The Tree That Was

We did an amazing thing today. We “took down” our forty-five year old weeping willow tree. I can’t say that I actually “wept,” but it was a poignant experience seeing it “come down.” I’ve had a 32-year love/hate relationship with that tree. Our house sits at the very back of a pie-shaped piece of property, so our back yard is very small and doesn’t have many redeeming features. Not counting our trampoline, the willow tree was about the only thing that might entice children to play in our yard. It had more than its fair share of tree forts, rope swings, and tons of climbing (especially during the early years when the first crotch was low enough for little people to reach). It provided lots of great shade, and every morning of the 32 years we’ve been here I’ve looked out our bedroom window first thing in the morning at willow branches swaying in the breeze.

But willow trees are so dirty. We were constantly picking up branches and sticks. The roots messed up our driveway and our patio. It was an on-going battle to get grass to grow back there. And the tree wasn’t very healthy. We’ve lost four or five major branches. Miraculously, they’ve never fallen on anyone or caused damage, but the only remaining branches hung over the house or over the driveway. About a week ago another big branch came down, and we decided that the next branch to fall would cause major damage. It was time for the tree to go.
8:00 a.m. The trucks arrived. And there were at least five of them. Each one of them had a different specific purpose--the cherry picker, the chipper, the claw, the haul-away truck, the stump grinder, etc.

They started with the top and worked their way down.It was so fascinating to watch them using ropes to drop the branches.

This spring we watched out our bedroom window as a Mr. and Mrs. Woodpecker created a home for their family. We first noticed that the ground was covered with little tiny pieces of wood (almost like sawdust). When we started looking for the source, we discovered the two of them busily at work. Not content with a single entrance, they created four ways in and out, including a rear entrance. When that branch came down I was able to take a closer look at their home (the babies had already flown away and the "summer cottage" was abandoned. I am amazed at how perfectly round the holes are.)




When all the branches were gone, they just sawed off the trunk at the ground, picked it up with their big claw . . .And dropped it into a truck.



When the tree was gone they ground the stump. The roots? They ate them, gone clear down to China.
By 10:00 they were done. Every twig was cleaned up, the yard was blown clean, and the trucks were gone. There’s nothing left but a big hole in the sky and an even bigger hole in our pocketbook.

Poppies

These poppies are blooming in our back yard. They are so cheery and bright. Many years ago John McCrae wrote the poem, In Flander's Field:

In Flanders Fields the poppies blow,
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky,
The larks, still bravely singing, fly,
Scarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the dead.
Short days ago,
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved and now we lie,
In Flanders Fields.
Take up our quarrel with the foe.
To you, from falling hands, we throw
The torch, be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us, who die,
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow,
In Flanders Fields.

Since that time, the poppy has come to be associated with war. Did you know that poppies were first distributed by the Veterans of Foreign Wars before Memorial Day in 1922. In 1923, disabled and needy veterans began to make and sell the paper poppies to provide them financial assistance. For many years I have seen the veterans standing at major intersections selling their poppies on Memorial Day weekend. Somehow I missed them this year. We all owe them big time!

Fingerprints

When our children were young we lived about an hour's drive from Grandma Ann and Grandpa Ted. We drove up frequently to see them. When it was time to leave they would always stand inside the storm door and wave good-bye. Grandma already held a spray bottle of Windex and a paper towel in one hand. Before we even got out of the driveway she was cleaning away the little fingerprints. All of our little "fingerprinters" left this morning. The house is so quiet. I miss the sound of little footsteps, the hugs and Eskimo kisses, and the "Hey, Grandma, guess whats". Come back, Come back, soon!

School's Out!

School is out for the summer! As a parent, I think I looked forward to this day even more than my children did. Yes, it was nice not to have to worry about homework every night and multiple trips to the school each day. But even more than that, I viewed it as the opportunity to re-direct our energies to projects and time commitments that would benefit our family. It meant more time to practice musical instruments. Girls could do a sewing project or learn how to make bread. Boys could clean out the garage, mow lawns and spread mulch. I’ve missed the “summer help” so much since the kids all left home.

I heard a talk the other night in which the speaker listed the seven greatest problems facing schools today. They were:

1. Drugs/Alcohol

2. School Dropouts

3. Sexually Transmitted Disease/Pregnancy

4. Depression/Suicide

5. Oppositionally Defiant Behavior

6. Robbery

7. Bullying

The speaker then compared these problems with the seven greatest problems facing schools in the 1940s – the decade when I started school. They were:

1. Talking out of Turn

2. Chewing Gum

3. Making Noise

4. Cutting in Line

5. Breaking Dress Standards

6. Running in the Halls

7. Littering

Wow! Perhaps we need to get back to the basics of behavior again. Perhaps children need summers full of fewer vacations, fewer movies, fewer play dates, fewer video games, less swimming, less playing, less shopping, less money, less free time. I love this quote from a friend, “You Can Never Get Enough of What You Don’t Need.”-- Mary Ellen Edmunds. What kids do need is more jobs, more accountability, more work, more attention, more time with parents, more responsibility, more exercise, more reading, more quiet time, more thinking. Yeah, I know. That’s easy for me to say. Good luck to all you who still have kids at home!

Our Grandpa Ted

Perhaps most families can point to one particular event that has occurred in their family history that is really significant. It could be 9/11. It could be the birth of multiples, or an accident. It could be some wonderful award or achievement. For our family, this family-altering experience happened to our Grandpa Ted. And on this 65th anniversary of the occasion, our family says “Thanks.” The details of the event have provided the materials for unending talks, school projects, creative writing pieces, skits and journal entries. It occurred on May 29th, 1943 in St. Quay/Portrieux, France. Ted was 24 years old.

It was his very first bombing mission, and before he had even dropped his bombs, his B-17 Flying Fortress plane had been hit by enemy anti-aircraft fire. With only one functioning engine, he had hoped to limp his way across the English Channel and back to London, but it quickly became evident that they would have to bail out. As pilot, he was the last to leave "Lady Godiva" just minutes before she crashed into the bay off the north coast of enemy-occupied France. Eight members of the crew were captured and became POWs. Ted’s parachute blew into a tree and before he could untangle himself from branches and shroud lines he was surrounded by a group of teenagers who made it clear that they would help him. One took his flight boots. One took his parachute. Two boys led him into a ravine where he was to hide until they returned for him that night.

A week later, his bride of only a few months received a telegram that he was “missing in action.” For her, that was the beginning of a long three months of hoping and praying. There was no way for her to know that these boys had put him into the hands of the French Resistance. The problem was how to get him out of France. Up until this time, the French would put a rescued flier into a boat and, under cover of darkness, race him half way across the English Channel to meet an Allied Forces boat for transfer to safety. But by May 29th the days had become too long. There was not enough darkness, and their strategy had been discovered. While Ted posed as a French art student or as a tuberculosis patient languishing in a sanitarium, a new escape route was being hatched.

The escape itself involved an arduous hike (by foot) across the Pyrenees Mountains into Barcelona, Spain. The eleven day trip was made without food or water, with the exception of one meal they ate when they passed through Andora.

The very tree where Ted's parachute landed is still standing in a field near St. Quay. A few years ago we stood under that tree on May 29th with Ted and one of the young boys who came to his rescue. We stood in the ravine with Ted and heard him tell how he had felt and what his thoughts had been as he waited alone, hearing the German motorcycles moving back and forth across the area looking for him . He made a promise that day that if he were allowed to return home safely he would spend the rest of his life serving the Lord. He did that. Thank you, Ted, for your wonderful life and example.

Boys

Grandkids are absolutely the best! Three of ours arrived late last night. They are tuckered this morning --

all except Charlie. He was an early bird. What a privilege to be able to get that little guy up and enjoy him all to ourselves. It's going to be a fun week.

An Experiment

A friend recently asked me if I know how to bottle chicken. The answer was “No.” I did offer to help her figure it out. Canning with a pressure cooker always makes me a little tense, so I decided it would be better to experiment on my own, rather than inviting an audience to watch me blow up my kitchen. I decided to do a Judy in the Kitchen version of Pioneer Woman Cooks. So here goes my first attempt to chronicle “Chicken in a Jar.”



The first thing you must do is prepare your jars. Run your finger around the rim of each jar to check for nicks or chips that might keep the lid from sealing. The jars should be cleaned well. You can wash them by hand if you like. I prefer to put them in the dishwasher. I use the hottest water temperature and the Heat Dry setting.

Put a half teaspoon of salt in each jar.



Wash your chicken and trim off any fat. I bought boneless skinless chicken breasts, but you can use other parts or even do a whole chicken.



A pint jar holds a pound of chicken. Two chicken breasts per jar is about right. Since some breasts are larger than others, you might have to trim a small piece off or add a small piece so that your jar is filled to within a half inch of the top.



Use a clean damp cloth to clean off the rim and neck of the jar. Any tiny piece of food, lint or fleck of anything on the rim will keep the lid from sealing.



Run water over your new lids to make sure they are free of dust or particles. Place them on your filled jars and screw the bands on tightly. Put the rack in the bottom of your pressure cooker and arrange the jars in the cooker. Add three quarts of water. Adjust the lid and screw the knobs on tightly. Adjust the knobs opposite each other at the same time to assure that the lid stays level. If the lid is crooked, liquid can escape during the pressuring process.



Place the pressure cooker on the stove and turn heat on high. Make sure that the steam escape valve is open.

Allow the water to boil until steam escapes freely through the valve for two or three minutes. Then close the escape valve --



and allow the pressure inside the cooker to come up to ten pounds.




The trickiest part of the process is to now keep the pressure at exactly 10 pounds by regulating the heat up and down. The chicken has to process for 75 minutes. You can then remove the pressure cooker from the heat and let it sit until the pressure gauge returns to zero. At that point you can open the escape valve to vent any remaining pressure inside. Remove the lid and lift the jars out onto a towel. Allow them to cool completely before moving them.

So now the first part of the experiment is complete. Didn’t blow up the kitchen. Didn’t break any jars. They all sealed. They look good. Now we just have to try eating them. I think we'll try chicken salad sandwiches for lunch. Will there be a post tomorrow?