This has nothing to do with Stravinsky’s ballet, but a yearly exercise of putting winter away and embracing Spring wholeheartedly. Today I put away all the dark browns and grays and navy linens and brought out the pinks and purples and leaf greens in my bedrooms. Suddenly I felt like I was walking into a personal flower garden for my own personal joy.

This simple act always sends my mind whirling back to my home as a child when this simple rite of spring was always quite a production. Away went feather ticks, home made wool batten quilts carried outdoors to a clothes line for airing out and to get some sun shine sterilizing before stored away in the attic . Nice light linens replaced flannels, and somehow that simple act succeeded in lightening our spirits as well.

Emily Dickinson once wrote, “A light exists in Spring, beautifully capturing the way that Spring slowly appears, like a light in the distance.” That light came to my house today!

Yesterday in a second grade classroom, I was witness to behavior that I didn’t quite know how to classify, but something, I believe you teachers deal with daily. It wasn’t ethnic or racial bias, but probably more of a case of bullying, I suppose.

After two weeks of studying a group of words, the fun part comes from a game recognizing those words in racing around the game board with moves by that recognition. I take small groups of children up and we have a good time, usually.

The trouble came when we had an odd number of students, so one group had to have three players instead of two. This group were quickly picking their partner, and I kept saying one group has to have three. That’s when the group started arguing about who would take one boy. Shouting and one child saying,” No one wants you!” Then more grumbling until the teacher said for them to go to their seats and do busy work. She whispers to me, “That’s a hard lesson for that child, isn’t it.

Last night at church, when we heard, again, the new commandment of Jesus to his disciples to “ Love everyone, as I have loved you.” I thought about that classroom. Where does the division begin? When do we turn on others who may not look, act, think, or believe as we do? I didn’t know it could rear its ugly head in a second grade classroom.

I highly recommend a physical/mental therapy for my friends lucky enough to have the availability to secure it. It takes many years of love, cooperation and a bit of good fortune to make it a reality, but well worth the effort.

That therapy came in the form of five small, active, delightful great-grandchildren. With one three year old telling his mother, when told he was going to my house for dinner, that “Oh, Good, she’s my friend,”. I have been many things in my life, but never anything better than a “friend” to a three year old!

Great Aunt Sarah intervened at just the right time with a raucous game of Hide and Seek that had little folks hiding in Grandma’s scary unfinished basement, prompting screams of terror over sighting of a spider, one little one hiding in a bath tub with the shower curtain closed and a little girl emerging from under a bed, calmly licking her ice cream cone as if nothing mattered more!

Some of the grownups looked at me and asked if all the noise bothered me. I of course said,”No.”. What they didn’t know was that I just turned off my hearing aid!!

That night as I crawled into bed, my knees didn’t hurt, my toes weren’t burning, my mind was serene and not engaged in solving all the world’s problem. I fell asleep with a smile and a prayer on my lips of thankfulness that I can love, enjoy, and be invigorated by these little ones for the evening, and send them home for their parent to calm them down after a visit to that crazy, great- grandma’s house!

Our family is gathering in Asheville North Carolina this weekend to join with the University in celebration of the induction of our Betsy into their Athletic Hall Of Fame. A well deserved honor as, to date, she is the winningest coach of women’s basketball in the school’ history.

My mind immediately went to an article Betsy was asked to write for the well known “Chicken Soup” books for basketball lovers. I can’t give you the whole writing, but she expressed eloquently the journey of instilling in her team a dream of making it to the NCAA tournament. In 2007 she did that very thing. In doing this, her team came from winning but 3 games the first year in conference play to winning 19 the second year.

Most of her writing was about her Dad and his unfailing support throughout her journey. I am going to give you the last few paragraphs of her article, so you can see why we as a family celebrate her, not just as a basketball coach, but the important part she has played in our family’s life.

“Dad died in 2004, This strong, seemingly invincible man was stricken with bacterial meningitis, and what was unthinkable happened. The night of the Big South championship game, as the seconds ticked away on the clock and it seemed that victory was imminent, I looked up into the stands to catch my Mother’s eyes, but she was gone. “Oh no, I thought. “Mom couldn’t stand the pressure.” What I didn’t know was that our athletic director had gone into the stands to bring my Mom to court side. After the game as I ran into my Mother’s arms, my first words to her were,”I wish Dad were here to see this!” She said, “Betsy,He was here every moment of this journey.”

Well, we flew into Austin, this small liberal arts college, to meet the highly ranked and highly talented team of LSU. We were humbled in our loss, but as I walked from the court that night, head bowed in defeat, reverberating through my whole being was a voice saying, “Suck it up, Bets,,,”. And I lifted my head.”

That same voice will be there this weekend, proud and happy, for our “Bets”

I gave the book, Demon Copperhead, to my friend, Carol, last night with almost relief to get it out of my house. This book is by Barbara Kingsolver, who wrote The Poisonwood Bible some years ago, and again the author attacks institutions who sometimes fail in their purpose to better the world, or at least not add to the problem

This is a story of how we, in America, deal with poverty and opioid addictions. This book has been touted as one of the great books of 2022, and it is. As I told Carol and my girls, sometimes I had to put it down and just not even look at it until I could wrap my mind and heart around this young boy and his story.

As he tells his story, there is enough guilt to share with social services, schools, foster care programs, and adults in general. And I believe that’s where my unease came from…. how many Demon Copperheads have I encountered in my life and not respond to their cry for help

A lot of you know that, while rearing my own girls, we participated with Social Service here in the valley with their foster care program. I found out there was a need for emergency and short term placement for children until a more permanent plan was established. Thus we took care of infants until adoptions were finalized…….Pure Joy !!!!! And also children taken from their homes and need immediate care until long term plans occurred. So we had children brought to us in the middle of the night on occasion.

I can’t begin to relate some of the heart wrenching moments that occurred when little ones were pulled from my arms screaming, No No, as a custodial child was reclaimed by that parent. I need to say emphatically that the Social Services were wonderfully trained and caring but had to act within the law, always, despite their better judgment.

I personally fostered a Demon Copperhead when teenagers were those who were in my care, and I relived some of those moments as I read his story. I am going to tell you just one incident that still haunts me. We were caring for two middle school girls who had gotten moved from a foster home they were living in and brought to me until a new place was found. One of the girls was put in a group home because she had real problems that needed attention. The other girl was a quiet, somber young girl, so I sat down beside her as we waited for Social Service to come pick them up. “I said, Penny( not her real name) are you going to be all right with this move?” She looked me with the saddest eyes and said.”Who cares about what I think about anything.”

Demon Copperhead could have been that same child that sat on my sofa and I didn’t have an answer for his future. My daughter Sarah, is listening to an audio version of the book, and it is impacting her too. When someone asks you, “Who cares about what I think?” I hope you have a better answer than I gave that young girl so long ago. I didn’t say anything!!

Familiar, soul searching, somewhat uncomfortable words that our Pastor Ann shared with us Sunday, sent us who heard them re-thinking any resolution we had for the new year.

A Time For Every Purpose Under Heaven? The words of these Ecclesiastes words rolled around in my mind often throughout the day yesterday and again this morning as I began my daily ritual. The one word, of all the poetic beauty of them, that resonated with me was the word Purpose. So, Ellen, what is your purpose for this day, for this year, for this life?

So for this year, rather than making one weak resolution that usually fails after a few days, I am going to look at all things I attempt as to its purpose. What is my purpose in doing that thing? Is it to unite rather than divide, to love rather than hate, to mend rather than tear down, to embrace new things rather than hold on to the past?

So Happy New Year, friends. Happy New Year, Ellen….even this late in life, you have purposes to fulfill. God bless you, everyone!

I’m not real sure about the latest scientific study that found that people with more church attendance and prayer life have better heart health!

I have never thought that my faith gave me an advantage of a better heart health than those who choose a different path in life. What I do think is that my faith gives the optimism or unfailing hope that whatever befalls me, I am not alone.

I believe a life lived in gratitude, benevolence, unbiased love, and faith in our creator will give you the joy we all seek in our lives. If you are failing in any of these, you might look for a prescription at your local house of worship. It just might fill your heart with so much love, it defies illness.

I think there exists in most people a desire to know who and why they are, and where they fit on that beautiful, messy, encompassing, troublesome tree called family.

After a recent newspaper article that spoke of heritage and homesteads with a name that certainly had a branch on our family tree, our daughter Mary Ellen and I set out to explore the whispered, never discussed mystery of one of those branches.

Mary Ellen and I cornered every one we could talk to at a celebration by that family, and got a few more statistics that fit the few facts we had already found.

There was talk of illegitimacy, American Indian blood lines, broken relationships, and all those things that no one dared talk about. Still that branch was on our tree!! The shame and hurts, long dismissed by succeeding generations, are today, a part of our history. Adding color to a somewhat stiff, proper lineage, we can look back with sympathy and acceptance for what they endured.

It was a rewarding time that Mary Ellen and I spent looking at our tree. We both were made more aware that we can’t just prune a branch when we look back. We just accept, with a loving heart, both the healthy and withered branches and hope our descendants will do the same.

There is a great deal of comfort in the rhythm of the seasons ….spring to summer, summer to autumn, autumn, to winter, and the white icy coat on my grass this week was confirmation of that phenomenon.

We all have our favorite seasons, and I must say, Autumn has much to offer as the winner. Trees busting in color, temperatures not too hot or too cool, harvesting the bounty of the earth, football games, and the heating and cooling bills go down!!

Personally, I got my portable electric heater out for the bathroom, put on my flannel sheets, and got out my down comforter, just in case! The Shenandoah Vally can throw us a curve in weather patterns every now and then, but traditionally, we have a very tolerable climate in all seasons. So if you are a product of this garden of Eden, or a pilgrim who navigated here, thank your forbears or your good sense in your ability to snuggle down and enjoy the crisp mornings and cool nights of a Shenandoah Valley October.

It’s warm here in the Shenandoah Valley, but 40 degree nights forecast for the week. One of the things I love about the valley is the definite changing of the seasons, but it seems somehow those changes have gotten a bit blurred with Climate Change, so the scientists tell us. Mom always said that we could have a “killing” frost anytime after September 15. Not this year!

Symbolically, more than any other reason, I changed the wreath on my front door, changed the air filter in my heating/cooling system, and picked the last two tiny tomatoes from my vines.

On the farm, Fall was Bill’s favorite season. Big green forage wagons were greased and cleaned to be ready for the bounty of crops soon to fill them in the ritual of harvest. Football and hunting filled his mind and hours with pure joy. Somehow it seemed, to all of us, it gave us the chance to celebrate by preserving and being grateful for the year before the hibernation of winter months.

So, bite into a crisp apple, make a pumpkin pie, buy a mum, and when the leaves start to change, find your nearest national Park and praise God for Autumn.