flower power!

"If we could see the miracle of a single flower clearly, our whole life would change."  ~ Buddha

 

grand handprints

Recently, a growing number of chipmunks is taking over our small patio garden. The little critters are cute, but they're also becoming quite a nuisance. They've been burrowing through the flower beds and destroying some of our lilies. My neighbor has noticed the increase in chipmunk activity as well and recently purchased some chipmunk repellent. Following her game plan, I made a trip to Home Depot in search of something to discourage these pesky rodents.

While walking through the parking lot, I spotted a truck covered in handprints. Of course I stopped to take a photo. How could I not?

As I stood there, I found myself wondering: What's the story behind this truck?

Maybe Grandpa discovered it at an auction. It wasn't flashy. The paint was faded, the bumpers showed a little rust, and maybe it rattled when it started.

But in Grandma and Grandpa's eyes, it was perfect.

They had a plan.

One Saturday afternoon, they invited all their grandchildren over. They spread canvases across the driveway, rolled the old truck onto them, and opened cans of white and yellow paint. One by one, each grandchild dipped their hands into the paint and pressed them onto the hood, doors, and sides of the truck.

Giggles and squeals of delight ensued.

Some handprints were carefully placed, others were smudged and crooked, each one was treasured.

When the painting was finished, Grandpa stepped back, admired the truck, and smiled. "This isn't just an old truck anymore," he said. "It's our family."

Later that evening, with a stencil and a brush, Grandma and Grandpa added a final touch along the sides and tailgate:

HAND PAINTED BY OUR GRANDCHILDREN

From that day forward, the truck wasn't just for hauling mulch or picking up lumber. It became the vehicle for ice cream runs, fishing trips, family adventures, and countless memories.

It's not newest truck on the road and it's not the shiniest.

But it is the one with the most love.

the friday feed: coleslaw

For my grandson’s birthday party a couple of weeks ago, my daughter-in-law asked me to bring a salad. Knowing that there would be plenty of young children at the party, I thought a veggie tray would be a better choice. First, most little ones don’t eat salad, and second, a variety of cut-up vegetables gives everyone something they like.

A trip to the farmer’s market filled my basket with cucumbers, cherry tomatoes, red and orange peppers, sugar snap peas, and kohlrabi. Then a stop at the grocery store rounded out the tray with cauliflower, carrots, celery, and radishes. There was something for everyone.

As it turned out, there was so much food at the party that only a few people nibbled at the vegetables. By the end of the day, I found myself heading home with a large amount of leftover produce. We would be eating vegetables all week long.

What to do with all these veggies? As luck would have it, there was also a head of cabbage in my refrigerator that needed to be used. Coleslaw to the rescue.

I chopped the leftover vegetables from the tray, shredded the cabbage in my food processor, and dumped everything into my giant silver mixing bowl. That bowl has a story of its own. Many years ago, when my dad managed the Sears store at the Salem Mall, the store had a small snack shop where shoppers could sit down for casual fare such as hot dogs, hamburgers, french fries, soup, and salad. When the restaurant eventually closed, the store needed to dispose of the kitchen equipment. My dad was able to bring home several of the mixing bowls, and one of those industrial-sized bowls is now in my pantry.

Before long, that bowl was filled with coleslaw ingredients. There was way more than Todd and I could ever eat on our own.

It was time to share the bounty.

My boss’s family was coming into town, and her house would soon be full of visitors. She was going to need food for everyone. Why not send some coleslaw her way? It seemed fitting that vegetables purchased at her farmer’s market had been transformed in my kitchen and would now make their way back to her table. Food has a way of coming full circle like that.

wasting time

Lollygagging and dillydallying...what fun words to describe wasting time!

These words are often used interchangeably but there is a subtle distinction between the two.

Lollygagging refers to being idle, wandering aimlessly or moving slowly because you are distracted or avoiding a task. You're not being productive. Dillydallying, on the other hand, is more about indecisiveness and avoiding a specific task by doing menial chores or overthinking things.

Both words are informal, and both are delightfully fun to say, which may explain why they've survived for so long despite sounding like they escaped from a Victorian toy chest.

 

wednesday's words and wanderings and wonderings

The studio where I go to yoga is just down the street from Woodland Cemetery, Dayton's most significant historic burial ground. It is the final resting place for many of the Who's Who of Dayton. The highest point in Dayton is also at Woodland and its skyline view is visible from this peaceful spot. 

The tall building on the right is the former Winters Bank Tower, named after the Winters family, early Dayton pioneers who founded Winters Bank in the 19th century. Jonathan Winters' (the actor and comedian) great-grandfather was the founder of Winters Bank. Todd worked in that building. The tall building to the left of the Winters Bank Building is the former Mead Building and I worked in that building. Mead Paper, which eventually became the Mead Corporation, was founded in 1846 in Dayton by Colonel Daniel Mead. His grandson transformed it into a massive pulp and paper empire.

The Wright Brothers are buried at Woodland in the family plot. The cemetery staff periodically collects the money left at Wilbur and Orville’s graves. These collected funds are pooled and used for the general upkeep and beautification of the cemetery grounds or put toward burial costs for indigent veterans.

Van Buren Middle School where my children attended 6th, 7th, and 8th grades and where I taught, closed its doors for the last time at the end of this school year. The building will be razed in November and a new middle school will be built at the high school campus. Last Wednesday was a final walk through for anyone who wanted a last look. My son and I went for a walk down Memory Lane.

In the early 2000s the school had a "Buy a Brick" fundraiser. The bricks were then placed in the sidewalk at the front of the school. Before the last visit, the powers-that-be had a mason dig them out and we picked them up during the open house. My oldest started school there in 1996 and my youngest finished the line of Householder kids in 2005.

A tidbit from the farm...Happiness is contagious and the simplest gesture can make the world of difference. There's always room for a little more kindness in the world 😊

happy tuesday!

You've heard of Sunday Funday?

Well here's Choose-Day Tuesday!

Make it a great day.

(PS...this goes for all the days of the week)

 

monday's mulling: little bumps in life

Last Thursday, I was heading to the farm for my morning shift. I had left the house five minutes later than usual, and what a difference those five minutes made. Traffic was heavier, especially where the road narrows to one lane in each direction about a quarter mile before the farm.

A few cars ahead of me was a driver causing a frustrating chain reaction: slow down, stop; slow down, stop. Then the car directly in front of me slammed on its brakes. I did the same.

BAM. (Dammit).

The driver behind me didn't.

We pulled off into the grass. I got out of my car and a young man stepped out of his. "Are you OK? Are you OK?"

"Yes, I'm fine."

He was clearly distraught, first because of the collision and second, he was in the middle of an Uber Eats delivery.

We exchanged phone numbers. His hand was shaking as he wrote and he told me he would send his insurance information as soon as possible. I trusted him. He seemed genuinely shaken and at the time I didn't feel it was necessary to call the police.

After about fifteen minutes we got back in our cars and continued on to our jobs.

I arrived at work five minutes late and told my co-worker what had happened.

The first thing she asked was, "Did you call the police?"

"No."

She gave me a look.

A little while later my boss arrived. I told her about the morning mishap.

"Did you call the police?"

"No."

She gave me a look, too.

That's when I started to worry. What if he won’t send the insurance information? What if the phone number was fake? What if the name he gave me wasn't real? He had seemed sincere.

Still, I believed he had given me genuine information. I chose to trust that he was a good person.

Two hours later my phone chimed. He had sent his insurance information. Shortly afterward his insurance company called. “Like a good neighbor, State Farm is there.”

Today I'm taking my car in to have the damage assessed. It's an older vehicle so I'm hoping replacement parts won't be too difficult to find.

But I suppose the moral of this story is that there are still good people in the world and every now and then a stranger may literally bump into you and remind you of that.