Childhood Neighborhood

When I think back on my childhood neighborhood... it brings a smile to my face and conjures up sweet remembrances of home, family, and friends. 

Our's was not a typical neighborhood of houses. We were not even considered a town. Rather, we lived in a rural area... a green little valley surrounded by pastures, ponds, and cedar. Our little place of heaven was called Spring Glen... located in Carbon County, Utah. The only green place in the entire county. It was home to less than 1000 people. 

I knew our place as Rural Route 1. We lived on the south side of the mail route... Haycock Lane, on approximately 3 acres of land. The route was in a rectangle shape, about 3 miles around. Houses loosely dotted the single lane, surrounded by pastures, a dairy, ponds, a dry wash, canal, and the cedars. Our closest neighbors were our farm animals. Horses, cows, dogs, cats, chickens, ducks, sheep, rabbits, and sometimes pigs. 

We were hidden from the highway... far away from traffic and noise. There were no street lights, only an occasional light from a barn and a night sky filled with millions of stars. It was the perfect place for growing up.

Here's a sketch of my neighborhood.

In the summers, we played neighborhood games such as hide 'n seek, annie-I-over, kick-the-can, softball, and red rover red rover. We slept out underneath the stars on the front lawn. We swung from the branches of the willow tree. We climbed trees, ate fresh fruit the orchard and vegetables from the garden. We played in the neighbor's pond... swimming, building rafts and catching poly wogs and frogs. We made boats out of twigs and leaves and floated them down the ditch bank that ran in front of our house. We rode bikes and roller skated. We played in the barn, chicken coop, and made secret passages in the haystack. We swung across the canal on a tire swing. We rode horses in the cedars and even to neighboring towns. We played in the dry wash for hours. After daily chores in the morning around the house and barnyard, we packed up a lunch and headed for the outdoors... not to be seen until dinner time. There were no worries in the 1960's. It was a great time to be a child. 

There was only one store in our neighborhood. It was called the Blue Cut Service. You could get gas for .25 cents, penny candy, and candy bars for a nickle or a dime. After earning a dime or two from chores, us kids would run down the lane, about a half mile, and buy a treat. My favorite candy bar was "Zero". Still is to this day!

There was also only one church house in our neighborhood, and our family attended faithfully every Sunday. Primary, Scouts, and MIA were held on other days throughout the week, which we also enjoyed attending.

I attended school at the Spring Glen School House up until 6th grade. It was an old building, but I didn't know any different. I loved my teachers and loved to learn. Spelling Bee's and having Ms. Rowley read stories to us were my favorite things about grade school.

In the winters, the green pastures gave way to a blanket of glistening white snow. We found many opportunities for play in the winter. The neighborhood kids came together often to play fox and geese in the snow, go sledding and ice skating. One of my favorite things to do on a sunny, cold day was to knock off ice icicles from the roof's edge of the house and suck on them like popsicles. 

Our weeks were filled with school work and neighborhood activities and plays centered around church and school. We gathered as a community to celebrate the birth of Christ every Christmas. Having a part in the Nativity was the highlight of the Christmas season. It was common to activity participate in acts of service for neighbors and those who were in need all through the year. 

Reminiscing about my childhood days and the place of my neighborhood heightens all my senses. The sight of my childhood home, the sound of a bird's song and the clanging of the cow's bell, the smell of lilacs and the sweat of the horse, the touch of an ice cold icicle and soft bunny fur, and the taste of freshly picked fruit from off the tree makes me aware of just how lucky I was to live in the neighborhood of my childhood days. 

Years have passed, but they have never dulled the memories of the place I call home. The little green valley, in the heart of Castle Country... Spring Glen.

Rural Route 1, Haycock Lane

My childhood home in the 1960's - 70's

Orchard of apple, pear, and apricot trees. The barn has long since been torn down. It sat directly behind the orchard and berry patch.

My Shetland pony - Stormy, grazing in the front yard underneath the Weeping Willow tree.  My sister's dog - Pottyeta, holding on to the rope!

Our neighbor's pond

Cows in the pasture with the cedar hills in the background.

 Inspired by Mama Kat's Writer's Workshop

Sweet Remembrances of Home

We're all born into a family. By the time I entered the picture I had a dad, mom, sister, and a brother. We would add two more sisters and one more brother to make our family complete. When I look back on all the memories of home and my childhood, I contribute all the sweet remembrances to two people.... Mom and Dad.

My parents brought their children into the world with a purpose. To love, guide, teach, nurture, and provide experiences that would allow for growth, exploration and creativity. They came together and brought unique characteristics from their families. They brought some traditions and created some of their own that have been and continue to be a part of my life, my children's lives, and now my grandchildren's lives. 

Memories of home and my childhood have etched deep in my heart and soul and have shaped me into the person I am today. My parents are gone now, but I hope they are looking down from the heavens with pride and like the person I am becoming... much because of them.

My dad was full of adventure. He was a biologist and big game manager for Utah State Fish and Game. He was one of those rare dad's. He actually took his family to work when he could. We spent our summer months in the mountains camping, riding horses, and playing games like kick the can. Dad took us canoeing, fishing, hunting, and counting deer. And he planned big excursions of river rafting when we got older. Us kids didn't think it was work at all! 

It was not unusual for dad to bring home animals that needed rescued until they could be taken to a place of rehabilitation. He also had a soft, tender side and taught his children to love and respect all God's creatures and the world we live in.

Dad taught his family how to be part of a team. We worked together and played together. That was what families did! We planted a garden, raised animals to care for and eat, sang silly songs as we traveled, and slept under the stars listening to the call of coyotes. So many adventures and the list could go on and on and on...  

Mom also loved the outdoors, but her heart was in her home, surrounded by her children. She was an excellent manager of home. Our house seemed to shine with cleanliness and truth! She taught her girls how to make beds, dust, clean the bathroom, wash dishes, vacuum, hang clothes on the line, bottle fruits and vegetables, and sew clothes. 

Mom was a beautiful woman. I never saw her without her lipstick on. She loved flowers and pretty things. Mom made us barbie couches and chairs and clothes. And then played with us! She made every birthday and occasion a holiday. She created magic in the simple things... like losing a tooth. Christmas, Easter, and every holiday throughout the year was so magical and memorable. Us kids may not have recognized it at the time, but great care and thought was put into every single holiday... from home decorations and displays to matching clothes and perfectly arranged gifts. I completely adore my mother. 

Both my father and mother worked together to give their children opportunities to learn skills and talents. They bought apartment buildings and rented them out. We picked seed together as a family to earn money for extracurricular activities. And the list goes on...

With dedication and hard work as a family and the foresight and wisdom of great parents, us kids were able to participate in dance, baton twirling, piano lessons, playing in school band, sports, 4-H, and other worthy endeavors.

My parents told us "you can be anything you want to be!" And... I always believed that!

Most importantly, my parents taught their children truth. The truth about God, about making right choices, about service, and love for each other and all people. 

From my dad, I take away sweet remembrances of adventure, hard work, tenderness, love and respect for nature, service, and what it means to lead a family.

From my mom, I take away sweet remembrances of home, love of family, magic in the simple things, beauty, compassion, and service. 

Is it any wonder that I enjoy and teach my family the same things. 

          Inspired by Mama Kat's Writer's Workshop

ICY

...freezing cold icicles hanging from the roof. We didn't have rain gutters in the 1960's to catch the water from the snow as it melted off the roof. Winter icicles draped from the roof line of our house, in varying lengths, giving the appearance of a delicate crystal hem-line of a Princess skirt. I didn't need the movie Frozen to fuel my imagination!

Just like a drip from a faucet, every day when the sun came out, I'd watch an icicle grow, drip by drip, from a speck of water into a beautiful icicle. Sometimes it took days and sometimes weeks for an icicle to reach its full potential. The north side of the house always grew the largest icicles. Some were so long and big around that it became impossible to knock them down. They would grow until they met the large pile of snow mound next to the house making it nearly impossible to break through. 

On warm winter afternoons, I'd often find myself out and about scouring the roof line for the best icicle to knock down for an afternoon treat. They were like long popsicles, just without the flavoring.

One day I had a childhood friend over to play. We were going around the house knocking down icicles, with large sticks, from the roof. We came to the north side and started to run our sticks along the roof line, when a bunch came crashing down, and like daggers pierced the head of my friend. Her head started to bleed profusely and it scared me. I thought my friend would surely have to go to the hospital for stitches. We rushed her into the house and mom placed washcloths on her head to stop the bleeding. After doctoring her up, she felt better and we took her home. I always felt bad about that incident, but that didn't deter me from winter's play in the snow and ice.

ICY...

horse hair chins. Out in the pasture, the horses often pawed through the ice in the water trough before we got to the daily chore of breaking the ice. We had some very cold mornings, well below freezing, and the water would often freeze instantly on the hairs of our horses chin. Freezing cold!!!

ICY...

skating rinks. And freezing rosy pink noses! Dressed up in winter coats, hats, and mittens, we have always been game for a late afternoon skate on an icy outdoor skating rink. 

It was extremely cold in 1990. I was living in Logan, five kiddos in tow, going to school. There was plenty of opportunity for outdoor snow play. Our first Christmas away from home and family presented an opportunity to spend a lot of time together... just me and the kids. I bought some ice skates for the girls for Christmas and we spent most every day of Christmas break on the outdoor skating rink at the park around the corner and up a few blocks from our house. The old green shack sitting on the edge of the rink provided a place to sit down by a cozy wood burning stove, warm our fingers and toes, and drink hot chocolate. In the early evenings, the snow sculptures surrounding the rink were lit up by colored lights and twinkling stars. These were good memories.

Years later, the tradition of skating on an outdoor rink continues at family Christmas gatherings at the Homestead Inn in Midway. Below, a couple of granddaughters hold hands, take a few steps, and tumble to the ice... just to get up and try again, and again, and again. This has become one of our favorite family traditions. Even if it's icy and cold!   

ICY...

waterfalls. There's a waterfall in Price Canyon that changes with the seasons. Winter is one of my favorite's. The water freezes as it descends from the top of the fall. With each winter day's temperature dropping... a single drip of water turns into hundreds and thousands and tens of thousands of drips, gradually forming into large icicles that span the width and length of the falls. On my trips home, I look forward to rounding the corner where the fall is located. The minerals in the water often turn the icicles into hues of pinks, greens, and blues. And with cold, icy blue skies above, it's such a lovely sight!

It's been an unusually warm late fall. We're anxiously waiting for snow, which is long overdue. So... Old Man Winter.... bring on the ICYness of the season! We're ready!

Writing prompt #6: Write a blog post inspired by the word: icy

Hosted by

Mama Kat's Pretty Much Famous Writer's Workshop

The Fruit Room

I was afraid of some things in my childhood home. Like the dingy, dark, musty basement. The door to the basement was in the center of our home. I liked it shut. It scared me when it was open. I imagined all kinds of things. Creaks and other sounds that conjured up the wildest, frightening imaginations. The wooden steps, without a railing to hold on to, seemed long and dangerous. 

I was afraid every time my mother sent me down to the Fruit Room to fetch a bottle of peaches or pears. I remember getting to the bottom step and running as fast as my legs could take me... through the main room, past the old coal furnace (and that's another very scary thing!) through the dilapidated kitchen, down the short hallway, past the bathroom to the fruit room, which was at the very corner of the basement. I don't think there was a window in that room, because it was very dark. It seems like I had to go to the center of the blackened room and pull a string on the light in order to turn it on. That seemed to be the case in the entire basement which made it more challenging to see. Your eyes would have to adjust to the dark before you could see even enough to feel your way to the light string. With bottles of fruit in hand, I'd run back through the basement the same as I came. I couldn't get back to the safety of the upstairs fast enough. I was too scared to even look behind me. I dreaded the chore of having to go to the basement. I can feel panic coming over me as even as I write. 

Fruit rooms, or storage rooms, are in basements. A very scary place for me. I have never liked basements until four years ago when we built our new home. It is a walk-out basement, full of light. Double french doors lead to a patio, making it even more light and friendly. The basement is completely finished with a family room, game room, theater room, kitchen, bathroom, mud room, and guest bedroom. Our storage/fruit room is located underneath the front porch area. It is fairly small, but large enough for what we need. The entire room is encompassed in cement. We had the finishers build shelves so it feels finished. There is a light switch in the furnace room for the storage room, so getting light is not a problem either. I don't mind going to the basement anymore, although I don't usually go down there unless the kids are up to play, or we have guests, or we go to the theater room to watch a movie. You won't find me down there alone!

Some things will never change. Even though I don't mind the basement in our new home, I won't be down there alone. Basements will always scare me a little. 

Writing prompt # 1: Something that scared you when you were young...are you still afraid?

Hosted by

Mama Kat's Pretty Much Famous Workshop

Haunted House

In the late 1960's -

Every Halloween my brothers and sisters and I would dress up using props around the house, throw a pillow case over our shoulders, and go trick-or-treating. We walked to neighboring homes before piling into the station wagon for mom to take us to the main drag where the houses were closer together. She dropped us off periodically and we would run to and from each house until there was a long break in houses. There was a lot of activity on the main road with monsters, ghosts, goblins, witches, zombies, hobo's, and pirates. Car brake lights lit up the dark street and made it easier to see the little creatures darting back and forth across the street. The trees lining the street were large and seemed to reach high to the black sky. I imagined a witch, on her broomstick, flying across the sky in front of the full yellow moon. Halloween was be-witching and mystical! Leaves swirled around us as we ran from house to house. I remember the distinct smell of musty leaves and ripening apples in the air, the feel of a cold chill, frightening jack-o-lanterns lit up on every doorstep, and the sound of dry leaves crunching beneath my feet. Walking through ankle deep dry leaves was the best part of trick-or-treating! Collecting candy was a close second!

There were two very memorable houses midway up main street on the east side of the road. Big, towering, monstrous trees loomed in the foreground, casting a dark shadow across the lawn of Ms. Rowley's house. She was my fifth grade teacher. Candles flickered cheerily in various sizes of orange jack-o-lanterns all lined up on the large front porch's cement railing. We knocked on the door, and yelled in unison, "trick-or-treat, smell my feet, give me something good to eat!" The door opened up to a well lit and inviting and yummy smelling living room. Like apples and cider. Miss Rowley wore bright red lipstick and had a cheery smile on her face. I really liked her. And I always dreamed of living in her home!

Just to the north of the Rowley home was a house that sat back slightly in a field. The Topolovec home. It was an unusually large home for our town. The outside was a dingy grayish white with architecture that reminded me of Herman Munster's home on The Adam's Family. The house was Victorian style and it looked creepy. It was the only house in Spring Glen that looked like that. I always felt apprehensive about trick-or-treating there, although I did with the moral support of my siblings. A youngster can imagine all sorts of "things that go bump in the night!" with such a long walk to the front door of that house. I thought it as the haunted house of Spring Glen. 

Fast forward 20 years later to the late 1980's -

The Topolovec home was going to be torn down! And before the scheduled date, they turned it into a haunted house for Halloween. I always knew it was the Haunted House of Spring Glen!

I was separated from my husband and had moved back to Spring Glen - my hometown. A friend and I were up to having the daylights spooked out of us so we made a date to go to the Haunted House. The line to get in was long and as we inched closer to the front door all I could think of is how creepy the house had always appeared to me. My anticipation and anxiety grew with each step. This was the first real Haunted House I had ever been to. And it did not disappoint!

I think I winced, screamed, and jumped at everything I saw, felt and heard. I grabbed on to my friend and never let her go. Sticky cobwebs, slimy eyeballs and brains, vampires rising from their coffins, zombies with pale faces, mists of fog, chains clanging, saws grinding, howls and hoots, and eeiry music gave a ghastly feel to the atmosphere already draped in darkness. As we went from room to room another frightening creature slithered out of the shadows, sending us clamoring for safety. Only to be greeted by the dark side again!

It probably took 20 minutes or so to go through, from start to finish. It was the best and scariest Haunted House I have ever been through. Nothing to date has compared! My hometown - population less than 1000, knew how to totally creep you out! I will never forget the Topolovec House. The Haunted House of Spring Glen!

What creeps you out?

Writing prompt #2: Write about something that creeps you out?

Hosted by 

Mama Kat's Pretty Much Famous Workshop

Throw back... Show and Tell

It was 1963. I was five years old. Mom had just had her last baby. A baby boy. Our family was now complete, with four girls and two boys. And a mom and a dad!

Even though I was only five, I remember the anticipation and excitement of a new baby coming to our family. I was in Kindergarten and for my show and tell I wanted to show the class my new baby brother. Arrangements were made for the class to walk to my house and see our new baby.

On an early Spring day, a few few weeks after my baby brother was born, my teacher had the school class line up single file and follow her down the sidewalk a couple of blocks to my house. I'm sure I was at the head of the line. After all it was my show and tell! After arriving at the house, my classmates and I all gathered outside the large living room window and watched as mom lifted my baby brother up high for all to see! 

I can't remember how my classmates reacted, but I do know how proud I felt. Mom and I had just delivered the best show and tell of the year! Well... besides me showing my tonsils in a bottle!

Writing prompt #4 Throw back time! Share an old photo and tell us about it.

Hosted by

Mama Kat's Pretty Much Famous Writer's Workshop

Edna

Great Grandmother Edna Richardson lived just down the lane from our house and I saw her nearly every day. Us kids would hover around the heater in her small, quaint kitchen while waiting for the school bus. And then, after school and before my walk back up the lane, I often stopped in to visit her. She had plenty of stories to tell, and I enjoyed them immensely. On her dinning room table sat her Book of Remembrance, or journal. I looked forward, with anticipation, to see what entries she had made for the day. The old pictures and vivid stories helped connect generations of families together. And, I was part of that! 

Photos courtesy of Western Railroad and Mining Museum, Helper, Utah

Grandmother was born September 2,1879 and lived to a ripe old age of 94. Although she was not born in Carbon County, she lived there off and on for most of her life. In 1898 grandmother went to Helper to visit her mother. In her journal she describes the surroundings of the place.

"This is my second visit to Helper. I have always liked Helper, situated as it is where Price Canyon opens out into a small valley almost entirely surrounded by rather barren-looking hills. To the east and north, the hills are a gray-blue color, surmounted by majestic pink cliffs--part of the famous Book Cliffs. On the west are low, flat-top hills covered with pinion pine and scrub cedars. The Price River meanders lazily down through the cotton woods on the west side of the valley, a small stream except in the spring when it can become a raging torrent. 

Helper is a terminal on the Denver and Rio Grande Railroad and is the central point in the coal mining district. It is the shipping point from which all the coal is shipped by rail. Helper received its name because when a train pulls out of Helper going north extra engines have to be added to help the train to the top of Soldier Summit. Hence, the name Helper. It was a new and very small place when I first went there. It is still a small place but much larger than it was then. 

At the time there were the usual things that make up such a place--round house, shop, water tanks, coal chutes, tracks, etc. In close proximity to the tracks was a depot, just a little north of the site of the present railroad station, the eating house, and a few residences."

Grandmother met the man she would marry on that visit to Helper. She describes him as the "onry brakeman".  But after a lot persistence and charm, he eventually won her over and they married. Working for the railroad required many moves, mostly within the state of Utah. After years of moving, they finally came back to Carbon County to stay! Grandpa built a home in Spring Glen, a couple of miles south of Helper, and they moved in on April 15, 1929. 

I have many happy memories at grandmother's place. Playing with blocks. Raking the leaves in the fall, from the large cotton wood and maple trees, and jumping in them. Playing hide and seek in the lilac bushes that lined the south side of the property. Acting out the "Christmas Story" on Christmas Eve. Watching her hand stitch together squares that would eventually be made into a beautiful quilt. I especially loved listening to the stories of her youth. Grandmother often wore fancy white, ivory and black lace gloves. They were so dainty and I thought they were so beautiful! Years later, when I was grown and married, my grandmother, Ida--grandmother Richardson's daughter, gave me those lacy gloves. It was a complete surprise. I so do treasure them!

Grandmother Richardson and I in her front yard, Spring Glen -- 1962

When I was seventeen years old, grandmother passed away in her home surrounded by loving family. My father bought the house and property. A few years later (1979), after I had married and started my own family, dad gave us the property next to grandmother's house. 

We built us a beautiful rambler, but the real reward is that we were lucky enough to live in grandmother's house while we did. And.... it was still much the same as I remembered! I was once again surrounded by the love and memories of the "not so long days gone by." 

Edna Cummings Richardson - 1879-1974

We lived in grandmother's house from 1979 to 1981.

Writing prompt #2: Find a photo of your grandmother's hometown and share it.

Hosted by

Mama Kat's Pretty Much Famous Writer's Workshop

Stormy Adventure

Adventure has been a part of my life since I can remember. My father had an adventurous job with the State Fish and Game. And he was a very adventurous man. He included his family on his many hairy, scary, wild, and exhilarating adventures as often as he could. Summers spent in mountains, camping weeks on end, riding horses, canoeing on lakes, rafting the rivers, hiking, fishing, hunting, participating in war games, counting deer, chasing ufo's and poachers. That does not include all the other times adventuring at home and around our neck of the woods. All six of us kids and mom had the rare privilege of experiencing a very adventurous life! 

I am about to tell you, in my dad's own words (from his journal), about a very STORMY ADVENTURE that includes me!

It was the year 1965. While reading the newspaper an advertisement caught my eye. "Little Buckaroo Rodeo". I thought that sounds like a prime idea and perhaps we could engage them to come to Carbon County. I got a hold of Mr. Bernice Hunsaker of Tremonton, Utah and after some negotiating around he agreed to bring his outfit to Price and help us support the Ward budget. I had the responsibility of getting the rodeo grounds, advertisement and signing the riders on. A Shetland pony is a small animal, but a large one as viewed by most of our riders--6-9 year old. Boy! When those ponies came out of the chute, nostrils flaring, eyes a bulging and doing their best to dislodge the little culprit astride--those kids knew they were in for the ride of their life.

At the start of the show Bernice would have a pony catching contest, where the small children in the crowd would chase down the colt of their choice. There would be 15-20 colts turned loose in a small arena and the children turned loose to chase after them. Carol (that's me!) entered the contest and was the first to lasso and catch her pony. She was broken hearted when she brought the pony to the gate and found out she didn't get to keep it--they only had the privilege of chasing it around the arena and making a capture. Big tears flowed down her cheeks--not unnoticed by Bernice.

That night when the show was over he told Carol to take her pick of Ponies and wouldn't you know it she picked a little Palomino stud colt. I was sure grateful to Mr. Hunsaker since Carol felt so bad--she was only about seven. It didn't take us long to find out he was a small piece of dynamite and very temperamental. She immediately named him "Stormy". We loaded "Stormy"  into a full sized horse trailer and headed for home.

On our arrival at the house--Stormy was gone. He must have jumped out of the horse trailer somewhere along the way. Carol got her heart broke again--twice in one night. The imagination can conjure up all kinds of things about the location and condition of the colt. I must have been going a good clip when he managed to clear the trailer bed. It was a pitch black night, but we started to back track. We finally located the little feller about half way between the rodeo grounds and the house and examination of the little critter didn't reveal any more than some minor scrapes and a bruise or two. Carol was once more the proud owner of a "Rascal".

Stormy

Amazing what a young child will remember about the same event! The entire event--leading up to, participating in, and "winning" the prize--was done with much anticipation and excitement. Done with hard and diligent work for a youngster. And so emotional--- experienceing all the ups and downs that led to "final outcome!" I don't know how I ever survived such an adventure!

My memory recalls being part of selling  tickets to the Little Buckaroo Rodeo. I remember going from door to door, in my neighborhood, selling as many tickets as I could. I don't know if it was in my mind at that time, but for some reason I thought whoever sold the most tickets won a Shetland pony. And, it was going to be me! I was determined to win my "pony!"

I remember running around the arena trying to catch a pony. I ran with vigor and intent to capture one-- because it was the pony I was going to keep! Yes, I had my heart broken when I found out I couldn't keep him. It was so disappointing. I cried big crocodile tears. I thought I earned him! I sold tickets and I did everything possible to keep the pony I caught. I worked hard for my prize, just to find out I couldn't keep him.

At the end of the rodeo, you can imagine my young hearted joy, when the nice man, who brought the rodeo to town, took me to the corral and let me pick a out a Shetland pony to call my very own. 

He had beautiful, shiny, golden brown hair. And, he was just my size! I named him STORMY. And, it wasn't long before he literally lived up to his name. In fact... he proved his name on the way home that very night! Even with his feisty attitude, Stormy was my friend. I would often ride him five miles to a cousins house where we would ride our Shetland ponies for hours. There was a stretch of pasture grass that ran along side and in between the old highway and canal going to Carbonville, where Karen lived. When we reached that grassy path, it became a race track. I'd let the reins down and Stormy would take off like a "bat out of hell" and run like the wind! It was so thrilling--Stormy and I running and riding like lightning! We would surely win the race! 

As time went on, and I grew older, I rode Stormy less and less. But I still continued to greet him on occasion, in the pasture behind the house, with a bucket of oats. I don't know what happened--maybe I wasn't giving him enough attention, but he started to lash out at me when I put the bucket of oats down for him to eat. One day, while I was setting it down, he pushed back his ears like he was mad and pawed me hard with his hoof. He sensed that it scared me and from then on took advantage of it. He continued to get more aggressive with me with each visit. He wasn't as kind to me as he once was, but I still loved my pony. He brought adventure into my young life and gave me the memories of some of the best years of my childhood. 

Writing prompt #2: Write a blog post inspired by the word: adventure

Hosted by

Mama Kat's Pretty Much Famous Writer's Workshop

Summer Fixins'

Summers are filled with sun, family picnics, fresh fruit from the orchard and produce from the garden. 

My childhood is filled with fond memories of yummy fresh garden meals, courtesy of the family garden and mother! It was not summer without eating a B.L.T. (bacon, lettuce, tomato) sandwich. Throw in a fresh picked corn on the cob and tree ripened peaches, and you had the most delicious meal ever! Perfect for a hot, lazy, summer day.

I have enjoyed this traditional simple summer fixin' for over 50 years. I grew up on it, my kids grew up on it, my grandchildren are growing up on it. The hubs just got back from Europe a couple of days ago. This was our first lunch together. Oh.... yummmm! 

Directions:

B.L.T.

While frying some bacon, slice a fresh garden tomato, tear some lettuce, and toast some bread of your choice. 

Spread mustard and light mayo on toast.

Add veggies and bacon.

Variation: substitute basil for lettuce (nice tasting surprise!)

Corn on the Cob

Put a young, tender cob of corn in a pan of boiling water and cook just until tender (about 8-10 minutes)

Spread on margarine (we like Smart Balance), and salt and pepper to taste.

Fresh Sliced Peaches

Peel peaches.

Slice peaches into bowl. Sprinkle on some sugar, if desired. Let sit for awhile. It makes the most delicious sweet peach juice ever!

What do you like to fix in the good ole' summer time?

Writing prompt #2: Share a favorite recipe from your childhood that you still make today.

Hosted by

Mama Kat's Pretty Much Famous Writer's Workshop

Hung by a Nail

Six Word Memoir

Maybe I have a warped sense of humor, but when I look back on memories of my childhood, I smile, or rather laugh, at things that really could have turned out unfavorably for me at the time. There was always an opportunity to get hurt, get in trouble, or just plain and simple... find something that would qualify me for mischievous behavior! I wasn't lacking when it came to all three categories. Now, many years later, when I think I am all alone, it's not uncommon for me to start thinking about such childish, funny stunts I participated in. A memory... a smile... and then the laughter! I can't contain it any longer! Sometimes someone will walk in on me and wonder what I've been up to... 

Case in point. One particular summer day my siblings and I were playing on top of the chicken coop in the back yard. The roof was slanted. The south end was higher and had an overhang on it. That was the front of the chicken coop. The north end slanted downward and was about 7 feet off the ground. That was the back of the chicken coop. The coop measured about 15 ft. by 12 ft. Now, dad told us kids he didn't want us playing on the roof. I'm not sure what the reason was, but I'm guessing it had something to do with damaging the roof and causing it to leak. 

I was about 8 years old. My sisters, brother, a couple of their friends and I were busy playing our usual barnyard play, when we heard the car drive up.  Mom and dad were home!  We all skedaddled to the back of the chicken coop and dove off before getting caught. Well, I got caught! Not by dad, but by a nail! A large old rusty nail was sticking out of the board at the top edge of the coop and when I went to jump off, that mean old nail caught me by the britches. Mid-air I was whipped around like a wimpy dog and found myself hanging upside down, looking sheepishly at the ground below. It seemed like an eternity before my britches finally gave way and I went crashing to the ground, head first. It hurt! I hit some old slivery boards below, got up and went running for the house. Everyone had left me... no brotherly love here! I quietly entered the house, went to the bathroom to access the bump on my head and wash away the evidence. I changed my shorts before anyone could see the big rip. I think I stuffed them under the bed, thinking MOM would never discover them there! I walked into the living room, where the rest of the family was, as if nothing had ever happened. I wasn't about to say a word! That mean, big, old rusty nail was the only one that had any evidence on me. Case closed!

That's just one of many childhood memories that make me smile... always! I could go on and on and on. If you can't laugh at yourself, who can?  

You can just imagine the laughter that takes place when my brothers and sisters and I all get together and reminisce about the good old days! It was that way with mom and dad, too. They taught us to laugh.. at ourselves and with each other. It's not just the smiles... it's the laughter!

prompt #2:  What memory from your childhood always makes you smile, no matter what? 

The Attic Bedroom

It was so cool. The attic with the low angled ceilings. The long narrow stairs leading up to the attic. The wood floors. Twin beds all in a row. The large window. Sharing a dresser. Lots of room for playing. Barbies! The 1960's were a great time to be a child. At least... in my home. We didn't sit in front of the t.v. There were no computers or other high tech gadgets to pre-occupy our young minds... just imagination!

Dad built our house. It was a work in progress and took several years to complete.  It was a great day when the attic bedrooms were ready to move in to.  I was around 8 or 9 years old. I remember thinking how big the new room was! The stairs leading up to the attic creaked. You could always tell when someone was coming up.  A few throw rugs were scattered on the wood floors to cozy it up and give some warmth to our feet on cold winter mornings. If my memory serves me right, dad never vented any heat ducts to the attic. The rooms at the top were open with just a half wall (lining the stairs), separating the two rooms.  The attic was just for us girls. My older sister got the small room to herself, and we three younger girls got the large one to share. We each had our own twin bed.  They were lined up along the length of the south wall. Mine was in the middle. I think my bedspread was white; the feel of terry cloth and chenille. It hung to the ground on both sides. We had a large white dresser which we colored on, scribbled on, and marked on A. LOT.  We made sure our name's were on our own drawer!  The make-shift open closets were along the length of the north wall. Two side boards, that shot up to the height of the slanted attic ceiling, held a rod between them. We hung our dresses there. Our barbies were stored away in round dance cases, upright barbie cases, and a metal suit case (still used today). Other toys were strung along the closet walls.

Playing was what we did most! Chatter and laughter filled the attic bedroom as we three sisters played barbie dolls. Mom made couches and chairs out of oatmeal cans and covered them in elaborate floral upholstery.  She made pillows, bedding, dresses, coats, hats, and other outfits for our barbies. We spent hours dressing and un-dressing them in the newest outfit. Mom was always sewing something and those scraps of fabric were used to create the fanciest outfits that a barbie could ever want.  Mom was a kid at heart and would surprise us girls on occasion by coming up to the attic bedroom to play. 

The Window in my attic bedroom seemed so large and provided countless hours of looking out, day dreaming, and being carried away on great imaginative adventures. The window served many purposes. I remember on many occasion looking out at the large expansive sky through the window at night and singing Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star, or Star Light, Star Bright and wishing on the first star. In the summers you could feel a light breeze sweeping through the attic rooms from one end of the house to the other; the light scent of lilacs and flowers from the bed below making their way to the end of my nose. On winter nights, all six of us kids would look out the attic windows on Christmas Eve for a glimpse of the Star of Bethlehem to remind us of baby Jesus' birth. Then we would clamor to the window at the slightest sound of a jingle bell, listening intently for the hoofs of Santa's reindeer on the roof.  The light from a full moon shinning on fresh fallen snow could be seen far into the field below. Magic! 

Not all was peachy, rosy. One time dad backed the truck up underneath the window, got a shovel and scooped our toys up (apparently the room was a mess and mom and dad had had enough!), and threw them in the back of the truck and hauled them off to dump. All we could do was watch!  We had been warned more than once. You can bet we kept our room a little cleaner after that!

Barbie wears a bright red polka-dot dress and sits on a floral couch; both made by mom. The case that housed our barbies and clothes for so many years is now at my house for my grandchildren to play with.

My childhood home. You can barely see the attic window on the right side of the house. This was mine and my sisters bedrooms.  It spanned the entire length of the house.

A hand-sketched drawing of my bedroom.  I couldn't find a picture so this will have to do.

The dresser.  It has been repainted, top repaired, and knobs puts on since the days of my youth.  I have it in my attic today. It houses my fabric and other handiwork items such as yarn, crochet and knitting needles, patterns, and notions. There is a bookshelf and kids corner devoted to the grand kids and we plan on putting three twin beds in a row for when they come to stay.

Goulash... the MANLY kind

I think most people have eaten goulash at least once in their lifetime.  We were no exception.  Goulash is usually considered a poor-man's meal.  But not my mom's!  No siree.  Her's was Manly in every way.  Not the Wimpy kind that you associate goulash with. You know... the macaroni and loose ground beef, tomato sauce, and a few left over veggies thrown in. Mom's goulash had the most delectable combination of flavors.  She fashioned bite sized meatballs, sliced fresh carrots, potatoes, and celery.  A perfect blend of soup and milk made up the gravy.

Mom's goulash was a complete and well-balanced meal and full of color.  It was the perfect meal for any season. I loved it as a child and love it as an adult.  I fixed it for my children growing up. They still consider it one of their all time favorite meals and request it when they visit.  Mom's goulash was, and still is, a First Prize, Blue Ribbon meal in our family!

GOULASH

Meatballs:

• ground beef
• small grated potato & carrot
• 2 T. onion, grated
• 3 T. flour
• 1/4 t. garlic
• 1 T. Worcestershire sauce
• 1/4 cup evaporated canned milk
• salt & pepper to taste

Combine all ingredients together and shape into walnut size meatballs.  Put in fridge for a half hour.  Place a small amount of oil (I like Canola) into a large fry pan and cook meatballs until done, turning as needed.

Vegetables:

• potatoes
• carrots
• celery

Peel and cut potatoes into walnut size pieces.  Peel and slice carrots.  Slice the celery. Combine in a saucepan and cook until semi-done.  

Gravy:

• can of cream of chicken soup 
• rest of canned milk

Mix soup and milk together.  Pour over meatballs.  Add vegetables.  Heat just to warm gravy mixture.  

I like to add a green salad and homemade rolls and jam to make the meal complete.