At the Lake Part 9 - A New Home

[note: This story was written by my sister Esther]

We spent some wonderful years at the lake. The fishing hole, the doctor told Vernon to find, was really the best and we loved being in the pine tree forest. Among the pine trees were the most lovely dog wood trees. To see the creamy white blossoms surrounded by all the green pine needle was a scene that remind me of the Christmas Holidays. A time of peace and happiness. It was not only good for Vernon, but really good for me also.

As I said, the travel trailer was not comfortable enough to have company, and we thought we could manage to make do for a while. It was just too much. It was not easy to convert the front of the trailer into a bed room, and then to remove the table top in the dinning area to make another bed for the company. So off to find us a mobile home.

It did not take long to know what we wanted. A mobile home with out all the built ins. Vernon wanted room and I wanted to have my sewing machine out to be used when ever it was needed. Something I could not have in the small travel trailer. And I wanted lots and lots of windows. We did pick one we liked and it was delivered a week later.

It took them a while to drive down the winding gravel road with the mobile home. It was one lane from the pavement to the gate where you came into our land. The driver knew his business, as he drove in with out a problem. Vernon told him where to park it and they set if up and even had it anchored down with some deep grounded metal straps. Which help keep it in place if the weather was bad, with tornado type storms.

Getting all the utilities in was difficult and until the new lines and pipes were finished, we were glad to have the little travel trailer to live in. Vernon put in the new water pipes with the help of our son. He laid out the line and the son dug the trench and Vernon then glued the fittings and even tried to help cover it up. Vernon found it was too much for him to shovel the dirt so let jr do it. He learn to let others do the heavy work.

How nice it was to able to walk from the front room to the kitchen, or to the dinning room, and to the front room. All three areas were in the one large room at the front of the trailer. It was a big space and I loved it. It made a big difference in walking between the two trailers. One item we needed was a new big screen television. Vernon did love to watch his football and base ball although he never really had a favorite team.

After we moved in to our new home, my Mom and Dad came to spend a few days with us. Mom wanted me to help her do some sewing for a quilt top she wanted to finish. And Dad wanted to go fishing. So off the men went, and Mom and I started sewing. She let me sew while she made the stew for our supper. It was not long till she was beside me and giving me the cut pieces to sew. Together we had the quilt top done and I liked the pattern: "A Double Irish Chain". She would finish quilting it at her home where she had a quilt frame Dad had made for her in his wood shop. That was my first time to sew a quilt top and knew I would do some more. Mom showed me some of her patterns and they were all so pretty. Guess you know, I was truly hooked on quilting now.

Mom even got me to make one with a tiny hexagon, the size of a fifty cent piece. It was so small, and I thought it could not be done on the sewing machine. I knew it needed to be done by hand stitching. "Grandmother’s Flower Garden ", it was one I could take with me in my pocket and find time to sew on when I would wait in the waiting room while Vernon would see his doctor. Or any place was good if there was time to sew a few seams. Each seam was almost an inch wide, so I could sew a few and it was something I really loved to do. It was my purple passion to sew them.

I’d tell Mom how much she taught me and she would tell me every one of her children were good at something and sewing was mine. Marion Elizabeth could paint. Mickey was a gourmet cook who could cook, bake and make up new recipes. Charles was good at sculpting. Jerry could take old cans or plastic bottles and make the nicest items. Jerry showed my children how to make log planter out of cans with plaster of Paris and paper towel cardboard rolls with some shoe polish to make it look like a weathered log.

Every one but me loved to travel. At the drop of a hat or sooner they would just up and be off on a trip. For me, it was to have them come to visit us. Vernon enjoyed having a fishing partner and I loved company.

Moving From Paris to the Country

After living a year in Paris, France, my husband, 3 year old son and I moved to a country house in Marangis, Seine Et Marne, France. We had answered a newspaper add offering a small house, in a small hamlet, for a small annual rent, and arranged to see it. After getting directions to the property, we rode the train for several hours to a station that was nearest the country road leading to the house.

A two minute walk up a slight ridge overlooking the train tracks led to combination post office and store. We asked for directions to the house and discovered that we would have to walk the three miles to it since no one living in the area owned an auto. The only phone available was the one in the little store and taxis were non existent. There was no town as such, only a cluster of several houses near a church.

About a quarter mile down the road, we passed a large gate of tall iron spikes guarding a chateau that seemed closed and unused. As we left the populated area near the railroad tracks, the road traversed flat, agricultural fields. The dry, soft dirt of the road made little puffs of dust over our shoes as we walked along.

Eventually we saw a house in the distance that turned out to be the one we came to see. Opposite the house were two more houses, one with a locked gate and shuttered windows. Later we learned it was owned by a stock broker in Paris whose wife and children used it during school vacations. The house next door to it was owned and lived in by a middle aged couple who farmed various plots of land in the surrounding area.

A path thru a small field took us to the caretaker of the property, an old woman who walked back to the house with us and answered our questions.

It had a well for drinking water, but no plumbing for running water; however it was wired for electricity with incandescent bulbs hanging from ceiling cords. The kitchen had a brick wall stove and oven and a small 2 burner stove like the kerosene stove we used back in Palo Alto at Stanford Village. A bedroom with a huge wooden shutter for a window was entered from the kitchen. When the shutter was open, one could step over the 2 foot high sill to enter or leave the room without walking through the kitchen door which was the only door into the house. There was a pseudo bathroom with a toilet one flushed with a bucket of water.

Thru a door two steps up from the kitchen was a large room with a stairway along one wall leading to a large up stairs room with two large wooden shutters. One opened to a view of a cherry orchard, the other opened to green fields with a creek running thru it. Outside on the back side of the house was a door leading to a dirt floor cellar where cider and wine casks were stored.

There were several apple trees near the kitchen door and about 15 cherry trees stretching to the far end of the property. Because the grounds gradually sloped toward a line of trees growing along the edge of a creek, we had a view over looking the fields in the far distance.

The old woman told us propane could be gotten to run the little 2 burner stove but one would have to push a wheel barrow to and from the post office /store for the tank. There would not be anyone to help since all the farmers were busy in the fields.

My husband and I must have been thinking the same thing during the tour. When we looked at each other, we knew we had found a home in the country. It was a perfect place for artists to live and work. The limitations only added to the romance of our experience. We paid the caretaker the agreed amount of money and received the key.

Thus began the second year of our stay in France.

[Editor's Note:  Marangis is now associated with the town of Vernou-La-Celle-Sur-Seine.]

The following links are in french and have references to Marangis:

• Google Map: Marangis 77670
• ViaMichelin Map: Marangis 77670
• French Wiki: Vernou-la-Celle-sur-Seine
• Official Site: Vernou-la-Celle-sur-Seine
• French Wiki: History of the Valley of 7 Mills (Marangis is one of them)

Here are some other period photos of that area.

Remembering My Cousin

[note: this story was written by my sister Esther]

Albert lived in Kentucky with his Mother, my Aunt Bessie and Father, my uncle Alvin, and his older sister, Rosa Lee. I loved going to see them when Dad would take us there on his vacation.

My two older sisters, Marion, Adeline, and Rosa Lee were in the same age group, so they palled around together. My five brothers and Albert were always doing boy’s stuff. Mom and Dad were with Grandfather and Grandmother. So every one was off doing their thing and I was always with Aunt Bessie in the kitchen doing what Aunt Bessie wanted me to do and helping her to cook for every body.

One day she wanted to make a pot of veggie soup. I helped to peel potatoes, carrots, and to chip celery and onions. I did not like to eat any thing with onions, and asked her to not put them into the soup. She told me I did not have to eat soup. She told me how nice I was chopping the onions and no one would ever know there were onions in the pot. So would I take a bite if I was not able to see any onions in it? I did promise I would and since I did not see them; the soup was very good. She made me like onions from that day ever since.

Albert had his chores to do and the boys helped and there were some times he would come get me to walk with him to gather some things for the kitchen and we would talk while doing the tasks. He was always doing some nice things and he would show me his hobby and when the boys played cards he would ask to include me. He was a nice cousin,

Years later he was still the nice boy when his Mother moved to our town in Redwood City, California. His father had passed away and Aunt Bessie came to spend some time with us. She bought him a new car for his birthday. Vernon worked the night shift and I was expecting my second child any day. I asked Aunt Bessie if Albert could come and stay with me at night and if I needed him, to take me to the hospital. She said yes and it was a comfort to have him, he had to sleep in the sofa and it was not the best for a tall man. One night I had some muscle cramps and it hurt so bad I yelled. Poor Albert got up took my suit case to the car and came back to get me . We laugh now about it but at the time he was so sweet. But it did scare the life out of him. I will always treasure him and that memory.

Another time he came to see me while we were living at Mom Smith's house in Baton Rouge, Louisiana. I saw the car come up the long drive way and did not recognize the car, or the young man that got out of it. The children were out there and he walked over and asked for me and I was shocked to know when he told me he was traveling through the country and he had lunch with us. The children thought the world of him and he told us about every one at home.

It was not too long after Albert came that I had another car come down the drive way and it was another cousin, Homer. His Mother is also my Mother’s sister, and my Aunt Bessie . Like Albert, I did not recognize him either. Two Aunt Bessie’s sons in two months was wonderful.

It’s was a sad day to learn he is not with us now. But time has a way with age. And I will always think of the good times we have with all our family and kin folks.

[family note: There are two "Aunt Bessie"s in the family: One is my father's sister: Bessie Dennison, the other is my mother's sister: Bessie Ross. Albert is the son of my father's sister Bessie Dennison. Homer is the son of my mother's sister Bessie Ross]

Memories of Albert

We who have lost beloved brothers know the pain of loss, and the wishful longing to have changed the ‘events in the womb of time’ so that separations never come.

But, as we have heard so often, Real Life happens when we least want it, and we are left to cope and struggle thru acceptance of grief when the inevitable happens. If we are lucky, we have treasured memories and can bring them to mind as often as we want, and sometimes share them.

My memories of cousin Albert are of him at three different stages of his life. The earliest is when he was around seven years old. His enthusiasm and matter of fact way he talked in his lovely southern drawl captured my heart. He took my hand as we walked around his father’s tobacco farm. He pointed out things of interest and explained the work involved. I could tell he was imitating uncle Alvin, who was busy telling my husband about the tobacco crop. Albert’s childish imitation of a grown up was so endearing, I deliberately asked him questions just to hear him answer.

When Albert was in uniform, grandma A, aunt Bessie and aunt Esther passed on news of him. When he came home and settled down, he married and started a family. Our paths only crossed when I visited aunt Bessie and grandma, but I can still picture him at the end of his work day in his work clothes.

One of my most cherished memories is seeing him again many years later when Adeline and I visited him and RosaLee in Georgia. He was so handsome! Adeline and I nicknamed him our Ky Colonel on the spot and took candid camera shots of him every time he turned around. He was such a gracious host when he took us to see his wonderful ‘cabin’ in the mountains of South Carolina. I call RosaLee my Louisville Belle. What a joy it was to see the two of them, brother and sister, together. You could tell they truly enjoyed each other’s company.

Meeting Albert the first time

[note: this story was written by my son Bob]

When I was about 10 or so ... I was visiting Great-Grandma and Aunt Bessie ... in Long Beach. I had been helping out in the kitchen... I think we had been fixin’ a Holiday dinner most of the day, I’m pretty sure it was Christmas, as it required a lot of preparations ... I was doing whatever I was asked to do, slice vegetables, stir pots, carry this ... and so on… as there had been quite the general commotion goin' on in the kitchen all day, and a lot of great smells emanating throughout the place. From time to time Bessie would say ‘wouldn’t it just be wonderful if Albert could be with us to enjoy this’, but apparently he was not expected anytime soon… I wasn’t really sure who Albert was, but it was clear that his presence would be welcomed.

I had been really enjoying my visit, and was learning [being taught] how to get around in a kitchen, and make myself useful. I loved spending time with Grams and Bessie, and was having a grand time learning from Grams… about the intricacies of preparing food her way… and of course it took amazing willpower [or possibly the odd stern look] not to try all the baked goods and various foods. Everything was just about ready to go and since it was almost dark outside, it was time to eat.

Whilst Grams and Bessie were hard at it in the kitchen, stirring pots, checking on the doneness of various things, and generally getting everything ready, I was implementing my skills – having learned how to set the table properly - and was busy placing the silverware and serving plates and bowls on the table ‘just so’, when suddenly there was an unexpected loud knock at the front door. Everyone in the kitchen was quite involved and since I was closest, I was asked to answer the door...

When I opened the door, there was a young soldier standing there, with a duffel bag at his side. He was dressed in full dress uniform with what appeared to me to be lots of badges and stripes and all sorts of regalia. I was astonished to say the least, as this was the last thing I expected, and my jaw must've dropped wide open. It was the very first time I had ever been face to face with a 'real' soldier… and I was dumbfounded.

Needless to say I had no idea who it was, but the soldier – seeing my consternation - politely asked – in stage whispered loud voice – ‘Was there a Bessie Denison there?’ Simultaneously voices came from the kitchen asking, 'who is it?' The cat must've had my tongue, as it took me a moment to gather myself, and I hollered back 'It's some soldier!?'

Well, my goodness, talk about a genuine commotion from the kitchen, there was a whoop and holler, and one asked 'is it Albert?', and the other declared ‘IT MUST BE ALBERT?!’

The soldier got a BIG smile, and made the international finger across the lips sign to me to be silent, and we were immediately joined in a conspiracy of silence – and we waited for the ladies to come and see who it was. He kept indicating I shouldn't let out an answer, so of course when they came around the corner to see, you would have thought the saints had come marching in!! There was all kinds of and clapping, and hugging and crying, and more hugging and more crying and lots of laughing... and so many 'we weren't expecting you’s, mixed in with ‘we were secretly hoping you’d come’ ... and 'what a wonderful surprise' ... Somewhere in all the to-do there were several stern comments from Bessie about ‘calling ahead’ and not ‘giving everyone the palpitations’. I think Albert said something like ... 'well I was just in the neighborhood so I thought I'd stop by'... and then gave me a conspiratorial wink! I realized he was family and kin to me-some kind of way, so that made it even better. And now I knew a real soldier!

I was SO happy that they were happy, and I loved the way Albert pulled me into his surprise. We became instant pals ... and he was so grown up and he took such an interest in me... that we just became great pals... although, I must say... I was as surprised as anyone ... and even felt a wee bit jealous that he'd taken my thunder - Grams and Bessie always doted on me whenever I visited - but I could tell that his arrival made them so happy, that I couldn't be upset for more than a passing moment.

He settled in, put his duffel bag in the corner, rolled up his sleeves and we got the table set and the food served...and the meal was ever so much better ... ... it was probably the best meal ever, glowing with love and joy, and all kinds of wonderful stories of family, news updates, how he was able to get home early from the Army to surprise everyone, his worldly travels, and so many other wonderful and exciting tales to me, that I was rapt and couldn’t take my eyes off him! After dinner I had to ask him about all his uniform medals and medallions and military regalia, and what were they for, and he patiently explained all the patches and insignia. It was clear that we liked each other instantly. He enjoyed my curiosity, and I was so pleased to know a genuine soldier.

From that first surprise meeting, I've always had the fondest place in my heart for Albert. He was always like a big brother to me, and I have often recalled the joy of that evening, and the indelible image of him standing in the door in his dress uniform - so young and handsome. It seems as if it was just yesterday. My, how time passes. It makes me feel old. I am sorry he is gone, and even though I will miss him, I will always see that young soldier grinning at the door with a twinkle in his eye, fully knowing his arrival would be a wonderful surprise.

Walking

Walking for pleasure not for exercise is something Esther and I have been discussing in our daily Instant Messenger chats. The topic came up when we mentioned that we both were walking more than usual in our daily routines. I have been spending a lot of time on my beading projects sitting by the big window in the front room, aka The Bird Room where my pet cockatiel, Misty Bird, lives. His cage is in a corner next to the window where I have my beading work table and he can see all the activity in the room as well as a portion of the goings-on outside the window.

I have been working on new designs for the jewelry I make and have spent less time at the computer. I still play chess, read blogs, and surf the net, but find myself walking back and forth from the computer room to the bird room more than usual as I take ‘breaks’ from one or the other.

Esther told me how her husband, Vern, mowed mile long pathways thru the waist high grass on their lake property at Toledo Bend so that she could enjoy walks with their grandchildren. She and Vern often took long walks together too.

Hiking has always been a pleasure for me. In high school, a group of 4 or 5 girl friends and I would go on a hike every Saturday. We would meet in the morning with sandwiches in our pockets and hike thru the country side, following creeks thru woods and pastures.

When I was in France I had two Walking experiences that far surpassed the little hikes I had known as a Girl Scout and high school student. My husband and I walked thru much of France, part of Switzerland and the length of Italy and back to Paris staying in youth hostels when they were available.

The second walking trip I took was from Paris to the heart of the Cevennes Mountains with Monett, a French girl and Ali, a Romanian boy, students at the Sorbonne. The trip was actually a combination hitch-hiking and walking trip. Monett and her twin sister, Nicette, had inherited a large forest of chestnut trees in the Cevennes from their deceased parents, but only one of them would make the trip to sign legal papers selling the crop to whichever company offered the best price. To save money, it was decided Monett would hitch hike, taking a student friend, Ali, along for protection. Ali was a tall, good looking fellow with muscles that indicated he could and would win any scuffle that might come along.

When I heard about their plans I asked to go along and share the adventure. My husband and I had known these students for the better part of a year and knew them to be honest, but always in need of money. The trip to find pickers and buyers for the chestnut crop was not a lark but a serious responsibility and after some discussion about the hazards and difficulty, they agreed to take me with them.

Hitch-hiking in the states was an accepted mode of travel during the great depression and during the war. I had experienced hitch-hiking alone and with family members in the states and had no qualms about doing so in France, especially since Ali would be with us.

I knew that neither Monett nor Ali had much money. I agreed to match their amount and that what little we had would be spent only on necessities the three of us agreed on. I secretly carried enough money to get us back to Paris if the need arose, but vowed not to use it except in an extreme emergency.

The morning we left Paris the streets were wet from the rain during the night and sprinkles continued sporadically as we made our way to intersections near the Bastille. Getting rides for three wasn’t an obstacle and everything went well until we got to Marseilles late in the afternoon.

I began having severe menstrual cramps and it was obvious to both Monett and Ali that I was not feeling well. I tried to explain that I wasn’t sick, but my knowledge of the French language consisted mostly of hand gestures and head nods along with Moi, Toi and Merci until the other person finally guessed the meaning of what I was saying. I couldn’t tell if I was understood or not.

Monett left Ali and me sitting on a park bench near the marina saying she would soon come back for us. When she returned, she led us to a small sea side inn and up a flight of stairs to a large, lovely room, cozy with bright colored drapes and chair cushions and a huge old fashioned bed. She explained that she had rented the room so I could rest. I was shocked that she had discussed it with Ali, but not me, but since it was fait accompli, I crawled into bed and slept until noon the next day.

When I woke I felt fine. We spent the next several hours sunning ourselves as we sat on a brick wall overlooking the boats in the marina and being amused by tiny lizards. We bought shelled oysters from the boat men and ate them on the spot. After spending another night in the Inn we stocked up on a few items like matches and candles before heading in the direction of the Cevennes.

The trip so far had been a walk in the park and I was convinced I was ready to tackle the strenuous hike to come. When we finally reached the home of the family that supervised the girl’s property, we were at the bottom of a gorge and from that point on it would be a 5 or 6 hour VERY STEEP climb to the top.

At a small general store we filled our rucksacks with foods to last the few days we would be on the top of the mountain. Ali carried the heaviest load and off we went. It wasn’t long before we began shedding jackets and sweaters as we climbed. There wasn’t a path although Monett seemed to follow an invisible one as we circled around trees and huge boulders, always climbing higher.

I could not climb as fast as the other two and fell behind. I also had to stop frequently to catch my breath, but the other two kept up a steady climbing pace. I could see them far ahead as I climbed in their direction, but I could no longer take the exact turns and twists they had taken. At times they were out of sight but we kept in touch by yelling to each other.

We had to reach the top before dark, so with brute strength and awkwardness I made a determined effort. As I climbed, I thought of the many stories of guides leading refugees over the Pyrenees during the war, and I understood their demands that only fit persons make such a trip. Eventually I caught up with Monett and Ali who had stopped to wait for me and together we set up our little camp before night fall.

That trip is a treasured memory. I have a greater appreciation of the difficulties real mountain climbers overcome since I experienced my much less heroic climb in the Cevennes. Monett was successful in her business dealings and the return trip to Paris was uneventful.

Hiawatha

By the shores of Gitche Gumee,
By the shining Big-Sea-Water,
Stood the wigwam of Nokomis,
...

Those lines came to mind the other day when I was discussing poetry with my sister, Esther. I surprised myself remembering the lines, which came to me easily, but that was all I could remember. It was required reading in high school English as was Gray’s Elegy, Evangeline, The Ancient Mariner and other poems.

Out of curiosity I googled for Hiawatha and decided to read it again. I have a greater appreciation of Longfellow’s inventiveness now than I probably had in school. The descriptive imagery of nature is a pleasure to read and the colors shine thru vividly. I like the sing-song quality of the lines and read them out loud to myself.

Taking time to read a few lines of Hiawatha when the constant repetitious news coverage of war and economic woes stress one to the max, is therapy beyond price.

About: The Song of Hiawatha
Downloadable Book: The Song of Hiawatha
Audio Book: The Song of Hiawatha

Editor's Surprise!

MrsBizzyB has been pretty busy over the last few years writting wonderful stories about her life and experiences. And now that we have Esther's delightful stories, the blog has an added dimension for all of us addicted to their writtings! I thought it would be nice if there was a way to share these stories in another format so that more folks can enjoy them.

So, I have had the stories put into book form and saved in PDF format. These books are by year: 2005 2006 2007 2008. They contain all the stories and comments made at the time. They have a table of contents and are paginated so you can find your favorite story fast. These books can be downloaded and read using Adobe Reader or if you prefer, you can take the PDF to a printing shop and have it printed into hard copy.

I will be pushing the 2009 blog into a pdf-book sometime after the end of the year.

You will find the links to the books on the left in the Download Section under her Recipe Book.

I hope you will enjoy the books as much as you did the original postings!

Kimosabi (Editor)

At the Lake Part 8 - Life on the Lake

[note: This is an 8 part story written by my sister Esther.]

Vernon would watch most sport programs on the TV. He loved to watch all the football games and baseball was right up there too. I wanted to see the sewing and quilting and craft programs. Since I had lost much of my hearing, I did not watch too much TV. Instead I would sew on quilt blocks and just enjoyed a quiet evening working on the different patterns. My Mom got me started on sewing quilt tops. She had some blocks that my Dad’s Mother made and she wanted me to assemble them into a quilt top so she could finish sewing the quilt. I never knew I would enjoy sewing them but ever since I have made that pattern my favorite. I have made at least a dozen of them.

The biggest surprise of all was when my sister Adeline Marie and Larry came to visit and spend several days with us. We had no idea they were coming, so it was out of the blue when they arrived one evening. Thank goodness I had planned a nice supper that night. We forgot everything and just talked and hugged and never a thought about the food cooking on the stove until we started to smell smoke that said “burnt to a crisp”. The pot was so black, it had to be taken out of the house. I was so upset about the burnt carrots. Then Larry asked if I was cooking them just for him and then he said he did not really like carrots, so I did feel better. I really know Larry knew what to say to help me over a red face trip. He was a good brother in law.

Vernon and I had good years on the acreage in Many, Louisiana. We gained more grandchildren and they all were a blessing to us. Life was so good and we could not have wanted more. I can only say life with love is good and the company makes for better times.