All posts by Wildtrumpetvine

On This Election Day, Go Vote!

November 6, 2012 Wildtrumpetvine

My maternal grandmother Nora was born in 1894. In 1920, when the 19th Amendment, the Susan B. Anthony Amendment, was passed, she was twenty-six. She had been married to my grandfather for five years, and they were the parents of a two-year old son, my mother’s oldest brother. Having lived through a time when women could not vote, my grandmother took that newly granted right very seriously. She never missed an election, either national or local, and she was quite vocal in encouraging other women to get out and vote. Not voting was a sure sign of laziness, ignorance, or just “being plain sorry,” according to Nora.

I wish I had thought to ask her, before her death at age 94, about the presidential election of 1920. I would like to have discussed the details, such as where she voted and how. Were there long lines, and did the women turn out enthusiastically? Like most rural Kentuckians and Southerners of her generation, my grandmother was an ardent, lifelong Democrat. I assume she cast her first vote for James M. Cox, the Democratic candidate, newspaperman and Governor of Ohio. Cox, by nearly all hindsight accounts the better man, lost to Warren G. Harding, now remembered primarily for the rampant corruption of his administration. Twelve years would pass before my grandmother chose the winning ticket, when she, no doubt, voted for Franklin Delano Roosevelt in 1932. Interestingly, a young FDR had been James Cox’s Vice Presidential running mate.

Today on election day, I’m especially grateful to the generations of determined women who fought for nearly a hundred years for the precious right to vote. Because of their efforts, my grandmother voted in 1920, I will vote today, and my daughter will vote before long. In years past, I may have supported candidates that probably would not have won my grandmother’s vote. But this year, I feel confident that she would strongly agree with my choice.

On this election day and always, may God bless the United States of America!

Crafts, Family, Holiday

New This Year: Spooky Trick-or-Treaters

October 31, 2012 Wildtrumpetvine

This fall, my daughter and I spent several amusing afternoons in production of these big-headed, bug-eyed trick-or-treaters to add to our Halloween decorations. Using a Dremel, we drilled indentations for the wooden bead eyes, which we anchored with Sobo glue. Our goal was to create a variety of strange and crazy-looking little figures, so we rather indiscriminately raided the craft closet in search of odd miscellaneous items.

For hair, we used yarn, felt, an old shade pull, and some of the stuffing that Kiko was at the time pulling out from the toy he was attacking. Hats are acorn caps, wooden craft cups, and in one case, a plastic spider ring. For bodies we used small spools or corks. Toothpicks or wooden beads form the arms. One figure received oversized white plastic hands on springs that came with a set of Halloween pencil-toppers. We made two dogs, one with ears of pecan shells, the other with wooden bead ears. Maple leaves from a craft punch adorn several of the creatures. We covered miniature Nerds boxes with orange paper to make trick-or-treat bags. Because we didn’t intend our creations to be perfect or traditionally cute, no one (and I won’t name names) flew into a rage when a slight crafting hitch or two arose.

Crafts, Holiday

Ready for Halloween: Papier-Mâché Jack-o’-Lantern Friends

October 30, 2012 Wildtrumpetvine

These two jolly Jack-o’-Lantern friends were inspired by a vintage Halloween decoration my mother found in a catalogue. Several years ago, my daughter and I made the heads out of papier-mâché, using the tried-and-true Kindergarten method of newspaper strips applied to balloons with watery white glue. For the bodies, we wired together sticks from the yard, which we draped with muslin for the gowns. The black cloaks were formed from two mens’ drawstring shoe bags. The friends take their place every October on our dining room sideboard. This year we surrounded them with bittersweet branches and used two mercury-glass hurricane candle-holders for support.

Anticipating a happy Halloween!

Family, Holiday, Parenthood

From Little Pumpkin to Halloween Jack-‘O-Lantern

October 29, 2012 Wildtrumpetvine

It’s an easy and logical progression from pumpkin to jack-o’-lantern. Mother/baby Halloween parties across the country are crowded with crawling, crying, babbling, drooling, toddling jack-o’- lanterns. Our first Halloween event was typical.

The three jack-o’-lanterns at our Halloween playgroup party are assembled here for a photo opp. The middle pumpkin took offense, perhaps at the indignity of being sandwiched between two other pumpkins.

She continued to protest, loudly and forcefully. The other two pumpkins seemed mildly interested, at best.

After the party, D relaxed at home by quietly ripping the flaps off a seasonal pop-up book.

We reused D’s jack-o’-lantern costume on her second Halloween. As we had expected, our not-quite-two-year-old voiced no protest at having worn that same old thing last year. On her first Halloween, she was not yet walking, and the costume proved cumbersome for a crawler. Here, at our Gymboree party, she enjoyed being a jaunty pumpkin on the move, walking, running, jumping, and bouncing.

On D’s first Halloween, we went with some of our playgroup friends to an afternoon celebration geared to young children at the local mall. We couldn’t justify trick-or-treating on behalf of a baby in a stroller. But on year 2, we hit our neighborhood. Up to this point, I had limited our daughter’s exposure to candy. She got a few sweet treats, but, as the baby books advised, not many. That Halloween, however, the jig was up. The great wealth of the candy universe opened up to her like a treasure chest unearthed, and she rejoiced. While Kit-Kats were initially her favorite chocolate, she quickly developed an eclectic, enthusiastic palette. Here, she sits in a trance-like state savoring a lollipop, the contents of her trick-or-treat pumpkin spread around her in what was then the bareness of our kitchen.

Family, Holiday, Parenthood

Looking Back on our Little Pumpkin

October 25, 2012 Wildtrumpetvine

When my daughter and I were choosing our Halloween pumpkins last week at a pleasant local farm market, we were surrounded by parents photographing their little ones among the seasonal displays. Babies and pumpkins look good together; it’s a natural fit. Both tend to be round, fat, cute and firm. Facebook is understandably full of adorable pumpkin/baby duos this time of year. Our baby is no longer pumpkinesque, which is fortunate, considering she’s nearly fourteen. But I’m prompted to look back on the years when she was, very much so.

On our first trip to the pumpkin patch with our daughter, the chill of the late afternoon took us by surprise. We had dressed D in soft overalls and a Scandinavian-style fleece jacket, the first of a series that my mother would sew for her over the years. But either Mama hadn’t yet made the matching fleece hat, or we didn’t think she’d need it. Her baseball cap clearly didn’t keep her warm, and her lack of mittens didn’t help either. Her little feet must have been freezing, in lightweight cloth tennies. In these photos, it’s painfully evident that the kid, not quite ten months old, was borderline miserable but making the best of a bad situation. She looks as though she’s thinking Where are we? What are these cold round shapes? Why do they make me sit on such scratchy stuff or on a hard, icy seat? I do, however, rather enjoy being pulled around on this thing.

Here, D is wedged in on the Radio Flyer between pumpkins and the bulky camera bag we were never without during those early years. We had bought our first video camera in anticipation of our new baby, and, like so many new parents, we filmed our growing child during unremarkable moments. Look! She’s tilting her head! Look! She’s blinking her eyes! She’s lifting her hand! Amazing! Marvelous! No doubt we have extended live footage that documents her discomfort on this outing even more clearly.

The next year, we made sure to choose a warmer day for pumpkin picking. Here is our girl surrounded by pumpkins on another red wagon. Despite the more comfortable temperature, she still doesn’t appear to be very happy. But I’ve never appreciated a photographer’s insistence on BIG SMILES! I remember this day as being a fun-filled one. I’m hoping our baby, despite her conspicuous lack of a big smile, nevertheless enjoyed herself. I resolve to think she did, because in the years to come she would look forward enthusiastically to pumpkin patch visits.

Maybe now she’s really had enough!

Nature

A Fall Berry Harvest

October 22, 2012 Wildtrumpetvine

I’ve always loved the many varieties of berries that ripen in the fall, adding to the season’s spectacular color. I’m not especially picky–I have a soft spot for weeds and climbing vines some term pesky and invasive, as long as they produce nice berries. Poke, privet, lyriope, elaeagnus–all these were readily available in and around the yard of my childhood home in Atlanta. We had a couple of holly trees, but they were not prolific berry-producers. For fall and Christmas displays, we had to turn elsewhere.

The neat, grape-like clusters of nandina were our stand-in for holly. And when we transformed the concrete wasteland behind our Virginia house into a real backyard with actual plants, I knew I wanted to include nandina, or heavenly bamboo, which spoke so clearly of home. The green, lacy foliage turns red in the fall, just like its fruit. The nandina berries, I can happily say, are ripening now along our fencerow. If the birds don’t eat them all, I’ll have some to bring in for Christmas.

About a week after the above photo, the nandina berries and foliage are brighter still.

I find bittersweet to be a particularly enchanting vine. It didn’t grow in Atlanta, but I vaguely remembered it from my younger days in Kentucky. I rediscovered it in the woodsy surroundings of our first apartment in New Jersey. I brought it in by the armful. Like wild trumpet vine, it’s one of those climbing plants that can take over if left unchecked. Here in Virginia, we typically see bittersweet growing in a pleasant tangle at the edge of the woods. Its berries pass through several different stages, all interesting and attractive. In early summer, the new berries are bright green, surrounded by abundant leaves. Gradually the berries turn yellow, as above. With cooler weather, the hulls pop open to reveal bright orange-red seed globes, segmented rather like tiny beach balls. The pliable, free-form vines are easily wound into wreaths.

Once cut, the bittersweet pods quickly open to reveal their red-orange fruit.

The bright cherry-red berries of fall honeysuckle shine with a silvery glow like bubble-shaped jewels. Each berry is perfect–perfectly red, perfectly round, perfectly sized. I learned the hard way not to bring these inside–they are very juicy and tend to stain tablecloths and rugs.

This Japanese dogwood or Kousa Tree is laden now with its characteristically lumpy, globular fruit, which are edible and said to be tasty, although I’ve never sampled them. For some reason, they strike me as vaguely futuristic, like something we might see on the Jetsons.

During the years before we renovated our backyard, one of our few touches of greenery was an immense pokeweed that sprung up every spring in a small patch of ground beside our old porch. It offered some shade and color, and the birds flocked to its berry clusters. I enjoy the plant’s evolving appearance. At the ends of young stems, tiny, pale pink blossoms appear in early spring. These are transformed first into bright green berries and, in late summer, into plump, dark-purple spheres. The stems also change color, from a lavender pink to a bold magenta. The vigorous heartiness of pokeweed, as well as its amazing rate of growth, make it a force to be respected. Long used in herbal remedies, the plant is being studied as a possible cancer-fighter due to its established antiviral properties. Children should nevertheless be warned that the luscious-looking berries can be toxic to humans.

In late summer and fall, the pink climbing roses on our garage trellis give way to these jumbo rose hips that resemble large gumballs or miniature tomatoes. A Martha Stewart disciple would laboriously harvest them for jam, but we are content to appreciate their autumn color. Kiko occasionally awakens from sleeping in the sun to munch on a rose hip if one happens to have fallen nearby. He seems to find them tastiest when they are rather shriveled and overly ripe.

Family, Nature, Parenthood, Travel

Glory in the Pumpkin Patch: The Ford Farm in Churchville, NY

October 18, 2012 Wildtrumpetvine

After our return from the railroad tracks, the predicted rain was not yet falling, so we walked past broad flat fields to the Ford Farm Market, a showcase of pumpkin glory and diversity. On this beautiful old family farm, Tom Swain, a former middle school science teacher, grows a vast variety of pumpkins and gourds. Signs proclaim the availability of pink pumpkins. Indeed, some are peachy-pink. There are pumpkins in nearly every conceivable earthy hue, including white and many shades of yellow, orange and green. There are also multi-colored varieties, some speckled, some striped, some uniquely patterened. The range of sizes is equally wide, from tiny palm-sized pumpkins to enormous giants, and everything in between. In years past, the largest Ford Farm pumpkins have topped 1,000 pounds. Tom’s wife Sharon is a pumpkin carver of great skill and imagination. Each year she creates a series of gigantic, intricately designed masterpieces. The family’s extensive and charming collection of Halloween decorations is displayed in the barn.

We made no pumpkin purchases because we would soon be flying back to Virginia, although D bought an apple for the walk back. A cold rain was falling steadily by then, but our cheery dose of Ford Farm fall spirit sustained us along the way.

In front of the old farmhouse, more pumpkins, including some of the giant ones Sharon Swain typically carves.

A colorful celebration of roadside vines and wildflowers.

A view of the fields across from the Ford Farm.

Community, Family, Nature, Parenthood, Travel

Rochester, Down by the Tracks

October 16, 2012 Wildtrumpetvine

When I was young, I spent my summer days
Playing on the track.
The sound of the wheels rollin’ on the steel
Took me out, took me back.

Big train, from Memphis.
Big train, from Memphis.
Now it’s gone, gone, gone, gone, gone, gone.

–John Fogerty, Big Train from Memphis

For many of those who grew up hearing the whistle and roar of passing trains in the night, the sounds evoke home, family and childhood. My husband and I each became accustomed to the music of the trains, and we miss it here in Virginia. When we return to Rochester or Atlanta to visit his parents or mine, we savor the familiar, comforting sounds of the train.

H and his childhood friends really did spend their summer days playing on the tracks and beneath the adjacent highway overpasses, at least when they were not deep in the neighborhood woods. The tracks are easily accessible from his sister’s house in Rochester. If we have time, we head over to see what’s new and what’s as it always was. It’s a particular joy for H to explore the area again with his daughter by his side. She appreciates his tales of boyhood adventure as well as the desolate beauty of the landscape along the tracks.

D was delighted to find this sturdy rope well-anchored to the underside of the bridge.

The unruly landscape bordering the tracks gets a beauty treatment of fall colors.

A mingling of the seasons: touches of gold and green among the fallen brown leaves.

D negotiates the tangle of weeds as she emerges from down under and years gone by.

Family, Nature, Parenthood, Travel

Rochester: Into the Woods

October 11, 2012 Wildtrumpetvine

This past weekend we went to Rochester to celebrate Grandma’s birthday. In between the frequent meals, the snacks, the cookies and the birthday cake, we managed to squeeze in an afternoon walk in the woods. My husband wanted to show our daughter a spot much loved by him and his boyhood friends. Enjoying a freedom from adult supervision nearly unknown to kids these days, they met there on their bikes after school. Using found lumber and fallen trees, they built hideouts and forts, which they outfitted with discarded furniture. They shot their BB-guns at cans (and occasionally, at each other, but with a strict one-pump rule). They made campfires for roasting hot dogs and for the sheer joy of watching things burn. Responsibilities were divvied up, and H brought the explosives. (It’s no coincidence that he went on to study combustion in grad school). He hadn’t set foot in these woods for decades, and he was worried that they had been developed or modified beyond recognition.

We were relieved that the entrance to the woods, several streets away from H’s childhood home, was just as he remembered. As we walked, it became apparent to him that some paths had been widened, neatened, or rerouted. But thankfully there was no sign of encroaching development, no nascent parking lots, shopping malls or townhouse complexes.

The weather forecast had predicted a full day of rain, but early morning showers had given way to a sunny afternoon. The light on the turning leaves suffused the canopy with a golden glow. The woods took on a magical, enchanted aspect. Our daughter appreciated their appeal as keenly as H had when he was her age.

Rochester’s fall palette was bright and varied. The yellows and oranges of the trees were especially brilliant.

The ground was carpeted with green moss and colorful fallen leaves.

Perfectly formed mushrooms, the small white kind that fairies rest on in childrens’ books, were a frequent sight underfoot among the leaves.

Beech trees, their leaves just beginning to turn yellow.

The kindness of trees: one member of this group of trees, having lost its base, is supported by its neighbors.

Our ultimate destination was the secluded pond where H and his friends had focused many of their boyhood activities. D and I followed H as he wandered, searching uncertainly through the swampy, heavily tangled brush, looking for landmarks to point the way, such as the tree on which they had carved their names. As my feet got soaked, I regretted not stuffing my hiking boots into my suitcase. Repeatedly, the pond wasn’t where H thought it should be. He began to fear we wouldn’t find it. Finally, with the help of the GPS system on his phone, he located it. It looked the same as it had all those years ago, H said, except for the greater accumulation of algae on its surface. A small boat was tied up in the reeds by the shore, suggesting that the pond continues to be the haunt of local explorers.

The walk back to Grandma and Grandpa’s house was a happy one. It was enormously satisfying to see that every once in a while, despite the fleeting pace of time and so-called progress, we can return to a place that still matches up with its treasured memory.

Family, Parenthood

For the Perfect Mother-in-Law, on her Birthday

October 5, 2012 Wildtrumpetvine

I have the perfect mother-in-law. The only down side to this is that I’m unable to participate in the swapping of mother-in-law horror stories. I’ve heard many such accounts, and other than gasps of incredulity, I have nothing to add. I’ve listened in amazement to tales of the mother-in-law who “helps” with the new baby by bellowing orders, complaints, and increasingly outlandish requests from a command center on the family room sofa. I’ve heard about the M.I.L. who, determined to ensure that her son’s house run on her rules or not at all, regards each visit as an opportunity for a hostile takeover. I’ve listened to anecdotes about the M.I.L. whose sensitive temperament is constantly wounded by imagined slights tossed off by a cruel daughter-in-law. And I’ve heard everything in between.

With my mother in law, there is no drama. She is sweet, good, and uncomplicated. She is kind, thoughtful and intelligent. During visits to our home, she asks how she may help. She is not overbearing. She does not insist, but she never offers out of empty politesse. It has taken me a while, but I’ve learned to accept her assistance. I come from what may be a predominately Southern tradition of automatically refusing the first few offers of guests’ help, thereby forcing them to insist or be considered rude. Now, when Grandma* asks if I need help with dinner, I tend to say Yes, please! She is a calm, easy presence, and it’s a pleasure to share the house, and the chores, with her.

Like everyone in H’s family, his mother welcomed me warmly at our first meeting, now over twenty years ago. She has never implied (as some mothers of sons are known to do), that no living woman could be a worthy companion of the god-like boy-child she birthed. She has a deservedly high opinion of H, and she has always treated me as his equal.

H’s mother is a loving grandmother to our daughter and to her other four grandchildren. Gentle and fun, she laughs easily, and she remembers what it was like to a child. I’ve heard about grandparents who cannot be trusted with their own grandchildren. This was never an issue with either set of my daughter’s grandparents, thankfully. When D was nearly three, my husband and I, along with my parents, took a trip to France, leaving our daughter in the care of Grandma and Grandpa. We missed our baby girl terribly, but we had no worries about her welfare, either emotional or physical, during those ten days. We knew she was in devoted and capable hands.

Grandma’s attitude is generally one of meekness, and some might take her for a pushover. This, however, is not the case. When she feels strongly that righteousness is on her side, she is tough, patient and determined to persevere. One year, when H’s windsurfing board went missing in Cape Cod, she summoned Grandpa to accompany her on a walk. With slow, thorough deliberation, she surveyed the property, until she discovered H’s board leaning up against the wall of another cottage way across the green. Thanks to her gracious yet firm intervention, H’s board was soon being carried back to its rightful place by those who, no doubt, had removed it.

Our daughter with Grandma at Cape Cod. In D’s younger years, she always urged H and me to go out for date night during our vacation, so she could enjoy a full evening of food and fun with Grandma and Grandpa.

Grandma is always ready for a game with a grandhild, whether it’s air hockey, Chinese Checkers, Candyland or Chutes & Ladders.

Grandpa is a lucky man, and he knows it. He has Grandma by his side, no matter what. During their long marriage they’ve had their share of hell and high water, in addition to many joys. They are a formidable team, and together, with their strong faith in God’s love and grace, they know they can weather any storm. Grandma has a gift for finding and sharing that kernel of sweetness within the tough husk of the bad.

Thank you, Grandma, for enriching the lives of all those you touch. Happy Birthday, and many more to follow!

*I address my mother-in-law by her first name, which is an unusual, very pretty name. It suits her. But here, I will refer to her as Grandma. When I wrote about H’s father, her husband, I referred to him as Grandpa (June 2012), so I’ll be consistent.

A blog about motherhood, marriage and life: the joys and frustrations, beauty and absurdity, blessings and pain. It's about looking back, looking ahead, and walking the dog.