Wednesday, April 13, 2011

April 12th

What is the significance of today's date?  Other than, you know, the 50th anniversary of manned space flight, of course.  In the whole scheme of things, who cares about that? (I kid, I kid!)  

No, today is the 150th anniversary of the firing on Fort Sumter, or the official start of the Civil War.

I have the girls here (my fake granddaughters who aren't Anna, who I also count as a fake grandkid, because I can) so this entry might be even more scattered and random than other entries.  Then again, you might not be able to tell the difference.  

Okay, now it's the 13th.  Saige and I took the girls to the park, to let them run off some steam and to play.   I was too busy to post, as the girls have had a rough couple days and they need a lot of attention right now.

On Sunday, if you remember, we went to one park to have a picnic, and then we went to the environmental center after that.  I love, love, love this center.  It's been around for many years now, and I can remember going there when it only had 4 trails.  The longest one went past the bottling plant along the Sangamon River, and there was a very old, rusted out, filled with sand and mud, bit of a car stuck there.  I haven't been able to walk there for a long time, and besides, the trails have changed, so I don't know if that car is still around.  It was a place my Mom loved, too.  She absolutely thrilled to go during the spring, to see all the flowers coming up.  My son, Jethro, loved to go with her, too, even as a teen.  Mom would always say, with amazement, how wonderful she thought it was that he, even though he was a teenager, loved to go walking with her there. The last time they went, they looked for bluebells, and finally spied some, and Mom was really happy.

There were tons of bluebells along the path to the Trobaugh-Good house.  Tons.  I smiled to see them, because it felt like a "Hello!" from my mother.

This isn't the best picture, but these are Virginia bluebells.  I tried to edit it a little bit to bring out the blue color of the flowers, but I had trouble doing that, so I gave up.  You get what you get.

Erma's picture is a little bit better as far as color, but the flowers aren't as big as in my photo. I guess that doesn't matter much if you can't see the blooms!

Every time I go here, I take pictures of this plow that this tree has grown around.  The plow is embedded in this tree.  So much in this town changes drastically--homes are torn down, businesses close and are torn down, schools change and are torn down--and I like it when things are the same, like this plow in the tree, for a long time.  

In the above picture, the kids are on the trail heading towards the Trobaugh-Good house.  On the right hand side are a bunch of Osage Orange trees, which were used as windbreaks against the prairie winds.  

Trobaugh-Good house, which was first a log house (different than a log cabin in that the logs were more finished than in a cabin), and then as time went on, the owners added more rooms to it.  At one time there were about 15 people (adults and kids) living in that house.  

Erma and Ambrose, posing in front of the Trobaugh-Good house.  Years ago, Erma was a volunteer here, and she wore a pioneer dress and apron that my mom sewed for her.  She still has it, and I imagine she'll keep it forever.  I'm impressed at how well Mom did, because that was some pretty difficult sewing.  I'd have given up, thrown the material and sewing machine into a wall, and screamed that I hate pioneers.  And volunteering.  

My sewing skills are not any good.  Can you tell?  I'd like to know how to sew, but alas, that is one skill my mom couldn't pass on to me.  I know I've said this before, but when I showed up at her house when she was going on hospice, she wanted me to help her cut down her nightgowns and sew ribbons to the back, so that they became like hospital gowns, only more comfy.  I was doing my best, but I will never forget Mom taking my work from me, giving it a horrified look, and saying, "Oh, Cindy!"  Then we both laughed.  There's no helping me in that department, I'm afraid.

I have a picture of a little  tiny two year old Lampshade in front of this tree meat smoker.  In that photo, he's smaller than the door to this thing.  

Lamp was pretending to pump water.  I told him he was a lousy pioneer, because he didn't prime the pump.  He ignored me, because he didn't know what I meant by priming the pump.

He was actually pretty funny that day, and was saying all sorts of ridiculous and silly things.

He pointed out the very old and antique pioneer plastic chocolate milk bottle.

Like a bored tour guide, he intoned seriously about the old, antique stick pile.  "As you can see," he droned on, "our sticks are doing well, and are multiplying to make this nice pile."

Saige was pretending to roast marshmallows on the antique pile of sticks, while Erma took photos in the background.  

The wasps are out now.  I can stand bees.  I know they are beneficial, and you know, I like honey.  However, I do not like wasps.  I'm not afraid of them, even though I've been stung (and boy, does a wasp sting hurt!), but I don't like those insects one little bit.  Oh, I know they have their benefits, but so do dung beetles, and they're not my favorite thing in the world, either.

There were a bunch of wasps on the insides of the windows at the house.  

As we left the area, I spied something that made me realize why there are so many wasps around.

Stupid wasps and their stupid wasp nests.  (Actually, saying that wasps have wasp nests is a bit silly, isn't it?  It's not like wasps would have stupid birds nests.  Or beaver nests. )

We all checked out the pond before we left the park.  

Apparently that shallow area held a lot of interest for everyone.  I don't know why.  This is the pond I slid into many years ago, when I was fishing with the kids.  My line got stuck in a tree, and as I worked to free it, I slid straight down the bank and into the pond.  It was deep and very muddy, but I kept giggling as I worked to climb out.  When I finally made it, sopping wet and covered with mud (and without my line), Saige looked at me and exclaimed, "Oooh!  Can I go swimming, too?"

When we came home, the girls "helped" plant some of the things we had.  They were really cute as they tried to help Saige put in the plants.

That's all there is for now.  Go in peace, be warm and filled!

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