The weather on Monday, Independence Day, was beautiful, warm and sunny. We moved our celebrations out into the wider part of the property near the big garden where the wading pool was set up. The girls splashed around in the water most of the day. Our Feast of the Fourth started at 4:00 (we didn’t plan it that way intentionally, but now it seems significant). We had great food – bratwurst and hot dogs, hamburgers, pasta salad, pistachio salad, baked beans – all of it delicious. Later as it began to get dark, we gathered again for pre-fireworks dessert. Miriam made a red, white, and blue trifle, Julie made mint brownies, Rachel made frosted sugar cookies with red, white, and blue sprinkles. The fireworks began at dark. Our friends the Olneys joined us. We sang patriotic songs while the fireworks lit up the sky. It was great. What a great nation we live in!
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| Red, white, and blue girls. |
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| Playing in the pool. |
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| Good food. |
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| Our 4th feast. |
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| The dessert table. |
After a very festive Independence Day celebration with family, friends, food, fun, and fireworks, the Thayns left for home on Tuesday morning. The house seemed to collapse immediately into a post-holiday slump. Even the weather turned gloomy. The morning was humid and overcast. It began to rain a few minutes after they left but only blessed us with a light drizzle. I was sad to see the Thayns go home. I can’t begin to explain how much I love my family and how I love to have them near me and around me. As I was tidying the house in the gloom of that morning, finding little things left behind, putting things away, I was overcome by sweet waves of love and sad longing. I don’t get to see some of my children and grandchildren very often. I relish the times I get to be with the ones that live near enough that I do get to see fairly regularly and I miss the ones I seldom see even more. As the Thayns left, I realized that the next time I’ll see them, they’ll have a new baby. Rachel is due to deliver our eighth grandchild and second grandson in two weeks. Family is my greatest joy.
The rest of the week moved by in a sort of summer haziness. I went about my regular routines, taking my morning and evening walks, tending the gardens, tending my flock, breathing in soft air sweet with the scent of cut grass and milkweed flowers, basking in the loveliness of it all. I appreciate the beauty and blessings of these summer days. I store every moment in my mind to bring me hope during the dark, cold days that I know are coming far too soon. I file away the memory of sweet peas in bloom and green shade under the maple trees, of vibrant flowers and ripe strawberries to refresh me when the thought that they once existed begins to seem impossible.
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| On a morning walk. |
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| July flowers. |
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| A bouquet of sweet peas. |
Life here in Gold is usually pretty quiet. Our village is small. Our neighbors are few. We are tucked away in a remote corner of the country. We are sheltered, to a degree, from the turmoil and unsettling things that disturb the wider world. My little piece of Gold is even quieter. I sometimes feel almost guilty that my day to day worries are so simple – a fox in the chicken coop, fending off bugs and deer in the garden, when the next rain will come. The rest of the world is troubled by greater issues that seem to increase each time I read the news. The troubles of the world do reach all the way to my little village to some extent, we are, after all, part of a county, a state, a nation, but our remoteness buffers us a little. I relish every peaceful day I’m blessed with. I know that peace and quiet are fragile things, easily shattered, difficult to mend.
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| Sunrise in Gold. |
With Independence Day still fresh in my mind, I found myself pondering all week on how it must have felt for my forefathers to leave their rural homes to go and fight in far flung wars – my fourth great-grandfather Timothy Howe in the Revolutionary War, my great-great-grandfathers Josiah Howe and Sylvester K. Stevens in the Civil War, my grandfather Lawrence E. Howe in World War I, and others. Josiah Howe was injured in the Civil War and suffered from his injury for the rest of his life. I have letters written by my grandfather Lawrence Howe while he served in France in WWI. Being a farm boy, he was assigned to an infantry unit to take care of the mules they were still using to haul artillery. His letters have nothing good to say about his experience. My father was drafted, but never had to fight. He served in an army hospital in Fort Wayne, Indiana. I’ve never had to fight in a war. I never even had to register for the draft. In the aftermath of the Viet Nam War (1 November 1955 to 30 April 1975), the draft and registration for the draft were suspended for a time. Men born from 29 March 1957 to 31 December 1959 were not required to register. I was born in 1958. I don’t think I would have survived fighting in a war. I probably would not have survived boot camp. But I’m grateful for those who did fight and who still fight to keep us free.
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| Josiah Howe, Sylvester Stevens, Lawrence Howe. |
Liberty, like peace, is a fragile thing. People blessed with freedom, who inherited it from previous generations, often take it for granted. When history is forgotten, or altered, and past sacrifices are no longer remembered, it is too easy for people to become complacent, to let their guard down. In times of peace and while enjoying unappreciated freedom, many find it hard to believe that liberty can be lost. They do not know, or choose not to believe, that there are enemies lurking and working to undermine and then overthrow their liberty. At first a slow erosion, but with increasing boldness, God-given rights are whittled away by those seeking wealth, power, and authority. In exchange for perceived security, many willingly surrender their freedom. Once lost, liberty can only be regained by mighty struggle and sacrifice. Our Founders knew this. They sacrificed much to establish a nation conceived in liberty.
George Washington loved his home at Mount Vernon. Thomas Jefferson loved his Monticello, John Adams his Peacefield, and James Madison his Montpelier. While away from their homes, establishing and then serving their newly created republic, they longed always to retire to their homes to farm and enjoy time spent with their families. I know how they felt. I have a home I love. A home in a nation blessed with freedom they fought to create and preserve. I am a patriot, the son of generations of patriots, the heir of liberty bought with the toil and blood of millions of patriots. All week, as always, I’ve had a song stuck in my head. We sang it in church last Sunday. We sang it as we sat in the twilight on the 4th and watched the fireworks burst in the sky. I sang it aloud as I mowed the lawn and whistled it as I fed my flock.
Sweet land of liberty,
Of thee I sing;
Land where my fathers died,
Land of the pilgrims' pride,
From ev'ry mountainside
Let freedom ring!
Land of the noble free,
Thy name I love;
I love thy rocks and rills,
Thy woods and templed hills;
My heart with rapture thrills,
Like that above.
And ring from all the trees
Sweet freedom's song;
Let mortal tongues awake;
Let all that breathe partake;
Let rocks their silence break,
The sound prolong.
Author of liberty,
To Thee we sing.
Long may our land be bright,
With freedom's holy light,
Protect us by Thy might,
Great God our King!
As for news of my garden and flock, we’re picking ripe strawberries every other day and we have peas at last. The squash and pumpkins are in bloom with their beautiful yellow flowers and the promise of fruit later in the fall. We’ve had several pickings of broccoli. Yesterday we harvested the main crop of cauliflower, a dozen heads blanched and frozen. The cabbages are forming heads and I’m already making plans to start a big batch of sauerkraut.
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| Just picked cauliflowers. |
On Friday evening we drove up to Genesee to our friends Bob and Nancy Jones’ place. They wanted to reduce their flock of chickens and, knowing I’d suffered a big loss due to the fox, they gave me a dozen mature Isa Red hens. Thanks to their kindness, my flock is almost back to the size it was before.
The weather has been warm and dry – too dry. My lawn is turning crisp and brown. Almost every day I have to water what I can reach by hose and hand – the long border and my raised bed vegetable garden. Out in the big garden, Kurt monitors the water and has hoses and sprinklers stretched up and down the rows. The week ahead doesn’t show much promise for rain, just a 50% chance on Tuesday. I’m praying that the odds tip in our favor. If rain doesn’t come soon, the rain barrel down at the barn will be empty and I’ll be carrying water down from the house for the chickens.
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| Summer twilight. |
We didn’t have church in our building today due to a maintenance issue. We did have Sunday School via Zoom. It’s odd how normal doing such things have become. The week ahead looks like it will be a typical summer’s week. We’ll be busy doing the things we do every day in our quiet corner of the world, making hay while the sun shines. That’s the way I like it. Shabbat shalom – good Sabbath.
