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Little Creek

This Monday morning the clouds show promise of plentiful rain.  We should savor these warm days and spring showers for we seem to be rapidly moving directly into the many delights of summer.  This fleeting season is just a prelude to many joyful happenings all around as the earth awakens.

For now, during this moment in time, we should pause and reflect on the many gifts of all our days.

In the gentle quietness of my day, I realize what a gift has been given me, the gift of finding comfort in the dependable moments and the gift of finding great pleasure in watching earth’s rhythm and movement as seasonal patterns of life unfold.

Joseph, my grandson, came by Saturday evening bringing a dozen fresh eggs.  Jessi’s and Greg’s hens came through the winter doldrums and are now producing to capacity.  The animals and fowl are responding to springs unfolding days and lettuce and green onions are growing as I’m sure the watercress also.

In days of yore, I would have been enjoying cress by now.

My youngest, Kasey, came by to visit briefly Friday evening and Burr and Ruth brought supper over Friday to share with me.  We enjoyed fried rabbit.  They fished this weekend with good catches.

Kevin and Joseph were with friends in Oklahoma fishing this past weekend.  I have yet to hear of their experience.

Jim and Jean Frye had many family members visiting Sunday when she called.  Some of those I remember (I didn’t have time to write her news) included daughters Katrice and Jamie and their families, Autum Miller and Brandon and Wendy Tetrick and children, and Rusty Frye.

Brandon and Wendy hosted a fish fry Saturday night for family and friends.  Jean and Jim Frye and Autum were there with lots of others for an evening of good eats and good companionship.

I put away my heavier bed covers last week.  The warm nights told me it was time to bring out once again my favorite summer cover, the only quilt I kept of Mom’s, having given the others to the kids.  My need for one of mom’s quilts goes far deeper than for physical warmth for it “speaks” to me in the night, soothing me as voices whisper to me through mom’s stitches, evidence that a heart came this way.  I hear my mom singing with her whole heart as she communicates with her Savior.  I hear my two sister’s laughter as we all sit around the quilting frame and marvel at the imagination, color combinations, and bravery as our mother tackles an art canvas of a size that would intimidate even a veteran painter.  As we watch her fingers fly putting in many hundreds of perfectly even small stitches, we marvel anew as she dazzles us with her artistry.

As I settle in each night, a communication occurs between the two of us still “speaking” years later through the thread bare well worn old quilt that mom lovingly made and left for me.

Mom, Lela “Wise” Degase, would have been 100 years young on February 24th.  Everyone who knew “Granny” loved her, her granddaughter, Jamie Dry, and her great granddaughter, Miya Frye Miller share the same birthday.  Miya would have been 26 years old; we like to think they celebrated together in heaven.

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