Summer in Connestee Falls.

Just returned last night, by car, from a 790 mile trip to the SW mountains of N.C. - very close to the mountains of S.C.

They do have four distinct weather seasons. New England (and Michigan) have glorious fall colors, and so do the Appalachian mountains. People come from far and near in November to see the magnificent colors.

In April through May, the mountains area bloom with flowering trees and bushes, glorious azaleas and rhododendrons and mountain laurel.

The Appalachians are the oldest mountain chain in the world and are softly rounded - almost feminine in nature - with layer upon layer of green, purple, mauve, dark gray, light gray fading into the distance.

Brevard is the county seat of Transylvania County. It has a small college of 1000 students (used to be a music college and is a Methodist college). During the `month of May they have a month-long festival with big name entertainers as well as graduate students. There also are mountain and country music free nights, with dancing in the streets.since it was chosen the @1 retirement spot by Money Magazine it has been invaded by many wealthy Northerners to enjoy its winters  and Floridians to enjoy its summers. They even come from central S.C. for the cool summers.

Surprisingly, he invaders have left their cold nature's back north and have adopted the easy pace and friendliness of the Southerners! It is a delightful oases of peace and beauty - a Camelot - rare in this day and age.

Brevard is surrounded by the Pisquah National Forest, thousands of as.acres donated by Vanderbilt to the U.S to be kept unspoiled, so the little city has very little distance to expand. There is the most beautiful Assisted Living and Nursing Home connected to the Methodist College that I have ever seen. Quit expensive - but I had the foresight - after witnessing the atrocious places in this area - to buy insurance to cover me should I have to go there.  hope I never will - but, if I do, I am covered.

Up - one mile higher and 8 miles of roadway - on a mountain is Connestee Falls. It is a gated community, in beautiful mountain country, with a lovely large club house, many activities, a heated pool, tennis courts and a lovely golf course. This is a magnificent community f about 1000 residents - no more can be built, since it has reached its quota from the four spring fed lakes for water. It has many lakes within its boundaries.

There are many activities planned there, an auditorium, a dance floor,
etc. etc.

Anyway, I have put in an offer on a house there and it has been accepted by the seller. I am now waiting for a report from the Inspector - an, if all is well, will go ahead.

It has two houses in one . upstairs would be mine, with only one step to climb; and downstairs would be my son's who can still climb stairs should I need him by answering a little bell I would  ring.

My upstairs, has a big Living rom with a stone fireplace, a good kitchen and dining room, a very large master bedroom and bathroom suite, a second bedroom at the other end of the house almost as big as the master and a third bedroom I would use as an office. It also has drier and washer space, and an enclosed and screened sunroom with skylights...and an electrically operated one car garage, ad a large deck.

Downstairs, my son would have his own washer and drier, living room Large master bedroom, bathroom with jacuzzi tub, 2nd bedroom, kitchen and a cover4d screened porch. There would also b room for parking three additional cars under the deck area.

There s a distant mountain view in the summer which you can see more plainly in the rest of the year when the leaves are off the trees. They have a mixture of NORTHERN and Southern trees there.

Taxes last year were $640.00. Will probably go up. Very little outdoor maintenance.  There will be flies in the ointment, I'm sure, but one can't have every thing - just do the best you can.

I will be living separately from my son - he can have his friends visit and I can have mine. But, should I need him he will be nearby to help me and is very willing to do so. In our family, so far, we have always taken care of our elders ourselves.

We shall see what we shall see.  All told, we have about 3000 square feet between the two houses. And, all for less, than I paid for this 1890 sq ft one 18 months ago in Mi.

Will let you know.

Lorraine

I saw something on this chilly morning that I had not seen since I was a little girl. Jack Frost had embelished my car's windshield with a lacey all-over pattern of fragile, beautiful star-like white snowflakes..

When I was a child, we had windows with single panes of glass that did not sport the luxury of weather stripping, Jack Frost would often come to visit us during the winter nights. He would paint these amazing, sparkling, mysterious snowflakes all over our windows. We children were enchanted with the beauty of this wintry wonderland that covered the window in front of us. We would use our warm breaths to make little holes in the scene he had painted, so we could view the world outside - and greet the day.

Unfortunately, being a grown-up lady with a doctor's appointment to meet in a neighboring town, I did not have the luxury of admiring the beauty that lay before me for very long.

Since I am not accustomed to clearing winter wonderfland works off my windshield any more, I did not even have an ice-scraper in my car. But. ingenuity came to the fore. I went into the house and brought forth a teflon spatula. Then, I unceremoniously removed all that delicate tracery from my windshield, and started my eight mile journey down the mountain.

Then, about 1/2 way down the mountain, I was treated to another January sight. When I visited Brevard, several years ago, I (like most tourists) I bought some cards to send to my friends back in Michigan. I was especially drawn to a folder with painted layers of mountains. Each layer was bathed in bright hues, ranging from pink to rose - to light lavendar, to purple, and faintly sporting a misty mauve on the top mountain layer..

I said to myself: "This card is beautiful, but the artist has employed artisitic license to obtain this colorful, beautiful result." The mountains, as I have perceived them through the last few years, were either verdand green in the spring and summer, or bursting with multi-hued autumn colors in the fall, or dusty green and tan in the winter. Occasionally, I did see, during a cold winter, a distant tall mountain that had a white cap of snow on its head. And, sometimes, I beheld the Purple Mountain Majesties.

However, today, I got started on my drive down Hwy. 276 much earlier that I usually drag myself out of bed to drive down the mountain,

And I saw it! The multi-colored layers of mountains that the artist had portrayed! The sun had been up for a couple hours on its faithful quest to warm our world. The bright sun hung just above the mountains, a big sphere, shining intensely, as it does in this area.. But, miracle of miracles, there were all the beautiful colors, lighting up each layer of the mountains - just as the artist had painted them!

What I assumed was artistic license on the artist's part, was an actual portrayal of what lay before me. It was an awe-inspiring sight, and something I had never had the pleasure of seeing before.
What a thrilling discovery that was!

Then, driving home, just before a huge sun-sphere sank into the back of a mountain, I was again treated to something I had never witnessed before. At this time of year, the woods look so desolate. You are surrounded by a brown, tan, and sometimes black stand of tall leaf-less trees and bushes, awaiting the advent of spring.

Then, with the reflection of the setting sun, these dreary sentinels of woodland nature, took on the most beautiful bright rosy pink hue. The woods was simply bathed in this glow. Every thing around me had been transformed in one glorious moment, I had never seen anything like it. It was thrilling and exciting; but in a few moments the radiant color disappeared.

It was a symbol to me that God's in his world; and, even though, the worries of the day envelop you, the world is suddenly transformed and you feel the peace of renewed hope for the future of all mankind.

Lorraine

I guess the deer brought their little fawn for a last visit on their run through the woods and to my doorstep.

They have just started tearing down the brush and sapling trees in that wooded area. There was an enormous bang and my house shook, as enormous trees were being pulled out of the ground.

It was with great sadness that I saw them go. I have always been a nature lover and I regret to its bounty lost forever.

I know that the deer eat flowers, etc. - personally, I have only three plants: Hostas. I know that Hostas are a deer's favorite food - so I planted them for them to munch happily away. Other than that, my property has only wooded area, underbrush, enormous rhododendron and azalea bushes, and native mountain laurel and magnolias to bloom plus a huge assortment of wild flowers to bloom  profusely in the spring.

We DON'T have any grass - and we don't want any!  What a relief to be free of a lawn mower - nothing to feed or fertilize!Nature takes care of our wooded area, thank you. Remarkably, the undergrowth keeps down the weeds - in fact, I don't see any - just delicate ferns.

So, another view of nature's bounty is being erased. Call me a sentimentalist, if you must. But this old gal holds a soft spot in her heart for all things in natural state. Wisely, mother nature has blanketed these steep slopes with verdant woods, preventing mud slides and floods.

If I had the money, I'd buy all 4000 acres in Connestee Falls..

But, alas, I don't.

Lorraine

I believe I wrote you about how distraught I was with the deeply wooded lot next to mine being stripped down to bare ground.That was right on a deer run, where the deer used to com through on their way to my house to chomp on my hostas.

The builder dug a big steep cliff-like hole where they intend to put the basement of the mountain home they will be building there.

Well, this evening as I looked out my window I saw a mama deer and her little baby come into that clearing. They seemed completely bewildered with the change. They ran all around the hole; and finally the mama took one big leap and cleared the cliff and was on the ground in front of the house-to-be.

The poor little baby fawn, could not jump that high. It ran around and around - and finally over to the side where it was flat. Went over and investigated the big machinery with its big basket-mouth. Sniffed all around it - and I ran to get my camera.

I intended to take a picture through my window, so as not to disturb the fawn. I thought it would make a statement picture.

Well, by the time I got back with my camera the little fawn was gone. I could not see the mama anywhere. So I don't know what happened to them.I missed a great pathos picture, darn it.

I was wondering if the building contractor who rented the house next to that lot was looking out of his window. But, by the way he raped the land, I'm sure he would not have sensed he moment - or even realized the
drama of that scene.

I felt a lot of sorrow at what I saw.

Lorraine

from Lorraine to her friends Datum: maandag 30 september 2002 19:19

My son called me to come to the window of my front door - and there were four deer and one little baby. They were all munching on my weeds! (Much better than a lawn mower - we do not have a lawn mower since we moved to Connestee, N.C.).

They were completely unafraid. There has been no hunting in Connestee for fourteen years. I could see their faces and big brown eye so clearly. They looked sleek and gentle. It gave us such a warm feeling to be so close to these creatures.

How wonderful it is to live in harmony with nature. (I suppose that is what it was like in the Galapagos Islands where the wild creatures didn\'t used to have any fear of human beings.)

The deer have a \"run\" from my house through the woods at the side of my house and down the ravine of the mountain. I have seen them traverse this run before, but never so close to the house.

Unfortunately, a developer is going to take down a lot of those trees in that lot next door to me. They plan to build another home right there. I feel sad with the thought that more of this beautiful woodland will be lost forever.

Lorraine

Last year, my first year in this glorious section of the country, I didn\'t take much notice of the miracles of nature outside my window. Instead, I was huddled under the covers for two months with that nasty scourge: Shingles! But this year I was ready for the mountains and the fields, the hills and valleys, to put their show out for me as they sprag into glorious Spring. And what a show they are putting on! In February we had our daffodils come poking their cheerful little heads
out of the leaf-covered ground. Of course, those courageous pansies with
their happy llittle faces were with us all winter.

We had an unusually cold winter this year - four snow falls. Not too
heavy on the white stuff and it soon melted in the 50 and 60 degree
temperatures. We even had ice hanging from our bushes and trees - that
soon puddled up. The winter sun in these mountains amazes me - it feels
so warm (almost hot) on your head and back. Of course, the sun is
usually sailing through a field of cloudless bright blue and can gather
steam on its journey.

Then came April and plentiful rain - we moaned about it, but cherished
the water that was nourishing our soil. And, lo and behold, after about
four days of grumbling about the wet weather - every thing suddenly
burst into bloom!

Our deciduous trees which looked so stark and barren a few days before
had suddenly a coat of delicate pale-yellow-green leaves. All along the
highway from Brevard to Asheville we were amazed by grove after grove of
fruit trees in bloom - pink and white. I even saw a lavender tree (that
was a first for me).

The banks along the sides of the roads were covered with pink, rose,
white, and lavender - just spilling out all over.

Amazing. And inspiring.

The trees are still lacy and we can see the mountains in the distance.
The very tops of those mountains still have a rusty appearance, just
waiting their turn to catch up with the forest below them.

This is a particularly interesting part of the country. We are at the
climate line which supports both pine and deciduous trees - all of these
interspersed by huge rhododendron and azalea bushes. And by huge, I mean
way over my head. 10-20 ft. high and more. 

They have not yet come into bloom. My poor rhododendron in front of my
house! These huge plants bravely put out big buds all winter - and four
times they were nipped by frosty-ice.

I was out there giving them the once over today, and there are plenty of
buds there. Hope they forgive this fickle winter we had, and come out in
their blazing magenta magnificence as they did last year. And so, I am
filled with awe, again.

I asked the editor of our local paper if she ever tired of looking at
the mountains, or got so accustomed to having them there that she barely
gave them a glance after all these yeas of living in close proximity.

She said, \"No, never\".  Good, may I see many more seasons and enjoy this
bounty that nature has just saturated our surroundings with beauty.

Lorraine - end of April. 2003
 

This street car went through a vast open field, by the place where the Connor Creeks flowed. This field was rather swampy and the tracks were not too solid.

WE students would go to the back of the car, the rounded portion, and stand there swaying back and forth while we hung on to the leather straps. That was a big thrill and we would laugh and sing songs. I\'ll bet the older passengers were pretty annoyed with these raucous young kids!

The conductor would call out the names of the streets; and since we knew them all - we would sing them along with him! To this day I can name quite a lot of the streets in their proper order.

My friend Ethel (Of 79 years, since we were 5 years old) and I often test our memories and recall the names of all those streets. When the weather was good, Ethel and I often walked home that five or so miles to save the six cents! When we could inveigle some boy to carry our books and walk us home,that was quite an event. We did not offer to share the saved six cents with him, however!

Without makeup, or permanents in our hair, we were just like what God made us. What you saw, was what you got. I can remember dousing my hair with beer, and putting it all into bobby pin curls. That was an attempt to beautify that never succeeded - my hair was so baby fine that the curls would not stand up to the slightest breeze.

When you see movies of that era, or snapshots, or yearbook pictures = we gals all had the same hair=do. Our bobby pins results in a bunch of curls around the side of the face and the bottom of the back, usually with a mass of bangs hanging in the front. Of course, I didn\'t resort to much of that beautifying stuff until I got to the university - where the
competition was more fierce.

There were seven fellas to every girl at the University of Michigan at that time.I think I had more than my quota of dates. Of course, some of the gals which were referred to as \"goons\" in those days) never had a date - so that raised the percentage for the rest of us.

One time, Ethel, her sister Norma, and I went to downtown Detroit, and risked being banished from our homes by getting a permanent. We had saved quite a lot of six cents-es by that time.

We walked up a rickety set of wooden steps to one of the new beauty shops that that had opened on Woodward. There we found huge metal semi-circular affairs that were hung from the ceiling. This was one of the first permanents available, and it was called a Spiral. Your hair was wound on a metal pipe-like affair which was then plugged into that big circular thing that hung from the ceiling. It was rather a terrifying experience, because we were attached to this electrical device and had no way of escaping.

Lucky thing for us that there was no fire - we would have been fried - in more ways than one. Well, when we were finally released from the monster, we had tight closely woven spikes of hair. We looked terrible - but that wasn\'t the worst part. We still had to go home to face our parents. My mother immediately cut off all the frizz, and even that was an improvement.

Aha, woman - vanity is thy name.

Lorraine

When Art Champion first opened his ferry service from the mainland to Harsen's Island, it opened up a whole new world of travel to McDonald's Island on the Middle Channel. Now we could ride across on the ferry and take the muddy Middle Channel Road down to the Snooks Highway.
To call it a road, in those early times is quite charitable, as it was no more than an untended muddy way - especially in the spring time or when the water was high. Many times the cars would get stuck in the mud down to the axels and we would all have to get out of the car and push, meanwhile becoming mud spattered.
Those people who enjoy the luxury of paved roads and the convenience of the modern 1999 automobiles will never know the thrills and frustrations of those early days. It took literally hours and hours to get anywhere, but we didn't mind because we didn't know there was any other way! Being stuck in the mud was an every trip affair, and changing tires was another diversion.
Cars would always develop flat tires, some times as many as 3 or 4 during a short trip. The tires were usually mounted in wells in the fenders, so it was not difficult to get at them - it was just the exasperating frequency of the breakdowns that lead to much cursing and sweating on the part of the driver who had to either replace them or fix the hole in the tires. We had special tire-fixing kits that would allow the driver to add a patch over the hole in the tire that was causing the problem. There were no convenient gas stations to take care of the flat tires, and of course no such thing as a road service to call to come and help.
Going over one of the many bridges on the island was another matter altogether. The bridges would be short, but high pitched, one lane wooden affairs. One could not see if another car was coming from the other direction, so it meant getting out of the car and having someone walk to the top of the bridge to see if there was a car approaching from the other side. Some hardy souls would forego the scouting operation, just letting out a mighty horn blast to announce that they were preparing to cross the bridge.
I never heard of any accidents caused by automobiles colliding on the bridges, but then - there was very little traffic to contend with in the early days. When my father got his first Model T Ford and was learning to drive, a chicken crossed his path. He stopped and hung his head out the side of the car, hollering "Get off the road" Much to his chagrin my mother said calmly "Why don't you blow your horn?" Of course, he hadn't thought of that.
Since we would rent a spot to leave our outboard motor boat on Harsens Island when we were in Detroit, we had an elaborate affair, consisting of a tarp cover secured to the side of the boat with buttons to affix, to keep the boat dry and free of water when we arrived. Since we would usually arrive during the daytime there was little problem, except time consuming work removing the tarp from the boat.
However, since we would wait until the last minute of daylight to depart McDonald's Island and go to our docking spot on Harsen's Island dusk would arrive. Have you ever been on Harsen's Island amid the tall rushes at dusk? If you have, you will know that hordes of mosquitoes come out to drive you to desperation. Removing our belongings from the boat and buttoning down the tarp was a horrifying experience. We would finally flee to our cars covered by welts from mosquito bites. But we didn't learn. Next week we would stay on our Island Paradise until the last minute again, and once more encounter the mosquito menace. Ah, those were the days. And we did it all for enjoyment, week after week.

But this week I observed something absolutely spine-tingling to me.
There was a silvery full moon that lit up the area with one shining glow. The leafless trees towered over me. there were  branches and twigs on the smaller ones; however, the fat tall trees were magnificently bathed in the silvery finery. They stood like stong sentinels, holding their ground.

I looked up at them in awe, for they presented a new view of the world to me. What had been shadowy, dark and mysterious - was now silhouetted in a delicate light that formed its own long shadows.The house next door was serene and beautiful in its new coat of pale moonlight.

I had never observed this scene before. Of course, I have not lived in a forest on top of a mountain before.

When you are 3,000 ft. up and seemingly, alone in the world, the sky seems so close. Some moonless nights when the sky is a like an inky piece of black velvet, you see myriads of stars you had never seen before. So many of them;. and, so bright and so close that you feel like you can get up on your tippy-toes and touch them.

When we live in the city, the world of people and noise and movements are so much with us, that we seldom have the occasion to observe nature\'s beauty.

Like a child, I am seeing magnificence in the simple things that I never took the time to appreciate when I was living in a busy world. Now, in a more relaxed atmosphere, I am discovering so many of nature\'s gifts - and standing in amazement as I drink in the beauty.

Lorraine

The part of the island which went up toward Lake St. Clair was mostly uninhabited at that time, except for an old ice house owned by a man named "Sears". Behind us was Long Pointe Bay.

During dry summers, we had a path worn across to the back of the island to the Bay. It had long white sandy beaches, it was protected by rushes on all sides and very few people knew it was there. You could go there and escape the "world". It was very shallow and led into Fisher Bay and Goose Bay. Being shallow, the water was usually up to our knees, and it warmed up before the other water ways and cuts.

During the good old days when there were "FISH" - we used to go back there with a big oval copper wash kettle and fill it with big yellow-belly perch which we caught two at a time - "double-headers".

During the spring there would be a big run of "silver" bass in the little Bay, but these were bony and not as succulent as the perch - which I swear were the best-eating fish in the world.

As a child I never understood why we ate so much fish - which my long suffering mother cleaned without a word of complaint. Now I realize it was because we didn't have refrigeration; and, besides, fish were free and it was depression time when I was in junior and high schools. (I went to Jackson Intermediate and Southeastern High Schools, because we lived on Somerset near E. Warren.}

The story of "how we drove up to the island each week from Detroit" is another interesting tale. My mother would unpack our dirty clothes on Monday morning in Detroit, wash and iron them and get started packing clothes and provisions all week long, for our departure on Saturday early a.m. for another trek to our beloved flats. There were no expressways, so it would take us hours - and oh, the stops along the way. My Dad must have been the most patient man in the world, because he suffered through all these "stops" with nary a complaint, after having worked all night at Hudson Motor Car Co.

We drove through old Mt.Clemens with its smelly rotten-egg odor from the "bath houses" there. We had to stop at a farm for "eggs", at Stahl's in New Baltimore for bread, at a house that had good spring water along the road in Anchorville, and finally reached our debarking point at the end of a little road that goes past the present Margaret Jean's restaurant and the Century 21 Real Estate building.

There was an old-time grocery store at the end of the road by the water, (which is long gone). Here we got the rest of our provisions. (I believe the owner' name was Mr. Tremble - but I can't remember for sure- or was it Mr.Taft?). I do remember that he had a long glass case of penny candy. We kids would press our noses along the glass, and take interminable time choosing which penny candy we would spend our tightly- clutched -in- little- fists money on. Would it be little sugar babies in wax bodies, or Mary Janes, or Baby Ruths, or little sugar dots on pieces of paper, or soldiers, or any of the delicacies which were there The patient owner just waited while we procrastinated. The folks would buy ice for the ice-box at our cottage. We would haul the ice block in the boat, down the Middle Channel, past Dckinsons and finally to our cottage on Mc Donald's Island.

By the time we got there the ice block had dwindled to half of its size - and when we popped it into the warm ice box which had been warming up all week during our absence it would quickly melt almost into oblivion. The melted ice would fill the metal bowl which was kept under the ice box for overflow and flow onto the floor if it wasn't emptied in time.

The Champion boys were young men at that time, Frank and Art Champion. They lived on Dickinson Island at the head of the junction of the middle channel and the north. This was long before Art Champion had the ferry to carry cars to Harsen's Island. They had two wooden Chris-Crafts which they used to ferry customers up the Middle Channel to their respective islands. I believe one of them had a helper called Clayte. We would load up the Chris Craft and through storm and peaceful waters, make the trip to the island.

My only son, (born in 1943) Russell Whitehead lived on the Colony - on Colony Drive - had both a powerboat and a lightning sailboat. We used to drive through the Doty as we made our little rounds, and also on our way to Long Pointe Bay.

During the times of extremely high water, I remember the sorrow I felt at seeing most of those cottages flooded. I loved McDonald's Island most before we had electricity. With the kerosene lamps and stove, we harkened back to the old days - and somehow it was more "cottage". We used to lament the fact that we did not have electricity, but when they did drop the cable under the Middle Channel and we had the power it spoiled things! What a commotion that was in the old pre-electricity days when we opened up the cottage each May.

The willow trees were starting to get green and the air was fresh and clean = and my folks, with their old house-must-be-clean Belgian backgrounds, really gave that cottage a good spring cleaning.

Can you remember the days when everyone had to "spring clean"? It was a ritual, just like the big old dose of sulphur and molasses that my mother gave me to strengthen me up after the winter because I looked "peeked". Well, we would go up there; and, if the water wasn't too high, there was much raking of dead twigs and debris. And on a sunny day all the beds and springs, had to be carried down from the upper floor and outside to be sloshed down with pails of water and thoroughly washed. Including the "pot" which was always kept under the bed in case of a nighttime emergency. (During the day we used the outhouse.
We were were quite upscale, because we had a two-seater.) The mattresses, carpets, and blankets would be strung on a clothesline, between the willow trees, and we would beat the living begeebers out of them with a clothes beater. This was an affair that looked like a big tennis racket with wire loops. We'd take turns flailing away and the dust would fly! The cleansing sunshine would help whisk away the musty smell of a cottage that had been closed up all winter, and then we would haul it all up again and put it back in place. Then everything on the first floor had to be hauled outside for the same loving treatment. In the living room we had a coal and wood burning pot-bellied stove for heat, and always with a tea kettle full of water heating on the shelf on the top of it. We didn't have traditional running water. I was the running water - when my mother would hand me the pail and say "Lorraine, run out to the end of the dock and bring me a pail of water". I was an only child. I loved Phyl's page about her go-around with the telephone company. I also found that she was U of M. I was Class of 1940 Maize and Blue. Your mother's pg was also a favorite of mine. During the 1800's when Detroit was a booming building center, the 4 McDonald brothers were bringing sailboats full of building timbers from Alpena to Detroit, when they ran into a horrendous storm. They found shelter on an uninhabited long spit of land in the Middle Channel. They camped there until the storm passed, and found it so delightful that they made it a regular stop on their trips from Alpena to Detroit with lumber to build the booming Detroit community. Walter, Zeke, Ed and Frank McDonald, divided the land into four equal parts and each staked out his own claim. At least that is what Ed McDolnald's son, Jack, (now deceased - in fact, I suppose - am sure- they are all gone to the happy flats in the sky). My next installment will be about the big "hurricane" of 1933 we went through while on the island - and the days of flooding high water. People (and newspapers and environmentalists) get all agog about the water levels, not realizing - as we old flats people know - that the water level goes up and then it goes down in cycles - and will forever, probably, be thus. Just something to expect and "live with". Bye bye for now Lorraine

maandag 1 oktober 2001 19:49

As Seen by sn Octogenarian

What a glorious sunshiny day, blue skies hardly displaying a wisp of a cloud. But Fall is in the air - Jack Frost has laid his cold hands on my glorious display of salmon Impatiens that I planted to surround my home last Spring; and they are starting to droop their heads in anticipation of the winter months ahead.

But, today, all is aglow with the beginning of the colorful foliage we are blessed with every year. As I look out my kitchen window I see that skinny tree that is the harbinger of the beauties to come, with a smattering of tangerine-red leaves. It is always the first to announce the change of the season.

A few other trees have a myriad of colorful leaves near the tops, but mostly all is still crisp and green. class=MsoNormal style=\"MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt\">Across the street are the Colorado Blue Spruce, all in a row, which will form a barrier next winter to the cold wintry blasts that are sure to follow.

Autumn in Southeastern Michigan - how magnificent! Nature is sending her rewards for all those souls who will view them with awe and appreciate their splendor.

We must not give up hope for a more peaceful tomorrow. The bounty of beauty tells us all will eventually be as it always has been, if we will just contemplate the never-ending yearly pattern of what is around us.

Lorraine Miller

Voor de stamboom van onze kinderen was ik ook op zoek personen met de naam Lievrouw in Amerika. Meme Paula had namelijk ne nonkel die naar Amerika getrokken was en er ook gestorven was. Tijdens de 2de wereldoorlog waren de neven die in het Amerikaanse leger dienden eens bij meme op bezoek geweest maar daarna hoorden ze er niets meer van. Dus leek het opzoeken van een stamboom de gelegenheid om ook daar iets over aan de weet te komen. Dus via Internet alle post- en email- adressen opgezocht van de Lievrouw’s in Amerika en deze personen aangeschreven. Ik vond niet alleen afstammelingen van nonkel in Amerika maar ook nog van anderen. Lillmill was 1 van die andere ze was toen 81 jaar. Bij haar geboorte kreeg ze de naam Lorraine Lievrouw. Later huwde ze een zekere Miller (waarvan de voornaam me nu ontsnapt) De naam Lillmill is dus een verbastering van de namen Lorraine, Lievrouw en Miller. Ze heeft 1 zoon, 1 kleindochter en 3 achterkleinkinderen. Nu met haar 87 is ze nog steeds in de weer met e-mailen. Regelmatig krijgen we een verhaal in onze postbus. Ik vind het de moeite om deze verhalen in een blog te plaatsen. De verhalen gaan over haar leven, haar herinneringen en haar emoties.

Ze zijn wel in het engels maar hoop dat dit een niet zo groot probleem is.

Ik hoop dan ook dat je er net als ik van geniet