Cedar Tree Hill

I went by my grandmother's old house today. It had been awhile since I was there, and I walked around the house, remembering all the weekends I spent "in the country."  That's what my mother always called it; "the country." My aunt owns the house now, and she likes to go there and sit on the front porch, swinging and remembering.  She remembers her mother, father, and sister, who have all gone before her.  The homestead is called "Cedar Tree Hill" because of the old cedar trees out in front of it.  The trees have been damaged by storms and age, but some remain, standing witness to our family's history.  The place will never seem right to me without my grandmother there.  My grandfather died in 1970, leaving my grandmother with a hog farm to run.  We would drive over to McLean County after Dad got home from work on Friday night, and stay until Sunday evening. Dad would work with the hogs, and do repairs around Grandmother's house, while my mother helped cook and watch us kids.  There was no bathroom indoors until my father put one in. I don't remember how old I was when the bathroom was built, but I do remember going into a closet to pee into a pot. I remember playing outside all the time, and I am sure we were outside a lot.  Back then there was nothing interesting in the hot house.  My brother and I spent hours riding our Big Wheels on the front porch.  We would go round and round, always mindful of the edge so we wouldn't fall off.  I had a Big Wheel and my brother had a Big Green Machine.  We rode those things until the plastic front tire became flat on one side.  After that it would make that ka-thunk, ka-thunk sound, and the ride was no longer smooth.  We also had a sandbox my dad made for us, under the walnut tree.  My cousins spent many hours under that tree with my brother and me, making roads and mountains in the sandbox. Looking back, I now understand my father's sacrifice; he worked all week at the office, then spent his entire weekend working hard on the farm.  And he did it for his mother-in-law.  Would I do the same, week after week?  I am not sure.  Here are some pictures of the place then and now:

Front Porch 1973

                                                  Front Porch 2009

                                            The well in the backyard 1970

            The backyard 2009

                The Back of the Farm 1970     The Back of the Farm 2009 (same tree)

          Front Yard Then                                                         Front Yard Now

The place sure has changed over the last 30 years, just like we all have.  The only thing that remains constant is my memory.

All Creatures Great and Small

The wooly worms are very busy, looking for a place to winter in.  I have never seen as many as I did today; they were even crossing the road in their quest for a winter home.  Wooly worms are actually caterpillars, and unlike other butterflies and moths, they spend the winter as a caterpillar.  They will hibernate all winter, and when the weather warms in the spring they will feed, pupate and eventually emerge as adult Isabella tiger moths.

Many people believe the wooly worm can predict the upcoming winter. Legend says that the more black a wooly worm has on it, the more severe the winter will be.  Scientists say research has dispelled this myth, but, if you are a believer, these had black on both ends.  My grandmother would say that the winter will be hard in the beginning, and in the end.  I think I will revisit this post in the spring, and we'll see if the woolies were right this year.