Gratitude Day #1 - 2018 - Remembering Mom on Her 105th Birthday

EDIT: This is the first of my November gratitude posts for November 2018.

Gratitude Day #1

Sigh...

My mom would have been 105 years old if she were alive today. And, sometimes those "would have beens" are the hardest words to utter.

I miss her. I could use her advice daily. I could use her "stand up on your hind legs with your paws in the air" spirit; as well as her genteel kindness.

I could still use her reminders to act like the lady you are. Though a hillbilly woman born in some of the poorest parts of Kentucky, mom had class. You either have it or you don't. She had it. I'm trying to have it.

I could use her sideways glance (cygogglin') to keep me in check; to know when to open my mouth and when to keep it shut.

I could use some of her cooking! Mine will never measure up to what she could throw together with no recipes. How did she DO that? And more importantly, why can't I?

And, I would certainly love to listen to some of her prayers again. There is nothing quite listening to the prayers of our parents; or walking past their room as they're kneeling together praying. Both of my parents prayed and talked with the Lord like He was sitting right in front of them.

Recently I wasn't feeling so well. I wasn't sick. I just didn't feel good. I can still remember the coolness and the calmness of of the touch of her hand on my brow that made everything feel better.

I can still hear her laugh! Her laugh made everyone around her want to laugh!

Mom died at age 71, an age I will reach in a few more years. Each of my sisters were a bit nervous as they reached that age and moved past it.

Some people are around that knew her, and they often say how much I remind them of her. The picture below shows both of us. Can you tell us apart? The one on the right shows me holding my 2 lb 10 oz grandson.

I often close down some of my presentations with the photo of hands below. It is my hand, along with my granddaughter's.

When she touches my hand, she touches history. My mom knew her great-grandfather, who was in the Civil War. He likely knew and touched the hands of a few generations before him.

So it is with us all. History continues on through us; through our looks, our stories, our touch, our work.

Mom, I miss you on this, your 105th birthday. And, I can hardly wait to throw my arms around you again and do some catching up. I need you to tell me all about the people you have met, and why they keep hiding from me.

Ida on left, Peggy and grandson Jayden on right

Peggy and baby Madeline's hands

One of our local heroes - Johnny Appleseed

Our area of northcentral Ohio has a great love for John Chapman, otherwise known as Johnny Appleseed.

He lived in our vicinity during the early part of the 1800's.  And yes, he planted thousands and thousands of apple trees.  Up until just a few years ago, some of the descendants of those apple trees were still alive.  At this point in time, I am unsure if any are still living.

Today, Mr. Kerry and I decided to take advantage of the beautiful, late summer weather.  We went to a rummage sale (the best I've ever been to!), grazed at Sam's Club, and enjoyed a classic car show and ice cream social at a small country church.

But, in between all of that, we visited the restored blockhouse that our community is famous for.

 Restored Mansfield Blockhouse 

South Park on Brinkerhoff Avenue

There used to be twin blockhouses that sat in the middle of town, where our square is now.  Many preservation efforts have brought it to where it stands today.

This weekend marks the event that Johnny Appleseed is famous for in our area.  During the War of 1812, Ohio was on edge.  There were a few Indian skirmishes, as well as the famous Battle of Lake Erie, won by Oliver Hazard Perry.

But, this part of Ohio didn't see much of the War's happenings.  Until...the murder of Levi Jones, a local shopkeeper.  The residents were just sure that Indians were planning an attack, for along with the Americans and the British, they were the third players in the War.  Johnny got along quite well with them.

Johnny ran for reinforcements.  He reported left on the evening/night of 9 August 1813 and ran barefoot to Mount Vernon, a small town 26 miles to the south.  He knew the woods intimately.  He called upon the residents to come and help, for there would surely be an impending Indian attack.  He was the Paul Revere of north central Ohio, for he felt it was his duty to warn and to gather aid.

The attack never came.  Rumor has it that the Indians had laid siege upon the town.

Johnny lived in our area for many years following this event before moving westward to Indiana.  He later died in Fort Wayne.

Now, why do I bring this up?  Because sometimes we need to explore the area right around us to gain an appreciation for the early settlers, their lives, their joys, and their fears.  In this case, an important part of history is right in our back yard.