The Spittin' image of my momma

My great-grandparents, David and Laura Webb with my mother and her brother Lloyd on their laps. (I'm not sure who the dog is.) I didn't realize until recently how much I REALLY  look like my mom!

A woman in a man's world

This is my grandmother Dorothea Cline. I was named for her. My grandma ran the Agricultural Stablization and Conservation Service in our county for 25 years and she ran my grandpa a good bit longer than that. She sewed all of her own clothes, made quilts and pies, kept an imaculate house and still had time to make us root beer floats on hot summer days.
She worked very hard to convince farmers that the hilly country in Brown County Indiana wasn't well suited for row crops. That the farmers could earn more and save their topsoil by putting their land into pasture and raising beef and hay. She convinced land owners to manage their wood lots instead of just timbering off land with out thinking about the future. Grandma started the "Forestry Field Day" which I remember as one of the big events of the fall each year. She brought in foresters and other educators to teach about forest management for sustainability.  What I remember as a kid was the rail splitting demonstration and the apple cider and homemade baked goods and walking through the crispy leaves listening to the forester tell about the different trees and did I mention the apple cider? 
Grandma encouraged farmers to take advantage of government programs that would help them to build ponds to store water. Our county doesn't have a lot of natural spring water and good wells were hard to come by.  When I was a teenager Grandma was invited to Washington DC to receive an award from the president for her years of service. She was an amazing woman and way ahead of her time.

When I was in first grade learning how to spell my name I wasn't too crazy about being named  Dorothea, but now I am proud to be her namesake.

Grandma's cookies

My Grandma Dorothy and my Great Aunt Ruth  were sisters. They both had cookie jars. You could tell a lot about them from their cookie jars. Aunt Ruth's cookie jar was glass with a screw on lid. Nothing fancy. Grandma Dorothy had two cookie jars one was shaped like a cabbage with a family of bunnies coming out of the top. It had been mended by my Grandfather more than once and showed the scars left by tape and glue. The other one looked like an apple.The cookie jars were always full of cookies -sometimes homemade and sometimes store bought.  If we were walking from our house to Grandma's, we knew we could stop along the way at Aunt Ruth's and get a cookie and she'd let us pump up a glass of cold water from her well. Then when we would get to Grandma's of course we were "hungry" and needed a cookie.

I inherited my grandma's recipe  box. The recipe for "Honey Jumbles" is in her handwriting. Try it. See if you like it. Let me know.

The Haymakers

My great grandpa loved to sing. He was Welsh and the Welsh are known for their voices. On the back of this photo scrolled in spidery penciled cursive it says, "Little Welsh Church, Elwood Indiana".

Whoever thought to write on the back also had the fore thought to tack a piece of paper onto the back with all the names of the people  they could identify written out neatly with the rows numbered. That's how I know my Great grandpa David Thomas Webb is 2nd from the left in the fourth row.And that his sister Maggie Webb Morgan is the last lady on the right in row three. I don't know who did the writing, but I'm glad they did. Until today, I didn't even know my great grandpa Webb even had a sister.

Who are these people?

Your guess is as good as mine. Like so many old family photographs this one is a mystery. No one living in our family remembers the couple in this photo. No one wrote on the back.  My grandfather left many photos of mystery ancestors. As a child I liked to make up stories for the people in the pictures. I still do. Perhaps they married young with high hopes. Maybe they moved North into Canada like my great grandparents in search of land they could afford to buy and start a farm of their own. Maybe he was a banker and she a milliner. Maybe they had 3 children. Maybe they endured the heartache of losing a child much too soon to a childhood disease that nobody dies of anymore. Maybe they loved each other through the good and the bad times, sunny days and rainy. Maybe when he died she missed him terribly and when she died she was missed terribly by their children. Maybe, just maybe...

On becoming a family of Druids

When my grandmother passed away we planted a tree in her honor. It was a weeping willow. It died. I don't think Grandma Dorothy wanted to be a sad tree. When my grandfather passed away we planted a tree in his honor and another one just like it to replace the Grandma Dorothy tree that died. Sweet gum trees picked out with loving care by my son, Anders. They grow side by side in front of our house next to the driveway.

After we planted these rather expensive memorial trees, my father announced that when he died we were not to buy a X*&^%$ expensive tree to remember him by. He said he had already planted a perfectly good tulip poplar tree next to the driveway and that would be his tree. That was in June. He passed away unexpectedly in November.

After much contemplation, planning and hard work my youngest brother and his wife built a memorial bench with the bronze plaque the military sent mounted under the seat. We put it under Dad's tulip poplar tree.

We've planted rose bushes to each side of the tree. Dad loved roses. Mom and I often rest there when we are out gardening or going out for the mail. It's shady with a nice breeze.

One day  Mom and I had stopped to rest on the bench. I got to thinking about the memorial trees and started to smile.

"Mom, I think we're becoming a family of Druids"
"What?" she asked looking puzzled.
"Look down this drive. When our family members die we 'become' trees!" I replied. "So what sort of tree do you want to be? A river birch, a fir, maybe a Linden tree..."

Mom thought for a moment then answered seriously,"I think I'll join your dad and be a tulip poplar."

I wiped a little tear from my eye.

I won't forget.

Meeting Grandma Mildred

When my husband,Brian,and I had just started seeing each other, he picked me up one afternoon for a date.

"My grandma's in the hospital," he said as he drove. "I'd like to stop by and see her.I'm her favorite."

"Ok." I had no idea what to expect.

At the hospital we took th elevator up to the ward, asked the first nurse we saw where to find Brian's Grandma. The nurse pointed out the room and told us she was asleep. We promised to be quiet and just peak in on her.

"Dumb ASS!" suddenly rang out from her room. I looked at Brian in shock and he laughed. He headed right in and gave Grandma Mildred a hug.

Then he introduced me. I will never forget the first thing Grandma Mildred ever said to me.

Don't you cry over him. He's not worth cryin' over.

We visited for a little bit. When Grandma Mildred's dinner came up we said our goodbyes.

I'll never forget the last thing she said to me.

Don't you cry over him. He's not worth cryin' over.

Brian explained later that "Dumb Ass" was Grandma Mildred's affectionate name for him. He's told me stories about Grandma Mildred ever since. Stories about when she was young and vital and alive. I never new her like that, I wish I had.

With the passing of the old year, Grandma Mildred passed on too.

She will be missed.