THE CITY GIRL GOES TO THE COUNTRYJust

THE CITY GIRL GOES TO THE COUNTRY

Just recently, on nephew Nick's web site, which he created for the family, we got into a discussion of country topics, such as garden crops, and especially an over-sized radish Nick had grown and was wondering in a joking way how to prepare and eat. This reminded me of a time, many years before, when Nick was a boy, how his parents -- my now late husband Steve's brother Norman and sister-in-law Janice -- had invited Steve and I (a "city girl") to dinner at their place, where they had a lovely garden. While we were there, Steve and Norman went out to the garden and came back with a large, long white vegetable that they tried to tell me was a carrot.

I could tell by the looks on their faces, especially Steve's eager, boyish one, that they dearly wanted me to fall for this tale. I didn't. I recognized that it was probably a parsnip. I said, "That's no carrot." Steve and Norm's faces fell -- they were highly disappointed. Janice and I just chuckled.

As I explained on the family site, I had already distinguished myself in my citified ignorance of country facts, especially about animal reproduction, which is likely why Steve and Norm felt that I would fall for the "carrot" story.

This is where the entry turns PG13, for those who care. Earlier -- I believe not long after Steve and I were married, when we lived in Portland and came out to the country to visit his folks, who lived in the house I occupy now -- on a drive out here, Steve made a comment about a farmer whose place we passed having his cows and his bull separated by a fence. I said, "Is that for when the bull is in heat?" Steve laughed and said, "Honey, the bull is always in heat." Then he explained to me that particular essential difference between cows and bulls. He found my farm faux pas too good to keep, and so told Norman and Janice what I had said.

Later, after we had moved to the mobile home that now is the office for my business, we had chickens, including roosters that had been raised from chicks by a banty hen we had been given (possibly by Norman and Janice). We had one particularly mean rooster and one day when I was outside, I saw him viciously attacking the banty hen. I panicked and ran into the house and called Janice, telling her that a rooster was trying to kill my little hen! She chuckled and explained to me that the rooster was mating with the hen and it was nothing to worry about -- it looked worse than it was.

Still, later, when Steve was butchering some of the grown chickens for me to clean (yuck!) and freeze, I think that mean rooster was one of the first to go, because he had also attacked very young son Jeff, just missing his eye. (I had no idea how to clean chickens at first and had to ask Steve's mom, Lola, and even though I followed her directions successfully, I don't think I was able to very easily eat the chicken meat. That was our last experience raising chickens!)

I have long ago made peace with the fact that I am not a country girl at heart. I love living out here, among beautiful farmland, but the maintenance of the place, with all the weeds and blackberry vines that crop up, is a bear. I am happy to laugh, though, about my early adjustments in attempting to live a country life (I did pick and can and freeze vegetables and fruit quite competently, although my canned peaches were never as pretty as Steve's mother's). ;-)

I just hope that I am now no longer as ignorant of the facts of farming life -- even if I, myself, don't truly live it -- as I once was. LOL!

COUSINSI came from a

COUSINS

I came from a large family on my dad's side. He had 9 siblings, although only 5 were alive when I was growing up. I had (and have) quite a few cousins on that side of the family. My memories of them are among the best of my childhood.

My cousin Charlie, my late Uncle Cyril's son, and I hadn't been in touch for years until after his mom, my Aunt Betty, died a number of years ago. She had suffered from severe osteoporosis for about 10 years that kept her bedridden; if she coughed, she could break a rib. I wrote to her occasionally during that time and Charlie found my letters and notified me after she died. He was very sweet in what he said about my writing to his mother.

Charlie and his wife Jeanette have a daughter, Suzanne, who was named after me. (I think that is so very nice!) Here is a picture he just e-mailed me of him and Suzanne and her children. (We exchange grandkid pics every once in a while via e-mail.)



I believe Suzanne lives in Texas or someplace in the South, while Charlie and Jeanette live in Orem, Utah, if I'm remembering correctly. This picture was taken at the airport although which one is a good question. It's from a recent visit, anyway.

I don't have a lot of memories about Charlie from when I was young although I know he was older and I do recall him pushing me down outside our grandparents' house at one point. LOL! We were quite young then. My next memories are as a young adult, and that I liked him a lot at that point.

As it happens, I heard from another cousin just a couple of days ago, my Uncle Linc's oldest daughter, Cheryl, (pronounced with a "ch" rather than an "sh"). She is, I believe, 4 years older than I am and we were close growing up. In fact, she taught me to read when I was still kindergarten age while we were playing school at her house. Here is a picture of her as a young adult (in the middle), taken in the mid-1960's at Lake Roosevelt, Washington, where my dad was a park ranger and she and her family were visiting. I had thought this was also me in the picture, on the left, but now I'm doubting that -- I just don't know.



I sent her a copy of this picture and another one with our other cousin, Janeane, who is my late Uncle Junius's daughter. She mentioned in the note I received from her how much she liked getting the pictures and how that was back when we were skinny. LOL! Oh, so true.

She wants to be updated on my family and how I'm doing, so I will definitely write to her before long. She did mention that Uncle Linc keeps them informed as much as he can. Cheryl and her family live in Washington, not nearly as far away as Uncle Linc is in his home in Logan, Utah; you'd think we could get together and maybe someday we will.

*****

I had physical therapy yesterday and, once again, it made me fairly sore. Sleeping last night was a bit iffy because of that, although I remember dreaming (but not what about). Today is laundry day, which will be fairly strenuous to the arm, too, but I will try to be careful. I was told that cutting the thistles is an absolute no-no unless there is a way to do it left-handed. (Maybe I can find some left-handed clippers.) Typing is pretty much okay as long as I watch my posture, which has long been a challenge for me -- I remember my mom criticizing me for slumping when I was a girl, although perhaps her critical nature may have been one reason I slumped. I'm definitely working on better posture.

I won't have more physical therapy for a couple of weeks. It will be nice to have next week off. I have a couple of new exercises to build up the reps on in the meantime.

*****

I am conversing with my cat Stevie through the office door right now. She sometimes comes upstairs and "talks" to me this way. Other than that, she mainly visits me in the loo. Each of my cats finds their own way to communicate with me -- I love my little furry people.