Cyclosporiasis, an intestinal infection caused by a microscopic parasite, has recently broken out in five states: Indiana, Ohio, Michigan, Kentucky, and West Virginia. People can become infected by eating contaminated raw fruits and vegetables, making it especially important to be cautious when purchasing and preparing fresh produce. Health officials have traced the source of this outbreak to a lettuce supplier, Taylor Farms de Mexico.
This summer, I have been working at a family-owned fresh produce market, where many of our customers have expressed concerns about the safety of fresh fruits and vegetables. A local news station recently interviewed Stephanie Treadway, one of the owners of Treadway Gardens, about the outbreak. She stated that she would eat any of the produce sold at her market because she knows exactly where it comes from. The vegetables are grown either on local Treadway family farms or in a Mennonite community about an hour from Dayton. She has personal relationships with the farmers who supply the market, and she has confidence in their growing and handling practices.
This situation has highlighted the importance of knowing where our food comes from. While outbreaks linked to large-scale suppliers can affect many people across multiple states, buying produce from trusted local farmers can provide greater transparency and peace of mind. Although no food is completely risk-free, supporting local growers who follow safe farming practices can help reduce the risk of food-borne illness while also benefiting the local community.
Many years ago, when my house was full of kids, both my own and a steady stream of their friends, Oreo milkshakes were a regular favorite. My blender got quite a workout in those days, churning out those treats for whomever happened to be gathered in the kitchen...like the time the dryer repairman got one! The years passed, the kids left for college, started lives of their own, and those Oreo milkshakes became a memory.
That is, until last week, when the grandchildren came to visit.
To celebrate their trip to Didi and Grandpa's house, I decided it was the perfect time to bring back the tradition. Owen told me he'd already had an Oreo milkshake. "It was from Chick-fil-A." I smiled and told him that Didi's milkshakes were better, especially because he was going to help make them.
I put a handful of Oreos into a zip-top bag and showed him how to crush them with a rolling pin. It was his first time using one, and if he'd had his way, the entire package would have ended up as a pile of crunched up cookies! His enthusiasm and excitement made the whole process just as much fun as the milkshakes themselves.
Needless to say, Owen absolutely loved the cookie shakes, and so did the rest of us. They were the perfect treat on a hot summer day.
Old family traditions bring such joy. A blender, a few Oreos, and little hands eager to help were all it took to bring a family favorite back to life. Judging by the smiles around the table, I have a feeling Didi's Oreo milkshakes will be making many more appearances in the years ahead.
A conjoined coneflower. A fused bloom, a unique curiosity, and a delightful surprise in the garden.
Here's why I didn't post regularly this past week. We had visitors! Andrew, Jennifer, and the little sweethearts arrived Wednesday night, and Thursday morning it was go, go, go!
Owen loved playing with Didi and Grandpa's toys, the ones we saved from when our kids were little. Some were familiar to him - the Transformers, Ghostbusters, and Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. They may have looked a little different than today's versions, but he knew exactly what they were, and they kept him entertained.
Hallie discovered a little stool in the living room and quickly became attached to it. My dad made that stool in his high school Industrial Arts class. He was probably 17 or 18 years old, which means he made it around 1951. That little stool is now about 75 years old. That time span was definitely a "wow" moment for me.
Owen was my wonderful helper when it came to watering the flowers. Several times during the visit he asked if they had enough water, and of course, the answer was always that they could use a little more! One more "toy" that kept Owen occupied was the paper shredder. I always shred my junk mail and once he saw how the shredder worked, he was ready to be my right-hand kid. I found some more junk mail in Todd's office and he was such a good helper getting rid of that pile. Another fun Didi activity to keep him busy 😊 Who needs fancy toys when a paper shredder is in the house?
Children's imaginations are just wonderful. They had the best time pretending to be "Bucket Heads!"
Just outside our garage is what I call a hydrangea tree. Its official name is a Panicle Hydrangea. When it's covered in blooms, bees are constantly buzzing from flower to flower collecting pollen. You can hear them before you even see them. Owen dubbed it the "bee tree," and he wanted nothing to do with it. Every time he came out of the garage, he sprinted past it!
I love this tree. Its flowers begin as a creamy white in mid-summer. As the season gives way to fall, they transform into shades of blush pink, rosy red, and soft purplish tan. It's one of my favorite signs of the changing seasons. It is getting too big for the space so it will get a trim in the late fall.
Like many places across the U.S., we've been waiting and hoping for rain. Our wish was finally answered on Saturday with a downpour that soaked the ground and cooled the air.
There's something incredibly calming about watching the rain fall. The earthy scent that rises after the first drops, the gentle patter on the driveway, the steady rhythm of it all... it's nature's own stress reliever.
National Ice Cream Month is celebrated throughout the month of July, a tradition that began in 1984 when President Ronald Reagan signed Presidential Proclamation 5219 into law. The proclamation also designated the third Sunday in July as National Ice Cream Day. If you don't have a calendar handy, that's July 19 in 2026.
I've always loved ice cream, and I definitely inherited that trait from my dad. Some of my favorite childhood memories revolve around sharing ice cream with my family. There were root beer floats (always made with Dad's Root Beer), trips to Dairy Queen for either a hot fudge sundae or a chocolate cone dipped in chocolate, and the occasional Klondike Bar waiting in the freezer.
One of my favorite traditions happened when Dad was working at the Sears store in the Salem Mall. About once a month, he would take the long way home down Main Street so he could stop at Sherer's Ice Cream and stock up. He'd come home with six half-gallons to put in the big freezer in our basement. Choosing from all those flavors was half the fun: rich fudgy chocolate, peppermint stick, butter praline, the best vanilla and chocolate, fresh peach in the summer, and black cherry.
My love of ice cream continued into adulthood. When I was pregnant, I wasn't gaining much weight, so my doctor actually gave me permission to enjoy as many milkshakes as I wanted. That was all the encouragement I needed! Orange Watermelon Sherbet Coolers and Mint Chocolate Chip milkshakes from Friendly's quickly became favorite weekly treats.
So here came July 4, 2026 and to add to the celebration of America's 250th anniversary, Graeter’s Ice Cream, a near-by Cincinnati-based company. created a limited-edition flavor called Cherry Sparkler, featuring wild cherry ice cream with red and blue popping candy folded into every scoop. Yes, I bought some, and yes, it is absolutely delicious!
Whether it's a family tradition, a favorite neighborhood ice cream shop, or a brand-new flavor that catches your eye, ice cream has a remarkable way of bringing back memories and creating new ones. National Ice Cream Month is the perfect excuse to indulge in a scoop or two, share a sweet treat with family and friends, and celebrate one of America's most beloved desserts.
The highlight of this past week was taking a yoga class at the Dayton Arcade. A gem of downtown Dayton since 1904, the Arcade began as a bustling public market and has since been beautifully transformed into a residential, commercial, and innovation hub. About 70 people gathered for the late afternoon class, making for a memorable experience in such a stunning historic setting.
Last Friday, Todd and I headed downtown for a concert at the Levitt Pavilion. After a brutally hot week, the heat dome that had settled over Ohio finally lifted, leaving a perfect summer evening to sit outside and enjoy a concert honoring our nation's veterans. It was a wonderful way to kick off the Independence Day weekend.
My Fourth of July began with a work shift at the farm. The morning was a busy one, with customers stopping by for last minute picnic supplies. Corn on the cob was the favorite, with tomatoes close behind. After my shift, I hurried home for a quick shower and then spent an hour or so chopping vegetables for my "Summer in a Bowl" salad to take to a friend's gathering. Her parties are always a joy because so many of the guests are soccer parents from the days when our sons played together.
A college friend, who could easily have been a preacher, shared this thoughtful message on the Fourth of July. He has always had a gift for bringing people together and reminding us of what matters most.
And finally, no Fourth of July would be complete without the annual hot dog eating contest at Coney Island. God bless America...and Joey Chestnut!
I’m a proud word nerd. Give me a perfectly ordinary word and I’ll happily dig down to its roots like a an archaeologist with her pick. So when semiquincentennial appeared, my brain practically started doing cartwheels.
Semiquincentennial. A 250th anniversary.
At first glance, it looks less like a word and more like someone lost a fight with a bag of Scrabble tiles. But take a deep breath and break it down bit by bit into its Latin roots:
Put them together and you get half of five hundred years.
Half of 500 is 250. (Even we word nerds can do a little math).
So while semiquincentennial may sound like a condition the grammar police should investigate, it’s really just a fancy way of saying 250th anniversary.
Thinking about the semiquincentennial reminded me of my friend, Patricia Saxton, a wonderfully talented artist who lives in Sedona. We met in college back in the late 1970s, and I’ve been admiring and following her creativity ever since.
In 2011, Pat launched 52 Weeks of Peace, “a visual exploration of a familiar symbol, imagined, designed and illustrated with an intention to inspire hope, joy and the practice of mindful peace in our daily lives.” You can explore the series here: 52 Weeks of Peace
At the time when Pat introduced 52 Weeks of Peace, I was teaching 8th grade Language Arts. Every Friday, I would end class by sharing her most recent peace symbol. The students really embraced the idea. They looked forward to seeing each week’s design, and some even created peace symbols of their own. It turned out to be a pretty wonderful way to start the weekend.
Pat completed all 52 peace signs years ago and has since moved on to other artistic adventures. Still, every now and then, a new peace sign appears on her social media.
To celebrate the semiquincentennial, Pat recently reached back into the spirit of her 52 Weeks of Peace series and created her 87th peace sign.
It doesn’t have an official title, but I’ve been toying with a couple of ideas: “A Peace of Pie” or “Have a Piece of Peace.”
What would you call it?
The people of France have given the United States more than one remarkable work of art and I am lucky to have seen both of these beautiful creations.
The most famous is the Statue of Liberty. Officially titled Liberty Enlightening the World, the colossal copper monument was a gift from the people of France to the United States. First proposed in 1865, it was designed by French sculptor Frédéric-Auguste Bartholdi, with engineering by Gustave Eiffel, to celebrate the Franco-American alliance and the abolition of slavery.
Originally unveiled in Paris on July 4, 1884, the statue was then carefully dismantled, packed into 214 crates, and shipped across the Atlantic. It was officially dedicated in New York Harbor on October 28, 1886. Today, the Statue of Liberty stands as a national treasure, one of the most recognizable landmarks in the world, and an enduring symbol of freedom, opportunity, and hope.
Less widely known is America Windows by Marc Chagall. Chagall, a Russian-born artist of Jewish heritage who became a French citizen in 1937, created this extraordinary set of six stained-glass panels for the Art Institute of Chicago. He presented the work as a gift in 1977 to commemorate the U.S. Bicentennial.
The windows are a dazzling blend of color and symbolism, weaving together images from American history, the Chicago skyline, and the arts, including music, painting, literature, architecture, theater, and dance. Together, they reflect both Chagall's artistic vision and the cultural ties between France and the United States.
4th of July views from around town:
This house puts these flags up starting on Flag Day (June14) and they fly until after Labor Day (first Monday in September).
Last Sunday, Todd brought home the monthly Feed the Homeless casserole dish from church, and this month's recipe was for Sloppy Joes.
As I looked over the recipe while making the shopping list, one ingredient jumped right out at me: 4 pounds (1.8 kg) of ground beef. I gave a little gasp. Ground beef is running around $6.99 per pound these days. But when I put it into perspective, the recipe makes about 20 sandwiches, which works out to just over $1 per sandwich to feed a hungry person.
Tomorrow, July 4, Todd will deliver the Sloppy Joes to the church volunteers. It seems fitting that this All-American favorite will be served on Independence Day. While many of us will celebrate with backyard cookouts and family gatherings, these simple sandwiches will provide a comforting meal for those less fortunate. In their own humble way, Sloppy Joes represent the spirit of America: simple, satisfying, and meant to be shared.
Twenty-four years ago today, my dad passed away. So why am I posting pictures of rocks?
Every time we moved to a new city, somewhere in the middle of packing boxes my dad would look at my mom and say, “Dear, half the weight on this moving van is your books and rocks.”
He wasn't entirely wrong.
My grandparents are really the ones who started this family love affair with rocks. Every winter, they escaped the cold Illinois weather and headed to the American Southwest and Mexico. Along the way, they collected rocks and brought them home. Grandpa would take them out to his shed, put them in a tumbler, and polish them until they shined. Then he would hand them out to his grandchildren.
I loved those rocks.
When we sold Mom's house, all of my siblings mentioned the rock collection. Everyone wanted some of the rocks, and as the oldest sibling, it became my job to figure out how to divide them up fairly.
My solution? Mom had a collection of wonderful old jars, so I lined them up and, much like I used to divide jelly beans among my kids at Easter, I dealt out the rocks. A little bit for everyone.
Today, one of the shelves in my living room holds part of that collection and all the memories that come with it.
The top shelf is dedicated to Todd's dad. The flag was presented by the American Legion to Todd's sister in recognition of his service in the Navy.
The middle shelf is dedicated to my dad. It includes a few mementos from his career at Sears, along with some Hummels that remind me of the years he was stationed in Germany.
As I look at those shelves, I see more than rocks and keepsakes. I see family stories and reminders of the lives they lived. And every time I walk by, I think of my dad's comment about the moving van and smile.
