Summer’s End

Summer ‘s End
What a sweet time is summer, with picnic-y fun,
Lots of long days to bask in the sun,
What a wonder the fresh foods we so much enjoy
A treat for the each girl and for each smiling boy.
What a great time for travel, for trips and vacations,
Time to go visit our friends and relations.
Summer’s the best time to slow with the heat
To sit down and share something special to eat.


There are not many arguments, problems or fights
That couldn’t be solved—at last set to rights
Over corn and tomatoes, melons, and such
That’s why in summer we don’t fuss so much.


Summer’s the best time for joy all around
It’s the time when our most happy feelings are found
 Time to pick flowers—to play in the shade
Summer’s the time our best memories are made.


©2014 Elece Hollis
Author of Taste of Christmas -Cookie Cookbook 
&Inspiration for the Season
 http://amzn.to/1q9w8dZ
                                  Just click here to find it:   Cookie Cookbook   

Dear Dad,

I remember that day at the fair when I was only five-years-old. I lost you and panicked and ran to catch up and grab your hand. Imagine my fright to realize I had chosen the wrong hand! I knew how your hand felt and knew I had erred. Soon I found you and the comfort of your hand holding mine has stayed with me all my life. How I wish I could hold your hand now.

It is hard to be so far away and think of you lying in a hospital bed with a broken leg, a new mechanical hip joint, and doctors probing and testing you for cancer. I am afraid for you, afraid for us. We need you. I need you. I need to feel your hand and know all is well. The universe seems to jump a gear and run haywire sometimes. I feel now just the way I felt that day at the fair when the wrong hand’s face leaned over to me and said, “I bet you think I’m your daddy, don’t you, little girl?”

I’ll be coming up soon to take care of you and Mama for a few weeks. It will be so good to sit near you and talk to you. It will be good to touch your hands and know it is you and you are getting stronger and soon will be working again, carrying in firewood and building a fire, pouring a cup of coffee, wielding a pen over a crossword puzzle, lacing your work boots, shoveling snow, planting your garden, greeting a friend with a handshake, tousling a grandchild’s hair.

I see that day. I know it will come soon and I will be comforted even though my own hands should be the ones doing the comforting this time. I think I will always need you, Daddy.

Love you,
Elece

Dear Dad,

I remember that day at the fair when I was only five-years-old. I lost you and panicked and ran to catch up and grab your hand. Imagine my fright to realize I had chosen the wrong hand! I knew how your hand felt and knew I had erred. Soon I found you and the comfort of your hand holding mine has stayed with me all my life. How I wish I could hold your hand now.

It is hard to be so far away and think of you lying in a hospital bed with a broken leg, a new mechanical hip joint, and doctors probing and testing you for cancer. I am afraid for you, afraid for us. We need you. I need you. I need to feel your hand and know all is well. The universe seems to jump a gear and run haywire sometimes. I feel now just the way I felt that day at the fair when the wrong hand’s face leaned over to me and said, “I bet you think I’m your daddy, don’t you, little girl?”

I’ll be coming up soon to take care of you and Mama for a few weeks. It will be so good to sit near you and talk to you. It will be good to touch your hands and know it is you and you are getting stronger and soon will be working again, carrying in firewood and building a fire, pouring a cup of coffee, wielding a pen over a crossword puzzle, lacing your work boots, shoveling snow, planting your garden, greeting a friend with a handshake, tousling a grandchild’s hair.

I see that day. I know it will come soon and I will be comforted even though my own hands should be the ones doing the comforting this time. I think I will always need you, Daddy.

Love you,
Elece

Dear Mama,

Mother’s Day is coming up and I was thinking about you even more than usual. When spring arrives and the flowers bloom, I recall Dad bringing you a huge bouquet of salmon pink gladiolas he had stopped and chosen from a local gardener. You put them in your tall gray pottery vase and set it in the sunlight in front of the picture window. It was spectacular!

When we lived in Michigan, you planted snapdragons and pansies in the flowerbeds along either side of the driveway. You have always been a flower lover. I know you would be thrilled to see the roses, irises, lilies and azaleas that I have blooming around my house now.

I have an old straw hat hanging on the wall that reminds me of you. I know you love straw hats, gardens, and the country life. You were an Oklahoma girl, growing up after the dust bowl years, the third eldest of a group of eight siblings. You loved farm life, riding horses, swimming in the creek, and walking in the fields. You loved your Uncle Stoney and Aunt Blanche from Tecumseh.

Be sure of the fact that I will be thinking of you next Sunday as we celebrate Mother’s Day.

Love you,

Elece

Dear Mama,

Mother’s Day is coming up and I was thinking about you even more than usual. When spring arrives and the flowers bloom, I recall Dad bringing you a huge bouquet of salmon pink gladiolas he had stopped and chosen from a local gardener. You put them in your tall gray pottery vase and set it in the sunlight in front of the picture window. It was spectacular!

When we lived in Michigan, you planted snapdragons and pansies in the flowerbeds along either side of the driveway. You have always been a flower lover. I know you would be thrilled to see the roses, irises, lilies and azaleas that I have blooming around my house now.

I have an old straw hat hanging on the wall that reminds me of you. I know you love straw hats, gardens, and the country life. You were an Oklahoma girl, growing up after the dust bowl years, the third eldest of a group of eight siblings. You loved farm life, riding horses, swimming in the creek, and walking in the fields. You loved your Uncle Stoney and Aunt Blanche from Tecumseh.

Be sure of the fact that I will be thinking of you next Sunday as we celebrate Mother’s Day.

Love you,

Elece

Wanderings and Old Homesteads

O, how I love to find a old homesite! I love to imagine who might have settled there. Where did they come from? What was the land like when they first saw it? How did they change it? How did they live here? Why did they leave?

I love to search out a place on the prairie in the spring when daffodils bloom and wave their yellow ruffles at me to show where an old house once stood.

Old fences still enclose a small dooryard and every spring flowers planted by some pioneer woman push to the sunlight and the blue sky. 
Fallen trees like this one become spots lush with moss and tangles of flowers.
 
Here purple bearded iris and yucca plants spread among the briers where a house once stood, where children played marbles in shady spots and watched for horses, wagons or farm trucks passing by.
Paperwhites  and narcissus come up from bulbs and tubers that have spread underground.

An old gate once swung from a frame here and a tree grew up through it. Mystery hidden in plain sight. I passed this gate many times before I noticed it. In the summer greenery hides it and an old cellar and cistern  sleep behind it in the undergrowth beside Cane Creek.

It causes me to wonder who lived there. Who planted Morning Glory vines on this fence?

Wanderings and Old Homesteads

O, how I love to find a old homesite! I love to imagine who might have settled there. Where did they come from? What was the land like when they first saw it? How did they change it? How did they live here? Why did they leave?

I love to search out a place on the prairie in the spring when daffodils bloom and wave their yellow ruffles at me to show where an old house once stood.

Old fences still enclose a small dooryard and every spring flowers planted by some pioneer woman push to the sunlight and the blue sky. 
Fallen trees like this one become spots lush with moss and tangles of flowers.

 

Here purple bearded iris and yucca plants spread among the briers where a house once stood, where children played marbles in shady spots and watched for horses, wagons or farm trucks passing by.
Paperwhites  and narcissus come up from bulbs and tubers that have spread underground.

An old gate once swung from a frame here and a tree grew up through it. Mystery hidden in plain sight. I passed this gate many times before I noticed it. In the summer greenery hides it and an old cellar and cistern  sleep behind it in the undergrowth beside Cane Creek.

It causes me to wonder who lived there. Who planted Morning Glory vines on this fence?