Now that she is forty

Cammie 'n Chris' Wedding Day

Cammie was born on September 29, 1974. Of my three children she was the most difficult to bring into the world. I labored for twenty-four hours before she came hollering into the world.  But I did not care about the pain, God had given me a baby girl. After the much easer births of David and Jonathan, the exquisite pain was a surprise. The joys that came later were just as amazing. 

My mother taught me to sew when I was about twelve years old. It was a skill I needed, too because Allen and I were so poor when we first got married. I got pregnant very soon after the marriage certificate was signed. Married November 22, 1967, first baby boy born August 25, 1968, David Wroyston. My quickly expanding waistline required new clothing and we could not afford a whole new wardrobe. I was working in a Head Start program and had to have maternity outfits to accommodate my growing belly. Allen purchased for me a Singer sewing machine in the most popular color, light blue. Back then fabric and patterns were not as expensive as they are now and I was able to make all the clothes I needed for my job and for my new position in life--an expectant mother.

Jonathan was born two years later, in 1970 and I had lots of fun making matching blazers for him and David when they were just toddlers. The jackets even had fancy insignias sewn on to the breast pockets. I have photographs of them smiling into the camera, all dressed up for church. 

When Cammie arrived I was eager to get out the Singer sewing machine and make some pretty little things for my infant daughter. Making girls' clothes is much more fun than making coats for little boys. Before she was born I made diminutive t shirt type garments with a drawstring closure on the bottom to keep Baby from kicking off the covers and getting her tiny legs cold. Later came romper suits in all sorts of bright colors and patterns. My favorite pattern was one that crisscrossed  in the back and buttoned on the shoulders. The back was open and showed off matching bloomers.

By the time Cammie was a toddler we were living in Lakeland and I was teaching High School English. I would often take her with me to basket ball or baseball games. Friends from that time  still remember that beautiful little three-year-old with softly curling blond hair, inquisitive blue eyes, and a fearless drive to know everything about the world she inhabited.  She was a delight!

And still is. 

In the Land of Plenty

I just got back from spending four days in Pennsylvania with my brother, David and his companion, Peggy. Our sister, Elaine was also there. I went to help with harvesting and canning the produce of his garden and fruit trees. What delights awaited me there! Hungry? Want some lunch? Just walk out to the garden and pick some corn, a few ripe tomatoes, some squash and a small bowlful of green beans. On your way back to the cabin, snag a few of the red raspberries and pop them into your mouth. MMMMM!

When I first arrived David and Peggy showed me around the garden. My favorite part was the bean house. This was a loose, open structure made from ten foot tall stalks of bamboo. The bean vine grew up the walls of the "house" with the bean pods hanging down within in easy reach of the harvester. Double fencing surrounded the bean vines to keep out the deer, abundant in that part of western Pennsylvania. When the beans are ripe they are black. The original beans for this year's crop came from Native American Indians who were friends and working associates of Peggy's a few years back .

We processed about one and a half bushels of tomatoes. We canned tomato juice, some whole tomatoes and several jars of salsa made entirely of ingredients from the garden. One machine was indispensable to our work: the Squeezo. Peggy inherited this piece of equipment from her mother. On the top sits a hopper and a wooden mallet is used to push the fruit or vegetable down against the grinder. The handle is hand cranked--woman-powered. The mashed food comes out an opening on the front and to the side the waste parts twist out and fall into the bowl. Fuel for the compost barrel.

Some of the pears were ripe so David picked a basketful to be used to make "fruit leather"-- a homemade version of fruit roll-ups, but without heaps of sugar and preservatives. We washed the fruit, then cut out any suspicious spots, then pushed the slices through the Squeezo. We had a big pot of pulp to which David added a bit of sugar, some pectin, then boiled for a few minutes. After it cooled  a bit he poured small amounts on to the six layers of the dehydrator. David let the machine run over night and in the morning we peeled off the thin layers of fruit leather. It was delicious!

I came home wanting to grow a huge garden--I could do that at this time of the year in Florida. I wanted to grow heaps and heaps of tomatoes and get canning equipment to "put them up" for the winter. I wanted to plant apple trees and pear trees and buy a dehydrator to make fruit leather. I wanted to live in a real log cabin in the woods. Well, that's not gonna happen. But it's OK. I understand my impulses: when I go to the opera I want to be an opera singer. We know how likely that is to happen.

The Bean House:  David & Peggy

 Abundance of tomatoes!

Magnificent Squeezo!

Frick Museum in Pittsburgh: Harriet, David & Elaine

Three generations of Huntley men: David, Simon & Eliot

Now that I am seventy

 I've often tried to decide just when a person becomes an Official Old Person--OOP. As I approached the top of each decade I pushed the date forward ten years. I'm not sure I can do that this time.

I was already depressed about being seventy when a few days before my birthday I visited my doctor. I like the lady; she is from Argentina and is very calm and caring--at least she seems to be. I had had blood work done before my visit and from the numbers she declared that I would now need medication for my diabetes and for my high blood pressure.

That same day I received a letter from a local funeral home suggesting I might want to make advanced funeral arrangements.

That same week our 15 year old dog, Tasha died.

I checked out the obituary page in the news paper and found that many people were dying in their seventies or even younger. If God grants us three score and ten years--70--I must now be living on borrowed time, as my great nephew, Anthony Henry observes.

Allen took me out for a birthday dinner at Hemingway's at the Grand Cyprus Resort in Orlando near Disney. This is our special occasion destination. Dinner conversation centered on end of life issues, but it was not depressing. I asked him if he knew he had only seven more years to live, what would he do? He answered he would not do anything differently. Really?

I would travel. I want to see China--the Great Wall, that huge dam they built, the terra cotta soldiers and the Forbidden City. I would want to lose weight so they would not have to buy an "extra large" casket for me. I'd want to see at least one thing I've written published.

So what will I do about it? In the next year I intend to exercise more. Early morning walks with my husband are pleasant and don't take a huge chunk of time out of my day. I intend to go to bed earlier and get up earlier when the house is quiet and use that time to write. Since the writing and walking may conflict I guess I'll have to go to bed really early and get up while it is still dark.

I think I hear my husband baby-talking the cats. Guess it's time to close here and cook us some oatmeal with raisins and apples. MMMMM!