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Thursday, May 5, 2016

Brazil Buzz

Wednesday, October 5, 2011

(Photo)
Road to Autumn

Could this little old road be luring me

Deep into autumn's fold,

Through the glorious light of the noonday sun

That illumines the trees of gold?

Through the vista that wanders and curves the way

Along the dreaming hill;

Through a radiant wood of leaves and boughs

That ring with the warblers' trill?

Could this old road be enticing me now

Through the Indian summer heat,

Where the meadows are sprawling with flowers and grass,

And the orchard is mellow and sweet?

Where the faraway hills stir and glisten anew

In the beautiful autumn glow? Could this little old road be beckoning now ...

My heart is eager, and I must go!

This beautiful poem was written by Joy Belle Burgess. It is as if she were here on the property that surrounds the little blue house at the end of Elm Street. Our thoughts correspond. These aged built-in lenses pan across the landscape like a fine focused camera on this perfect early autumn day. I am inspired! My heart sings! This stops me in my tracks and puts me in a reflective mood. I thank God for another day.

The seasons come and go and beauty comes to all, but when the painter treats us to autumn's delights, I want to be outside and into the picture.

My parents moved to the first house north of the Catholic Cemetery in September of 1939. I was born less than two months later. It would be safe to say, as soon as they put me down and turned me loose to wander beyond the back screen door; this nature lover jumped for joy.

I loved walking the trails with my father. Watching, listening and tracking small game.

This listener always enjoyed his delivery of wisdom folklore and thrice told homegrown stories connected to the season. Oh, what I would give to rest beneath the old beech in Chamberlin's woods again with that walking book of knowledge, a nature lover through and through.

I thought that I knew everything that could ever be learned during those walks of earlier autumns. Oh, I hadn't even touched on the half of it. Each year there is more to learn and more to see. Each year there is more to store.

I know it won't be too long now before the beauty of my season will fade into winter, and I will be behind the glassed-in screen door wishing for more.

My grandson, Michael and his wife Kayleigh Dawn were here yesterday. The TV and stand arrived. While the set-up was taking place in the living room, to her delight; Kay prepared her first batch of egg noodles. I prepared the chicken and rich broth earlier in the day. The slaw chilling out in the cut-glass bowl beneath it's saran cover was made earlier. The whole kernel sweet corn from this year's harvest looked good too.

Grandma made homemade white bread, rich and slightly more sweet than most. Carrot cake wasn't half bad either.

The young couple gave us their time, their day and their undivided attention. I offered them comfort, in the form of food. I knew Mother would be smiling; I am still adhering to her early teachings.

Fact is, I could cook a zillion more meals during the rest of my life and never hone my skills enough to match hers. That's just another of many reasons I hope that she and that special time with her lives on in my memory as long as I live.

In these difficult times, I need to draw from my mother's guidance even more. "Yes, Dad I feel the same about you!"

Kayleigh is a critical care nurse. She works in oncology. The young woman said, "I love seniors." She added, "They can teach us so much if we stop to listen. I often times am guilty of wanting to take my patients home with me."

I know I will always have a friend in that fine point making noodle maker.

Starla will visit next weekend. Her grandchildren play soccer on Saturday. We shall be blessed with Starla and Bruce's presence, too.

Our daughter Lori has a new grandchild to meet. She will be home near the end of the month. The ticket has been purchased and the visit is almost in the bag!"

I reckon it's too soon to thaw the chicken and crack the eggs and bake the cherry pie, therefore, I'll just say goodnight dear friends of "Brazil Buzz" and close this instead.

Besides, I need to read that darn Medicare book, front to back to see what they have cooked-up for us in 2012.

I can be reached by phone at 812 - 446 - 4852 or by email at pmlsartor@aol.com.