Good Luck

Soon after the cabin was built, around 1961, my dad hung horseshoes over each of the doorways. They have been there - rusty old well-used draft horse shoes - AND THEY WILL STAY. He probably picked them up at one of the dairy farms he regularly visited as State Dairy Tester in New Jersey for so many years. 

We have grown so accustomed to seeing them that they didn't stand out until a recent visitor noticed and commented on the good luck they are supposed to bring. 

I did a little research about hanging horseshoes over a doorway and this one struck my fancy.

Excerpt from by Clay Thompson - Sept. 24, 2010 12:00 AM The Arizona Republic

"There are two schools of thought on this matter. Some people say you should hang the horseshoe with the ends - the heels - pointing up so the good luck it brings won't drain out.

Others say the heels should be pointing down so the good luck falls on anybody passing through the doorway.

The interesting bit is the origin of the horseshoe superstition.

One story has it that the devil went to a blacksmith to get his hooves shod. So the smith shaped the horseshoes and nailed them - red hot - into Satan's hooves.

The devil went on his way, but soon the hot horseshoes and nails caused him such agony that he tore them off and never went near a horseshoe again.

Another idea is that horseshoes are lucky because they are made by blacksmiths, who were considered to be lucky in the old days. That was because they worked with fire - one of the basic elements - and iron, which was believed to possess magic because it was stronger than other metals and could survive a fire.

Blacksmiths were so lucky, the ancients believed, that they could heal the sick.

And horseshoes were nailed on with seven nails, and seven was a lucky number in many ancient cultures.

So hang your horseshoe any old way you want, and I hope it brings you good luck."

UUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU

Over the front door...

Over the side door...

Over the side door...

Cabin History and Story

Once in a while someone says to me, "Why don't you just sell the cabin and move to someplace warmer?" (or easier to keep, or where you can have a washer, or where you don't have to worry about power losses, or be closer to town)

The cabin holds sturdy arms around me.

It is permanence.

It is safety.

It is sanctuary.

It is Tranquillity.

I really can't explain it any better than to say my roots are here. The cabin is my home.  I belong here. It is my energy source. The cabin vibrations nourish my soul.  To abandon it would be forsaking myself. It is my protector. It is my karma, my destiny and I like it here.

My mother did "memory stories" and this is another reason why I live here.

TRANQUILITY by PFN 1999

  It's just a word, isn't it? Funk and Wagnalls says "tranquility" whether it is spelled with one or two "L"s means the state of being tranquil, rest or quiet. 

But to a certain writer, it was, and is so very much more. First of all, it is a small country village not far from here where a beloved aunt taught school in a little one-room building. Later the same building became a community center. She retired after many years and was later to marry the man she would meet in almost the same location. This happened, would you believe it, in the village cemetery where he had come to place flowers on the grave of his first wife. After they were married they lived in a home just a few feet from the community center and the little white church just across the road.

Another chapter began when this writer and her parents came to celebrate a mortgage burning ceremony in the same former schoolhouse. It was now enlarged and became the gathering place for chicken and waffle suppers, harvest homes and other affairs put on by the church. This time a large group awaited a concert that was planned.

The uncle had invited a gentleman from a nearby farm where he was working as a state milk tester, to be the soloist. At the conclusion of the performance, the young man (tall, dark and handsome, of course) asked to be introduced to one of the young women in the front row of the audience. This he did and so began a new era of "tranquility." The girl had come to the evening meeting to drive for her parents and to practice her recently acquired driver's license.

The young couple dated for a couple of years and found they had a number of things in common. The next step was an engagement and soon a marriage. Inside the wedding ring the word "tranquility" was engraved as a fitting motto; now, after almost sixty-five years, it is barely visible.

Soon a family came along. First there came a daughter who was baptized in a beautiful large church in another small town. The next child was a son who was baptized in the little white church just across the road from the spot where so much had started.

As the family grew it moved to an urban town nearer the father's business needs. Soon twin daughters came along to complete the growing family. They were baptized in the large stone church on the green. All the children developed many interests and another diversion seemed to be in order.

A little log cabin in another state provided rest and recreation with new friends and interests. Of course, the cabin had to be named "Tranquility." The signmaker had erred and spelled it "Tranquillity." It became quite well-known around the little country lake that had been built by a cousin. This relative had generously offered the family the privilege of choosing a building lot wherever they liked. An ideal spot near the dam and spillway provided a choice view of the whole lake including watching the many forms of wildlife. On the porch of the cabin hangs a framed article entitled "Tranquility," apparently the sentiments of another writer had written and published many years earlier as evidenced by the yellowing newspaper article.

Many things were happening around the world, the foremost of which was the landing on the moon by the astronauts. Was the "Sea of Tranquility" just another coincidence?

Two more minor things added to this strange saga when the oldest daughter began selling articles of jewelry put out by a famous company that specialized in home party sales. One very popular item was a silver pendant depicting the moon landing and was named "Tranquility." It sold out quickly and everyone in the family has tried to find this special piece but have had no luck so far. Another company that made cosmetics, took advantage of the publicity and put out a skin fragrance also called "Tranquillity." This was purchased and is enjoyed still. How strange that a single word could be the focus of so many happenings!

The little country village, the community house and the tiny white church remain there still today. Perhaps our story will have its ending in the neat Tranquility Cemetery where it had all begun so many years ago.

Pauline F. Nulton

The Tranquility United Methodist Church, was built in 1870.

Tranquility United Methodist Church, Tranquility, NJ

(This link leads to a story I published previously.)
More....

Thriving ....

On April 11 the first hope of Spring actually arriving here was fulfilled when the cabin's surroundings began to wake up. Spring is VERY late this year.

On April 18 they continue to stretch upward and are looking great.

The ice is gone and the geese and ducks are paired.

It has finally arrived.

James removed his hat.

James Marshall Folkner, Spiritual Guardian of Cabin Tranquillity

Hardwood trees are in bud.

The bottle  bush sparkles in the sunshine.

       The past three years       

May 2, 2014

April 24, 2013

April 24, 2012

(please click on image to view larger)

Home Free Part 3

Injuries occurred of course, during the unsupervised free play. That was how we learned our lessons!  “Teddy” two streets over, once cut his finger very badly when he turned his bicycle over on its back and pedaled with one hand while sticking his finger on the spokes with the other hand when the wheel was spinning very fast. He slipped and the finger was slashed and almost cut off when it was stuck between the bike frame and the tire. Dumb, but we all thought it was fun to make the special noise. Mom patched him up before sending him home. I returned his empty bike and didn’t stay to hear his mother screaming.

Playing in and around the poison ivy gave every kid the rash and itch. Calamine was slathered on and we were sent out again. Connie got poison oak, only once, and her arms were covered with huge water blisters that broke and oozed. We ooo'd and ah'd over her calamity. She showed us all where that horrible encounter occurred and none of us went there again! Another lesson was learned. 

There was a rope swing in my backyard and a tire in another’s. The splinters on my swing seat were to be avoided by covering the seat with leaves. The tire would fill with rainwater and have to be emptied. 

Hammers struck fingers, saws made scratches that bled, ropes could burn palms, and paint was hard to remove. Brambles tore faces, bees stung, mosquitoes ate us unmercifully, hot tar burned feet.  Everyone’s knees always seemed to have large scabs or bandaids covering fresh scrapes. Bloody noses were common. Sling shots had to be aimed carefully. Whips stung, and they weren’t wielded by parents, but by ourselves during games of fun. It was a daring game of swords (sticks) that caused Ellen to break her eyeglasses. Pete had a broken tooth and Joey was blamed for swinging a rock on a string into Pete’s mouth. 

We had a hidey hole hut dug deep in the woods and were adding more planks to the roof because it leaked. Even though we had put branches and leaves and dirt on the roof water continued to drip down on us when it rained. Well, by us, I mean the boys and me. Then the worst accident of the summer happened. To ME. I stepped on a rusty nail and got “blood poisoning.” It was a rusty one that was already through the wood. When I stepped on it, the plank came up with my sneaker'd foot as I tried to remove it. I was supposed to stay near home that day and didn’t. Because of disobeying, I didn’t tell my mother about the nail puncture that quickly got infected - really badly. The end result was hospital surgery (I was told they had to scrape the bone!) and many blood transfusions. My dad had to solicit his lodge brothers to donate blood. I was given penicillin injections multiple times daily IN MY BACKSIDE until the infection was conquered. The surgery caused me to be hospitalized for several weeks! The fun part for me was when I finally could get out of bed and ride a wheelchair up and down the hospital halls, scaring the nuns as they scattered out of my way. (My first four children were born in the same hospital.) After I returned home, I read everything available while loafing on the studio couch in the sunporch. My buddies often visited, and wanted to know all about my hospital experience. I was the only one of us who ever had to have surgery or be hospitalized during those years. We ALL learned from that! I also learned that books were a wonderful thing to have to pass the time and enter "escape" mode. I have since tried to follow rules throughout my life. 

Those years were “learning-by-doing” years and the lessons weren’t forgotten.

Here is the site for a similar injury of a child who also received penicillin. I guess I almost died, too!
Comparable Penicillin Story   (click on link to left)

Home Free Part 2

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Since several readers aren't familiar with the game I mentioned in the first part, I've described it here. I think we made it up!

Explanation of Children's Game:

The sing along:

Johnny drilled a HOLE

in the telephone POLE

And SOMEBODY

STUCK

their finger IN!

One kid either volunteers or is chosen to be Johnny and another kid either volunteers or is chosen to be the telephone pole.

The telephone pole kid puts his head, covering his eyes, on his folded arms while leaning forward on the real telephone pole. 

The Johnny kid goes round and round in a circle shape with his index finger on the middle of the telephone pole kid's back while the surrounding group sings the chant.

When Johnny gets to the point in the song where they all shout IN! someone from the group gives a hard poke on the telephone pole kid's back. 

The telephone pole kid turns around and has to guess who poked. If he guesses correctly, then the poker kid has to be the pole and the pole kid gets to be Johnny. This goes on until the telephone pole kid guesses correctly who poked him. 

Every time they start over, they all sing and take turns being the poker.

(The telephone pole kid will have a very sore back if he can't guess the poker after many pokes!)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~You may be wondering why I am writing about my experiences between the age of 9 and 13. The explanation is simple. I feel compelled to put them in writing to free my mind. They will linger there and annoy me until I do this. These memories will then return to their deep and dark recesses because they have now been released. Living in the present will return and peace will dwell here.

I don’t want you to think of my neighborhood in any way negatively. It was not in a city, it was not suburbia as it is known today. Our life and customs were very much country or “rural.” When I refer to street, it was a narrow, tar and gravel paved road that fronted our homes. 

A bit down the road was a good sized dairy farm. “Hollow Hill Farm” was thoroughly gone through and we often played in the hayloft. Through the back of the block we could venture into a large horse pasture where a hackney horse farm was located. At “Seton Hackney Farm” we played in the pastures and the stream.

Up the other way of the main road was a local dump which we delved into often, finding “treasures” to bring home. Next to the dump was a large pond for fishing and ice skating. Next to the pond was the firehouse. Behind the firehouse, was a rough curvy path with exposed tree roots to hop over. It led through the woods and fields to our school. We walked and ran to and from school taking this shortcut. 

Directly across from the beginning of my street were acres of woodland - deep and dark and enticing. We explored them thoroughly and played “war” among the fallen logs and trees. 

The house I grew up in was a three bedroom two-story frame home built in 1929. I'll wager that my parents didn't pay more than $2,000 or less for it in 1939 when we moved there. The average cost of a new house in '39 was $3,800!   source 
In 2007 It sold for $485,000!!!!!!! Here are Google photos of it in September 2013. 

It used to have a huge maple tree in the front yard and barberry bushes lined the sidewalk. Climbing the tree and jumping the bushes were actions performed by all of the gang. Behind the garage we had chickens and rabbits in large coops. They weren't pets - they were future dinners. The neighbor next door had pigeons galore in a wire cage that went over the entire backyard and was attached to the trees. All neighbors had a dog or a cat or several of each. We knew where puppies and kittens came from.

The home at the end of the street had a large Beech tree that endured our activities. We nailed steps to the trunk, had nailed board “rest areas” and attached pulley ropes for mothers to send up foods in the bucket kept at the bottom. We often climbed very high and it was an easy venture as the limbs were very accommodating. Sometimes there were four of us all up there together. We carved our initials in its bark.

Home Free Part 1

My young life was one of exploration and freedom. Can you remember some of the things you did when you were between the age of 9 and 13?  I was free as a breeze during those years. As I look back, many kids today are so overprotected, over scheduled, over structured and tied up with things that are very different from my young years that I often think that they are deprived of just being a kid. My generation turned out just fine as did the one before. 

I’m a very critical person and keep most of this kind of thought to myself, but also feel a need to share my childhood activeness and life before I reached the full fieriness of  adolescence. (I’m also opinionated.) I really think that kids today are all caught up in the electronic age and don’t know how to play.

First, cleanliness wasn’t a social issue with my group. Attire wasn’t considered to be of interest to any of us. Sizes, shapes, religions, races didn’t matter either. Wealth and financial assets had no impact on relationships. We were JUST FRIENDS. There were five boys in one family, 9 in another. There were 4 girls in the family of 13. Three were my age. The family down the street had 3 girls, only one was my age. Most of my memories are what we did during times when there was no school, all seasons. 

We traded and collected single playing cards with assorted backs. They were often dog-eared and worn. We collected and traded comic books. Condition didn’t matter then. They made good reading. We rang doorbells and ran away. We had bike races and roller skated on the sidewalks. We walked on home-made stilts, taking off from the third step on the front porch. We "camped" out in backyards in tents made from old blankets clothes-pinned to the clothesline and held down with rocks.  We went ice skating and sledding no matter how cold it was. Finding a pollywog pond and bringing home a jarful to watch them develop into little frogs was done to see how many would survive. It was an aggressive competition and something to boast about. We gathered worms as bait to go fishing. All of us! We picked huckleberries, strawberries, blackberries - all growing wild. We hiked through the woods and fields, venturing far from home.  

Playing in the street was accepted because we were entertaining ourselves and that was commendable. If a tossed ball went into someone’s yard, we just ran and retrieved it. Hide and seek was a free for all. There were NO fences between the houses. Some games we played on the sidewalks, such as marbles, hopscotch, tops. Others were played in the street; skip rope, red light-green light, Johnny drilled a hole, stick ball, kick the can, capture the flag, red rover, hot potato, statues, simon says. 

When it rained during summer we stomped in the puddles, popped the tar bubbles, GOT WET! Fully dressed! We played  in the grass, spraying each other with the old green rubber hose that was always ready for our use. 

When the firehouse whistle blew at noon we scattered to homes for lunch. When it blew in the evening at 5PM the playtime was over until after supper. Then out we went again until darkness. After dark, lightning bugs were caught in our jars with holes punched in the lids, and we played flashlight tag. 

More to come...

Mind Pondering

I'm remembering some things from days gone by and thinking it might be a good idea to put these thoughts on paper now. I was going to write about some of this before Easter.  Easter was the trigger to open up these old recollections.

Many years ago, my parents were hosts to three army solders for Easter Sunday dinner. I think the time was around 1941 or 1942. I don’t really know how this came about, but after church, the three neatly uniformed men appeared and sat at our dining room table for the dinner. They were jovial and funny and very appreciative of a home cooked meal. One was heavy set and dark, one was quieter and keep peeking into the kitchen, and the third soldier loosened his collar. That’s all I remember, except the feeling of being honored by their presence and that they had hearty appetites.

Growing up as a child during the war, I was protected from knowing very much about it at the time. Yes, in the evening, when the sirens blew, we pulled all of the house's darkening window shades. Our car had halfway covered headlights.

We had a gas ration stamp in the car window. I think it was black with the letter A. Mother was very careful about grocery shopping with ration coupons and we had a very large “Victory Garden” and shared and swapped with the neighbors. We brought home from school packets of seeds to sell. We had school savings books that the teacher passed out once a week for us to use. We had air raid drills and had to march to the basement, sit on the floor with our heads down and covered with our arms util the “all-clear” was rung.

I remember very well learning to knit squares during class time. Both boys and girls, knitted hundreds of squares and we were told that they would be put together to make quilts for the solders to keep them warm.  We also rolled material into bandages.   

The wife of a soldier came to live with us for a while. She was French, and spoke very little English. I remember that she wasn’t very friendly and was given MY bedroom. She stayed in there most of the time.

Dad couldn’t be a soldier because he had a blind eye, but he went to work in a rubber factory. They made synthetic rubber and he brought home balloons once in a while.

Mother took in several babies, two at a time.  She must have been paid for her childcare work. The babies were usually under age 1 and they came and they disappeared. Cribs were set up in the sunporch. I remember helping rock a couple of them to make them stop crying and taught one to walk.  That particular little boy was my favorite and I swore I’d look him up and reunite with him in years to come after he was gone. His name was Charlie. I once even knew his last name, but he is lost to me now. I never understood or was told why these children need to be cared for by us.

We kids in the neighborhood all gathered old newspapers, bundled them with twine my dad had brought home from farms. We sold them to the “junkman” who came through the neighborhood in his wagon that was pulled by a mule. He had a rack of overhead bells that he activated by pulling the rope to let us know he had arrived. 

The neighbor across the street had a little flag hanging in her door window. It had a blue star. THEN it showed a gold star. Her name was Mrs. Raymond. We kids left her alone, knowing something bad had happened, but not sure what.

The putting up and taking down of the flag on the pole in our lawn was faithfully done every day. Sometimes I was designated to be the day’s flag person.

The last thing I recollect is decorating my Victory bicycle with ribbons, joining the neighborhood kids and hooting and hollering that the war was over as we rode around the block and up and down the street.

Even after, many of us kids thought that the town's window washer was Hitler. He had a mustache and was scary.

Now that I know what I have learned about that war and its time, I know that I was very sheltered from the real atrocities and horrors of war. I was 3 years old when it started and 9 when it ended. I understand.

Spring Awakens

Well it FINALLY is arriving around Cabin Tranquillity, located in the Endless Mountains Region of PA.

I actually stepped foot outside and took some pictures.

The daffodils are my harbingers of spring; (and some ducks, geese and nesting birds have returned and are very busy). The seedum is starting to recover now, as well.

James has been finally undressed after wearing his winter attire since September. I'm going to leave him unclothed until July, when he will again become a patriotic guardian.

Several of our state trees, including the Eastern Hemlock, grow around the cabin and, for many many years, the one on the bank of the lake's edge has been the home for several different varieties of bird. We call it the woodpecker tree because the large hole in the trunk which faces the cabin exposes their activities so well. My dad once cautioned us to never cut it down with a chain saw because he had filled that hole with concrete in an effort to save the tree from dying. ????? Well, the opening must have expanded because it is still a hole and the tree lives on in spite of its repair.

We just love Spring's awakenings! Maybe next week I'll be able to hang my laundry out on the line to dry. That is the confirmation that it IS SPRING!

Spring Thaw

This morning there were several geese walking on the lake. I think they were looking for water. I watched them for several minutes, enjoying the experience, then.... thought to get the camera. This is all I was able to shoot before my batteries went dead! 

Keepin' Busy Today

Busy day in the old cabin this morning. Son-in-law just came over to take our 2006 truck for state inspection. He’ll go over it thoroughly first to be sure it’ll pass. We feel safe when we travel, knowing it is maintained so well. 

I have old fashioned style split pea soup simmering on the stove. Yesterday I cooked down the Easter dinner ham bone, put the pot outdoors overnight to bring the fat to the top so I could skim it off this morning and start the soup. It will be finished this afternoon and I will share some with our daughter, when her husband returns to deliver our truck. 

It is pouring down moderate to heavy rain as I write. The Mister is shredding old files that I shouldn’t have kept since 2002! Now it must be done. We have been procrastinating attacking this project for way too long. It is a start but will probably take us all summer to complete. The shredder is a small size and needs to rest and cool down after every ten minutes of work. The Recycling Center will take it all if we empty the big black bagfuls into the waste paper bins. So far we have two of them! We have no other way to eliminate such an accumulation of personal documents. 

We hung a clock and a lovely tile of a hand-painting on the log wall today. The clock was a recent gift from a dear long-time friend. The artist who painted the tile is well known in our area and a lovely lady and friend to boot. I’m proud to have two pieces of her work. The “Roosters” is a wonderful depiction of our country life.

Since going outdoors to clean up the yard is out of the question today, I hope to make some Rice Crispy Treats this afternoon to appease the sweet tooth issue we both have.

If you would like to see more of Christine's work, please click on the links below.

Artworks by Christine Lathrop

Art For Sale by Christine Lathrop

Snowy Easter Sunday

And we thought it was gone! It came down harder soon after I took these pictures.

A couple of hours later, the Mister had to put the truck into four wheel drive to get us out of the lake and onward for a great ham dinner at our daughter's home.

The frozen road had softened over the past few days and now was a muddy slushy mess. We met two cars full of people stuck. We had to backtrack and go out an alternate route. This is what happens in April when the frost starts to leave. One year, back a while ago, the school bus buried itself in foot deep soft mud ruts. It took a large piece of construction equipment to pull it out. 

Well, it is a transition that occurs annually and sometimes we forget all of the other good things about living in the country. Time will take care of mud and snow and then we'll move into our beautiful spring months and forget all about muddy roads - until next year.

Last year we took a ride through the countryside on Easter Sunday - quite a difference, eh?

And not to forget how the children were dressed for church in 1962. There were only 4 then. 

And 1966. I notice stockings and gloves on the girls and tie clips on the boys.

 Of course the girls wore hats.

Waiting for Spring in PA

Well we have returned to this! The good news is that, though the back wall logs are damp, there is no water running on the floors. What a relief!

I was too busy in the short time we were "getting away from it all" and didn't take many pictures.

Sand dollars found on the beach by my friend, Shirley.

Iris were in full bloom when we left.

Hand knitted birthday socks from a friend, Mary, of Canada.

My new Crepe Myrtle cane made by Arnold, an 85 year old gentleman from TN.

Click on image to view larger

Change

Green grass!

Red buds!

Sunshine!

Fresh air!

Flowers!

Waterfowl!

Friends!

Things to do and places to go…

The Summary

click on image to view larger

Now the back wall logs in the bathroom area are leaking water because of the melting ice in the gutter. The window frame is also saturated. Not much we can do so we're heading South for a bit. Enough is enough. We'll clean up when we come back.

click on link

Summary Slide Show

They Go Together

Work hard and be rewarded. Well, would you believe he is "out there" blowing the snow again! 

So...a warm and sweet treat will be awaiting the Mister.

This is the recipe I used, incorporating our own homemade applesauce.  WOW! soooooooo good!

click on image to view larger

Amish Applesauce Cake

• 1 cup sugar
• 1/2 cup vegetable shortening
• 2 eggs
• 2 cups all-purpose flour
• 1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
• 1 teaspoon baking soda
• 1/2 teaspoon salt
• 1 1/2 cups applesauce (homemade is best!)
• 1 teaspoon vanilla extract
• 1/2 cup chopped walnuts, or raisins (optional)

Preheat oven to 350º. Coat a 9 x 13 inch baking dish with cooking spray. (I lined glass pan with Release foil.)

In a large bowl, cream sugar and shortening with an electric beater on low speed. Beat in the eggs, one at a time. Add flour, cinnamon,
baking soda, and salt; beat until well mixed. Add applesauce and vanilla; mix well then stir in the walnuts and pour batter into prepared baking dish.

Bake 30 to 35 minutes, or until wooden toothpick inserted in center comes out clean. Let cool.

(I dust slices with powdered sugar instead of icing or glazing.) 

March 3

My winter fun

March 2

The Mister is out there AGAIN! Not fun.