It’s been two weeks.
Did you miss me?
“I did. I look forward to your letter blog every week,” my beautiful
little sister said. “As soon as it comes in I sit down and read it.”
The reason why I didn’t visit with you last week is my best old friend,
Trish from West Virginia, came for a two-week visit. It’s been a couple of
years since she’s been here and I was so looking forward to her visit. We were
expecting her around six, Saturday evening two weeks ago and it was ten-ish
before she pulled into the driveway. Her nine hour trip took fourteen hours.
“Why is that? Construction tie-ups?” you guess.
Nope. She gets tired and needs to pull over and rest or nap for a bit. I
think we can all agree that that’s better than driving tired.
We didn’t go a lot of places while Trish was here. The first place we
went was to the Wyoming County Fair. I was telling Trish that the church ladies
sell haluski as well as my favorite pierogies.
“I don’t know what that is,” Trish said.
“It’s a cabbage and noodle dish. I’ve never tried
it but I know Steph, my neighbor, loves it.”
She was looking forward to trying it.
The first day of the fair is free entry for seniors. It’s also Claverack
Day, the day our electric company gives us twenty dollars off our bill and
thirty dollars in food vouchers to sign up for their yearly meeting. That would
be our first stop.
The day of the fair rolls around and I
check the internet to see if they open at ten or eleven.
Surprise! It didn’t open until two in
the afternoon! We left the house so we’d be there when the fair opened and the
traffic to enter the fairgrounds was already backing up.
I saw how full the parking
area was and knew we’d have quite a hike just to get to the main gate.
“Let’s see if they’ll let us park in
the handicapped area,” I said.
Mike pulled up to the guy directing
traffic and hit the button to lower my window.
“Can we park in the handicapped area?”
I asked. “We have a lady with us who can’t walk so far.”
They waved us through to the reserved handicapped
parking.
We weren’t very far inside the
fairgrounds when I see people getting in a line. “Is that the Claverack line?”
I asked.
A lady in line heard me ask and
answered. “Yes, it is.”
“Holy cow! Let’s walk around for a
little while and see if it goes down,” I suggested.
Standing in line is harder for Mike
than walking, and that’s plenty hard for him.
We walked the line — it was a really
long line — until we came to the tent. Then we crossed the line and went
looking for one of the two things we’d come to see; the reptile guy.
“He’s usually here on this corner,” I
told Trish. She was looking forward to holding one of the snakes. When he
wasn’t there we went on to the stand where the church ladies sold their
pierogies for the last umpteen million years. They weren’t there either!
“Let’s go to information and I’ll find
out where they are this year,” I said. I was thinking that maybe they didn’t
reserve their regular spot in time this year.
On the walk to information, Mike says,
“I bet they couldn’t get enough help. They were all older people that ran it.”
At the information booth, the lady
said, “They’re not here this year. They couldn’t get enough help.”
Mike guessed right.
Then I asked about the reptile guy.
“He died. Right after the Harford fair
he died,” she said.
We were walking back towards the end
of the Claverack line when we spot Pork and Annette, our church peeps.
“The line is the whole way out to the
entrance now,” Annette said.
We chatted for a little while then
went our separate ways.
One of the political booths caught
Mike’s eye and he stopped to chat with the ladies there. “Mike,” I got his
attention. “We’re going this way,” and I pointed. Trish and I walked on and
found ourselves at the backside of the Claverack tent.
“Let’s go in,” I said. “There’s some
chairs if you want to sit and rest. I’m going to find my cousin.”
Stacey works for the electric company
and I thought I’d just pop in and say hello. I asked a gal manning one of the
tables where Stacey was and she directed me to where Stacey was working. I
didn’t have any trouble spotting my beautiful cousin.
“Hi there!” I called when I saw her.
Stacey got up and greeted me with a
hug.
“The line to sign up is the whole way
out to the front gate,” I told her. “Mike can’t stand in line that long.”
“Where’s your paper? I’ll sign you
up.”
“Mike has it. I’ll go get him.”
It took me a while to find Mike. He
wasn’t where I left him and my phone service was sporadic. After several tries
it finally rang through.
“Where are you?” I asked.
“Standing in line,” Mike answered.
“Come to the back of the Claverack
tent. Stacey said she would sign us in.”
It seemed like it took Mike forever to
make his way back to where I was waiting for him. Eventually I see him coming.
When we got back to where Stacey was
working she was busy doing her job. She was counting registration slips. We
waited until she made her way through the stack, then she got up and gave Mike
a hug.
“One guy was telling us that he’s been
here since ten but it didn’t open until two,” I told her. “And people were
lining up even then.”
“That was part of the problem,” she
said. “But we can’t tell them when to open.”
We didn’t keep Stacey from her job very
long and as we were leaving, I saw Pork and Annette again. They’d just finished
signing up, too.
“I have a guy on the inside,” I
bragged. “Well, really a gal. My cousin works there. I didn’t have to stand in
line.”
“Oh, now you tell me!” she said with a smile. “It really wasn’t too bad,
though. The line moved pretty fast.”
The only other thing I’d been look
forward to was a Deluxe Walnut Bowl from Loch’s Maple Syrup. I went for those —
one for me, one for Trish — while Mike made a beeline for his favorite (which
was still there thankfully), an Italian sausage sandwich. We found a place at a
table in the shade and ate our treats. Mike, who’s never met a stranger,
continued a conversation with a couple he’d been chatting with elsewhere on the
fairgrounds.
We took our leave and strolled down
the main “street.”
“Wanna go see the animals?” I asked Trish.
“Sure. I’d like to see the sheep and especially the goats.”
Mike didn’t want to walk that much so he parked his butt on a bench and
would people watch while we were gone.
Our walk would take us right past the chainsaw carver, so we stopped to
watch him work on an eagle.
“Do they have special chainsaws?” I
asked, but Trish didn’t know.
I thought if he took a break, I’d ask.
But we were ready to move on before he quit. So what did I do? I asked Copilot,
my AI buddy.
“Yes, chainsaw carvers often use specialized chainsaws — or at least
chainsaws modified for carving — to achieve the precision and control their art
demands. While you can carve with a standard chainsaw, most serious
carvers prefer tools tailored to the task. Here’s how they differ: smaller bar
lengths, lightweight and compact, and modified chains for low kickback.”
So now we both know.
We
were approaching the antique farm machine buildings when loud clanging caught
our attention. A blacksmith was hard at work. We stopped and watched for a few
minutes. There was another couple there already in conversation with him so we
didn’t get to ask any questions before we moved on.
“Shall we walk through and look at the
antique farm equipment?” I asked. “That was something my mother liked to look
at. That and the cows.”
A sign on the sliding door.
Trish reading a sign on the wall.
Again this year, I had to wonder.
“Why did they go through the trouble to put fancy designs on the
machines?” I asked Trish.
“I don’t know." She didn't know.
I went on. “I wouldn’t think guys would care about something like that.”
Since I asked Copilot about the
chainsaws, I asked about the scrollwork, flourishes, and pin striping on the
old machines.
Wanna know what he said?
“I do!” you say.
“Pride in ownership,” Copilot
answered. “Farmers took immense pride in their tools —these machines were
expensive investments and central to their livelihood. Many pieces were hand-built
or assembled locally, and decoration was a way to showcase skill.
And marketing appeal is another
reason. Companies like McCormick, Case, and Oliver used ornate designs
to make their equipment more visually appealing at fairs and expos.
Lastly, for tradition and identity. In some communities, especially
among Pennsylvania Germans, decorative painting was part of a larger cultural
tradition—think of hex signs on barns or fraktur script.”
Copilot summed it by saying, “It’s a beautiful reminder that even
utilitarian objects were treated with reverence and artistry.”
Then he asked me if I wanted him to sketch a scrollwork design for my
garden tools. “Maybe a poetic nod to your possum rescue. Want to play with that
idea?”
I had to smile. AI remembers that in conversations past I asked about
how to take care of my rhubarb and how to help the baby possums that I rescued.
“Go
for it,” I replied. “Let’s see what you come up with.”
“Here it is—your custom scrollwork design is ready! It features a
hand-painted opossum nestled in swirling acanthus leaves and folk-inspired
flourishes, perfect for adorning a garden trowel or even a possum rescue kit.
The colors echo antique farm equipment: rich reds, deep greens, and hints of
gold, all balanced with a touch of whimsy and reverence.”
I have my very own Scrollwork Signature!
Or would you call it a Heraldic Mark? A Possum Seal? Maybe a Caretaker’s Crest?
Copilot says I can call it any of those things and suggested two more. The Mark
of Quiet Rescue or Scroll of the Hollow Guardian. Whatever I call it, I quite
like it!
After our stroll through the past, we
went looking for animals. The closest barns were the cows and everything else
was farther than we wanted to walk. We decided to head back out. Instead of
turning around, we just made a circle around the expo building and headed back
out.
“I think there’s a bee hotel in the
front of the building in the garden. I’ll cut through and get Mike and meet you
up there,” I suggested.
Mike wasn’t in the area we left him
and my phone wouldn’t call him. I head for the front of the building where I
told Trish I’d meet her and what do I see? Mike and Trish sitting on a bench,
talking.
One of the events listed on the fair
schedule was for a strong man demonstration. I found out where it was and we
went to watch. I mean, who doesn’t like to see big, strong, sweaty men bending
steel?
The show was in progress when we got
there and it was packed. The stands were full and the standing room was four
people deep. I gave up on seeing the show and we decided to leave.
All in all, the fair was a
disappointment this year. So much so that we elected not to go back on the last
day, as has been our tradition for as long as we’ve been attending.
Leaving the fair behind, Mike drove
through Laceyville. The church there is in the process of building a new church
and you know how Mike likes to watch things being constructed.
There’s grass growing from the tires
stacked in the back of this truck as well as near the back. “I wonder how long
that’s been sitting there.” Then it occurs to me that maybe the tires already
had grass growing from them when they put them in the truck.
Outside the fire station, a crashed
car had been staged with its back sitting on a wall.
“Why did they put it up like that?” we
all wondered.
A man across the road was packing his
car for a move (it looked like).
“What’s the deal with the car?” Mike
asked.
“It was for a training exercise,” he
said.
Another
highlight from Trish’s visit was an outing to Hickory Run State Park. We’d seen
a segment on the nightly news about its massive boulder field. We thought that
would be cool to go see.
The
distance checker on the internet said it was 78 miles and would take just under
two hours.
Can you
say road pictures?
We took
the highway down so I didn’t get many pictures. But here are a few.
Between our GPS and road signs, we
didn’t have any trouble finding the park.
Inside the park, the road to the
boulder field was also well marked.
It was a quiet and scenic drive back
to the boulder field. We had the narrow, one-way, rutted, dirt lane to ourselves
for almost all of the drive in. “Look at all the rhodies!” I exclaimed as we
drove through a virtual forest of them. I mean, miles and miles of tall rhodie
bushes on both sides of the road. We were driving out of it when I thought to
take a picture.
Then there was a space where tons of
ferns were growing on the forest floor. “Look at all of them!”
Then we were back into more rhodies.
It was a sight to see.
The road became even more narrow and I
thought Mike was going to hit a tree as he dodged the biggest of the potholes.
As we approached the parking area, we
fell in line behind two park ranger trucks. One of them turned off and the
other pulled into the parking area at the boulder field.
Preston, the handsome park ranger, was
happy to chat with us and allowed me to take his picture.
“How big is the boulder field?”
“Sixteen acres,” Preston said. “It’s
about eighteen-hundred feet long by four-or five hundred feet across. But it
used to be larger. As leaves and other debris collect at the edges, the trees
and weeds start growing.” He pointed out where this was happening.
It
was named a natural national landmark in 1967 and unlike other boulder fields
that form on slopes, this one is flat. It’s the largest boulder field of its
kind in the Appalachian Mountains. The boulders range in size from basketball
to car-size. And, of course, you can’t take any home with you.
“Do you ever have to rescue anyone?”
Mike asked Preston.
He grinned and nodded. “It happens a
couple of times a year where someone will get out there and sprain their ankle.
But it hasn’t happened yet this year.”
“What’s with all the rhododendrons?” I
asked.
“We do have a lot of Mountain Laurel,”
he said. “I guess they just like the climate here.”
Now I’m second guessing myself. Were
they Mountain Laurel that I saw and not rhodies?”
Trish had gone on ahead and I trailed
after her as Mike continued to talk with Preston.
I caught up to her at the edge of the
boulder field where she rested with her hands across the top of her walking stick.
“Wow,” was all she could say.
I know pictures won’t do it justice,
just the same, I know you expect pictures.
Mike took our picture.
Then Trish made her way a few feet
inside the boulder field and sat down.
“Now come stand by me and take a
picture so Ben knows I didn’t go very far,” Trish said. Ben is her son and
lives next door to her in West Virginia.
Mike, not trusting his balance, opted
to stay at the edge of the field.
This gal was coming back out and just
walked across as sure footed as a mountain goat. I may have attempted it in my
younger years.
“You make that look so easy!” I told
her.
“You have to be careful,” she said.
“The rocks move sometimes.”
We chatted with her for a bit as she
waited for the rest of her party to come off the rocks.
Trish got up and her foot wedged
between two stones.
“I’m stuck!” she cried.
“I can help,” the lady volunteered.
I was closer, only a step away from
Trish, and moved to give her my shoulder to steady herself. After a few small
and tentative scoots of her foot, she managed to get it turned around enough
that she could step out. But I’m grateful for the kindness and willingness of a
complete stranger to help out two old ladies.
Trish and I made our way out of the
boulder field and joined Mike at the edge of the parking lot. A car pulled in
and a couple got out.
We exchanged pleasantries with the
woman as we walked past but didn’t engage in a full-blown conversation.
The man, husband I assume, was busy at
the back of the car readying a drone.
“I’m not going out there. I’m going to
see it this way,” he said.
“Sounds smart to me,” I replied. It
sure beats getting a sprained ankle.
Trish and I watched the roadside as we
made our way out of the park and we think we spotted the Mountain Laurel as
well as rhodies. So there’s both there.
On the drive into the park, we saw a
church just inside the woods. “Let’s stop at the church on our way out,” I
said, and we did.
Mike pulled off in front of it and
that’s when I realized it was on the other side of a creek. I took a couple of
pictures and got back in the car.
“There’s a dam there and I think
there’s a road up ahead.”
Mike drove a few hundred feet to the
where the side road joined the road we were on. As he made the turn onto the
road we saw the signs. “It’s one-way. Maybe we could find the other end and
drive it,” I suggested.
Mike is a good husband and turned the
car around. We drove back the way we came and never did find the other end of
the road. Jokingly I said, “You could back up the road.”
Trish laughed and said, “It’s not that
far. We could walk in.”
Mike pulled into the road then backed
up to the bridge that crossed the creek. I thought he was going to let us out,
but he didn’t. He backed up to the church.
I was hoping we could go in but it was
padlocked.
I took Trish’s picture at the dam then
walked out to look at the water cascading over the rocks.
At the base, big
rocks were laid out to make a floor for the water to land on.
“Do you think it’s natural?” Trish
asked.
“I don’t think it is.”
(If I’d known I was going to talk
about it, I would’ve take a picture of it for you.)
Suddenly, a truck comes the wrong way
down the one-way road. A few minutes later another truck does the same thing.
“If I’d’ve known that we could’ve
just driven in, too!”
Mike is a good backer-upper and didn’t
have any trouble backing in anyway.
Trish and I walked along the creek
bank and came to a second set of falls.
Then continued on to the bridge, where
I took a photo of both falls.
We crossed to the other side of the
bridge and looked out over the creek.
I was wondering what these concrete
things were for when Trish said, “There’s another set of falls under the
bridge!”
I tried to get a shot of them but it
was straight down and didn’t turn out very well.
“Can we go home a different way and
not take the highway?” I asked.
Mike is a good husband. “Put it in the
GPS. Do you think there’s a Wawa on our way?”
“I can put it in the GPS.”
We’ve been seeing on the TV about a
new Wawa service station/convenience store being built somewhere, I don’t
remember where, down near Scranton maybe? And they made it look like a huge
store that had everything in it. Mike really wanted to check one out since
neither of us had ever been in one before.
The GPS found us a Wawa a few miles
away and that was a good thing. I needed to let my water down and Trish needed
a cup o’joe.
Doncha know that we ran into workers
putting down a coat of fresh tar and chips.
Mike groaned. “Now I’m gonna get tar on
the side of the car.”
“Sorry,” I mumbled, but at this point
we had little choice but to go through the work zone.
We found the Wawa with no problem and
once inside, it sure was a lot smaller than I thought it was going to be.
“Maybe it’s an old store,” I
suggested.
“Maybe it’s the magic of TV,” Mike
said. “You know how they always make things look better than they really are.”
I did know. Especially when it comes
to food.
We took care of our needs and hit the
road again.
We started to see signs for Francis E.
Walter Dam. Much to our delight (mine and Trish’s) our GPS took us right over the top of the dam. There were no cars in either direction so Mike stopped and
let me out. I quickly took pictures from both sides of the road and got back in
the car before any cars came.
We hadn’t gone far when I saw the sign
telling you NO STOPPING STANDING OR PARKING.
Oops!
An internet search tells me that this
is a earth-filled embankment dam with a rock shell. It was built in 1961 by the
U.S. Army Corps of Engineers and
spans the Lehigh River near its
confluence with Bear Creek,
creating the Francis E. Walter
Reservoir. It’s 3,000 feet long
and stands 234 feet tall.
Fun facts...
It was originally named Bear Creek Dam and renamed in 1963 to
honor Congressman Francis E. Walter
who championed flood control efforts in the region.
The reservoir is a hotspot for fishing,
kayaking, boating, and whitewater
rafting, with scheduled water releases that support both anglers and
thrill-seekers.
The area supports diverse species, including bald eagles, painted
turtles, and even timber
rattlesnakes in the rocky cliff zones nearby.
The dam’s reservoir holds up to 110,700
acre-feet of water—enough to cover all of Wyoming County in a shallow
lake.
The land was originally owned by the Lehigh Coal & Navigation Company, which planned to build
hydroelectric dams before the federal government stepped in.
Beneath the reservoir, remnants of old forests still stand underwater,
providing aquatic habitat for
fish and turtles.
Okay, maybe not so much fun as just plain facts, but I wanted to know
more about it and now you know what I know.
We crested a hill — maybe mountain would be a better word — and could
see just about forever and a day!
Going
down the other side we see signs for a runaway truck ramp.
“That would be a helluva ride,” Mike said.
I thought the circles on the fence
were interesting. I imagine they’re just there to lend it strength.
Then
we were back on our stomping grounds and I was recognizing the landscape.
The only other outing we made was a
giant circle. We went to one big flea market in Wysox, the thrift store in
Towanda, then drove down 220 to Monroeton for a side trip out to the Amish
store, then continued on into Dushore for lunch at Mary Beth’s Westside Deli
and two more second-hand stores. There were plenty of other flea markets we
could’ve stopped at but I knew these would be enough — and they were. We were
done-in by the time we got home.
Mike took the scenic route into Wysox.
The flea market in the old Agway
building is huge — wait a minute, it’s HUGE! We walked around and the only
thing I bought was a DVD I wanted to watch with Trish.
“What was that?” you ask.
Angel
Eyes with Jim Cavizel and Jennifer Lopez. The story line is good but the
language is kind of rough. The story would be just as good without the rough
language but film makers think that’s what we want.
Trish found a live plant and some
crafting supplies.
Our next stop was the Rainbow where I
found a Fiskars fabric cutting set for two bucks. It has a cutting mat, cutting
ruler and rotary cutter. Some time ago I’d been looking at buying a rotary
cutter but they were expensive! The one in this set is in great shape.
Trish found a pretty blouse and more
embroidery hoops for her crafting needs.
Hmmm. I was just thinking. Are you really interested in our little finds at
each of our stops? It was more of the same kind of stuff at the last two
second-hand stores.
I took a few road pictures on our side
trip to the Amish store.
We met the nicest guy in the Amish
store. He had his “support” dog in the cart and this was the chillest dog I’ve
ever seen. The man had recently lost his wife and you could tell he was
lonesome for conversation. We stood and let him talk for about fifteen minutes.
Trish bought some spices and I bought
three of the dishrags. I love their dishrags!
After lunch we went up to the school
and I showed Trish the bridge I had to walk across to get to the playground.
Then we went on up the hill and visited Momma, Pop, and Mike.
It was a very full day!
The rest of Trish’s visit was busy and
full as well.
We painted. Actually, Trish painted
more than I did. I would set her up to paint while I took care of something
else. But I was always on the standby if she needed me. She did a beautiful job
with her vase and flowers.
We did tackle a tutorial together.
Hers looks more like it was supposed to look, a rain-swept ocean with a ship in
the distance, whereas I turned mine into something else. I was not liking how
my clouds were turning out, so I just played.
“The most important thing is to just
paint! Anything you want to do, you will do, and you’ll get better at it every
time you do it,” is one piece of advice I gave her and you can tell she has a
certain amount of natural ability.
Watercolors can be tricky. Trish, who
usually paints with acrylics, was trying to use those acrylic techniques with
watercolor.
“Load your brush,” I had to tell her a
couple of times. With acrylics you dab the tip of the brush in the paint and
paint with it. With watercolor you load the brush with as much paint as it will
hold and the paint will flow down to the tip. You get different size brush
strokes depending on how much pressure you put on the brush.
Water control is the biggest issue with watercolors and it isn’t anything
anyone can teach you. You only learn it by doing it.
As for supplies, almost every
watercolor artist I’ve watched says that more important than what paint you
use, more important than what brush you use, is the paper you paint on. Fiber
papers will not act the same as one hundred percent cotton watercolor paper.
I’ve painted on both and will continue
to paint on both. You just have to learn the characteristics and limitations of
both kinds.
We painted a green bird and peacock
from tutorials.
We both painted a lemon.
Then Trish
painted some pumpkins that were awesome!
“Will you paint some pumpkins in my
old book for me?” I asked.
And she did! I love them!
If you notice the August date on it,
just know that we’re old women and easily confused. Besides, when you’re
retired, the days and weeks and months can run together and I don’t always know
what day it is!
Something else you may (or may not)
notice is that we wore our crafting shirts every day that we were home. We did
something creative almost every day and there's no use in ruining more than one shirt at a time.
“Christine loves the gnome home you
made for me. I’d like to make one for her if you don’t care,” Trish said.
“Absolutely!” I love teaching arts and
crafts.
The first thing we did was scour the
internet for ideas. Then I made the first batch of concrete clay and we went
out on the patio where Trish went to work on a gnome home for her sister. One
batch wasn’t enough and I had Trish mix the second batch. Experience is the best
teacher, doncha know?
I totally spaced out and didn’t take
any pictures of Trish making the gnome home. The first pictures I took were
when she was painting it.
After she finished painting it, I
showed her how to make glass paint from a couple of chemicals and Styrofoam.
“Always make it and use it in a well
ventilated area,” I cautioned. The fumes are wicked and will make your head
spin!
The completed gnome home with its
stained-glass windows and fairy lights is so stinkin’ cute!
Besides crafting, we played cards. Two
games I love to play, and Mike won’t play with me, are Quiddler and Phase 10.
Tiger helped.
Mike’s brother Cork taught me to play
Phase 10 and my beautiful cousin Rosemary taught me Quiddler. When we play
Quiddler, though, we always play with my cute little red-haired sister’s rule.
“What’s that?” you wanna know.
You have to make a sentence with the
words you put down. That can make the game even more fun as the sentences don’t
always make sense. But hey! It’s our game and we can make up funny and quirky
sentences if we want to! Trish was a hard task-master though. She wouldn’t let
me make up words.
I did lots of cooking for Trish, too.
I wanted to make her some of our favorite dishes and desserts. Hamburger
Stroganoff, coffee cake, Frito Pie, meatloaf, apple pie, sausage and peppers,
lemon bars, unstuffed cabbage rolls, cheesecake (which I burnt!). “It just has
more flavor,” Trish said, trying to make me feel better about it.
She helped make homemade tortillas for
a breakfast wrap that I make and put in the freezer for a quick breakfast. She
cooked the tortillas as I rolled them out, then I cooked the eggs and she
rolled them in the tortillas along with pieces of sausage and wrapped them in
foil. For the sausage, I just cut a pre-cooked sausage patty into strips and we
put two in each one. It was a breakfast she seemed to like as much as I do.
Trish
didn’t arrive empty-handed; she came bearing a bundle of handmade treasures,
each one crafted with care and creativity. There was a decoupaged bottle
glowing with fairy lights, and a matching bathroom set: a beautifully decorated
box for toiletries and a coordinating tube for cotton rounds. She gave me
crocheted Christmas tree ornaments, and even a little crocheted tree that fits
over a bottle with fairy lights inside. I could get mini ornaments to hang on
it but I ended up adorning it with some of the flowers I’d made myself until I
can get some.
And then there were the crochet wind-spinners, which I absolutely adore!
Whimsical, breezy, and full of movement. But the showstopper was a birdhouse
designed to look like a tiny camper. It’s impossibly cute.
As I admired it, Trish smiled and said, “My brother made that one and one
more. He told me he’d never make another.”
There was one other gift that Trish made that sits on my desk and I smile
every time I look at it.
“What is it, Peg? You have to tell us!” you say.
And I will. She made a tissue box cover.
The first side I saw was a likeness of Raini.
I
turned the box and there was Tiger!
Another flip and I see a dog rear end and a mouse.
I
didn’t understand it until I turned it to the fourth and final side.
Then I saw Bondi and laughed right
out loud! How clever!
Trish
captured her expression perfectly! This is what Bondi’s beautiful eyes look like
as she silently begs me for a new toy!
On
the top, Trish put my initial, two dog bones, and the blue thing with a smiling
face and two red cheeks? It’s a beautiful reminder of my dear sweet friend Joanie
who recently lost her battle with cancer. It started as a small vase with a small
potted plant in it that Joanie gave me. I’m not good with plants and it died. Now
I use the vase to hold water when I watercolor and Tiger drinks from it.
Trish has such a gift for crochet and needlework; her creations are both delicate and full of character. Her needlework is the kind that makes you stop and admire—so much care stitched into every detail!
All too soon, Trish’s time with me came to an end.
I started missing her before she even left the driveway.
Let’s call this one done!
