Dad's Favorite Summer Chapeau

A few weeks ago Bud wanted a straw hat to wear while fishing with a friend. The one he wore while mowing and fishing when we were still on the farm was worn out. He threw it away before we moved to town. Walmart had a hat in the sports department similar to the one he used to have. I called it a golfing hat. But it cost more than Bud wanted to pay. We even looked at Farm and Home but all they had were cowboy hats - not Bud's style.

Then a couple weeks ago at a garage sale, we spotted this little number for a quarter. I made him buy it for future fishing trips.

The hat is a "palm straw with green visor" or, at Tractor Supply Co., an "outback straw hat with green visor". I like that name best. It is the kind of hat my dad always wore during the summer. He wore it while planting corn in May and mowing hay in June. He wore it while cutting, binding and shocking oats in July. He wore it until the oats were threshed and then had to go to town to buy a new one because one of the "traditions" when all the oat shocks had been hauled to the threshing machine was to throw some one's hat into the thresher with the last of the sheaves. The oats came out into a wagon; the remains of the hat blew onto the stack with the rest of the straw. Seeing little pieces of green celluloid told you it was Dad's hat that went into the straw pile.

I don't remember where Dad bought his hats. It might have been Turner's or Biggar's or Andrew's. I think they only cost a dollar or two. Or did he buy them at the Red Star Mill? He hung out there a lot especially on a Saturday night while Mom did the shopping. The men would carry chairs outside and sit in front of the mill office talking and pitching pennies.

John Hinck owned and operated the mill. It seemed like he and Dad were good friends although I think John was probably friends with everyone. His personality and longevity as a Bottle Row merchant earned him the nickname "Mayor of Bottle Row". Bottle Row was the area south of Sixth Street - Highway 34 through town until the new Highway 34 by-passed Corning. It got the name supposedly because at one time there were so many beer parlors or 'pool halls' in that area of town.

John's signature work clothes were his striped overalls. He was one of the few men as big as Dad. I remember one time he gave Dad some of his old overalls when he bought new ones because Dad was the only one he knew who could wear them. Dad brought them home but I don't remember him ever wearing them. He just wasn't an overall man. He mostly wore green or brown work pants and a white tee shirt with a pocket - and his outback straw hat with the green visor. That is the way I remember him the best.

The Choices We Make

Are believing in 'free will' and 'things happen the way they are supposed to' philosophically compatible?

Having a granddaughter in the house for a couple days makes me remember when I was her age. She has spent a lot of her time on facebook and texting her friends. She's much more interested in her friends (boy & girl) than her grandparents, which I totally understand. (Deise is pictured here with her Grandpa Bud at Lake Icaria last summer.)

Fifty years ago my steady boyfriend left for six months National Guard training first at Fort Leonard Wood in Missouri then to Fort Jackson in South Carolina. I missed him. We didn't have texting or the internet. I had to wait until he got to camp, received his post address and wrote to me before I could write to him. He wasn't even allowed to call during the first few weeks.

Kenny's brothers and their girlfriends were nice enough to come and get me and include me in their parties, but it wasn't the same without him there. I went with Jim & Joan, Gary & Judy and Carm to a wiener roast at Botkin's July 3rd - the night after Kenny left on the train. "Carm & Ronnie went to Creston. The rest brought me home - 10:40." Each night's diary entry included: 'Tonight's Song'. The song that night was Roy Orbison's "Only the Lonely" which fitted my mood perfectly.

Those lyrics included "maybe tomorrow a new romance, no more sorrow but that's the chance - you gotta' take". I was still wearing Kenny's class ring. I had promised to be true - to wait for him. But that didn't mean I couldn't run around with my girlfriends that summer and flirt with other guys, which from reading my diary I did plenty of.

Then a month after Kenny left, my chance for a new romance - the son of a woman I knew from church called and asked me out. His folks were divorced and he lived in Mt. Ayr with his grandparents. He was in the Fairview area visiting his Mom. I had met him once previously and she knew I had had a crush on him. She encouraged him to call me and ask me out. I accepted without first talking to my Mom. She and Dad were both upset with me for 'stepping out' on Kenny while still wearing his ring.

The date was a one-time deal. The guy was going steady with his long-time girlfriend and I with my boyfriend. But what if we had hit if off? What if I had ended up with him instead of Doug's dad? These kind of philosophical questions are the ones that intrigue me. - The choices we make and the consequences.

My brother's novel deals with such questions, I think, in that if time travel was possible we couldn't go back and alter anything or that would completely change the future. (Doug wouldn't be here if I hadn't waited for Kenny.) That doesn't mean we can't wonder how our lives might have been different based upon our choices fifty years ago (or five minutes ago). So is it choice or destiny or a combination?

Those what ifs.......

Celebrating the Fourth

Fireworks at the Boston Pops



Our fourth of July plans were washed out the same as many others' in Iowa. Creston postponed their fireworks display until July 31, but we went ahead with the planned cook out although we had to move it from the deck to the covered patio.
The only fireworks we watched were the ones from the Boston Pops program on TV. Which was ok, because we watched them from the comfort of the couch - no bugs, no humidity.




Even though we now have shade on our deck (thank you, Thea), the new umbrella couldn't keep the rain off all of us. The large umbrella is such a welcome addition - makes our space so much more usable in the afternoons.


Somewhere over the years I've lost my enthusiasm for fireworks even though the 4th of July was a big deal when I was a kid. The sale of fireworks was illegal in Iowa as was the possession and firing of same. The law banning fireworks in Iowa was passed in 1938 after the town of Spencer burned June 27, 1931 when a display of fireworks for sale was accidentally set on fire.

All the law accomplished in the southern counties of Iowa was making people drive to Missouri for their fireworks. I think Dad and his neighbor friends usually drove down to Hopkins - the first town across the Iowa state line in Missouri - to load up on fireworks. I remember "Fireworks for Sale" fliers coming in the mail in June advertising other Missouri locations with competitive pricing.

My sister and I were too young to shoot off firecrackers. We could have the sparklers, but that was all. At some point, we were deemed old enough to light "ladyfingers". These were very tiny little firecrackers. I can still remember how excited (and scared) I was the first time I held a punk to a ladyfinger. They often didn't even go off, which only prolonged the excitement until one finally popped.

We gradually worked up to some of the larger firecrackers, but never to the cherry bombs or M-80's my brother and his friends would set off under tin cans to see who's can blew highest or lit and threw into the stock tank to watch the water blow into a geyser.

It seemed like we always invited neighbors and/or family to come for supper of fried chicken, coleslaw, potato salad and baked beans, followed by homemade, hand-cranked, ice cream before the evening grew dark enough for the fireworks.
Dad would lean a section of eave spout against the front yard fence as the launching pad for the rockets. A few rockets were the highlight of the evening. In those days they only came in red or green. Dad wouldn't let anyone else light the rockets, but we all oh-h-d and ah-h-d as they exploded over the field across the road.

Some years later, bottle rockets were invented - or at least discovered by us. Setting off those little gems was as much fun as watching the big rockets, plus we could buy so many more. After my brother grew up and moved to Missouri, he used to bring fireworks back for the 4th. My kids went through many of the same rituals celebrating our country's independence as did I.


Maybe it was after they grew up that I lost my enthusiasm for fireworks. Or maybe I've become jaded and think of fireworks the same way I do mountains - you've seen one, you've seen them all. I still enjoy the getting together with family and eating, however.


Hope you had a Happy 4th of July and remembered at least once why we were celebrating.

Flooding in Iowa

Today is the 52nd anniver-sary of the tragic 1958 Audubon County, Iowa floods. Nineteen people lost their lives. The entire west side of Exira was destroyed by the flood waters of the East Nishnabotna River and Troublesome Creek. One woman who survived by clinging to a tree was carried some 45 miles downriver to Griswold before she could be rescued.

My diary for July 2, 1958 reads: "It rained 4 inches last night (from 2 a.m.) and this morning. Several people dead and such damage in Audubon County." I didn't record how much rain fell in Audubon County, but memory says it was more than 10 inches in a matter of a few hours. Because it rained during the night, many people were unaware of the danger.

This picture was taken at my grandson Ki's graduation party at his home in Winterset in May. Left to right, my son, Preston Fleming, his wife, Shalea, his aunt Nancy Jensen Fleming with her son Eric and husband Chuck Fleming (Preston's uncle). Behind Chuck with back to camera, Preston's daughter, Deise and my other son, Doug Botkin.

I hadn't seen the Fleming side of Preston's family for quite some time, so it was nice to see them and catch up. Chuck's sister Pat and her husband, Frank Rose, were also there.

Nancy grew up on a farm near Exira. I think she said she was 13 at the time of the flood. The Jensen farm wasn't near the river so they weren't in danger, but of course, she knew most of the people affected by the tragedy.

It has been a very wet spring. Iowans are again facing floods. The levee protecting the Birdland neighborhood in Des Moines has developed a leak. The levee failed in the floods just two years ago, and in '93. (I've already blogged about our experience with the '93 floods when we lived in Valley Junction.) I feel sorry for the people going through it once again. Even if the levees hold, the uncertainty they are facing right now has to be extremely stressful.

Some people are complaining about 4th of July holiday plans having to be changed because of the high water at Saylorville Lake and Lake Red Rock. How insignificant that seems compared to the disastrous loss of lives and property 52 years ago near Exira, Iowa.

June Reads II

Minette Walters has quickly become one of my favourite authors. "The Sculptress", her second novel, did not disappoint. If anything, it was even better than "The Ice House". Walters' books do not follow a series character which helps in not having to read them in order of publication even though I happen to have read the first two in order.
"The Ice House" won the Crime Writers' Association John Creasey Award for Best First Novel. "The Sculptress" won The Mystery Writers of America Edgar Award. Our library does not have her third novel, "The Scold's Bridle" which won the CWA's Gold Dagger Award, making her the first crime/thriller writer to win three major awards with her first three books.
"The Sculptress" is the name given to Olive Martin, in prison for "carving" up her mother and sister. Journalist Rosalind Leigh's agent has given her an ultimatum: write a novel about the grotesque murderer or be dropped by her publisher. At her first meeting with Olive all Roz can think of is "Lizzie Borden took and axe and gave her mother forty whacks....."
Because of a trauma in her own life, Rosalind is ambivalent about writing any more books or even going on living. But something about Olive captures her curiosity and she begins her own investigation. Why did 'The Sculptress' kill her sister and mother? And if she wasn't guilty, why did she confess?
Walters doesn't just write mysteries, she delves into the psychology of her characters and maybe that is why I love her books. I am unable to figure out not only whodunit, but why, up until the very end. One of the sites I read about her says that she does not use a plot scheme. She begins writing with a premise and doesn't know herself until halfway through a book, "whodunit". I'll be on the lookout for a copy of "The Scold's Bridle" as I read my way through the Minette Walters' books the library does have. It does look like I have at least thirteen of her titles to look for.
Next I read another Anita Brookner book: "A Private View". Her "Hotel Du Lac" was o.k., but after reading "A Private View", I probably won't pick up any more Brookner books for a long time - not that she isn't a competent writer - just that there are too many other authors I'd rather be reading.
"A Private View's" protagonist, George Bland is aptly named. He has lived a quiet, orderly life, working forty years for the same company. Now, as he faces retirement and deals with the death of his good friend, he is asking the one question all we retirees must ask: "Is that all there is?" When his solitude is interrupted by an invasive young woman, George first imagines and then plots a different life with the opportunistic Katy - his 'last chance' to 'live' life.
When we realize that George's ideas exist entirely in his own mind and that Katy does not plan on becoming a part of his life, we fear for George Bland's sanity and future. Does he find redemption in the last line of the novel?
"Dead Days of Summer" a 'Death on Demand Mystery' by Carolyn Hart looks to be 17th of the 20 books so far in this series. It is a quick read, written well enough, but not so well that I am inclined to follow the series character through 19 other books. Not when I have books by Minette Walters to read.
The final second half of June book wasn't a book, rather a chapter and a half of a sci-fi novel my younger brother is working on. I was a little slow in picking it up to read as the genre is not one I generally go to. However, I was quickly intrigued by the premise of one's great-great-great-great-great grandson traveling back through time in order to obtain a DNA sample from his (then) teen-aged great-great-great-great great grandfather. (My own interest in our family trees could have something to do with that.)
Les is a good writer. His interest in science fiction shows in how well he has thought out the complexities of time travel. I hope he finds the time to keep working on his book. I want to know why Alex needs Sean's DNA.
I would also like one of my family members to actually finish writing a book. Perhaps I should pass along some advice I heard many years ago when I was writing my novel: "Don't worry about editing as you go along - just get it written, then you can go back and edit." Or the E. B. White quote I read just this morning: "A writer who waits for ideal conditions under which to work will die without putting word to paper."

"Big Ole' Fish"

This picture of me taken along the Mississippi River when I was four shows me smiling. That's not the way I remember it!

We were on our way to Plainville, Illinois with Grandpa & Grandma Ridnour - going out to visit Grandpa's cousins - Roy & Nellie Gray

I'm almost certain this is the same trip where we had spent at least an hour stopped on the Mississippi bridge into Quincy, IL. There had been an accident which tied up traffic. Grandpa was so afraid the bridge would collapse with all the cars and trucks on it. I've often thought that is where my fear of crossing bridges comes from.

Anyway, we finally got to the Illinois side of the river where we stopped at a fish monger's. Someone decided it would be cute to have a picture of me holding a big fish. I KNOW I DID NOT WANT TO. I remember that. I didn't even want to touch a slimy old fish. I also remember crying about it so they must have bribed me - perhaps with the promise of an ice cream cone?

So-o-o, many years later what do I make my little boy do? Hold a big ole' fish to have his picture taken. It was June, 1966 - a couple months before Doug's 4th birthday. I wonder if he remembers this?

Forty-four years later and today would be a perfect day to go fishing. I don't know if they would be biting but the water is calm. The day is sunny after so much rain. The temperature is in the low 80's - a perfect June day.

It is the kind of day that when we were little, Mom might say, "Let's dig some worms and go over to the pond to see if we can catch our supper." Off we'd go walking across the field west of the house; through the gate into the pasture and on down to the pond. I doubt Mom even cared whether we caught any fish - it was idyllic just to be sitting under the willows enjoying the afternoon.

Mom always had to bait my hook for me, but I think Betty would bait her own. I know Ron did. We usually did catch enough bullheads and sunfish for a 'mess'; take them home where Mom would clean them and then fry them up for supper. I remember liking the taste of fish - I just didn't like having to be careful not to choke on a fish bone!

My dad, Louis, really liked fishing. It was one thing he did often as long as he was able. I would guess he caught this big bass out at Lake Binder or the old reservoir. I remember fishing with Wayne Moore's at the reservoir one evening. We were too young to stay quiet for any length of time. Dad kept telling us we would scare the fish away. Eventually he and Wayne walked way up along the east shore to get away from us. I don't think anyone caught any fish that night.

I love this picture of my dad helping his little grandson hold the fish after Doug wasn't able to hold it on his own. I like remembering both of them this way.

"Form Follows Function"

"Whether it be the sweeping eagle in his flight, or the open apple blossom, the toiling workhorse, the blithe swan, the branching oak, the winding stream at its base, the drifting clouds, over all the coursing sun, form ever follows function....." Louis Sullivan - Lippincotts' Magazine - March, 1896

This quote heads the "Prairie" section in the Jemerick Art Pottery website showroom. http://www.jemerickartpottery.com/ I learned of Steve Frederick and Cherie Jemsek in an article about the Des Moines Arts Festival going on this weekend. Pottery has been an attraction of mine for many years. I am very drawn to the Jemerick Arts & Crafts style. (Architect Louis Sullivan is credited with beginning the Prairie School of Architecture. One of the buildings he designed is the Merchants' National Bank in Grinnell, Iowa.) Viewing this website got me thinking about my own pottery collection.

Pictured above is one of Rhonda Millhollin's Leaf Bowls. When she still had her studio on main street in Corning, I loved going in just to watch her work and marvel at her creations. This "Iowa Oak Leaf Bowl" was commissioned by the State of Iowa to be given (if I remember correctly) as gifts to visiting dignitaries. (Mine was a gift from Gene & Kristina Knutson Young.)

The tall flower pot is a Guy Wolff creation I purchased at The Garden Gate nursery in Creston several years ago when it was still in operation. http://www.guywolff.com/ I love his pots so much. I thought he was a Wisconsin potter which was one of the reasons I gave Kristina one of his pots for her birthday. (The other being because I like them and I tend to give gifts that I like myself.) (Wolff shot to stardom after Martha Stewart gave Oprah Winfrey some of his pots on Winfrey's tv show. But I didn't know that when I bought mine.)

I don't think of my Isabel Bloom statues as pottery, though the concrete mixture used to make them must be related to the materials used in making pottery. The one in this trio is "Emma". http://www.ibloom.com/



While still living in West Des Moines, I took an adult ed pottery course through the Des Moines Public Schools. It was the first time I ever felt "creative". I really enjoyed the classes, the instructor and the other students. The green bowl on the left above is one of mine as is the small white bowl with the brown rings in the middle. The turquoise vase is my only piece of Van Briggle pottery. I coveted their pottery from the first time I saw a"Lorelei" vase in an antique shop. Touring the Van Briggle studios in Colorado Springs, CO several years ago still ranks as one of my top vacation memories. http://www.vanbriggle.com/

Dainty, delicate, small items attract me for some reason. The three above: A small white bowl I brought back from Ireland for Mom. It is from the Kylemore Abbey Pottery. Their distinctive fuschia flower is inside the little bowl. http://www.kylemoreabbey.com/ The "Ego" pot in the middle is one of Rhonda Millhollin's. The little butter pat plate on the right is one I picked up on one of our trips somewhere.

The bowl in back on the right is my last attempt at potting. A visiting artist at the Corning Fine Arts Center got me through the first firing. Now I have to wait until she comes back or another potter is on site to help me through the glazing phase so I can finally complete my bowl. (I've forgotten what I learned about glazes at my adult ed classes in DM.) http://www.corningfinearts.org/

I had hoped to get back into throwing pots after I retired. Just making the one reminded me how much hand strength is required. Unfortunately my arthritis makes it too painful to pursue.



More of my collection. Left and right in front are both flower frogs. The one on the right has Celtic designs. The middle front bowl is an old favorite - a piece from Linda Young Williams when she was just beginning her varied artistic life. Her 'signature' pottery always included little birds. You can just make them out perched on the rim of this bowl. Linda moved on to other art forms but her pottery was always my favourite.
Vase back left is, I believe, a piece of Roseville. It was one of those lucky finds at an auction. Instead of being inside the building with the other good pieces, it was amongst the odds and ends in a box outside the auction building. The tall green vase at back, right was a gift from Oregon via daughter, Kari. Other than that I really like it, I don't know much about it.
I believe the small blue-green bowl in back is from the Corning Fine Arts Center while the taller one next to it was from the Fickle Frog.



Back left and middle are two of my creations. Taller piece between is from the Barking Spider Pottery. http://www.barkingspiderpottery.com/ I bought it at The Atherton House Kiln Opening in Adel. Their kiln opening is usually the first weekend in May. The Atherton House recently sold. I'm hoping the new owner continues the Kiln Opening weekends.
The small plate front left was also purchased at one of the Atherton kiln openings. The little one on the right was from a visit with Gene & Kristina in Wisconsin. We toured several unique gift shoppes that day. Right rear is a Pam Dennis creation purchased at the Lagniappe in West Des Moines as a gift for my hubby Bubby. (This was several years ago. I would like to see how Ms. Dennis' work has evolved but find no website for her.)



And, finally, two more of mine - the little red pot in front and the larger, flat brown bowl in back. I tried to make the bowl look like a bird's nest by incising lines around the outside before glazing and firing. The similar shaped bowl on the right is amazing. It looks like leather. The leather thong stitching around the top adds to the look of leather. An arrowhead hangs from the lacing. I think I bought this for Bud at an art show on the State Fair grounds.
The middle back vase is an example of Raku pottery which is one of the pottery firing methods that I find most fascinating. I have always wanted to try it. Memory says I purchased this vase on a trip to Arizona - I think from one of the Native American vendors who set up at the Oak Creek Canyon pass north of Sedona.
The front two pots are probably my oldest - both in the traditional Southwest Indian style and colors. The large one was left in the basement of the house we rented northwest of Urbandale in the 70's. It reminds me of the souvenirs from Mexico although it is not stamped as such. The little pot is incised "Bicknell Art '08(?) 7-28-32". I got it at a garage sale.
There are times I wish I hadn't vowed not to "collect" again after downsizing into retirement. If I do relent, it will be pottery that pulls me back in.