March '25 Books

 Ten books read this month.

Big Fish: A Novel of Mythic Proportions by Daniel Wallace was sent to me by my son Douglas.

The Christie Affair by Nina de Gramont is about the 11-day disappearance of Agatha Christie in 1926.

Fatal Intrusion is a collaboration between Jeffery Deaver and Isabella Maldonado. I've read a number of Deaver's books but none of Maldonado's. This was a good, well written, crime novel.

The Grey Wolf is Louise Penny's latest (#19) in her Inspector Gamache series. She is one of my favorite authors. He is one of my favorite characters.

The Country of the Painted Firs by Sarah Orne Jewett was first published in 1896. I do not remember when I read the book the first time. I just remember how much I liked it and how impressed I was that a book written that long ago held up over the years. This edition, with wonderful illustrations by Douglas Alvord, was published in 2000. 

I have my own version of the painted firs. Various photos of which I've shared on FB many times.

Eleanor Oliphant is completely fine by Gail Honeyman, a new author for me. I really liked this unaware, socially inept, character. 

The Comfort of Crows, A Backyard Year by Margaret Renkl is the only non-fiction book on this month's list. Described as "a literary devotional: fifty-two chapters that follow the creatures and plants in her backyard over the course of a year". This book makes me very grateful for the time and place I grew up in and extremely sad for what has happened in/to our world since the 1940's-'50's. What happens when all the pollinators are gone? This was one of the most caring and beautifully illustrated* books I've read. (*One for each of the 52 chapters by the author's artist brother, Billy Renkl.)

The Wilds by Sarah Pearse is another of her Detective Elin Warner mysteries. 

Infinite Country is the first book I've read by Patricia Engel. It is an all to familiar story of a Columbian family separated by borders and deportation. Stories like this are hard for me to read, but, I feel, an important reminder to keep in mind those less fortunate.

By Any Other Name is Jodi Picoult's newest novel. It is the story of two women, centuries apart, who are determined to realize their dreams of writing poetry and plays regardless of the prejudices against them. I've said it before, any book by this author is good reading, no matter the subject matter.

All in all, another month of good reads. 

How Green Was My Valley

 

A nice rain (a third of an inch) and overnight, it seems, everything is greening. It looks like spring, but the temperature feels more like late winter.

My post title refers to the 1941 movie. I was going to post the photo of me in front of the typical Irish cottage constructed for the movie until I realized, wrong movie! 

It was the 1952 movie, The Quiet Man, not How Green Was My Valley that was set in Ireland. How Green Was My Valley was set in Wales. 

But Maureen O'Hara starred in them both. Perhaps I may be excused for my confusion.

The willows are also showing some green.

As are some of the other volunteer trees along the railroad right of way.

This area is such good habitat for the birds and other creatures that I enjoy seeing.

Yesterday I made a start at cleaning off the flower beds. It only took about 12-15 feet to rake up enough leaves to fill one 39 gallon black plastic bag. A good start, but enough for the first effort. It used to take me only a couple hours to do it all, now I have to pace myself.

But oh, it felt so good to be working outside. To quote Margaret Atwood: "In the Spring, at the end of the day, you should smell like dirt."  💚

When 'Mushrooming' Was A Family Affair

 

 

I'm not sure how old I was the first time I went mushrooming but it was with my parents and siblings, grandpa and grandma Ridnour, my aunt Lois, uncle Alvin and their kids - my cousins. We went to a large timber east and south of Guss. I have always loved being in the woods, but tasked with hunting something was a new experience. Before I knew what I was looking for someone had to find some to show me.

What I remember about that first time hunting morels is that we all came home with sacks and sacks full. The first thing Mom did was put them in a dishpan of salt water to soak overnight - to get the bugs out. The next day they were cut in half lengthways, patted dry, dipped in seasoned flour and then in eggs whisked with milk and fried in butter or oil. They were so good. 

After that, there were a few years we went to a timber south of Brooks. Then it was just our family and Grandma Lynam. There was a little creek on the property which we mostly stayed on the south side of. There may or may not have been some wading across to the other side. Usually you found a single mushroom here and there but I do remember finding a fairy ring of morels once. Some years we would find enough for a 'nice mess' other times we might not find any.

Some thought the tan morels were best, others said the little gray ones were better. I didn't see a difference. They were all good. 

Remembering the last time I went mushrooming with my mother is what prompted this post. It would have been, I think, the early 80's when the kids and I lived in 'The Little House'. It was a lovely spring day. We, Mom and I, drove east of Bushville about a half mile, parked the car in a field driveway and climbed over the fence into some woods. We didn't find any morels, but we saw many spring flowers - Mayapples, Jack-in-the-Pulpits, Sweet William (Phlox), Trillium, Dutchman's Breeches (which we always called 'britches') and, of course, my favorites, Violets.

But the thing I remember most about those woods were after we had walked into them quite a distance, there was an almost perfectly round hollow 15 to 20 feet across. It wasn't like a pond, just a depression in the ground. We could not fathom what had caused it. I did not think it looked man made. It is something I never forgot; something I still wonder about. 

The last time I went mushrooming was 2005 or '06. Ron had begun dating Marge and wanted me to get acquainted with her. She wanted to hunt for morels. At the time I was working in the Industrial Park. One of the guys who worked in the same plant had been going across the RR tracks into a wooded area and finding mushrooms there. So I invited Marge to meet me after work and she and I went to the same area. We did not find any morels but I did discover a plant I'd never seen before. It had heart shaped leaves. Beneath the leaves were brownish-red flowers.  

After much searching I discovered it was wild ginger.

I have not seen it anywhere else. But I'm always happy to discover new plants.

Morel season is only a few weeks away. Good luck hunting them.

Alas, my mushrooming, new plant finding days are over. But the memories remain.

Do You Remember?

 

I pulled this recipe out of Mom's recipe box a year or so ago, intending to make it. This was a salad that my sister-in-law Ruthie often brought to family dinners - kinda like my go to Cranberry-Raspberry-Pineapple jello salad is for me now. 

I remember really liking Ruthie's Jello Salad. Who else remembers this salad? Did you like it? 

We are invited to a family lunch to celebrate a couple birthdays in three weeks. I think instead of Ramona's Famous Pea Salad, I will take Ruthie's Jello Salad. Or maybe both?

This recipe not only brings back memories, so does the handwriting on the card. It is my Mom's - also a Ruth. Both were excellent cooks.

"Preparing and serving food is a way of expressing our love for others. Long after the last bite is eaten, we remember those we shared the food with and how it made us feel." 💖

Meet Your Business Men #33

A little over seven months ago, articles from the (late?) 1950's Adams County Free Press entitled Meet Your Business Men began being featured in the Facebook page You Know You're From Corning, Iowa If.... which was created by my younger brother, Les Lynam, in August, 2011. You do have to be a member to see the posts but becoming part of the group is easy, just apply.

This week's article is about the father-son partnership of blacksmiths Cliff and Dean Driskill. Their shop was on the west side of Davis Avenue (main street) in the part of downtown Corning known as Bottle Row. If my father, Louis, needed something repaired, he took it to Driskill's. I know he considered both men as friends, but probably more, Dean, who was closer in age to Dad.

I do remember the sadness surrounding the death of Dean's youngest daughter, Madeline, when she died at age 11 in 1952. The cause of her death was a burst appendix. Because the symptoms of appendicitis are the same as other ailments, her's wasn't caught in time. 

Madeline's death was on Dad's mind two years later when my older brother, Ronald, complained of intense pain in his abdomen. As I remember it, Dad did take Ron to the local doctor, worried that it might be appendicitis, but his pain was on his left side, not the right side where the appendix is almost always located. The good doctor did not think it was appendicitis. Thank goodness Dad wasn't taking any chances. He took Ronald to the hospital in Creston where Ron's appendix was removed before it ruptured. (Abount one in 10,000 people have an appendix on the left side.)

The only other thing I remember about this tale was that when Ron was coming out from under the anasthesia there was a young candy striper in the room, straightening his blanket, asking if he needed anything, etc. Big brother must have been impressed - he told her: "I love you." Oh, the effect of drugs. I could remember her name for a long time. Ron might still remember, he got teased about it a lot.

February '25 Books

Those brutal, bitterly cold days were good for something - nine books read this month - all but three from Reese's Book Club. 

Maybe Next Time is the first book I've read by Cesca Major. For an idea of what the book is about, think Groundhog Day - the same day, over and over.

The Last House Guest by Megan Miranda is the second book I've read by this author. Both were so-so psychological suspense novels. 

The Most Fun We Ever Had is the first book I've read by Claire Lombardo. It is a multi-generational novel centered around the four daughters of a couple married in the 1970's. Sibling rivalry is a real thing but this book has too much of it for me.

Firebird and Sarah's Window are both by Janice Graham. They are books I've owned more than twenty years. Both are set in the Flint Hills of Kansas. Firebird made such an impression on me. I know I've read it several times, but it had been awhile. In my opinion, it still holds up. Sarah's Window was and still is good - just not quite as good as Firebird.

Truly Madly Guilty by Liane Moriarty is the last book of her's my library has. I have enjoyed these books set in Australia.

The Club is the first book I've read by Sherry Lloyd. Let's just say I don't/can't identify with the rich and famous.

The Sanatorium by Sarah Pearse is set in an isolated hotel high up in the Alps. Once a hospital to treat tuberculosis patients, closed and boarded up for years, it has been renovated into a five-star minimalist hotel. An English detective and her boyfriend have been invited by her brother to attend his wedding at the hotel. As an atmospheric thriller, this one is pretty good. A who is it to the very end. My library does have another of her books. I've added it to my list.

The Secrets We Kept is Lara Prescott's first novel. I love historical fiction based on fact. During the Cold War, the CIA selects some of their typists to become spies and operatives who helped get Boris Pasternak's novel Dr. Zhivago published. This was such an interesting read, my favorite this month. 

Never Too Old To Learn Something New

I was 'yesterday' years old when I learned....something I should have known from the time I played office as a young girl and knew I wanted one day to be a secretary. Yesterday I started a new book, The Secrets We Kept, about two women secretaries in the CIA's typing pool who became spies during the Cold War. On page eight I read: "Secretary: a person entrusted with a secret. From the Latin secretus, secretum." How did I never make that connection? Me, a lover of words and their etymology.

Even my innate curiosity never caused me to delve into the meaning of the word. It had to be because I knew what a secretary was and what she did. But never did I associate the word secretary with the word secret. I feel like a dunce. But I also feel delighted. I have been a secretary. I have been/am a keeper of secrets. 

Wanting to know, to understand, to be aware also turned me into a news junkie. Eight years ago when cheeto became the top banana, I read all the headlines and stories about his most current faux pas. I would get upset, incredulous, etc. But this time around, during his second administration (and even worse actions) I skip reading anything about the turmoil he promotes, opting instead to read stories like these:

All about the plan to move the Locust Creek Covered Bridge to Pershing State Park. 

Look Bud. They're moving our covered bridge. 

We stopped at Locust Covered Bridge State Historical Site between Laclede and Meadville, Missouri in July, 2019. I wrote about it here: https://rilynam.blogspot.com/2019/07/a-natural-leafy-bower.html

Bud took and shared this photo of me on Facebook saying I was "looking for Clint Eastwood". Referencing Clint's roll as Robert Kincaid in The Bridges of Madison County.

The General John J. Pershing Boyhood Home State Historic Site is located in Laclede. I doubt my children remember stopping there to see the home of Black Jack Pershing in the mid 1970's, but I do. Just as I remember learning about his military experiences and achievements in grade school and high school. I doubt he is mentioned in today's classrooms.

Pershing State Park is three miles west and south of Laclede and covers more than 5000 acres of wetland prairie, a meandering stream, sloughs and a bottomland forest. I'm going to assume the covered bridge will be situated across the stream somewhere in those 5000 acres. 

I'm not too old to learn about the plans for the Locust Creek Covered Bridge; just too old to see it in its new location.