NEWS FROM THE HILLS
It seems that our hills have plunged headlong into summer weather, with sweltering days of hot sunshine. June is a welcome month, with her own unique fragrance. It is compounded of the scent of roses, and sweet clover drying in the sun. It is the perfume of summer.
It is a blooming time of year, with the gauzy white ash blossoms like so many lacy handkerchiefs hung out to dry. Their scent lingers in the air, elusive and alluring. The calico bush is in full bloom, and cucumber trees lift their white candles aloft.
Farmers are hurrying to get their hay cut, dried, and baled. With the modern tractors that we have now, it is a much simpler task than in day gone by. We pitched the hay around a stack pole, and tromped it down until we had a tall haystack. An even harder task was pitching it into the barn loft where it was stored for winter.
Daddy would admonish us not to play in the hay, as the cows were reluctant to eat it after we had trampled around in it. I’m sure he knew we would anyway—it was too tempting. Playing in the sweet-smelling hay was one of the joys of childhood in the country.
As the farmers toil in the hay fields, the country housewife finishes spring cleaning, an annual spring ritual that our grandmothers did, and is still carried on today by many. We must never forget the Murphy’s Law of housecleaning.
It never fails—just clean your kitchen range from top to bottom, including the oven. An uncontrollable urge to bake a fruit pie overcomes you. Whether it be berry, apple or cherry, you can be sure that it will spill over in your nice clean oven and send up black clouds of smoke from the burned on crust. It’s that inflexible Murphy’s Law.
It’s the same way with the refrigerator. You can spend a whole morning cleaning it out, dumping the accumulated containers of leftover food—and that is another phase of Murphy’s Housecleaning Law. Why can’t we throw away the dibs and dabs of food that remains after a meal is eaten?
No, we have to scrape the cupful of macaroni and cheese into a plastic container, wrap the last slice of meatloaf in a neat foil package, and seal the last tidbit of green beans in a little bowl. It is only when the meatloaf grows a beard, and the green beans are covered with blue mold that we have the nerve to get rid of it. Why didn’t we toss it in the beginning? It’s that Murphy’s Law, that’s why.
There is such pride when the refrigerator is defrosted, cleaned completely and sparkling. Now is the time to spill a pitcher of Kool-Aid down through its gleaming interior. A quart of tomato juice works just as well, and a can of evaporated milk works even better. Murphy’s Law of housecleaning has just kicked in.
Did you ever wonder why a freshly mopped and waxed kitchen floor immediately attracts children (grandchildren and great-grands too) who come galloping through the house, and across the wet floor with globs of mud falling from their shoes? My husband can be in the next county, and as sure as I mop the kitchen floor; he is suddenly there, tracking across the floor before it dries. I hate that wretched Murphy’s Law!
I’ll never forget that Easter Sunday when my sister-in-law Alice and her three little ones stopped on their way to church to show us their new Easter outfits. The twins, Sheila and Leila were adorable in their frilly dresses, natural curls, and Mary Jane shoes. Douglas, who was 15 months younger, looked like a little man in a three-piece suit, white shirt, and snappy hat with a feather in the brim.
While they were wandering around in the yard, posing for snapshots and generally being admired, Doug managed to fall into the ditch that was freely flowing with springtime mud. It wasn’t his fault—Murphy’s Law pulled him in.
Seriously, we need to be thankful for the blessings God has given us. We have kitchen appliances to clean, while multitudes of people in other countries (and even in ours, where tornados and floods have devastated homes and possessions) have nothing. Our little ones are a blessing, even when we have to scrape mud off them.
We just have to grin and bear it—Murphy has moved in to stay.
In answer to a request, Betty from Bridgeport sends a remedy for plantar warts, that extremely painful condition that she suffered as a teacher. It is simply using banana peels, taping the squishy side directly on the wart. It has been sanctioned by some WVU doctors and she states that it really works.
Many, many thanks to all those dear readers who respond to these requests. We had one new request this week. Wilma Crowley is looking for the words to the song, “Gonna Find Me a Bluebird.” I’m sure someone remembers it.
> Read More Information About Us
> More Articles Written By Our Staff
- Shamrock Search Leads To Adventures In Waynedale - March 29, 2024
- Take A Journey Back To The Hundred Acre Wood - March 29, 2024
- Recognizing Green Book Sites In Indiana - March 29, 2024