Sunday, December 19, 2010

Lessons & Carols: No. 5


On Christmas night all Christians sing

To hear the news the angels bring.

News of great joy, news of great mirth,

News of our merciful King's birth.
 
 
Then why should men on earth be so sad,

Since our Redeemer made us glad,

When from our sin he set us free,

All for to gain our liberty?


When sin departs before His grace,

Then life and health come in its place.

Angels and men with joy may sing

All for to see the new-born King.


All out of darkness we have light,

Which made the angels sing this night:

"Glory to God and peace to men,

Now and for evermore, Amen!"

(Traditional carol; setting discovered in Sussex and written down by Cecil Sharp and Ralph Vaughan Williams, 1919)

Saturday, December 18, 2010

Lessons & Carols: No. 4


The Christ-child lay on Mary's lap,

His hair was like a light.

(O weary, weary were the world,

But here is all aright.)


The Christ-child lay on Mary's breast

His hair was like a star.

(O stern and cunning are the kings,

But here the true hearts are.)


The Christ-child lay on Mary's heart,

His hair was like a fire.

(O weary, weary is the world,

But here the world's desire.)


The Christ-child stood on Mary's knee,

His hair was like a crown,

And all the flowers looked up at Him,

And all the stars looked down.

(G.K. Chesterton) 

Friday, December 17, 2010

Mary Jane Odell, 1923-2010

I practically grew up watching one or another of the Mary Jane Chinn shows on old KRNT (now KCCI) television, out of Des Moines, so her death this week is a personal loss in a distant sort of way. But it's a loss for the state, too, diminishing our supply of strong, progressive women.

Mary Jane was a native of Algona who moved to Des Moines with her first husband, Gerald Chinn, in 1946, and went to work for KRNT in 1955. A skilled journalist, she almost single-handedly paved the route for women broadcasters out of the "Kitchen Klatter" niche they already had established for themselves.

After Gerald Chinn's death in 1966, she married John Odell and they moved to Chicago where she went to work in broadcasting again, earning two Emmy awards and a variety of other honors for her work. They moved back to Des Moines in 1975 and she joined Iowa Public Television where she developed and hosted a nightly half-hour interview show as well as "Assignment Iowa," a weekly documentary filmed on location across the state. That aspect of her career ended in 1979, when IPBN decided to eliminate the daily show.

Gov. Robert D. Ray appointed Odell to fill a vacancy as secretary of state in 1980 and she won a full four-year term in that office as a Republican during 1982, serving until 1987, when she retired. John Odell died in 1984 and in 1987 she married Ralph Siegler, who also predeceased her. Her accurate ruling while secretary of state that Democratic icon Harold Hughes did not meet residency requirements for another gubernatorial run didn't exactly endear her to activists in that party, but she was widely respected by both Republicans and Democrats

She also was active in movements to ensure full equality for women in Iowa, the Iowa Peace Institute and a variety of other progressive causes. Whe was named to the Iowa Women's Hall of Fame in 1979. Memorial services will be next Wednesday at First Unitarian in Des Moines.

One of the best places to read more about Mary Jane Odell is the biography on her Iowa Women's Archives site, which is here. Her obituary will be available for a couple of weeks, too, on The Des Moines Register Web site.

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Lessons & Carols: No. 3



Flocks feed by darkness with a noise of whispers,

In the dry grass of pastures,

And lull the solemn night with their weak bells.


The little towns upon the rocky hills

Look down as meek as children:

Because they have seen come this holy time.


God's glory, now, is kindled gentler than low candlelight

Under the rafters of a barn:

Eternal Peace is sleeping in the hay,

And Wisdom's born in secret in a straw-roofed stable.


And O! Make holy music in the stars, you happy angels.

You shepherds, gather on the hill.

Look up, you timid flocks, where the three kings

Are coming through the wintry trees;


While we unnumbered children of the wicked centuries

Come after with our penances and prayers,

And lay them down in the sweet-smelling hay

Beside the wise men's golden jars.

"Carol," Thomas Merton, 1946

Thursday, December 16, 2010

Lessons & Carols: No. 2



South of the Line, inland from far Durban,

A mouldering soldier lies---your countryman.

Awry and doubled up are his gray bones,

And on the breeze his puzzled phantom moans

Nightly to clear Canopus: 'I would know

By whom and when the All-Earth-gladdening Law

Of peace, brought in by that Man Crucified,

Was ruled to be inept, and set aside?

And what of logic or of truth appears

In tacking "Anno Domini" to the years?

Near twenty-hundred liveried thus have hied,

But tarries yet the Cause for which He died.'

Thomas Hardy: A Christmas Ghost Story
Christmas Eve, 1899, during the Boer War

Mike Gronstal's hair


Well, the big news here this week is that I finally got clipped and by the time Margie was done yesterday morning the debris around the barber chair made it look like Old Shep had been sheared.

That’s why I’ve been meditating on Mike Gronstal’s hair (above). Mine should look like that much of the time --- modestly cut, moderate length , nothing fancy but neatly combed. I was born without hair pride, however, and so it usually doesn’t.

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I sure hope Mike, who is Iowa’s Senate majority leader, is able to hang on to that hair during the upcoming legislative season. There’s going to be a whole bunch of Republicans up there at the capitol who will want to run their fingers through it, then grab on and try to yank it out by its roots.

Since Democrats managed to hang on to a slim margin in the Senate, Gronstal will control the agenda there. One thing he’s pledged to do is block any attempt to bring a GOP-proposed constitutional amendment banning same-sex marriage up for a vote. Good for him. He seems sincere in this and there’s relatively little of that going around among politicians.

But a heck of a lot of Republicans have been having sweet dreams lately of restoring the sanctity of heterosexual adultery and divorce, so they’re going to find this annoying.

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Same-sex marriage is a funny thing and I’ve got to admit that my thinking on the subject has changed over the years. Used to be, I thought some sort of civil arrangement would be best --- equal rights for everyone but leave matrimony alone; straight folks --- welcome to it.

That I think was mostly a factor of age and a modest case of heterophobia. Who, after all, would want to be virtually straight?

But it’s become obvious now that same-sex couples are among those most committed to fidelity, life-long commitment and all that kind of stuff. So why not give marriage a chance? Maybe when paired with the slight majority of openly heterosexual people who both preach and practice fidelity we can give the old institution new life.

I still think it would be a good idea to get the itchy fingers of the church out of state-sanctioned marriage entirely, however. Civil unions for all. Then let the church bless or not bless whatever it cares to. But that’s another issue entirely.

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Also in Iowa this week, three lawyers have filed suit attempting to establish as unconstitutional the November vote that ousted three Iowa Supreme Court justices because they had ruled in favor of equal marriage rights. There is a provision in the Iowa Constitution requiring that judicial votes be conducted by a “separate” ballot.

This probably isn’t a suit that going too far, since it hinges on the question of whether a judicial ballot printed on the back of the general election ballot actually is separate. But it’s certainly interesting.

The cool thing about that vote in November is the fact that ballot box adventurousness will turn around and bite those who started it on the ass. I can hardly wait to start figuring out which judges are Republicans so I can vote against them next time around. Heck. Who needs an independent judiciary?

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And finally, out there in Washington, the House passed in quick order Wednesday a free-standing measure that would dismantle Don’t-Ask-Don’t-Tell at the convenience of the military. More than 13,000 gay and lesbian troops have been booted on the basis of sexual orientation during DADT’s 17 years.

New polls suggest that perhaps 80 percent of the general population now thinks it’s time to ditch DADT, but it’s not clear what the Senate will do since partisan wrangling killed a similar effort last week.

We’ll see --- but it never hurts to remember the words of the Good Book: All is politics, saith the preacher.

Wednesday, December 15, 2010

Lessons & Carols, No. 1



Some say that ever 'gainst that season comes

Wherein our Saviour's birth is celebrated,

The bird of dawning singeth all night long:

And then, they say, no spirit dares stir abroad;

The nights are wholesome; then no planets strike,

No fairy takes, nor witch hath power to charm,

So hallow'd and so gracious is the time.

The Tragedy of Hamlet, Prince of Denmark
Act 1, Scene 1
(Mr. Shakespeare)

Tuesday, December 14, 2010

The drift that ate my drive ...



... is, as you can see, not that big at all --- by Iowa standards. But it's all mine and I wanted to remember it. Now if it would just melt before the next snow blows through.

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I look occasionally to see what's new in submissions to the "It Gets Better" project and am admiring this beautiful production by the Kurlander Program for GLBC Outreach and Engagement at the Washington, D.C., Jewish Community Center.

Even if you don't need to be reassured that it gets better, the clip is worth watching for the masterful way the lights and symbols and prayers of Chanukkah 2010 (sunset Dec. 1 to sunset Dec. 9), especially lighting of the candles in the Chanukkiyahs, or nine-branched Chanukkah menorahs, were integrated. I think it's the best I've seen from a faith community.


Monday, December 13, 2010

Shoveled out, souped up


Zero before dawn here this morning, but it looks like minus-9 in Mason City (I check conditions there sometimes to remind myself of how glad I am not to live in Cerro Gordo County still in the winter). We might get up to 11 in Lucas County today, but the predicted high up thataway is zero. See what I mean? Brrr.

I've received a couple of phone calls, e-mails and Facebook messages congratulating me on the volume of snow in the front yard (it looks a little like much of what fell in the neighborhood gathered here), but the driveway is clear --- thanks to neighbor Don who came over with his snowblower as I was starting to chip away at it at midmorning. That's an amazing little machine --- took on drifts more than twice its height without wavering.

The big problem with the driveway is that the lawn rises to alley level north of it creating when the wind is just right the effect of living on the wrong side of snow fence. It's nice to think some of this will melt before the next major deposit, but that's a wait-and-see issue. Back in the good old days when I lived in Winnebago County there was the winter when the snow finally got so high on both sides of the drive that new accumulations could neither be shoveled nor blown over it --- had to get a tractor with a blade in to push it way back onto the lawn and that created the look of life in a parking lot.

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I could have taken a photo of the driveway, but that would have involved getting wrapped up and going outside yesterday afternoon. So I took a photo of the soup instead --- one more recipe and then I'll get off this Food Channel kick.

Keep in mind I'm not a foodie and will eat what ever's set (or that I set) before me --- and if it tastes good, don't get bored with repetition. So day after day I eat soup (rarely out of a can) at one meal --- quick, easy and simple to make; stores well; few dishes to wash when it's reheated. This recipe will (and has) fed 10, or keep me in soup for a week.

VEGETABLE BEEF SOUP

1 pound stew meat (bite-sized)
1 chopped onion
3 stalks celery, diced
1 big (or about 10 "baby") carrot, sliced or diced depending
2 potatoes, diced
1 cup frozen corn
1 cup frozen peas
2 14-ounce cans diced tomatoes with juice
2 14-ounce cans beef broth
4 cups water
2 bay leaves
2 teaspoons garlic powder
2 teaspoons hot pepper sauce

Brown the beef in a dutch oven or soup kettle; remove beef and sautee onions and celery in same; add beef and all other ingredients except the peas; bring to a boil, then reduce heat and simmer for an hour; add peas; cook at least a half hour longer.

Personally, I think the soup still is a little watery after an hour and a half and except in emergencies allow it to cook longer. Don't be frightened by the pepper sauce --- it sharpens the flavor but does not make the soup "hot" --- unless you want it to. If you do want it to, add it along with the peas after an hour and you'll get more bite.

Saturday, December 11, 2010

Iowa turns red: Blizzard warning


The forecast has changed abruptly overnight and the weather map for nearly all of Iowa, including Lucas County, has turned red --- blizzard warning. The current outlook is for up to eight inches of snow and strong winds into Sunday morning.

Now there's no guarantee any of this will happen --- weather forecasters are like politicians in some respects: Prone to miscalculation and overstatement. We'll see.

But at least I didn't waste Friday --- sunshine and highs in the low 50s. And I had the Cinder Path all to myself at midafternoon.


Pampas grass is not native to Iowa and can be modestly invasive --- but it sure is pretty. Especially when its framing a view of Shelton Marsh (at the top) where the ice actually was melting.


Even foxtail, both invasive and pesky, can look good under some circumstances.


And father along the trail, views off into the distance with the shape of things clearly evident.

Friday, December 10, 2010

Scalloped corn and crackpots


It is a little-known fact that scalloped corn, properly prepared and administered, can cure the common cold. And that if enough people sat down at the same time to eat scalloped corn there would be world peace. It is a wonderful dish for troubled times.

So here's my recipe --- it travels well, so is good for potlucks. It stands up nicely under refrigerated conditions and reheats easily either in microwave or oven. And it was a big hit at Thanksgiving dinner this year and has been so in the past.

1 stick of butter
1 small to medium onion diced
1 can whole-kernel corn with liquid
1 can cream-style corn
3 eggs beaten
1 package Jiffy corn muffin mix
1 cup sour cream
1 cup grated cheese

Melt butter in large pan and sautee onion in it until translucent then remove from heat. Add corn, muffin mix and beaten eggs, mix in sour cream. Pour into greased baking dish and top with cheese. Bake for an hour in a 325-degree oven. What could be simpler?

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So do you call it "scalloped" corn or "escalloped" corn? Escalloped sounds more elevated, but if tracked back to French origins seems to have something to do with a small slice of meat cut into then cooked in the shape of a shell --- and that relates to the mollusk with a wavy fan-shaped shell called scallop. That's why if you sew and "scallop" the edges of a piece of fabric, it has wavy edges. So was the first corn casserole (or casserole of any other sort called "scalloped") cooked in a scallop shell? Who kows.

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I'm wondering if several big servings of scalloped corn would do anything for the consistent bad temper of the Rev. Fred Phelps and his merry band, now planning to picket the funeral of Elizabeth Edwards on Saturday in Raleigh. Probably not.

Old Fred reminds me of a wonderful story I read one time (and failed to note the precise source of) written by someone who grew up in Mormon family in Utah, I believe. Mama, in this family, always tried to live on the sunny side and it became something of a family joke that no matter how awful the person whose name entered dinner table conversation was, she would find something nice to say about him or her. So the kids decided to trick her into saying something kind about the Devil --- and succeeded.

Now I'm not implying that Fred is the Devil personified, but the reactions to him are interesting. Conservatives and liberals alike probably could reach rare agreement in this instance that if they were God, they'd smite that old sucker and send him off to a richly-deserved reward, perhaps involving fire and brimstone. You'll note God hasn't done that. But good old Fred has somehow sparked rare consensus. Point one.

Point two: The news these days about Fred doesn't usually involve actual protests, just the Wichita ramblers' plans for same. What usually happens is that once protests are announced, large groups of people from diverse backgrounds and viewpoints get together, peacefully (in most instances) surround the protesters (if they bother to show up) and stifle their message.

Fred's incivility in overstating his case in the culture wars involving those of us who are gay, lesbian, bisexual or transgender may actually have nudged the larger conversation slightly in the direction of civility. Even the most conservative preacher, contemplating Fred's example, at least thinks twice nowadays before shooting off his mouth. There may be just a little more verbal "love" out there directed toward us sinners and a little less "hate" toward our perceived sins. Number three.

Finally, if you are LGBT, who could ask for a better friend than Fred? He's probably done more to edge uncommitted fence-sitters with no particular stake in any holy war in the direction of inclusion than several dozen liberal preachers could accomplish. But the good Lord sure does move in myserious ways sometimes.

There now, I've said four nice things about Fred Phelps. I attribute it all to scalloped corn. If I had the old reprobate's address I'd send him the recipe.

Thursday, December 09, 2010

Interested in Methodist history?


There was a time in Lucas County when Methodist churches were scattered across the county --- at least one in every township. But decline in rural population and improved transportation combined to kill off most of them --- simple white frame buildings for the most part that also served as rural community centers.

Two of three remaining rural United Methodist Churches have closed within the last few years --- Pleasant Prairie, first, along Highway 14 on the road to Knoxville; and more recently Bethel (above), located east of Chariton in Cedar Township near the location of Ireland, early settler William McDermott's old stomping ground.

That leaves Norwood United Methodist Church in the northwest part of the county, First United Methodist in Chariton and First United Methodist in Russell. And both Norwood and Bethel are/were former Evangelical United Brethren congregations that became United Methodist when the Methodist Episcopal and EUB denominations merged in 1968.

So far as rural Lucas County churches in general are concerned I believe only three are left --- Norwood, Goshen Baptist southwest of Chariton and Center Community, southeast of Russell. The Chariton Christian Union Church (once located farther north when it was known as Whitebreast Christian Union) is in the country, but not that far. And the Norwood Assembly of God church still is operating in Norwood, but there's not much left of Norwood so it probably could be considered rural, too.

Anyhow, an interesting manuscript dating from 1903 that recounts the early history of Methodism in the Russell vicinity recently was added to the Lucas County Historical Society collection. Methodists kind of hold pride of place here because one of their circuit-riding preachers conducted the first public worship services in the county back in 1849 at the Xury West family cabin at Greenville in Washington Township. If you'd like to read the 1903 manuscript, go to the LCHS blog, which is here.

Wednesday, December 08, 2010

Memento mori: Uncle Greer


More than 70 years ago, my great-grandmother, Mary Belle (Redlingshafer) Myers, assembled obituaries and other paper memorabilia related to her family and pasted everything into the funeral home guest/memorial book that she had received after the death of her husband, Daniel Myers the first, on 24 February 1933.

Among the items was a slip of lined writing paper upon which someone had drawn in pencil the arched top of a tombstone and written below it the inscription on that stone:

My Husband

Meet me
in heaven

W.H.H. Greer fell asleep
June the 24, 1866, age
40 years, 6 months and 24 days.
When will the morning come?

We should not mourn us
Those that meet no more
To us he is not dead
But gone before

Below the depiction of the tombstone was this note: "Those words in the book was his last words. This is the shape of the stone and the inscription as nice as I can give them. Price fifty dollars." I'm not sure which words were "in the book."

After a little digging, I figured out that W.H.H. (William Henry Harrison) Greer was the slightly older brother of my great-great-grandmother, Isabelle (Greer) Redlingshafer, and that the tombstone note had most likely been written by his widow, Catharine Minerva (Ramage) Greer, and sent to Isabelle following his death. Isabelle had moved west from Pennsylvania to Lucas County with her husband, John G. Redlingshafer, in 1857. Most of her family, including W.H.H.,  remained in Washington and Fayette counties in southwest Pennsylvania. Both Isabelle and W.H.H. were children of William R. Greer, a shoemaker by trade, and Mary Slemmons Greer, his wife.

I still had no idea where the tombstone was, nor did a know a thing about Uncle W.H.H. other than his date of death.

Many years later, cruising the Internet, I came upon two columns written by Glenn Tunney for the Uniontown (Pennsylvania) Herald Standard. Someone living near Uniontown had come upon a small and battered book entitled "Greer's Poems," published in Pittsburgh in 1853.




Although the quality of the poetry was debatable, both the finder and Tunney were fascinated because many of the poems and prose pieces in the book were set in nearby Brownsville, a once-thriving Monongahela River town. But who in the world was this mysterious W.H.H. Greer, Tunney wanted to know.  I was fascinated, too --- Uncle Greer had been a poet.

Two of us recognized Uncle Greer in the column, including another of his generations-removed kinfolk, Genevieve Hough Miller, a resident of Uniontown. Between us we were able to tell Tunney something about W.H.H. and also to discover that a good many copies of "Greer's Poems" were still around. Isabelle (Greer) Redlingshafer's copy, for example, has been treasured for years here in Chariton by my cousin, Ilene, I came to find out. There were at least three copies in Genevieve's extended family.

Another researcher discovered that there are copies, too, in the Library of Congress, the Yale University library and a number of other repositories.

None of this improves the quality of the poetry, but it's nice to know that Uncle Greer's work is still around. I found a battered copy on eBay the other day for $50, but didn't bite. Quite frankly, I'm more interested in Uncle Greer than I am in his poems.

We're not quite sure, of course, exacly how the poems came to be published in the first place --- perhaps twice (two types of bindings, both original, are found among multiple copes). W.H.H. was born in 1828 and so would have been in his early 20s when the poems were written. He was by profession a school teacher --- unlikely to be able to afford to have his own works published. Perhaps he found a patron. It's also a possibility, since the poems were published the same year he married Minerva, that she somehow contributed.

So we knew quite a big more about Uncle Greer by now --- even a photo of him turned up in a scrapbook belonging to an unrelated family in the Uniontown area. But we still did not know where that tombstone was --- and that's the reason for telling this little story now.

Revisiting last week Web sites I'd used previously when searching for information about the Greer family, I discovered that the tombstone inscriptions from Taylor Methodist Church Cemetery in East Bethelehem Township, Washington County, Pennsylvania, were now available online. And there was W.H.H., as well as his sister, Hester Ann (Greer) Hamilton and most likely another sibling, Mary (Greer) Geho. I think it's possible their parents rest here, too, in unmarked graves, since they lived nearby at the times of their deaths. So persistence paid off.

I still have no idea what became of Uncle Greer's widow, Minerva. There were no children and while it is possible she remarried it also is possible she didn't and  is buried in an unmarked grave next to W.H.H. Perhaps we'll never know, but persistence does seem to pay off.

Here's a sample of Uncle Greer's poetry, taken from the title page of that supprising little book that  remains as his principal memorial. I suppose 40 is a little old to die "romantically" young --- as poets do sometimes. Still, it's interesting to wonder what else he wrote and what he might have accomplished had he lived longer. And not a bad reminder that mortality sneaks up on us all --- Carpe diem, memento mori and all of that.

The Muse, hath my companion been
At morning, noon and night,
While Nature spread her varied scene,
Before my youthful sight.
And while my heart hath felt the power of Love,
That angel from the realms of light above,
Despair, at times, with horrible control,
Hath flung his garb round my soul.

Tuesday, December 07, 2010

Arm-chair genealogy



Actually not "arm-chair" here since I sit before the computer screen on one of Aunt Laura Love's dining room chairs, in honorable service to the family since at least 1900 and probably longer: Sturdy (obviously), comfortable, light-weight and beautiful in a simple battered way. But you get the idea.

 It's a heck of a lot easier to engage in genealogical research now than it used to be and I've been at this since my fifth-grade teacher assigned her charges to go home, talk to their parents and grandparents and come up with rudimentary family trees. I was hooked then and remain fascinated.

Some of this online business can be aggravating (and mildly expensive). My Ancestry.com subscription renewed itself the other day, darn it. The folks at Ancestry, the biggest and best, no longer bother to either ask or tell --- they just bill your credit card and I resent that. On the other hand, I probably use Ancestry at least once every day for all sorts of research, so it's money well spent for me at least. But the volume of free stuff out there (most conveniently if you can afford a high-speed Internet hookup) continues to expand amazingly.

Take the two YouTube clips above, for example. Play them consecutively and you'll visit briefly the Hice-Pershing Cemetery, located in Indiana County, Pennsylvania on the north bank of the Conemaugh River just across from Ninevah and New Florence in Westmoreland County. My great-great-grandparents, Jacob and Harriet (Dick) Myers, left New Florence in 1867 and moved to Lucas County, but Hice-Pershing apparently had been the family graveyard for generations. And I never expected to see it --- until YouTube came along.

A little ways into the second clip, the video creator visits the grave of Kate Connolly, daughter of Phoebe Myers and therefore a niece of Jacob. He then moves on to the graves of George Myers (died 1876) and Elizabeth Myers (died 1884), Jacob's siblings. Jacob, George, Elizabeth and Phoebe were among the children of Abraham and Sarah (Hill) Myers; and Sarah, the daughter of Gasper and Phoebe Hill. Most likely they're all buried here, too --- in unmarked graves.

Also yesterday evening, I revisited the West Virginia Division of Cuture and History's vital records database, which continues to expand. Digital images of virtually all birth, marriage and death records into the early years of the 20th century now are available online at this site. It's an amazing resource for those of us who have a good many West Virginia ancestors. You can access the site here. 

There's lots more free stuff out there and the supply continues to grow. The LDS Family Search beta site, located here, continues to expand, and many of the digital book images at (for a price) Ancestry.com are also available, for free, at Google Books. Maybe one of these days I'll be able to tell my free-spending (of my money) friends at Ancestry.com to shove it.

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By the time that happens, however, I may need the price of an annual subscription to buy a box of breakfast cereal. How in the world do families afford to feed themselves these days? For heaven's sake.

I'm just not going to pay $4 (now at least) for a box of cereal, which means I generally eat what's on sale. So I'm filled with pre-Christmas cheer today because HyVee had Post Raisin Bran on sale last week for $1.88 a crack --- and I've now got four big boxes stashed away. Speaking of that, it's cereal time.

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The sad news of the morning involves Elizabeth Edwards, whose cancer now apparently has reached its terminal stage. What a heart-breaker.

Remember John "pond scum" Edwards, who seemed to many of us a promising presidential candidate at the Democat end of the spectrum --- until it became evident he was hopelessly zipper-challenged?

I guess it's still OK to elect male presidents, but really to believe we should administer the oath of office to their wives. Women (in most but not all cases) are so much more sensible. I doubt Laura, for example, would have gotten us hopelessly mired in Iraq and Afghanistan.

Monday, December 06, 2010

If Grandpa had a Santa suit ...


Here it is the Feast Day of St. Nicholas and I'm thinking again that if Grandpa Redlingshafer had had a Santa suit he'd have made a darned good portrayer. Look at that face. Look at that beard. Look at that tonsure, just like old Nicolaos himself, the bishop of Myra (actually, Grandpa was bald so he came by the tonsure naturally).

Great-granddad was dimunitive himself --- as was the good bishop. We know that because sailors from the Italian city of Bari snatched the bones of Nicolaos in 1087 from his basilica in Myra (now in Turkey) and deposited them in Bari, where they remain for the most part intact (unusual for the bones of a Christian saint, which tended to be dispersed as relics for veneration). They were measured and photographed during the 1950s and forensic review led to the conclusion that the good bishop was barely five feet in height --- and had a broken nose.

A Greek who lived from 270 until (reportedly) 6 December 346, Nicolaos gained a reputation as a secret giver of gifts and that made him the logical although convoluted source of our now highly secularized Santa Claus (from the Dutch Sinterklaas). St. Nick's feast day, however, still is widely observed in many places, primarily as a festival for children.

My own Santa, also known as John G. Redlingshafer, was born May 9, 1827, in one of the Redlingshafer family villages west of Nurnberg (Nuremberg) in Bavaria. He arrived in Pennsylvania from Germany with his parents and siblings during 1848 and settled in Lucas County in 1857 after scouting the territory out in 1856, then returning to Pennsylvania to marry Isabelle Greer.

Although baptized and confirmed in the Lutheran church, John and Isabelle were among the organizers and charter members of the Otterbein congregation of the United Brethren in Christ.

During the Civil War, John G. gained a reputation for kindness and generosity toward the families in the Wolf Creek-Otterbein neighborhood whose husbands, sons and brothers were serving in the military, perhaps motivated in part by his baby brother, John Lot Redlingshafer, who lied about his age and ran off to Albia to enlist at age 16 and managed to be captured in battle not once but twice before his discharge at the end of the war at age 21 unharmed and "with distinction."

John died at age 85 on Feb. 8, 1913, while being cared for by my great-grandmother, Mary Belle (Redlingshafer) Myers. And about that beard. Great-great-grandpa chewed tobacco and especially in his later years, that became a maintenance issue, or so we've been told. But cleaned up and properly dressed, he'd still have made a great Santa. 

Friday, December 03, 2010

Creeping artifacts


Nolan D. and Mary (Stephens) Myers and their eldest children, Martha Ann and Neil.

So there I was after lunch Wednesday walking down the biggest hill in the Chariton Cemetery intensely focused, trying to figure out how to frame the tombstone I was stalking through the lower branches of a spruce tree just across the valley, unaware that very large truck was tailing me.

"Where's your hat?" my cousin, Mary Lou, asked out the blue --- causing me to jump a short distance (when I was younger I could jump farther). Her husband, Hubert, was at the wheel. And it was cold. But I usually don't wear a hat and now, badly in need of a haircut, my head has sufficient natural insulation anyway.

Then she handed me, through the pickup window, an announcement of the 1921 marriage of our mutual great-aunt and great-uncle, Mary (Stephens) and Nolan D. Myers, that had been sent to her grandparents (Mary Lou's grandmother, Harriet Myers Reynolds, was a sister of my grandfather, Irwin Myers) at the time.


The moral to this story is that you never know when an artifact is going to sneak up on you --- so be prepared.

This one goes a little beyond family interest, however, since Aunt Mary was a daughter of Andrew J. Stephens, who built the Stephens House, centerpiece of the Lucas County Historical Society museum campus. So I'll pass the announcement, as Mary Lou intended, on to Marilyn today and it will become part of the Stephens family-related display there.

Nolan, born 26 January 1902, was the youngest of the seven children of Daniel and Mary Belle (Redlingshafer) Myers. His parents built a small house for the newlyweds in the side yard of their home in Benton Township and Nolan joined what was, until the Great Depression did a good job of substantially reducing it, a large family farming operation.

After that, Nolan and Mary and their children moved to a farm north of the small town of Weldon, southwest of here, where they were living when he was killed on 31 March 1962 in a highway crash --- inadvertently turning off Highway 65 in front of a semi while returning home late at night after taking Aunt Mary to the Des Moines Airport to catch a flight to Oklahoma, where daughter Martha Ann then lived.

After that, Aunt Mary moved to Oklahoma to live nearer Martha Ann. Martha Ann and her youngest brother, Danny, now live in a desert hotspot favored by many former Iowans --- Green Valley, Arizona. Their brother, Neil, last I heard was somewhere in the Pacific Northwest. Uncle Nolan is buried at Smyrna Friends Cemetery, just over the Clarke County line west of here.

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Yesterday, my cousin Ilene, also an LCHS board member, called a small family meeting in the museum commons, allowing another cousin of hers and myself to examine some of her recent personal accessions. Ilene (she and I are part of the vast Redlingshafer conspiracy; her other cousin, from Bondurant, part of the Burley horde with substantial doses of Tuttle thrown in for good measure) is our hero these days --- single-handedly rescuing scrapbooks that might otherwise have been tossed out or passed beyond our reach.

As an aside, the alternate Frank, Redlingshafer cousin to both Ilene and myself, also is an LCHS board member. And then there's the current mayor of Chariton, also Redlingshafer kin. This conspiracy business is no joke. Be very afraid.

There were 10 fairly recenet scrapbooks (50 or so years old) related primarily to Freedom, a ghost community just southwest of Chariton where only the Freedom Cemetery and Freedom Bible Camp survive. That's Burley and Tuttle territory, so I had only a passing interest in those.

What I was fascinated by were two scrapbooks Ilene had purchased quite recently at Dean Boozell's estate auction, crammed with an assortment of obituaries, wedding announcements and general interest articles that dated from the 1890s at the earliest to perhaps the early 1940s at the latest. These are not exactly what we would think of nowadays as scrapbooks in an era when scrapbooking has gotten kind of uppity (and expensive). Instead, they're very old books --- both stitched together as bindings have worn out --- in which newspaper clippings have been pasted densely over the original type.

I've been speculating about their origin since Ilene first showed them to me several weeks ago. They could have been assembled by someone in Dean's family, or perhaps he had acquired them elsewhere because of his intense interest in local history.

I became suspicious, looking at them carefully and mostly because of the considerable volume of Redlingshafer and Hupp-related material, that these had been assembled by the Hupp sisters. That was confirmed when I found Maggie Hupp's signature on the back endpages of one volume. And doubly-confirmed when I found later hand-written notes in one volume by Minnie (Hupp) Relph, one of their nieces.

Dean was married (until her untimely death) to Susie Relph, Minnie's youngest daughter, so that is most likely how the scrapbooks came into his possession.

The moral to this story is --- never give up. Although much family-related material falls by the wayside as the centuries pass (or is destroyed by disasters natural or otherwise), there's a good chance what you're looking for is out there somewhere --- it just requires patience. And a little detective work helps, too.

The Hupps remain one of my favorite family. Aaron and Margaret Ann (Redlingshafer) Hupp, had 14 children, 12 of whom lived to be adults. Only two of the twelve married, however --- Jacob, who married Paulena Schreck and produced among others Minnie (Hupp) Relph; and Elizabeth, who married James Van Gilder. (OK --- Otto married late in life but that turned out to be a dreadful mistake and didn't last long).

The other 10 children lived together in the big Hupp farmhouse just north of my grandparents' farm, dying out gradually until finally Otto, the youngest, passed in 1962. All are buried in rows at Salem Cemetery. The sisters involved in this scrapbooking operation, bless their hearts, were Lucinda, Hannah, Susie, Sarah and Maggie Belle.

Thursday, December 02, 2010

Self-guided cemetery tour



OK, so it's a little chlly to take the tour right now, but new brochures now available at the Chariton Cemetery and the Chamber of Commerce office will allow visitors to make self-guided circuits of some of the most interesting gravesites (and tombstones) located there.

The brochures are a project of the Chariton Historic Preservation Commission (funded by a South Central Community Foundation grant) and were designed by Martin Buck, a commission member. In some cases, photos from this blog were used.

The featured graves are those of some of the people honored during several of the commission's annual fall interpretive cemetery tours.

At the cemetery, the brochures are located in weather-proof boxes in front of the "rules" board just inside the cemetery gate and just north of the parking area in the southwest corner of the cemetery. So stop in and take the tour!

Sunday, November 28, 2010

Circle of these November days


This late November Sunday sunrise had an escort, marked at 7 a.m. by dramatically illuminated crossed contrails over the neighbor's roof. In the west (over the low roofs of Columbus School), soft pinks and blues marked the rising.


Saturday was a wonderfully mild day of muted sunshine and today is forecast to be another, a bridge between Thanksgiving cold and the chilly rain predicted for later in the new week.


The same gentle color scheme dominated early yesterday at the marsh, where shapes left behind by summer now dominate the prairie and marshland growth.



At the lake, later in the day, a few leaves still clinging optimistically to a branch along the shoreline and a skim of geese on the water.



And finally, not long before sunset while sitting on the bench inscribed "Emma Thomas Walked Here" this view to the west.


Saturday, November 27, 2010

Who knows what horror lurks?



I once knew a relatively affluent couple who lived in a relatively nice house who lost control of their belongings. Driving by, you’d never know what horrors lurked inside --- cartons, grocery sacks and garbage bags full of items that might come in handy sometime stacked to the ceiling and buttressed by every issue of every newspaper and magazine that ever had arrived or been bought by lot (to look through someday).

A canyon-like trail led from the sofa-recliner-television clearing where they lived and ate to the kitchen and back porch where tin cans, bottles and Cool Whip containers carefully washed after use were stored, empty cereal boxes stacked. The trail continued to a bathroom where because the tub/shower recess, too, was stacked to the ceiling, the couple --- who valued cleanliness --- spit-bathed in the basin. Never saw the downstairs bedroom where they slept (upstairs was inaccessible).

Eventually, rather than scoop out the old house, they built a nice new one next door and moved in. Shortly after that I moved, too, so I don’t know what happened there.

But I do recognize that pathology operating in myself now and then and, without funds or space to build a new house, face the need to move everything here and clean behind it. I don’t like to do this. There are so many other more entertaining things to do with time.

So for inspiration, I go to YouTube and watch old episodes of the British television series “How Clean Is Your House?” featuring Kim and Aggie. The introduction to an episode above will give you an idea of how it goes --- and I think there’s an American version of this program out there but I’ve not seen it. By the time each program is done, the heroic Kim and Aggie and their helpers have restored immaculate order. I recommend it --- but not immediately after lunch.

Now I’m going to go launder the sheets --- Kim and Aggie say you should do that once a week.

Wednesday, November 24, 2010

Pilgrim's Progress


This card, postmarked Midland, S. Dak., Nov. 22, 1915, was sent to my grandmother, Jessie, by her best friend (and niece although actually a year older than Jessie), Ida (Brown) Rogers. The weather had been fine and mild out in the middle of South Dakota during November, Ida reported, but she'd been cooking daily for the six men involved in hauling hay on the Rogers farm/ranch.

I pulled out the family postcard album the other day --- a nicely-bound but battered scrapbook-size repository dating from about 1900 --- to look for Thanksgiving cards. And there were a couple tucked in among the Christmas, birthday and general greetings. But not many. That’s one of the beauties of Thanksgiving --- it isn’t Christmas. More relaxed (unless you’re the cook, but even the cooking end of it can be fun), certainly less commericial.

We had a church full at St. Andrew’s last evening for the Interchurch Council’s annual Thanksgiving service, which I think everyone who attended enjoyed. This year’s preacher was from the Community of Christ --- a lovely and low-key sermon. It’s always fun to watch the pastors from various denominations in action --- two had their preacher yells (do they teach that in seminary?) down pat; the others, more conversational. We chained our vicar to the organ since the regular organist was not available, a good reminder of the need to have a conversation about volume one of these days. With both “pipes” and “console” switched on, it is possible to blast those toward the back of our small church clean over into the next county if one isn’t careful with the foot on that particular pedal.

Some time was spent beforehand fussing about coming up with enough to feed the minor multitude afterwards. But have you ever noticed that any event in a church involving food turns into a loaves and fishes experience? As it turned out, we were at the epicenter of a cookie explosion with plenty left over. Gratifyingly, few of the blonde brownies or cinnamon streusel slices I spent part of Tuesday morning slaving over a hot stove to produce were left. Hardly enough to get a sugar high on today.

The Interchurch Council’s primary project is the Ministry Center where the community food pantry is located and various counseling services headquartered. Tuesday night’s collection, however, went to the council’s fuel fund --- intended to help those who have difficulty keeping up with heating bills during the winter (and it does get cold in Iowa in the deep midwinter).

Lots of other good stuff is going on elsewhere Chariton this Thanksgiving, too. If you’re in need of Thanksgiving dinner (or just others to share it with), First United Methodist, our biggest congregation, will be serving up one free on Thursday. The Assembly of God church, located next door to Autumn Park apartments, served an early holiday dinner to residents there Tuesday night as well. First Methodist, by the way, also serves free meals during the last week of every month --- a project designed to assist those on fixed incomes whose resources are running low as the months end. So we’re especially grateful for Methodists around here.


A cousin I can't identify (frustratingly) sent this card, postmarked Nov. 24, 1919, to Grandmother Jessie from Traverse, Minn. It's a little battered, but keep in mind that this postcard album was given to sick-abed children way back in the dark (pre-television) age to keep them amused.

Advent begins as Thanksgiving ends. The wreath (a big oak wheel atop a big oak stand) will have to be hauled out Friday and prepared for the approaching season of expectant waiting. Since the wreath requires candles of a size not easily findable in appropriate colors (three purple, one pink --- or rose), there’s a minor problem. We’ve solved it in the past with symbolic ribbon, but a parishioner who is a retired florist suggested spray paint last week. Hmm.

Thanksgiving, for better or worse, also marks the start of the season of extravagant spending, but that’s not especially threatening down here. So I’m looking forward to Friday night’s lighted Christmas parade around the square (starting at 7).

This is the only nighttime event I know of for the Chariton Volunteer Fire Department’s 1883 Silsby Steamer --- hitched to a team, fired up and paraded around the square spouting steam and throwing sparks. It’s a sight worth a trip up town for and the weather forecast is looking good.

The Hunter Tree Farm is open --- including Alyse’s wonderful Christmas shop in the old May schoolhouse, so it’s going to start looking a lot like, well you know what, very soon.

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My Quaker forebears on the paternal side most likely would have been a little cranky about Thanksgiving and the idea that one should set aside a specific day once a year to be especially thankful. Their eminently sensible concept was that it was more appropriate to practice gratefulness on a daily basis. So I like to think about that on Thanksgiving, too.

It’s also useful to remember that some Native American tribes not that long ago designated our EuroAmerican feast day, with a good deal of justification, a national day of mourning. Although that legendary first Thanksgiving during 1621 at Plymouth involved members of both the Wampanoag and Pilgrim tribes, we’ve given neither the Wampanoag nor other indigenous people much to be thankful for since then. Something else to think about as we thank God (and congratulate ourselves) for our good fortune.

I’m mentioning that now because I have two Thanksgiving invites, one Thursday and the other Sunday, and most likely will be so stuffed by the time all is said and done to think clearly.

Happy Thanksgiving!


This is another card from Ida, but I can't make out the year. She was still feeding extra men involved in hauling hay and feed and asked Jessie, "Do you remember 13 years ago this year?" Wish I knew what that was about.

Monday, November 22, 2010

The Anglophilian vice


I've added new links under the sidebar header "Anglophilia" here that reflect for the most part an obsession with ancient buildings. That's not an easy obsession to deal with in Iowa because we have no ancient buildings. Euroamericans have been around this high up between the Mississippi and the Missouri since only the late 1830s. And we've been careless with what our forbears built, preferring to tear them down or let them fall down.

"Anglophilia" is a little misleading, since it implies a fondness for all things English. I couldn't care less about the royal family, don't especilly like tea and while devoted to the Book of Common Prayer am not at all devoted to what's called the Anglican Communion. "Anglobuildingophilia" would be more accurate, but bulky.

I especially like English Churches, even better when the person photographing and writing about them is obsessed. And that's certainly the case with Simon Knott's "Churches of East Anglia" --- accounts of visits to approximately 1,500 churches, mostly Anglican with inevitable Roman Catholic roots, in Suffolk and Norfolk.

Great Chalfield (above), in Wiltshire, is perhaps my favorite English house (wonderful gardens, too). Although owned by the National Trust it is lived in and managed for the British public by grandchildren of the couple who so sensitively restored it. "Ming at Great Chalfield" is a blog written by members of that family pretending to be their dog Ming. I know that seems a little odd, but then so do the Christmas letters from cousins of mine pretending to be one of their dogs or horses.

Owlpen Manor, in the Cotswolds, owned and occupied by members of the Manders family, is another small but extremely interesting building. The Web site they've developed for it is one of the best and most comprehensive around.

Craig Thomber has posted thousands of photos of villages, towns, churches and houses in Cheshire and Staffordshire as well as elsewhere in England on his various sites. Expecially good if you're interested in the settings and surroundings of interesting buildings.

And finally, Treasure Hunt, a blog written by National Trust staffers who track down, evaluate and write abound artifacts separated at some point from the hundreds of properties the trust owns and administers.

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Features related to our native forbears are about as ancient as anything human-related gets here in Iowa, so I was interested this morning to see a blogger, Lance Foster, linked as "The Sleeping Giant" under "Stuff I Read" quoted in a Des Moines Register story related to National Park Service shenanigans at Effigy Mounds National Monument way up in the northeast part of the state.

Lance, who lives in Montana but who was an Iowan while attending university, is a registered member of the Ioway tribe, our namesake, and author of the excellent "The Indians of Iowa" published recently by University of Iowa Press.

What happened at Effigy Mounds was fairly simple --- its National Park Service staff in the interests of public accessibility authorized and in part constructed a series of boardwalks without following Park Service procedure to ensure that the site modifications didn't damage site integrity. That cost in excess of $1 million.

Here's a link to The Des Moines Register, but you're on your own so far as finding the story is concerned. The Register moves stories around and eventually pops them into a for-a-price archive --- so links to specific stories don't last long. Look for the story headlined, "Outrage lingers among those who love Effigy Mounds."