Rural Revolution

Memorial Day

noreply@blogger.com (Patrice Lewis) — Mon, 25 May 2026 13:35:24 +0000

As I often do on Memorial Day, I like to draw your attention to a set of remarkable photos taken a few years ago by a reader (Katie) and her husband, who were formerly stationed in Germany. Katie learned that Don's uncle, Donald Sowers, who was killed in World War II, was buried in Ardennes American Cemetery in Liege, Belgium. She and her family visited the cemetery and sent these photos. (The entire collection can be seen here. Go look at them. They're remarkable.)

Later, a reader named Kathy left the following moving comment on that blog post I shared:

I searched for 2 years to find my mother's first husband Harold Norris, killed 4/4/44 @ 2:04 PM over Romania. I received a photo of his grave from Belgium and walked over to my mother's home and said, "Mom, where is Harold buried?" She said, "New Jersey". I said, "Mom, sit down, we need to talk."

Her mouth dropped open when she learned that her first husband was buried in Belgium! He has been there for (then) 65 years. All I started with was his purple heart, his name and service number. It has lead me down a path filled with new compassionate friends and a new understanding of the word sacrifice. Harold was an airman, navigator and top turret gunner. His plane the Miasis Dragon was shot down after delivering a fatal blow to an oil refinery in Bucharest Romania. The plane was hit at the waist by a land-to-air missile. The plane nose dipped, the pilot pulled it up, then it went nose-over-tail to the earth in a fireball. 4 crew were "carbonized" and were buried together in one grave by Romanian Monks. Later, in 1949, with dental records my mother provided, the US was able to locate his remains from the others and he was buried for the 9th and final time in Ardennes. The other 3 airmen are still together buried in the US.

One of the beautiful things I noticed was that each man's life is symbolized with a marble cross. They all worked and sacrificed as a group and from above, all of their individual crosses make up a larger cross. This collective larger cross can only be seen by people in airplanes and God. 3/5ths of the graves hold the remains from airmen who lost their lives....it is to those who fly that the larger cross is visible...a beautiful way to honor them.

The other thing I learned in 2010: the people of Belgium, France and other countries meet and honor our heroes. At Ardennes in 2010, there was approximately 100,000 people present, not many were from the USA. It seems that in life, we considered these men to belong to us, but in their death, the European people consider that these men belong to them, whom they thank and honor every year. Most graves have been adopted. Harold's grave was adopted many years ago and now the lady who adopted his grave is teaching her young grand daughter to care for it. She obviously does not want her grand daughter to forget the gratitude she has for the men who lost their lives saving hers.

I wrote to a man who was age 7 when the bombs were falling on to his town. He was scared and saw more than a 7-year-old should see. He remembers the American forces and he remembers liberation. For those who know what happened, who saw the cruelty and oppression, who had no hope, our US Military saved them, their children and their grand children. The maximum gift was given, freedom was restored at a great price, those receiving the gift are grateful....and other airmen and God can see their collective cross, a memorial for their sacrifice, from the air. This has put many things in perspective for me...I hope it will for you too. --Kathy

_______________________________

This is an essay Don wrote many years ago in tribute to his fallen uncle:

Forever Young

I don't know how he died, really. No one does, since everyone who was with him died at more or less the same time.

I'll bet he was afraid. I would have been.

It must have been hell on earth – above earth to be exact. A booming, banging, grinding, shaking, shattering horror. Especially it must have been tough on him, hanging as he was below the belly of a crippled plane, a bubble of glass exposed to the flak and the fire from enemy aircraft. A tasty and too-visible target.

His B-24 Liberator was powerful, true. But it was also lightly armored and easily damaged in combat. When damaged, the B-24 often lost the electrical power needed to rotate its gun turrets, and the gunners would have to hand-crank their turrets around, trying to follow the enemy planes.

Too slow. Too slow.

He was probably the youngest man on board. He was certainly the lowest-ranking member of the ten men who made up the crew. That first day of August in 1943, he'd only been in the Army Air Corp for a year and a half. He'd only been overseas for six months. He was 19 years old. He came from a farming family that lived in a very small town in Kansas. He had one sister, two brothers, and two very worried parents.

He was assigned to 98BG, a bomber group stationed out of Benghazi, Libya. His mission that day? In coordination with 178 bombers and 1,700 crew members, the 98BG was to attack and destroy the oil refineries at Ploesti, Romania. These facilities provided the Third Reich with one-third of its fuel … and the Nazis were very hungry for fuel in the waning days of 1943.

The oil refineries at Ploesti were protected with massive anti-aircraft batteries and hundreds of German and Romanian fighter planes. The distance traveled by the Allied bombers meant that no fighter protection could attend them. They were alone.

"Fire over Ploesti" by Roy Grinnell

It was a tremendous undertaking, a gamble of men and machines desperately needed for the war effort. A 2,400 mile, eighteen hour trip there and back again, with only a half-hour of available time over the target.

And in the end, for over 500 airmen and 52 bombers, there was no going home.

They say he's buried at a cemetery near Liege, Belgium. Maybe he is, maybe he isn't. The records show that his B-24 was shot down over the refinery, but that it happened before the crew could disgorge the plane's 8000-pound payload of high explosives. And the B-24 Liberator was well known for burning merrily when it crashed.

But his name is on one of the white crosses standing in formation at the lovingly well-tended cemetery.

His parents back in Kansas received the medals that he was awarded posthumously at a ceremony, probably one of many such ceremonies on that same day. The medals were: a Distinguished Flying Cross, a Purple Heart, and the Air Medal with three oak leaf clusters.

Both his brothers eventually went to war as well. One went as another tail gunner, the other as a pilot. His younger sister stayed home, grieving for the older brother she would never see again on this side.

Eventually she married my father.

The parents, the brothers, and the sister passed away some time ago. There is now no one who can tell me anything more about Donald Phillip Sowers – Sargent, United States Army Air Corp. The uncle I never knew and whose name I share.

Donald Philip Sowers never woke to the face of his bride on the day after his wedding. He never paced the floor late at night singing softly to an infant daughter who just couldn't sleep. He never got to hold his child's hand the last time she needed, or wanted, help to cross a street. He never felt the aches and pains of a long life, well lived. And well loved.

But I will remember him and so will my children. If you've taken the time to read this, tip a glass in his name and remember him. And all the other lost brothers and sisters as well.

Think of the things he missed, for the things you have.

Donald Philip Sowers died fighting the greatest evil of our time – a young man of 19 who will never grow old.

_______________________________

A mighty "thank you" to our past and present veterans, whose sacrifices too many of us are willing to overlook, dismiss, or forget.

Baby fruit

noreply@blogger.com (Patrice Lewis) — Sat, 23 May 2026 20:56:50 +0000

After an explosive season of blossoms from plums, apples, and other fruit, we're well on our way toward a bumper crop this season.

I photographed two apple trees in our driveway when they were in full bloom. These pictures were taken on May 1.

The flowers were thick with pollinators – honeybees as well as wild bees, various types of flies, and who knows what else. All I know is we could stand under these trees and listen to the loud humming of all the various insects.

Can you see the honeybee (lower center) in this photo?

As a result of all this insect industry, the fruit is beginning to set. I went around a couple days ago and photographed some of the baby fruit we have so far.

I started with the four beds of strawberries in the garden.

These are ever-bearing varieties, not June-bearing, but the first wave of fruit will also ripen in June.

The two apple trees, whose blossoms were shown at the top of the post, are now busy producing fruit.

Lots and lots of baby apples.

We have a massive plum tree in our driveway. Last summer, I photographed it when it was heavy-laden with fruit.

It looks like this year, while perhaps not matching last year in terms of sheer volume, will still be highly productive.

Our older apple trees, the ones we had professionally pruned a few years ago, are also producing heavily. A few weeks ago, they had lots of blossoms.

Now they have lots of baby apples.

Of the four (different kinds of) peach trees we planted a few years ago, all are thriving, though two are significantly bigger than the others.

But all four are producing fruit, so much so that I may have to thin some out lest they get too heavy for the branches. Peaches are, hands down, my all-time favorite fruit, so it's gratifying to see a hearty crop.

The blueberries spent the last few weeks blossoming heavily.

After last year's bumper crop of 92.5 lbs., I'm braced to get even more this year.

The fruit-set is very heavy. Normally I start picking around the end of June, with the harvest lasting until very early September.

That's all the baby fruit we have around us at the moment. The other major fruit category around here – blackberries – won't flower until mid-summer and won't be ready to pick until last August or early September.

Seasons of bounty!

Baby robins

noreply@blogger.com (Patrice Lewis) — Wed, 20 May 2026 16:13:04 +0000

This is the time of year baby robins are everywhere, including our yard.

They're at that clumsy, adorable stage where they can fly – sorta – but can't quite feed themselves. As a result, the parent robins hop all over the yard hunting for worms, which they stuff into their twittering and insatiable offsprings' gullets.

Watching adult robins hunt for worms is fun. They hunt by sight, sound, and feel. The most classic pose is head cocked, aiming one eye and one ear toward the ground, then pouncing and pulling the worm from its hole.

A few days ago I watched an adult use this technique and then seized and tried to pull out a l-o-o-o-o-n-g worm. I'm talking five or six inches long. It tugged and tugged at the annelid until finally it snapped free. Then it was tasked with stuffing this enormous meal down the throat of one of its chicks. Let's just say it took the fledgling quite a while to gulp that monster down ... but gulp it it did.

Spring in the country.

An eventful week

noreply@blogger.com (Patrice Lewis) — Sun, 17 May 2026 18:37:29 +0000

We've had one of those weeks where things have happened, both big and small.

With Older Daughter now living in her new apartment, I decided it was time to deep-clean the refrigerator. She's the gourmet cook in the family, so when she left, she took all her sauces and specialty spices with her. As a result, the fridge is now comically empty.

In cleaning out the refrigerator's freezer, I came across a bunch of random cuts of beef taking up space. I ended up throwing them all in the slow cooker and turning it into "zesty orange beef." With just the two of us, we've been eating off this for days now.

By the way, Older Daughter stinkin' loves her new apartment. After a few days, Frumpkin (her cat) also settled in and has adopted one particular chair as his very own.

Older Daughter is so pleased with this apartment, in fact, that she hopes to stay there for the next four years, the duration of her schooling to become a nurse.

Last Saturday, our church had its annual deep-clean work party. Don's job was to build a child-proof gate and barrier across a dangerous four-foot drop to a tiny basement area where the church's heater is located. This drop-off is right off the fellowship hall, which is in constant use. Our church building is about 125 years old, so it has its quirks. Our pastor's son is now a bit over two years old, plus we have some other young kids, so this was an overdue safety concern.

(By the way, you might remember our pastor's love story – see here and here and here and here – and I'm pleased to announce they're expecting their second child in late October, another boy! Mr. and Mrs. Pastor have proven themselves to be excellent parents, and their first child has become something of a church mascot, much beloved by everyone.)

We spent the week arranging for a new (used) vehicle for Older Daughter. Her other car has a major transmission issue, which makes fixing it more expensive than it's worth, so she'll sell it either for parts or to someone who wants to repair and flip-sell it. Meanwhile, we asked our mechanic if he had any knowledge of an inexpensive-but-reliable vehicle available, and by golly he did. Having a mechanic you can trust is such a blessing!

I've also been spending a lot of time in the garden, weeding out beds, layering them with compost, and planting seeds. We've had some crazy temperature swings (hey, spring) so I'm refraining from planting some of the more sensitive veggies until things stabilize.

We had a neighbor come up with his small track hoe to dig a trench behind the barn so we could lay in a drain to divert water from the barn door. Don lined the trench with weed cloth and laid down a perforated pipe, then covered it with gravel. This was a task we'd hoped to accomplish last fall, but the weather caught up with us before we had a chance to accomplish this step.

Older Daughter came in late last week to pick up her new (used) car and return ours, which she had been borrowing. We had a busy day helping her pack more of her things and fit them into her car, which has the advantage of having more room than her previous car.

This left one of her previous rooms empty. It needs some patching and trim, but above all it needs a paint job. (As a brief history, we had to move Older Daughter in rather hastily four years ago when her apartment lease ran out about the same time Don had some minor surgery, so cosmetic changes weren't high on our list.) The family from whom we purchased our house were absolutely lovely people, but their choice in paint colors was ... unique. I kid you not, the color is that bright.

Don started the prep work necessary to paint, which we hope to do this upcoming week. We'd like to get it finished in time to convert it into a guest bedroom, since Younger Daughter will be visiting in late June before moving west to start her new civilian job.

Meanwhile, through all of this, I finished up several magazine articles and sent them off, and began blasting through my next Love Inspired proposal which I hope to submit within a week or so.

And to top it off, we're having a new roof installed! This is something for which we've been saving for at least two years. We would have had it done last year, but we couldn't manage it financially after I was laid off from my online job in February 2025. It took us an extra year to save up for it.

Our current roof is asphalt shingles, and it was getting quite ragged. We were delighted to learn installing a metal roof was actually more economical than installing a new shingle roof. (We became huge fans of metal roofs after experiencing the benefits in our last home.) We chose a nice solid brown as a roof color.

The contractor is a young and highly respected Mennonite roofer whose work has high ratings. At the moment one-third of the roof is newly covered, but then work had to pause for some rainstorms. The rest of the roof should be completed next week.

We chose the roof color to complement the house color we chose for an upcoming paint job. Our current house color is a rather drab "greige."

This summer, Don and I will paint it a nice green. (The color chips shown below have a distinctly blue tinge to them, but I assure you they're green.)

We're also sorting through a lot of shelves, cupboards, and closets for items to sell at a yard sale we plan to hold this summer.

So yeah, that's been our week. Lots of stuff going on!

Greener grass

noreply@blogger.com (Patrice Lewis) — Wed, 13 May 2026 13:27:44 +0000

Last year, you might remember, we subdivided our larger pasture.

This allowed us to add additional rotations for cattle grazing. It also allowed us to have the garden fences down while we worked on strengthening and raising the fences against deer (the garden is carved out of a slice of the pasture), since the cows were restricted to the upper portion while we worked.

As a result of last year's garden-fencing efforts, we didn't release the cows into the larger pasture until late June. While the grazing was certainly great, it was past its peak.

This year we had no such restrictions. As a result, we opened the gate to the larger pasture last week, and let the cows into their little slice of bovine paradise.

We started by opening the gate (translation: peeling back some of the field fencing right at the corner of the garden) and giving our "Bossy bossy bossy!" call. Maggie was the first to investigate.

Romeo and Stormy soon followed. "Hey, look at all this grass!"

Maggie looks at the garden. "Hey, can I get in there?" No, you can't.

This time of year, the pasture is at its peak lushness.

Don has a theory about pasture quality. When cows are grouped together when grazing, it means the pasture is lush. When they're scattered apart, the quality is less. Right now, the cows are always grouped together.

A couple hours later, the cows were bedded down, chewing their cud, looking about as happy as cows can look.

Speaking of Maggie, our Jersey cow, she's looking more and more ponderous.

She was bred on September 8, so according to an online bovine gestational calculator, that means her due date is June 12, a month from now.

Unlike last year's unexpectedly early birth of Stormy, however, this time we're ready. We have the milking stall and calf pen built and all the quirks worked out. As her due date grows closer, we'll take the animals off the larger pasture and restrict them to the small pasture right below the house, so we can keep an eye on Maggie. Fresh milk soon!

"How is your father?"

noreply@blogger.com (Patrice Lewis) — Mon, 11 May 2026 22:40:00 +0000

I called my dad yesterday (Mother's Day). I can't talk to my mom anymore since she's in a nursing home, and so I called my dad instead.

As it turns out, he wasn't home when I called. That's because he was with two of my brothers and sisters-in-law, all of whom were visiting my mom, so that was nice to know. Dad called me back this morning and we caught up.

He told me that Mom hadn't seen one of my sisters-in-law ("V") in quite some time. The moment V. walked in, Mom said – clear enough that even Dad could hear it (Dad is quite deaf) – "Hello. How is your father?"

Dad was ecstatic.

V. is from Russia, and her father had suffered a stroke a few years ago. V. had to travel all the way to Moscow and then on to Siberia to care for him in the immediate aftermath. Mom's mind was sharp enough to remember V's struggles, and to ask V. how her father was doing.

Dad confirms that Mom's brain, underneath the symptoms of her own stroke and serious bout of pneumonia over the New Year, is still chugging along bright and alert. We agreed it must be intensely frustrating that she can't always communicate her thoughts.

Still, Dad admitted that Mom is receiving not just excellent care in her nursing home, but far more socialization than she would have gotten at home, so he's come to terms with it. I'm grateful he only lives a couple miles away from her facility.

The dying art of writing

noreply@blogger.com (Patrice Lewis) — Sat, 09 May 2026 15:50:00 +0000

Back when I was seven years old, I wrote a story about Glinda the Fish. I don't remember anything about it beyond a few vague watery adventures Glinda had. Certainly the story rambled, had no story arc, and lacked a conclusion, though I did include crayon illustrations of a very pretty and feminine fish decked out in glittery scales. Hey, I was seven.

Obviously the writing bug bit early, and I've enjoyed practicing the written word ever since.

Perhaps for this reason, the artificial-ness of writing done by artificial intelligence drives me nuts. I'm complained about this several times (here and here).

Oddly I'm conscious of times I use turns of phrase that might be misconstrued as written by AI. I submitted a magazine article recently, for example, concerning the honey hunters of Bangladesh (people who harvest wild honey in the coastal areas of that nation). In the second paragraph, I set the scene by describing what the mangrove forests are like, which included this line: "It is a moist, humid, and unforgiving ecosystem that straddles land and sea, and protects the coast from erosion during high tides, tsunamis, and cyclones."

It was the term "straddles land and sea" that I almost took out because it sounded like AI, even though it describes perfectly the placement of mangrove forests.

Similarly, one line from our recent trip to Italy also triggered my AI radar. In this blog post, I described some Roman ruins we saw, including the impressive brick work, as follows: "The fact that the brick work has held up so splendidly for thousands of years is a testimony to the skills of Roman craftsmen." It was that word "testimony" that tipped the line over into the realm of sounding artificial. It's bugged me ever since.

Every writer develops his own unique voice when mastering the craft, and I guess you could say the same applies to artificial intelligence. In a piece entitled "The Rise Of AI Writing And The Decline Of Human Voice," it states:

"New research suggests that widespread use of large language models is making language more uniform. A study conducted by University of Southern California found that after the release of ChatGPT, diversity in writing styles declined across several forms of communication, including scientific publications, local journalism, and social media posts. Researchers observed fewer differences in vocabulary choices and sentence patterns, pointing to a growing preference for polished, formulaic language. ...

"Researchers at the Max Planck Institute for Human Development analyzed more than 740,000 hours of spoken and written material and found that certain words commonly associated with ChatGPT responses are appearing more frequently in everyday communication. Words like 'delve,' 'meticulous,' 'boast,' and 'comprehend' have become increasingly common, suggesting AI-generated language may be shaping human speech habits as well. ...

"Not everyone sees that as progress. Alex Mahadevan of the Poynter Institute for Media Studies argues that AI-generated content often feels empty despite being technically sound. He described it as noticeably 'soulless' and 'mediocre,' adding, 'There's no art in it.'"

Or, as I'm fond of stating, AI writing is a lot of "blah blah nothing."

At this moment in time, we are straddling (that word!) the cusp of human-generated writing and AI writing. But the handwriting is on the wall, and the latter will become the norm. Not only is it easier (give a command, and hey presto! your essay or advertising copy is written), but the younger generation will grow up unable to discern between the real and the fake ... especially since AI shows every indication of becoming indistinguishable from the human voice. Personally I find that very sad.

I don't know how long I'll be able to cling to a career as a writer, but I'll enjoy it while I can.

Happy birthday, Sir David Attenborough

noreply@blogger.com (Patrice Lewis) — Fri, 08 May 2026 20:59:00 +0000

The incomparable Sir David Attenborough turns 100 years old today!

Tributes are pouring in from all over the world, the world he saw so much of.

• Sir David Attenborough: A century of storytelling - BBC

• David Attenborough at 100: A Special Birthday Message From King Charles (this had a cute and unexpected twist)

• Inside the wild life of broadcasting legend Sir David Attenborough | 60 Minutes Australia

• Sir David Attenborough at 100: A Century of Wonder | 9 News Australia Documentary

...and on and on and on.

From all accounts, the man is a true gentleman on and off the screen.

Happy birthday, Sir David!

The Three Stooges

noreply@blogger.com (Patrice Lewis) — Fri, 08 May 2026 04:23:00 +0000

Larry, Curly, and Moe.

Happy birthday, Younger Daughter!

noreply@blogger.com (Patrice Lewis) — Thu, 07 May 2026 14:10:00 +0000

Today is Younger Daughter's birthday.

She'll be coming stateside (after her decision to leave the Navy) in June. She'll first go to Southern California to visit her grandparents, then come up to see us before heading to the West Coast to start her new job.

Happy birthday, dear daughter!

"Keeping up with the influencers"

noreply@blogger.com (Patrice Lewis) — Wed, 06 May 2026 21:15:00 +0000

You know how once in a while, you stumble upon a video that rivets you in horrified fascination, and subsequently it takes you down a rabbit hole of binge-watching similar videos? This just happened to me.

To back up somewhat: Most readers know something about our fiscal history. (If not, a synopsis can be read here.) In our younger years, we got ourselves deeper in debt than we were comfortable with, though never to the point of not being able to pay our bills. We always paid our bills, but there were times we were very, very tight financially. This is one of the reasons we're huge fans of thrift stores and a cash-only lifestyle. The debt we had was all for "legitimate" cost-of-living expenses as we raised our girls, but it was still debt.

The result of many years of financial uncertainty has left me with something akin to a pathological fear of debt. The peace of mind that comes with not owing any money is hard to describe.

So when I came across a random video entitled "Let's Watch 25 Minutes of People Living Above Their Means & Going BROKE" by someone called Zac Rios, I clicked.

Oh my.

All this guy does, as far as I know, is trawl around social media, gathering up videos of people confessing (or bragging) about how much money they've spent that landed them in astronomical debt, how hard they try to justify it, and apparently why they refuse to change their ways.

Mr. Rios admits one of his reasons for posting these videos is to get viewers "scared straight" about their own spending habits. He says if he were to don a suit and tie and stand in front of a white board giving an economics lesson, most people would tune out. But this – these naked, raw, real testimonies of people who are ruining their lives through financial illiteracy – is eye-opening. Watching clip after clip after clip after clip is like watching a train wreck. I couldn't look away.

Make no mistakes: The people putting these videos on the internet are not lamenting their poverty or the hardships they're experiencing due to medical expenses, job loss, disability, or other unavoidable factors beyond their control. Instead, the clips profile people who simply spent too much on every passing "want" and either don't know or don't care that they'll never get out from under the resulting crushing debt.

Among the factors involved in these irrational decisions:

• YOLO (You Only Live Once) or "doom" spending

• Social media fueled by influencers

• The "image is everything" mindset

• Instant gratification

Influencers seem to be a major factor in this overspending trend. Having watched a number of these videos, it's clear the host focuses on living beyond one's means as a lifestyle choice, rather than genuine economic hardship. Mr. Rios explains how some of these people make staggering amounts of money, and then spend to keep up appearances. But for most, the length of time an influencer actually influences is very brief. They think it will last forever and it doesn't. As a result, many current and former influencers are economically in way over their financial heads, let alone those who watch them.

Viewer comments could be blunt:

• "Truly a case of 'Buying stuff you don't need with money you don't have to impress people you don't like.'"

• "What a world. Having $1.26 in your bank account and no debt makes you richer than 75% of the country."

• "Lots of people claim they're just living in the moment and don't understand the piper must be paid at some point."

• "The weirdest part of it is how they believe massive debt is a flex."

The incomparable Amy Dacyczyn, author of "Tightwad Gazette," once said that if you write down every single penny you spend, you can skip buying her book because you'll already know what you're spending your money on. This simple piece of advice seems to elude those mired down in YOLO-fueled spending.

Look, today's uncertain economy – with elevated prices for everything from food to property – is tough enough as it is. It's getting more difficult for ordinary Americans to scrape by on incomes that used to be adequate.The younger generation is facing an uphill battle when it comes to achieving the milestones their parents and grandparents were able to achieve. No one denies this.

But ... this level of self-inflicted financial sabotage is hard to grasp. Kudos to Mr. Rios for attempting to "scare straight" those who need it.

Moving out

noreply@blogger.com (Patrice Lewis) — Mon, 04 May 2026 22:16:00 +0000

Goodness, what a busy few days this has been! Older Daughter has officially moved out. She started her new job today. Nursing school doesn't start until late August, so she has several months of full-time work before classwork begins.

She called us last Friday night, having picked up the keys and seen her studio apartment for the first time. She was thrilled with it. "It's much bigger than I thought it would be," she said. "The window is huge, and it has a very wide windowsill for sitting. The kitchen is large for a studio apartment."

She drove home Friday evening. All weekend, she was engaged in packing, sorting, and discarding. On Sunday, we loaded up our car and hers with some basic furniture, clothes, kitchen things, and other assorted necessities, and went to see her apartment.

She's right: It's a charming studio overlooking a charming street scene. The only disadvantage is the thirty – thirty! – steps to ascend to the second floor.

This apartment is not handicap accessible, so it has no elevator or other means of transporting worldly goods upstairs except sheer grunt-work. (The building is well over a hundred years old, so no surprise.)

But that's okay. Most of the heavy lifting is already done, and we'll all be gradually moving whatever didn't fit into the first load into subsequent trips. Her cat Frumpkin is with us for a few days until she gets things more established.

Things are a lot quieter here at home, but a lot more exciting for Older Daughter.

Yellow-flower season

noreply@blogger.com (Patrice Lewis) — Sat, 02 May 2026 13:16:00 +0000

Now that "cotton-candy season" (consisting of wild plum blossoms) has come and gone, we're now in the midst of "yellow-flower season." We have yellow flowers blooming everywhere.

The most noticeable are arrow-leaf balsamroot, a large and showy flower that favors sunny south-facing slopes with shallow soil.

This time of year, they light up hillsides all over the place.

If you peer closely, you can see the balsamroot blanketing this hillside.

A field of mustard, planted as a nitrogen-fixing cover crop.

This is Oregon grape. As the name implies, the plants produce tart (almost to the point of being inedible) grape-like clusters of fruit in the fall.

This is nine-leaf biscuitroot. They can be found scattered all over roadsides and sunny slopes.

These, too, can blanket hillsides.

The beloved daffodils. Often these escape from gardens, so to speak, and grow wild.

Dogtooth violets, also called glacier lilies. These are all over shady sections of our pasture, and are among the first flowers to bloom in the spring.

I'm not quite certain what this is. I photographed it hastily from the window of the car, so I wasn't able to examine it closely. It might be false lupine. If anyone knows, please chime in.

Another unknown flower, also photographed from the car window.

This time of year, tulips are on display in many yards.

And, of course, who can ignore the ubiquitous dandelion.

Next up in the blooming cycle are apple blossoms. Stand by!

Wanted: Perfection

noreply@blogger.com (Patrice Lewis) — Thu, 30 Apr 2026 21:57:00 +0000

There is a website entitled "Where Should I Live?" which narrows down one's ideal city (it's always a city) based on various criteria such as nature, climate, demographics, transportation, politics, food, size, and cost of living. For those looking to relocate, it helps narrow down what part of the country would be most amenable to one's particular preferences.

But always remember, perfection isn't possible. When we bought our property in late 2020, it was the height of the pandemic lockdowns and rural properties were being snatched up fast. We knew our new place wasn't perfect, but it hit many of the marks we had on our bucket list. We decided to bloom where we were planted, and have been very happy here since.

These factors came to mind recently when Don spotted a post on a "Homesteaders for Beginners" page in which a woman was looking for ... perfection.

The image is a little hard to see, so I transcribed the wish list. Her requirements include:

• Affordable housing
• Lots of jobs to offer

Bonus for:

• Pagan-friendly/accepting
• More small-town feel
• Generally kind respectful people
• Homeschool friendly
• Homestead friendly

She absolutely did NOT want to consider the following states:

• Washington
• Oregon
• California
• Florida
• Arizona
• New York

Later, she added more information as follows (edited slightly for grammar, spelling, punctuation):

"I grew up Mormon and don't mind church folk, but as an adult I'm more of a closet pagan and rather keep to myself anyway, so again not a requirement. Would just be a nice bonus. To get on my feet, I need to be able to find a job and find affordable housing. But the end game is buying land to start a homestead. I just don't want a place that's miserable dying heat like six months out of the year. I have a mixed stepdaughter, so want her welcomed in whatever place we make home. I already barely socialize due to social anxiety, but it would be great to find an accepting community to be a part of, but again more than happy to stay on our land and ignore our neighbors if needed. I've grown up in Washington and lived in Idaho [and] Oregon, and just plain sick of the PNW [Pacific Northwest]. I have always wanted the small-town farm life and I just want to find a place to make that happen."

Ironically, it sounds like her ideal community would be somewhere in Western Oregon or Western Washington (west of the Cascades). However given the states she absolutely does not want to consider, I'm a bit stymied where she might settle that would fill all her other criteria.

I sincerely hope what this nascent homesteader realizes is perfection doesn't exist. Some places might get close, yes; but most of us do better by blooming where we're planted.

A new career for Older Daughter

noreply@blogger.com (Patrice Lewis) — Wed, 29 Apr 2026 02:49:00 +0000

I've been making a few oblique references to some exciting developments with Older Daughter, so here is what's happening.

You might remember her accident on New Year's Eve in which she touched the router with the tip of her index finger, which mangled her fingertip. This resulted in a painful and lengthy recovery (you don't appreciate how often you use your index finger until you can't). The incident effectively put an end to her woodworking career, especially since the business was no longer as profitable as it once was.

Now let's go back to a year before that, during a couple of months bracketing late 2024 and early 2025. At that time she was attending the necessary coursework to become a Certified Nursing Assistant (CNA). She aced the coursework, the practicum, and the final exam, but didn't start work as a CNA at a local facility until March, after she had finished up a few wholesale orders with the woodcraft business.

Her new job was part-time, since she was still running the woodcraft business, but she got enough experience to know she's both good at, and thoroughly enjoys, the profession. She has a gift she inherited from Don; namely, the ability to emote with patients to know what kind of approach to take. Sometimes she has to be tough, sometimes funny, sometimes sympathetic, sometimes firm.

A true story from when she was working the week-long practicum at a rehab facility in another city: A woman had just entered the facility who (to put it mildly) didn't want to be there. The other CNAs were treating her very kindly and patiently, trying to settle her into the routine.

The first time Older Daughter went in to assist the lady out of bed, the other woman snarled, "I hate it here! I don't want to be here!"

Older Daughter started with the trite surface-level empathy. "I understand..."

But this lady was having none of it. "No, you don't understand."

Older Daughter realized this lady was right, so she said (pardon the language), "You're right. I don't understand. It sucks that you have to be here, doesn't it?"

Startled, the other woman replied, "Yeah! It does suck! You're right!"

And from then on, she and this other woman were friends, and the lady was able to start establishing herself in the facility. What the woman needed was affirmation and sympathy, but not the syrupy-sweet kind she was getting from the other staff members. She needed something hard-hitting and truthful.

That's what I mean when I say Older Daughter has the talent for knowing what kind of approach to take with individual patients. Whether it's belting out the lyrics to "Rawhide" with an old cowboy as she pushes his wheelchair down a hallway, or gently untangling knotted hair for a woman who takes pride in her appearance, the patients absolutely adore her.

After seeing the way the CNAs work in my mom's nursing home (they run the place!), I told Older Daughter, "You're doing a good thing." Sometimes she would come home discouraged or even in tears about something that happened, but I tell her, "Think about what you're doing. You're giving these people dignity at a time in their lives when their dignity is at a very low ebb."

Anyway, bottom line, working as a CNA has awakened an interest in going further and getting her nursing degree. For the last year or so, she's been thinking about this possibility (becoming a CNA was the first step), but she was stymied because she wasn't ready to give up the woodcraft business yet, and moving closer to nursing school while trying to drag an entire shop of power tools in her wake was turning into a logistical nightmare.

That's why injuring her finger may have been a blessing in disguise. She was able to graciously exit the woodcraft business and turn fully to health care as a career.

This was reinforced by an extremely interesting and almost amusing thing that happened while she was getting patched up in the emergency room on New Year's Eve.

Understand that she came in directly from the shop when she injured her finger. She was covered in blood and sawdust, and as she and Don walked into the emergency room, she was trailing sawdust like the character Pigpen in the old Peanuts cartoons.

The nurse said, "I need to take your vitals. I forgot to grab them earlier because we usually have an ER tech, but she's not here tonight."

Older Daughter mentioned that her blood pressure tends to spike when it's being measured (she inherited Don's "white-coat syndrome"), and when she practiced blood-pressure readings in her clinicals, everyone got wildly different results.

The nurse was a little startled and asked "In what context?" That's when Older Daughter explained that she's a CNA.

The nurse said, "A real CNA? As in, licensed?" Older Daughter said yes.

The nurse said, half-jokingly, "If you need any more work around here, let me know." Older Daughter said, "I might. I'm not getting many hours in my current job."

Then, I kid you not, the nurse disappeared and returned with the staffing manager, who came over with a big smile to introduce herself. Now remember, Older Daughter is covered in blood and sawdust, and in a considerable amount of pain. She apologized for her appearance, and the head nurse said, "Oh no, that's fine! So you're a certified CNA right now?" Older Daughter affirmed this, and the head nurse said, "They're currently looking for CNAs in the emergency room. We could train you to be an ER tech and teach you to do IVs." She handed Older Daughter her business card and urged her to stay in touch.

We got a chuckle over this impromptu interview, but Older Daughter couldn't follow up on the offer until her finger had healed sufficiently. Later she applied for the position, but learned that it paid less than she was getting at her original CNA job, so she declined it.

However the incident sparked a series of events which culminated this past week with some exciting developments:

• She applied to an extremely respected nursing school and was accepted. The acceptance happened about a month ago, and last week she met with an academic adviser to map out the appropriate coursework.

• She applied for a job as a CNA at an upscale facility in the same city and was offered a full-time job, with the understanding that her hours will need to be worked around her class schedule. (Apparently the facility deals with nursing students all the time, so this was nothing unusual.)

• She took the math placement exam and was deemed qualified for college math (this one had her worried).

• She found a beautiful studio apartment in a safe and enviable part of town, with beautiful trees outside her huge window. The apartment comes with a dishwasher, refrigerator, and washer/dryer. The price isn't bad, either, and it's only about half a mile from campus.

In short, it's been a tremendously exciting time for her. She's starting to pack and sort through her things, deciding what to keep and what to sell at our future yard sale. She'll be moving to her new apartment after May 1, when the current tenants vacate the premises. She'll work full-time over the summer until school starts in late August.

She's so excited about this new chapter of her life!

Writing matters

noreply@blogger.com (Patrice Lewis) — Tue, 28 Apr 2026 15:39:00 +0000

Whew. Thank you for your patience, dear readers, as I coped with multiple writing deadlines. I was able to boot my latest Love Inspired Amish manuscript out the door at about 8 pm last night.

Meanwhile, I'd like to direct your attention to an interview I did with a lovely woman named Elise Cooper, who reviewed two of my titles: "An Amish Marriage Agreement" and "The Amish Baker's Redemption."

"An Amish Marriage Agreement" is the story that, rather surprisingly, hit the New York Times Bestseller List. "The Amish Baker's Redemption" is its better (in my opinion) sequel. Her interview can be seen here.

Writing deadlines up the whazoo

noreply@blogger.com (Patrice Lewis) — Sat, 25 Apr 2026 21:44:00 +0000

If I've been unusually quiet on the blog lately, it's because I've had writing deadlines up the whazoo. I'm finishing up a manuscript (due Monday) and have been either outlining or writing a number of articles.

Additionally, Older Daughter has had some exceptionally exciting developments in the past week. I'll be posting an update on those developments shortly.

In the meantime, sorry for the silence!

Four-legged weed-whackers

noreply@blogger.com (Patrice Lewis) — Thu, 23 Apr 2026 16:01:00 +0000

Three years ago, you may recall, we participated in a county program to reduce underbrush in wooded areas as part of fire-mitigation efforts.

The portion of our property cleared by the crews was wildly overgrown and very, very steep (this section later became our "sacrifice pasture"). The crew did a beautiful job of clearing out the underbrush. After that, we were contractually obligated to maintain the property in a cleared condition.

During this process, we mentioned to the county official that we planned to do this with livestock. She was delighted and said it's one of the best ways to maintain a cleared area.

So here we are, three years later. The other evening, we walked below the sacrifice pasture and remarked how beautifully our four-legged weed-whackers are helping in this endeavor. (That's the corner of our barn on the center-right edge of the photo.)

By contrast, there is a half-acre parcel immediately adjacent to our sacrifice pasture owned by an absentee owner. This parcel hasn't had the benefit of either the county program or livestock maintenance. As a result, his section of land is still a tangled mess of underbrush.

Fortunately, for fire mitigation purposes, this tiny parcel is literally the only overgrown area in our isolated little valley. Everyone else either has open fields and/or grazing livestock, so it all evens out.

My new favorite broccoli recipe

noreply@blogger.com (Patrice Lewis) — Sun, 19 Apr 2026 13:34:00 +0000

As many readers know, I love broccoli. I mean, I seriously love broccoli.

I've had this veggie prepared in endless ways, but Older Daughter introduced me to a method of roasting it which has become my new favorite recipe.

It starts with cutting up the heads...

...until you have enough for the meal's requirement.

To this, add olive oil, salt, pepper, garlic powder, Panko bread crumbs, and Parmesan cheese (shredded, not grated).

Add these ingredients in whatever proportions you prefer, and mix thoroughly.

Then spread the veggies on a baking sheet. Some of the mixture will have sifted to the bottom of the bowl, so spoon this over the top of the broccoli.

This particular baking sheet belongs to our toaster oven, which I use for roasting.

Set the temperature to 400F for 20 minutes.

And voilà: The best roasted broccoli I've ever had.

Bon appétit!

Wow! Eighteen BILLION!!

noreply@blogger.com (Patrice Lewis) — Sat, 18 Apr 2026 16:56:00 +0000

I received an email the other day as follows, with the subject line "Are you still alive? Please reply":

Headquarters: Valley National Bank
Address: 1455 Valley Rd, Wayne, New Jersey, United States
Phone: +1 (973) 223 6098

Congratulations! This is the third email I am sending to you. You have been randomly selected to receive US18,400,000,000 and the latest Tesla Cyber Truck from the ongoing Elon Musk raffle draw. Many people around the world have benefited from this raffle. This bank has been entrusted by Elon Musk to process and deliver your winnings to you, therefore, don't sleep on this opportunity.

Kindly provide the following information to proceed:

- Full Name
- Residential Address
- Contact Number
- Email Address
- Occupation
- Date of Birth
- ID or Driver’s License

As of March 2026, Elon Musk, the CEO and owner of Tesla, SpaceX, and Twitter, is the richest person in the world, with a net worth frequently exceeding US600–800 billion. He leads billionaires like Larry Page and Bernard Arnault by a significant margin. According to scripture, blessings are given not to encourage greed but to empower us to help others kindly and generously. Those who give with a joyful heart receive even greater blessings.

Additionally, please confirm if you have authorised Mr. Gordon Williams, an attorney claiming to be your close friend, to pay the US500.00 fee for paperwork, shipping, and customs clearance. He also claims you gave him the power of attorney to receive delivery of this money and the Tesla Cyber truck to his address.

Please respond promptly to clarify this matter.

Mr. Ira D. Robbins
CEO and President
Valley National Bank

Golly. I'd better not "sleep on this opportunity"! Think what kind of farm we could buy with this kind of money! Think how much this "blessing" would "empower" us to "help others kindly and generously"! Think how stylish we would look, driving around our dirt roads in a Tesla cyber truck! Elon Musk is certainly generous to bestow $18 billion on "randomly selected" plebeians like myself.

Pass.

Planting potatoes

noreply@blogger.com (Patrice Lewis) — Fri, 17 Apr 2026 02:46:00 +0000

I'm slowly getting various things planted in the garden, notably the cool-weather stuff that can handle spring temperatures. Last week I planted potatoes.

Unlike last year, when I planted eight beds and harvested 230 pounds of potatoes, I'm limiting our potatoes this year to just three beds. That's because we are still swimming in potatoes and don't need eight more beds' worth.

I had already layered compost on the beds from a couple weeks earlier, so all I had to do was turn it over (which takes just a couple of minutes per bed).

Lots and lots of worms, always a nice thing to see.

Now let's briefly digress to last October, when I harvested all the potatoes from last summer's garden. We ended up storing them in burlap bags in the "cool room," a small unheated room Don built off our bedroom as extra storage space.

We were pressed into using this space as an impromptu root cellar, and to be honest it's worked out amazingly well. In previous years, without a dedicated place to store potatoes over the winter, they were ridiculously overgrown by April – fine for planting, but not for eating.

But last year's potatoes – and remember, we still have lots – are still in excellent shape, even after six months in storage.

For planting, I brought out the burlap sack that contained the smallest potatoes, which I used as seed potatoes.

I arranged three rows of seven potatoes each, for a total of 21 potatoes per bed, or 63 total potatoes.

Using a trowel, it doesn't take long to bury each potato deeply.

That's as far as I got last week, and ever since then we've been dodging some fairly major rainstorms.

With more rain on the way, the one thing I hadn't yet done was put straw mulch on the beds.

Mulching takes no time at all.

Mr. Darcy supervised the process.

Except for a little light weeding (notably, of the volunteer wheat that will grow from the wheat-straw mulch) – and watering, of course – that's all I'll need to do to the potatoes until October, when I'll harvest them.

It's a good thing I got the mulching done when I did, since we had a dramatic bit of rain move through today.

A wedding reception

noreply@blogger.com (Patrice Lewis) — Wed, 15 Apr 2026 18:17:00 +0000

Last Saturday, I attended the reception of some friends whose 30-year-old son just got married.

I've known this young man since he was seven years old, and when I was invited to what I thought was an engagement party, I was happy to accept. But as I was chatting with the mother, I asked when the wedding was going to be. "Yesterday," she said, and chuckled.

As it turns out, the couple went to a Justice of the Peace in a nearby town (the county seat) and had a small private ceremony with just the family members present. The bride wore a tea-length casual dress. The groom wore a kilt. (The family are of Scottish descent, so everyone already owned kilts and plaids, which was the theme of both the wedding and reception.)

The reception was also small and held in a local community hall with just family and close friends invited, maybe 30 people in all. It opened with a prayer by the groom's father. There was a small buffet and tea (all made by family members), and two store-bought sheet cakes (one chocolate, one white) for guests, with a small round cake for the bride and groom to cut. No music (except a Celtic playlist softly broadcast on speakers), and no photographer except the groom's talented older sister. Afterward, all the family member pitched in to wash dishes and put the community hall to rights.

It. Was. Wonderful.

Seriously, what this couple wanted was a marriage, not a wedding. They didn't go into debt and spend thousands of dollars on an elegant wedding dress, tuxedos, cake, a DJ, a wedding photographer, catered meal, or any other of the usual trappings of a wedding and big party. Instead, they were able to have a chance to accept the congratulations of their closest friends and family members in a casual and stress-free environment. Now this young couple can look forward to building their future together without debt.

(Here's a blog post I put up a couple years ago with my take on weddings, frugal or otherwise.)

I was privileged to attend this reception. I wish this lovely young couple every happiness in their future together.

Taxes, whee!

noreply@blogger.com (Patrice Lewis) — Tue, 14 Apr 2026 16:58:00 +0000

As with almost everyone else in the nation, we filed our taxes last week. I do our taxes by hand, as I have for the past 30+ years. However these days taxes don't take nearly as long to do, since (a) we retired our woodcraft business, and (b) I lost my online job a year ago February. Less money means less taxes, right?

Last year, despite a vastly reduced income, we still had to pay quarterly taxes based on the previous year's (higher) income. We had set the necessary funds aside, so this wasn't a hardship. This year though, when we met with our tax preparer, we made sure to stress our reduced income.

In the tax preparer's office, we saw this notice of "Respectful Behavior Required."

When our tax documents were prepped and ready to sign, we weren't altogether surprised to learn we're getting a modest refund. However, we still have to pay some (reduced) quarterly taxes. But here's the ironic thing: Our quarterly taxes, added up, equal the amount of our federal and state tax returns.

Seriously, they equal out almost to the dollar. What we're getting back is almost exactly what we will owe. Therefore, everything we get back will go into the account for paying the quarterlies.

Taxes, whee!

Cotton-candy season

noreply@blogger.com (Patrice Lewis) — Mon, 13 Apr 2026 19:22:00 +0000

Around here, April is what I call "cotton-candy season" for the simple reason that the wild plum trees explode with blossoms, making the hillsides look like they're covered with bits of cotton candy.

Get the sun involved (either early in the morning or late in the afternoon), and the effect is magical.

Closer up, the trees are no less enchanting.

I took some shots of the blossoms on the plum tree in our driveway.

Then we had one day of brisk wind, and that was the end of that. Without the wind, normally the falling petals coat the roadways. This year, they were mostly whisked away in shimmering showers of white. The petals were too small to photograph during this process (I tried), so all that was left was bits of petals caught in road ruts.

Cotton-candy season doesn't last long, a week or two max (which reminds me of the line "Gather ye rose-buds while ye may" from the poem "To the Virgins, to Make Much of Time").

Because everything is early this year due to our freaky-mild winter, I'm hoping it wasn't too early for the insect pollinators to do their job.

Update from Younger Daughter

noreply@blogger.com (Patrice Lewis) — Fri, 10 Apr 2026 16:44:00 +0000

Some readers have been wondering how Younger Daughter (our Navy daughter) has been doing in the wake of recent events. In fact, late last year she made a monumental life decision. I asked her to write an update, which is as follows.

_________________________________

Hello Mom's Blog Readers:

Mom's been asking when I can pass along a status update for you guys, so here goes – I'm separating from the Navy in a few months!

This was not an easy decision to make, as I have very much enjoyed my Naval career. I was selected for a special duty that I worked very hard to achieve, and I recently was also selected for board for advancement to E-7 (note that this is NOT the same as being promoted to Chief – just saying that I passed the first screening. I just can't pass off one last opportunity to brag about how good I am at taking tests).

However, in the past year there have been many, many military decisions that are beyond my comfort level. My beliefs may not align precisely with the demographic most likely to follow my mom's blog, and I am definitely not going to attempt to justify the specifics to anyone here, but my ethics and personal philosophy will not allow me to support acts I believe to be immoral. At the same time, as long as I stay in the Navy, I am under an oath to obey the orders of those appointed over me. Those two things don't go together.

(It's worth noting that this decision was made well in advance of the war in Iran, which consequently did not factor into my decision to cancel my reenlistment.)

Anyway, on to the good news! I was recently given a great job offer and will be moving to Washington State in July. It seems like a really interesting position and I'm extremely enthusiastic about it. I am particularly looking forward to being able to let my hair down (literally) and wear cute clothes at work.

This has been an extremely chaotic time for me and a very bittersweet one. I am sad for the circumstances that have led me to this decision, but I am excited for the new opportunities that civilian life will hold. I also haven't lived in the U.S. since I was 20 years old, and re-adjusting will be a whole new experience. I'll miss the espresso, but Italy just hasn't figured out how to make hashbrowns yet, so perhaps it will all balance out. – YD