Friday, December 19, 2014

The Touch

Last week's news . . . he touched her!
Prince William, Kate, and LeBron
That's right. Le Bron James, star of the Cleveland Cavaliers, met Prince William and his wife Kate last week when they attended his NBA game against the Brooklyn Nets, and . . . he touched her! In a typically American gesture of friendliness and familiarity, LeBron put his arm around the shoulder of the future queen of England.

The result was a collective gasp from the British media, a gasp heard round the world. "British media has its knickers in a bunch," said the Mercury News Network. How dare LeBron presume to touch the nation's treasure!

"According to protocol in Britain, a commoner is not supposed to touch members of the royal family, even if it is an innocent gesture," chimed the Huffington Post. Americans have become infamous for breaching the "no touch" rule, the Post affirmed, citing a faux pas of Michelle Obama who put her arm on Queen Elizabeth II's back during a 2009 visit to Buckingham Palace.

"Invading the personal space of others is practically an American duty," wrote Tony Hicks for the Mercury News.

This week's news . . . He touched us!

In startling juxtaposition to the protocol, traditions, and expectations of the British monarchy stands the King of the universe, God, whose kingdom encompasses the British Empire and all kingdoms to the outer reaches of our galaxy and beyond, God . . . the King of all kings.

This King entered our physical realm one night in a dirty stable, in a non-descript town, in a distant part of our world. He entered the world as a baby who needed to be touched and cuddled. He entered our space because He wanted us to touch the one true and living God.

No protocol about keeping a safe distance from the Holy of Holies. No concerns about maintaining a respectful distance.The "no touch" rule of the world's monarchies did not exist for God. His goal was to be up close and personal with His created people. To touch and be touched.

This week we celebrate His birth, His stepping into touchableness, His accessibility. "Come close," He whispered.


News for the weeks to come . . .

God in human form, Jesus, took the ultimate step in closing the space between us. He sacrificed Himself on a cross, and with that one act He provided the forgiveness that would forever eliminate the gap between the Creator God and His creation. Accepting His sacrifice drew us into Him . . . no separation. The unfathomable, untouchable God became Christ IN us. Distance forever dispersed.

He became Emmanuel, God with us, God in us. God forever walking in touchable nearness.

Whatever the weeks of 2015 may hold, know that God longs to put His arm on your shoulder or pat you on the back or comfort you in your pain or direct you in your indecision or lift you in your depression . . . His royalty does not preclude His love.

SEEK TO TOUCH GOD. BLESSED CHRISTMAS.

Michelangelo's depiction of God, reaching out to touch . . . us.

Monday, September 29, 2014

"I live pro life every day." Melanie Madeira

I went to my first political rally last night . . . (that is if you don't consider the vehement speeches in history class during the Kennedy-Nixon campaign in 1960 as official political fire branding).

Voting faithfully in every election and one stint as a juror have been my nod to civic responsibility
 . . . (that is if you don't consider my commitment to recycling and collecting litter).

I make this admission with remorse, for every day now I see and hear of the denigration of our culture and the encroaching extremist terror. I realize that our freedoms and the integrity of our country truly may be disintegrating. I love my life on Layton. I value that life for my children and grandchildren. It is long past time that I should become actively involved in the political process.

So . . . I went to my first political rally. I expected free food and loud music. I expected political promises, usually empty and unfulfilled. I expected generic talk about keeping America free.

What I didn't expect was inspiration.

The candidate was Melanie Madeira who is running for state representative in the 114th district in Pennsylvania against Sid Michaels Kavulich. I was impressed and persuaded. I stand ready to support Melanie.
Melanie Madeira, candidate for state representative
in the 114th District.

A candidate's pro-life conviction is an integral factor. A pro-life conviction is not just about saving the lives of the unborn. It is about putting value on every individual's life, whether that individual is still in the womb or whether the individual has a diminished mental capacity or whether that person can contribute to society or whether the individual is treading the edge of life at 95.

God created life, and for that reason alone it has value . . . at any age and in any condition. 

"I live pro life every day, " Melanie stated. She and her husband, Dave Madeira of the talk radio program, the Dave Madeira Show, from 6:00 to 9:00 a.m. on 94.3, are parents to six children. Melanie has home schooled the children since they began school.

One of their children, Nicholas, has Down's syndrome. Just two days ago Nicky thought it was Christmas and proceeded to wind an entire roll of electrical tape up the stair railing. Living with a special needs child is not easy, but to the Madeiras, every individual matters. Nicky matters, and God will use him in a special way . . . just wait and see.
Dave and Melanie Madeira with their six children.

I have lived in a culture that does not value individual life, a culture that is not pro life, and I have seen how that belief system can direct a government and its policies. I have lived in China.

China routinely practices abortion on women who have already had their sole child. One woman I met had ten abortions. Special education classes are not provided in public schools. Children who cannot pass the mandatory national testing may not enter high school. Nursing homes are not a routine option for the elderly. Life does not carry a high price tag. Life is dispensable.

Government policies reflect this lack of value on the individual. If  you cannot perform, if you cannot contribute, if you haven't earned the right, you are dispensable.

In contrast, America was founded on the rights of the individual because of the God-ordained value of the individual. I am so glad that I live in America (I might not qualify as worthy in another culture!). 

So the candidate, who is willing to put value on each person and is willing to LIVE pro life, is the candidate for me.

Melanie also speaks wisdom, based on our individual rights as valued people, about the Second Amendment, the tax burden on the elderly, education spending, energy development, and jobs. She can be believed because she lives what she believes. 

Vote this November. Vote for the basic tenet of life . . . you are a creation of God. You have value.








Saturday, September 13, 2014

"Our Land Defines Us and our Chosen Lifestyle" . . . Trevor Walczak

Life in Northeast Pennsylvania and the land on which we've built our home and family have a firm grip on our generations. 

My son Trevor recently wrote this article, which was published in the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette, in response to editor Dan Simpson's article "Fracking Compromises the Future of Pennsylvania." I have reprinted a portion of the article here because it offers a contrasting view to much of the media coverage about the Marcellus . . . and because family and home are a legacy worth cultivating.



by Trevor Walczak
Vice-President, National Association of Royalty Owners – Pennsylvania

The Marcellus Opportunity

I am from coal country. The hard coal region of Pennsylvania. My family’s immigrant patriarchs all spent their early working years carving out a living in the mines throughout the first half of the twentieth century. While the mines were cold, dark, and dangerous, they were the means to give these new immigrant families a better life. When they had enough money saved to buy their freedom, they did.
Freedom for my dad’s family was a plot of farmland in what we now call Marcellus country, far from the colliery spoils, mine fires, and acid mine drainage. As a kid traveling into town, I remember seeing those still recent scars, which were a stark contrast to the natural beauty to which I’ve grown accustomed. But that’s what those scars are for me: a reminder of the blood and sweat, paid forward, to give a better, cleaner chance at life for my young family and me.
So how do we take the lessons of the coal era and apply them to our future energy needs?
While coal and gas are both natural resources which fueled an economic transformation, a key distinction in legacy will be found in mineral ownership. Coal companies typically owned the land where they mined, while the Marcellus is owned by hundreds of thousands of Pennsylvanians who have built their lives for generations on top of its hidden treasure. These farmers, sportsmen, and conservationists have invested in their land for generations out of love for the lifestyle without knowledge of the coming energy boom.
The Marcellus has already been good to these property owners. By the spring of 2013, the Associated Press estimated that over $1.2 billion had been paid to Pennsylvania mineral owners in the form of royalties. Where I come from, this money is saving the family farms from previous foreclosure threats, keeping properties from being subdivided, saving us all from the associated effects of urban sprawl, and, overall, making a hard way of life a little easier. Royalty owners are using this money and investing it in our kids, in better farming and forestry practices, as well as into the communities through support of local businesses, and into the state through personal income taxes.
We are not seeing farms abandoned in exchange for tropical islands. I see new tractors, new roofs on barns, and charitable donations.
Dan Simpson, a writer for the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette, recently referred in his editorial to this phenomenon as an “El Dorado of unearned wealth,” a phrase I fundamentally reject, and I believe that perversion of the debate is meant to sow envy, which only further marginalizes the minority which shares that view. Many of us have endured multi-generational financial struggles to simply hang on to our most valuable asset: our property. Out here in Marcellus country, our land often defines us and our chosen lifestyle. Unconventional shale gas reservoirs are our property. When you look out your window at those “scenic views,” remember someone actually owns them, and there’s a story behind why they exist. Our land is not just a backdrop to your commute.
Inevitably, it is the owners of the Marcellus who are on the front lines of energy independence. This development is taking place on our land, and I have yet to meet anyone who will stand complicit with any practices which jeopardize their family’s safety or that of the greater community. Dan Simpson’s attempt to equate environmental destruction with all shale drilling is unfounded. According to DEP, Pennsylvania’s unconventional gas well count stands at 9,550. If environmental degradation was inevitable for each gas well drilled, as asserted, we’d see that after over seven years of Marcellus Shale development. No one wants to see anyone’s water supply damaged, and I expect to see the industry’s environmental record continue to improve from the early exploration, but the numbers prove that fear mongering is over-stated. 

As royalty owners, we feel a strong, well-funded regulatory body to oversee the drilling operations will protect all citizens of the Commonwealth. The Act 13 Impact Fee increased yearly funds to DEP by $6,000,000 and an additional yearly allocation of $7,500,000 to County Conservation Districts to assist in site inspections.
In growing numbers, the “frackers,” as you call them, are also from inside our communities. The pride I see them take in protecting their hometowns is a key component to safeguarding the development as well. We need to recognize industry leaders like Cabot Oil and Gas who have invested heavily in education inside of the communities they operate in. In April of 2014, they announced a $2.5 million gift to Lackawanna College’s School of Petroleum & Natural Gas. This is a massive investment in our kids, our future, and our environment.
There’s nothing mythical about the positive impact shale gas drilling is having on our entire state. Realistically, even the non-Marcellus region has discovered “El Dorado” through the Act 13 Impact Fee, which has generated over $630 million, to date, according to the Public Utility Commission (PUC). While 60% is designated to return to the counties where the drilling is taking place, the balance is transferred to non-Marcellus production counties after some defined allocations are made to regulating agencies. To date, that’s over $250 million sent downstate as a diplomatic gesture.
The radical anti-drilling crowd is promoting a statewide moratorium, thinly veiled as a call for a severance tax, while refusing to recognize the effectiveness of the Impact Fee to remedy the real drilling impacts. The “adequate” tax you propose isn’t about remedying impacts, but rather feeding a “tax and spend” system whose insatiable thirst will inevitably yield to a market-driven moratorium.
In the Rendell years, numerous severance tax proposals would have placed Pennsylvania’s proposed energy tax at or above a national high of 7.5%, in addition to Pennsylvania already having the nation’s highest corporate tax rate of 9.99%, in effect crippling the development success we now enjoy. According to Associated Petroleum Industries of Pennsylvania, our current state tax structure has already generated over $2 billion from the drilling industry since 2007.
Mr. Simpson’s editorial attempted to rally support by invoking envy. He falsely portrayed the severance tax as being “extracted from the fracking companies,” but in reality, the rise in energy costs as a result of a new tax will be passed on to the consumer, which only raises heating and electricity costs, hurting the poorest among us most. The residents of Marcellus country overwhelmingly oppose the imposition of a new energy tax, demonstrated in the proposal’s defeat in the most recent budget battle. When these facts are weighed, we think our contributions from Marcellus country are more than “adequate” already.

We are building the legacy of shale gas development in Pennsylvania today, but I am far more optimistic about how history will remember us. It will be an organized, informed, and engaged royalty owner who will be the catalyst for balanced, common-sense shale gas development. 96% of unconventional natural gas produced in Pennsylvania is produced by members of the leading industry trade group. Royalty owners also need to recognize the value of organizing around our interests in an effort to ward off threats to our rights which include the imposition of punitive taxes, moratoriums, and our on-going struggle to be paid properly for our gas.







Sunday, August 10, 2014

When is it "Time to Die"?

"Thanks to medicine's prowess in sustaining life on the edge," writes Dr. Leon Kass, former chairman of the President's Council on Bioethics, "it is harder than ever to know when it is 'time to die'."

When is it time to die?  

This is the question that many individuals and families, including ours, face today as medical advances have sustained life for the seriously ill. Slow death and medical advances "compel physicians and families to decide the best treatment for the seriously ill and to determine when life ends and when treatment should be terminated." (A Time to Die, p. 19)

In his book A Time to Die: A Biblical Look at End-of-Life Issues, Dr. Wally Morris, who received his masters and doctorate from Bob Jones University, considers the many questions and dilemmas faced by people in end-of-life situations. His years as a pastor have exposed him to countless situations where crucial decisions about life and death must be made. A Time to Die is the result of his experience and extensive study in the relatively new field of bioethics.

Dr. Morris' book presents a plethora of guidelines to prepare someone for the end of life as far as it is humanly and emotionally possible. The book's goal is to help Christians develop a theological framework that will guide them in making decisions about this critical time of an individual's life. If biblical principles do not guide the Christian's decisions, "personal opinion, pragmatic concerns, and emotionalism will control the decision-making process and affect the conclusions" (p. 39).

A Time to Die discusses the historical development of end-of-life issues as well as the biblical, ethical, medical, and legal issues. It provides samples of advance directives for health care.

In His sovereignty God placed this book in my hands a few months ago. During that time my 93-year-old father suffered a heart attack that revealed the need for an aortic heart valve replacement. His high risk status disqualified him for the usual open-heart surgery. Two physicians handed him a death sentence. "Allow nature to take its course . . . even performing a routine catheterization could cause his death . . . take him home . . . use a nursing home facility for the remaining six months or so of his life." Basically, as one doctor phrased it later, they were willing to "cast him to the ash heap."

Eventually, a cardiologist happened to mention tentatively, "There is a new procedure being done (in another city) that allows the aortic valve to be replaced without the invasive procedure of cutting open the chest. The new heart valve is inserted with a catheter through the groin. It is called TAVR, or trans aortic valve replacement." This was a glimmer of hope and life, and my dad chose life.

Three weeks ago the TAVR was performed, and dad came through "with flying colors," according to the surgeon. Dad could have taken the alternate route . . . to do nothing and face imminent death. But at every turn in the decision-making, Dad chose life.

Dr. Morris affirmed Dad's controversial decision. He reiterates in his book that we are made in the image of God, that He has good reasons for the painful and confusing circumstances of death, that these circumstances are part of the believer's conforming to the image of Christ. Morris stresses the importance of Christians investing time in biblical growth in order to understand more clearly God's plan for our lives.

Despite the sensitive, difficult, and complicated subject matter of this book, its clarity and readability make it a must-read for any living, breathing person. for eventually . . . we will all face death. Dr. Morris's book will help the reader prepare for the complexities of end-of-life decisions.

Visit the publisher's web page on A Time to Diehttp://ambassador-international.com/books/time-die-biblical-look-end-life-issues/

This book was provided free to the blog reviewer by Ambassadors International.

About the author:
Dr. Wally Morris, a graduate of the University of Georgia, received his masters and doctorate from Bob Jones University. His articles have appeared in the Fort Wayne Journal-Gazette and Huntington Herald-Press. He has recorded radio programs for Fort Wayne’s 1090 AM. Dr. Morris is currently the pastor of Charity Baptist Church, located in Huntington, IN, where he has been since 1996.

Thursday, July 24, 2014

10 Ways to Spend a Summer Day with the Children or Grandchildren

Summers "On Layton" have taken on a new excitement.

From the mid-1970's to the early '90's my boys busied this yard on Layton with bikes, bugs, basketballs, and plenty of buddies. And then there were a few decades of silence.

But 2014 has brought a new crop of children. . . the sons and daughters of my sons. It's exhilarating, although often wearying, to be back in the business of creatively making every day interesting and fun. (By the way, that's just another thing I love about God . . . He gives us second chances.)

Entertainment and fun were far from my primary goals as a mother in those early decades. The name of the game then was survival! But I've graduated. I bear the title "Grandma," and that title inherently carries with it the desire to excel in the eyes of my grandchildren as a fun-maker. How can I make every day they are here memorable? What can we do that will cause even a hard-to-please nine-year-old to say, "That was really a great day, Mama Jo!"

All my grandkids with Great-grandpa Joe on a Super Summer 2014 Day.

  

So "Master of Fun" is one of my primary goals these days. It's a worthy calling for a retiree, and I'm sticking to it.

But there is an added dimension that makes each  "fun" day with my grandchildren memorable. God says in Deuteronomy 6:5-7, "Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength. These commandments that I give you today are to be on your hearts. Impress them on your children. Talk about them when you sit at home and when you walk along the road, when you lie down and when you get up."                

So woven into our play time are reminders of who God is, how much He loves them and has sacrificed for them, and how He has a great plan and purpose for their lives. The highest goal is to see these children into God's Kingdom . . . and we've had plenty of fun this summer as we do that.

10 THINGS WE DID THIS SUMMER THAT "SCORED" . . . IN MORE WAYS THAN ONE:

1. We read The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe and Prince Caspian by C.S. Lewis. Then we found the videos at the library and watched them several times.


2. On Tuesday and Wednesday throughout the summer Regal Theater in Dickson shows a $1 movie at 9:30am. Walking with Dinosaurs is coming up in August.

3. We picked blueberries but missed the annual tractor ride to pick strawberries at Pallman's.

4. On Tuesdays kids can play mini-golf for free at Lahey's.

5. Our area parks are wonderful! Who doesn't love splash park at South Abington? Scott Township has a super slide affair at the end of Layton Road. And Waverly Community House takes the prize with their wooden consortium.

6. Back porch board games. Monopoly is our all-time favoite.

7. Kids Bowl Free at Idle Hour Bowling Lanes is a wonderful program. Each week we receive new coupons for the kids to bowl two free games every day! Shoes must be rented. The program goes on all summer. Idle Hour also has a glow-in-the-dark mini golf that the boys enjoyed.

8. House projects that can involve the skills and strength of the children cultivate a good work ethic. This summer we cleared a part of our yard of undergrowth and had to rake rocks, reseed, and hay. Good exercise. Good learning.

9. Local camps and vacation Bible schools are well planned and creative . . . and they fulfill both of my summer goals with the children. This year we enrolled in Evangelical Free Church's Bible Camp at the Joe Terry Center in Montdale. What a fantastic day camp! Baseball players from the Rail Riders, animals from Pocono Environmental, a juggler ala smoke and swords, games, inflatable water slide, and on and on. Local churches really do a marvelous job. In addition, there are local day camps like Big Blue Soccer Camp at Baptist Bible College that my grandson loves.



10. Our piece d'resistance each summer is the annual camping trip with the entire extended family to Knoebel's Amusement Park. Roller coasters and bumper cars are the favorites, but nothing tops the whole family around an evening camp fire with s'mores, songs, and stories.

GERSHWIN WROTE, "SUMMERTIME AND THE LIVIN' IS EASY."
BUT I SAY, "SUMMERTIME AND THE GRANDMOTHERIN' IS FUN" . . .

And that's the way it is this July . . . On Layton.





   


Tuesday, July 15, 2014

A Friend of "On Layton" Publishes Her First Novel


Cindy Noonan, Clarks Summit resident and
author of Dark Enough to See the Stars.
Cindy Noonan, a Clarks Summit resident and a member of my writers' group, published her first novel in June with Helping Hands Press. Of course, our group is thrilled for her. She may be the mother of the novel, but those of us in the writers' enclave feel like the mid-wives who helped to bring it into the world. Consequently, we want to brag on the baby a bit.

Fortunately, bragging on the novel is not an exercise in blindly extolling the merits of the book just because we offered help with comma placement and plot development. The novel can stand for itself in quality and readability.

Dark Enough to See the Stars is an historical fiction story of a boy's escape from slavery on a plantation in Maryland. The heart-wrenching separation of young Moses from his mother, who is being sold South, propels the initial action of the book as he squeezes Mama's pillowy arms for the last time at the railroad station and takes off into the frightening unknown of life on the run from the slave catchers.

The reader follows Moses across the border into Pennsylvania and freedom, only to discover that slave catchers roam the countryside in search of escaped slaves, even in this "free" state. He spends days in "hidey-holes" in logs and caves, traveling by night. Moses is aided by abolitionists in Pennsylvania and New York who transport him secretly from mills, to barns, to homes with hidden cubby holes and safety. Always, he follows the North Star, the ever-present guide and comfort Mama told him would be his direction to freedom in Canada.

Moses' adventures along the Susquehanna River and other familiar places in PA and NY bring home state geography and history alive for the reader. Cindy spent several years writing the novel, due in no small part to her extensive research into the places, people, and events of the Underground Railroad. The result is a novel that will be a living history lesson, not only for the young adult reader but also for anyone interested in the making of freedom in America.

The novel offers admiration for the black slaves who faced beatings and torture, the dissolution of their family units, and a relentless daily cycle of fear. The novel also offers inspiration for anyone facing the difficulties of life. It reassures us that in the trials of life, there is hope. Life's dark moments only served to highlight direction and hope.

Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. wrote, "Trouble is in the land . . . But I know, somehow, that only when it's dark enough can you see the stars. And I see God working . . ."....


Author Cindy Noonan has given us a novel of worth and value because she has given history a heartbeat.

Visit Cindy's website to purchase a book: www.cindynoonan.com or visit her page on Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Dark-Enough-Stars-Cindy-Noonan-ebook/dp/B00KRPWHLS/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1405389068&sr=1-1&keywords=cindy+noonan


The first four chapters of the Dark Enough to See the Stars are available at http://www.amazon.com/Dark-Enough-Stars-Cindy-Noonan/dp/1622085345/ref=la_B00KRT5RAC_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1405389383&sr=1-1




Tuesday, June 17, 2014

For the Class of 2014 . . .

This spring some of my favorite people donned tasseled mortar boards and polyester gowns. They walked an aisle to a stage where they received a handshake and a certificate or diploma acknowledging their achievement.

It's a cultural ritual, a rite of passage from one stage of life to another.

Generations of the graduate's family show up for the event: great-grandpa who only finished the eighth grade, grandma who was the family's first to graduate from college, and Uncle Bill who boasts a BS, MS, and PhD. They rally to celebrate their posterity's success and new beginning. There is hope in new beginnings, and today's families need a good dose of hope.

Shayna, Messiah College graduate
In May our family showed up en masse for my niece Shayna's graduation from Messiah College. She finished her bachelor's program in three years, unheard of in these days of completing the four years of college in five, six or more years. Shayna is a good student, a hard worker. She packed her senior year of high school with advanced placement courses and entered college as a sophomore. Every family needs a shining star, and this red-haired beauty qualifies for the Joneses.
Maverick, Small World graduate

The family rallied again in May for the 2014 graduation of the Small World preschool class. My grandson, Maverick, marched around the gymnasium behind his classmates with an effusive, "look-at-me, mom" grin. Mack loved preschool. He's determined to make a career of it.


And tonight Lakeland High School graduates its class of 2014. They are family of a different sort for me. My thirty-one years of teaching ended when this class was in eighth grade. They represent my last year as a public school educator. What a marvelous group they were to teach! They hold a hallowed spot in this teacher's heart.

Lakeland High School, Class of 2014, June 17

Preschool, high school, and college grads I love . . . I feel a commencement address is in order. My credentials for this privilege include plenty of on-the-job training with mistakes, failures, and missed opportunities. Failure, as you've heard, is a great teacher. Mostly, I'm just getting old, and that holds a satisfying amount of experience and the desire to pass it along.

In three words: DEPEND, THANK, SERVE.

DEPEND . . . on God. Get to know Him, who He is, what He's done, what you mean to Him. Discover that He is a sovereign, wise, and loving God who values YOU. He knows the story of your life, and you can trust Him. Get to know your Creator, Protector, Redeemer, and Friend. HE WILL NEVER LEAVE OR FORSAKE YOU . . . EVER. That's a promise to take with you through life. I wish we could always be with you to help, but we won't be. Seek God and DEPEND on His faithfulness.

THANK . . . Let thankfulness be the spirit of your life. Train your brain to find the wonder and beauty of each day and every situation. Be thankful in everything - it is the secret to being content in life whether you live in plenty or in want. Practice it.

SERVE . . . Life will take on purpose, meaning, and joy as you invest it in other people. Don't allow your life to be all about you. There are children who need to be loved, poor who need to be helped, elderly and ill who need to be comforted, and a world that needs the gifts only you can give. Really.

So keep that focus, dear 2014 graduates. Step with confidence and with God over the threshold to this new beginning. What's on your horizon? Mile after mile of HOPE. God bless.

Monday, May 26, 2014

Memorial Day 2014

From my Porch on Layton . . . I enjoy the view.

It’s Memorial Day.

            Temperatures on Layton today have made Justus a summer delight. The lawn, thick and green with last night’s rain, awaits my Toro. Several mowers can be heard up and down Layton. Families of wrens, robins, and chickadees have called the Justus Symphony Orchestra to concert in the old oak, whose arms have draped over Layton for a hundred years. The cat lies lazily in the shade of the picnic table, swatting listlessly at low-flying bugs. The Adirondack chairs under the sprawling maple in the rear of the yard sit like thrones, presiding regally over this small world.

 It could be Memorial Day, 1962. The view from my porch hasn’t changed much in the past fifty years.

            Fifty years ago this already-old house buzzed with picnic preparations. Memorial Day launched the summer season when the city cousins from North Scranton trekked “up the country.” The extended family came every weekend in the summer for all-day backyard cookouts to escape the city heat and to “kibbitz” with one another.
           
In those days this house, on whose porch I sit these fifty years later, belonged to my grandmother, Nana Evans, known as Aunt Ethel to the cousins. My mom, dad, sisters, and I lived in the house next door to Nana here on Layton. Our two yards converged with plenty of room for children to grow up.

Summer preparations began in earnest for this first picnic of the season. Dad washed off the metal glider and pulled out the aluminum yard chairs.  He hammered the badminton net into place, rehung the tether ball, and filled the grill with charcoal. “Annie, where’s the . . . ?” Dad called intermittently to my mother in the kitchen. “Annie,” a whirling dervish in her own right, swept about the kitchen preparing her favorite jello mold recipe and macaroni salad.


The coming of the cousins brewed high excitement.

            Nana and her sisters, Aunt Peggy, Aunt Ruthie, and Aunt Millie, reigned as matriarchs of the brood. Aunt Ruthie lived in Chinchilla. Aunt Peggy lived on Margaret Avenue in Scranton near her daughter Peg; her son Bill lived just a street over on Edna Avenue. Aunt Peggy’s son Bob and his wife Mickey had moved after World War II to that haven for post-war vets, Levittown, in search of a job that didn’t involve the coal mines. All of the men of those two generations had put in some time in the mines: Grandpa Evans spent his entire working life in the Olyphant breaker; Uncle Gordy, Aunt Peggy’s husband, Aunt Ruthie’s husband Uncle Victor, and Aunt Millie’s husband Uncle Cliff had their hands to the pick and shovel until the demise of the industry. Even my dad earned his first paychecks from the Olyphant breaker. Summer afternoons in the country gave them a chance to blow off the soot and breathe fresh air.

            Aunt Ruthie didn’t have any children, but Aunt Peggy’s children and grandchildren made it a party. We had cousins in every age group from Peg’s three girls, Lynn, Beth, and Lori, to Bill’s children, Glenny, Phil, and Les. Sometimes Bob and Mickey came up from Levittown. When Bob’s family came, the excitement and activity increased with his twin sons Bob and Bill and daughters, Joan and Gail. Our cup overflowed with cousins and a bevy of adults to supervise. Everyone had a buddy.

The ghosts of memories dance around the yard this Memorial Day: I see Phil hiding behind the front hedges in our twilight hide-and-seek game. The twins clank the lids on their jars as they corral lightening bugs. “Hey, Joey,” Sid yells to my dad as he slams the birdie over the badminton net and into the lilac bush.

Nana and her sisters laugh and talk simultaneously at high volume under the shade of the old apple tree. Mom runs in and out of the kitchen with tablecloths and food. “Annie, don’t forget the ketchup. The dogs are ready!” Dad announces to the yard in general as Jiggsy, our beagle, runs between legs seeking what he might devour.

One year Glenny ripped open her leg on the chicken wire around my dad’s new seedlings. The pitch of the old aunts’ cackling went up a decibel as Glenny was rushed off to the emergency room for stitches.

Another year Sid won our hearts when he took all of us kids horse back riding up Layton at Bill Jones’s riding stable.

Gail, Glenny, and I would swing on the front porch glider sharing secrets about our parents and boys.

If there weren’t enough paper plates, my mother, never a slave to fashion, was known to rip them and serve the kids on half plates.

Bill’s wife, Mair, always managed to bring the winning covered dish delight. A bit more avant-garde than the rest, she actually searched out recipes and bedazzled our taste buds.

At the end of the picnic day, our family stood around the yard saying good-byes, planning the next week’s picnic, hugging, and waving the cousins off to their distant homes in Scranton. A satisfied sense of belonging and continuity tucked me into bed although I doubt if I could have identified the reason for my joy at that time.

Today the yard is silent except for the clatter and spontaneity of my memories. Nana and the aunts, Peggy and Sid, Bill and Mair, Bob and Mickey, and Mom are all gone. I only see the cousins now at funerals. When we cousins see each other at these last goodbye’s, it’s evident that the cousin bond was deeply forged in our childhoods. Phil and one of the twins, Bob, reminded me at a  recent funeral, “My best childhood memories were in your yard.” Only Dad, at 93, remains of that generation.

The cousins scattered to the wind when we began the migration to college. Most never returned to Scranton. Lynn married a Dutchman and moved to the Netherlands. Phil retired from the FBI to Memphis. Les is an in-demand orthopedic surgeon in Kansas City. The twins are still best friend-brothers down in Bucks County. Gail had a knitting business for awhile in Pittsburgh, and Glenny suffers, the collective recipient of the family’s legendary struggle with diabetes. Many of us are the grandparents now; all of us are senior citizens.

Still, I enjoy the view from my porch. The apple tree succumbed to lack of care. When it only produced quarter-sized apples, it met dad’s axe. The front porch glider has seen countless coats of paint, but it stands immovable, its steel frame too heavy to lift. The other day my grandson and I tried to find the tether ball pipe, implanted somewhere mid-yard, hoping to put it back in action, but it had sunk into oblivion. The chicken wire is gone as are the aluminum chairs, but they had a long run through three generations, thanks to my ever-mending, ever-replacing father. We still enjoy badminton, though the nets manage only short lives. A propane grill eventually replaced my dad’s red charcoal burner.

But the yard is silent this Memorial Day. Three of my grandchildren live in Indiana. Dad sold his house next door and moved to South Carolina. The echoes of memories resound from oak to maple.

But I . . . I continue to enjoy the view from my porch on Layton.

Sunday, March 16, 2014

The Glory of March - Sap!

Grandsons, acres of maple trees . . . and plastic tubing!

We spent the Ides of March off Layton because the sap is running, and we wanted to follow the flow! Evidently, the sap runs when the nights are cold, and the days are warm. No reason to beware of this Ides as the maple trees are feeling the warmth, and so are we.

I took my grandsons to a maple sugar farm. The experience was much less harrowing than the snow shoe escapade at the state park. In fact, today's adventure involved food . . . a perk that always makes a grandma-adventure fun.

We trekked to Burke's Maple Farm on Crystal Lake Road in Carbondale for their open house weekend. Mr. Burke and his mother walked us through the maple syrup-making process.

I envisioned a maple sugar farm with little wooden spigots drilled in the sides of  maples and a bucket dangling below each spigot. But we had stepped out of that Norman Rockwell painting and into the twenty-first century. This farm boasted all the equipment of a state-of-the-art maple sugaring powerhouse. In fact, the farm looked almost like a scene from a sci-fi thriller!

Thousands of maples, for football field spaces in every direction, linked to each other with miles and miles of plastic tubing . . . plastic tubing up the mountainside, plastic tubing down the hill, plastic tubing across the meadows, plastic tubing weaving serpentine through the forest as far as the eye could see, forming a maze of interconnected, living, breathing, sugar-producing trees.

I wondered if the deer stumble through this plastic labyrinth, entwining their antlers in plastic tubing, or if the black bears pull the tubing apart and sit beneath maples, sucking the sweet nectar until they lapse into a sugar coma.

But it is vacuum cylinders that suction the sap through the tubing, and the sap runs, throbbing and shushing across the woodlands, like the circulatory system of a giant towards the heart of the farm, the boiler. The tubing rises above our heads, over the driveway, and dumps into the gleaming, stainless steel collector . . . the life blood of nature, bringing healthy sweetness to greenhorns like me.

Amazing.

A full time contractor, Mr. Burke runs the maple sugaring operation as a hobby . . . granted, an expansive one that must involve spending a lot of time with plastic tubing and Mrs. Burke's homemade maple muffins, maple cookies, and maple candy. She appears to be a chef extraordinaire with all things maple.

There were samples, of course, so the boys headed for the muffins and cookies. The maple glazed walnuts scored with all of us. We bought two packages, finishing most of them off on the ride home. Of course, we bought a king's ransom of syrup for pancakes, too. The plan is to make the walnuts this week with our fresh syrup so the glory of March will last a bit longer.

We already have a grandma adventure planned for the Ides of March in 2015. It will have something to do with plastic tubing and maple glazed walnuts.

Visit Burke's Maple Farm on line: http://www.burkesmaplefarm.com/index.html

Maple Glazed Walnuts
Yield: 
2 cups of glazed nuts
Ingredients: 
2 cups walnut halves and pieces
1 tablespoon butter
pinch of salt
1/2 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1/3 cup pure maple syrup
Instructions: 
1. Measure ingredients (or have nearby) before starting so they are ready when needed.
2. In a heavy or non-stick skillet (I used stainless steel) over medium-high heat, melt butter. When butter is melted, quickly stir in the salt and cinnamon. Stir in maple syrup and then stir in the nuts.
3. Contiinue stirring over medium-high heat as the nuts are getting hot and the syrup is bubbly. Stir constantly as the syrup bubbles and then begins to thicken around the walnuts.
4. The nuts are done when the syrup is a thick glaze on the nuts. Remove pan from heat and lay nuts on a plate (not plastic) to cool.