Adams County Gold

People of Adams County, and every other County that has a County Fair, wake up before it's too late. Attendance is dropping at alarming rates among competitors at these fairs. While the general population seems to be more interested in having the loudest and most popular musicians, wildest rides, biggest tractors we are missing the whole point of HAVING these celebrations. It's to give the dedicated and knowledgeable people who grow our food, our very life's bread, a chance to compete and see who has grown the biggest ears of corn, the greenest hay, the best steers, sheep, dairy cows, goats, chickens, the largest pumpkin, the best coconut cake, the loudest zinnias, knit the prettiest afghan and yes, grown the best draft horse a chance to take a break from all their hard work in the stewardship of our great American heartland and stand in front of their peers and SHINE!!! How often do we get a chance to see those who are caring for us, losing sleep and millions of dollars so we can live in this great country and drive our SUV's?

I was watching the third class of the day at the Draft Horse Show at the Fair. It was a 'Gentlemen's Cart Class'. For those not familiar to Draft Horse Shows, this is a class where one horse is hitched to a cart with a man driving and the horse is driven in a circle at the various speeds of the walk and trot. They are to be in their best harness and the drivers dressed in smart outfits while the horses are trimmed with knotted and beribboned tails and manes. The sound of the jingling harness and the silver or brass trim is breathtaking, as are the horses. As I sat watching, anxious to see these magnificent creatures lifting their giant feet high as they pranced around the ring, glistening in the sun I saw something that absolutely stopped my heart. STOPPED MY HEART! An old man, approximately 75 yrs. old or more, wearing a turkey red shirt and sitting on an old matching red and black cart entered the ring. His horse was beautiful and healthy looking, but not gleaming like the other one just ahead of him. The harness didn't shine, but it wore the patina of years of use and it fit both the old man and his beloved friend in the most intimate and lovely way. It was dull and thin, from decades of plowing, cultivating the land and carrying the old gentleman wherever he had to go. It had been through the lean times when there wasn't enough to feed the growing family of children. It had taken him to church every Sunday, to weddings and funerals, baptisms and church socials. It had pulled logs out of fields to heat his home and rocks too large to move by hand. The old harness was wrapped and securely fastened to the precious friend and confidante of the old man in the ring. Yes, the young man and his horse were a sight to behold. They sparkled and shone and did the breed proud. They will do well in the horse show ring. They took first place in the class. To my granddaughter it meant the world to get the first prize in her class. To the old man, it meant the world to BE IN the class!!! He was still doing what he loved after all the years of hard work and sacrifice. He was still able to smell the sweat of the horses and harness and thrill to the sound of the squeaking leather and the bulge of the powerful rump of his horse. Perhaps even more important, he was passing on this tradition of 'love of the horse, not love of the ribbon' on to future generations. The next class was 'Ladies Cart Class'. His granddaughter, and her daughter drove the old cart and horse in this class, and the granddaughter drove it in the 'youth cart class'. And so it went through all the driving classes, from cart to six horse hitch. Children and grandchildren sharing in the love and life of this dear, precious Adams County treasure. He takes his horses to the horse pulls and his sons and grandsons help him in a most incredible ballet of teamwork and love.

Please don't let our County lose what people like this old guy have been enjoying ever since it was founded. Grow your gourds and tomatoes, knit your scarves and bring in your corn and alfalfa to be shown with pride among others who love the traditions we have developed here. Make it your aim to participate next year in this fair, and to attend those of other Counties so we aren't left with just a memory of how it used to be. Before there were museums, there were people who LIVED what they now preserve. Prudence Kinley-Ruth horse lover and memory keeper

Winning one for Emma

last August I witnessed at the South Mountain Fair, what will be a most cherished and memorable moment in my life. In the true spirit of Country Fairs everywhere, it was something I shall never forget. I was there to see my son Tim and his 8 yr. old daughter Emma show their Belgian mare in the draft horse halter class for mares. Since our country was opened by draft horses and those who love them, I am so proud to have a wee part in celebrating this great breed of horses. This was Emma's first time 'running whip' at a horse show. It was also her first time actually taking part with her daddy in showing these giant animals. She was nervous but focused, and as she entered the ring behind the massive mare I'm sure she felt the spotlight shining on her head, (I know it nearly blinded me) even though it was bright daylight. She followed at a safe but proper distance, making sure Jody moved out at a brisk pace and never faltered when she passed the judges eye. She was part of a team that for this moment in time, depended on her to do her best to show the lovely mare to it's best advantage. It was all over in less than 15 minutes. All the anxiety. All the hopes and prayers in this little girls heart were waiting to hear what the decision of the judge was going to be. Finally, without fanfare, they announced that they had taken first prize. Emma never blinked until she came out of the ring. As she turned the corner, she came running to me, eyes shining, smile clear back to her ears. "I can't believe I WON!!!" she shouted. "I can't believe I won"!!!. You see, while she was showing the mare, what she was really showing was herself. For the first time. Doing something she had been waiting for, dreaming of. It was HER chance to shine. She proved to herself that SHE could pass the test and stand up in front of society and make the cut. What a great lesson to be learned at such a tender age. I know it will stay with her til she's an old 'self confident' woman. I'm so grateful to country fairs and other such opportunities where children can feel they won!

Lawn Ladies at Work

What a glorious morning to look out onto my lawn and see the “lawn ladies”, our Cochin bantams, rushing about the gardens searching for buried treasure. I’m glad they feel so committed to that work, as it does make a difference in the amount of insects we see on the plants. Chickens are so funny. You wouldn’t think they were serious natured, but indeed, they are very focused on the work for the day they happen to choose. Sometimes it’s clearing the fallen tree trunks in the wood of ants and grubs. Another day it could be picking grain out of the horses road apples in the pasture, which is one of the reasons I prefer box eggs instead of gathered ones. Miss Easter, the White Rock hen someone left here on Easter Sunday, has chosen as her personal commitment to clear every insect she sees from the “garden of the Pussy Willow fairies”. She’s in plain view of the customers who sit at the table overlooking that garden. What entertainment she provides for city folk who never get to see a chicken that wasn’t fed marigold petals to improve the color of it’s flesh.

The Snow vs the Easter Bonnet

I remember when watching the snow drift on the north side of the hill across from our farm shrink to nothing meant I would be able to wear my whole new Easter outfit to church on Easter morning. If my mom saw snow ANYWHERE it meant winter clothes
(leggings and all) till it was gone. That woman was obsessed with keeping us
warm. I'd sit on the porch and pray my heart out for God to melt that darn
snow. It was always a close call, but I always got to wear my new duds.

Isn't He a great God? Maybe He was teaching me even in that, to turn to Him
for all my needs. I didn't get to go to town often, except for church when I
was little. Every Spring though, we'd walk to Delroy and get on one of
Leiphart's buses and go to town (York) to do our Easter shopping. I didn't
get many clothes growing up, but on that special day it was always new underwear (slip and all) a new dress, coat, hat, shoes and best of all --- a
purse. I preferred patent leather. Mom would give me a little hankie with a
touch of Vaseline on it to shine my patent mary janes and my purse. How I
would rub and polish them to a gleaming shine. Boy, I felt so good. I
couldn't stop looking at myself. BEEEUTIFUL! I had an aunt Florence who made
me feel so special. Every time she saw me she would tell me how beautiful I
was. I just loved when she came to visit. She had big thick glasses that
made her look like she had frog eyes, and blue hair that always was so
shiny. To this day, whenever I see young girls, I always tell them how
beautiful they are. It never fails to put a smile on their face. Girls need
to be told that they are beautiful. Big girls AND little ones. And do you know what? They are!

Poor people blue

Right now my eyes are craving the sight of bright green things. Actually, my eyes are getting wierd in my old age. Have any of you noticed that your color pallette changes after you hit, say, fifty? I have always loved a pastel garden. Blues, pinks, lavendars and whites. Perfect! Well, the last few years I am loving bright purples, golds, wierd blues.

That reminds me, I suddenly had the need to have the bee hives in the garden
painted. When I was a tadpole, we used to visit a family that was poor. At
least I thought they were. Barefoot in winter, runny noses, stringy hair,
mouths a dull gray all around and a kitchen painted the most hideous shade
of blue you can imagine. You recoiled when you first went in, until your
eyes adjusted, then you shut them just to protect yourself. Flies decorated
the walls and oil cloth covered table like they were going to a rock concert. Your lips were tightly sealed lest the flies penetrate your mouth. Think of where all they had been. The smell of a slop bucket in the corner caused you to step back against Daddies leg and cling to it for protection. It was an assault against all your senses. The color was always 'poor people blue' to me after that. I detested it. Someone gave my daughter a sweater of that color when she was small and I never wore it on her. I threw it out. Talk about imprinting. Well, you guessed it. The bee hives are now a glorious shade of 'poor people blue'!!!!!!! It is electric!

Poor Liz, my garden helper, stopped by yesterday for a few fish for her pond. As she rounded the corner of the tea room she just about stood on my feet as she backed up to get away from the brightness coming from the far side of the garden. Not too
sure she appreciates the richness yet. She's not fifty you know. She'll have
to grow into it. Mature into wild colors. It's a gift for getting ancient!
My dining room looks like a gypsy caravan. All kinds of wild colors. When I
was recuperating there after my knee surgeries in the bed we set up by the window, I awoke every day, if I was lucky, to a riot of color. I adore it. Think I'll paint some crows walking across the top of the double doorway wearing poor people blue
scarves!!!!

Hives are funny people

Hives are funny people. They can be small, they can be large. They can even run together in a bunch around your legs or your other parts. You never know for sure where they come from, how long they'll stay or where they're going next. You can be sure you're not going to like them. They grow on you, but you never become best friends with them. You'll want to look at them REAL close, to see if there's a spot in the middle or anything strange about them. I don't know why, but you always want to look at them good. Some are pale. They are the lurkers. You really want to keep an eye on those suckers. They turn dark real fast, and when they do LOOK OUT!!! You'll do anything, ANYTHING to stop the itching. Slide on the wall, smack yourself HARD with a wet washcloth, and you'll be amazed at how creative you can get with ointments and home remedies. Lemon juice seemed like a great choice till I put it on my legs. Don't do it child. Just ......don't...... do it! You'd never believe the dance steps a fat white girl with bad knees can do when painted with real lemon juice. It ain't pretty, and it doesn't do a thing. Another thing, you can be sure your Dr. will be on vacation when the hives come to visit. When desperation drives you to the emergency room, you'll want to pick a dark corner of the waiting room to sit yourself and the hives. No one wants to watch! Trust me, you don't want to be in the middle of a good scratch when you become aware of a great looking 25 yr. old guy staring in disgusted disbelief at the back of your leg, which is now above your waist and your foot is curling around your neck. Who knew you could do that? Life becomes one long blurry itch fest. First you try to ignore them. Teeth clenched, you resolve to not pay any attention to them. Everyone tells you it only makes them worse. Where did they get that? Some mothers manual that should have been banned back in the '30's? IT HELPS!!! TRUST ME, IT HELPS!!! Maybe it doesn't stop them, but it helps! At least you're getting some kind of revenge on them. You tear at your flesh till it's raw, you rub cortizone cream, itch stop, calamine lotion and vicks all at once into that son of a gun. No, it still itches, but at least it can't SEE! After your trip to the ER, you must now sit at the drug store and wait for the 3 prescriptions to be filled. Why did you think Vicks would help when it takes the hospital 3 drugs to conquer them? GREAT! you have those prescriptions. You can't wait to take them. What? Not on an empty stomach? RATS! What are those flashing lights? A wreck? The road is totally closed and it's rush hour. Officer, do you see that helicoptor? I need to be evacuated immediately! Medical emergency! Hives. WHAT DO YOU MEAN IT'S NOT AN EMERGENCY!!! LOOK AT THIS!!! IT IS NOT INDECENT EXPOSURE YOU JERK, IT'S HIVES!!!!! After an hour, and a piece of bread not on my diet sheet the pills are down. I kid you not, within 30 minutes they were on the run. Maybe it was the wonderful nerve pills they gave me, but I swear I heard them screaming 'we surrender' as they lost their color and faded into the depths of cellulite, now covered with strawberry bruises. And so another week in the life of a tea damsel ends. Battered and bruised, but always trying to please her loyal customers, she searches her files for yet another recipe they will want to try.

Goodbye Ma Baird

A dear friend of the tea room died yesterday. Ma Baird. She was at least
87, I'm embarrassed but I don't know for sure. Her daughter was Diane Re. The
wonderful English garden bench, under the pussy willow tree, was placed there
in honor of Diane by her life long friend Linda Cleveland. Diane started
bringing Ma Baird to the tea room the first year I was open. How I loved
her. She was about 4'11 and packed with a sense of humor that far surpassed
her tiny size. When she came in she lit the place up. Her smile was spread
across her face and it cheered everyone who saw her. She LOVED tea, antique
dishes, people, telling stories and food. It all came together when she was
here. Linda Cleveland and her delightful grandaughters brought her after
Diane died. I remember last year on her birthday I wanted to do something
special for her. My mother had just died and I was feeling especially
sentimental. I bought her a little ' tea for one pot ' with it's own cup
underneath, some flowers, and a little tea book. She was so thrilled, she
went around and showed everyone! She said "and they're ALL for ME!"

Take the time to nurture these dear little treasures we are given. I get teary eyed
every time I see them come into the tea room with daughters and
granddaughters. You know, I never thought of my mother as 'dear' when she
was alive. I loved her tremendously, thought she was very intelligent, a
great Christian, kind, hard working, and all that, but I just didn't think
of her as 'dear'. The longer she's gone, the 'dearer' I think she was. Funny
isn't it?

Ma Baird had quite an exciting time when she left her home for the last
time this winter. I'll tell this as closely as I can, but some of the facts
may be a little wrong. Memory going you know. (mine, not hers) She had a
heart attack, called the ambulance to come get her. It was terribly icy and
she lived down at the bottom of a long steep driveway. The ambulance came
down, got her and was going to go up the hill. She said they had better go a
certain way, they ignored her and got stuck. They called another ambulance.
It came down, they transfered her and took a run at the hill. Somehow, they
started sliding down and slid right into her house, going right into the
living room. That was the last time she left home. She was in a nursing home
till yesterday, when she peacefully left for her heavenly Fathers home. Good
bye Ma Baird. I surely will miss your bright face shining in the tea room.