Thoughts of Grandmother

Helen Marie (Reynolds) Ogden

(she is the little blond girl, middle row, far right--- photo circa 1916)

August 18 1907 - January 17, 2011

January 20, 2011
Anderson, IN


Outside the snow is falling, steadily softening the humdrum hurry of an otherwise ordinary Thursday. The funeral of my great Grandmother, Helen Ogden ended just a couple of hours ago. It was a nice service. The minister hadn’t known Grandmother except for a solitary meeting, but he did an admirable job, all things considered. He spoke of her sweetness, and sweet she certainly was. I don’t think I ever heard her speak a cross word to anyone. Almost all of the family was there, minus the handful of us who live out of town, and it was a nice way to say goodbye to a woman we all loved—a woman who lived a long happy life. She lived to be 103 and died on the same date that her husband did 26 years earlier-- January 17.

When I think of her life, and my relationship with her, I keep thinking of gratitude. When you’re a child, you’re inclined not to pay very close of attention to your older relatives. They exist all too often, like the furniture of your life, always there, familiar, comfortable but not often the focus of our busy playful lives. If we are lucky though as we get older, and we are careful to pay attention, sometimes we begin to see those older relatives as the people—the treasures---that they truly are. People with rich stories, which are also part of our story. People without whom we would not be here. I am grateful that I was lucky enough to get to know my great grandmother in this way.

When my kids were born, a few years ago, a desire grew in me to learn more of my family’s story. Growing up I had not known the names of any of my ancestors who were not still living. I wanted something different for my kids. I decided to see what I could learn, so that I can share it with them, when the time comes. This was one reason I was able to grow closer with Grandmother. I was lucky that her mind was still sharp enough, near the age of 100 to remember stories of her grandparents, Adalasta and Neomi Reynolds. (--both of whom were born around the time of the Civil War) She recounted how he worked in a saloon (though he never drank a drop) and would be gone all night, so she would go and stay with her grandmother Neomi. She told me that it was from her grandmother that she got her love for plants. “My grandmother always had lots and lots of flowers growing. I think that must be where I got the gardening bug” she told me.




When Grandmother learned that Audrey and I had gardens of our own, she would always want to know what we were growing. It would send her back in her mind, and she would begin telling me how Oscar (her husband) used to hill potatoes or plant corn—how he did this or that. They were sweet memories for her. Grandmother always loved to garden. In fact she was out there pulling weeds right up until her 100th birthday. Now that she is gone I can see that whenever I am in my garden, the thought of her will not be far away.

On a seemingly unrelated note, I have also been teaching myself to play the guitar a little bit. It’s tough sledding, but I persist--mainly because I like it. One way I go about teaching myself is to play hymns. Usually they’re pretty easy songs to play and a good way to learn. The other night I was thinking of Grandmother when I came across the song, “Where the Roses Never Fade.” These words struck me --

I am going to a city
Where the streets are golden laid
Where the trees are always blooming
And the roses never fade.

Here they bloom but for a season
Soon their beauty is decayed
But I am going to a city
Where the roses never fade….

I’m no theologian. I don’t know much about what happens when we die, or what heaven might look like-- but my hope for Grandmother is that--in whatever way it might happen---she is re-united with Oscar and her parents, her grandparents and all her brothers and sisters. I also hope that heaven has a big garden, where grandmother’s roses never fade. That is an image I will hold in my mind, Grandmother walking through heaven’s garden, delighting in the flowers, and smiling. That seems to me a decent hope.

Collin Taylor

Stories, Shingles, and Stupid Computers

Just a quick Tuesday update.

Well, it died. Our computer that is. I'm looking around for a Mac repair person to replace the hard drive. This should not concern you (I wasn't really worried that it would) except that there will be no pictures to accompany this post.

The shingling of the cabin has begun. Rick and I got the rest of the decking on the roof, blacked it all in (put down tar paper), and roofed up one side nearly to the ridge. Let me just say that having never laid dimensional shingles before, that they are worlds easier to lay than traditional tabbed shingles--- no rain grooves to line up. That, and they resemble cedar shakes. All in all, whoever designed them deserves a serious pat on the back. I also need to admit that I keep finding myself on roofs, and a sick part of me likes it. I always swear I'll never do it again, but something in me likes the work.

Today there are tornado warnings all over the place, and I'm a little worried about that side of the roof that only has tar paper stapled to it. It wouldn't really be a big deal if it gets blown off, but I'd just as soon not have to re-do that job. We'll see I guess.

As for the writing, I made some headway this week on a new story. I'm working on the When-Al-meets-Amy part of the story. What's both nice and troubling about this section of the story is that no one really knows anything about it. It was over 125 years ago and no living relative has ever heard the story, and there aren't exactly census records for such things. I suppose this means no one will be able to tell me that I'm getting it wrong. On the other hand, I almost certainly will get little right about it. My philosophy on the matter is-- take what facts you have, imagine the rest. It's the best you can do. You might brush up against some part of the truth. At the very least you'll know more than you did before. I only hope I can do them some justice.

It's an interesting conundrum really. Part of me just wants to base a story loosely on their lives, change names and free things up to take more license. but a bigger part of me wants to follow my original intent, to try and write their stories as accurately as I can. It makes it a much harder task in some ways. First you have to learn all you can about your subjects, learn it so well that you can get a sense of the "essence" of the story (hopefully). Then comes the telling part, which is difficult for a whole other set of reasons. A. making time to sit down and write. B. being able to get in the right frame of mind. C. writing is hard.

It's also exciting. I read a while back that writing was a process of discovery. At the time, I didn't relate to that very strongly. Most of the writing I had done was straightforward non-fiction stuff and a dabbling of poems. The kind of writing where you pretty much have an idea of what you're trying to say before you say it. Writing a story, even a "true-fiction" one, is a whole different animal. It really is about discovery. It's been interesting and fun to find out what the writing will look like at the end of each session, because at the outset I only have a vague idea of where it's headed. Sometimes I'm amazed and sometimes I'm aghast, but I'm always surprised.

But before I can get back to that process of discovery in earnest, I have to fix my computer.

Living In Dependence / Living Independence

Which of these phrases appeals to you more? I’ve been thinking about both lately. For the past two nights (and again tonight) I’ve been visiting my local Best Buy store trying desperately to purchase a working external hard drive. Gotta preserve those baby photos against the inevitable computer crash. Trouble is, apparently they don’t sell one that actually works. The first one I tried had some sort of firmware issue--it began asking me for a password as soon as I plugged it in and no amount of over the phone technical assistance seemed to help. When the kid on the other end of the line says, “you should take it back to the store”, it’s probably best to stop wasting your time and just return it.

Which brings us to external hard drive #2. After exchanging #1, I take #2 out of the box to discover that the metal plug ports are offset behind the plastic exterior cover in such a way that you can’t even plug the thing in!!!! Lovely! So another trip is in order.

All of this is made urgent by the fact that our computer goes into some sort of coma every time it “goes to sleep.” When we go to wake it up it begins clicking and puts a big question mark on the screen. This is VERY frightening given that we have not backed things up due to the above mentioned problems (and procrastination). So far I’ve been able to get it to boot back up by an extended ritual of unplugging, re-plugging, dust blowing, and dancing around in a counter clockwise motion and holding my breath. But my luck may soon run out.

To top it off, the kid at the store last night, sold me the wrong kind of RAM. I promptly brought it home and attempted to install it, only to discover the error. I’m hoping they’ll take it back despite the package that had to be cut open with scissors. If not, I may actually lose my mind.

OK, so technology is not my forte. I think we’ve established that. That really isn’t why I’m telling you all of this. It has just got me ruminating on what things we rely on in our daily lives. It’s been a trial, even for these past couple of days to be without a working computer. There are bills that need to be paid, news stories read, shows watched on hulu, facebook updates to read, and blogs to be posted to, and all other sorts of imperative digital activity that must be upheld lest the world come to an end.

Last night at work, the power went out. Yes, we actually had rain, and a brief storm, at that. We had to close the library because after an hour the power had not come back on. There was no way to check books in or out, no internet, not much we could do. Without electricity we were powerless, so to speak (sorry). Ironically, I was hosting a presentation by a fellow who does a first-person act as John Muir---the irony being that Muir was someone who would not have been impeded in the least by the loss of electrical current and who always rejoiced in a good storm. But even the father of American Conservation was cut short by last night’s power outage.

We are dependent on so much that is beyond our control. All of us. Some of this is inescapable and endemic to the human condition--We don’t make the sun rise and the earth orbit-- but some of it is due to the choices we make. When I drive out to the farm I drive past subdivision after subdivision. Now, on one hand I can see why people would want a comfortable house. I'm no exception. On the other hand, I look at those homes and I think that living that way requires you to pay someone else for almost everything you need in order to live. Shelter equals mortgage. Food equals groceries. transportation equals car payment. Heat equals gas bill. and on and on. I wonder how much of that stuff a community could produce for itself. Notice I said a community. I wonder what it would mean if we traded our dependence on corporations for a dependence on our neighbors. People we looked in the eye every day. There are some things that I think the Amish get right. I, for one, would happily help a few neighbors build their houses in exchange for not having a mortgage.

People these days grouse and grouse about there not being any jobs. I could go on for a while on that subject, but no one wants to hear that...... nevertheless, let me offer this one single personal heresy---I’m not sure we have an unemployment problem so much as we have a consumer debt problem. I may be demonstrating my simple-mindedness, but it seems to me that people need jobs because they owe money. If you had a roof over your head, a big garden, and no debt, you might desire a job, but it wouldn’t be life or death if you couldn’t find someone to pay for your labor. Let me add in full disclosure, that I am very grateful for my job, because I owe money.

We are a comfortable society even in bad times. I don’t want to be ungrateful for that comfort, but I wonder about the legitimacy of what we call the American standard of living. If you take a long enough view of human history, such luxury begins to look abnormal to say the least. For a long time before the industrial revolution people fed, clothed, and sheltered themselves, perhaps not to our current standards, but that’s kind of my point--our current standards may not be entirely justifiable.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not wishing for poverty and privation. I just wonder about that phrase “living independence.” I wonder what it might look like. What would it look like to live a life that isn’t held hostage by so much that is extraneous, wasteful, commercialized, extractive. I wonder what a life looks like that is shorn of the unnecessary and abundant with things that matter most. In my book these are community, family, skill, knowledge, creativity, laughter, security, love. Seems like there’s an elegant middle in there someplace. I haven't found it yet, that's for sure.

Best Buy here I come....

Savoring the Light

When it comes to being bright enough to see when something good is right in front of me, I can be a real dim bulb. But even for faint lights like me, there occasionally comes a moment when you feel things coming together, falling into place. This was one of those weekends at the farm. Rick (Audrey’s dad) and I put up the remaining rafters, bracing for the overhangs, and began putting up facia boards. These were 1-inch boards that we cut on the sawmill from a big oak tree that fell on the other side of the creek. None of these jobs went terribly quickly, being awkward work with heavy materials done almost exclusively overhead, but they did go steadily. And while we did not get as far as we had hoped this weekend (we got no plywood on the roof), it was a satisfying weekend nonetheless.

The work itself was satisfying because the cabin is really starting to look like a dwelling. The finished structure is becoming easier and easier to visualize. It feels good to have come this far, even if there is still a mountain of work to do. One thing at a time.....

But that’s not the main reason that this weekend was so rewarding. It was the people who shared the weekend with us. On Saturday, Audrey’s brother Chris came out with his kids, and our kids were able to bring their friends Mackenzie and Danielle with them for the day. Despite Ada’s minor instances of girl drama, they all had a good time. They ran like hooligans all over the property and up and down the creek across the road. Then Danielle and Mackenzie tagged along with us to church on Saturday night. They arrived back at home exhausted, happy kids, all of them.

On Sunday some of Audrey’s extended family stopped out. It was very good to see relatives from out of town who we do not see often. It was nice to hear their enthusiasm for the work we’d been doing, to share a quick meal and a laugh or two.

Thich Nhat Hanh says in The Art of Power that when we are too focused on achieving personal/material goals “we sacrifice the present moment for the sake of the future. We are not capable of living deeply every moment of our daily lives.” More often than I’d like to admit, that’s me. I’m so impatient to get the cabin done, get a kiln built, or do whatever else it is I think I should be doing that I’m inclined to miss the good things that are going on around me.

As we were finishing up work on Sunday, a warm golden light flooded in through the rafters that we had just finished hanging. The kids were still running around and swinging on the rope swing. Our relatives climbed up and down the ladder to “inspect” our work one last time. Soon we would all head home. It occurred to me that despite the fact that we had not gotten as far as we had hoped (does anyone ever?), we’ll get there in time. What was more important was to realize why we’re doing this in the first place. To enjoy time spent as a family, to create good memories for the kids, to appreciate what we’ve been given. If we can’t savor the happiness that today has to offer, what are the chances we’ll appreciate tomorrow’s blessings?

By Way of Context

Well, let's see. I suppose I should begin this project by filling you in a bit about the things I'm working on.

Project #1: The Farm
For the past two and a half years, my wife Audrey and I have been helping her parents re-construct an old log cabin. It's phase one in what is sure to be a decades long effort to create a small family farm. Currently we are putting up rafters, which is a thrilling job that mostly entails awkwardly trying to drive screws into boards held at odd angles all while standing 15 feet in the air at the top of an extension ladder (as you can see me doing in the photo). In truth, this part of the process has gone quite well, and it is nice to see the cabin roof taking shape. This weekend we should get the other half of the rafters up and begin decking the roof.

The cabin originally stood near Cynthiana, KY and was of unknown age, but a fair estimate is that the logs are more than 100 years old. We had to do some filling in (and we designed some alterations) with another set of logs acquired from a local barn. Apparently some wood rots when you leave it out in the weather for a century or so.... who knew?

The idea behind this whole farm thing is to create a place where extended family can live close together. Audrey and I decided early on that we wanted our kids to know their grandparents, and so we stayed close to home. When Audrey's folks decided to purchase this piece of land, it opened up the possibility for a connection to family that I don't think many kids get to experience these days. The property is 25 acres so there is enough room for Audrey's parents, us, and her brother's family to all build there. For Audrey and I, it's a chance to let our kids grow up with some exposure to family, nature, the outdoors, farm animals, and food production. They are taking quite well to exploring the woods and creeks. The farm animals are not yet a reality, and their family is growing on them.

Project #2: Writing

The folks on the left are Amy and AW Voss. They were my great, great, great grandparents. I'm trying to learn enough about them that I can write their story, which becomes more fascinating to me the more I learn. Neither of them really knew their fathers. Amy's father was a Civil War veteran who died of tuberculosis less than 2 years after she was born. Al's parents were just two kids who messed around and conceived a child by accident (I presume). Al's father never acknowledged him and his mother died young. He was mostly raised by his grandparents.

Al and Amy married in 1885, and stayed married for 67 years until they died within four months of each other in 1951. During those years they had 5 children, two of which they lost-- one to disease and one was murdered at their home. This is just the tip of the iceberg.

I became interested simply because I wanted my kids to know their ancestors stories. I grew up knowing virtually nothing about any family member who was not still living, and next to nothing about the older one's who were. Poet Gary Snyder once said something about learning the names of trees that is pretty much the same notion as to why I wanted to know about my family history. He said something to the effect that (paraphrasing) "I had an instinctive notion that simply referring to every tree in the woods as "tree" was inadequate. It had to be possible to know with greater specificity and precision the names of the things around me." indeed.

It has been an awakening for me to begin poking around in this stuff. What amazes me is the way that when you know something about your family history it begins to unfold and fit into the larger pattern of history in unforeseen ways. For instance, how many Americans know how they are personally connected to the Civil War? I'd wager not many. But I guarantee you almost all of us have a direct link to that most famous American conflict. I would also wager that if you cared to learn it, there would be a pretty good story in there someplace.

Ok.... that's enough for now. It's a start. We're off and running.