Remembering March 12, 1946

March 12, 1946... the day my parents were married. A newly returned Air Corp soldier from the Pacific Theater of WW II, married a shy high school graduate from Queen Anne Hill in Seattle, Washington.

This morning I grabbed a cup of coffee and a small tape recorder and tape and listened to my Dad tell about his war adventures and then meeting my mom and getting married on this day 73 years ago. It was great to have a 'visit' with Dad and hear his voice once again. They were both present, and together they said "March 12" and then Dad repeated 1946. A special day in our family for sure.

A quick update on our trip to the Willamette Valley. We had a great time reconnecting with family for sure, and remembering the life of a wonderful woman of God. But seeing spring blooms? No way. It was cold, raw and muddy. I did see a patch of daffodils where the stalks were above ground, but quite a ways from blooming. Guess Oregon spring is still mulling over making an entrance, while winter still has a firm grasp on things. The good thing is that we know it's coming. It has always come, and the signs of spring will once again show the hope of resurrection.

Valentines Day Greetings

HAPPY VALENTINES DAY

I love the old Valentines. The colors are so beautiful, and the drawings dear and the messages heartfelt.

I keep a bulletin board of old Valentines up all year long beside my desk. They are so perky and cheerful and full of inspiration to me. They are mostly from the 1930's and 1940's. 

 There are a few older ones, that are full of grace and charm and are extraordinary. This card has 3 fold-outs and a base to stand up on.There are roses, forget-me-knots and lilly of the valley. It is almost 4-D. I love this Valentine.

My mother-in-law has kept her school days Valentines all these years. She says she and her younger sister used to play with them on rainy or sick days. She still gets them out and remembers...

In my school days of the 1950's and 1960's, the Valentines had lost so much. So much meaning, so much color, so much size. We were required to bring one for everyone in our class, and so Valentines were sold in boxes cheaply for people to afford. That explains a lot.

 In the days of my 3 daughters growing up, Valentines were even smaller and almost meaningless. The girls gave Valentines with Strawberry Shortcake, Care Bears, My Little Pony or Precious Moments on them (just what boys want), and the boys had G I Joe, Star Wars or Super Heroes Valentines (just what girls want). Here are a few photos of a pack from Precious Moments I got at our Christian bookstore for $1.99 back in the early 80's. They are cute but inane, and don't say anything worth saying. They are just little square cards you fold in half and put someone's name on. But somehow the girls still had fun doing it and addressing them. Now days it is my granddaughters giving Valentines with Shopkins on them for $5 a pack. 

This is another example of the quality of vintage things that are worth having, and the diminishing quality and higher prices of today.

Lovely Celtic Cross

Beautiful Celtic Cross

Today I was blessed to find this cross. JoAnn has taken to walking in a local cemetery and enjoying the peace and tranquility. She asked me to join her there on her walk, and she took me over to a grassy knoll where this cross has stood since 1934. Two Friars are buried on the knoll, and their friends erected this cross in their memory. Beautiful work on the cement cross, and the circle in the middle includes a 'Christogram' (ihs) which stands for the name of Jesus Christ in Greek. 

Such a beautiful November day, and a beautiful spot and memorial.

Sculpture Along the River Bank

 There is a wonderful sculpture in a park here by the Deschutes River. It is fascinating and so well done. Worth a mention here in my blog.

It is depicting our logging days here in Bend, with a draft horse...

pulling two logs behind it. Of course you can see it is made from metal, but what you can't see is that it is all made from old reclaimed metals items from the past.

Now, you can begin to see some of the things inside the horse...

and here even more. If you click on the image to expand it you can see even better. There are over 100 items in this horse, most I could recognize and some I still can not. There is a listing on a sign close by that lists the items, and it is really fun to stand here and try to find everything. It is like a puzzle. There is a lot of old farming equipment, saws and wood working tools, but some domestic items too like an old sewing machine and vacuum. The logs behind have the same, their insides filled with other items. There is an old chain saw in there. 

What a fascinating sculpture it is, and what a wonderful idea by the artist, Greg Congleton.

The Diversity of Oregon

One Saturday in July we decided to check out the back country of Deschutes County, where we live. In the past when we wanted to go out into the High Desert of Central/Eastern Oregon we would go to Burns and out into Harney County. But this day, we wanted to see what was in our own back yard. Obviously, lots of sagebrush, juniper trees and views.

We drove on various dirt and gravel roads and took a picnic lunch along. We found that most of the land was fenced off  and posted private, no trespassing, which surprised us. We didn't know so much of it was privately owned, since it is mostly desert space. We found several old homesteads, long abandoned and derelict, but with a kind of haunting beauty of their own. This one was in a fairly green valley with several little springs of water dotting it. 

We found this big barn, really large by High Desert standards. It looks pretty good from this side...

but not so good from this side. We got out and walked around it, and admired the original workmanship. It won't be standing too many more years. 

There was a nice little spring just down the road, and we could see where they got water in the 'old' days. 

Many dreams and stories are abandoned out there, and the trees were quick to invade this little house and call it their own.

We did find one nice large farmhouse, still housing a family and farm, far from 'civilization'. Shady and green in it's little valley it seemed an oasis in the midst of sagebrush. We also encountered a sheriff deputy, who pulled up alongside us and seemed glad to chat about the area. He said that the land owners wanted a law enforcement presence known, to quash any vandalism or theft, so routine cycles were driven once a week or so. Interesting. Oregon is a state of such diversity. From the ocean, to the fertile rain-filled Willamette Valley, to the High Cascade Mountains, to the High Desert. 

We are planning another trip out to view another section soon as we love exploring our state.

We'll take you along too....

A New Way of Looking at Things

A while ago, I was reading on one of my favorite blogs (Susan Branch, Millie) about using old fashioned liquid bleach on linens. I decided then and there to try it out. I remembered my mother using it, and then ironing the damp fabrics. It was a trial and error for me.

I first collected all the vintage doilies, and linens I have all around the house. This is NOT by any stretch all of them!

I then ordered the bleach from Amazon. They still make the same old stuff....who knew?

Next I washed all the linens and line dried them to get out the yellowed/rust spots and make them smell sooo good! There is nothing like UV rays for whitening and brightening. Then I brought them all in and slowly soaked them in a mix of 1 part water to 2-3 parts starch. Back out to the line to dry again. I tried bringing them in damp to iron, but it didn't really work, so I let them dry again. Only this time they were STIFF.

But the ironing was easier and they came out lovely, slightly stiff, crisp and white, and they stay that way! Now ironing is not my favorite domestic chore, but somehow ironing vintage tablecloths, aprons, clothes, doilies and runners is more fun and rewarding.

Here are a few, line dried, and waiting for the iron.

I am now in the process of cleaning the linen closet, putting some out for display, and the rest nestled in their closet.

 It feels like Grandma's house around here, but I don't care because I LOVE vintage linens. (But it was a lot of work!) A rewarding household project, completed.

Ben, this one is for you!

Last week-end we had a wonderful blessing. We made a trip to the Oregon Coast with some of the last remaining members of  my family. We rented a house in south Lincoln City for four couples. This was the beautiful view from the deck of the house. 

We rested, we visited, we remembered (a lot!), we worked on a jigsaw puzzle, we read, we ate (a lot!), we took pictures, we played a crazy funny game, and we loved each other.

Left is brother Joe and wife Cathy, right is cousin Beckie and husband Tim,

cousin Bill and wife Sandy (Beckie's brother) 

and us of course!

We all brought food, and teams were in the kitchen fixing up some great meals.

We had a great long table that accommodated all of us with a beautiful view besides.

Some watched the Daytona 500 on TV...

While others had political conversations.

We watched the ocean almost non-stop. Big waves this time of year, but no whale watching yet. Still in Mexican waters I hear. Lots of fishing boats out, and even some paddle boarders in wet suits. It was sunny mostly, but very chilly. We did wrap up in coats and blankets and sat in these chairs in the bit of weak sun we got. We also climbed down the cliff (95 steps) and a rusted metal ladder at the bottom to walk on the beach and revel in it.It was great!!

My brother and I, and our cousins Bill and Beckie grew up together like siblings almost. But as life does, we got busy in work and families and have not had extended time like this together in our adult lives. I can't say enough what a blessing it was to me. We talked about our parents (now gone) and their large family now almost all gone. What a great family we had to grow up in, and our family get-together's were wonderful. Lots of Aunts, Uncles, and cousins to enjoy. Our memories are sweet for the most part, and very precious as we enter the senior phase of our own lives. 

We were blessed with a full rainbow ending in the ocean right in front of us. WOW! God's pleasure and promise to those who walk with Him. 

I only hope we will get the chance to do this again sometime soon!

** As my grandchildren grow up and leave home I hope they will remember to get together to share their own memories of growing up and family!

A Favorite Aunt

I

I had many aunts growing up, but always one special one. She was born Joyce Mabel Erskine on November 7, 1919. The above photo is of her at age 1 with her next oldest brother Harold. She belonged to a  Willamette Valley Oregon farming family, but was born during a short stint farming in the Alberta wheat fields. Being born in Canada as a United States citizen was always a minor complication of paperwork in her life.

 Her mother was Mabel, and after having three sons before Joyce and then three more sons after her, Joyce was a dearly loved daughter. This photo was taken in 1923 or so, and was the 'before' picture before having duel haircuts.

 Aunt Joyce always said that she loved her growing up years. She lived on a farm called Rock Hill, and played more than worked outdoors. The photo with the sheep was a forecast of things to come, as she and 

Uncle Roy raised sheep most of their lives. She dearly loved her mother and brothers, but was thrilled to pieces when in 1927 she was finally presented with a sister named Susie. She had her very own live doll baby to take of and then play with.

When Joyce was 15, her mother caught spinal meningitis and was taken to the nearest hospital where she died. Not seeing Mabel alive again, after she left for the hospital was always a regret she lived with. Her father sent Joyce to live with his sister Mae in Taft on the Oregon Coast, which is where she finished high school. She loved to come home though, and above she's sitting on the porch with the farm dog.

  

She met and married William Roy Lambert on October 19, 1940 when she was 20 years old. Roy was from the same area of the Willamette family and his family had been farming there even longer than hers. They had a good marriage for 65 long years.

Joyce and Roy were never 'city folks', but Uncle Roy tried several ways of making a living without farming. Aunt Joyce moved with him around a bit of Oregon until he settled on working for the road maintenance crew with Linn County until he retired. They had a small acreage that kept them busy near Stayton, Oregon, and they had some farm animals and raised sheep.Joyce never worked out of the home, but she was one busy lady with all the chores. Shortly after she married, Joyce had to have a hysterectomy and was not able to have children. So, in 1951, they adopted a son and named him William Rodney Lambert. Then in 1953 they adopted a daughter, Rebecca Mabel. 

 

Joyce was a tough farming woman, and able to keep up with Roy. 

  

Here she is with me! I am the daughter of that dearly loved sister Susie, so I was automatically loved. 

  

Joyce, Bill and I in Scio where they lived for a while. 

Aunt Joyce was always a very special part of my life. She was the sweetest woman I have ever known. I loved her as she loved me, unconditionally. I loved visiting her and her family on the farm. Being a city girl, that gave me more than I could ever say. I was staying with them on the farm when I married. What a great sweet smile she always had.

Aunt Joyce suffered patiently through some very long years of advancing Alzheimer's disease, and was lovingly cared for by her daughter Beckie. Above she is with my remaining Aunt Joane, She saw all her many brothers, sister and husband pass away before her, and lived a wonderfully long life until she passed away this month at the age of 96. 

A sweet and gentle woman, "well done thou good and faithful servant". Can't wait to see you once again!

Whisperings and Explorings

 

 Indistinct; from which direction come the sounds? Standing on a creaking board I hesitate, trying to absorb it all. Though it's sunny outside, it's chill and dim here inside. The old living room wallpaper still shows the taste of a former rancher wife. Large pieces are peeling off the walls, but overall there is still a cheerfulness and hominess to the pattern. As I move into the kitchen I can see that the wooden kitchen cupboards are painted green, and adorned with old chrome handles. Some of the doors are hanging crookedly by just one hinge, and the old white porcelain sink is streaked with rust stains and dirt. Amazingly, the window glass is still here, but is too smeared and dirty for me to see through. I can imagine that the same rancher wife must have had a good view from her kitchen sink of the high desert sagebrush, the vast sky, and maybe even livestock grazing. The pack rats have been busy, making piles of debris across the old linoleum floor, and I move gingerly. Something catches my eye on one of the kitchen shelves and I reach up to find a very old pack of Rolaids that has been chewed on and then rejected.
Next I climb the narrow back stairs, watching for rotting wood, and gain the second floor. Walking through a succession of small rooms, presumably bedrooms, I scan for bits of lives left behind: an old metal curtain rod perhaps, or any furniture or broken items left behind, unheeded. The wind gently blows around the eaves up here, and I feel those whose lives were bound up in this place. Little skittering noises run around the floorboards, but all else is entombed in the whispering silence. How many children were tucked into bed up here? I know there were children as there are still broken swings in the yard. How many seasons of harvest did this family see? Was it a good life?
Back downstairs in the main room, I stand before the stone, cold fireplace, once the heart of the home. It looks to be made of rock possibly quarried from the surrounding dessert. There is a dusty, broken desk in a corner, and piles of leaves strewn about the wooden floor. Abandoned and lonely, the home whispers of its past, its glory days and its stories to any who will pause and listen in the silence. I can almost feel the people who once lived here, can almost touch their lives. This is the place where together they struggled, laughed, despaired, cried and loved. This is the house they called home and that sheltered them. They once came and I've gone back, so the two of us can almost, almost touch.
I shiver and head for the back door, back to sunlight and the company of my real-life husband. He is sitting on an old rusty abandoned tractor, lost in his own thoughts for a moment. Beside the back door a lone rose still blooms, on a bush struggling for life. As I bend to smell, it also whispers to me that here in this lonely place there is still life and beauty .

 

By Jennie