Indiana Summer

Two weeks ago little Abe and I went on a five hour trip south with my mom and my sister. We found ourselves in southern Indiana where many of my mom's relatives live and also where my grandparents lived when I was a kid. When I agreed to go on the trip with my mom and sister I wasn't really sure what I was signing on to. I haven't seen the majority of my relatives in Indiana since my grandmother's funeral eleven years ago. In a way they're almost like strangers. Between five of my cousins there are at least ten children in the family in southern Indiana that I'd never met. Is it weird for me to have been a little nervous about visiting my own family?

When I was a kid I remember dreading the drive down there. It was about an hour longer back then but for as old as I was and as annoying as my brothers could be it seemed more like a fifty hour drive then like the six hour drive it actually was. But the six hour drive also meant that we were going to visit my grandparents and their wilderness wonderland. For that I'd make the excruciating trip again and again. I know that at least once my parents dropped my brothers and I off at my grandparent's house and left us there for a portion of the summer. The three of us were free to roam the thirty two wilderness acres, investigate the gardens, swim in and fish in the ponds, and for hours on end enjoy every single bit of what it meant to be a kid.

Grandmother and Grandpa with
one of my aunts (their first born)

 I'm convinced that my intense love for nature started after those six hour drives in the summer as a kid. I hold very dear some of my fondest childhood memories from my Indiana summers. I remember so clearly the adventures my brothers and I had with our cousins in those clay bottom ponds. Visions of us swinging from grape vines over ravines in the woods have never left me. I remember firefly evenings and the smells that always came from my grandparents kitchen. I remember my grandpa taking us for amusement park like rides in his little tractor which he fondly referred to as Little Mack. Sometimes if I close my eyes and think hard enough I can smell the cigar smoke, Indiana clay aroma, and sawdust that mingled together in their garage. And how prim and proper both of my grandparents were, our grammar was always corrected, no running in the house, and no hats were allowed at the table.

Their home in Indiana shorty after it was built,
with only a small corner of the bigger pond showing.

After my parents divorced my grandparents sold their home in Indiana so they could move next door to my mom, their youngest. The property had housed their dream home. They built the house and spent their retirement working on the land. It meant a lot for them to move away from so much of their family that they'd spent so many years near and to leave behind their home. They did it to be with us, with my mom. Unfortunately my grandpa passed during the move. It was weird how in a very few short years during my adolescence I lost my family (when my parents divorced I felt like I lost my mom and my dad), I lost sight of who I was and all self confidence, I lost my favorite place in the world (my grandparent's home in Indiana), and I lost my grandpa. I mean talk about childhood being ripped away all at once.

My grandparent's have both been gone for a long time now. Eleven years ago my grandmother very happily departed in her sleep. She was ready. She missed my grandpa so very much. And more then twenty years ago my grandpa left us far, far too soon. It's been close to twenty five years since I last felt the magic, the safety, the love, and the very meaning of what it is to live while at my grandparent's home in Indiana. I've lamented that loss ever since.

Back to where I started, two weeks ago, seven hours after I got out of work including one rather exhausting five hour car ride later little Abe, my sister, my mom and I found ourselves in southern Indiana at my aunts house in the country. The sky was a dark nigh time expanse, clear as could be and speckled with millions of stars. Crickets were chirping, tree frogs were singing. In the darkness I could smell my grandparents home (although we were no where near it actually).

We spent the next three days reuniting with wonderful family. Except for the new children and the years we each wore (everyone looks so much older, including us to them) it was like time hadn't really passed. My mom's family are so kind and inviting. They're so down to earth and real. They're just as I remembered them and better.

A bridge my cousin built over a
fantastic stone bottom creek.

Between the five different homes we visited and the (literal) hundreds of acres combined that surrounded the homes, the three separate ponds, fish, the wilderness trails, dogs, goats, goat dogs... lets just say my Indiana family is living my grandparents Indiana legacy. I was in heaven. One morning my sister and I sat on my aunt's porch enjoying paradise for two hours while little Abe played in the wonderful hot end of summer sunshine.

This little man had the time of his life
(and made several new furry friends)

Little Abe took tractor rides through the forests, skipped rocks in the creek, threw fish food to catfish, watched Doug the dog try to catch fish, oh yeah while he was swimming in the ponds with Doug and Cooper (another dog). He also swam and played with new cousins he'd never met before. He ran around outside barefoot for hours on end. He climbed trees, watched a plethora of different birds and butterflies, and truly enjoyed the beauty of hundreds of different flowers. Apart from the fireflies I remember as a child that were apparently out of season and swinging from grape vines (which I'm okay with him not having done) he spent three days in southern Indiana almost exactly as I remember it. It was the biggest blessing in the world for me to witness my son enjoying exactly what I remember so fondly enjoying when I was a child.

During the last evening there we had a big family cookout. Seeing everyone was wonderful. Enjoying the Indiana wilderness, and more than that, watching my son revel in adventure was priceless. The vacation away from home to just relax, with family, in so much beauty... it was basically like being at a cabin in the woods by a small lake for three days which I never ever get to do, was amazing! But most of all I regained something vastly precious that had been lost to me for almost twenty five years. Even though my grandparent's home in Indiana is essentially gone (no longer in the family; I can't go back and be with them there) I felt like I was there. And spending time with my aunt who looks (and acts) SOOOO much like my grandmother in her "mature" years, visiting with cousins that remind me of my grandpa, being with family that we mostly have only been with and around through my grandparents... I think the best way to say it is that pieces of my grandparents are in all of their children and grandchildren and great grand children and I could feel that while we were down there visiting. My grandparents have both been gone for eleven years, plus, but they were there. My cup runneth over. 

Gardening may be in my DNA

For my birthday I got a fabulous seed catalog. (I may have purchased it for myself with birthday money, eh hm) Its enormous and bursting with colorful, gorgeous fruits, vegetables, and flowers. I've looked through the entire thing several times. This last time looking through I saw something incredibly fascinating. In the melon section I noticed a seed named Bidwell Casaba. Bidwell is a family name that takes only four generations back to find, starting from my maternal Grandfather > his mom > her dad > his dad. > his mom was a Bidwell. The description reads for the Bidwell Casaba melon:

This melon was grown by general John Bidwell, who recieved his seed stock by the USDA in 1869. He was a soilder in the civil war and also became a US Senator. He grew this melon in Chico California. It produces massive fruits that weigh about 16 pounds each and are football shaped. The orange flesh is sweet and creamy. Dr. Amy Goldman says "tastes like heavenly orange sherbet," in her book Melons for the Passionate Grower.

My grandmother was a passionate gardener. I only began to grow food in my yard two years ago. But the activity is something that thrills me. I'm can't get enough of watching each little seed sprout, staring at the tiny plants as they grow on my window sill, watching them then flourish in the soil in my backyard, before too long they flower, and then by some sort of mystical magic these little seeds have been transformed into enormous plants bearing spectacular food. I couldn't ever fully describe the fascination and delight I've found in gardening.

When I saw the Bidwell Melon I had to wonder if this man was a relative of mine. Bidwell is a name I've rather enjoyed looking into in my family tree. The Bidwell's have a good part in American history. Although the Bidwell name in my family tree is flourishing with John's I was a little doubtful that this particular John Bidwell would match up to my line because he was growing that Bidwell Casaba Melon in California and my Bidwells hail from Connecticut.

I'll just cut the suspense, John Bidwell of the Casaba melon is in fact (at least from what I've been able to deduce) my first cousin 6x removed. He shares his name with my 9x Great Grandfather, John Bidwell of Hartford Connecticut, who is his 3x Great Grandpa.

The Bidwell family were apparently adventurers (and fighters). They originally came to America from England. They were in Connecticut for a while then at least some of my ancestors moved to New York, where John Bidwell (of the Bidwell Casaba Melon) was born. If you remember my POST almost one year ago about my 4x Great Grandpa Mishael Beadle who moved from New York to Michigan in 1833, Mishael was married to a Bidwell. My 4x Great Grandma Ruth Bidwell was John Bidwell's aunt.

According to wikipedia John Bidwell was not only a US Sentor that fought in the civil war and moved to California (where he grew heavenly orange sherbet flavored melons) he was also a pioneer. Like my Grandpa Mishael and Grandma Ruth Bidwell who moved to Michigan to homestead, John Bidwell "was known throughout California and across the nation as an important pioneer... He is famous for leading one of the first emigrant parties, known as the Bartleson–Bidwell Party, along the California Trail, and for founding Chico, California."

I love history. I LOVE family history and I love LOVE love gardening! What a wonderful find.

So, who votes that I NEED to purchase these melon seeds and see what bit of family history I might be able to grow in my yard? I'm afraid I live in a bit too northerly climate but I'm itching to try...

One Special Perk of Home Cooked Meals

I think I may have written an almost identical post to this one sometime last year. I can't remember. Sorry to re-reminisce but it's on my mind today.

My grandparents built their dream home on thirty two acres of property in Indiana. My brothers and I spent a few weeks during the summers of our childhood with my grandparents at that wonderful house. When I think of that place I can only remember joy, joy and fireflies, fishing, swinging into the clay bottomed small pond from a rope that hung from a tree on the edge. We went fishing in the larger pond (I only ever remember actually "catching" a very large tree trunk that left the three of us immobilize for the longest time because we didn't know how to get the small boat back to shore while attached to a tree trunk.) My grandpa caught fish though. He also had a wood shop towards the back of their property beside my grandmother's enormous veggie garden where he crafted things. That's where he kept little mac. I think the small vehicle he drove around the property was called little mac. Taking a ride in that adorable yet mighty little thing was better than visiting an amusement park for us kids.

We were wild and free in Indiana, always told to remove our hats at the dinner table, say please and thank-you and practice all the other proper manners but out of doors we were completely left to our own devices (it was like that at home too actually, probably a significant reason why I LOVE being outside).

When my parents divorced my mom looked for a new home for us, she wanted a home with property far away from the home she shared with my dad. Once she found the place where she wanted to start our lives over my grandparents sold their incredible home and property in Indiana to move up here and be with her, and us. My grandpa passed away during the move. It was tragic, blood clots in his legs, so in a way my mom and my Grandmother both began new lives together.

I have relics, sadly none of my Grandmother's beautiful English tea cups, but I have the artwork made from painted pieces of metal in the shape of ships that hung above their stairway in Indiana. I have their wonderful honey jar that seemed to always sit on the middle of the kitchen table. I have the solid brass (I think) boot that left a scar on my forehead when I was very young. And I have one large plate from their dishes that I remember using for family dinners at their home. My brothers and I usually ate meals with my grandparents in their sunroom that looked out onto the larger pond.

Tonight I made a pot of soup, just some chicken broth, onions, garlic, carrots, celery, a potato, peas, carrots, and a rue. But one of the things I treasure most from my grandparents, something I can't possess and yet it's something I'm able to recreate, is the smell of the boiled root vegetables that instantly transports me back to their kitchen in Indiana. I don't know why this particular smell brings me back there but lifting the lid off the pot sends an aroma wafting up that is exactly how I remember their home. There's something about an aroma memory that, at least for me, transports me through space and time so that in a moment, however brief, it's as if I'm there in that place, the memory comes alive and I don't just remember it, I am able to experience it.

I can't ever go back to their home. The people living there now have remodeled it so it's hardly even the same house anymore, not to mention it's 6 hours away and... well, I can't ever go back. But I can boil root vegetables and every single time I do I'm there for a moment, back in the Indiana kitchen with my grandmother. THAT is one special perk of home cooked meals.

Average daily spending for 2016: $21.35

Two bits of lovely today

I received an envelope in the mail today. Our address had been written wrong (missing a number) and there was no return label. I could tell there was a hand written note inside before even opening it and I suspected it was from my grandpa.

I have one living grandparent now. Both of my parents were youngest children in rather large families. (well, until my dad's twin brothers came along very unexpectedly when my grandma was rather old) My grandpa is in his 90's now but he gets along great. I hear that he's still riding a bicycle every single day, much to the dislike of all his children. He lives about three hours from us and we see him about two times a year. I really wish it were more often.

I send my grandpa a Christmas card every year and for the past few year's I've included a photo of my son and a group photo of his great grandkids, my dad's grandkids. My grandpa has always been a man of VERY few words. My grandmother was forever "the talker" of the couple. So much so that my grandpa spent most of his life sitting back, when not at work and listening to her go on and on and on. He even commented at her funeral that it was a shame that now he'd have to learn to talk.

I opened the envelope and sure enough it was a short and sweet hand written note from my grandpa thanking me for the photos and mentioning how little Abe didn't look afraid at all to be sitting up there on that big horse. This little note is an absolutely lovely addition to my day! A simple piece of paper with a few sentences jotted down on it that feels rather like having received $500 in the mail.

And lovely bit number two: my favorite Christmas gift this year. I'm certain you can guess who I received this from. There are a few incredible things about this gift that just melt my heart. First, that it is from my son who picked out what he wanted to paint and then painted it for me. He also did an excellent job keeping this a secret. Only the day before New Year's Eve did he break and told me that he and daddy got me a horse for Christmas. And secondly that my husband went to the trouble all on his own to take little Abe to one of those paint-a-pot places to make this for me. My husband isn't generally... he normally wouldn't do something like this which makes this all the more special.

Day six of $10 a day (for ten days)

The pork stew on Thursday turned out awesome. I decided I was going to make it again with the pork I have left but needed more onions and garlic. Yesterday while picking up the onions I learned that a 3lb bag of onions for $1.99 was buy one get one free this week. "Hm, what in the world will I do with 6lb's of onions?" I grabbed two bags and figured I could always give some away if need be.

When I got home I decided to look into making some sort of onion soup. We're not real big soup fans. (I do not lump a stew in with soups) Often times soups are high in sodium and my husband has been managing high blood pressure for years. He also gets debilitating migraines from MSG*. Broths and stocks either have loads of MSG added to them or mask a naturally occurring kind (which should not give him a migraine but he's ruled out eating any sort of stock or broth or anything made with one regardless).

Now onto my soup. I chopped up an onion, caramelized it in some oil and butter, then added two minced cloves of garlic. Once the garlic was cooked a bit I added some flour to the pot and made a rue. Then I added water, salt and pepper. A potato was quickly peeled, chopped and thrown in. I also added a small amount of balsamic vinegar. The whole concoction simmered for a half hour before I threw in a handful of frozen corn. And whalah, onion, potato and corn soup with no broth, stock, MSG, or seasoning packet thrown in and it turned out really well.

Baking and cooking has become quite the adventure for me. Between trying to cut food costs, having a garden during the past two summers, and delighting in the beautiful transformation of food as it cooks or bakes I'm learning to make so many things truly from scratch. When I began this debt payoff journey my husband and I ate out all the time. That seems so long ago that it's almost hard for me to remember living that way but eating out regularly was our way of life (our very expensive way of life). I love how much we've changed during this journey!!!

A huge bonus: when the pork stew was simmering away for two hours on Thursday my entire house smelled just like my Grandmother's kitchen in Indiana, the way I remember it smelling when I was a child. The aroma of the stew instantly transported me back to wonderful memories, very old but not forgotten wonderful memories. It was a delightful surprise to happen upon that fabulous aroma while making dinner in my very own kitchen so very many years later. My grandparents have been gone for a great deal of time and the smell of the stew was sort of like receiving a heavenly hug from the both of them.

Spending rundown today: $0, NO SPEND day 74 for the year. I did however purchase soap online, from my friend in Montana @Rock Creek Soaps yesterday. That adds $10.40 to my spending tally. Totally unnecessary purchase but I could not resist. Really, I couldn't. Plus, I'm very very pleasantly surprised at how far I'm stretching our food and how creative I've been getting with meals during these past six days. Other than milk and eggs I actually don't think I need to purchase anything tomorrow either.

My budget for the month is $450.79 which leaves $37

Average daily spending for 2015: $17.78
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*MSG - mono sodium glutamate is a known trigger for migraines. My husband has dealt with very bad migraines most of his life. He used to get several a month. He slowly started to identify foods that he thought triggered them. When he learned about MSG as a likely trigger he also discovered that ALL of the foods he identified as triggers had MSG in them. That's when he totally cut MSG out of his diet and his migraines stopped. He gets one on occasion and it's always after he's eaten something new that he either wasn't able to read an ingredients list on (like at a small restaurant that can't find an ingredients listing) or the new food had something in it that masks MSG and on virtually every occasion he's second guessed if he should eat said food or not.

A day sacrificed to poor detective skills

Up and down day here but it was a NO SPEND and we got a free dinner. I suppose I should be on cloud nine. I had very well intentioned plans to clean my house today but I sat down to do some ancestry research on my hubby's side of the family and then all of the sudden the morning was gone. Little Abe was playing with his new toy puppies all morning. Apart from finding two newspaper articles and a businesses listing from the early 1900's that allowed me to learn that my husband's grandpa owned a small grocery store in our town and where the grocery store was located and that the grocery store had their own basketball team that played other area business basketball teams I found very little with my morning's worth of research. Kind of neat info though considering that my husband is a manager at a grocery store.

On the way to a family gathering for my husband's side I told him that I learned his grandpa owned a grocery store and he was like, "yeah, I know." Ugh! Thirteen years we've been married. I jotted down some family info so that I could ask his uncle some questions at the family gathering because in all honesty my husband knows virtually nothing about his family history and I'd at least like to know for my son's sake. His uncle really didn't know anything either. He didn't even know how many kids his aunts and uncles had or what any of their names might be. He couldn't even remember the name of one of his uncles. Is it odd that I think people should know these things?

Now Monday is drawing ever closer. Sunday is coming to a close. A new work week will be starting and I kind of feel like today vanished in the blink of an eye. Cheer up Charlie!

The man in the back row on the left is my husband's Paternal grandpa. My husband never got to meet him as he died at a pretty young age. I read in the news articles today that the grocery store he owned with the family name was sold after he passed. He left a widow and five children, three of which she had adopted because his first wife died very young leaving him with three children. I imagine his widow must have sold the store to pay the bills and such. Those are his brothers and sisters in the back. Although I'm told he has another brother not pictured. I don't know which sibling is which but I was able to find out names from ancestry.com. The people in front are my husband's great grandpa and great grandma. I also found out their names online. My husband had no idea what their names were. Come on people! Know your family history already. I propose we re-institute the enormous family Bibles where we keep track of everyone in the family for generations. Anyone know where I might get a new one of those so at least my son can have a huge book with all these names in it that I've been researching for the past several years?

Okay, maybe I'll go try and clean something now.

Spending rundown today: $0 NO SPEND day 68 for the year.

My budget for the month is $513.62 which leaves $263.41

Average daily spending for 2015: $18.05

Seems I left someone out of the family tree

Yesterday I gave my 90 year old Grandpa the tree I drew for him. He was really impressed. I think I might have been even more impressed by his appreciation.

My Grandpa has been a man of VERY few words for the 35 years I've known him. Having been married to my Grandma for the majority of his life he never had much opportunity to talk; she'd always done the talking and on the rare occasion that she wasn't talking one of their eight children certainly was. I remember at her funeral, while thanking everyone for attending he actually made the comment that he was going to have to learn how to talk with people now. I gave him the drawing yesterday and he read every name, he followed each branch and was so impressed seeing his enormous family spread out before him on paper. He kept saying, "great, you got everyone on here!"

I included the scripture from Psalm 127: Behold, children are a heritage from the LORD,
The fruit of the womb is a reward. Like arrows in the hand of a warrior,
So are the children of one’s youth. Happy is the man who has his quiver full of them. He made everyone laugh so hard while he was reading the scripture and joked, "Yes, babies kind of are like arrows, their heads are so pointy when they first come out." He then looked around at everyone conversing and playing and swimming in the pool and he said, "oh my, my quiver is REALLY full."

After a little while he asked why my mom wasn't on the tree (this is my dad's dad I'm talking about). My parents have been divorced for 25 years. My dad remarried had two more children and has since been divorced a second time. I wasn't really sure how to answer his question. I don't even remember what I said, I mean I was pretty dumbfounded. My aunt later came up to me and said that my grandpa would really like it if I put my mom on the tree. She said that he asks about my mom all the time and that he's always really considered her a part of the family. My dad heard all that was going on and told me that I should really put my mom on the tree. It wasn't all dramatic or anything; I feel like I might be making it sound dramatic. I later asked my Grandpa if he would like me to add her to the tree (even though it didn't make a ton of sense to me since my parent's aren't married). He was so cute, he acted like it was my idea and said, "oh, it's okay, yeah, that would be a good idea."

I don't think I have words to express how touched I am by my Grandpa's heart. Twenty five years later, my Grandpa still considers my mom his daughter in law. If that's not a pure heart I don't know what is.

My 90 year old grandpa and my cousin, throwing balls for

my little brother to catch while he was jumping off the diving board

Quick Run Through of Random What's Going in My Head

Lemon bars in the oven; I've yet to purchase a sweet treat, as planned in my most recent goals. I've never made lemon bars before so this is another added recipe for the baking tally. On the goals front I did paint the stucco already (mostly) so I've been able to add a second goal to the home category.

I'm making a list in my head of what needs to be done before little Abe and I drive across state tomorrow for an overnighter for my dad's side of the family's big Fourth bash. My husband has to work. I don't ever take my kid on overnighters. This is going to either be very "interesting" or very fun. (Apart from possible gasoline costs this sort of trip costs nothing because we can stay with family and eat with family (and I'll pack snacks))

After years of planning to draw a family tree for my paternal Grandpa (he's my last living grandparent) I've FINALLY accomplished the task, except for the empty leaves and hearts that I'm waiting for correct spelling on. I'm sort of in love with family trees. This one for example, has my grandparents on the trunk and branches out to all of their children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren. Just looking at how two people have enriched the world with (I thinking I'm counting correctly) 37 lives is mind blowing to me. The hearts on the tree are people who've been adopted into the family. Seeing as I have been wanting to adopt kids ever since I was a kid I love that there are four hearts on this tree.

I wish I had updated financial info for you. I haven't even tallied June's spending yet. But I'm mostly looking forward to the weekend festivities and I don't intend to post (or tally) my June numbers before then.

I hope everyone has a wonderful weekend and July 4th! May the fireworks not be too stressful (sorry that's a personal problem of min).

Wild Roses

And bees!

Over ten years ago when my Grandmother asked me if I'd like her to transplant one of her wild rose bushes to my yard, I said something like, "uh, sure. I guess so... Okay."

The little poky fellow grew some, got ran over by a truck, grew some more, sends out shoots like the Dickens that I'm constantly having to uproot so they don't take over my yard, attracts more bees than anyone could ever want in their back yard (something I'm a little proud of) and is now taller than me and at least ten feet wide.

I didn't know ten years ago that every time I glanced at one of its delicate pink blooms, smelled its honey sweet floral aroma, listened to the sound of the bumble bees buzzing their legs in it's pollen, and smiled at it's absolute beauty that I'd think of my Grandmother. What a gift!

My Grandmother's Money Plants

I was introduced to the money plant by my beautiful English Grandmother who had them in her many, MANY perennial gardens. As a kid I loved playing with the coins from the money plants in her yard. I couldn't even tell you, or give words to what made this particular flowering plant magical to me as a child but I adored them (it may have simply been it's name). I couldn't have cared less about the lovely little purple flowers in springtime, I just wanted those awesome coins!

Many of the plants around our yard were given to me by my Grandmother. All of my hostas, the now giant wild rose bush, those darn yellow flowers that ate virtually all the other perennials, a neat delicate perennial that I thought was gone but I managed to salvage when I was cleaning up the beds this year (I'll have to figure out what it's called), and two large bunches of Autumn Joy that I don't even cut back in the fall because I like the way it looks all winter (I cut them back in spring instead). I really cherish the plants in my yard that came from my Grandmother's garden.

Well, last spring a strange looking "weed" showed up behind our house. The leaves on it looked sort of similar to a pumpkin or squash type leaf but it was so hearty and bulky looking that I was actually a bit worried it was a toxic plant or that darn hogweed that showed up in Michigan quite recently. I left it hoping that maybe somehow pumpkin got planted behind my house. It wasn't pumpkin but this spring it came back in mass. I posted a photo of it online to a gardening shop around here asking what it might be before I tried to eradicate it. Well the shop never got back to me but two of my friends saw that I'd posted it and chimed in with their thoughts. One said she was pretty sure it was a money plant. I told her that it didn't produce any coins last year so that didn't seem practical. Then she told me that they only give coins every other year. The virdict is in and I absolutely have a big bunch of money plants directly behind my house.

These magical beauties are not from my Grandmother's garden but as she's looking down on me each year while I work away in the yard and try to preserve the plants she gave me I think she saw fit to put a patch of money plants behind my house after all, knowing how much I loved them as a child.

These were not here two years ago

Thank-you Grandmother

Money plant "coins" (photo from cherrygal.com)

Not only do I now have a plant that I simply adore in my yard, one that will remind me of my Grandmother every time I look at it, but it was free (seeing as it planted itself), and now my son will have the pleasure of growing up and playing with the coins from our money plants just like I played with the coins from my grandparent's plants. This is just one of those simple things in life that I find truly an enormous blessing and a thing to smile about for ages to come!

My grandparents and my mom's oldest sister

Things I Love - Grandmother's Honey Jar

When I was a kid my parents shipped my siblings and I off to my Grandparent's house for at least a weeks time during several different summers. My Grandparents lived a six hour drive south of our home on a 32 acre property in Indiana. Because of the long drive (and my parents having four young kids to not want to travel with) we didn't see my Grandparent's very often. Our summers spent at their house live vividly in my memory.

There were two fabulous ponds on their property, the larger one for fishing in and the smaller one for swimming in. My brother's and I swam like fish so we spent a good deal of time in the ponds. The ponds were filled with fish and tree stumps (the only thing I ever remember snagging with my line) and hovered with dragon flies. My Grandparents always had a large vegetable garden next to the house. My grandpa had a work shed behind the garden that always smelled of saw dust where he did carpentry projects. At dusk fire flies filled the air. I'm pretty sure that the fire flies were my absolute favorite thing about Indiana. They were so magical. My brother's and I tried to catch them but we didn't want to kill them and smear them on us like other kids would do. We'd just catch them for the fun of it and then let them go so they could continue to glow.

I was in love with my Grandparent's property. We lived in the city and they lived in what seemed to be their very own fairy tale land. To me 32 acres of wonderful wilderness was a city of it's own. I'm almost certain that my love of nature began in Indiana at my Grandparent's house. I was in love with their house too. It always smelled of Indiana clay, the cigars my Grandpa smoked in the garage, and cooked carrots. My Grandmother who sewed, gardened, and cooked non-stop was always in one of three locations related to these tasks. I remember her mostly in the kitchen though. It was connected to their garage so the kitchen smelled always of a strong mix of the clay, cigars, and carrots.

In the center of their kitchen table was always this fabulous little honey jar shaped like a bee hive with a tiny metal honey bee set on top. We would eat breakfast in the kitchen but the other meals were eaten at the table in the screen room. Breakfast was more laid back and I don't remember being scolded for bad manors or my brother's getting a stern talking to from my Grandpa for wearing their baseball caps to the table. In truth I loved and still look back fondly on how proper my Grandparent's were but we weren't scolded at the kitchen table so it remains a more friendly place in my mind than the dinner table in the screen room.

The honey jar is one of those child hood things that my little self was absolutely in love with for whatever reason. I don't remember ever touching it or even if I ever saw it used by anyone but I loved it dearly. My Grandparents sold the house in Indiana when I was about 12 years old. My Grandpa died during the move. My Grandmother moved into a house directly next door to us to be near my mom who had just gone through the bad divorce. When my Grandmother passed over a decade later and the many many relatives were going through her things I grabbed the honey jar before anyone even had a chance to discuss it (or notice it). I took a few odd little things in this manner and felt a bit like a thief but I just had to have it. I doubt anyone ever loved it as much as me (at least in my mind this is the case). It currently lives in my baking cupboard. I haven't ever used it; I think because I don't want to create new memories with it. I want it to remain what it was, but maybe it deserves to be used. Either way it is one of the things in my home that I really truly love. It is a little bee hive shaped jar, the color of honey, with a tiny metal honey bee set on top that instantly brings me back to childhood summers spent in paradise in Indiana with my very English Grandmother and very American Grandpa. There's not many things more valuable than that.