ST. PATRICK'S DAY-GROWING UP ON A PENNSYLVANIA FARM

 Sometimes life is bittersweet, isn't it

remembering the days when

people in our lives celebrated

special days with us?

Days like St. Patrick's Day!

I was always well aware of 

being Irish.

My grandmother was an Owen

and her family immigrated 

from Ireland.

She died long before I was born

so I never had the pleasure of

knowing her.

The family unit I knew as a child 

is all gone now.

A father, a mother and 

one younger brother.

We celebrated 17 years 

of Sundays  together 

before I left home. 

17 years out of a lifetime isn't much but

 0h! the memories created then.

My parents were not religious people

but they were believers.

I grew up right next to 

a Catholic church
but never attended there.
This was taken from 

the road in front of our house
before the road was paved..

I don't remember my father ever
going to a church service.

My mother took us kids 

sporadically over the years.

When I was a young teen, 
I started going on my own

with some cousins.

A little country church 

with a marvelous pastor,

Melvin Shultz.

His wife, Thelma, had 

the voice of an angel
and I loved

to sit as close to her 

as I could on a 

Sunday morning..

My father always 

pared the farm work down

to a bare minimum on all
Holidays and every Sunday,

doing only the chores

 that were necessary to 

get by for the day.

My Grandfather, 

dressed in his Sunday suit,
 would stand here by the
road on a Sunday morning 

to greet people
on their way home from 

the Catholic church

just up the hill.

He lived with us for about 5 years
until I was 6 or so.

I remember when my father planted
the elms on the left hand side
to give some shade to the front yard.
They were mere saplings then.

The big barns are long gone now.
The house burned to the ground 

15 years ago or so.

The shed that you see 

in the picture above
(that is hidden behind the trees)
is the only building that remains
of the original farm buildings.
I remember when my Father 

and two neighbors
built that shed for wood, 

storage and butchering.

Going the other way, down the hill,
the road makes a sharp curve 

then leads down
 to my Aunt Bessie's house.
She, too, is gone these many years.

 I spent a lot of time in the woods
that grew along the road..

Sweet, sweet memories this morning.

Memories of coffee percolating
on the kitchen counter-

Watching the sun rise 

and flood the East facing kitchen 

with light.

Bacon sizzling in the frying pan-

the sharp crack of eggs 

against the side of the pan-

Biscuits with home-churned butter 

and honey

from the bees from the hives
down past the little pond.

Sunday Memories-
Sharp-
Strong-
Stored Forever-

And----just so you don't think 

I have gone
all smarmy  and  sappy on you
here is what I plan to serve MyHero
for breakfast St. Patrick's Day

 morning if he
doesn't shape up.

It will go great with a side of
poisonberries boysenberries.

.

You can order your very own
SKULL EGG SHAPER here..

I guess I got sidetracked from a

St. Patrick's Day Post...

but that is what you get when you

visit me.  lol...

You never know what lane my

mind will go down.

ANYWAY~

I hope you have a wonderful

St. Patrick's Day &

upcoming weekend.

Make the day special and 

tell someone

you love them.

As for me--

I'll be looking for leprechauns

and I really need to visit

the Blarney Stone

before I die!

Who knows what I could talk
MyHero into after that!