my mother (Flore Steelandt Lievrouw) had an older sister: Romanie who married a Desmet here in Detroit, Michigan in the early 1920's. In fact, my father came to the United States to live in 1909 with that Desmet man - who was a friend of his in Belgium. There were several Desmets here in Michigan, because I remember them as being friends of my mother and dad.
When the large group of Belgians came to the United States in the early 1900's, many of them moved to Michigan. The climate in Michigan is not too diffeerent from what they knew in Belgium, Michigan was growing fast,and there were jobs to be had. Most of the Belgians built houses close to each otherin the Detroit area, as they could understand each other's language and customs. Most of them were freinds and went to cafes together and beer gardens.
I know that I spoke Belgian (Flemish) before I spoke English, even though I was born in Detroit, Michigan in 1919.
The Belgians were hard working people and good citizens. They very seldom got into trouble.
Now, they do not live in close areas near each other any more, as they are inter-married with people from different countries and are scattered all over as part of the melting pot of many different nationalities that make up the people of the United States.
We have tried very hard to establish if we were related, but cannot find a confirmed link. I love Jeanine Desmet and Paul Lievrouw. We seemed like family right away when they came to visit. Such good people. They knew my cousin Maria Hoffman Lievrouw, who had homes in both Brussels and Dentergem.
I feel we are related in the heart! Somehow, my father's parents had 19 children. My dad was the second youngest, his sister Alida being the youngest. Surely in this large family there must be some cousins somewhere! As far as I can figure out, my father (Jules) was the only one of his family who moved to America. Although Maria made many trips to visit us - and was goingt to move here before her untimely death.
In a small country like Belgium, it seems to me that some where back in time, there must have been one Lievrouw family that started it all! I am very proud of my Belgian heritage.But, I cannot discover if my father's parents had sisters or brothers or cousins - or what their backgrounds were.
I have been trying for years to trace the Lievrouw people here in the United States; but I have had no luck in finding close relatives; although I have met corresponded with many, good Lievrouws.
I do a lot of writing and am working on my Memoirs. I write a full page for the newspaper every other week about Senior citizens in this area. I would like to leave a record of what I think and feel about things for my great grandchildren. I wish I had known my grandparents.
Sometimes, during life's darkest hours, something wonderful happens to make life worth living again. That miracle occurred for Jim and Lynn Robards. While living in, Florida twenty years ago, Jim and Lynn had just gone through the heartbreak of losing their mates to cancer, leaving them both with two grown-up children. To help them cope with their losses and adjust to the tragedies that had befallen them, they attended a Hospice Rebounders program. Hospice kept track of the spouses that they had worked with and had various planned social events where they could get together It was at one of those dinners that they met each other. They were sitting opposite each other at the meal and Jim could not help but notice lovely Lynn. However, it was six months later that the attraction began to blossom. They both were part of a group that traveled to Italy, and it was while they were in a gondola on one of the famed canals that Jim proposed to Lynn and she accepted. Jim and Lynn were born in very different parts of the country. Jim was born in the Midwest in Springfield, Missouri. He was part of a large family that included his parents, his siblings, grand-parents; and plenty of aunts, uncles, and cousins; plus many friends. He enjoyed the beauty of the nearby Ozark Mountain Range and the special friendliness of the people in that wide open country. After graduating from Southwest Missouri State University, he joined the air force as a Second Lieutenant, being stationed in,England as well as in France. "I was never one of the so-called "fly boys", as I was part of administration," Robards explained. Robards spent 5-1/2 years in the air force, While stationed in France, he developed a long standing friendship with a Frenchman, Albert Bodier; a friendship which remains over the years. Jim and Lynn enjoyed their last reunion with Albert when they vacationed together in Cannes, France in 2004. "Over the years, Albert had lost a lot of his English speaking ability, and I was no longer proficient in French. So, a round-about interpretation went on as Albert spoke to Lynn in German, which she translated for me into English; and I communicated with him through Lynn. However, it all worked out and we had a wonderful time," Robards recalled. Another amusing event occurred at a dinner where we prepared luscious corn on the cob for Bodier and his family This was a new experience for the Frenchman, as field corn is served only to the pigs in France, However, Bodier tasted the steamed "human food" cobs of corn and found them delicious! After leaving the Air Force in 1968, Robards,,his wife, daughter and son settled in St.. Louis, Mo., to be near his family and the Ozarks of his boyhood. However, the big city atmosphere did not appeal to him, so he returned to the university to study Environmental Protection. This was a growing field at that time and he hoped to land a position with the Environmental Protection Agency, or secure employment in local or state government doing that type of work. Robard's first position in the environmental field was as superintendent of the potable water system for the city of Bristol, Tennessee, his first introduction to the Appalachian Mountains. His natural instincts had properly led him to an occupation which would become of paramount importance with the increasing problem of global warming and the shortage of potable drinking water throughout the world. So, Jim became one of the pioneers in this important field. While employed in Briatol,he was perusing a trade magazine dedicated to his field of work when he came across an ad for a job in Florida that looked interesting to him. He applied and accepted the position of setting up the potable water system in Orange County in the aftermath of the opening of Disney World in Orlando. People said that it couldn't be done and the project would never fly, but Jim was instrumental in the purchasing of myriad private holdings and the successful development of the first master plan for the Orange County Potable Water System. Jim and his family moved to Winter Park, where he held various positions with The Orlando Utilities Commission and retired from that city as Manager of Utilities. While working in that capacity, he wore many hats, including that of Assistant City Manager. Lynn, on the other hand, was an only chil,d, born in the Bronx, New York. "I was a first generation American. My mother and father met on shipboard coming to America from Germany. This romance ended all too soon, as my father died at a very young age. He was a plumber and developed lead poisoning; first losing his foot, then his leg, and finally his life. I lived with my mother in a poor neighborhood, but had a happy childhood because it never occurred to me that we were poor," Lynn recalled. 'We lived in a society of German and Italian families, with street vendors and al; and it was an exciting life. I learned to speak German at home, and English on the streets, which makes it difficult to detect any type of accent in either language when I speak," Lynn recalled. Lynn attended high school in Manhattan and then went on to Brooklyn College. She then married George and moved to Wantagh, Long Island with her husband and her two sons. On their last trip to Europe, the Robards visited East Germany where Lynn met the relatives on her mother's side for the first time. These were relatives who had lived in the Eastern Zone of Germany all through the war and beyond. "My husband George sold meat and produce and other supplies to his many customers and I grew up in that atmosphere. So, when we moved to Winter Park, Florida in 1979, (my mother was living in Daytona Beach at the time and later moved in with us in 1983,) George continued to carry on that type of work. selling banquet items to hotels country clubs and restaurants in the Orlando area When her husband developed cancer, she took over the sales end of the business and enjoyed several successful years in that field before retiring. While living in Winter Park, Jim became involved in Rotary through the encouragement of a close friend and neighbor. Over the years, the Robards opened their home to Rotarian guests from many countries: including Africa. South America, India, Australia, Europe, South Africa and Central America. Jim and Lynn are now both Rotarians and are active with the Pisgah Forest Rotary Club. Jim has been a Rotarian for 27 years and is President Elect ,to be inducted into that office at the end of June of this year. To celebrate Jim's retirement, Lynn put together "The Trip of a Lifetime", with the help of Rotarian friends in many countries. Their original destination was Stuttgart, Germany. However, they started the trip in Johannesburg, South Africa, spent a few days in Kruger Wild Animal Park, with trips to Port Elizabeth, The Garden Route, and Capetown; all arranged by Rotarian friends. It seemed perfectly natural to them to go to Germany via South Africa! Since that time they have taken trips to Costa Rica, Australia, New Zealand and Alaska, as well as many other trips within the United States. In 1997 the Robards bought a summer house in Ellijay, Georgia and found that the mountains were where they really wanted to be. The heat in that area bothered them, so they kept looking for a place in Western North Carolina. "The minute we drove through the gates of Connestee Falls in September of 2001, we knew that we had found our "little piece of heaven!" said Lynn. Here they have been involved in many activities, both in Brevard and on their mountain.They are involved with Community Theatre and are both active in CATS (Connestee Amateur Theatre Society) and BLT (Brevard Little Theatre), as stage managers, lighting and sound technicians, on play reading committees, and they even had a few "on stage" appearances. Recently, Lynn was asked to be Team Captain for the Relay For Life Celebration this May As an old time, as well as a recent survivor of cancer, she willingly accepted that challenge for the Pisgah Forest Rotary Club. Jim is a member of the Transylvania County Appearance Initiative and enjoys "do it yourself" projects, from complete house remodeling to restoring antique clocks and furniture. Lynn's son is a Geo-Chemist/Oceanographer and works for the U..S. Geological Survey in Menlo Park, California. He and his physician wife live in El Granada on the coast. Lynn's younger son died in 2003, leaving behind a wonderful wife and a delightful 15 year old son. They live In Boynton Beach, Florida. Jim's daughter, Nancy, is a published author with seven books of women's literature to her credit. She and her husband and their 14 year old daughter live in Orlando, Florida. Jim's son, Jay, lives in Springfield Missouri and works in real estate, as wel as in social work. Altogether, the Robards have successfully built a very happy second marriage, after suffering the tragedies of their spouses succumbing to cancer. Lorraine Miller
My Memories of the Hanselman Family & McDonald Island
My Memories of the Hanselman Family & McDonald Island
PART I - RENTED COTTAGES FROM ED McDONALD
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Searching way back in my memory, I can recall our first visit to McDonald Island in the Flats. It was in 1927 and I was eight years old. My folks were Flore & Jules Lievrouw.
My mother's oldest sister (Romanie Steelandt DeSmet) had rented a cottage on the island and we went to visit her We fell under the island's charm, and eventully took over her rental..
At that time, there were three cottages downstream from the two-story farmhouse that belonged to Ed McDonald, one of the founders of the island. First was a cottage (white with red trim) that was rented by a family called Williams. Second building downstream, (white with green trim), was rented by a family called Hanselman. The third building downstream, (white with red trim and next to the two-story farmhouse of Zeke McDonald) was the one rented by my aunt, Romanie.
These cottages were small single story buildings that Ed had built. .Each one had a screened porch in the front toward the water.
My memories of Romanie was that she was a rather stern stout woman, with white hair. I was always a little afraid of her, and don't remember ever being very close to her. Every one called her "Mother", which I never could understand.
These three cottages did not have a dock or breakwalls in front of them. I remember rushes growing along the edge of the shore .The only dock that was standing was a large one in front of Ed McDonald's house.
It was in these shallow waters of the channel that I learned to swim. I remember I was swimming with water-wings.These were rubber balloon-like affairs, hooked under my ams to keep me afloat. Suddenly I saw the water wings floating down the river with the curent and I realized that I could swim, all by myself!
Every one used Ed's dock and he did not seem to mind. He was very easy going, kind, and friendly. He made us all feel at home.
WE MEET THE HANSELMANS
While living in my aunt's former cottage, my folks got to know the next door neighbors, the Hanselman family. They had two children, Geraldine who was a little older than I, and Jack who was five or six years younger.
They soon got to be good friends - and when my mother and dad rented a cottage from Ed McDonald (one house upstream from his place), My dad, Jules Lievrouw, and John Hanselman started fishing together every day.
MR. HANSELMAN'S BIG WOODEN BOAT
John Hanselman had purchased a very strong deep wooden open boat at a police auction. This boat was part of those that the police had confiscated when arresting rum-runners. During Prohibition, there was quite a traffic in rum runnimg from Michigan to Canada, so there were may boats to pick from. Hanselman's sturdy boat was great for all kinds of activities and for transporting big items to the island.
Hanselman had an outboard motor on his boat - and, he was one of the few people on the island to own a motor. I remember that there was a short little wooden platform at the foot of the Williams cottage and that Hanselman used to keep his boat there.
WE RENT A COTTAGE UPSTREAM
About 1930, we rented a cottage from Ed McDonald ourselves .During the Depression years, times were tough for all of us. I can remember that we were paying Ed $50.00 for a year's rent: but when we could no longer afford that amount, he allowed us to stay there in return for maintaining the place.
FUN FOR ALL THE CHILDREN
Ed McDonald had quite a lot of land around his place. And. we children used the space to play baseball, tag. and other games. He even made us a little golf course by burying soup cans in the ground for golf cups.
There were huge willow trees all around; and we kids gathered old wood and made a tree house in one of them. Then, we hung a rope from that structure, and would play "Tarzan". We would swing on the rope out over the water, shouting the "Tarzan yell", and drop into the shallows of the Middle Channel.
Children were always hanging around his property and his dock and he never minded it. We were constantly swimming off his dock, or sunning on the platform at the end. He even built a screened area on that platform , so folks could sit there at night and not be eaten up by mosquitoes. Those of you who know the "Flats" know how hordes of those creatures would descend upon those unlucky enough to be outside in the early evening.
Our cottage and the first one upstream from us (owned by the Helm family) were very close to the water's edge. We had a nice sandy beach in front of our place, which was just perfect for nightly bonfires. It was depression time and there were not very many goodies for us to cook over the flames, but we always could scrounge up some potatoes or other items our families could contribute. We would sit there in the firelight's glow, and sing songs and just be children!.
ED McDONALD'S BOAT & EXCURSIONS
Ed McDonald had a larger boat, with an in-board motor.and a seat that went all around the rounded back. This was called the Jackie-Mac, after his son. He would often take a group of us with him when he made trips to Sans Souci on the South Channel.. That was a real excursion for us! One time he even let us accompany him and hiswife, Edith, to Algonac to buy provisions.
At that time, Algonac had old wooden stores along the shore. These stores had docks in the back and doors that opened into the stores from the docks. Henry's was a little gas-station affair which later started it's food business as a hamburger place. In later years, it long enjoyed a reputation for miles around for its pikerel (walleye) dinners.
Algonac, on the St. Clair River - and, Sans Souci on the South Channel - were much more populated and commercial than we were on our little island. So, we children, always considered it a big event to visit those places. Algonac's waterfront has changed a lot since those days. However, when I made a visit to Sans Souci on Harsen's Island in 2000, I was quite surprised to find that the downtown area of Sans Souci had not changed all that much.
SWIMMING - ALWAYS SWIMMING
We spent most of the long summer days in the water, or sunning ourselves on the dock. No one had ever heard of the sun doing any damage to our skin. In fact, the deeper the tan, the healthier you were presumed to be.
I have a snapshot of Jackie Hanselman, at a young age, standing on the dock afraid to jump in the water. And, I can't say I blamed him. It was on Memorial Day and the water was icy cold! .It was our habit to jump in the water (and quickly jump out) each Memorial Day. We older children had all jumped in - and we started teasing the younger Jackie about being afraid to jump in the water.
At that time, bathing suits, for males and females alike, were one-piece woolen affairs strung from our shoulders by straps. His had a kitten embroidered on the chest of his suit. His explanation to his tormentors was: "I'm not afraid - I just don't want to get my kitty wet". I rmeember that to this day!
I don't know how we endured the cold water at the end of May, because it was always still cold by the 4th of July!
We built a raft out of scrap wood, which the older youngsters would float on in the channel. Our favorite activity was tag. I can remember one time when I dove off to escape being "it" and almost broke my neck. I did not realize the raft had floated into shallow water. I dove straight down and hit my head on the hard, sandy bottom. I remember, also, that I was reeling around in a dizzy state; but never told my mother. Then, as now, young ones keep the news of such escapades from their folks.
WALKING ACROSS THE MARSH TO THE BAY
At that time, the water was low, the marsh behind us was dry and we had a well-worn path acrosss the back of the island to Long Pointe Bay.(This path was just behind Ed McDonald's place). We young people made many excursions across the island to escape to this secluded area.
The "marsh" was so dry, that one time it burst into a huge fire. It came close to the back of our cottages; and I can remember we were all out there beating at the flames with brooms, old carpets and blankets. We had no running water.. We were fortunate to extingguish the flames and save our cottages.
JOHN HANSELMAN, SR.
I remember John Hanselman as a rather large man. He and my father were buddies and did a lot of luaghing and joking, but he always seemed serious to me. He never said much to me. I can remember I always called him Mr.and his wife, Mrs. (In those days, children never addressed their elders by their frist names).
MRS. HANSELMAN
She was a pretty, slight, peaceful, quiet woman. She and my mother were buddies and they talked about a lot of things. I can remember that she had short brown hair which hung around her face in deep waves It was coifed in the popular style of the "bob".
She and my mother both loved to sing; mostly light opera. When we were at our house in Detroit, I would play the piano and they both would sing. I remember, in particular, their singing: "Ah, Sweet Mystery of Life At Last I've Found You." Most of the rest of the words escape me, except
"'Ah, at last I know the meaning of it all. All the longing, wondering, burning, yearning. The grief and bitter tears that fall. Ah, this love and love alone the world is seeking. And, it's love and love alone that will remain. Tis the end and all the meaning of living. For it is love and love alone that rules for aye":
They both would passionately sing their hearts out!
GERALDINE & JACK HANSELMAN
Geraldine Hanselman seemed to be in the cottage with her mother most of the time, so it was the younger brother, Jack, that I got to know the best. He always hung around with the gang of children that congregatesd around Ed's property and dock. Ed's son, Jack, was his age and those two were the greatest of friends and always seen together. .Although, his father had a curfew that he had to be in the house by dark, when he was younger and could not be part of our fireside fun, he was around most of the day.
WEEKLY DRIVE TO THE COTTAGE
Before Harsen's island had a road (of sorts) on the Middle Channel, we would leave our cars at the foot of Mr.Taft's grocery store in Algonac,, and go by speedboat to McDonald's Island. The Champion boys were young men and they had speedboats which they used to ferry people from Taft's to Dickindon's Island and McDonald's Island. They even drove people to Harsen's and to Muskamoot Bay area.
John Hanselman had a big old black 7-passenger Packard. Our two families would drive together to the island every weekend. Mr. Hanselman and my father in the front seats. Mrs. Hanselman and my mother and Geraldine in the backseat, Jack and I on the little pull out jump seats, and our white Spitz dog,, Nellie, on the floor between us.
Every time the dog would stand up, my mother would tell her to sit down in Flemish (Belgian) which sounded like ZET YOU NAYRAH. I can remember one time Jackie telling the dog:"Nellie, sit on your tomatoe".
We made many stops on the way to our debarking spot - At a farmer's for produce, at Stahl's in New Baltimore for read, at another farmer's for eggs - and, on and on. In my articles about the Flats on the Lorraine's pages (St.Cliar Flats) website, I tell about how we children used to press out noses to Mr. Taft's candy glass-topped cabinets to buy our penny candy.
Another thing I remember is that when we children got bored on the long car trips (there were no expressways) the folks would tell us to "count the cows". And, we did - there were many cows to count on that trip!
HOLIDAYS WITH THE HANSELMANS
We always had Thanksgiving and Christmas dinners together at our homes in Detroit. We lived at 5035 Somerst near E. Warren and they lived o Saratoga (14821 comes to mind) near Chalmers & Gratiot.
We were like family. My folks even took a couple vacations with them, going up north to Chebygan to fish for the big perch! In retrospect, I now believe that it was a good opportunity to get away from us young ones.
FISHING - MY FOLKS AND THE HANSELMANS
Every evening, the four of them would get into Mr. Hanselman's boat and go surface trolling, or still fishing, across the channel on the Harsen's Island channel bank. They were after Walleye, in particular, because that is where they were usually running.
When the fishing was particuarly good, they did not want to come back to the house if they felt the call of nature. One time, Mr. Hanselman had a particularly strong urge. They were in a quandry as to what to do. My father told him, "John, why don't you sit on the minnow pail and go there?" He did and was in that process when a boatload of their freinds came by. One of the friends hollered over: "How are you doing , John?" John answered: "Not much." And my father, ever the helpful one said: "What do you mean, not much. You've almost filled the pail". I heard this story amidst great hilarity when they got back to shore.
One time there was a deep hole on our island side of the channel, almost in front of our cottage. Hanselman and my father anchored there one day and ran into a big school of bass. They were catching one after another, while every one on the island knew what luck they were having.
They knew that if they ever gave up the spot, someone else would claim it immediately. So, they called to us to row a little boat out to them with food, etc., and just stayed there! When they had to heed the call of nature, they would leave one person there, while the other came into the outhouse on shore.
Ah yes, those were the days. And I have snapshots of them holding huge stringers of big fish when they arrived back on the island.
THE HURRICANE OF 1933
I have documented this thoroughly in my writings on Peter Meek's website: under St. Clair Flats, or Lorraine's Pages.
Anyway, my folks and the Hanselman's came rushing up to the island. I had been at our cottage with two of my high school girlfriends, and they were worried sick about us when they heard the news of the storm.. In assessing the damage, we went (upstream) across the swampy area where we had put wooden planks as little docks. This area was between the Helm cottage and the 2-story farm house which the Hanselman family eventually bought.
Trees and tree limbs were down, all around that place, but our cottage and the Helm place took a lot more of the damage.
What a memorable day! It will stand out in my memory and brighten up the pages of my Memoirs.Twenty-four members of three separate branches of the Red Hatter's Society joined forces to invade the secluded, magnificent, delightful grounds of Lake Toxaway today.
Lake Toxaway is a private gated community in the Appalachian mountains of Southwestern North Carolina. It has much historical significance as the favorite summer playground of Henry Ford, Sr., Thomas Edison, Harvey Firestone, and others of that ilk. In fact, Ford, Edison and Firestone made this their summer retreat (camping in tents on their first visit) long before there were roads, air strips, or other easy means of access to this spot.
Through their efforts, as well as those of other socially elite of that era, a railroad was built to accomodate these visitors, a small river was dammed to create a large lake, and the area became the playground of the rich and powerful.
A destructive series of rainstorms dropped so much water in a short seven day span of 1916 that the dam was broken,.Tthe floodwaters ravished the communities lying downhill of the lake, killing countless people in their path.This tragedy devestated that Lake Toxaway community and its enormous Inn, which had been created for the comfort of the wealthy visitors of the time.
It was many years before the dam was rebuilt and the man-made lake resumed its previous proportions. The home of the wealthy Moltz family was restored and is now the world renowned Greystone four star Inn.
But, let's get back to today and the saga of how two dozen Red Hatters invaded this sanctuary. I know this day will go down in my memory as one of the special times in my life.
We gals, all retired residents of Connestee Falls, met at our swimming pool parking lot where we were then transported to Toxaway by generous friends who volunteered to drive us in their multi-seated vehicles.
When I arrived at the parking lot, my heart and spirit were immediately lifted as I saw my friends dressed up in their finery: Big fancy red hats, purple dresses, red and purple shoes, bags, scarves, boas, and jewelry. What a fun group! How delightful that we still are enchanted with dressing up and just cutting loose to have a good time!
Our particular driver, Faith Walters, had a new vehicle with only 138 miles on it when we left the parking lot. As my son drove me up to her car, mirth started bubbling within me, as I knew I was part of a group of gals that enjoy life and are fun to be with.
We took the back roads on our trip, winding around and around mountain areas, and luxuriating in the sight of countless flowering trees and bushes. Even the weather cooperated; yesterday was a rainy blustery day, but today was full of sunshine and laughter. True it was a bit nippy, but we were dressed for the occasion amidst our Red Hatter attire and baubles and beads. You needn't think that retired women in 2005 are old fuddy-duddies! Nay, not so. In fact we are a lively, fun-loving group that congregate on a monthly basis to enjoy life.
We entered the Lake Toxaway area through a gated manned security post, similar to ours at Connestee Falls.. A very polite, albeit slightly amused (as is every one who confronts our red-hatters en masse), proceeded to give us a long dissertation on how to reach the club house. Of course, being us, we were polite but paid absolutely no attention to the instructions, preferring to follow the well posted route signs.
We gathered at the Greystone Inn, got a little guided tour of the rooms and facilities, treked our way down stone steps and flagstone covered walkways to the dock area. (The flagstones were obviously planned to accomodate more long-legged souls than I; because - try as I might - I had to insert an additional step between many of those stones. Besides, my new red shoes were determined to flop up and down at the heel and I was forced to toddle along as best I could with that handicap.
We passed a couple little kayaks and canoes, which I laughlingly referred to as our accomodations for the lake ride. Of course, I knew that we would enjoy a large electric-motored boat, that not only was glass-enclosed, but also heated. And, large enough to hold all 24 of us, plus the attractive young driver! To top that off, we each received a champagne flute of bubbly to further lift our spirits. We even got refillls to provide a special happy hour.
As we cruised around the edge of the lake, our pilot gave us a running commentary of the history of the area as well as pointing out the features of the imposing summer homes that lined the shores. Lots on the lake sell for a minimum of One Million Dollars today, so those who were in the process of building their vacation get-aways were also the owners of mucho bucks.
The lake was a little choppy; I saw a tiny baby white cap here and there, but nothing to challenge the smooth ride of this lovely cruise boat. The wind was doing its best to slap along the side of the craft and occasionally did mysteriously open a part of the roof-top to the elements;, but, not to worry, we were safe as a creature inside a cocoon. It was a cruise to tuck back into the recesses of your memory, and trot out again and again in the future, to relive that experience with pleasure.
Too soon, we docked back into the boathouse and crawled up the little steps on to the dock. Willing, helping hands were there to assist you if you faltered. However, I and my cohorts were determined to step as lively as possible.
Then began the trek up a seemingly endless group of winding stone steps toward the inn and the dining room which was opened especially for our luncheons. Three large tables were set up in this sunny glassed-in porch on the lake to accomodate our two dozen fine-feathered hatters. Every thing was served in appetizing presentations - I tasted mine and declared it to be excellent. Turkey-rice soup, followed by large turkey sandwiches, potato salad and cold-slawl Now just listing these servings does not sound tremendously exciting; but what made them special was the way they were served and how appetizing they were. Even the large white napkins were starched to the nines.
Our dessert was chocolate nut torte, surrounded by raspberries and blackberries - all esconced on a pattern of chocolate sauce. We chattered like magpies as we enjoyed the luncheon.
It always amuses me to see the faces, of those who we encounter, light up with joy at the sight of this group of gals of a certain age. I am sure that the others feel, as I do, that we represent the lively spirit of the retirees of this day.At least, it represents the light heartedness of ladies who enjoy the company of a group that is determined to squeeze as much "joie to vivre" out of each day as possible.
We drove back to our beloved Connestee, happy and bubbly - like the champagne we imbibed on our fun boat trip on a beautituf spring day in the mountains of North Carolina.
Dire preductions - our weather station thrives on them. But, then again, they must keep us tuned in to their station, right?
This is the snowiest winter, since I have been in North Carolina. (Or, as my northern friends who have moved to Brevard remark about our NC snow - "What snow?")
This afternoon, I took a little nap in front of a cozy, warming log-burning fireplace. Suddenly, I awoke to see the view outside my glassed-in sliding doors. Snow coming down at a rate that I had not seen since I moved to this blessed corner of the world.
The snowflakes were not just drifting down aimlessly, or fluttering away in the beeze. They were really coming down - by my local standards. I thought, "Well, here it is. A true snowfall blanketing the ground around my house." Trees and bushes were overladen with white blankets, like comforters. This was it! Bullel-dodging was a thing of the past.
Then suddenly, it was over - and the coverlet of white was melting away. Just in the period of an hour or so, the trees, bushes, grass, and roadside had lost their winter-wear and were lush and green once more.
All in all, the weather has been topsy-turvy thie last couple years acorss the United States. We have grown up to expect certain patterns to occur and, strangely, the patterns have changed!
I remember when I lived in South Carolina during World War II, that it was a rare occasion when it would snow. A few lonely snowflakes would fall. So rare, that our neighbors would run outside to see the phenomena of white crystals which would disappear upon hitting the warm soil of the ground..This year they. too, have been pelted with snowfall in parts of South Carolina.
But, nothing like the snow and ice that has descended upon Charlotte and Raleigh-Durham in 2004. We, in the southwestern portion of the Appalachian mountain area, have dodged the bullet, once more. The predicted deep snows have gone around us - either to the West or to the East. Thank goodness!
Once you have driven your way through a Northern blizzard or "white out", you have a deep understanding of SNOW. I can remember years of driving through the northern states during swirling, stinging blizzards of unending snowfalls. Worst of all, to me, were the white=outs. You would be driving along the expressway, when all of a sudden you would be confronted with a solid white wall ahead of you - with a blizzard so dense that you could not see any thing ahead except white. .
I can also remember Northern winters when the snowplows had pushed the white stuff to the sides of the roads, building it up in banks so high that you could not see above them, or around a corner. Pieces of red material tied to your antenna did help other drivers, approaching the intersection, to know of your presence.
My last full witer in a Northern state, convinced me to move to more temperate slimates. It snowed, about three feet or so, on Otober 13th and I did not see the grass until the end of March. The first time it appeared, lush and green, was over my septc tank. There were many times when I was a prisoner in my own home, unable to walk outside without the fear of falling.
So, to all of you who complain about our snow-dustings, I say "What snow?"
Snowflake Dusting Takes Me Back to Christmas Long Ago
It was beautiful today, the fine coating of white snow sparkling in the sunshine. The evergreens and the glossy clusters on the Rhododendron wore little white berets; not hats, but small coverlets of puffs. Puffs which reminded me of Christmas trees of long ago during the 20's and the Great Depression of the 30's.. It was not nature that put those finishing white puffs there. Oh no, it was done by human hands, in a vain effort to mimic the beauty of winter's icy fingers on the very tips of the trees.
During the 1920's, there were no trees growing in our subdivision in the rural east side of Detroit. The woods which had held trilliums, ferns, camomile, violets and jack-in-the-pulpits had been thoroughly scoured clean to the bare bosom of the earth. Not a single tree had been left standing. Where we children had run home in fright when we saw a colored gypsy wagon, there were now more houses being built, as well as an elementary school., There were now rows of houses on 40 ft. wide lots sprouting up like mushrooms. Our dirt roads, yet to be paved, led to much mud tracking in to our new homes.
So, being treeless for miles in every direction, we bought our Christmas tree from a man who had set up shop on the empty lot next to our house. I would watch each day as fat evergreens, full of thick branches, were carted away. I made it my business to inform my Dad that soon there would be none left. He assured me that there would be some left by Christmas Eve; and, besides, he was not going to pay $5.00 for a tree to later be thrown away.
He was right. As Christmas was upon us, when the man started dismantling his remaining meager bunch of trees from his sales lot, there were a few scroungy ones left. They were the lop-sided ones (which could be turned toward the wall to hide the imperfections.) There were also trees with very few branches - skinny and pitiful looking, I thought.
Besides, when the man would not donate them to anyone who wanted to cart them away, he did accept a dollar or two to clear out the stragglers..
But Dad assured me that there would be less work in trimming the tree, less areas to hang gaily colored glass balls and garlands of silver and gold. These garlands, retreived from many previous years, were almost stripped bare but they still would hide empty spots. Well, almost hide those spots.
And, besides, he said we could always put puffs of cotton batting on the tips of the branches to make them look like they had been touched by the snow fairy.
There were no electrified raindeer, or Santas, or sleighs lighting up our front yard. Progress had not yet invented outdoor decorating, so we concentrated on the little tree. We hung the strings of colored lights, great big hot-burning bulbs which had the unfortunate habit of giving out once they were festooned around the tree.
If one bulb died, the whole string went out. This led to much frantic scrambling to unstring the recalcitrant line - if you could find it. These exasperating faulty lights were the ones that did not show up when we tested the lines before putting them on the tree. No, they had to wait until the tree had many other decorations put on it, befeore they decided to extinguish their lights!
The decorations were delicate glass marvels of craftsmnship; which unfortunately broke into many sharp pieces if they fell off of those wire contraptions that were attached to the tree. We saved these wires from year to year and they got rather worn, sprung out, and tired after a while.
Nothing was ever thrown out that could be of any possible use in the coming years That's why we had an overflowing attic and basement; full of cupboards and shelves my Dad had built! (Maybe that is why I squirrel away paper clips and hairpins, and such. In those days, when you were trained, you stayed trained!.
I knew Santa Claus would come, even if he was too roly-poly to shinny down our tiny fireplace. Hadn't he brought me a baby doll the year before and left his huge foot prints on the snow of our front porch, even dragging some into the front room and directly to the tree? I saw the footprints with my own eyes, when I sneaked out of bed just after midnight to take a peak and check up on him. There was a Santa Claus!
Which leads me to the puff balls, We put little shreds of cotton batting on the tips of the branches to resemble fallen snow. And that is what I remembered today when I saw the tips of the trees festooned in the same manner.
I could write reams about the evolution of Chistmas trees from that time to the present. Remember these trees, from the whitewashed beauties to those awful aluminum trees which folded up like umbrellas when the season was over?
Years later ,in the 70's, I had a table-sized aluminum affair in my diving room for the grandchildren. This was decorated entirely with sports-minded Santas. Some figures were playing tennis, skiing, at bat, skating. They were all delightfully stuffed in their little red velvet suits.
One year I decided to let the little ones hang up their own Santas on that tree. You guessed it, They hung them all on one side and that monstrous aluminum thing toppled over. Of course, Santas stuffed into red velvet suits did not shatter into little pieces when dropped from their perches. So, the little ones were a little more skilled in hanging the Santas on the second try, and the little tree stood upright, replete with fat sports figures.
But, no puff balls. That fire hazard was soon replaced by silver icycles which left a terrible mess for my poor mother to clean up. Although we carefully saved the silver icycles for future years, my mother was still discovering one or two the next summer.
Like a child, the memories kept flooding back to me, as I saw the little white berets on the tips of the trees and bushes today, and I was enchanted.
Stately Trees With Mantles Of Delicate Green, Bushes in Flaming Colors, And Myriads of Flowers Bring Soul-Stirring Beauty To These Blessed Mountains
I jumped the gun again! So eager am I to welcome each new season, that I want to hurry the process along - thinking Spring has arrived, when it is just beginning its cycle of beauty! Each day I survey my little domain, watching the leaves unfurl, and marvelling at the consistency of nature. The world may be in turmoil, but life goes on - just as it always has. The continuity makes me feel that all will soon be as it should be.
I really love nature's bounty. tt seems more plentiful to me, here in these mountains - than I have ever felt before. Maybe with the passage of the years, I can more fully appreciate the glory that surrounds me. And, in retirement, I have the time to absorb it.
Today, we drove from Brevard to Asheville. What an inspiring drive that is! The mountains surround you and seem to encircle you with delicate loveliness and strength, at the same time. Such a feeling of peace comes over you. I wish that every one in the world could know this joy, especially in this time of so much turmoil. death and destruction that clouds the peace of so many areas of the world.
Yes, I believe that Spring has finally arrived with all its pale green finery, and the fields bursting with jubliant colors. It fills my heart with the hope that all will be as it should be - a world of brotherhood, tolerance, and beauty. Despite the mess that mortals make of our world, the earth still moves in its cycles and Spring brings new birth. just as it always has, and we feel comforted.
World War II ah, yes, I remember it well. I can easily recall the feeling of foreboding, in 1939, when the US passed the bill authorizing the Selective Service (I felt the same stirring of emotion when I read in this yer's July issue of Family Crcle that the US was again discussing the possibility of a draft for all men and women eighteen years of age to 44.)
Detroit was gearing up as the Arsenal of Democracy and in 1940 I was in the midst of it. Fresh from the University of Michigan, I was one of the few women from my class to enter the workplace. As Secretary to the Chief Odnance Engineer of the 20mm. Oerlikon Anti-Aircraft Gun, I was right in the middle of this secret government work.
On that fateful Sunday, December 7th, 1941, my husband and I were driving to Ann Arbor to see his parents. We heard the news of the attack on Pearl Harbor on the car radio and were dumbstruck. How could this have happened to the USA - an unprovoked attack that destroyed much of our naval fleet? We listened in disbelief, as the dreadful words entered our consciousness.
We knew that war was brewing; but we thought that the U.S. would be able to choose the time and place to enter the fray. Actually, it never had occurred to us that we would be so vulnerable - and that the initial cost would be so high.
In one Sunday morning's time, our whole world was turned topsy-turvy. From that moment on, every thing in our lives changed. The Draft was nipping at the heels of all the young men; and their women dreaded going to the mail box to receive that letter of "Greetings" from the government.
I can well understand how the military wives of today are constantly tortured in their minds. I know their anguish about the welfare of their men, as they struggle to maintain the daily life of themselves and their children.
Five weeks after my first child was born, my husband was inducted into the U.S. Air Force at Fort Sheridan in Chicago.
The $50.00 per month allowance I received as a service man's wife, could not pay my bills. The rent on the house we were living in was $50.00 per month. And, that did not include the cost of utilities - or any other living expenses.
I did, as so many other young mothers were forced to do, moved in with my parents. In my case, this was not easy on grandma and grandpa. I, their only child, was born when they were in their 40's; and, by this time, they had put in a full lifetime of hard work and were ready to retire.
But, we were a nation united in spirit and resolve, and there was very little grumbling. Almost all of the able-bodied men were in the service. I remember the old song: "They're either too young or too old - they're either too gray or too grassy green". It was a strange world without young men.
If you lived in an area where there were no military facilities, you found that almost all young males were gone.Since most of the military facilities were on the coasts or in the south, the north was devoid of any young men.Those women who could work outside the home went to work in the factories. Their lives were all forever changed, too.
Life was so different. We were faced with rationing - something new to us. There were ration stamps for gasoline, butter, cheese, fats, meat, and so many other items we had previously taken for granted.
Manufacturing of domestic items had practically stopped - no more new cars, appliances, furniture, rubber nipples for baby bottles, paper, metals of any types, safety pins, nylons . No more rubber for automobile tires; we had to have the tires recapped over and over.The list went on and on.
All the baby items, like baby buggies, play pens and other manufactured items were no longer being made. Every thing had to be bought second hand.
In those days we had cloth diapers for babies; and I can remember that large safety pins had to be hoarded, as you could not buy new ones.. Even after they became rusty and decrepit, we pressed them into service. I soon learned that these pins could be stored in soft bars of soap and could be made usable. Of course, they left big rusty marks on the diapers; but, at least, they served the purpose.
Rubber pants were no longer available, either. So, we knitted wool "soakers" to try to confine the problem. Soakers was a good name for them. they just soaked up the leakage until they were full, and then the major dripping would start over any person or surface that were in contact with them..
You could not buy new baby bottles, so my son's habit of tossing the empties over the side of the crib caused great concern as glass went shattering all over the floor. And, woe be onto you, if the baby chewed through the worn out rubber nipple, there were no replacements to be had.
The fact that shoes were rationed to two pairs per year was not a hardship for me, at all. I had no money to buy two pairs of shoes in one year!
Every household that had a member in the service displayed an emblem with a blue star in the front window. If the service person perished, you received an emblem with a gold star. Thus, The Gold Star Mothers.
My mother and I taught knitting at the Red Cross to make woolen socks and gloves and scarves, to keep the overseas soldiers warm. My mother who had learned to knit in Europe, taught me - and we taught all the Red Cross volunteers the same method. The only trouble was that the European style of knitting puts all the stitches on the needle backwards. But, this style of knitting allowed you to tuck both knitting needles under your arms, and all your fingers were free to fly like the wind. I wonder how many of today's knitters, who were taught by their mothers and grandmothers, are unwittingly putting all their stitches on backwards?
There were no cell phones or other modern methods of communication that we enjoy today. When my step-son was in Kuwait, during The Desert Storm in the 80's, we would fax each other whenever possible.
At the time of World War II. you depended upon the mail. You sent your letters to an A.P.O. address when your serviceman was overseas. All letters were censored, which often delayed their receipt.
Many messages were delivered to us by "wire" (telegrams), with a messenger ringing the doorbell to deliver the message to you. This was quite the fearsome moment when you saw the uniformed man approach your door, as this was the method usually used to deliver news of someone's death.
There were written reports in newspapers and magazines by War Correspondents to tell us the news from the battlegrounds. We did receive radio reports, but there were no graphic daily television programs to bring the war into our living rooms.
The movies had News Reels to show different events; and many movies were made to stir up patriotism - as well as to vilify the enemy. Many innocent people who had emigrated to the U.S. from countries with which we were now at war, were ostracized. All Japanese citizens on our west coast were put into Special Detention Camps. Many innocent people suffered from discrimination.
It was a "far-away" war, but our hearts were filled with constant worry. During the years between 1941 and 1945, our lives were changed forever.
V-E Day (Victory in Europe) and V-J Day (Victory in Japan) were occasions for unfettered joy. People all over the United States joined in the celebrations. I was fortunate enough to be at Fort Benning, Georgia, when V-J and the end of all hostilities was announced. You never saw any thing like it! Guards left their stations, and all personnel just took off from the base without leave. There was no army protocol left, even the guards took off and left their stations unmanned. Everyone just jumped into any car that was available for the jubilant ride to the nearby city of Columbus. Cars streamed into Columbus for unfettered celebrations., The jubilance went on all night long. I'll never forget it. I have always been grateful that I was there and part of an unforgettable night.
When we returned to the base at Fort Benning by dawn's early light, the gates were wide open and we all just sailed through the guard stations with no one to say: "Halt, Who Goes There?" Next morning, we all just resumed our duties. I was assistant general manager of the Fort Benning Guest House, at the time. I took the job because I got free room and board and was allowed to keep my infant son with me. My immediate boss had urged me to flee the base with the rest of the jubliant horde and promised to look aftr the baby,, so she was not the least bit upset that I had gone AWOL! All she wanted to hear, when I finally got out of my little army cot the next morning, was all the details of the celebration in Columbus, Georgia the night before!
Actually, there were very few acts of vandalism during the festivities, and very little crime I saw very little drunkenness. Every one celebrating there was just a part of an enormous victory party and happy to be part of the jubliant crowd. It is one night of my life that is firmly etched into my memory and that I will never forget!
About running home to my mother when I was upset. That was my refuge, when the events of the world and World War II would become ubearable.
I was an only child and greatly treasured by my parents.. My mother was 40 years old when I was born. This was pretty unusual at that time for a woman to have her first baby at that age. but, she did not get married until she was 39 years old. When she was pregnant, my father was in the World War I service; and mother barely made it through that 1918 flu,while carrying me.
I was born on April 6, 1919 at home - as was the custom in those days. People did not run to hospitals as they do now. The doctor filled out my birth certificate: My mother had named me Lorraine Lillian. He goofed it up as Lillian Lorraine. My mother refused to call me Lillian: She said:"No doctor is going to name my kid!" This has caused me a lot of confusion to this day with my official records.
One of my Dad's favorite jokes:: People did not have appendicitis in the old days in Belgium. They just had a belly ache in the middle of the night and died. Born in 1887, Dad could remember the black plaque of the pox which swept through Europe for years. He said there were big X's drawn on the doors of those who were afflicted; and he could remember the rumble of wooden carts going down the cobble stone roads carrying the dead.
My mother was born on January 18, 1879. in Roubaix, France. A linen mill town in the northern part of the country - near the Belgian border. So,she spoke beth French and Flemish.
She often recounted how she started working at 7 years old. That must have been in 1886. The Black Plaque then swept through France, too. The only job my mother could get was to wash clothes for the stricken. She said she had to stand on a box to reach the big black cauldron that stood over a wooden fire in the city square. (Her greatest heighth was 4 ft. 10", as an adult.)
The cauldron had a fire under it and she could remember scrubbing the clothes of the afflicted in the big pot on a scrub board. She was the second youngest of 13 children. Her father had died very early. He was an artisan, who made tapestries, etc.
My father was born April 15,1887 in Denterghem, Belgium (the name of the city was changed to Dentergem, after World War II). He was the second youngest of 19 children; many of whom did not survive through childhood. His father was a farmer - and he also died at a young age.
My father started to work when he was nine years old. That would have been 1896. He and his older brother, 11 years old, went to the southern part of France to work in the brick ovens. They could not understand the French language. He said they worked from dawn to dark, carrying bricks o their shoulders in big wooden hods - often up and down ladders.
(I grew up speaking those two languages and English, of course. When I started school,, I spoke English with the thick accent that my folks did, was put into a special English class, and endured the laughter of my little school mates during my formative years.
When I was at the University of Michigan, I was still embarrassed to speak in public. I would often mix up my words, when nervous. Two of the times that I can recall because I was so humiliated: I was seated in a large auditorium (Hill Auditorium) where all the social science classes would meet once a week for a lecture.
The professors lectured and we took notes; however, I had never heard any student being called to answer a question.One day, while my professor was lecturing on Russia, to my horror I heard him say: "Miss Lievrouw, would you please tell the class what influence Stalin's family had upon his young life.?"
Being singled out and asked to stand up and speak in this huge auditorium, was very upsetting to me. I arose and tried to say: "on this part of his father". However, it came out as: "On the fart of his potter".The audience roared. That was a time of relative innocence, and such a remark was unheard of. I turned red, sunk down into my seat in humiliation, and did not leave the auditorium until every one else had departed.
Another time, as a freshman, I had been invited to a fraternity formal dinner by a young man I was infatuated with at the time.I was very nervous - my first fraternity dinner, and when the watter came around and asked whether I wanted chocolate or butterscotch on my dessert: I said: "Bustercrotch, please."
Ah, those days of innocence, when a remark like that was highly out of order.
This embarrassment in speaking in public is amusing to me now. Later on, in adulthood, I lectured at Columbia University in NYC, at the Universities of Michigan, Michigan State, University of Detroit - and just about every university in the state of Michigan on Journalism.And you can throw in Ball State University in Ohio, to boot.
I'll never forget the day I stood on the stage at Hill Auditorium as alecturer. I can still remember walking across the Ann Arbor University of Michigan campus diagonal on that crisp, fallday. I was surprised at the depth of emotion I was feeling.as my memory took me back to my teens. I felt like a young coed, and my heartwas singing with joy.
With the ranks of the World War II veterans dwindling so rapidly, a letter received by the Transylvania Times with the information that a special veteran of this war was living in Transylvania was especially welcome. The letter was from Daniel Voglesong, the US. Army Hohensfeld Safety Manager in Bavaria; and was written about his father Donald Voglesong. Donald was in a German P.O.W. camp (prisoner of war) during the Battle of the Bulge in 1944-45 and now lives in Brevard, N.C Donald Voglesong, now in his eighties and possessing a sharp mind for details, lives in Deer Lake subdivision. His memories of his capture and internment give so much information about what those days were like for those prisoners. Voglesong was born in Grantsburg, a small farming community in the southern part of Indiana, not far from the Ohio River. "My mother was 16 years old when she married my father. My dad was a jack of all trades and could do almost any job that was available. I had two brother and we all grew up on the farm, except for brief periods when we lived in the big city of Gary, Indiana. My father worked in the steel mills and even became a conductor on Gary's street cars. But our whole family missed our home and farm in southern Indiana, so we moved back," Voglesong talked about his early days. Shortly after graduation from high school, Voglesong attended a special training school for sheet metal workers. "It was one of Eleanor Roosevelt's ideas and It was a good one, but it didn't work out for me," Voglesong related. So, he volunteered for the army and had his basic infantry training at Fort Benning, GA. However, as a result of an ASTP test he had taken in high school, he was sent to Auburn College in Alabama (known as Polytech at that time.) Shortly thereafter his orders were changed once again and he was sent to Camp Atterbury, Indiana for infantry training in early 1944. "The general public does not appreciate how dangerous the duties of the infantry men are," Voglesong commented as he discussed his 106th Division. Forty percent of that division was sent to Europe to fight in the Battle of the Bulge, and he was part of that percentage. The Allied Forces were suffering great losses at that time and were in desperate straits. Every available man was pressed into service to help save the situation, many with just a few short weeks of preparation. Voglesong shipped out from New York City to Scotland and then on to London England by train. In one month's time he was part of the Battle of the Bulge in that small area of Europe where Belgium, Luxemburg and Germany meet. "It was a calculated risk, our placing only three divisions across this area when the battle started. The Germans employed rapidly moving Panzer tanks, known as lightning warfare, and it really worked for them as they quickly encircled the Allied Forces," Voglesong recalled. "We were surrounded and fighting a big battle for a long time until there were not many Americans left; so our commander surrendered and most of the 106th was captured. This was at Schoenberg, Belgium on December 19, 1944 when approximately 7,000 American soldiers were ambushed. "Meanwhile, General George S. Patton, Jr. was moving into the battle from the south. I never met him, to tell you the truth, but we were scared to death of him, he was so offensive minded. The Americans, as well as the Germans, respected him," Voglesong recalled. "I was 19 years old at the time, tired and worn out, and I can remember how the Nazis marched us all night for 30 miles during miserable winter conditions. They then put us in box cars on a German train. These primitive cars had no facilities and we were so crowded that there was no room to lie down. We traveled in those box cars for four days with nothing to eat, just a little water to drink," Voglesong sadly described that time in his life. "The war was winding down and the German economy was shattered. The Germans did not have much food themselves, so the gave us only pieces of bread and bowls of thin soup. We arrived at the P.O.W. camp (prisoner of war) at Bad Orb, a small village east of Frankfurt, Germany on Christmas Day and we were there until April of 1945," Voglesong described that difficult period of his life. There wasn't much for the prisoners to do. When they looked out of the barbed wire that enclosed the area, there was not much to see. They were so hungry that food became their main obsession. "So, we mainly sat around and talked and thought about food. To keep occupied, three or four of us started writing down all the things we would have to eat when we were released," Voglesong described the rough conditions. "One thing that happened at that time which really scared me concerned one of the two or three letters home which I was allowed to write each month. A guard came into the building, called my name, and said, 'Come with me'" I was to present myself to the commander of the prison. I didn't know what to do when I was brought into his presence, so I saluted," Voglesong recalls. "I soon found out that a problem had arisen from one my letters home where I had complained about the lice. This had upset the commander especially when he noted that I had a German name. He wanted me to know that the lice had been brought in by soldiers from other countries, not by the Germans. He pointed out in, no uncertain terms, that the Germans were above that," Voglesong confided. Getting enough food to stay alive was the prisoners main goal. So, when a friend told Voglesong that they needed somebody to work at the dispensary, he volunteered because he knew it would mean receiving an extra piece of bread each week. His job was to clean up the floors with hot water, using a makeshift broom and patches of bags for mops. I usually shared that piece of bread with my buddies; but one time I ate it all myself because I was so hungry - all the time feeling guilty about it. I learned a lot about people and how they react under such austere conditions. A few were so selfish that they would do anything to stay alive, stealing your bread or your shoes at night," Voglesong described the details of those terrible days. "I always had the feeling that I would be the last one to get out of there. Many of the Americans died. In fact, four of them died in one day of Pneumonia. We picked them up and carried them out. It was not a hard thing to do as they were very light, barely skins and bones," Voglesong remembered with sadness Life at the prison camp was nothing like the comedy TV show, Stalag 17, which portrayed conditions at a prisoner of war camp with humor. There were lots of atrocities committed on both sides. He remembers that the Germans lined up about 100 Americans in Belgium and shot them down. He mentioned that the S.S. German troops were fanatic fearsome fighters; but not all the Germans troops were that way. Many of them were just doing their jobs. In fact, he remembers feeling sad when he came upon one dead German soldier who was about 16 years old. At that time there were about four or five German soldiers lying dead in a little field and their comrades came along with wagons and took them away. "We were liberated from the prison camp by an American Reconnaissance Group. By that time the Germans had fled the area under the pressure of the advancing Americans. After our release, our rescuers gave us cans of C-Rations to eat. However, we were so weak and malnourished that we were not able to finish the can of food all at one time. "The Americans interviewed each of us and then we were put on planes for France. When we got there we finally got a bath and clean clothes. Our new uniforms were much smaller than the ones we had originally been issued when we were inducted into the army. We had lost most our body weight," Voglesong said as he recalled his release from captivity. Voglesong was then sent to a London hospital for a couple weeks. Then came a joyous boat ride back to the United States, followed by a big long furlough. One of his buddies at the prison camp had developed TB (Tuberculosis) and after Voglesong was discharged and teaching school in Indiana he tested positive for TB on every annual physical exam. "My great-grandparents had also fought in wars, as they were in Indiana outfits during the Civil War. They supposedly served with General Sherman, going from Atlanta to the sea and then north up the coast," Voglesong added. "After my return from the service, I taught school. My wife of 42 years died and I was the principal of a high school, teaching typing and shorthand, as well. I later became re-acquainted with my present wife, Twighla, who was an elementary school teacher. We had known each other since we were children, as we lived in a small town where every one knew each other. I encountered her at a school meeting on a Saturday, asked her out the following day to go to the park and by that Sunday I had proposed and she had answered "yes:. That was in November and we were married in December, one month later. "When it came time to retire, Twighla was looking for a better place to live, although there was nothing wrong with Indiana. Through a trade magazine we found an ad for Deer Lake in Brevard; so we mailed in a request for information. We got an answer inviting us to come down and take a look for ourselves. So we drove to Deer Lake, fell in love with the area, bought a place, and moved in five years ago," Voglesong talked about coming to North Carolina. Don and Twighla are happy at Deer Lake since there are so many friendly people there. In fact, they have made several trips with a group of their neighbors and have enjoyed traveling. Twighla is a very active member of the Brevard community. She volunteers at Habitat, SAFE's Attic and the library. She is the secretary of the Friends of the Library and is also very involved with her church activities. His son Daniel, who wrote the letter to the Transylvania Times, lives in Bavaria where he is in the army at one of the last training camps that Americans have in Germany. He is stationed near Heidelberg and very happy there. "My son invited us t visit him in March of last year, 2006. He lives in the mountains in a beautiful part of the country. The state-owned forests are carefully managed there: when a tree is cut down, it must be replaced.. Although my son is a Presbyterian, he was invited to sing in the choir of a beautiful 600 year old Catholic Church. Every town in that area has a singing group and they go from house to house serenading the people. They are then served cups of a hot drink which is very strong. In fact, it takes your head off," Voglesong laughs as he describes the libation. In his letter about his dad, his son said that the first thing his father wanted to do when he arrived at the Frankfurt Airport was to visit the camp where he had been held prisoner. They had a hard time locating it, because it is now a camp for children, but finally found it. There they met a German school teacher and his wife. After Don's son told the new friend that his father had been a prisoner at that place, the man told the children (in German) that his father had done a heroic thing to save Germany from the Nazi dictator. The children all clapped and it was a very emotional moment for Donald Voglesong Voglesong says that politically he is a strong Democrat and that it is the subject of much discussion with his buddies at the Deer Lake Clubhouse. He feels very strongly against wars. He says that he was fighting with the U.S. military for such a short time that he did not have much experience in that regard; but that 80% of the Americans killed in World War II were infantry soldiers. "They just gave us an M-1 rifle and hand grenades and sent us off to the fight. That war was fought mainly by Americans who were poor. It was a rich man's war and a poor man's fight." Voglesong concluded, Lorraine Miller
Good Neighbors Assoc. in Connestee Taking Care of Me!
The skirmish that banged up my driver's side door and front fender last Sunday, had more effects than I expected it would.
Right after the crash, you are so stunned, that you are running around in a shock. Nothing hurts. But, wait a few hours, and then every thing hurts. I went to the doctor yesterday and all is okay. At first the pain was so severe, I could not find a comfortable sport to rest in bed. But, now, four days later I feel almost as good as new.
Something wonderful happened to ease my soul and spirits. Some of the Good Neighbors brought hot home-cooked meals for me for the past three days - - - and homemade brownies and fudge! These three women were people I had never met. But when they found out about the accident, they called me and said they would be bringing dinners over for three days. What a wonderful thing to do!
I shall certainly send them notes of appreciation. But, what's more, I intend to join the group to do my share to help others in times of distress.
These are the areas they cover:
Bereavement Ministry: This is a caring group of residents who are there for you at the hardest times.
Caring companions These caring companions provide a few hours of relief for those who are caring for a loved one who cannot be left alone.
Friendly caller They have developed a buddy system for those who live alone, and would like a daily phone call to make sure there is someone they can depend upon.
Meals Our good neighbors meal cookers are those wonderful folks who provide meals for residents who are sick, recovering from a trauma or are suffering family loss.
Transportation Good Neighbors Travelers are a group who get you where you want to go when illness or family difficultly prevent you from driving yourself.
Welcomers Visit newcomers, to make them feel welcome. ---------------------------------------------- I don't feel alone - I feel blessed.
As is sit here, alone - with a friendly fire burning in my stone fireplace - I count my blessings. And, some of my greatest blessings are the friendships of you who mean so much to me.
I hope and pray that our country will be safe from terror attacks. I pray that peace will return to this tormented world. I pray for the serenity and joy we should be experiencing - instead of this constant turmoil. I pray that level heads will prevail.
I pray that each one of you will find the inner peace and the time to look around you and enjoy the many blessings that abound around you.
I pray that you will count the support and love that you receive from your family and from your many friends, who appreciate you for the fine people you are. I pray that you will realize that you are not alone. We all can have faith for a better world and for release from pain an concern for our dear friends.
Look around you - see the bounty that is there for your enjoyment. Let's all pray for peace in the world; that all of mankind can enjoy the beauty that this Earth has for all of us.
I want you to know, dear friends, how much I have enjoyed and appreciated your friendship - and the many heartfelt e-mails that you have sent me. They sustain me through the turmoil that man has created.
It reminds me - at this advanced age of my life - that there is order and beauty around us, if we will but open our hearts to let the beauty reside there.
Lorraine
I wish each and every one of you A happy and blessed Holiday Season and a healthy and happy year ahead.
For some reason, I have always had a heart for Indians, myself. Always felt some kind of kinship with them - although my parents came from Europe.
Strange - when I read about the Mesa Verde Pueblo Indians, I felt a strange feeling of deja-vue. But, I doubt if that was possible.
When I lived along the St. Clair River, I went to an environmental meeting in 1996 and met some Indians from the nearby Canadian Island of Walpole. Got to talking to them and they mentioned that there were thinking of writing up their heritage in a book. I offered to help them, gratis, as I had been in the book business myself for a long time.
They came across the river to my house many times. They had about 2,000 pictures. I tried to teach them, and gave them some good examples of books; but despite my efforts they never wrote the first word. However, one time in the winter they called and asked if they could come over. I said that I didn't think it was a good idea, because I was coming down with my usual winter bout with bronchitis.
They said that they could take care of that. So, the chief and the medicine man and a couple women came over, carrying a brown paper bag. The paper bag was full of bark and twigs and herbs and other strange stuff. They said they wanted to boil it on my stove with some water. They then put some whiskey in it.
The medicine man had a new deerskin which wrapped what he called a "stick". it was a stick with an ivory claw at the end of it. I was a little reluctant to drink the foul looking brew, but I really had no choice at that time. The chief was banging away at my piano,while the medicine man touched the stick to point my hands and the back of my neck while chanting some mumbo-jumbo. They told me to go to bed and that I would really sweat.
Well, I sweat like I never had done before and really slept that jag off. Anyway, when I awoke in the morning I had no more congestion and no more bronchitis. I used to have it every year, but I have never had it since. In the summer time, when I went over to Walpole Island to the Big Annual PowWow, they were most gracious - treating me to a lot of food and entertainment.
However, although I have in my memory much of the stuff they told me about their heritage and their ancestors, they never wrote one single thing.
I'm okay. In fact, just got through baking some pancakes after waking from a little nap. So, don't worry. Had an ice pack on my knee which hit the dashboard, and it seems to be functioning okay.
Here's the whole story, the truth and nothing but the truth; so help me!
It was a beautiful October day - blue sky, warm but with a bit of a fall chill in the air. I noticed that the leaves on the trees have reached about /14 of their autumn glory.
Had a busy day planned, as usual. I drove my latest Senior Profile manuscript and the accompanying pictures over to the Transylvania Times - and was in good fettle.
Went over to the Proper Pot on Main Street and bought the most expensive single fry pan I have ever purchased. Had to get a special one to use on my new electric stove with the glass top and the radiant heat.
Drove around the corner on Caldwell and on to Probart. When I got to corner of Probart and Broad Street, I had a decision to make. Should I turn right - and go the main intersection and then turn left? Or - should I wait for the traffic to clear and drive across Broad and up that steep hill on Probart? Made the wrong decision. !!!! Decided to wait for an opening and drive across before going up that terribly steep hill on Probart. I thought the road was clear in front of me, but there is traffic coming down that steep decline on Broad and I didn't see the car approaching me.
I was inching across when suddenly - BANG - that sickening thud when another car hits you. I saw a woman with a little baby spinning around and my car was driven off the road, over the curb, and on to the grassy area on the other side of Broad. I was shaken up, and heart beating madly, and frightened - as I sat there in my mangled up 1999 Buick!
The young woman and the baby in the other car seemed to be all right - and they were - except that the back door of her car was in pretty badly messed up shape.
It seemed like in no time flat I was surrounded by police cars and an EMS - and a very concerned young woman EMS worker asking me if I was all right - and if my neck or any thing hurt. I dazedly said no. Wanted to know if I wanted to go to the hospital to be checked. I confusedly said no. The lady in the other car got out of her car and took her little girl - looked about a couple years old - out of the car seat in the back seat. Baby was frightened and crying. NO ONE HURT. No blood, no broken bones - but the automobiles took a terrible beating.
Police and EMS workers were so kind and gentle and caring - made me feel protected. She drove off in her car, but mine was undriveable, so in no time flat there was a wrecker there and they hoisted the car up onto a flat bed and drove it away -where to? I have no idea.
The EMS worker, in the meantime, had helped me to take my belongings out of the car and put them into a big bag. At this same time, Evie Huntington, (a friend of mine from Connestee Falls) came by saw me - police wouldn't let her stop and hold up traffic - but she kept circling around until she came up to where I was and gave me a ride home.
I got a citation. First one I have ever had in my life. It will cost me $25 plus court costs; but I can take a check to the Court House, pay for my sins, and won't have to appear in court.
I was on my way to an appointment at Quotations, for an interview for my Senior Profile column in the newspaper, with Doris Kendrick when the accident happened. Doris is the owner of the Ladies Apparel shop in Sapphire, called Hogshed. Evie went into Quotations and let her know what had happened - and drove me home.
How kind and nice of Evie to do that for me! She was so efficient and calming, made every thing seem okay for me. There is nothing like this area - people are all extraordinary.
So, here I sit without a car in the driveway. I called State Farm and told them about it and they assured me they would take care of it. The other driver is also insured with State Farm - sort of a family affair.
I had a later appointment this afternoon to see Gloria Clouse for another appointment for a newspaper interview. She is the current President of the Friends of the DuPont Forest (a favorite project, close to my heart). I called her, explained, apologized. She has sent me some info on the internet. Hope I can get the info in to the paper for next week's paper on time, as the DuPont Forest is having their annual Fall bus tour for people to view the forest, the placid lake and all the thundering waterfalls at the end of next week - and I wanted to get her story in the paper, complete with the news about the upcoming TOUR before the event.
Maybe, I can still make it.
Bunged up knee seems to be doing pretty well. Ice pack I put on it has kept down the swelling - and so far it seems to be in working order. It would have to be on the left leg which has the bursitis in the hip. But, what the hey, I was limping on that leg anyway.
Soooooo, I don't know just what will happen to my car, where it is, or what! Of course I have Russell to ferry me around in his car if I need ferrying.
My pride is bruised - first citation I ever got - and the poor maroon car doesn't seem like the little engine that could any more - but, I am counting my blessings. Could have been worse.
Head aches a bit - but I guess that is a tension thing.
This is a copy of a letter that Lorraine wrote to her great-granddaughter Kaitlin. Kaitlin is 7 years old and has an extraordinary vocabulery. She wrote that they were studying wether and such in schol and wanted me to write and tell her what it was like here: --------------------------------------------------- All along the coast - usually many miles from the oceans - there are mountain ranges. The ones on the East coast (The Atlantic Ocean coast)start near the northern top part of South Carolina and run up to the top of New England and the Canadian border..
Names of the mountains ranges change, but they seem to me to be almost all of one range! You will see them on the U.S. Map. You will see the Appalachians, The Great Smokies, the Blue Ridge Mountains, the Catskills, the Adirondacks, and then the mountains of New England.
We are in the mountains that are furthest South on the East side of the United States, the Appalachians. I was surprised to learn that the Appalachian mountains are the OLDEST mountains in the whole world. They have been here so many years, that wind and snow and rain have beaten down the top peaks of stone so much that you rarely see any outcroppings of rock at the tops of our mountains. The centuries have made them round and curvy, instead of jagged like the Rocky Mountains in the western part of the United States.
The many centuries have deposited dirt on top of the Appalachians,allowing trees and other vegetation to grow and form forests in these mountains. When you look at them, there seems to be row after row of mountain ranges. You often see different shades and colors on the mountains in the distance. They seem to get purple, lavender and finally fade to a blurred gray in the background.
There are not many big cities with big factories and other pollution causing factors to change our beautiful forests. Some nearby forests (within hundreds of miles) have been damaged by winds that carry pollution to their forests and kill their trees; So far, we have been lucky here in this area, because we are not near any big industrial cities and the prevailing winds do not bring pollution here, yet.
So our forests are healthy and green and our air is pure and full of oxygen. Oxygen is the part of the air which we humans breathe, and is very important to life. Our mountain air is very clean and contains a lot of oxygen, coming from the forests which leads to more healthy living.
I am hoping that this stays like this for many years. And, I believe that it will. I will tell you why:
We live in Transylvania County and 70% of the land is National Forest.Unless the laws are changed, no one can disturb these national forests.
However, lately, I have been very concerned because the federal government is showing less protection for the national forests and the environment. However, I am hoping that this beautiful part of the United States will be allowed to continue in its glory.
Since so much of the county is federal national, or state, owned forest,there is very little land left for places to be built upon. I am very grateful for this, as I hate to see this magnificent country side spoiled for the benefit of developers. There are so few places like this left in the United States.
HOW DID WE FIND THIS AREA?
When your grand pa was a little baby, it was during World War II sixty years ago. And we came to live in South Carolina for a few years. I loved it and was very happy there, in spite of the worry about the war.
However, it was not mountainous where I was, nor was it forested. I loved the climate, as I was so grateful to get away from the cold weather of Michigan. But, more than that, I loved the people of the South. They were so much gentler, kinder, and friendlier than the people I had known in Michigan.
Many years went by.
Then, in 1980 (that was 25 years ago), your grandpa and I travelled to North Carolina to see a printer we were doing business with. We came South down I-75 as far as Knoxville, Tennessee and then cut over on I-40 going East through the most beautiful mountains I had ever seen.
Your grandpa and I were so awe-stricken by the beauty of the area. But,we did not have time to stop and look around.
Then, your grandpa and your uncle Greg took a little vacation, driving up and down the mountain areas of North Carolina to look around. Your grandpa was especially impressed with our little town of Brevard, N.C. He came back to visit it several times and always took pictures to show me. He also was always telling me that we should move here, that he knew I would love it.
Your great grandpa, Barry Whitehead, lived in California. When he gotready to retire, they bought a motor home and took a year's time to travel around the United States. They visited all the retirement areas,to see which they thought would be the best choice to live. Grandpa Russell told his father to look into this area. He did. He bought a home in the nearby time of Hendersonville, N.C. and was always happy that he had chosen this area.
After years of having your grandpa tell me how wonderful this area was,I finally (in May of 2000) took a month's vacation and rented a house in Connestee. I fell in love with the place. I did not want to go home. I tried to find a place to buy but did not find one that I wanted.
The next year (July of 2001), I came to Connestee for another vacation and spent more time looking for a house. I found the one that we are living in, just two days before our vacation was over. I bought the house and went back to Michigan.
In middle November of 2001 we made the move to Connestee. I have never regretted it. I am very happy, content, and grateful that I am here and can enjoy my late years in this magnificent spot. I love the people in this mountainous area of North Carolina and am enjoying life.
GEOGRAPHY AND WEATHER
The United States has the Great Continental Divide near the west coast. It also has the Eastern Continental Divide, just a few miles south of us in South Carolina. This is where the mountains end. You can stand on the top of the last mountain ranges and see several states below you on flatter lands. It is very beautiful.
The area where we live is a most unusual area. It is where the trees of the north and the ones of the south, come together. So, the area has both types of trees and the autumn colors of the changing leaves are spectacular. People come from all over to marvel at their beauty. The peak color usually comes in Mid-October.
Another thing that surprised and delighted me about our weather, is that we have so many days of sunshine. So many days when the skies are all blue with no clouds. And so many nights, when you can look into the dark velvet night sky and see so many bright stars that you are overwhelmed. We can see them so clearly because we do not have street lights in Connestee. This makes the surrounding night so much darker and you can really see the stars.
When I was little, we used to spend our summers on an island in the Flats of Lake St. Clair, Michigan. We had no electricity on that island, so at night we could count the thousands upon thousands of twinkling stars in the dark summer night. This reminds me of those times when I was a little girl. There also were many fireflies flitting about in the Flats, and I was delighted to see them here in the summer nights; as I was afraid they had all gone away.
World War II - ah, yes, I remember it well. I can easily recall the feeling of foreboding, in 1939, when the US passed the bill authorizing the Selective Service (I felt the same stirring of emotion when I read in this yer's July issue of Family Crcle that the US was again discussing the possibility of a draft for all men and women eighteen years of age to 44.) Detroit was gearing up as the Arsenal of Democracy and in 1940 I was in the midst of it. Fresh from the University of Michigan, I was one of the few women from my class to enter the workplace. As Secretary to the Chief Odnance Engineer of the 20mm. Oerlikon Anti-Aircraft Gun, I was right in the middle of this secret government work.
On that fateful Sunday, December 7th, 1941, my husband and I were driving to Ann Arbor to see his parents. We heard the news of the attackon Pearl Harbor on the car radio and were dumbstruck. How could this have happened to the USA - an unprovoked attack that destroyed much of our naval fleet? We listened in disbelief, as the dreadful words entered our consciousness.
We knew that war was brewing; but we thought that the U.S. would be able to choose the time and place to enter the fray. Actually, it never had occurred to us that we would be so vulnerable - and that the initial cost would be so high.
In one Sunday morning's time, our whole world was turned topsy-turvy.From that moment on, every thing in our lives changed. The Draft was nipping at the heels of all the young men; and their women dreaded going to the mail box to receive that letter of "Greetings" from the government.
I can well understand how the military wives of today are constantly tortured in their minds. I know their anguish about the welfare of their men, as they struggle to maintain the daily life of themselves and their children.
Five weeks after my first child was born, my husband was inducted into the U.S. Air Force at Fort Sheridan in Chicago.
The $50.00 per month allowance I received as a service man's wife, could not pay my bills. The rent on the house we were living in was $50.00 per month. And, that did not include the cost of utilities - or any other living expenses.
I did, as so many other young mothers were forced to do, moved in with my parents. In my case, this was not easy on grandma and grandpa. I, their only child, was born when they were in their 40's; and, by this time, they had put in a full lifetime of hard work and were ready to retire.
But, we were a nation united in spirit and resolve, and there was very little grumbling. Almost all of the able-bodied men were in the service. I remember the old song: "They're either too young or too old - they're either too gray or too grassy green". It was a strange world without young men.
If you lived in an area where there were no military facilities, you found that almost all young males were gone.Since most of the military facilities were on the coasts or in the south, the north was devoid of any young men.Those women who could work outside the home went to work in the factories. Their lives were all forever changed, too.
Life was so different. We were faced with rationing - something new to us. There were ration stamps for gasoline, butter, cheese, fats, meat,and so many other items we had previously taken for granted.
Manufacturing of domestic items had practically stopped - no more new cars, appliances, furniture, rubber nipples for baby bottles, paper, metals of any types,safety pins, nylons . No more rubber for automobile tires; we had to have the tires recapped over and over.The list went on and on.
All the baby items, like baby buggies, play pens and other manufactured items were no longer being made. Every thing had to be bought second hand.
In those days we had cloth diapers for babies; and I can remember thatlarge safety pins had to be hoarded, as you could not buy new ones..Even after they became rusty and decrepit, we pressed them into service. I soon learned that these pins could be stored in soft bars of soap and could be made usable. Of course, they left big rusty marks on the diapers; but, at least, they served the purpose.
Rubber pants were no longer available, either. So, we knitted wool"soakers" to try to confine the problem. Soakers was a good name for them. they just soaked up the leakage until they were full, and then the major dripping would start over any person or surface that were in contact with them..
You could not buy new baby bottles, so my son's habit of tossing the empties over the side of the crib caused great concern as glass went shattering all over the floor.And, woe be onto you, if the baby chewed through the worn out rubber nipple, there were no replacements to be had.
The fact that shoes were rationed to two pairs per year was not ahardship for me, at all; I had no money to buy two pairs of shoes in one year!
Every household that had a member in the service displayed an emblem with a blue star in the front window. If the service person perished,you received an emblem with a gold star. Thus, The Gold Star Mothers.
My mother and I taught knitting at the Red Cross to make woolen socks and gloves and scarves, to keep the overseas soldiers warm. My mother who had learned to knit in Europe, taught me - and we taught all the Red Cross volunteers the same method. The only trouble was that the European style of knitting puts all the stitches on the needle backwards. But, this style of knitting allowed you to tuck both knitting needles under your arms, and all your fingers were free to fly like the wind. I wonder how many of today's knitters, who were taught by their mothers and grandmothers, are unwittingly putting all their stitches on backwards?
There were no cell phones or other modern methods of communication that we enjoy today. When my step-son was in Kuwait, during The Desert Storm in the 80's, we would fax each other whenever possible.
At the time of World War II. you depended upon the mail. You sent your letters to an A.P.O. address when your serviceman was overseas. All letters were censored, which often delayed their receipt.
Many messages were delivered to us by "wire" (telegrams), with a messenger ringing the doorbell to deliver the message to you. This was quite the fearsome moment when you saw the uniformed man approach your door, as this was the method usually used to deliver news of someone's death;
There were written reports in newspapers and magazines by War Correspondents to tell us the news from the battlegrounds. We did receive radio reports, but there were no graphic daily television programs to bring the war into our living rooms.
The movies had News Reels to show different events; and many movies were made to stir up patriotism - as well as to vilify the enemy. Many innocent people who had emigrated to the U.S. from countries with which we were now at war, were ostracized. All Japanese citizens on our west coast were put into Special Detention Camps. Many innocent people suffered from discrimination.
It was a "far-away" war, but our hearts were filled with constant worry. During the years between 1941 and 1945, our lives were changed forever.
V-E Day (Victory in Europe) and V-J Day (Victory in Japan) were occasions for unfettered joy. People all over the United States joined in the celebrations. I was fortunate enough to be at Fort Benning,Georgia, when V-J and the end of all hostilities was announced. You never saw any thing like it! Guards left their stations, and all personnel just took off from the base without leave. Cars streamed into Columbus, Ga. and the jubilant celebrations went on all night long! I'll never forget the jubilation of that day in 1945!
Termite Damage - and my personal feelings about nature in all its glory
Since termites can be more of a problem in warmer climates, I have Terminix check my house and property every six months. So far, so good - but they do spray for ants and they are not a problem.
My neighbors, especially the ones that go by every day walking their dogs, tell me how beautiful my house is starting to look. It is almost done. I must admit that the siding, roof, new outdoor lighting, shutters, etc. do look good. It was beginning to look shabby. If you want to keep your property looking good, you have to be vigilant with maintenance. The house is 22-23 years old and had Masonite siding. That siding surely went to pot. The windows and doors didn't look too hot, either. And, of course, the back deck and wooden screen doors (that the puppy dog chewed) looked pretty bad.
All that is being fixed - costs money, but I will enjoy it myself - and it will add to the value of this property when it has to be sold. Unfortunately, I can't stay here forever.
My neighbors are putting in elaborate, albeit expensive, landscaping. Their newly constructed homes built downhill on the mountain have severe ground erosion problems. Developer either don't know, or don't care, what will result from their denuding the forests on these steep pieces of land. The roots of enormous trees and 30 ft. bushes, that have entwined over the years and that hold the ground together, are torn (unceremoniously) out of the ground and hauled away to be mulched. They assure you that they will replant trees and bushes - and, they do - sort of. But the small trees and bushes they replace the huge towering forest with can in no way do the job that their forebears were doing.
And, that is why - my heart is heavy when I see these forested mountains being denuded. Landslides and floods result when Mother Nature is fooled around with. Sad - but I guess this is the price we pay for "progress?".
Luckily, my trees and bushes have grown strong and tall in the years since my house was built. And, I am sure that many of them were the original fauna - for they are huge - their trunks and branches reaching high into the sky.
So, I do not have a cultivated yard. No, mine is a tangle of native forest land. But, that's just the way I like it. The squirrels and birds and deer appreciate it and scurry around in the mulch that the fallen leaves has formed through the many seasons that have passed. And, I revel in the fact that I don't have a lawn mower - and have no desire to be a slave to one, ever again.
I have become completely mountain-oriented. Of course, I have always been an environmentalist - at heart. But, since I have lived here, with the beauties of nature surrounding me, I have become ever so much more appreciative of the gifs that have been bestowed upon us. I feel that we must appreciate and treasure this legacy that we have inherited; and do all that we possibly can to help preserve it.
I love to observe the magnificent scenery around me; especially under changng weather circumstances. Last night we had a gentle rain. When this was combined with the freezing temperature, everything outside was clothed in a delicate coverlet of thin ice. Beautiful to look at, but not so jolly to be walking around in or driving these mountain roads. As the freezing rain hits the black asphalt pavement, we are hemmed in by dangerous "black ice".
This happens so seldom, and is whisked away so quickly by the warmth of the winter sun, that I don't mind it at all. I cozy up to a crackling fire in the huge stone fireplace, and take time to rejuvenate my inner being.
This morning, as I awoke, I gazed out of my bedroom window and beheld every thing through a thick gray mist. There were tiny little icycles about 1 to 2" in length, delicate and slender, hanging from every surface in view. Then, suddenly, a brilliant, golden sun burst through the mist. And that sun was riding high in a sky of turquoise blue. There was nary a wisp of a cloud to invade the expanse of glorious jewel-like sky.
I saw something I had not seen before on an icy clad morning because I was not looking up! On previous occasions, I would rush to my screened porch and look down at the forest in the ravine below or obseve the majestic mountains in the distance. But, this time, I looked up!
Our house is surrounded by towering trees, that are as straight as an arrow as they reach for the warmth of the sky. The lower portions of these trees do not have branches. Rather, the tops have a dome-like covering of tiny branches way above your head. The blazing sun was backlighting the delicate tracery of frozen droplets, as they glistened in that sea of brilliant blue.
I was in awe, as I beheld the glorious beauty that the Creator had blessed us with, after the sudden cold snap. The delicate white of the glistening embroidery was breathtakiing. Never have I seen any thing like it - but, then, I had previously been looking down or sideways into the distance; when I should have been looking up!
Up North, we children used to break off huge icycles which could be measured in feet. These made excellent dueling swords; albeit resulting in icy wet mittens and cold fingers, with nary a serious wound.
The huge icycles would come tumbliing down as massive, dangerous shards of ice - when the sun would loosen their holds. And, woe be onto you, if you got bonked in the head by one of these falling missles. They, and sometimes the branches they were attached to, would come thundering down - making much noise as they fell.
Today these slender little ice wispettes just came pattering down quietly; with enough moisture to splatter you with water and possibly a good dousing if you stayed outside long enough.
Then, I surveyed my many flowering bushes to see how they had survived the night. My huge, prize wild flaming azalea bush, devoid of leaves, was still a thing of startling beauty. It was a mass of rosy colored branches covered with a thin coating of ice and shimmering in the sunlight. Little buds sat at the end of the branches, waiting for spring.
The bush is landscaped by the deer which come to visit us regularly. They can't reach the topmost branches, so they just prune the lower bush into a lovely umbrella shape; and, all at no cost to us.
The majestic rhododendrons, tower over my head. (Of course, at 5 ft. 4" tall, most everything towers over my head!) The waxy green leaves have changed their shapes, bowed down by the layer of delicate ice. They now have clusters of leaves that look like half-opened umbrellas! Atop each cluster, sits a big fat flower bud. Those Rhodies never give up - nature which surrounds them gives them the knowledge that Spring is not too far behind.
My silly old daffodils which poked their unwary green shoots into the air in January, only to find some winter temperatures, quickly withdrew their shoots into the warmth of nature's bosom. They have learned their lesson, I believe. Because this time, they did not venture forth.They just stayed underground, awaiting warmer climates..
No wonder I had never seen this particular beauty of winter. I had been looking in the wrong place in the past. I should have been looking up!
Here I was in Brevard, the land of over 250 waterfalls. However, I thought I would never see one except for the Connestee Falls on our property!
To reach the most spectaculr falls, involves quite a bit of mountain hiking which I could never negotiate. So, I bought paintings and photographs and videos of the waterfalls. I accepted the fact that I probably would never see them for myself.
Well, today, October 25th, 2003, provided a marvelous oppotunity to visit three of the largest, waterfalls and I was quick to take advantage of this "Tour".The volunteers." Friends of DuPont Forest", arranged a tour by large vans to take us through the forest to view these secluded beauties. What a rare opportunity for us!
When DuPont owned this property, thousands of acres of wilderness were all privately owned land.. The forest was used primarily as recreation area for the benefit of the employees. However, when DuPont closed their plant (it produced photographic camera film which is being abandoned for the new digital cameras), a large developer purchased the property. His intention was to build a community of upscale homes. Lovely Lake Julia and the waterfalls would then be for the enjoyment of only those people who bought property in the development.
A large group of volunteers from our Transylvania County {and from neignboring North Carolina counties and the nearly state of South Carolina), formed an association to save the forest and its magnificent water features for the enjoyment of all citizens. These good folks volunteer their time to keep up the roads and trails and the forest, contriibuting many hours of devoted labor.
They lobbied the North Carolina government to purchase the land from the developer. They were successful and the DuPont Forest is now a state willderness area. As such it can be acesssed only by hikers,non-motrized bikers, non-motor boats and by fishermen using only artificial bait.
To drive a car into the forest, you have to be given a special permit and that is not easily obtainable. There is no camping in the forest. Everything is planned to keep it safe from fire and as pristine as possible, to preserve it for us and the generations of people who will follow us..
My friend, Alice, and I arrived at the gate to the forest early in the morning. In fact, we were the third couple in line when the tour opened.
The volunteers greeted us with hot apple cider and home-made cookies and cakes. We boarded the first van and were off on our long-awaited adventure. There were hundreds of people who arrived later in the day, but the early participants we encountered were all senior citizens. Like us, these were folks who never would have been able to hike those precipitous trails to see these magnificent falls.
We were in what looked like a brand new van holding 15 people. We drove up and down narrow, unpaved one-way dirt roads - seemingly right through the foresst. It certainly was a good thing that the driver knew where he was going and how to drive over wild land to get there.
The vans drove us to the best spots to view the falls for those of us who could not hike the trails..
Our first stop was at The Triple Falls.(150 feet of falling water in three sections); How glorious this was, surrounded by the multi-colored fall trees. An early morning mist still hung over the top falls area. None of us were able to scramble down the steep grainite walls to reach the water, but we had a tremendous view from the vantage point where our van drove us.
Back into the van. And that was a scramble in itself - we old gals did our best to jump in. Or scramgle unceremoniously, but we made it! We then visited High Falls. To reach the slope on foot would have been a 900 ft. steep cllimb to witness one waterfall drop of 120 ft. This was a spectacular, roaring sight. It was featured in the movie "The Last of the Mohicans" where the actors sought refuge by hiding behind the falls. I guess they must have been adept at mountain climbing.
Each year, the falls claim their victims (usually tourists) as folks gets into the water above the falls, not realizing that the force of the water will carry them over the precipice. The constant mist formed by the roaring water clothes the rocky banks, making them slippery and dangerous..
Back into the van. By this time, we know how ]ridiculous we look climbing to our seats, but we don't care. We are finally seeing the falls.
The third falls we viewed, Bridal Veil Falls, was completely different. The water drop fanned out into a bridal veil shape as it spilled over a huge granite rock.
We concluded our tour by visiting the large lodge that sits on the shores of Lake Julia. This placid lake had nary a ripple on it, as it mirrored the stand of multi-colored trees that surround the lake. Again, we were treated to hot cider and home-made goodies.
Stuffed as we were with those diet-breakers, we barely made the climb back into the van. Which was quite a feat! We only banged our heads two or three times on the entire trip. The van then drove us back to the parking lot where our cars were awaiting us.
It was a thrilling, unforgettable experience on a beautiful day, filled with sunshine and bright blue skies. We were thrilled and thankful that we got to see nature's bounty in all its glory. This was all made possible through the efforts of volunteers who strive to protect our environmnt.
