The Reindeer Keeper

It doesn't feel like May yet. Where I live we're still getting sprinkles of snow now and then but the anticipation for wildflowers smiling about the fields and a warm breeze and garden planting is the same as when May was approaching out in the country when I was a kid. May's like a gift; a reward for getting through the winter-a pleasant sort of a month before the humid side of June swallows the landscape up in a smothering blanket especially when working in the hayloft during haying season. When that happened, I'd always wish it was winter again. Guess we're never happy with the weather-sort of like our hair. Sometimes all the weather is good for is conversation. When you're young rooms seem bigger; backyards seem to go forever-the wait for Christmas never-ending. That's how I felt when May was just about here; when one day would be freezing and the next day in the 50s. When would it happen? There never was a magic wand to wave and then-here you go-it

We were lucky. We had that uncle who was more child than adult and never was this more apparent than on Easter. As I've explained before, there were 4 houses full of relatives all sitting in a row on a winding country road. Besides yards, there were back fields and a creek and an old barn and granary and pump house and wood shed and a chicken-coop-turned-clubhouse and on and on and on. There were just so many nooks and crannies tucked here and there and our uncle took advantage of most all of them because back then, every Easter, he plotted and ployed as off on a mission he'd go around the fields and creek and old barn and granary and pump house and wood shed and a chicken-coop-turned clubhouse hiding numbered, folded pieces of paper on which he'd written a clue. Putting all those clues together, this uncle was actually the Mastermind behind Treasure Hunts that could have been possibly the most amazing adventures any child anywhere could ever had wished to be a part of on

Excitement was building. What was quite possibly our biggest event ever scheduled to take place at our Chicken Coop Clubhouse was fast approaching. My cousin and I had spent every spare minute we had getting ready;scrubbing and picking up the Club; practicing and then practicing some more; getting all the little ones prepared to perform the way we expected or at least march in a straight line for a few minutes. This would be our first of what we hoped would be many more Easter Parades-a new event added to our list which included carnivals, circuses, art exhibits, plays, and Halloween spook houses-and others without official titles. How lucky were all the adults to have so many wonderful happenings to attend! We took pride in being such an active Club. Hours were spent making decorations from construction paper. Perfect Easter eggs were easy when you folded the paper in half and finished the job with crayons. Decorated strips of paper glued together made simple Easter baskets. Our bu

Both my grandmother and mother were fine seamstresses. Perfectionists when creating with fabric, every seam had to be straight; every dart even with another. Sitting at her small, black Singer sewing machine with the pedal on the floor and her tape measure around her neck and straight pins pinned to her sleeves or house dress, Giddy as we affectionately called our grandmother would mend, nip, tuck, take in, let out, patch whatever demanded her attention. Most times she never used a pattern when it came to a new project. She'd take the measurements and go from there. When she did use a pattern she'd sometimes combine two into one; taking something from each to obtain her end result. She worked quickly. But then, with six daughters and a farm, there was no time to waste. The last thing she ever sewed for me she never had time to finish. She'd started basting pieces of fabric together that she'd cut into squares with the plan of making the child I was expecting a quilt.

I wish I wore aprons but I don't. Actually I don't spend that much time cooking except for the holidays or Sundays. I could use that for an excuse but truthfully, I don't own any aprons. Not a one. Martha Stewart wears aprons but I'm sure they're designer brands. My grandmother's aprons were basic all-cotton. They went over the head and tied in the back. Some had a pocket-type thing in the front that served like a catch-all as she worked about her farmhouse kitchen while being interrupted by other chores or distracted by children or totally caught off guard by things that needed fixing right then. Those aprons resembled the things carpenters tie around their waistline holding different sized nails. Hers held everything from buttons to pencils and whatever else came her way. Doctors have their white coats. My grand mother had her aprons which were hung on a hook behind a door leading from the kitchen to the dining room. A few were kept for good; a few saved for

When I was growing up there were plenty of Westerns on TV. Guess they could be compared to today's glut of reality shows or CSI series or those singing/dancing talent competitions except the Westerns were in black and white and the actors weren't actors-they were our best friends; part of our family. I think I was infatuated with every cowboy. When they rode off into the sunset I was right there with them. From Adam Cartright on "Bonanza" to "The Rifleman"-men were men; clearing and defending their land and tipping their hats to the women when in town. When they wore their leather chaps I melted. When they tied their 6-gun on and went after the bad guys I cheered. As I've mentioned before Saturday night gave us Gunsmoke followed by Paladin. From Matt and Miss Kitty to that "Knight without armor in a savage land" Saturday night was a smorgasbord of boots with spurs and long dresses I wished I could wear. When we played "Western" i