wild on the bushes in the ditch.
Then we spent another hour plucking the grapes from the stems while watching old Andy Griffith Shows and laughing. Finally they were ready to be washed well and cooked to make juice.

We sealed the jars with flats and rings and put them in a boiling water bath for 15 minutes.

When it was all said and done, we ended up with 9 pints of wild grape jam, 2 hours of talk time with my daughters, and memories that will last longer than the jam!

Now that was an afternoon well-spent!

Watching our neighbor bale the pasture brought back some memories of hay baling.

I loved being at Grandma’s house during “haying”.

In those days, baling hay meant small square bales that required lots of man power to load and unload. It meant hot sticky afternoons riding around on a hay rack stacking bales while bits of chaff stuck to your sweaty skin.

My favorite part of haying was helping Grandma bring “lunch” to the hay crew. Now for you city folks, here in the country “lunch” is the meal that is served between breakfast and dinner, about 10:00, and then again between dinner and supper, about 3:00. (Yes, that makes 5 meals a day, but when a farmer is up and eats breakfast at 5 am, does hard, physical labor all morning, he’s ready to eat again by 10:00!)

We would help Grandma pack up cold meat sandwiches, cookies, and ice cold root beer, and then load up into the old brown rambler and bounce down the dirt road to whatever hay field they were working.

We started waving and hollering as soon as we saw the crew so they would know it was time to take a break.The food disappeared fast as the men sat in the shade of the car or hay rack. But they never rested long because they knew they were racing the weather.

When the tractor started up it was our signal to pack up and head back to Grandma’s to start on the next meal and watch for the loaded hay racks to pull into the farm yard and head to the barn to be emptied into the loft.

I’m sure the adults don’t look back on haying with the same nostalgia I do, for them it was a lot of work. But for the grandkids haying at Grandpa’s was a much anticipated event!