The New Guard

Sometimes there's a change in the weather or the air temperature that happens so suddenly that we are caught by surprise. It's like a hot, humid breeze that is replaced by a refreshing, colder wind.

I've noticed a change at The Fair. There's a new generation of participants who've "blown in."

Last night's sheep show was judged by a former judge's daughter.

An entire family of dairy cow exhibitors has aged out. We saw them volunteering in the ice cream stand, still participating as a group.

I've enjoyed getting to know the new Family Science educator. She is patient and encouraging.

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Committed

I swore that I would "commit" to camping at The Fair, by sleeping in the tent nightly, taking meals at the campsite, and allowing the boys to clean up at the Fair showers.

One boy hasn't come home since opening day. He provides me with a list of things he needs from home and I run back and forth.

Today I'm preparing a Julienne salad for twelve. I went to the store for fresh ingredients and I'm chopping and slicing here at home with my favorite knives on a clean counter top.

I'll run the meal over to the campsite at noon.

For die hard campers I suppose this would be considered cheating.

Last night the air mattress had completly deflated by 1 a.m. I missed my bedroom side table (unsure where to safely place my keys and glasses, I kept the on my person).

Maybe it's the knowledge that I have to go back to work on Sunday that's spoiling my relationship with camping. I don't find camping relaxing at all and I hate to go back to work exhausted.

The boys, however, seem to be having a lovely time.

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Hog Clothes

I try to journal or at least reflect at the close of special days. Yesterday was Day 1 of The County Fair. The day closed with an overtired, crying 5 year old, a massive thunder storm and  five of us sleeping in a tent filled with dirty after-the-hog-show clothes.

It was a very hot, very dry day. I'm grateful that the easy ups didn't topple, grateful for bottled water, grateful that the boys did their best in the swine show.

I want to remember the way our oldest introduced himself to the hog judge, "Hi, I'm really a sheep guy."

We hosted two guests, two children who had never been to The Fair. I want to remember the way W treated his friend to ice cream, games, and trinkets. Of course, he spent all of his budgeted Fair money in one burst of generosity.

This morning my car battery was dead and the electricity to the campsites went off in the middle of breakfast.

Ahhhh. Fair Memories.

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Stranger Than Fiction

My Grandma C always encouraged me to write. In a deep corner of my heart I've tucked away the dream to write a book.

I've decided my work should be historical fiction, because life itself dreams up the greatest romances and tragedies. Fiction in case I don't have my facts exactly straight.

Events this week only proved that I cannot, in my wildest imagination, dream up horrors equal to the national and international news. I cannot foresee the coldness of hearts even among my loved ones, the accidents that grabs a dad from a fishing boat as his son starts college, or the bizarre words of complete strangers like my customers.

While we were with neighbors at the community's weekly outdoor movie night, eating popcorn and banana splits, a gunman opened fire inside a movie theater in Colorado. A "Joker" copy cat?

It can't ever again be said, "that only happens in the movies...or in books...or on TV"

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Homemade Is Where the Heart Is

New York State has officially put the cabash on community bake sales and sidewalk lemonade stands. A new law demands that all food consumed by the public must be made in a licensed, regulated, inspected kitchen.

Now, every summer our church serves homemade pie at Old Fashioned Day. 1 penny buys a slice of pecan, apple crumb, elderberry or whichever flavor your heart desires.

The new regulations could have dealt a blow to this tradition, but not in East Shelby! We ordered a new convection oven that bakes 25 pies at a time and bakers of all ages have assembled for a pie baking marathon in the church's licensed, inspected kitchen. Butter, fruit and sugar were purchased in bulk and the men brought in coolers and freezers to store the pies on site until Sunday.

I heard they were putting out about 80 pies per hour.

We shake our fists at the idea of serving store bought pies or disappointing the thousands who visit our village. Homemade is Where the Heart is!

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Leaving A Legacy

I care a lot about "leaving the world a better place" and about leaving a legacy beyond the limits of my lifetime. So often these days I have found myself groaning over the direction our country is heading and over popular culture. The breakdown of marriage and the traditional family saddens me beyond words. More often than not my attitude toward change is negative. Today, however, I had a wonderful, happy experience as the boys and I walked into our village's new library. I don't want to take all the credit, but the new library WAS my idea. I spent several years in the 90's on the Board of Trustees trying to convince other board members, and the larger community, that parking, lighting and space were all inadequate at the old building. What followed were several more years of arguing over money, what to do with the old library facilities, and where to put the new one. I eventually backed out when I realized I had very little influence. Thankfully, some folks with pull (and push) stepped in and led the community forward. Today I walked into The Hoag Library, a beeeuuuutiful, sun-filled, modern library. Wow.

The Crinoline

My new 3 hoop crinoline arrived in the mail today from California.

I didn't even know the word "crinoline" before this week.

After realizing that I had an extra paycheck from the college, I decided to jump in and buy myself an old fashioned dress to wear to our church's open house. It's a civil war era style and the crinoline is worn underneath to give the skirt fullness and form.

Of course, this year's summer open house has a 1920's theme, but I'm terribly excited about owning any dress to wear this year and into the future. Now I feel I can say that "I AM a citizen of West Jackson!"

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4th of July

My husband would probably say that I'm stuck in a paradigm. I have this idea of how I like to celebrate the 4th of July, how I've always celebrated the 4th of July, and I'm having some trouble doing things differently.

We've had a wonderful day...a 4th of July parade with loud, red fire trucks. A fantastic meal with Caesar salad, BBQ chicken, and baked beans. Even a dip in the lake.

I miss my parents and the cousins. I miss the aunts and uncles. Mostly I miss my Grandpa Chuck.

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Perpetual Motion

I've come to an early conclusion about the theme for our annual Christmas letter: moving on and moving up.

Certainly we, as a family, exist in a state of perpetual motion. The boys crave physical activity and our modern life requires multiple daily trips to the store, the library, the workplace, church, the weight room, meetings etc.

We recently put our heads together about the ideal way to spend the 4th of July holiday. Mr. WestberryDad and I came to the same conclusion. We'd like to have a BBQ at home, in our own backyard.

I'm eager to linger in one place, to press pause.

Happy Independence Day, dear readers.

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