Fields

Fields
by Faith Shearin

For Henry and Irene Spruill

My great grandfather had some fields in North Carolina
and he willed those fields to his sons and his sons
willed them to their sons so there is a two-hundred-year-old
farm house on that land where several generations
of my family fried chicken and laughed and hung

their laundry beneath the trees. There are things you
know when your family has lived close to the earth:
things that make magic seem likely. Dig a hole on the new
of the moon and you will have dirt to throw away
but dig one on the old of the moon and you won't have

enough to fill it back up again: I learned this trick
in the backyard of childhood with my hands. If you know
the way the moon pulls at everything then you can feel
it on the streets of a city where you cannot see the sky.
My mother says the moon is like a man: it changes

its mind every eight days and you plant nothing
until its risen full and high. If you plant corn when
the signs are in the heart you will get black spots
in your grain and if you meet a lover when the
signs are in the feet he will never take you dancing.

When the signs are in the bowels you must not plant
or your seed will rot and if you want to make a baby
you must undress under earth or water. I am the one
in the post office who buys stamps when the signs
are in the air so my mail will learn to fly. I stand in my

front yard, in the suburbs, and wish for luck and
money on the new of the moon when there
are many black nights. I may walk the streets
of this century and make my living in an office
but my blood is old farming blood and my true

self is underground like a potato. At the opera
I will think of rainfall and vines. In my dreams
all my corn may grow short but the ears will be
full. If you kiss my forehead on a dark moon
in March I may disappear—but do not be afraid—
I have taken root in my grandfather's
fields: I am hanging my laundry beneath his trees

Recipe Box

I opened my grandmother's recipe box this week. I was trying to get a head start for Thanksgiving and wanted to make and freeze her poppyseed cake. Along with Texas cake and carrot cake and pumpkin pies,her poppyseed cake made an anticipated appearance each year. While thumbing through the thick collection of recipe cards , I found myself pausing to remember many friends and beauty shop ladies who shared recipes with one another on a weekly basis. Many familiar names topped the carefully written recipes. “From the Kitchen of Dorcas Herren” announced the recipes belonging to my piano teacher, Mrs. Herren. She arrived at my grandmother's beauty shop every Saturday morning before dawn to have her hair done for over 20 years.
As I read her recipe for peanut butter bars, and Amish friendship bread I remembered how competently her hands flew across the keyboard and how she never once was grumpy at my obvious lack of practice. I read so many names and could see the familiar faces, now gone.
I read my great-grandmother's recipe for lye soap and wondered how she managed a chore involving dangerous, combustible chemistry and simultaneously keep watch of her 17 children. I wish I would have thought to ask her how she managed.
I found favorite foods of my grandfather- like the mock strawberries my grandmother would make at Christmas. They were made with condensed milk, sweetened coconut, and strawberry Jello and looked and smelled like real strawberries. Not caring for coconut, I never thought they tasted as good as they looked- but it was the comfortingly familiar process of making them that announced that Christmas was coming. I found the Swedish Meatball recipe and recalled how much Papa loved them and how my grandmother had made the tiny, labor intensive meatballs by the hundreds for my parents' wedding reception.
I found an old photo of my brother, Nick, tucked between two recipes. Nick is wearing a chef's hat and rolling out pizza dough. I remembered that day and taking that picture. It was a good, happy day- one of thousands spent together. I am comforted that he knew how much he was loved.
I finally found the poppyseed recipe, but was momentarily daunted to find that it only listed the ingredients- not directions how to put them together. My grandmother must have assumed that whomever made the cake would have the experience needed to put it together. I should have payed attention. I forged ahead, overly confident in my abilities to remember how the batter should taste.
The resulting mixture looked familiar and as the cake baked, I was hopeful . During the last 5 minutes, however, it collapsed completely. I must have botched critical steps. Luckily, my grandmother is still with us, I have time to ask her, time to learn.
The recipe box is a tiny time portal. It can connect me with faces and events that once were. It contains glimpses of a life lived well- with family and close friends. I can open the box and within seconds, am transported to Christmases and holidays spent with people I loved, whom I love still-but whose time with me was limited. We are never certain how long we will remain together for grief and loss visits us all. Although I sometimes ache for those who have passed, I am grateful for having the chance to know and love them. I think of the wise words a friend once told me about loss: “ The holes in our lives created by those who leave us are enormous and will never truly go away, but somehow, we reassemble ourselves around it.”
I hold the recipe box in my hands- it feels warm and alive with the voices and faces it contains.
A mini Pandora's box of love and memory. For this, I am truly thankful.

Halloween Memory

Excerpt from "I Want to Say" by Natalie Goldberg

I Want to Say Before I'm lost to time and the midwest

I want to say I was here

I loved the half light all winter

I want you to know before I leave that I liked the towns living along the back of the Mississippi

I loved the large heron filling the sky

the slender white egret at the edge of the shore

I came to love my life here

fell in love with the color grey

the unending turn of seasons

Each day when I drive my my sons to basketball practice, I pass the house where I grew up. Each of us has a house that we still think about and which we remember as truly home. For me, it is the house with the round window.
That old house absorbed the shouts and murmurs of my adolescence, saw the birth of my little sister,and was the scene of my wedding;vows said before the fireplace. The house sheltered me and seemed to mourn in tandem, while I grieved my brother within its walls. Two of my sons learned to walk on the old hardwood floors. I knew its every creak , identified while I cautiously tried to sneak in and out long past my curfew. I knew its harmless, but clearly audible ghosts, who inspired wonder and a little fear.
All of our family traditions evolved inside those walls and I think of those experiences as I watch the leaves change and feel the evocative emotions the change of seasons elicits. Many Halloweens were spent there. Each October. My mother would pain the huge round window with orange tempera. A giant, smiling jack-o-lantern would form under her brushes and be perfectly back lit by the warmth of our home. Families began their own tradition of driving by each year to see the giant pumpkin that, in the darkness, appeared to hover in midair.
This simple act of painting a window took time and effort, and I recall that the cleanup was often a nuisance, but it was well worth the trouble. People still remark to me that they remember that yearly pumpkin and that it holds a fond place in their childhood memories.
I remember that there were other traditions we held each Halloween...we lit a fire in the fireplace, often for the first time that year, my mom made special treats that we only had at Halloween (that kept them special)- a caramel, walnut and cream cheese apple dip that was fantastic, and an enormous bowl of buttered popcorn to share with the many children who trick or treated our house. My mother took care and artfully arranged simple but delicious snacks to balance the overindulgence of sweets she knew we would take part in later. It wasn't really about the costumes- although ours were always creative.
I remember the year I was a white rabbit and my infant brother was a carrot. I have a fuzzy snapshot of the two of us- an 8 year old white bunny holding a vaguely annoyed looking baby carrot. We won first prize at the costume contest held on the square; I recall first prize was a silver dollar and our picture in the paper.
Halloween evening at our home often became an informal party with parents, teachers, children from the school and others dropping in and staying to eat, laugh, talk. The little dining room off the entry would be cozily crowded and the front room pressed into service. A tape of creepy music would add to the atmosphere.
What I remember most fondly was not the frantic accumulation of sugar and door to door traipsing down sidewalks whose cracks I could map from memory, but the quantity and quality of time that was afforded me. Time to enjoy a lighthearted evening with family and friends, time to gloat over and meticulously sort my loot, time to listen and remember. The evening seemed to last and last. There were no cell phone interruptions, television was ordered off and remained so all evening. When we were together, we were truly connecting. I had time to think and reflect and enjoy each moment. The only interruptions were the periodic, gentle tappings on the front door.
I hope my boys will remember with similar fondness the Halloweens we have spent together, as a family. Happy Halloween!

Carmel Apple Dip

Granny Smith Apples
Jar of good quality caramel sauce
Cream Cheese
Toasted Walnuts or Pecans
Spread softened cream cheese on serving plate, pour caramel sauce over cream cheese, top with toasted nuts, serve with apples.

Great Things to Do This Summer

In these difficult financial times everyone is feeling the strain. It occurred to me, however, that the rising fuel and living costs may actually benefit our community in some meaningful ways. Rather than driving to other larger towns and cities for recreation and shopping, many of us will be staying closer to home this summer and scaling back on spending. Living and playing locally strengthens our communities. These difficult times may be an opportunity to regain unhurried time with friends and family and to form deep community roots that have been slipping away.

Here are 10 great things to do with your family this summer, close to home and for little or no cost:

(1) Make my AMAZING GIANT BUBBLE MIX- Bubbles so big you can enclose yourself inside. Wands are made with straws and string. Prepare to be amazed.

Bubble contest-

Send me photos of best bubbles you make. Best bubble makers win super prize!

Here is a wonderful link to a place where you can learn everything about giant bubble making, including the recipe.

And another great recipe.

(2) Walk the trails at a local woods and look for owls. Sometimes if you hoot, they hoot back. Owls are elusive and tricky. Take some binoculars and move quietly through the woods. Let me know if you see one.

(3)Hike various woods together and clock your miles or steps with a pedometer. Keep a tally through August and send me your stats. Let’s see how many we can do. While hiking, discuss the unique personality of each wood. For example, some woods have spooky vibe sometimes. Look closely at the trees. Did you know that modern children can, on average, name over 50 brand names by age 3, yet many high school kids can’t identify 5 different types of trees?

(4) Make homemade lemonade and sit on the front porch or under a tree together.

Great Lemonade

INGREDIENTS

• 1 3/4 cups white sugar
• 8 cups water
• 1 1/2 cups lemon juice

DIRECTIONS

1. In a small saucepan, combine sugar and 1 cup water. Bring to boil and stir to dissolve sugar. Allow to cool to room temperature, then cover and refrigerate until chilled.
2. Remove seeds from lemon juice, but leave pulp. In pitcher, stir together chilled syrup, lemon juice and remaining 7 cups water.

(5) Choose one night a week when you collectively turn off all electronics. Tell the kids they can do anything they want as long as it doesn’t involve spending money or using electricity, or cell phones.

Great site to get you motivated to TURN IT OFF.

(6) Camp one night the old fashioned way- no camper, no electronics. Real campers don’t take a television or radio. My camping trips usually go like this- Pitch tent, manage to create unique, unintended octagonal shaped tent. Fish the pond. Enjoy the tugging sensation of swarms of piranha-like baby fish consuming all of your worms at lightening speed. Catch nothing. Make and eat s’mores, eat more s’mores, have another so the last half of the chocolate bar doesn’t go to waste. Remember that your fingers are wormy from fishing. Feel vaguely nauseous. Tell scary bear-attack stories around the campfire. Discuss the possibility that Bigfoot could be wandering Central Illinois. Notice the odd, rustling, Big-foot-like sounds coming from nearby woods, suddenly feel the urge to retreat to tent for safety. Turn on flashlight inside tent. See millions of bugs inside tent. Spend sleepless, sweaty night, wide-eyed, head zippered completely into sleeping bag imagining bugs crawling into ear. Wake up ready for a morning s’more.

(7) Older kids should read “Harris and Me” by Gary Paulsen. Read aloud each evening as a family or alone, it is one of the funniest books ever. “Hatchet” is another good choice. Younger kids- read Farmer Boy by Laura Ingalls Wilder.

Link to Hatchet Site

Link to Farmer Boy

(8) Harness the power of youth. Get behind one of our communities worthy projects as a family. Willow Tree Mission is trying to put a roof on the building that will assist children and women in need. An Animal Shelter is being created for our County. Children want to make differences and should be given the opportunity. Kids don’t operate in the same red tape and beaurocratic universe that adults do. They see problems and have answers. Often, given the chance, kids have the enthusiasm to make real change happen. Grassroots movements are wonderful opportunities for children to make positive impacts within the community.

Willow Tree Mission

Piatt County Animal Shelter

Youth Volunteer Corp

(9) Get some kids together in the evening for a night of little remembered games. Some great games are falling into oblivion and need to be played and rescued from oblivion. Try Kick-the Can, Ghost in the Graveyard, or Stalking the Drum. Try this game for wild kids (with mom’s who have nerves of steel): Noodle Battles! Choose a day when everyone has too much energy. Purchase several pool noodles- those long, Styrofoam-ey things. The cost is minimal. Cut each in half. These make wonderful whacking toys. Devise a simple fencing game with points or do what we do- have the entire family take part in an outdoor battle. It is wonderful fun with lots of movement, yelling and noise. The smack sounds impressive, but it is usually painless. It satisfies a deeply rooted boy instinct to whack one another-without the unpleasantness of blood and trips to the ER.

Link to outdoor game rules.

(10) Stop and buy at each lemonade stand you see. Send me time and place of yours and I promise to come.

Chris can be contacted at csanant@yahoo.com