The Information Book Said It Is a Shorter and an Easier Climb
Right! Wrong!!
SATURDAY, August 17, 2013: Our backup team, Gabriel and Gaia went with us. He found this trail as well. So we were all excited to try a new walk, but thought the easier one would help our muscles, our joints and our ego. At least it would be a comparison of the one we walked from the Abby on Wednesday.
Gabriel and Gaia seemed impressed with our talk of the walk on Wednesday, so they wanted in on the on hands, or maybe "on feet and legs" experience. Today we drove to Monta. That's a little south of Torino. We couldn't leave too early, because I'm out of needles I'm using every other day for a while and the pharmacy is closing at noon and going on vacation, they are opening at 8:30 a.m.
Wednesdays walk was said to be one hour and forty-five minutes for trained walkers.. It would be up hill for a ways, then we'd begin to descend for a while and finally end after a prolonged ascent. You already know it took Lydia, Carys and me four hours and thirty minutes.
We understood the literature to say that today's walk would be relatively level and would be finished in about an hour and forty-five minutes. Wednesday we carried bottles of water, always an important necessity. At resting times along the way we each ate a rather large carrot, an apple and some peanuts, sunflower seeds and almonds. That was enough and other than never having done this kind of walk, we felt good and were exceedingly elated with our accomplishment.
I was anticipating Monta to be a smaller village, but it was larger than I thought and very beautiful on top of the rather high hills. Our parking place was good and safe, in the center of town by the police department. Our departure point was a half block away, across the street. The whole path is devoted to bee keeping and honey production. We read four or five sign posts along the way, describing very ancient methods of bee keeping through the centuries. Interestingly they used two-story brick built bee hives.
Having found our departure point, we almost immediately began to descend a steep bricked alleyway. Then very quickly we were crossing the last street around the edge of town. The path opened into a small mowed, somewhat, launching area. It had a kind of billboard to introduce the idea of apiaries and all things bees.
The trail led off to the side and down, as in not up, but down, going down a steep path which turned into something like stairs. A three by six board about three feet long, on edge, held in place by two wooden post about three inches across, driven into the ground held back the upright and the dirt behind it. In this case a hand rail built of the same three inch post follow some of the steps. That was a great help to hold onto as we went down the hill or were later climbing up again. We depend on walking sticks, as well.
At a small kind of level area was the first of those brick bee hives. It was more like a kids play house in the back yard, but both rooms were tall enough for adults. The "hive" did not appear to be in operation. The building was probably 8 X 10 feet and 18 to 20 feet high. There was a well dug beside that one. We did read several of the posters along the way, but as I had grown up with bees, we had not come on this walk to study bees. We were here to walk the trail.
So leaving the somewhat level area around the "bee hive," I expected pretty level going. But I was really surprised when I looked at the trail in its continuing journey. We kept going down. It was several more yards to the bottom. Earlier, even at the beginning, we had seen small evidence of previous rain, not that day. At the bottom of the hill we crossed some muddy ground and muddy grass.
At the top, down the first series of stairs, across the mud flats and beginning upward again we passed several patches of black berries. The first ones were ripe and ready to eat, so we did. Others will continue to ripen as the next days pass. It will be a blessing to those who take advantage of those wild berries of juicy sweetness.
Half that first descent was in partial shade, due to trees along the path. The muddy crossing brought us to an entire hill covered with beautiful old trees and quite a bit of undergrowth. Continuing on we had the good fortune of those wood and dirt stairs often with the side rail on one side. I didn't know how to measure the degrees of the climb, but I'm sure a lot of it was in the range of 45 degrees.
Finally we came out of the woods and were now climbing, without stairs or railing, in the turn row of a huge vineyard. At that point we all were ready to flop down and rest. Of course, I expected Lydia and Gabriel to make it, because they were in on the planning. But Gaia, 7 and Carys, 5 went because the adults were going and they in some ways, didn't have a choice. They didn't complain. After a short rest, we took a wagon path between vine rows to the top of the hill (not part of our path). There was another brick house, kinda where many rows meet. This one was a one room, two story. The door was open, it had a fireplace, a cook stove, a cubboard and a stair to the upper level. We concluded it to be for the benefit of workers in harvest. The vines were beautiful and full of fruit, still a little green.
Lydia brings a small floor rug for down times. The girls like to lie down at rest times. We reloaded our back packs and went back down the row. At the end of all those rows of vines in a vineyard, large or small, is some kind of access road. That's were we arrived when we came out of the woods, onto an access road. Now we were at the top and needed to go to the bottom. This particular road was newly dozed out of the hill. There were lumps and clods of dirt. The dried tractor wheel tracks made tough walking. It often is far more difficult to walk down hill than to walk up. That's what we now had to do and after an almost tortuous descent we came out onto a "county" black topped road. Sigh and relief!!! We moved to the not so muddy side of the flat land road, put down the rug, sat on our back packs, pulled out the water bottles, and the food. Gabriel had made ham and cheese sandwiches on brown bread. We had apple slices and walnut halves with more peanuts. We sat in the shade of some wonderful trees and feasted our bodies and souls on the glorious thought of rest. An occasional car went by. After about a half hour we rose up and looked toward the sky. Our road led out to the highway and at the top was the town with our car in the middle.
It was still a down hill walk to the highway, and there we discovered the trail crossed the highway, didn't follow it. But oh my, one look at that trail and you knew the tough part of the day had arrived. Those rugged tractor wheels don't leave "smooth roads nor flowery beds of ease." Get yourself a book or calender that has pictures of Italian vineyards. See how beautiful those long rows up the high sides of those beautiful mountains really are. Now get on your mountain climbing boots and come on over. I don't know if they can drive their tractors up an incline at more than 45 degrees. I am almost certain that some of what we climbed must have been very close to 50 degrees.
Midway of that trail was one of those little brick houses at the edge of the vineyard. It was level enough we could stand straight up for a few minutes. Then up toward the blue, blue sky once more. For a bit, there were those wood and dirt stairs completely overgrown with grass and weeds. Part of the stair had the hand rail. From there on it was just dig in your toes and climb. After several more rows of grapevines we were at the top of the field. There set another little brick house, Shade!! Some large posts had been left laying and we sat down and sucked in great long gulps of sweet Italian air.
I don't know if that was a mountain or only a hill, but at the top of it I could see a house. Our path seemed to be a two path road working it way around the side of a cliff. Gabriel had read that there were old Roman roads in the area. I didn't think we were on it, it was not made of stone, only dirt and weeds. Finally we were beside a brick wall and it kept getting higher and higher. The road turned to gravel. Being steep it was a little bit hard to keep going forward. We came to the end as we stepped onto good old blacktop.
Gabriel had gone ahead of us a little. Now he was back with our empty water bottles refilled and announced, "This is it. We're here." Another block of walking between houses on a brick street and we were in a little square with a water fountain, seat benches with backs and shade trees. We sat down after four hours and thirty minutes from our beginning.
It felt so good to be back, to the other end of the trail. We walked, after a very long sit, about a half block and dropped down into some chairs with tables on the sidewalk beside a coffee bar, with sandwiches, water and later ice cream. Another very good rest.
Finally up from the chairs, with packs on our back and in a block we were in the square by the police department were we left the car hours before. For me, I am learning that this kind of walking does something good for body, mind and spirit.
Sunday, August 18, 2013
Thursday, August 15, 2013
TO ANSWER JEREMY'S FURTHER QUESTION
He Asked Me to Tell about My First Sermon and Traveling with Royce Thomason
We met Dr. Rev. J. Royce Thomason some time in late 1952 or early 1953. He was recommended to us by our dear friends, the Percey Ryan family. Brother Royce was born and grew up on a dirt farm near Fredrick, Ok. I think he was called to preach at age 19 and began to hold revival meetings about that time.
In 1942, or there about, WWII had started and President Roosevelt put several names in a fish bowl and began to draw out the names one by one to start the draft of young American men for fighting in the war. The seventeenth name he drew was J. Royce Thomason.
Brother Royce, as everybody called him, was trying to keep the family farm together and help with their needs. He was the eldest of five children. His Dad had just died. His four younger siblings were all still in school. His Mother was not well and the Grand Mother who lived with them was sickly. He made an appeal to his Draft Board for a deferment, but was denied.
He shipped out to Europe where he worked as a medic under the command of Dr. Piggman, a surgeon from the Hospital in Hazard, KY. Brother Royce had great respect for the Doctor. Their Unit often had no Chaplin to serve the men or to preach on Sundays, so Brother Royce stepped up to fill the gap. He got acquainted with the Salvation Army Captain in the French town near where their Unit was working, and sometimes was asked to preach there, as well.
In the early and mid '50s Royce was in our area a lot. He gave a service / program in the Eldorado High School that summer were he invited the entire community, and many people came. He told of some war time experiences and of other travels through the world. Once he told me he had, by that time, been in 109 countries.
He was well known in the Burkburnett, Texas area. There was a military base there, maybe an Air Base. He often held services in a Church near by. When he started coming to the Eldorado, OK area, some of those service men came over with him or because of him. I remember TJ. and Norwood. There were several others whose names I don't remember any more. Several of them stayed with us on the farm when they came. Royce nearly always stayed with Uncle Lawton and Aunt Nina. They lived just a mile out of town.
It was at their house that he published his first, one page, "Voice in The Wilderness", news letter. He printed them on an old mimeograph machine he had. That news letter soon turned into a four page "magazine" and later sixteen pages.
In the summer of 1953, Brother Royce put up his Revival Tent in Eldorado. He could be "a one man band." He sang well, played his little portable pump organ, and preached an excellent message every time he opened his mouth. When he came to our town, Percy recommended that he ask Daddy to lead the singing. But Daddy really did not want to do that. One, there was a lot happening on the farm and he was the lead horse. Second, he had always sang base in the family quartet, he didn't want to try to lead the singing. Three, Royce was coming to preach the revival as an independent evangelist, though we had already started the Church of the Nazarene in town. But he did accept the challenge and switched to singing lead. There was good interest and the crowds were pretty good.
Ryan's had come, at least for the week-end. It was a 125 mile drive from their house to ours. We were always so glad when they came. At the close of the Tent Revival, Brother Royce was loading tent, chairs, hymn books and pump organ into his old school bus and heading for the long road to Vicco, KY for his next Tent Meeting. He had three teen age boys lined up to go help raise the tent and help with handing out hymnals, and whatever needed doing.
Albert Ryan was going and I so wanted to go. For whatever the reasons that I shouldn't go, my folks "finally" gave permission and I was in. From Eldorado in far southwest Oklahoma Royce drove the bus to McCloud, OK. There we picked up Larry McCloud. He was 14, Albert and I were both 15. Our next stop was a little north of Springfield, MO. We were there a couple nights with the Reeves family. Frank, their 19 year old son, was going with us. He owned and managed two gas stations, so was getting all his people lined up to fill the gap while he was away. During the wait, we guys filled gas tanks, washed wind shields, checked the motors for oil levels, and swept the drivers side floor. AND Frank's Mom was one of the greatest women and a fabulous cook.
On the road at night, we guys slept on piles of tent canvas in the bus. Brother Royce always slept on an old army cot set up on the ground beside the bus door. Every night along the way, we were all waiting for Brother Royce's story about his night's adventure. One morning he told us he knew there must be a military base near by, because during the night a couple of mosquito came and turned him over looking for his "dog tag". Another night we slept near a swampy place. Royce was awakened by an awful noise in the frog pond. When he went to investigate, he discovered two or three frogs trying to break another frog to ride. He told great stories. Some he had made up, but his true life adventures were better yet.
We took a break form the road to visit an early American grave site in Paduca. As we approached Bowling Green, Royce spotted a Revival Tent. It was about five o'clock. We stopped and the pastor was there. Royce made arrangements for us to stay the night, then we had supper nearby, cleaned up a bit and dressed to attend the revival service. That was a good break in our road routine. By that point we were following old Kentucky highway 80. Eighty goes the length of Kentucky and in those days there were no inner-states. It was a long, twisty road with more mountainous as we passed Sumerset and London. We slept that night in London.
Brother Royce was acquainted with a Free Methodist Pastor in London, Ky. They had us in for a wonderful breakfast before we left for our last day on the road until Revival time began. O my, those narrow twisting mountain roads. While we were still in Eldorado, OK, Bro. Royce found a sign painter to paint on the back door of the bus, "At the End of the Road, you'll meet God." On some of those eastern Kentucky mountain roads, we wondered if maybe our Road's End was about to come.
We drove through Hazard, stopped in Happy where one of Brother Royce's faithful supporters lived. His name was Gillmore, I don't remember his given name. After the war, when Brother Royce was traveling around in Europe, he had come to the near end of his journey. He came to a French town near the English Chanel. Because of his war time connections with the Salvation Army, he knew he could get a free bed there. He did, but the Captain was gone and they weren't serving breakfast. He had no more money. He needed a breakfast and money to cross the Chanel. As he was leaving the front door of the SA, a mail man came. He ask if a person named Royce Thomason might be there. Brother Royce took the letter that was offered. It was from his friend, Gillmore in Happy, Kentucky. The note inside said, "Brother Royce, I don't know where in the world you might be. But I do know that sometimes you might pass by the Salvation Army in G--- Town. I would send more but this $1.00 is all I have to my name. I really believe the Lord has prompted me to send it to you." Another time Bro. Royce might have been in a remote area of New Guinea and his shoe strings were broken. He had tied knots for the last time and some how he received a letter from the Brother Gillmore which enclosed only a short letter and a pair of shoe strings.
We passed out of Happy and around the bend in the highway we turned off the road, across the bridge and at the Post Office in Scudy made arrangements to pick-up our mail. Then came back across the bridge and wound on around the mountain to Vicco.
In Vicco, the Methodist and Presbyterian Churches were cooperating to sponsor the Tent Revival. The Presbyterians were without a pastor. They gave us permission to stay in their Manse, the guys, that is. Brother Royce stayed in the tent at night. The Manse was across a creek and up a very steep hill. We got there from the tent site by a swinging bridge.
As I remember, after the meetings had continued a few nights, Royce asked Larry and me, if we'd like to preach a sermon before he preached one of the nights, seeing we both had a call to preach? So he announced that on Monday night, I would bring a message. On Tuesday night, Larry brought his sermon. I don't remember what his scripture or title was. I do remember it was a very good, well prepared message.
I remember that I struggled for days over my message from Revelation 3:20, "Behold, I stand at the door and knock." I had three or four points to make. I don't know how well I made them. It seemed that I must have gone on forever. When I finally sat down and looked at my watch, I had spoken a full five minutes. The only other thing I do remember was how ashamed I felt after I finished. Brother Royce gave his message after that and it was as good as usual.
Every day at noon, someone in the community had us over for a fabulous home cooked meal. One old lady had her daughter and a friend help serve the table. As we sat down, she apologized for the flies. She said they had not had any flies all summer, but that morning when she woke up, "the house was just filled with flies." And it was.
Another place we ate was up a holler. Only recently their road had come in. Before that, it was at least a three or four mile walk to their house. But we were able to drive right up to the bottom of the hill. Then we climbed up to the back entrance of the house. We stepped up onto a foot high stone, maybe two feet wide and three feet long. The front porch was on stilts ten or twelve feet in the air. The house was pretty large, square with four or six large rooms and high ceilings. The porch ran across the complete width of the front. A few years before we were there, the lady had been doing her summer canning of her garden produce. As she finished a caner full, she stacked her boxes of jars on the porch. One bright day, she dragged the ringer washer onto the porch and carried bucket after bucket of water from the well into the back door, heated it on the stove, then poured it into the washing machine. She carried out the baskets of clothes to wash, filled the first load and turned on the agitator. It wasn't long until she, with water and machine and canned goods suddenly felt the support posts of the porch let loose and they all rolled down the mountain together.
The rebuilt one was in place when we were there. It was made good and strong. The woman's husband had also been in the war. He told Brother Royce how scarred he was ridding a troop train through Oklahoma. He kept seeing what he thought were Indian smoke signals. He just knew they would be attacked almost any minute. What he didn't know, was the oil companies put up pipes near the sludge pits to burn off the excess gas escaping from the wells.
A young couple, Bill and Dorothy with his brother, Peanut, had us to their upstairs apartment for a noon meal. The young men operated a filling station and auto repair shop. Years later I learned they were Lilly's uncles, younger brothers of Pearl. We ate with a family named Campbell. Gillmore's were a sort of home base. And I know there were others that I can't recall at this distance.
Several times we went up the holler from Vicco to have a wonderful supper with Dr. and Mrs. Piggman and their three daughters. They were a wonderful family and had befriended Brother Royce since those days, early in WWII. When the meetings came to an end, it was time for us to fold up the tent, stow everything back in the old yellow bus and prepare for the long road home: back past Frank Reeves parents, McCloud, Oklahoma and Eldorado. I don't remember how Albert got home. Maybe Royce was headed that way, or... That was a wonderful time of new sights and great memories. After a year or two, Bro. Royce let me know that Frank had married Sarah Piggman, middle daughter of the Doctor. The last I heard, Sarah was a farm wife, raising feeder calves on bottles of milk.
Brother Royce had warned us from the start that Mrs. Piggman was a kind and loving woman. Before we leave on packing day, she will give you each one, a great big hug and a kiss. We all vowed that it would never happen. But according to prophecy, when leaving day arrived, Mrs. Piggman arrived out of the holler in her big, beautiful car. As we worked and talked and bid goodbyes to members of the Congregations, one by one, with unexpected suddenness, we had each been hugged and kissed by the wonderful Mrs. Piggman.
We met Dr. Rev. J. Royce Thomason some time in late 1952 or early 1953. He was recommended to us by our dear friends, the Percey Ryan family. Brother Royce was born and grew up on a dirt farm near Fredrick, Ok. I think he was called to preach at age 19 and began to hold revival meetings about that time.
In 1942, or there about, WWII had started and President Roosevelt put several names in a fish bowl and began to draw out the names one by one to start the draft of young American men for fighting in the war. The seventeenth name he drew was J. Royce Thomason.
Brother Royce, as everybody called him, was trying to keep the family farm together and help with their needs. He was the eldest of five children. His Dad had just died. His four younger siblings were all still in school. His Mother was not well and the Grand Mother who lived with them was sickly. He made an appeal to his Draft Board for a deferment, but was denied.
He shipped out to Europe where he worked as a medic under the command of Dr. Piggman, a surgeon from the Hospital in Hazard, KY. Brother Royce had great respect for the Doctor. Their Unit often had no Chaplin to serve the men or to preach on Sundays, so Brother Royce stepped up to fill the gap. He got acquainted with the Salvation Army Captain in the French town near where their Unit was working, and sometimes was asked to preach there, as well.
In the early and mid '50s Royce was in our area a lot. He gave a service / program in the Eldorado High School that summer were he invited the entire community, and many people came. He told of some war time experiences and of other travels through the world. Once he told me he had, by that time, been in 109 countries.
He was well known in the Burkburnett, Texas area. There was a military base there, maybe an Air Base. He often held services in a Church near by. When he started coming to the Eldorado, OK area, some of those service men came over with him or because of him. I remember TJ. and Norwood. There were several others whose names I don't remember any more. Several of them stayed with us on the farm when they came. Royce nearly always stayed with Uncle Lawton and Aunt Nina. They lived just a mile out of town.
It was at their house that he published his first, one page, "Voice in The Wilderness", news letter. He printed them on an old mimeograph machine he had. That news letter soon turned into a four page "magazine" and later sixteen pages.
In the summer of 1953, Brother Royce put up his Revival Tent in Eldorado. He could be "a one man band." He sang well, played his little portable pump organ, and preached an excellent message every time he opened his mouth. When he came to our town, Percy recommended that he ask Daddy to lead the singing. But Daddy really did not want to do that. One, there was a lot happening on the farm and he was the lead horse. Second, he had always sang base in the family quartet, he didn't want to try to lead the singing. Three, Royce was coming to preach the revival as an independent evangelist, though we had already started the Church of the Nazarene in town. But he did accept the challenge and switched to singing lead. There was good interest and the crowds were pretty good.
Ryan's had come, at least for the week-end. It was a 125 mile drive from their house to ours. We were always so glad when they came. At the close of the Tent Revival, Brother Royce was loading tent, chairs, hymn books and pump organ into his old school bus and heading for the long road to Vicco, KY for his next Tent Meeting. He had three teen age boys lined up to go help raise the tent and help with handing out hymnals, and whatever needed doing.
Albert Ryan was going and I so wanted to go. For whatever the reasons that I shouldn't go, my folks "finally" gave permission and I was in. From Eldorado in far southwest Oklahoma Royce drove the bus to McCloud, OK. There we picked up Larry McCloud. He was 14, Albert and I were both 15. Our next stop was a little north of Springfield, MO. We were there a couple nights with the Reeves family. Frank, their 19 year old son, was going with us. He owned and managed two gas stations, so was getting all his people lined up to fill the gap while he was away. During the wait, we guys filled gas tanks, washed wind shields, checked the motors for oil levels, and swept the drivers side floor. AND Frank's Mom was one of the greatest women and a fabulous cook.
On the road at night, we guys slept on piles of tent canvas in the bus. Brother Royce always slept on an old army cot set up on the ground beside the bus door. Every night along the way, we were all waiting for Brother Royce's story about his night's adventure. One morning he told us he knew there must be a military base near by, because during the night a couple of mosquito came and turned him over looking for his "dog tag". Another night we slept near a swampy place. Royce was awakened by an awful noise in the frog pond. When he went to investigate, he discovered two or three frogs trying to break another frog to ride. He told great stories. Some he had made up, but his true life adventures were better yet.
We took a break form the road to visit an early American grave site in Paduca. As we approached Bowling Green, Royce spotted a Revival Tent. It was about five o'clock. We stopped and the pastor was there. Royce made arrangements for us to stay the night, then we had supper nearby, cleaned up a bit and dressed to attend the revival service. That was a good break in our road routine. By that point we were following old Kentucky highway 80. Eighty goes the length of Kentucky and in those days there were no inner-states. It was a long, twisty road with more mountainous as we passed Sumerset and London. We slept that night in London.
Brother Royce was acquainted with a Free Methodist Pastor in London, Ky. They had us in for a wonderful breakfast before we left for our last day on the road until Revival time began. O my, those narrow twisting mountain roads. While we were still in Eldorado, OK, Bro. Royce found a sign painter to paint on the back door of the bus, "At the End of the Road, you'll meet God." On some of those eastern Kentucky mountain roads, we wondered if maybe our Road's End was about to come.
We drove through Hazard, stopped in Happy where one of Brother Royce's faithful supporters lived. His name was Gillmore, I don't remember his given name. After the war, when Brother Royce was traveling around in Europe, he had come to the near end of his journey. He came to a French town near the English Chanel. Because of his war time connections with the Salvation Army, he knew he could get a free bed there. He did, but the Captain was gone and they weren't serving breakfast. He had no more money. He needed a breakfast and money to cross the Chanel. As he was leaving the front door of the SA, a mail man came. He ask if a person named Royce Thomason might be there. Brother Royce took the letter that was offered. It was from his friend, Gillmore in Happy, Kentucky. The note inside said, "Brother Royce, I don't know where in the world you might be. But I do know that sometimes you might pass by the Salvation Army in G--- Town. I would send more but this $1.00 is all I have to my name. I really believe the Lord has prompted me to send it to you." Another time Bro. Royce might have been in a remote area of New Guinea and his shoe strings were broken. He had tied knots for the last time and some how he received a letter from the Brother Gillmore which enclosed only a short letter and a pair of shoe strings.
We passed out of Happy and around the bend in the highway we turned off the road, across the bridge and at the Post Office in Scudy made arrangements to pick-up our mail. Then came back across the bridge and wound on around the mountain to Vicco.
In Vicco, the Methodist and Presbyterian Churches were cooperating to sponsor the Tent Revival. The Presbyterians were without a pastor. They gave us permission to stay in their Manse, the guys, that is. Brother Royce stayed in the tent at night. The Manse was across a creek and up a very steep hill. We got there from the tent site by a swinging bridge.
As I remember, after the meetings had continued a few nights, Royce asked Larry and me, if we'd like to preach a sermon before he preached one of the nights, seeing we both had a call to preach? So he announced that on Monday night, I would bring a message. On Tuesday night, Larry brought his sermon. I don't remember what his scripture or title was. I do remember it was a very good, well prepared message.
I remember that I struggled for days over my message from Revelation 3:20, "Behold, I stand at the door and knock." I had three or four points to make. I don't know how well I made them. It seemed that I must have gone on forever. When I finally sat down and looked at my watch, I had spoken a full five minutes. The only other thing I do remember was how ashamed I felt after I finished. Brother Royce gave his message after that and it was as good as usual.
Every day at noon, someone in the community had us over for a fabulous home cooked meal. One old lady had her daughter and a friend help serve the table. As we sat down, she apologized for the flies. She said they had not had any flies all summer, but that morning when she woke up, "the house was just filled with flies." And it was.
Another place we ate was up a holler. Only recently their road had come in. Before that, it was at least a three or four mile walk to their house. But we were able to drive right up to the bottom of the hill. Then we climbed up to the back entrance of the house. We stepped up onto a foot high stone, maybe two feet wide and three feet long. The front porch was on stilts ten or twelve feet in the air. The house was pretty large, square with four or six large rooms and high ceilings. The porch ran across the complete width of the front. A few years before we were there, the lady had been doing her summer canning of her garden produce. As she finished a caner full, she stacked her boxes of jars on the porch. One bright day, she dragged the ringer washer onto the porch and carried bucket after bucket of water from the well into the back door, heated it on the stove, then poured it into the washing machine. She carried out the baskets of clothes to wash, filled the first load and turned on the agitator. It wasn't long until she, with water and machine and canned goods suddenly felt the support posts of the porch let loose and they all rolled down the mountain together.
The rebuilt one was in place when we were there. It was made good and strong. The woman's husband had also been in the war. He told Brother Royce how scarred he was ridding a troop train through Oklahoma. He kept seeing what he thought were Indian smoke signals. He just knew they would be attacked almost any minute. What he didn't know, was the oil companies put up pipes near the sludge pits to burn off the excess gas escaping from the wells.
A young couple, Bill and Dorothy with his brother, Peanut, had us to their upstairs apartment for a noon meal. The young men operated a filling station and auto repair shop. Years later I learned they were Lilly's uncles, younger brothers of Pearl. We ate with a family named Campbell. Gillmore's were a sort of home base. And I know there were others that I can't recall at this distance.
Several times we went up the holler from Vicco to have a wonderful supper with Dr. and Mrs. Piggman and their three daughters. They were a wonderful family and had befriended Brother Royce since those days, early in WWII. When the meetings came to an end, it was time for us to fold up the tent, stow everything back in the old yellow bus and prepare for the long road home: back past Frank Reeves parents, McCloud, Oklahoma and Eldorado. I don't remember how Albert got home. Maybe Royce was headed that way, or... That was a wonderful time of new sights and great memories. After a year or two, Bro. Royce let me know that Frank had married Sarah Piggman, middle daughter of the Doctor. The last I heard, Sarah was a farm wife, raising feeder calves on bottles of milk.
Brother Royce had warned us from the start that Mrs. Piggman was a kind and loving woman. Before we leave on packing day, she will give you each one, a great big hug and a kiss. We all vowed that it would never happen. But according to prophecy, when leaving day arrived, Mrs. Piggman arrived out of the holler in her big, beautiful car. As we worked and talked and bid goodbyes to members of the Congregations, one by one, with unexpected suddenness, we had each been hugged and kissed by the wonderful Mrs. Piggman.
Wednesday, August 14, 2013
CAN YOU BELIEVE IT? WE'RE ON THE MARCH!
It's Actually More Like a Hike at A Beginners Pace
For many months, Lydia has challenged me to do the "Camino de Santiago", "The Way of Saint James" with her. Years ago Lilly and I had discussed doing the Appellation Trail "sometime." But the day never came. So when Lydia threw out the bone, I snatched it up. Since the plan to do the 500 mile pilgrimage from somewhere in southern France to the northwest coast of Spain, we thought it highly important to begin preparing ahead of time. The goal of the long walk is next summer. That means, not only gathering equipment preparations, but also walking, lots of walking with a "pack" on our backs.
Last night we packed our backpacks with extra shoes, nuts, apples and carrots, bottles of water, a rug for a nap on the ground if necessary, walking sticks, other anticipations and her phone, of course. Carys, age five chose to go, Gabriel and Gaia were the backup crew. They were to take us out and finally meet up with us at a village bar in the mountains for a coffee celebration and chips.
When morning came the sky was full of ugly clouds and thunder, with threats of rain. By 7:30 a.m. we were ready to go out the door and through the garden gate. But alas, it was raining. We thought it not wise to rush off on an excursion that we'd never experienced before. So Lydia left a note on the table for Gabriel and we went to the bar for our morning coffee and a sweet pastry to await the verdict of the skies.
After a while Gabriel and the Girls came and since the rain had passed over, they had their drink and sweets, then we all walked home, loaded our back packs into the Fiat and headed out for the Abby. Carys stayed with us for second coffees, hers was milk, and our crew returned to the base camp. A last wash up in the bathroom, a quick confirmation on the "road west" from the bar keeper, and we were off.
Down the road past the Abby and a family of picnickers at the bottom of the hill, then around the slight curve and up a farm field tractor road with vineyards on the right and mountain drop off on the left. The sign post by the Abby indicated the village of our destination would be 1 hour and 45 minutes. Since we are not broken in hikers, Lydia estimated our travel time to be at least 3 hours.
Along the dirt paths and roads we went. More up than level or down for a while. At the top of the road where the vineyard ended, weeds and trees began. We ran into a small patch of black berries... so delicious. A sign post indicated the direction and we marched forward. I have to say, "Carys is a great little trooper!" and Lydia the best of guides. The old man of the prairies was far out of his element, but we all tramped on.
The tractor road turned into a foot path between private properties and after five or ten minutes we were back on a lopsided dirt road. More of the same, alternating, until we came to a narrow black top. Along that nice road we ambled at varying speeds such as our ascending or descending feet allowed. Eventually we came to a settlement of two or three houses.
Then the road changed again to a different color black top and was very winding as we descended to a brick bridge and gray top high way with white strips along each side, which we could see far away. About a forth of the way down, Carys tripped on her shoe string. The fall on the pavement bunged up her knee and the heel of her hand. Thanks to Lydia's foresight, she had a first aid kit.
By this time, Lydia had brought out the rug a couple of times, so Carys had a lie down rest and I took the chair from my back pack to have a sit down, as well. I think Lydia sat on the ground. On arrival at the bridge we stopped for a lunch of nuts and seeds with an apple and a full grown carrot. Lydia hunted the next road sign and finally a passing motorist gave information.
Now, on the white stripped highway we walked the white strip facing the traffic. Until that point we hadn't seen any people or traffic. At the white strip road we got people in both tractors and cars. From there on, it was up, up, up and many, many sharp curves. There simply was no where else to go and nothing else to do, but creep along that up hill road, so that's what we just kept doing.
At the top of the hill we came to a house, then two as the road turned again and we saw a village with a name. It was next before our selected destination, but it had no bar and the one were we found ourselves after four and a half hours of pretty steady walking, had two!!! The other village was only one or two kilometers farther. So we chose to stop near the bar and wait for Gabriel and Gaia to come so we all ate together.
It never rained any more, the sun was not, too, hot and the breezes were nice most of the time. It was a great day of walking, talking and fun with my girls. Sorry you couldn't all have come. And we finished our walk after more than twice the expected time. But to my notion it was a very profitable day.
For many months, Lydia has challenged me to do the "Camino de Santiago", "The Way of Saint James" with her. Years ago Lilly and I had discussed doing the Appellation Trail "sometime." But the day never came. So when Lydia threw out the bone, I snatched it up. Since the plan to do the 500 mile pilgrimage from somewhere in southern France to the northwest coast of Spain, we thought it highly important to begin preparing ahead of time. The goal of the long walk is next summer. That means, not only gathering equipment preparations, but also walking, lots of walking with a "pack" on our backs.
Last night we packed our backpacks with extra shoes, nuts, apples and carrots, bottles of water, a rug for a nap on the ground if necessary, walking sticks, other anticipations and her phone, of course. Carys, age five chose to go, Gabriel and Gaia were the backup crew. They were to take us out and finally meet up with us at a village bar in the mountains for a coffee celebration and chips.
When morning came the sky was full of ugly clouds and thunder, with threats of rain. By 7:30 a.m. we were ready to go out the door and through the garden gate. But alas, it was raining. We thought it not wise to rush off on an excursion that we'd never experienced before. So Lydia left a note on the table for Gabriel and we went to the bar for our morning coffee and a sweet pastry to await the verdict of the skies.
After a while Gabriel and the Girls came and since the rain had passed over, they had their drink and sweets, then we all walked home, loaded our back packs into the Fiat and headed out for the Abby. Carys stayed with us for second coffees, hers was milk, and our crew returned to the base camp. A last wash up in the bathroom, a quick confirmation on the "road west" from the bar keeper, and we were off.
Down the road past the Abby and a family of picnickers at the bottom of the hill, then around the slight curve and up a farm field tractor road with vineyards on the right and mountain drop off on the left. The sign post by the Abby indicated the village of our destination would be 1 hour and 45 minutes. Since we are not broken in hikers, Lydia estimated our travel time to be at least 3 hours.
Along the dirt paths and roads we went. More up than level or down for a while. At the top of the road where the vineyard ended, weeds and trees began. We ran into a small patch of black berries... so delicious. A sign post indicated the direction and we marched forward. I have to say, "Carys is a great little trooper!" and Lydia the best of guides. The old man of the prairies was far out of his element, but we all tramped on.
The tractor road turned into a foot path between private properties and after five or ten minutes we were back on a lopsided dirt road. More of the same, alternating, until we came to a narrow black top. Along that nice road we ambled at varying speeds such as our ascending or descending feet allowed. Eventually we came to a settlement of two or three houses.
Then the road changed again to a different color black top and was very winding as we descended to a brick bridge and gray top high way with white strips along each side, which we could see far away. About a forth of the way down, Carys tripped on her shoe string. The fall on the pavement bunged up her knee and the heel of her hand. Thanks to Lydia's foresight, she had a first aid kit.
By this time, Lydia had brought out the rug a couple of times, so Carys had a lie down rest and I took the chair from my back pack to have a sit down, as well. I think Lydia sat on the ground. On arrival at the bridge we stopped for a lunch of nuts and seeds with an apple and a full grown carrot. Lydia hunted the next road sign and finally a passing motorist gave information.
Now, on the white stripped highway we walked the white strip facing the traffic. Until that point we hadn't seen any people or traffic. At the white strip road we got people in both tractors and cars. From there on, it was up, up, up and many, many sharp curves. There simply was no where else to go and nothing else to do, but creep along that up hill road, so that's what we just kept doing.
At the top of the hill we came to a house, then two as the road turned again and we saw a village with a name. It was next before our selected destination, but it had no bar and the one were we found ourselves after four and a half hours of pretty steady walking, had two!!! The other village was only one or two kilometers farther. So we chose to stop near the bar and wait for Gabriel and Gaia to come so we all ate together.
It never rained any more, the sun was not, too, hot and the breezes were nice most of the time. It was a great day of walking, talking and fun with my girls. Sorry you couldn't all have come. And we finished our walk after more than twice the expected time. But to my notion it was a very profitable day.
Tuesday, August 13, 2013
BITS AND PIECES
Not All Memories Come together At the Same Time
You've read before where I mention the little old Red House on our farm about a half mile south of our house. It was kinda the dividing line between our farm land and the pasture. The roads of our county were maintained by the County Commissioner's Office. So a maintenance grader came by now and again, usually after a rain, which wasn't very often at all. The driver of the grader usually was someone from our area. We probably knew him on a first name basis. The road going south by our house got to the Red House and turned to the right, that would be going west. The road did continue on south for another half mile to the crossing on Red River. That road was between our pasture on the east and Teddy Joe's field on the west. But the county never graded it. It was a set of sand tracks with wild grass between the tracks and on either side all the way to the river bank.
I told you all this because I wanted to tell you about a plumb thicket. But first you should know that our rectangular farm, half mile wide (east to west) and mile long (north to south) was divided more or less cross ways (east to west) almost in the middle. North half tillable farm land, south half sandy pasture land. But the two halves really were more like two "L" shaped parcels. The longer part of the south pasture half extended above the Red House almost a quarter mile. Likewise the north half had a little longer and wider part that extended south into what might have been pasture. That area is where the fruit trees of the orchard were planted and where the government project for wind control in the 1930's planted the shelter belt of trees, east to west between the farm land and the pasture land.
There was a barbed wire fence following the shelter belt eastward to keep the cattle of the pasture from roaming over into the farm part. Here's the short story of the long print: About half way along that fence just to the south of the shelter belt, across the fence in the pasture, near the highest sand hill of the whole farm, was a thicket of wild plumb trees. Every year Mother kept track of the ripening of those somewhat sour red plumbs. When they were ready, she took us with buckets and pales to gather the plumbs. The trees were about as high as my head and above the heads of the girls. Mother of course could see all around. We picked all we could gather, then headed back home.
The second part probably took place the next day, what with evening chores coming up. When she was ready, the wash tubs came out and the plumbs got washed up all pretty and clean. Then into a pot on the stove to cook them down. They needed to be run through a sieve. The juice, peals and pits were all separated so she made jelly and jam. That was some scrumptious dinning.
Mother almost always made biscuits for breakfast. They weren't the kind you buy in the grocery that come in a tube of cardboard and you whack it on the corner of the counter, then pull them out and arrange on a cookie sheet. All the ladies of our growing up times made the kinds of biscuits that Mother made. Those were worth coming home for. First you broke open two or three while they were hot and filled them with home made butter right from your own cow cream. Then you set one or two on the side of your plate. Next you opened it up and slathered it with good ole home made gravy. You might need two of those biscuits. After you finished the biscuits and gravy and all that came with it, then you pulled the jar of jam or jelly over and filled up those other butter soaked biscuits with that jam or jelly or both.
When you'd finished a breakfast started with oatmeal, brown sugar and fresh cream, followed by the above, including bacon, sausage or ham that you'd cured at butchering time and a couple of fresh eggs from your own flock of healthy chicken hens. You knew you were ready to go to school all day, or a days worth of work on the farm.
If we'd been working at Papa's blacksmith shop ever since we finished our morning chores, we might have taken lunch with Granny and Papa, then back to the shop most of the afternoon. She knew how much ingredients it took to make a biscuit, and she generally made only three: one for herself and two for him. But somehow she seemed to know when boys would be around in the afternoon. About three o'clock, here came Granny with a few "turtles" as she called them. They were a little over sized biscuits. She had pocked her thumb or finger in the length of the biscuit. In the hole, she had poured it full of black strap molasses or blue ribbon syrup. By the time she carried them to where you were working, that sweet goodness had soaked out into those biscuits. After you ate one or two, you were almost fit to fly home to do the evening chores.
You've read before where I mention the little old Red House on our farm about a half mile south of our house. It was kinda the dividing line between our farm land and the pasture. The roads of our county were maintained by the County Commissioner's Office. So a maintenance grader came by now and again, usually after a rain, which wasn't very often at all. The driver of the grader usually was someone from our area. We probably knew him on a first name basis. The road going south by our house got to the Red House and turned to the right, that would be going west. The road did continue on south for another half mile to the crossing on Red River. That road was between our pasture on the east and Teddy Joe's field on the west. But the county never graded it. It was a set of sand tracks with wild grass between the tracks and on either side all the way to the river bank.
I told you all this because I wanted to tell you about a plumb thicket. But first you should know that our rectangular farm, half mile wide (east to west) and mile long (north to south) was divided more or less cross ways (east to west) almost in the middle. North half tillable farm land, south half sandy pasture land. But the two halves really were more like two "L" shaped parcels. The longer part of the south pasture half extended above the Red House almost a quarter mile. Likewise the north half had a little longer and wider part that extended south into what might have been pasture. That area is where the fruit trees of the orchard were planted and where the government project for wind control in the 1930's planted the shelter belt of trees, east to west between the farm land and the pasture land.
There was a barbed wire fence following the shelter belt eastward to keep the cattle of the pasture from roaming over into the farm part. Here's the short story of the long print: About half way along that fence just to the south of the shelter belt, across the fence in the pasture, near the highest sand hill of the whole farm, was a thicket of wild plumb trees. Every year Mother kept track of the ripening of those somewhat sour red plumbs. When they were ready, she took us with buckets and pales to gather the plumbs. The trees were about as high as my head and above the heads of the girls. Mother of course could see all around. We picked all we could gather, then headed back home.
The second part probably took place the next day, what with evening chores coming up. When she was ready, the wash tubs came out and the plumbs got washed up all pretty and clean. Then into a pot on the stove to cook them down. They needed to be run through a sieve. The juice, peals and pits were all separated so she made jelly and jam. That was some scrumptious dinning.
Mother almost always made biscuits for breakfast. They weren't the kind you buy in the grocery that come in a tube of cardboard and you whack it on the corner of the counter, then pull them out and arrange on a cookie sheet. All the ladies of our growing up times made the kinds of biscuits that Mother made. Those were worth coming home for. First you broke open two or three while they were hot and filled them with home made butter right from your own cow cream. Then you set one or two on the side of your plate. Next you opened it up and slathered it with good ole home made gravy. You might need two of those biscuits. After you finished the biscuits and gravy and all that came with it, then you pulled the jar of jam or jelly over and filled up those other butter soaked biscuits with that jam or jelly or both.
When you'd finished a breakfast started with oatmeal, brown sugar and fresh cream, followed by the above, including bacon, sausage or ham that you'd cured at butchering time and a couple of fresh eggs from your own flock of healthy chicken hens. You knew you were ready to go to school all day, or a days worth of work on the farm.
If we'd been working at Papa's blacksmith shop ever since we finished our morning chores, we might have taken lunch with Granny and Papa, then back to the shop most of the afternoon. She knew how much ingredients it took to make a biscuit, and she generally made only three: one for herself and two for him. But somehow she seemed to know when boys would be around in the afternoon. About three o'clock, here came Granny with a few "turtles" as she called them. They were a little over sized biscuits. She had pocked her thumb or finger in the length of the biscuit. In the hole, she had poured it full of black strap molasses or blue ribbon syrup. By the time she carried them to where you were working, that sweet goodness had soaked out into those biscuits. After you ate one or two, you were almost fit to fly home to do the evening chores.
Monday, August 12, 2013
SUNDAY: LYDIA AND GABRIEL'S TWELFTH WEDDING ANNIVERSARY
What a Beautiful Day among the Vineyards in the Region of Asti
Gabriel drove us there in the last week of 2007. Joanna and I had flown to Europe, arriving in Frankfort, Germany on Christmas Day, then on to Torino where Lydia's family picked us up, my seventieth birthday. The next day or so we drove through those gorgeous hills and valleys. The destination was the Abby of Saint Mary of Vezzolano. There was no snow, but it was so cold. We walked from the parking area and toured the Abby. It is such a picturesque setting. It was a very long walk and I was so cold.
There was a warm looking bar a couple hundred yards or so up the road. We eventually walked there and had lunch. Yesterday when we parked by the bar and walked down the long sidewalk and road, it was still the same distance, but not nearly so far ... I am so much improved from those five years ago. I do give God praise, with some doctors and medical science.
Normally we would have driven down into Torino at the English Speaking Church of Torino for the Sunday service. But yesterday was their vacation day, so we went the other direction. Lydia had prepared a wonderful picnic lunch. Gaia and Carys had asked me to help them make an apple cake for their parents anniversary lunch - dinner / picnic. On Saturday the Girls started harping on the need for me to help them make this cake for their parents anniversary. They were determined!!! I had never made an apple cake before, but neither had they. So Carys, 5 years and Gaia, 7 year and I stepped in where "angles might fear to treed." Gabriel found the recipe on line. The cake is called:
Fall Sweet Treat: Apple Cake
Ingredients:
2 Eggs
2 Cups of Sugar
1 Cup of Canola Oil
2 Teaspoons of Vanilla
2 Teaspoons of Cinnamon
1 Teaspoon of Baking Soda
1/2 Teaspoon Salt
3 Cups Flour
3 Cups Chopped Apples
[ There were a few hitches, but we worked through them. We added some olive oil to
complete the cup of Canola Oil. We skipped the Vanilla, we were without. The Italian
Baking Soda is different than in the States, we doubled the amount. We used 2 Cups
Rice Flour, but didn't have enough Farro Flour for the third cup, so Gabriel brought out
enough Wheat Flour to finish the ingredients.]
Directions:
1. Preheat oven to 350' This must be USA stove heat. Gabriel helped set the oven by
European standards.
2. Beat eggs in mixing bowl. Gaia and Carys each broke an egg into their small bowls and
whipped them up to perfection.
3. Add sugar, oil and vanilla.
4. In a separate bowl combine cinnamon, baking soda, salt and flour.
5. Slowly add the flour mixture into the wet ingredients until dough has formed. (We each stirred
by turn.)
6. Add chopped apples to dough (if you don't have a kitchen-aid mixer with a dough hook, then
it is best to mix in apples by hand as dough becomes very thick.) ( I can attest that's true.) (The
Girls took turns turning the apple peeler. I cut the apples into quarters and sliced the quarters into
thin slices, then the Girls each took a quarter and sliced then cross ways into other thin pieces.)
7. Pour into a lightly greased bundt cake pan and cook for 45 - 60 minutes. (We needed a bit
more than 65 minutes. And we used a large round glass baking dish.)
Recipe from the kitchen of Selma Horan
For our picnic lunch we shared a trapezoidal shaped park on a rather steep incline with folks at other tables. Saturday night the Girls had glazed the cake with white, yellow and blue icing. Carys put yellow in the middle for the Sun. Gaia drizzled blue around the sun for the sky. My contribution was white around the edges for the clouds. And the glaze was something of a flop, since I had never paid attention when Lilly was glazing her fabulous cinnamon rolls those years ago. So the glaze was rather granny.
After the meal of Cake and Watermelon, Lydia had a wonderful Bible Story on a blanket near the table. With puppets she told the account of Jesus in the home of Lazarus and his sisters, Mary and Martha. Luke's Gospel tells the story: Luke 10:39-42 ... " Mary ... was listening to the Lord's word, seated at His feet. 40 But Martha was distracted with all her preparation; and she came up to Him, and said, 'Lord, do You not care that my sister has left me to do all the serving alone? Then tell her to help me.' 41 But the Lord answered and said to her, 'Martha, Martha, you are worried and bothered about so many things 42 but only a few things are necessary, really only one, for Mary has chosen the good part, which shall not be taken away from her.'"
Having relaxed, eaten, enjoyed good fellowship, we loaded our lightened picnic basket and climbed back into the car for the short drive down the hills to the bar overlooking the Abby. There among the summer throng we found a table and had a toast with coffee on the porch. We admired the sight and beauty of bees working and the smell of lavender along the rail fence.
In a leisurely stroll we observed the ancient varieties of apple in the orchard behind the Abby, ambling downhill toward the front entrance. It is claimed that the Emperor Charlemagne ordered a Church built on the site in the year 773 a.d. Part of the old foundation dates from 1095. The current building was begun in the late 1200's a.d. and completed sometime in the 1300's a.d.
I don't know about all people, but the beauty I see each day gives me plenty of reason to praise and honor God, as Lord of All.
Gabriel drove us there in the last week of 2007. Joanna and I had flown to Europe, arriving in Frankfort, Germany on Christmas Day, then on to Torino where Lydia's family picked us up, my seventieth birthday. The next day or so we drove through those gorgeous hills and valleys. The destination was the Abby of Saint Mary of Vezzolano. There was no snow, but it was so cold. We walked from the parking area and toured the Abby. It is such a picturesque setting. It was a very long walk and I was so cold.
There was a warm looking bar a couple hundred yards or so up the road. We eventually walked there and had lunch. Yesterday when we parked by the bar and walked down the long sidewalk and road, it was still the same distance, but not nearly so far ... I am so much improved from those five years ago. I do give God praise, with some doctors and medical science.
Normally we would have driven down into Torino at the English Speaking Church of Torino for the Sunday service. But yesterday was their vacation day, so we went the other direction. Lydia had prepared a wonderful picnic lunch. Gaia and Carys had asked me to help them make an apple cake for their parents anniversary lunch - dinner / picnic. On Saturday the Girls started harping on the need for me to help them make this cake for their parents anniversary. They were determined!!! I had never made an apple cake before, but neither had they. So Carys, 5 years and Gaia, 7 year and I stepped in where "angles might fear to treed." Gabriel found the recipe on line. The cake is called:
Fall Sweet Treat: Apple Cake
Ingredients:
2 Eggs
2 Cups of Sugar
1 Cup of Canola Oil
2 Teaspoons of Vanilla
2 Teaspoons of Cinnamon
1 Teaspoon of Baking Soda
1/2 Teaspoon Salt
3 Cups Flour
3 Cups Chopped Apples
[ There were a few hitches, but we worked through them. We added some olive oil to
complete the cup of Canola Oil. We skipped the Vanilla, we were without. The Italian
Baking Soda is different than in the States, we doubled the amount. We used 2 Cups
Rice Flour, but didn't have enough Farro Flour for the third cup, so Gabriel brought out
enough Wheat Flour to finish the ingredients.]
Directions:
1. Preheat oven to 350' This must be USA stove heat. Gabriel helped set the oven by
European standards.
2. Beat eggs in mixing bowl. Gaia and Carys each broke an egg into their small bowls and
whipped them up to perfection.
3. Add sugar, oil and vanilla.
4. In a separate bowl combine cinnamon, baking soda, salt and flour.
5. Slowly add the flour mixture into the wet ingredients until dough has formed. (We each stirred
by turn.)
6. Add chopped apples to dough (if you don't have a kitchen-aid mixer with a dough hook, then
it is best to mix in apples by hand as dough becomes very thick.) ( I can attest that's true.) (The
Girls took turns turning the apple peeler. I cut the apples into quarters and sliced the quarters into
thin slices, then the Girls each took a quarter and sliced then cross ways into other thin pieces.)
7. Pour into a lightly greased bundt cake pan and cook for 45 - 60 minutes. (We needed a bit
more than 65 minutes. And we used a large round glass baking dish.)
Recipe from the kitchen of Selma Horan
For our picnic lunch we shared a trapezoidal shaped park on a rather steep incline with folks at other tables. Saturday night the Girls had glazed the cake with white, yellow and blue icing. Carys put yellow in the middle for the Sun. Gaia drizzled blue around the sun for the sky. My contribution was white around the edges for the clouds. And the glaze was something of a flop, since I had never paid attention when Lilly was glazing her fabulous cinnamon rolls those years ago. So the glaze was rather granny.
After the meal of Cake and Watermelon, Lydia had a wonderful Bible Story on a blanket near the table. With puppets she told the account of Jesus in the home of Lazarus and his sisters, Mary and Martha. Luke's Gospel tells the story: Luke 10:39-42 ... " Mary ... was listening to the Lord's word, seated at His feet. 40 But Martha was distracted with all her preparation; and she came up to Him, and said, 'Lord, do You not care that my sister has left me to do all the serving alone? Then tell her to help me.' 41 But the Lord answered and said to her, 'Martha, Martha, you are worried and bothered about so many things 42 but only a few things are necessary, really only one, for Mary has chosen the good part, which shall not be taken away from her.'"
Having relaxed, eaten, enjoyed good fellowship, we loaded our lightened picnic basket and climbed back into the car for the short drive down the hills to the bar overlooking the Abby. There among the summer throng we found a table and had a toast with coffee on the porch. We admired the sight and beauty of bees working and the smell of lavender along the rail fence.
In a leisurely stroll we observed the ancient varieties of apple in the orchard behind the Abby, ambling downhill toward the front entrance. It is claimed that the Emperor Charlemagne ordered a Church built on the site in the year 773 a.d. Part of the old foundation dates from 1095. The current building was begun in the late 1200's a.d. and completed sometime in the 1300's a.d.
I don't know about all people, but the beauty I see each day gives me plenty of reason to praise and honor God, as Lord of All.
MADAM, THE MAYOR INVITES US TO SUPPER
Above the Village, Inside the Walls, A-Top the Hill
Gabriel with the girls, Gaia and Carys, received their Italian citizenship some months ago. Wednesday, August 7, 2013 Lydia's paperwork had finally made the trip from Rome to Torino. She and they are all four bonified citizens of Italy. His for Argentina and Italy, her the USA and Italy. After the swearing in ceremony, we had the little cakes and coffee I wrote about. Before we left City Hall, the Mayor invited the Girls, with the adults, to come Thursday evening to their house for a swim in their indoor pool.
We drove the somewhat circular streets up the hill behind Lydia's apartment. Up the incline beside the high wall, ...finally Gabriel called, "Which house?" We were on the correct street and the Mayor had come out to wave us in to the proper gate. First we met her husband, Umberto, a paint manufacturer. The buildings of their house are very old. They bought them ten years ago. The rundown condition required five years of repairs. Now it is in a beautiful state and they have lived there these last five years.
After a tour of the property, we went to the bath house, indoor and underground, with a ceiling of bricks. There was, of course, a bath room for changing, a shower room for getting wet, the pool for swimming and finally the hot, jacuzzi tub relaxation. I wondered if this might be something like one would have experienced in the "baths" of ancient Rome?
We had exited the house through the family dining and living area. It seemed to be something we might call a breezeway. But there were no screens, only glass doors and windows. We entered a beautifully landscaped back yard. There were wide borders filled with a variety of scrubs and flowering plants around the plots of lawn. Straight out the dining doors one looked across the lawn to a pond of Koi fish with fascinating decor. Behind the pond rose a crescent brick wall with stairs on either side, leading to a trysting place of lawn and shade above the lower yard.
Back on the main lawn level, to either side of the pond, but a distance away so a sidewalk could cross to the stairs, were two olive trees. They were imported from Spain four years ago. The one on the right is 700 years old. The one on the left is 1,000 years old. They appear in very good condition. After settling into their new environment, this year they are producing a few olives. They are expected to come to full production in the next few years.
Out the dining door we took the path to the right beside the 700 year old olive tree. As the sidewalk left the yard, the bath house was on our left and a brick wall on the right overlooking another 20 by 30 foot courtyard, facing the street with it's iron gate closed and locked. The small, three story house to the right is the oldest existing building. It was built in 400 a.d.
After the swim, we returned to the dining room for supper. The Mayor served what I think would be six courses: first was a plate of prosciutto as well as another pork sausage, second was a plate of pealed and sliced tomato with balls of mozzarella cheese, third was an offering of chopped raw beef, not bad, I have to say with plenty of salt and black pepper, forth came a platter of rolled and sliced pork, fifth was the dessert, peach pie, good and different than we've known, then finally a round of small coffees.
The surroundings were beautiful, the conversation was very good, the food so delicious, the older couple so hospitable and interestingly knowledgeable of their world. To top it off, a great thunder storm came and poured rain. The rain came through the joints of the windows where the glass meets wood. It came through the joints where wood meets wood. Where it should have been putted, the rain came in. It was very strange to sit at the table, then stand by the window watching water pouring through places that should have been tight against leaking. The Mayor brought table cloths, bedding and other absorbent fabrics to gather up water running across her ceramic tile floors.
There are three Churches on the hill next to the house and other houses. The Churches are two side by side and one across the street. One was built in the 1300's and belongs to the Villa Family, the first rulers of the village. The next was erected in 1640 through the early 1700's. The newest was built in the 1800's. As I have mentioned before, their bells keep ringing out the time of the day or night, the Ave Maria at three, five and seven, when the faithful die and when the new are born.
Through the entire evening, it was not the thunder and lightening or the pouring rain, it was not the interruption of changing bells, it was the introduction of new foods from old cuisines, the sound of very old dialects spoken as music to uncomprehending ears, the joy of laughter between old men and children, the joy of spoken words having meaning in two or three languages all at the same meal. That was a night to remember.
Gabriel with the girls, Gaia and Carys, received their Italian citizenship some months ago. Wednesday, August 7, 2013 Lydia's paperwork had finally made the trip from Rome to Torino. She and they are all four bonified citizens of Italy. His for Argentina and Italy, her the USA and Italy. After the swearing in ceremony, we had the little cakes and coffee I wrote about. Before we left City Hall, the Mayor invited the Girls, with the adults, to come Thursday evening to their house for a swim in their indoor pool.
We drove the somewhat circular streets up the hill behind Lydia's apartment. Up the incline beside the high wall, ...finally Gabriel called, "Which house?" We were on the correct street and the Mayor had come out to wave us in to the proper gate. First we met her husband, Umberto, a paint manufacturer. The buildings of their house are very old. They bought them ten years ago. The rundown condition required five years of repairs. Now it is in a beautiful state and they have lived there these last five years.
After a tour of the property, we went to the bath house, indoor and underground, with a ceiling of bricks. There was, of course, a bath room for changing, a shower room for getting wet, the pool for swimming and finally the hot, jacuzzi tub relaxation. I wondered if this might be something like one would have experienced in the "baths" of ancient Rome?
We had exited the house through the family dining and living area. It seemed to be something we might call a breezeway. But there were no screens, only glass doors and windows. We entered a beautifully landscaped back yard. There were wide borders filled with a variety of scrubs and flowering plants around the plots of lawn. Straight out the dining doors one looked across the lawn to a pond of Koi fish with fascinating decor. Behind the pond rose a crescent brick wall with stairs on either side, leading to a trysting place of lawn and shade above the lower yard.
Back on the main lawn level, to either side of the pond, but a distance away so a sidewalk could cross to the stairs, were two olive trees. They were imported from Spain four years ago. The one on the right is 700 years old. The one on the left is 1,000 years old. They appear in very good condition. After settling into their new environment, this year they are producing a few olives. They are expected to come to full production in the next few years.
Out the dining door we took the path to the right beside the 700 year old olive tree. As the sidewalk left the yard, the bath house was on our left and a brick wall on the right overlooking another 20 by 30 foot courtyard, facing the street with it's iron gate closed and locked. The small, three story house to the right is the oldest existing building. It was built in 400 a.d.
After the swim, we returned to the dining room for supper. The Mayor served what I think would be six courses: first was a plate of prosciutto as well as another pork sausage, second was a plate of pealed and sliced tomato with balls of mozzarella cheese, third was an offering of chopped raw beef, not bad, I have to say with plenty of salt and black pepper, forth came a platter of rolled and sliced pork, fifth was the dessert, peach pie, good and different than we've known, then finally a round of small coffees.
The surroundings were beautiful, the conversation was very good, the food so delicious, the older couple so hospitable and interestingly knowledgeable of their world. To top it off, a great thunder storm came and poured rain. The rain came through the joints of the windows where the glass meets wood. It came through the joints where wood meets wood. Where it should have been putted, the rain came in. It was very strange to sit at the table, then stand by the window watching water pouring through places that should have been tight against leaking. The Mayor brought table cloths, bedding and other absorbent fabrics to gather up water running across her ceramic tile floors.
There are three Churches on the hill next to the house and other houses. The Churches are two side by side and one across the street. One was built in the 1300's and belongs to the Villa Family, the first rulers of the village. The next was erected in 1640 through the early 1700's. The newest was built in the 1800's. As I have mentioned before, their bells keep ringing out the time of the day or night, the Ave Maria at three, five and seven, when the faithful die and when the new are born.
Through the entire evening, it was not the thunder and lightening or the pouring rain, it was not the interruption of changing bells, it was the introduction of new foods from old cuisines, the sound of very old dialects spoken as music to uncomprehending ears, the joy of laughter between old men and children, the joy of spoken words having meaning in two or three languages all at the same meal. That was a night to remember.
Wednesday, August 7, 2013
NOW WE ARE ITALIAN: WELL, NOT ALL
It's Strange How the Bureaucracy Works
In the summer of 1996, Lydia came to Austria to "perfect her voice", as they say. Two weeks before she left the States, she received a contract to sing in an opera in Germany, following the weeks in Salzburg. After the Opera, in October she auditioned with Maestro Battaglia for voice lessons in Italy. Those began early in November. She came home for Christmas. Early in 1997 she was back to lessons in Torino.
After two years, Gabriel came to study with Maestro Battaglia, also. In August 2001, they were married in our little country Church at North Grove, in northern Illinois. It was a beautiful setting and a beautiful day. The building was full to the back wall with overflow chairs. Gabriel's parents, his brother, Willie, and their Aunt Chloe had come from Argentina. I gave the service in English, my brother Paul, missionary to Honduras, gave the service in Spanish.
After the groom kissed his bride, the wedding party went around the aisles of the Church to the tune of "When the Saints Go Marching In." The reception line formed on the front porch of the Church where the guest greeted the wedding party and continued on to the sit-down meal in the beautiful white tent provided by the Congregation, in the Church yard.
The young couple soon returned to Italy where Lydia had an apartment in the Center of Torino. After a couple years they began hunting a more roomy abode. The one they settled on was in the village, eighteen or twenty miles out of the city. Theirs is the end apartment next to the alley-sized one way street, in an old brick building put up in the 1500's. It might be three hundred feet long, three stories high and probably holds 8 to 12 apparments. It has something of a curve in it's length as it snugs against a low hill at the back. An ally / street behind is supported by a 20 or 25 foot retaining wall. There are two or three of those retainer walls with houses and streets ascending to the top of the hill where 3 or 4 very old Churches, built during the 1300's, stand side by side, ringing their loud bells every hour and every half hour day and night, month after month, year after year.
The Village was incorporated in the year 999 a.d. People had already been living on these hill for a long, long time before 999 a.d. I was here once in 2010, when the owner of the clothing store told me he was on the village board and the year before, 2009, they had a great celebration of the 1,000th Birthday of their village.
Because there are limitations in living in only one country of Europe, because most of Lydia's work in in Germany, because it might be better to move to the country where one works and many other "becauses", and because both Argentina and the USA will allow dual citizenship with Italy, it just seemed reasonable for them to seek that avenue. After eighteen months of waiting for paper work to be processed, finally they were notified the time was drawing nearer. Then word came that Rome was sending the proper papers to Torino. After trips of eighteen or so miles each way, the papers were ready to be sent to the City Hall, so the swearing in could take place,
The great day came. The family joyfully ascended the stairs to the court of Madame, the Mayor. Oops! The papers had been separated from those of her family. Not to worry. Swear in Gaby and the Girls and wait for Rome to send Lydia's. After the ceremony, to the surprise of the Mayor and her staff, Lydia brought out her offering of beautiful and flavorful cupcakes. Afterward the party retired to the coffee bar across the street.
Weeks have passed and now, yesterday we all went down town to the Passport office to collect Carys, Gaia and Gabriel's Passports. Today we attended Lydia as she went to the Village Hall and was sworn-in as a citizen of Italy by Madame, the Mayor. Gabriel phoned across the street and ordered coffees, Lydia had bought beautiful little cookies.
Lydia and the Mayor stood at the head of the court room, we all stood watching and listening, while Madame the Mayor very rapidly read the 2 or 3 or 4 very long pages, just to announce that the Family now truly have an Italian branch.
It has been an exciting and beautiful day. Mom would have been proud.
In the summer of 1996, Lydia came to Austria to "perfect her voice", as they say. Two weeks before she left the States, she received a contract to sing in an opera in Germany, following the weeks in Salzburg. After the Opera, in October she auditioned with Maestro Battaglia for voice lessons in Italy. Those began early in November. She came home for Christmas. Early in 1997 she was back to lessons in Torino.
After two years, Gabriel came to study with Maestro Battaglia, also. In August 2001, they were married in our little country Church at North Grove, in northern Illinois. It was a beautiful setting and a beautiful day. The building was full to the back wall with overflow chairs. Gabriel's parents, his brother, Willie, and their Aunt Chloe had come from Argentina. I gave the service in English, my brother Paul, missionary to Honduras, gave the service in Spanish.
After the groom kissed his bride, the wedding party went around the aisles of the Church to the tune of "When the Saints Go Marching In." The reception line formed on the front porch of the Church where the guest greeted the wedding party and continued on to the sit-down meal in the beautiful white tent provided by the Congregation, in the Church yard.
The young couple soon returned to Italy where Lydia had an apartment in the Center of Torino. After a couple years they began hunting a more roomy abode. The one they settled on was in the village, eighteen or twenty miles out of the city. Theirs is the end apartment next to the alley-sized one way street, in an old brick building put up in the 1500's. It might be three hundred feet long, three stories high and probably holds 8 to 12 apparments. It has something of a curve in it's length as it snugs against a low hill at the back. An ally / street behind is supported by a 20 or 25 foot retaining wall. There are two or three of those retainer walls with houses and streets ascending to the top of the hill where 3 or 4 very old Churches, built during the 1300's, stand side by side, ringing their loud bells every hour and every half hour day and night, month after month, year after year.
The Village was incorporated in the year 999 a.d. People had already been living on these hill for a long, long time before 999 a.d. I was here once in 2010, when the owner of the clothing store told me he was on the village board and the year before, 2009, they had a great celebration of the 1,000th Birthday of their village.
Because there are limitations in living in only one country of Europe, because most of Lydia's work in in Germany, because it might be better to move to the country where one works and many other "becauses", and because both Argentina and the USA will allow dual citizenship with Italy, it just seemed reasonable for them to seek that avenue. After eighteen months of waiting for paper work to be processed, finally they were notified the time was drawing nearer. Then word came that Rome was sending the proper papers to Torino. After trips of eighteen or so miles each way, the papers were ready to be sent to the City Hall, so the swearing in could take place,
The great day came. The family joyfully ascended the stairs to the court of Madame, the Mayor. Oops! The papers had been separated from those of her family. Not to worry. Swear in Gaby and the Girls and wait for Rome to send Lydia's. After the ceremony, to the surprise of the Mayor and her staff, Lydia brought out her offering of beautiful and flavorful cupcakes. Afterward the party retired to the coffee bar across the street.
Weeks have passed and now, yesterday we all went down town to the Passport office to collect Carys, Gaia and Gabriel's Passports. Today we attended Lydia as she went to the Village Hall and was sworn-in as a citizen of Italy by Madame, the Mayor. Gabriel phoned across the street and ordered coffees, Lydia had bought beautiful little cookies.
Lydia and the Mayor stood at the head of the court room, we all stood watching and listening, while Madame the Mayor very rapidly read the 2 or 3 or 4 very long pages, just to announce that the Family now truly have an Italian branch.
It has been an exciting and beautiful day. Mom would have been proud.
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