Linda’s Bond with Packer

I have been fortunate to travel back to the family farm four times a year for extended periods for many years. I always looked forward to finding Packer in the garage when I pulled up to the house or to having him greet me in the driveway after a long separation. My most poignant memories are seeing mother and Packer together in the garage as I wave goodbye and knowing that God brought them together to take care of each other. And that they did as my mother celebrated her 90^th birthday a couple weeks before Packer left us. I learned allot about Packer in those visits, and our bond of love deepened. I always left each visit appreciating the differences between cats and dogs and longing to someday have a dog like Packer Boy added to my cat household.

One way we connected was our great adoration of the farm and the outdoors. I loved taking long walks on the country roads and being away from a busy metropolitan area, and Packer loved exploring the yard and fields and sniffing the shrubs with great interest. He reminded me of a lion overseeing his territory. He stretched out on the lawn, paws pointed forward, head up, ears erect and watched and listened intently. In the evenings, I liked to join Packer in the back yard. The starry sky above us, the darkness surrounding us, the sounds of nature reverberating back to us and the fireflies flashing on and off created an enchanted atmosphere. During those moments, I felt a deep connection to those who had walked the land under our feet (and paws) and gone on before us—my father, my four grandparents and my childhood dog, Penney.

Another way we connected was through funny little games and loving attention. Packer and I liked to play hide and seek. We chased each other around the outside of the house. Sometimes, he ran from me in jest when he saw me. Then he nonchalantly reappeared to see what I was doing—often coming up to my side, looking up at me with his deep brown eyes and wanting the top of his head rubbed. When it was really hot, he allowed me to rub a cool cloth on the top of his head—much to my mother’s surprise since he was scared of water.  He liked to greet me at the car when he had not seen me for months or when I returned from a short jaunt into town. In his younger days, he and his dog buddy, Lucky had the habit of running to the car and wildly greeting us to the point that we couldn’t get out of the car.  It was quite a welcoming commotion. Packer received Christmas gifts from my cats over the years. One year he amused my brother when he buried his Christmas bone until spring!

I often wished Packer would come into the house. I thought he would be more comfortable than sleeping on a pile of blankets in the garage. I thought of how much company Packer would be for my mother if he was in the house more. Not to mention he would be out of the hot weather or cold weather and away from dangerous insecticides or other outdoor hazards. But I have come to realize that Packer Boy was an earth dog—he loved the soil and the wide open spaces. He probably knew every inch of his land from his years of roaming. He never knew confinement of any kind and was truly a free spirit. It is difficult to have it both ways, and I suspect that is really why he would not go into the house even when coaxed. His soul did not want to be corralled, and he needed the freedom to run and live his life on his terms and to die his way. I also understand my mother’s great concern that Packer not be caged up in a veterinarian’s office at the end. That would have been the antithesis of Packer.

Now although he is out of my sight, and I will not physically see him in the garage with my mother on my next home visit, Packer still knows where I am. He is in another dimension and he is free to be by my side.  I am not out of his sight, and his view of his beloved farm is all encompassing.

Next Week:  Packer and my mother

Bountiful Blessings!

Packer Boy

Packer was a beautiful mixed Spaniel breed. He was creamy white with subtle brown splotches and feathered legs. He had a distinctive brown mask, with white between his big brown eyes. His brown ears had wispy hair that blew in the breeze. He was a solid, sturdy and strong dog, just the kind of dog you would expect overseeing a farm.  Packer was my brother’s dog, named after his favorite NFL football team, the Green Bay Packers. My brother lives close by in a small town and Packer stayed on the farm with mother.

Packer was always an outdoor dog. He had the run of the 200-acre farm and neighboring areas, slept and ate in the garage, and hid in the barn. The barn was his safe sanctuary. It was where he ran to with the least threat of a storm, and he would not return to the garage until the storm passed. It was where he hid when the lawn mower crew arrived with the loud noisy equipment.  Although no longer used for livestock or grain, the barn offered lots of nooks and crannies, both in and under the barn. So for almost twelve years, Packer called this his home when he wasn’t hanging out in the garage or chasing rabbits.

I counted on Packer Boy (as I called him) for many things. First of all, when I opened the west patio curtains in the morning, I saw Packer lying in the cool backyard. I tapped on the window, and he turned around and looked at me. I waved to him. In later years, when his hearing diminished, he often did not hear me. By mid morning Packer took his walk around the perimeter of the yard. He inspected trees, paused to gaze around, and continued until he made his way back to the garage. Sometimes during the day, I saw him peeking in the patio window. He liked to stretch out under a pussy willow tree that was in line with the kitchen window. One afternoon this past July, when my mother and I were in the kitchen, we saw Packer sleeping by the tree. I sent thoughts to him, and he all at once rose up and looked toward us. My mother commented that it seemed like he knew we were watching him. I told her he did!

Sometimes, when he returned from his gallivanting, he was covered from head to toe in dirt or mud. A couple days later, he was a nice clean dog. He cleaned himself by rolling around in damp grass. He lay on his back with his feet up in the air and rubbed against the ground. Other times he lay on his stomach and scooted across the grass. I was always amazed how clean he could get. He would not let us wash him down and always ran when he saw a hose—even if we were just filling his water bowl or watering plants. Yet I believe he spent lots of time running through the creek and wallowing around in muddy water. He had several deep holes around the house foundation where he liked to sleep. During the summer of 2007, temperatures reached 100 degrees for days on end. I tried to coax him into the air-conditioned house, to no avail. We tried a wading pool another summer, but he would not get in it.  As the saying goes, you can’t teach an old dog new tricks!

Next Week:  More about Packer

Bountiful Blessings!

The Last Good-Bye

I arrived at the family farm with mother and dog Packer standing on the back door step. The minute Packer saw me he came to greet me. Three weeks later when I left to return to Florida, mother was standing on the back step and Packer was lying at her feet.

The day before I left I found Packer collapsed in the garage. The veterinarian made a house call and drew a blood sample. But results did not tell us what the problem was. Heartworm and tick diseases were all negative. The kidneys and liver were functioning fine, and the tests did not indicate diabetes.

The next morning Packer was back in the garage.  He still would not eat and was so tired. I sat on the floor and talked softly to him and rubbed the top of his head.  I told him what a good dog he was and how much I loved him, that he had taken such good care of mother by watching over her, and how I knew he missed Lucky (another family dog that passed on a couple years ago).  A little later he moved from the garage to nearer the barn. I saw him in the grass when I was loading the car. His back was to me. I went back in the house and when I returned outside, he was in the same spot, but turned around facing me. He got up and started the long walk to the car. He stopped once to rest, but finally made his way to me and then back into the garage.  That is where he stayed until I said good-bye.

A few hours after I departed, Packer left the garage area and my mother saw him walk across the yard, lie down and rest and clean his front legs. Then he disappeared somewhere, possibly the barn area. We suspect that he sensed his own passing and crawled off to be alone.  So I am grieving the loss of a dear family dog that worked his way into my heart and am being reminded once again of the fragility of life.

Next Week—Packer’s Personality

Bountiful Blessings!

My Grandmother Memory

I like to enter short writing contests. Recently I submitted an essay to the National Association of Baby Boomer Women. Although I was notified this week that I did not win, I sure enjoyed writing my 500 word essay on my favorite grandparent memory.

 

My most precious memory of grandma, Charlotta Estelle Mohr, is spending countless hours by her side at an impressive round oak pedestal table. When I close my eyes, I see her standing at the kitchen table mixing cornmeal pancakes that we will soon have for breakfast. Years later upon her passing, a thief entered the home one cold January day and stole the treasured table where warm hours of laughter, companionship, and love had been shared. But the memory of what she taught me at that table remained part of my being.

 

Our life on the Missouri family farm centered on this heirloom. For starters, I saw food and lots of it! The table was where we ate our everyday meals as well as holiday and birthday dinners. My grandma made melt-in-your mouth biscuits, and her fried chicken was unequaled. Her self-sufficient farm produced abundant cherries, strawberries, red raspberries, black raspberries, apples, and grapes. After harvesting, we sat at the table and stemmed strawberries for preserves or peeled apples for latticed topped pies. She took delight serving homemade grape jelly in a crystal compote. Later, she graciously gave me many treasured family collectibles that we had enjoyed on the table including a soup tureen that was a wedding present from her grandmother. One of her moments of respite was late afternoon tea served at the table.  She taught me to savor a cup of fine brewed tea enjoyed with coconut cake or sugar cookies. Of course, these delicacies were not made from Betty Crocker’s cake mix or Pillsbury’s slice and bake cookies! My grandma made everything from scratch, and her recipes were in her head. I savored those blessed afternoons with her while sipping tea in special china cups decorated with pink roses that were reserved for our traditional ritual.

 

The table was also our entertainment center. My grandma enjoyed games (and winning I might add!), and she taught me to play Monopoly. I learned to play marbles on a hand carved board and to play card games such as Pitch and Hearts. I loved coloring Easter eggs and set up my assorted pastel colors on the table, and grandma cooked onion skins for brown decorated eggs. Other days, our entertainment was sewing. While grandma pieced quilt blocks, the table became a cutting area for my red and white gingham dress. And when I was not sewing my clothing, I leafed through the Sears & Roebuck catalogue and made out my wish list. Sometimes, we headed to her beautiful gardens and picked gladiolas, peonies, or roses; then we arranged them in vases on the oak table.

 

Although the beautiful oak table did not remain in our family, the memory of my grandma sharing her life with me at the table is a still frame in my mind. I have her to thank for my love of baking, antiques, flowers, and tea time—all taking root at this beloved table. Today, she is helping me arrange purple lilacs—they are breath-taking!

 

Bountiful Blessings!

My Mother’s 90th Birthday

“On your birthday take some time to reflect on where you have been and all you have achieved”

This message on a 90^th birthday card for my mother reminded me of one of Tatianna’s Teachings:  Celebrate extraordinary accomplishments. Celebrate is exactly what we did! I just returned from a three week Midwest stay.  A couple of those weeks were spent in honoring my mother with luncheons, dinners, and an open house.

My sister and two brothers hosted an open house at Trump Heritage Haus—a magnificent 1875 red brick home with three white columns. Over 75 guests attended including some students my mother taught in the 1930s and 1940s as well as more recent years. We set up historical displays of my mother’s teaching career and her family life. One document was a teaching contract from the 1940s. A guest was so excited to see her father’s signature on the contract that she requested a copy from us. Mother’s favorite color is pink and favorite flower is a rose. So you get the picture—pink punch and rose decorated cakes! We presented her a proclamation from the State of Missouri Governor’s Office. We also established a scholarship in her honor. Family members contributed $1500 to start the scholarship, and we will award a $500 scholarship annually for years to come to aspiring teachers. We also presented a cookbook, Recipes from Rosemary’s Kitchen. (More about that in another blog).

Teaching was her passion. She was born in rural Missouri in 1918. She grew up during the Great Depression. She graduated from high school in 1936 and attended Northeast Missouri State Teachers College on a scholarship in 1936-37. My mother began teaching in 1937 after passing a state teachers’ test allowing her to teach in rural schools. During summers, she attended college until she graduated in 1943 with a B.S. in Education, major in Business Education. Over the course of a 35 year career, she taught at rural country schools and town elementary and high schools.

A student from 1943 had this to say: I am sure your teaching helped me snag a job at the bank which lasted for 40 years. For that I thank you, but best of all you were a fun teacher. We have kept in touch and enjoyed a lifetime friendship which I value very highly. I just wanted to express my appreciation for your guidance in those early years, the good times we had and for being a forever friend.

I echo those sentiments. Thank you mother for your ongoing guidance, for all the fun we have when we get together, and for being my forever mother!

Bountiful Blessings!