Original Leisure & Entertainment

Happy Mother’s Day!

A couple of months ago I received an E-mail from Liza Hazzard who attends Our Shepherd Lutheran Church in Avon, Indiana with my mother. My mother enjoys sharing my Around the Frame column with fellow parishioners and Liza asked . . . 

All bridge players are invited to attend the Fort Wayne Duplicate Bridge Club’s “Longest Day” event on June 19 to help support the Alzheimer’s Association of Greater Indiana. The day will begin with a light breakfast (8:30 AM) and rubber bridge . . . 

Travis Firestine, a 2018 Wayne H.S. graduate, son of Cindy & Mike Firestine and grandson of Dean & Marvel Embrey, all from the Waynedale area just came back from a solo month trip to Europe. His trip started in Dublin, Ireland where he visited . . . 

My roommate, David, was dating a girl named Annie. She was beautiful, with blonde hair that hung down past her shoulders, and she had big blue eyes. But what made her especially beautiful was her kindness. David would invite her to join us in games . . . 

Over 400 quilt enthusiasts enjoyed the Quilt Fair at the Huber Opera House in Hicksville, Ohio. It was heartening to hear people tell me how they read about it in the Waynedale News!

The attendees, who mostly hailed from Indiana and Ohio, voted for . . . 

We awoke to snow covering our home in the hills, but the sun comes out sporadically and tries in earnest to melt it. There are bare spots showing now, but the air is still quite cold. The songbirds still flock to the bird feeder, with lots of bright . . . 

The sun is trying valiantly to peek out this morning, after several days of rain. This month has behaved in true February fashion, with soggy ground and plenty of rain. The yard looks bare and forlorn; with all the snow gone, winter’s debris can . . . 

You may remember my August 3, 2018 article about Quilters Hall of Fame inductee Xenia Cord and her Beanie Baby bashing quilt she made for a friend. Xenia is a woman of many talents including quilter, educator, researcher and writer. During a walk-through . . . 

Most of us know our Nation observes the birthdays of Presidents George Washington (Feb. 22) and Abraham Lincoln (Feb. 12) this month on President’s Day (Feb. 20).

Some folks commemorate Groundhog Day (Feb. 2) and Flag Day (Feb. 24). We’re also familiar . . . 

Winter hit our hills with a vicious blow this past weekend, after we were used to the mild, although rainy, days of the past few months. It began with the snow and ice that covered our hills and highways, and then the temperature dropped lower and . . . 

Happy New Year dear Waynedale Readers! By the time you read this, Meteorological Winter is half over. Winter weather hasn’t been too bad and the time keeps flying by.

I guess it is part and parcel of a new year that we think of time, the one thing . . . 

One of my favorite songs is “Toyland.” Even well past the Christmas season, I find myself humming its melody from time to time. Actually, “Toyland” is not really a Christmas carol at all, but it obviously is played throughout the holiday season . . . 

A heavy frost covered the ground this morning, sparkling in the approaching sunlight that is beginning to bathe our hills. I am reminded of Mom’s remarking on a frost such as this, “It looks like a young snow!” Our days have been unusually mild . . . 

It was the first weekend of December 2010 that I met Therese “Terry” Mihlbauer at the Unitarian Universalist Church Craft Show. Terry walked up to my booth and upon learning I restore quilts told me about a special family quilt she would like to . . . 

Well, obviously I do want to talk about it, or I wouldn’t be writing this article. But I’m just going to tell it once here and then I don’t want to discuss it any further.

As you may know, if you read the article I wrote last month, we moved – again! And in the midst of the myriad of stuff we came across a decorative board we thought would make an excellent fireplace mantel. It served as a shelf in our previous home. Once it may have been a headboard, a piece off of a cabinet or hutch; who knows. Marty got it at an auction.

Its length was perfect but it was a little too wide. So, I dutifully set up my sawhorses, got out my saber saw and fixed a wood blade in it, secured my protective goggles, found the masking tape and made ready to begin sawing the back end of the board where there appeared to be a hairline crack running the length of the wood.

Then she came out into the garage. Marty, that is, and said, “You’re going to put masking tape along where you’re cutting aren’t you so the wood doesn’t splinter?” I answered, “Of course, I was just getting ready to do that!” Then Marty said, “Wait a minute. I’ll bet you could just do a couple of taps with a hammer on the back end of the board where it’s already split and that piece would come right off. I think it’s just glued on.”

“Oh no, that won’t work,” I said. “Hitting it with a hammer would just cause it to splinter. I’m just going to begin slowly sawing …”

Wham! Marty hit the back end of the board with a hammer and … Splat! The back of the board fell off cleanly onto the garage floor.

After her laughter subsided somewhat I opened the door into the house and politely asked her to leave. But, I could still hear her cackling and chortling inside for several more minutes. Most of the morning, in fact.

I pride myself on being a good reader and speaker. I read for the sight impaired with the Allen County Public Library’s audio reading service, I serve as an announcer at concerts for the Fort Wayne Area Community Band and I proclaim Scripture readings at St. Therese Church. On one occasion many years ago, I was reading the prayer petitions in church and sternly said, “Let us pray for Pen-a-lope Martin who is in the hospital.”

When I returned to the pew and sat down next to Marty, she asked, “Let me see those petitions.” Then she whispered, “That’s Pe-nel-o-pe, not Pen-a-lope!” The snickering began, but since we were in church, she had to stifle it until Mass was over and we were outside.

I argued that the muskmelon variety is pronounced “can-ta-loupe” so it was only natural for me to say Pen-a-lope, but to no avail. Like I said, I don’t want to talk about it!

Finally, just so you know, it happens to other people, too. I worked with a colleague who didn’t get along with our boss very well. They met in the restroom on a Tuesday morning years ago after ABC first began televising Monday Night Football. There were three renowned broadcasters, now all deceased, serving for years on those telecasts: American Sports Journalist, Author and Broadcaster Howard Cosell, widely known for his blustery, often-pompous personality; laid-back Joseph “Dandy Don” Meredith, a former Dallas Cowboys quarterback, sports commentator and actor; and Frank Gifford, a past halfback and flanker for the New York Giants who served as the play-by-play announcer and commentator. But the boss couldn’t quite remember Gifford’s name and said to my work associate, “Wha-cha-think of that broadcasting team last night, especially Charlie Gifford. My colleague countered with “Who?” The boss then exclaimed, “What? You don’t know who Charlie Gifford is! Big sports enthusiast like you who follows all the games. Surely you should know who he is. He played for the Giants and is married to television personality Kathie Lee Gifford.”

“Oh, you mean Frank Gifford,” my colleague rejoined.

“I guess it is Frank,” mumbled the boss as he hurriedly left the restroom, tossing a paper towel toward the wastebasket but missing the mark.

Recently I was traveling along a dusty road when I stopped at a place in the middle of nowhere. The road from our high school in St. Anthony to the one in Salmon where we often competed, ran through a long, barren stretch of road. The trip on a school bus was about three hours and seemed to go forever. There was lots of sagebrush with a few mountains to add interest.

About halfway between the two schools was a small town. It was small even by Idaho standards. In fact, it was so small that it consisted of only one house and a café. But as small as it was, it was on the map. Blue Dome, it was called.

Probably the reason it was on the map was because there wasn’t anything else for miles around. It was a lone outpost in an area with interesting trails leading up into mountains with intriguing names like Diamond Peak, Copper Mountain, and Skull Canyon. But I found my greatest interest in the lives of the old couple that ran the café.

I was a young teenager when I first met them. I was traveling on my first athletic trip. We had a long day of wrestling, then headed home at around 9:00 at night. It was late when we made it to Blue Dome, but the open sign still showed, so our bus pulled to a stop. As the team members spilled out of the bus and into the café, I looked at the hours that were posted and realized the café was just ready to close. But after we entered, the little old couple worked hard cooking and serving as if they planned to stay open all night.

I didn’t have much money, so I sat on a stool at the counter apart from the others and ordered a water.

“Nothing else?” the old man asked.

“I don’t have a lot of money,” I said.

After everyone else was served, he came back over and asked if there was anything else he could do for me.

“Well,” I slowly said, “there is one thing. I’d love to know your story and the story of this place.”

He smiled. “I sometimes get that request from adults, but I think you’re the first young person who has ever asked.”

My memory has faded over the years, but I think I remember that his name was John. He told me how he met his wife and how they settled in this out-of-the-way place. He talked about his family and about running the café. When my teammates needed something, John would slip away to serve or to help his wife and then return and continue his stories.

Once everyone else was heading to the bus, I put the little bit of money I had on the counter.

“Water’s free,” John said.

“Then take that as a tip for the stories,” I said. “I would come here just for them.”

John smiled and brought his wife over and introduced her to me. She looked as old as John, but to see their eyes sparkle when they looked at each other was more beautiful than any young love.

All the others were on the bus when Coach came in and called me to hurry. I joined the others, and they teased me about my “old friends.” But on the way home, I thought about the wonderful couple I had met.

After that, every sports bus I traveled in on that long road stopped at Blue Dome, and I spent my time visiting with John. On the last one, as everyone hurried out, John stopped me before I left.

“Have you signed our wall?” he asked.

I looked at where he was pointing and saw a wall with hundreds of names. I shook my head.

He handed me a marker. “You better sign it.”

The team impatiently waited while I signed the wall. And I received the usual teasing, but I didn’t care. I liked my old friends. But it was only about a week later when I read the bad news in the paper. The café had burned down and John had died in the fire.

And now, though it has been a long time, sometimes when I travel that road I will stop at Blue Dome. There is nothing left to see but a crumbling old cabin and the café foundation. But there are lots of memories, and I like to take the time to stop and remember an old friend.

The whippoorwills are gone now, flown away to warmer climates. The summer sun is gone too, although it stayed here longer than usual. The frogs and crickets still sound their lonely cries, intermingled with the last of the katydid’s dirge. Summer is over.

There is more than a whisper of rain in the air this morning, just as there has been for quite a few days now. The clouds are blotting out the sun that is trying to shine, and a restless breeze ruffles the treetops. A few yellow leaves are scattered on the ground, while most of our trees remain green. The frost will come.

It’s time to gather the wild peppermint. The last time that the lawn was mowed, the aromatic, minty fragrance of wild peppermint drifted up behind the mower, along with the clean, herbal odor of ground ivy. Ground ivy can be a nuisance, as it practically wiped out our last bed of strawberries. It does make a tea that can be used for a variety of things, including a common cold. I like peppermint tea better.

A person can gather masses of peppermint, spread it out on newspapers to dry, and then store it in plastic zip-lock bags. A teaspoonful of this dried mint can be brewed like any “bought” tea, and it can be brewed fresh. It takes about a cupful of the crushed fresh mint to a pint of boiling water. Steep no longer than three minutes, as prolonged brewing destroys the essence of the oil.

By accident, I found the best method for making peppermint tea. I gathered a pint or more of fresh peppermint, and crushed it thoroughly. Then I placed it in a quart jar, covered it with cold water, and put it in the refrigerator. I forgot all about it for two or three days, and when I heated a cup and tried it out, it had a strong, robust flavor that was superior to any mint tea I have ever drunk.

A cup of this brew at bedtime will relax you and induce a good night of rest. It is very good for a nervous, upset stomach, as it is one of the ingredients used in most stomach medicines. I drink it because it is just plain delicious, just as I favor sassafras tea. No commercial preparations can equal the wonderful flavor, fragrance and goodness of fresh peppermint. In referring to ground ivy, it is almost one of the first tiny flowers that we find blooming in the spring. (Except for the tiny, yellow flowers of the coltsfoot, which is earlier.)

Peeping up through the grass in the lawn, wee purple flowers are found blooming on the tips of a low, growing vine with small, rounded eaves. This plant has many names. I have heard it called “ground ivory” but I like best “gill-over-the-ground.” It is a relative of catnip (which we always used for a baby’s colic) and highly regarded as a medicinal herb. It is high in ascorbic acid, but not nearly as high as wild strawberry leaves or violet leaves, and must be used fresh.

This should be no problem as the vine grows prolifically around most every lawn, and in most damp, shady places from early spring until up in the winter. My mother-in-law used it for cough medicine, along with honey, black oak bark, and other herbs. I have made cough drops from coltsfoot, which was quite effective. Yellow root, or goldenseal, is still used by country folks, and is one of the best sore throat remedies available.

Growing up in an area where doctors were scarce, we learned to rely early on home remedies and treatments. One of the injuries that we contended with all summer was stone bruises. You never hear of such a thing nowadays, as children wear shoes, when we always went barefoot all summer.

Somehow it was meant to be: I invite a nice woman I meet outside Born Again Quilts to come take a gander inside and not only make a new friend but have a great quilt story to share.

This is how I met Marianne Darr Norman, a quilter, a lover of quilt history, and most importantly the keeper of many of her family’s quilts. Marianne expressed to me a dilemma she has regarding one of her most precious quilts: A 1933 Chicago World’s Fair Century of Progress Sears & Roebuck quilt competition entry. You may recall a few months ago, I featured a purple/green/orange Century of Progress pieced quilt in the Waynedale News. Marianne’s great-grandmother’s and Great Aunt’s quilt features a hand appliqued rendition of the Sears Building as its centerpiece and wonderful hand quilting. The quilt was most likely made from a kit as other very similar designs with similar fabric were. One is featured in Barbara Brackman and MeriKay Waldvogel’s book Patchwork Souvenirs of the 1933 World’s Fair.

Marianne’s great-grandmother Cathryn Elizabeth Wolford was born June 13, 1864 in Wayne Township of Kosciusko County, Indiana to William Daniel Wolford and Mary Elizabeth Hiner. She married Eugene Burns Cowic 11 Aug 1881 in Kosciusko County and they had six children with only two of them living to adulthood: Mary Cecile Cowic born 9 Sept. 1890 and Marianne’s grandmother Golda Belle Cowic, born 29 April 1897. When Cathryn’s husband Eugene died in December of 1930, she moved to Warsaw, Indiana. She and daughter Cecile now married to Raymond Samuel Finton and living in Laporte, Indiana decided to enter the quilt competition with no expectation of winning the $1000 first prize ($18,818.63 in 2018 dollars) but aimed for one of the regional $200 ($3763.73 in 2018 dollars) prizes. The mother-daughter pair now living 65 miles apart, Marianne theorizes, must have worked on it and many other quilts when Cecile and her husband came to visit.

The quilt was entered in the contest and it did not win a prize contrary to family folklore. With over 25,000 entries the odds were certainly stacked against them. The Great Depression was underway and winning any amount of money would have been a Godsend to the quilters who entered it with dreams of being the big winner. Life goes on and Cathryn passed away in 1946 and Cecile died in 1952. Her sister, Golda, now living in Baltimore, Ohio to be closer to her daughter, Willodeane Darr Luce, becomes the keeper of the family quilts until her death in 1979. In 1995 Marianne is contacted by her cousins, David and Karen Luse, to see if she wanted any family items because their mother Willodeane was in a nursing home. According to Marianne they handed her a stack of quilts and said, “One of the quilts won a prize in the World’s Fair competition; we think you should have these.” She never looked at the quilts until she returned home. She treasures them all but especially the World’s Fair one even though she highly suspects it was not a prize winner.

When I met Marianne she was mulling over the quilt’s future. She knew it had a place in history and she had the genealogy of the women who created it. I suggested she contact the Fort Wayne Museum of Art and send them photos. The museum did not have a quilt from the contest in its collection and upon review, agreed to acquire it. Marianne is thrilled that it is in good hands and thousands of art lovers will be able to view it and learn of its context to the Chicago World’s Fair and Great Depression.

To learn more about the Sears Quilt Contest and the scandals surrounding it go to: www.quilts.com/quiltscout/the-quilt-scout-scandal!-the-century-of-progress-quilt-contest.html

Autumn entered our hills with wet feet, and it has been mostly damp ever since. Our hills are not the colorful scene as usual, since there has been no frost or freezing weather. We still can look forward to bright autumn weather, which is yet to come. The summer season is now gone, with gardens being mowed off, and turnips planted.

Turnips remind me of the late Roy Bullard, whose house was situated right across from the Hagar Grade School. He always planted a crop of turnips in the fall, and when they got big enough to eat, he would invite the schoolchildren to help themselves. Each recess and noon hour, one could witness a flock of children chomping on a turnip. I am sure these were much healthier than the snacks that children eat today.

We would gather them until the ground froze and the turnips would freeze. I can remember how good and crunchy these turnips were as we ate them raw. I am still fond of turnips, cooked with a little bacon grease. I also need a turnip or two for my vegetable soup. My dear husband has no luck with raising turnips—I think he has finally given it up! One year he had a lovely crop of turnips come up, with green flourishing leaves. In came a rain shower, and the next morning, his crop of turnips had all wilted over.

As the weather cools, we get in the mood for baking, or at least I do. Since pawpaw’s are in season, I found a recipe given to me years ago by my sister Mary Ellen. It is for pawpaw cake, and more than the recipe, she brought us the cake she had baked. It was absolutely scrumptious!

PAWPAW CAKE
Mix together in a large bowl three cups of flour, two cups of sugar, one teaspoon soda, one teaspoon salt, one teaspoon cinnamon, and one cup chopped nuts (pecans or walnuts.) In a medium bowl beat three eggs, one and half cups of oil, one and half teaspoons vanilla, two cups mashed pawpaws, and one eight ounce can of crushed pineapple. Pour this over the flour mixture and mix well, but do not beat. Pour into a greased and floured 13X9 inch cake pan and bake at 325 degrees for 35-40 minutes.

Frost with cream cheese frosting. Soften one 8 ounce package of cream cheese and ½ cup butter or margarine at room temperature. Cream together with one pound confectioner’s sugar and one teaspoon vanilla. Sprinkle with one cup chopped pecans and store in refrigerator until ready to serve. Be sure and cool cake completely before frosting. Mary Ellen used pecans in this cake, but she said our native black walnuts would be delicious in it.

Schoolchildren generally like pawpaws. This banana-tasting fruit hangs in the trees at this time of year, free for the taking. After the green turns black, they are ready to eat. Patty remembers a little boy in grade school (many years ago) who brought them every day for a snack. The only problem was, he carried them in his pocket. Have you ever seen a ripe pawpaw after it has been carried in a little boy’s pocket all day? That reminds me of my dad. He went to Hagar School when he was a kid, and he told me all he had to take for lunch was a baked sweet potato that he carried in his pocket. Needless to say, his schooling didn’t last long. However, he was self-educated and very well read.

Gardens carry a rag-tag, end-of-summer air, and is almost gone. Only a few scraggly tomatoes and sweet peppers turning red remain. If you search through the dry, rustling cornstalks, you may find fat, yellow ground cherries growing close to the ground. I have a recipe here somewhere for a pie made from these juicy little globules, but I love to pop these little fellows between my teeth. When Daddy was hoeing his garden, he always saved these little clusters for me.

It is time to gather peppermint, and hang it up to dry. It makes a delicious tea, and is so soothing to an upset stomach. I’ll never forget trying to cure my son Andy from a stomachache. He came in from work holding his stomach and complaining of intense pain. I was going to fix him a nice cup of peppermint tea, and he got disgusted with me and called Mom. (She was always the one that we hollered for when we needed help or advice.) This was years ago.

Thank goodness for Mom—she immediately called the doctor and got him an appointment. The doctor promptly socked him in the hospital, and the next day he had a “hot” appendix taken out. I reckon there are some things that peppermint tea won’t cure. We do rely a lot on yellow root, as it is one of the best remedies for a sore throat. The boys are good to gather these wild plants and bring them home to dry.

I think that the pawpaws are beginning to ripen. They are also called “West Virginia bananas”, and custard apples. They do have a creamy, custard-like texture, with large, lima bean-like brown seeds in them. I really like them. Someone asked me for a recipe for a pawpaw pie, and I found one that sounds good. The last one I made was so bad that the hound dog wouldn’t eat it. Here it is: Mix ½ cup of firmly packed brown sugar, 2/3 cup of milk, and three beaten egg yolks together. Cook and stir until thick. Remove from heat; add one cup of pawpaw pulp (sieved) and chill until almost set. Meanwhile, beat three egg whites with ½ cup sugar and a pinch of salt, and a teaspoon of flavoring. (Wonder what rum would taste like?) Beat until peaks form, and then fold into the first mixture. Pour into a graham cracker crust and chill until set. (This is not the recipe I made that the dog wouldn’t eat.) Sounds good to me.

Time does fly by on pale, whispery wings, to brush your cheek for just an instant, and then it is forever gone. It was just a short time ago that my brothers and sisters and I were in school together, and then it was my own children, my grandchildren—and now—my great-grandchildren.

We have always been a very close-knit family. Michael lived in Louisiana for several years, and then moved back to the hills to stay. When questioned about going back to his former residence, he would retort, “I never left anything down there!” We are quite a large family; in fact, I think Mom had 50+ descendants when she passed away. Some of us live on the same old property that great-grandpa Huey O’Dell once lived.

We helped raise one another’s children and grandchildren, as they gravitated from house to house. One generation of children grew up and went their way, and another generation would take their place. One of these groups included Joshua, son of Kevin and Sarah. From birth, we were with Josh. He was a good baby, and grew into a good toddler. As soon as he was old enough to follow me around, he was my constant companion—except when he was with Patty!

We hunted wild plants, and gathered peppermint and spearmint. He made cucumber boats, and floated them on the creek. We would follow a certain leaf, or a bark of wood on the creek until it floated out of sight. He was best friends with Benjamin (Andy’s son) and they played and fought some all their childhood. Of course, he grew up, married and had children.

Then his son Hunter came along. He became another sidekick, and grew so close to me. He was my constant help, and would come home from school, open my door and call, “Mommaw, do you need anything done?” He would reach up and lift things for me that I couldn’t reach, help me make cookies and do anything that I asked.

They just moved to another state. I know that other families have gone through this, and that the Lord will help us. I told Hunter that I was afraid that he would grow away from me, and he assured me that he wouldn’t. Of course, our young ones grow away from us. They are supposed to do that. They don’t grow away from our prayers, however. May God keep them safe and in His arms. May they find the way to salvation, and walk in the ways of our Savior. Oh, God, please hold this family safe and secure.