"We need mayonnaise," I said to my husband as I was collecting the makings for a 7-layer salad to take to a funeral dinner. Then I remembered he didn't like the brand sold at this discount store. "Look, they have Miracle Whip," I said, "and it's on sale!" We normally don't use Miracle Whip (though I was brought up on it, but after nearly 40 years in the deep south we were strict mayo people!)
After I got all the ingredients for the salad, I started having misgivings. I had always put the pretty salad in a trifle bowl, which attractively set off the different shades of the green layers. But by the time I got everything in, it was difficult for people to dig down and serve themselves from all the layers. Besides that, the mayonnaise-mix topping dripped down in rivulets inside the bowl and hid the salad greens.
I found myself lying in bed and trying to decide on the seven layers. I knew it had green peas, lettuce, celery, but what else? Maybe I could look it up on the internet. The first recipe I saw was for "Vegetable Layered Salad." It had all the ingredients I had on hand, and the directions said to put it in a 9 x 13 dish! I'd never thought of that, but it would make for much easier serving!
Then I saw that it called for Miracle Whip topping with a spoonful of sugar! I had always used mayonnaise with a little vinegar and sugar. But the Miracle Whip and sugar tasted even better, with just the right tang of tartness! And without the added vinegar, it wouldn't be so thin that it would run down the sides!
Getting up early, I put the salad together, and it all worked like a dream. I had it ready to be delivered to the house of a friend by 10 a.m., in plenty of time for her to take it to the church that afternoon. Then we could do our errands, have lunch and get ready for the funeral service at 2:00 o'clock. I was thanking God for working all this out--from my finding Miracle Whip on sale and buying it, to finding a recipe that called for Miracle Whip, to the idea of using a glass baking pan instead of a bowl! (I hadn't located my bowl since moving, anyway.)
We didn't go to the funeral after all, as just before time to go we got a call with the bad news of our granddaughter getting hurt in a four-wheeler accident. I stayed by the phone all afternoon. I got the empty dish returned to me tonight, so I presume it was a success. My friend's husband, who took the salad when I delivered it to their house, looked at the shredded cheese and bacon bits topping the mayonnaise dressing under the plastic wrap and said, "That looks good!"
Our sweet granddaughter is in the hospital awaiting corrective surgery for her wounds in the morning. I know she will be alright. If I can trust God with the little things, I can surely trust Him with the big things!
Thursday, June 13, 2013
Monday, June 10, 2013
Steadfast
"The anchor holds, though the ship is battered; the anchor holds, though the sails are torn," sang our song leader in a departure from the hymns he usually led. I love that song! And it was so effective as the congregation joined in from memory. Then last night he sang another favorite as a solo: "I Thank God for the Lighthouse."
That afternoon, my husband and I remembered we were on the calendar to sing that night, and Howard pulled out the old song, "Where No One Stands Alone," for us to try. I had never tried to sing it, but we practiced, and surprisingly it fit in well with the mood of the day which was tinged with sadness due to a death in one of the families of the church.
The former pastor was passing through town on a relocation move to Texas, and he was asked to preach for the evening service. His subject was "Remembrance," and he was full of memories. "Do you remember that old blue pew we used to have?" he asked his former members. "I remember when we got this light," he said, pointing to a flickering "candle" flame in a glass votive on the communion table. "It was to remind the people to come to the altar and pray."
He told of a time he, his wife and family were routed from bed with the noise of a tremendous crash, seemingly from the street outside their house. Upon investigation, there was no trace of any disturbance. A few minutes later, their phone rang with the terrible news that a wayward son was in a horrific accident when hit by an 18-wheeler in a distant city. His point was that, when extricated from his crumpled car, the scared
young man remembered his Christian upbringing and asked for prayers. His injuries were minor!
"Sometimes God brings forth something stored in my memory that I had completely forgotten," the stooped, older preacher said. He said when he was young he used to attend auto races as a hobby, since it was a pasttime that he enjoyed and was harmless to his Christian testimony.
"Once years later, one of my church members asked me to drive him to a nursing home in Kansas where he would become a resident," he began. "As we drove along, suddenly an 18-wheeler, turned sideways, was coming at me. There was no way I could get away, when out of nowhere the thought popped into my mind, 'Race drivers drive away in the ditch.' In a split second, I headed for the ditch, which was actually a smooth climb up the embankment to the only grassy space for miles. The rest of the roadside was covered with overgrowth and boulders. We passed safely with inches to spare!" he finished.
Like the flickering flame from the altar, Jesus is our Lighthouse in the darkness of our despair, and we never need to stand alone if we remember Christ our Saviour, our Anchor!
That afternoon, my husband and I remembered we were on the calendar to sing that night, and Howard pulled out the old song, "Where No One Stands Alone," for us to try. I had never tried to sing it, but we practiced, and surprisingly it fit in well with the mood of the day which was tinged with sadness due to a death in one of the families of the church.
The former pastor was passing through town on a relocation move to Texas, and he was asked to preach for the evening service. His subject was "Remembrance," and he was full of memories. "Do you remember that old blue pew we used to have?" he asked his former members. "I remember when we got this light," he said, pointing to a flickering "candle" flame in a glass votive on the communion table. "It was to remind the people to come to the altar and pray."
He told of a time he, his wife and family were routed from bed with the noise of a tremendous crash, seemingly from the street outside their house. Upon investigation, there was no trace of any disturbance. A few minutes later, their phone rang with the terrible news that a wayward son was in a horrific accident when hit by an 18-wheeler in a distant city. His point was that, when extricated from his crumpled car, the scared
young man remembered his Christian upbringing and asked for prayers. His injuries were minor!
"Sometimes God brings forth something stored in my memory that I had completely forgotten," the stooped, older preacher said. He said when he was young he used to attend auto races as a hobby, since it was a pasttime that he enjoyed and was harmless to his Christian testimony.
"Once years later, one of my church members asked me to drive him to a nursing home in Kansas where he would become a resident," he began. "As we drove along, suddenly an 18-wheeler, turned sideways, was coming at me. There was no way I could get away, when out of nowhere the thought popped into my mind, 'Race drivers drive away in the ditch.' In a split second, I headed for the ditch, which was actually a smooth climb up the embankment to the only grassy space for miles. The rest of the roadside was covered with overgrowth and boulders. We passed safely with inches to spare!" he finished.
Like the flickering flame from the altar, Jesus is our Lighthouse in the darkness of our despair, and we never need to stand alone if we remember Christ our Saviour, our Anchor!
Saturday, June 8, 2013
But for the Grace of God...
"Is it clear from the east?" my husband invariably asks me every day as he checks traffic from the west. We are about to pull out onto Highway 60 from doing our farm chores. There is almost always a steady stream of eighteen-wheelers, trucks and automobile traffic speeding down the busy road.
Yesterday, from the barn yard, we heard sirens screaming and caught glimpses through the trees of emergency vehicles flying past going east. "It must be an accident," I said, sending a prayer heavenward for whomever might be involved. We finished up and headed back to town for our grocery shopping.
Coming out of Walmart later, I felt the vibration of my phone in my purse and knew it was about to ring. I carried a small purse today and, despite the incessant, endless ringing, I couldn't access the phone that was lodged under my wallet. I called the number back once I got in the car and recognized the voice of my church friend.
"Has anyone called you?" she asked, to which I replied, "Just the call I missed just now." "That was me," she said, "I'm calling with a prayer request." Then she told me that the son of a friend had just been killed in an automobile accident!
"No way!" I exclaimed when I heard who it was. "Isn't that the father of the boy who drowned last summer?" She said it was. I couldn't believe it. Our friend wasn't even over the tragedy of losing her grandson, whom she had raised! Last Sunday she was tearfully asking for prayer, saying it was the one year anniversary of his death.
"Yes," she said. "She is taking it very hard. She needs lots of prayer." Of course, we prayed for her and her husband. I remembered her grieving so hard when our pastor's wife died a few months ago, saying Clara was the one who got her through the loss of her grandson. Now this! How much could one person take!
"It happened on Highway 60. His car was hit by an eighteen-wheeler," my friend spoke over the phone. Turns out it was just a mile from where we were.
"You just never know, " I said to my husband. "One minute you're here, and the next, you're gone!" When I told my son about it later, he said the same thing.
Ironically, there were two Facebook posts on my screen today of narrowly averted accidents. In one, my granddaughter was describing coming unexpectedly upon an accident on the freeway, then, after carefully manipulating her way past it, a car on the off-ramp stopped unexpectedly in front of her, causing her to swerve around it, while another car was able to swerve around her! She was thanking God for her family's safety and lamenting the fact that she had ignored a feeling ( the Holy Spirit?) not to take that route in the first place!
The other post was from a former neighbor in Mississippi who was driving with her granddaughter in a torrential rain, when a truck coming around the curve on the country road lost control and came within an inch of hitting them head on! She, too, was praising God for His hand of protection that moved the truck away from them. "I could have reached out and touched it!" she wrote.
It pays to be ready. The next life is just a breath or a heartbeat away. It's so near you can almost reach out and touch it!
Yesterday, from the barn yard, we heard sirens screaming and caught glimpses through the trees of emergency vehicles flying past going east. "It must be an accident," I said, sending a prayer heavenward for whomever might be involved. We finished up and headed back to town for our grocery shopping.
Coming out of Walmart later, I felt the vibration of my phone in my purse and knew it was about to ring. I carried a small purse today and, despite the incessant, endless ringing, I couldn't access the phone that was lodged under my wallet. I called the number back once I got in the car and recognized the voice of my church friend.
"Has anyone called you?" she asked, to which I replied, "Just the call I missed just now." "That was me," she said, "I'm calling with a prayer request." Then she told me that the son of a friend had just been killed in an automobile accident!
"No way!" I exclaimed when I heard who it was. "Isn't that the father of the boy who drowned last summer?" She said it was. I couldn't believe it. Our friend wasn't even over the tragedy of losing her grandson, whom she had raised! Last Sunday she was tearfully asking for prayer, saying it was the one year anniversary of his death.
"Yes," she said. "She is taking it very hard. She needs lots of prayer." Of course, we prayed for her and her husband. I remembered her grieving so hard when our pastor's wife died a few months ago, saying Clara was the one who got her through the loss of her grandson. Now this! How much could one person take!
"It happened on Highway 60. His car was hit by an eighteen-wheeler," my friend spoke over the phone. Turns out it was just a mile from where we were.
"You just never know, " I said to my husband. "One minute you're here, and the next, you're gone!" When I told my son about it later, he said the same thing.
Ironically, there were two Facebook posts on my screen today of narrowly averted accidents. In one, my granddaughter was describing coming unexpectedly upon an accident on the freeway, then, after carefully manipulating her way past it, a car on the off-ramp stopped unexpectedly in front of her, causing her to swerve around it, while another car was able to swerve around her! She was thanking God for her family's safety and lamenting the fact that she had ignored a feeling ( the Holy Spirit?) not to take that route in the first place!
The other post was from a former neighbor in Mississippi who was driving with her granddaughter in a torrential rain, when a truck coming around the curve on the country road lost control and came within an inch of hitting them head on! She, too, was praising God for His hand of protection that moved the truck away from them. "I could have reached out and touched it!" she wrote.
It pays to be ready. The next life is just a breath or a heartbeat away. It's so near you can almost reach out and touch it!
Wednesday, June 5, 2013
Faith Builder
Every Sunday morning on the way to church we passed a huge flea market set up overnight in the parking lots of Ponca Plaza, a local shopping center. It was packed solid with people, vendors and all kinds of junk from boundary to boundary, and it was growing. Each Sunday the crowd was larger.
"I wonder why those people don't go to church," I would lament every time we passed and saw the people milling about. We could see it was the routine of many to have breakfast at the Perkins next to the parking lot, then amble around the flea market. What a way to spend the Lord's Day!
We have lived here for almost six years, and the flea market has been a fixture at least that long. "Howard, I wonder what would happen if you went down there and suddenly started preaching to them," I said, only half joking. Two Sundays ago at prayer time during church, my husband requested prayer. "I just want to pray that God will do something about that flea market," he said, "Those people need God and revival! I pray that he does something to get their attention!"
Last Sunday as we drove to church, I felt like something was missing. Did we pass the flea market? I looked behind me and didn't see it. The plaza was swept as clean as a whistle! Where was the flea market? They must not be having it today, I thought, although they'd never missed a Sunday, as far as I knew.
Then tonight at midweek service, a friend said to us, "Did you hear about the flea market?" I recalled that I hadn't seen it this past Sunday. "It closed down!" she announced triumphantly! "After we prayed!" Wow! How dramatic was that? An undeniable answer to prayer! "It had been there for years!" the lady exclaimed. She said something about Penney's not renewing their permit, I think.
Praise God! That flea market had been a blight on the city, set up during church hours and attracting so many of our citizens who could have been in church!
"It was in the newspaper that it closed," she went on. "I'll bring you a copy of it." No doubt it was a surprise and big disappointment to many, and we were surprised ourselves at the speedy answer to prayer! "You're going to be in trouble," people teased Howard, "when they find out it was your fault!"
The pastor observed, "You know, Newkirk First Assembly has a reputation for seeing answers to prayer. Wait till this gets out!"
Not long ago, our pastor asked Howard to preach for tonight's service. And preach he did! His impassioned sermon was a charge to the people to pray for revival, his heart's desire. He predicted a mighty heavenly outpouring as in the book of Joel, where God promises to send the former and latter rain in the same month. He urged the congregation to pray and seek God for it. And God answers prayer!
"I wonder why those people don't go to church," I would lament every time we passed and saw the people milling about. We could see it was the routine of many to have breakfast at the Perkins next to the parking lot, then amble around the flea market. What a way to spend the Lord's Day!
We have lived here for almost six years, and the flea market has been a fixture at least that long. "Howard, I wonder what would happen if you went down there and suddenly started preaching to them," I said, only half joking. Two Sundays ago at prayer time during church, my husband requested prayer. "I just want to pray that God will do something about that flea market," he said, "Those people need God and revival! I pray that he does something to get their attention!"
Last Sunday as we drove to church, I felt like something was missing. Did we pass the flea market? I looked behind me and didn't see it. The plaza was swept as clean as a whistle! Where was the flea market? They must not be having it today, I thought, although they'd never missed a Sunday, as far as I knew.
Then tonight at midweek service, a friend said to us, "Did you hear about the flea market?" I recalled that I hadn't seen it this past Sunday. "It closed down!" she announced triumphantly! "After we prayed!" Wow! How dramatic was that? An undeniable answer to prayer! "It had been there for years!" the lady exclaimed. She said something about Penney's not renewing their permit, I think.
Praise God! That flea market had been a blight on the city, set up during church hours and attracting so many of our citizens who could have been in church!
"It was in the newspaper that it closed," she went on. "I'll bring you a copy of it." No doubt it was a surprise and big disappointment to many, and we were surprised ourselves at the speedy answer to prayer! "You're going to be in trouble," people teased Howard, "when they find out it was your fault!"
The pastor observed, "You know, Newkirk First Assembly has a reputation for seeing answers to prayer. Wait till this gets out!"
Not long ago, our pastor asked Howard to preach for tonight's service. And preach he did! His impassioned sermon was a charge to the people to pray for revival, his heart's desire. He predicted a mighty heavenly outpouring as in the book of Joel, where God promises to send the former and latter rain in the same month. He urged the congregation to pray and seek God for it. And God answers prayer!
Happy Contemplation
We have been so excited about the baby expected in our son's family ever since we learned it will be a boy! Next on the agenda is the selection of a name, but Jamie has been mum on that one, only kidding around on Facebook with pun-like names for our amusement (and my exasperation!). I even suggested naming his son and heir with his own name, as a Junior.
Yesterday the phone rang and I saw it was his number. "Hi, Jamie!" I said cheerfully, "What are you doing?" (I had kidded him pretty hard about the names, and I thought he might be a little offended and was relieved he had called.)
"Hi, Mimi," a little voice answered. It was Anne-Marie, their six-year-old daughter! We haven't had many conversations on the phone, and to keep her talking, I immediately asked her about her kindergarten graduation and the "field day" afterward. She patiently explained the games, then I asked what room she would choose in their new house. "The turquoise one!" she said.
When I finally quit peppering her with questions, she announced, "Isaac. His name is Isaac." The reason she had called! I squealed and told her I loved it! I looked up the meaning and found it means "He who laughs." Perfect, if he is anything like his father! Besides, I love biblical names.
Later that day, we were enjoying fooling with the chickens, letting the "teenage" ones out into their fenced area where they found bugs under leaves, picked at grass and leaves, and scratched and ran to their hearts' content. We sat on a lawn bench in their midst and exclaimed over the beautiful coloring the sunshine revealed in the feathers of the three young guineas kept with them.
We also noticed how some of the chickens were mistreating the smaller banty chicken we had put in their midst a few days ago. It hardly got to eat before one would attack it, sending it shreiking away. It kept to itself as much as possible, especially out in the chicken yard where it could get away. I noticed it coming up under our bench, then it hopped upon the arm of the bench right by us! She (I called it a she) was friendly and seemed almost tame! I think she would have let me pet her!
"We should take her home," I suggested to my husband. "We could keep her in the rabbit cage out back." However, I knew city regulations would not permit that. "She could be a pet," I ventured. I had never felt affection for a chicken before, but she tugged at my heart. This morning I read that some bantum breeds have gentle dispositions.
The small, white chicken reminded me of a dove in her gentleness. I thought about the Holy Spirit being personified as a dove. I found out that the name, "Jonah," means dove, coming from the word, "yo-nah," the sound of mourning that a dove makes.
I was telling Jamie I would miss their old house, especially the nursery where he has painted the walls with pastoral scenes of sheep and a shepherd, and where he hand-lettered the whole 23rd Psalm bordering the ceiling around the room. I forgot to tell him how I always knew we were in his neighborhood when we heard the soft, melodious cooing of the resident doves in the area trees. Even better, though, will be the cooing of baby Isaac and the melody of laughter in their new home!
Yesterday the phone rang and I saw it was his number. "Hi, Jamie!" I said cheerfully, "What are you doing?" (I had kidded him pretty hard about the names, and I thought he might be a little offended and was relieved he had called.)
"Hi, Mimi," a little voice answered. It was Anne-Marie, their six-year-old daughter! We haven't had many conversations on the phone, and to keep her talking, I immediately asked her about her kindergarten graduation and the "field day" afterward. She patiently explained the games, then I asked what room she would choose in their new house. "The turquoise one!" she said.
When I finally quit peppering her with questions, she announced, "Isaac. His name is Isaac." The reason she had called! I squealed and told her I loved it! I looked up the meaning and found it means "He who laughs." Perfect, if he is anything like his father! Besides, I love biblical names.
Later that day, we were enjoying fooling with the chickens, letting the "teenage" ones out into their fenced area where they found bugs under leaves, picked at grass and leaves, and scratched and ran to their hearts' content. We sat on a lawn bench in their midst and exclaimed over the beautiful coloring the sunshine revealed in the feathers of the three young guineas kept with them.
We also noticed how some of the chickens were mistreating the smaller banty chicken we had put in their midst a few days ago. It hardly got to eat before one would attack it, sending it shreiking away. It kept to itself as much as possible, especially out in the chicken yard where it could get away. I noticed it coming up under our bench, then it hopped upon the arm of the bench right by us! She (I called it a she) was friendly and seemed almost tame! I think she would have let me pet her!
"We should take her home," I suggested to my husband. "We could keep her in the rabbit cage out back." However, I knew city regulations would not permit that. "She could be a pet," I ventured. I had never felt affection for a chicken before, but she tugged at my heart. This morning I read that some bantum breeds have gentle dispositions.
The small, white chicken reminded me of a dove in her gentleness. I thought about the Holy Spirit being personified as a dove. I found out that the name, "Jonah," means dove, coming from the word, "yo-nah," the sound of mourning that a dove makes.
I was telling Jamie I would miss their old house, especially the nursery where he has painted the walls with pastoral scenes of sheep and a shepherd, and where he hand-lettered the whole 23rd Psalm bordering the ceiling around the room. I forgot to tell him how I always knew we were in his neighborhood when we heard the soft, melodious cooing of the resident doves in the area trees. Even better, though, will be the cooing of baby Isaac and the melody of laughter in their new home!
Sunday, June 2, 2013
Harsh Realities on the Farm
Apparently there's a lot we don't know about farm life. Our little banty broody hen was setting on a nest of eight eggs that grew to 16 eggs as either she or another hen added to the nest daily. We tried to remove the fresh eggs for awhile, but the last we checked there was still 16 small eggs. Then one day I urged her off her nest to see if any were cracking, and there were only 8 eggs! We couldn't imagine who took them, and wrote it off as a mystery.
At last the eggs began to hatch. There were four black darlings that looked like a little string of pearls as they copied mama hen's example of scratching and pecking, all the while staying close to her. "I have bad news," my husband said after he had come in from feeding them one day. "There is only one chick left. One fell in the water pan and drowned, two were missing, one got out and I barely rescued it from the cat!" Oh, no! That cat must have gotten the other two! We moved the hen and lone chick into a cage where they would be safe.
Today I could see only the crotchety hen on the nest surrounded by hay, but I assumed the chick was in there with her. Next we went to the cage where Howard had placed several young bantums with 2 hens and a rooster. They were all black or dark colored except one white one. Howard spied blood on a raw spot on her back. Apparently, the rooster didn't accept a white chicken and had been pecking her. We moved it to a pen of white chickens, with a few Rhode Island Reds mixed in, all just a little bigger than her. We were dismayed to see a dead young chicken in the pen, looking as if it had been mauled. Something must have gotten in and grabbed it. The cat! I guessed.
At last I was ready to gather eggs from the hen house while Howard got their feed for them. I opened the lid to the nesting boxes and recoiled with a scream. A horrible sight met my eyes as a huge, black snake was entwined among the eggs! I shuddered and ran to the car. My brave husband got a garden shovel and slammed it into the snake. Although injured, the snake managed to slither off.
I told all this to the man at church tonight who had given us the bantums. He said the snake had probably taken the eggs we had been missing from the setting hen's nest. "They swallow them whole, then twist around a stick or something to crack them," he informed me. Then he said they eat baby chicks, too! That's probably what happened to the missing babies! The experienced chicken raiser said snakes slip under the hen and get the eggs. I wonder if that's why I didn't see the lone chick today!
"Did you see the picture in the newspaper of a black snake wound around the pole to a Martin bird house?" the knowledgeable informant asked. "It was trying to get to the bird's eggs!" I couldn't help but think of that old serpent, the devil, who the Bible says goes around like a roaring lion, seeking whom he may devour! Thank God, someday the lion will lie down with the lamb, snakes will be harmless, and Satan will be thrown into a bottomless pit! I can't wait for redeemed creation!
At last the eggs began to hatch. There were four black darlings that looked like a little string of pearls as they copied mama hen's example of scratching and pecking, all the while staying close to her. "I have bad news," my husband said after he had come in from feeding them one day. "There is only one chick left. One fell in the water pan and drowned, two were missing, one got out and I barely rescued it from the cat!" Oh, no! That cat must have gotten the other two! We moved the hen and lone chick into a cage where they would be safe.
Today I could see only the crotchety hen on the nest surrounded by hay, but I assumed the chick was in there with her. Next we went to the cage where Howard had placed several young bantums with 2 hens and a rooster. They were all black or dark colored except one white one. Howard spied blood on a raw spot on her back. Apparently, the rooster didn't accept a white chicken and had been pecking her. We moved it to a pen of white chickens, with a few Rhode Island Reds mixed in, all just a little bigger than her. We were dismayed to see a dead young chicken in the pen, looking as if it had been mauled. Something must have gotten in and grabbed it. The cat! I guessed.
At last I was ready to gather eggs from the hen house while Howard got their feed for them. I opened the lid to the nesting boxes and recoiled with a scream. A horrible sight met my eyes as a huge, black snake was entwined among the eggs! I shuddered and ran to the car. My brave husband got a garden shovel and slammed it into the snake. Although injured, the snake managed to slither off.
I told all this to the man at church tonight who had given us the bantums. He said the snake had probably taken the eggs we had been missing from the setting hen's nest. "They swallow them whole, then twist around a stick or something to crack them," he informed me. Then he said they eat baby chicks, too! That's probably what happened to the missing babies! The experienced chicken raiser said snakes slip under the hen and get the eggs. I wonder if that's why I didn't see the lone chick today!
"Did you see the picture in the newspaper of a black snake wound around the pole to a Martin bird house?" the knowledgeable informant asked. "It was trying to get to the bird's eggs!" I couldn't help but think of that old serpent, the devil, who the Bible says goes around like a roaring lion, seeking whom he may devour! Thank God, someday the lion will lie down with the lamb, snakes will be harmless, and Satan will be thrown into a bottomless pit! I can't wait for redeemed creation!
Saturday, June 1, 2013
What is So Rare as a Day in June?
What a blessing that God gave us such a beautiful day today after the tempestuous bad weather lately! Today was the annual Herb Festival that is so much anticipated every year, not only by locals, but by folks from far and wide who come to participate, shop, browse, discover, exclaim and just generally have a good time. It is held at Cann Gardens, a beautiful venue any time of the year and a perfect setting for the displays of crafts, plants, shabby chic and re-purposed furniture, and artsy clothing, to name a few, not to mention food, both homemade and that sold at food stalls.
We set out at mid-morning into the dazzling sunshine and perfect temperatures. Parking was almost non-existent, and the space we found was quite far removed from the festivities. I noticed a conveyance (I think called a Mule) parked in the street in front of us, and called out to the driver, "Are you shuttling people?" Turns out he had been delivering something, but he said yes and waited until my husband parked the car in the tight space. We clambered aboard and were thankful for being saved some steps!
Right away I saw a cute wicker plant stand at a reasonable price among all kinds of yard furniture and various and sundry items scattered under trees and upon the grass. Much of it was tempting, and all of it was interesting. A booth of bright patchwork pillows and braided rugs took my eye, and I stuffed a couple of them into the plant stand for Howard to carry. I was looking for a hanging basket or fern for my porch, but I didn't see anything in my price range.
After looking our eyes out in fascination, we were hungry and checked out the food booths. Lines were long and prices were high, so we left to get a bite elsewhere, after which we would visit an estate sale, our only vice. A few trinkets were gathered there-- the ubiquitous small hand tools and kitchen items--but the house was fascinating with its surprise rooms: A glassed-wall plant room under sky lights, bedrooms tucked in unexpected places, stairs, and rooms that went on forever. Brick terraces, a pool, and other amenities along with lots of nostalgic items (toys and games from our children's era, children's books, record collections) made for an entertaining half hour.
We still had to buy groceries, and as were waiting to check out at Aldi's, I noticed the customers in front of us were having a subdued conversation with the checker, who moved items away from their order. After they had walked away with half of their food, I knew the young couple didn't have enough money. In a whisper, I told my husband, and he offered to pay for their groceries still on the counter.
They smiled and protested briefly, then the wife asked if she could help me sack my groceries while hers were being re-tallied. I learned she had a new baby, and that they used to go to church, but not so much since the baby came. I told her about our church, but I didn't press her. Again in the parking lot, they were grateful and friendly. It felt good to help someone in need.
We even got to go back to the Herb festival and find a hanging plant, reduced by this time. Thank you God, for a great day!
We set out at mid-morning into the dazzling sunshine and perfect temperatures. Parking was almost non-existent, and the space we found was quite far removed from the festivities. I noticed a conveyance (I think called a Mule) parked in the street in front of us, and called out to the driver, "Are you shuttling people?" Turns out he had been delivering something, but he said yes and waited until my husband parked the car in the tight space. We clambered aboard and were thankful for being saved some steps!
Right away I saw a cute wicker plant stand at a reasonable price among all kinds of yard furniture and various and sundry items scattered under trees and upon the grass. Much of it was tempting, and all of it was interesting. A booth of bright patchwork pillows and braided rugs took my eye, and I stuffed a couple of them into the plant stand for Howard to carry. I was looking for a hanging basket or fern for my porch, but I didn't see anything in my price range.
After looking our eyes out in fascination, we were hungry and checked out the food booths. Lines were long and prices were high, so we left to get a bite elsewhere, after which we would visit an estate sale, our only vice. A few trinkets were gathered there-- the ubiquitous small hand tools and kitchen items--but the house was fascinating with its surprise rooms: A glassed-wall plant room under sky lights, bedrooms tucked in unexpected places, stairs, and rooms that went on forever. Brick terraces, a pool, and other amenities along with lots of nostalgic items (toys and games from our children's era, children's books, record collections) made for an entertaining half hour.
We still had to buy groceries, and as were waiting to check out at Aldi's, I noticed the customers in front of us were having a subdued conversation with the checker, who moved items away from their order. After they had walked away with half of their food, I knew the young couple didn't have enough money. In a whisper, I told my husband, and he offered to pay for their groceries still on the counter.
They smiled and protested briefly, then the wife asked if she could help me sack my groceries while hers were being re-tallied. I learned she had a new baby, and that they used to go to church, but not so much since the baby came. I told her about our church, but I didn't press her. Again in the parking lot, they were grateful and friendly. It felt good to help someone in need.
We even got to go back to the Herb festival and find a hanging plant, reduced by this time. Thank you God, for a great day!
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