SPRINGTIME MEMORIES ON THE FAMILY FARM

by

Laurean Brooks

As a child growing up in the country, I have many fond memories of the days my siblings and I spent exploring the woods and wading streams. I especially have sweet remembrances of the pets we made out of farm animals. 

When I was seven, I doted on a neighbor's half-grown Guernsey calf and named her Dusty, while my sister made a pet out of their Holstein bull she called Cloud.

In tears, we soon left Dusty and Cloud behind when Daddy bought a farm a few miles down the road. It was there our uncle brought us a half-dozen bantam chicks. I claimed a little red hen, Sandy, which I taught to jump on my shoulder to eat corn from my hand.

Besides two dogs of questionable heritage, we soon had a cow, a pony, chickens, and a pair of goats. My older brother bought two pigs to add to the mix. He named them, Porky and Ham. With each spring, came bursts of new life. While the fruit trees blossomed and the locust trees gave off their sweet fragrance, baby chicks pecked out of their shells to venture out into a new world protected by their clucking mother.

One spring while the baby chicks hopped around their Mama, a new addition to our farm animals made his appearance. “March” was the first goat born on our farm, and by far the cutest little creature I had ever seen. The little white goat and I immediately bonded. I claimed March as my own and named him for the month in which he arrived.

A fallen Catalpa tree in the barnyard became the perfect prop for us to compete for “King Of The Log.” I couldn't wait to come in from school to play our game. March and I spent countless hours winning and losing the crown.

I would climb up on the log and yell, “I'm the new king of the log!” My coronation lasted about five seconds before March butted me off with his surprisingly hard noggin. Before I could pick myself up, he sprang up on top of the log to announce himself as the victor of the coveted title. After a playful struggle, I regained the title. But only for a moment. March nudged me off the log again. So, the game continued.

Those childhood days have drifted farther from me with each subsequent sunrise and sunset, but I would be fibbing if I said I didn't yearn for those simpler times and special moments on the farm. Rural living is a busy life and the chores are never-ending, but greater are the rewards.

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If you enjoy heartwarming romance with a bit of mystery, check out  my ebook,

OVER THE COALS. 

Jill doesn't know how to take Rob. One minute he's boisterous and outgoing,, the next minute, he's close-mouthed. When she asks him about his childhood, he starts avoiding her.

Rob has a secret. What is he hiding? Will Jill's uncovering of the truth destroy their budding relationship?

AMAZON BUY LINK:

https://www.amazon.com/Over-Coals-Laurean-Brooks-ebook/dp/B075H3WF92/ref=pd_rhf_dp_p_img_5?_encoding=UTF8&psc=1&refRID=TMGZDE402F9KWMGXVXJ6

MY GRANDPARENTS AND MY DNA

By Judy Ann Davis

MY GRANDPARENTS AND MY DNA

Treasures may be tangible or intangible. They can be held in the hand or simply stored in the mind. My treasure for today is stored in my mind.

Recently, I took the plunge and had my DNA tested. I knew all four of my grandparents emigrated from Poland to the United State shortly before or shortly after the 1900s. I found I was 98% East European/Polish and 2% Finnish. Though surprised by the 2%, I knew from research that the Finnish tribes were the first ones to settle the north Baltic coast of what is today called Poland.

Why my grandparents are a treasure is for their strength, stamina, and bravery to leave their homeland—and everything they owned—to undergo a perilous journey, not in the least comfortable, to a foreign country an ocean away. Then they had to find work, learn English, and become citizens.

Unfortunately, I never really knew three of my grandparents since they died when I was a small child. My paternal grandmother, Victoria, was only sixteen when she boarded a ship in 1906 to come to the U.S. where her sister was already located. Talk about fearless!

Both of my grandfathers worked the mines and owned farms. My Grandfather Lashinski bought a farm in Northeast Pennsylvania which my father and mother later purchased from him and where they raised my sister, brother and me.

It was on this bountiful farm where I scampered over acres of pastures, forests, and fields. A carefree child, I walked on stonewalls build by the Irish in the early 1800s. I splashed in the creek winding through our property, and I caught crayfish and minnows. I daydreamed. I stared at star-filled skies and wondered about the vastness of our universe. I smelled the sweet scent of dried hay, wild roses, and ripe blackberries.

But most of all, I was always safe and never hungry--like many Poles left behind in the “Old Country.” History tell us they had to endure endless domination by other countries as well as the very sorrowful hardships of World War II where 2.7+ million perished.

Without my bold, risk-taking grandparents, I would not be the person I am today. I would never have experienced the wealth of opportunities that living in the United States afforded me. They are a treasure.

So if any of my grandparents are peering down from the heavens above, I’d like to shout out a “Thank you.” And I ask only one small favor: Can any of you tell me which side of the family the 2% Finnish comes from?

Check out Judy Ann’s latest novel:

FOUR WHITE ROSES

BLURB:
     When widower Rich Redman returns to Pennsylvania with his young daughter to sell his deceased grandmother’s house, he discovers Grandmother Gertie’s final request was for him to find a missing relative and a stash of WWI jewels.
     Torrie Larson, single mom, is trying to make her landscape center and flower arranging business succeed while attempting to save the lineage of a rare white rose brought from Austria in the 1900s.Together, the rich Texas lawyer and poor landscape owner team up to rescue the last rose and fulfill a dead woman’s wishes.
     But in their search to discover answers to the mysteries plaguing them, will Rich and Torrie also discover love in each other’s arms? Or will a meddling ghost, a pompous banker, and an elusive stray cat get in their way?

AUTHOR BIO:

Judy Ann Davis holds a degree in Journalism and Communications and has written for industry and education throughout her career. She writes both short stories and contemporary and historical novels. When she’s not behind a computer, you can find her looking for anything humorous to make her laugh or swinging a golf club where the chuckles are few. She is a member of Pennwriters, Inc. and Romance Writers of America, and divides her time between Central Pennsylvania and New Smyrna Beach, Florida.

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