credit – www.cheneyks.org/
A Public Hearing will be held on December 2nd at 7 pm at City Hall for the Comprehensive Plan. The public is invited to make comments in front of the Planning Commission regarding the Plan. A copy of the 2015-2025 Plan is available for review at City Hall.
I sat down to write this column on Thanksgiving Day eve. I wondered what I could write about Thanksgiving Day that would be meaningful. Then, I opened my e-mail box and found a kindly friend had sent me the following proclamation from our first president, George Washington, establishing Thanksgiving Day in 1789.
Throughout our nation’s history, American Presidents have issued Thanksgiving Proclamations thanking Almighty God for His blessings. Here is the first one given by President George Washington. Who can doubt what he meant for this day to be? I hope you appreciate as much as I did.
A Proclamation.
WHEREAS it is the duty of all nations to acknowledge the providence of Almighty God, to obey His will, to be grateful for His benefits, and humbly to implore His protection and favor; and whereas both Houses of Congress have, by their joint committee, requested me “to recommend to the people of the United States a day of public thanksgiving and prayer, to be observed by acknowledging with grateful hearts the many and signal favors of Almighty God, especially by affording them an opportunity peaceably to establish a form of government for their safety and happiness.”
Now, therefore, I do recommend and assign Thursday, the 26th day of November next, to be devoted by the people of these States to the service of that great and glorious Being who is the beneficent author of all the good that was, that is, or that will be; that we may then all unite in rendering unto Him our sincere and humble thanks for His kind care and protection of the people of this country previous to their becoming a nation; for the signal and manifold mercies and the favorable interpositions of His providence in the course and conclusion of the late war; for the great degree of tranquility, union, and plenty which we have since enjoyed; for the peaceable and rational manner in which we have been enabled to establish constitutions of government for our safety and happiness, and particularly the national one now lately instituted; for the civil and religious liberty with which we are blessed, and the means we have of acquiring and diffusing useful knowledge; and, in general, for all the great and various favors which He has been pleased to confer upon us.
And also that we may then unite in most humbly offering our prayers and supplications to the great Lord and Ruler of Nations, and beseech Him to pardon our national and other transgressions; to enable us all, whether in public or private stations, to perform our several and relative duties properly and punctually; to render our National Government a blessing to all the people by constantly being a Government of wise, just, and constitutional laws, discreetly and faithfully executed and obeyed; to protect and guide all sovereigns and nations (especially such as have shown kindness to us), and to bless them with good governments, peace, and concord; to promote the knowledge and practice of true religion and virtue, and the increase of science among them and us; and, generally, to grant unto all mankind such a degree of temporal prosperity as He alone knows to be best.
Given under my hand, at the city of New York, the third day of October, in the year of our Lord one thousand seven hundred and eighty-nine.
Signed,
G. Washington
***
I recently got a light rap on the knuckles with a verbal ruler in the form of a letter from a Colorado reader. The reader questioned my wisdom, or lack thereof, of including a true story in a column that the reader believed took cruelty to animals too far. The story involved a “dumb animal” (a cat) and a hot shot. He concluded that “this is a fine example of how the devil works in this old world and whether, or not, the story was true, is immaterial.
Well, my knuckle-bruise has subsided and I’ve taken the reprimand in stride as something that comes with the territory for a old, decrepit column writer. I’ve ruffled feathers (probably inappropriate term to use in this situation) before and it will probably happen again. — although I’m never pleased that it happens. I’ll try to be more sensitive in the future, but I can’t promise.
***
The reader went on to say that, in general, he enjoys my columns. Then he included a personal story worthy of retelling. Here’s how he tells it:
“I recall one time when we were still on the ranch and one of our Black Angus cows had calved during the night down in the willows on Crow Creek. So, the next morning I told my wife that I was going to ride my good cow horse, Apache, down to the creek to check on the cow and baby. I grabbed an ear tag to put in the new calf’s ear and rode Apache down to the creek. But when I got within about 20 feet of the cow and calf, I couldn’t make Apache take me any closer. So, I dismounted, tied Apache’s reins to a small willow branch, and proceeded to walk up to the pair. But, as I approached, the cow started pawing the turf and blowing snot and I knew she meant business! As I turned around to get the heck out of there, she charged! The Good Lord helped me outrun her to safety, but when I got to where I had left Apache, he was gone — high-tailing it for the barn. I started walking home and soon my wife came in the pickup to see why Apache has come home without me. After I explained what had happened, she just grinned and said, ‘Suppose maybe the horse was a bit smarter than you?’ She was probably right, but it sure didn’t say much for ol’ Apache.”
The reader noted that his last name has a silent consonant in it like the “P” in watermelon. It’s there but you just don’t pronounce it.
Enuf said. That comment contains the wisdom for this week. Have a good ‘un.
All the children in the country school agree they enjoyed the Christmas program in the auditorium even more than the parades of the last few years. For grown-ups that goes double.
It was a full day. Each child came to school at the usual time with a sack lunch in his hand. Nearly everyone had on something new. A new dress or jacket or shirt or scarf, gifts that had likely been laid away for Christmas and brought out early for this special occasion. The teacher had planned a full day. Each child had a partner and designated position in the line of march. They marched to the flag stop on the M.K.&T., and rode the train to Emporia. For the younger ones it was the first train ride. A sophisticated fifth grader announced this was her third trip. The remainder of the morning was spent visiting business houses and in-dustries in the county seat. Lunch in the park. In line for the first matinee and home after a full day.
Back seat conversation on the way home after major events is always illuminating to front seat listeners. The monkeys and the acrobats were plenty good but the outstanding feature was the pony on the stage. First of all there was amazement that the stage was large enough for a real, live pony. When one’s stage experience is limited to the eight by twenty-eight foot platform at school, it is a bit difficult to imagine a stage where horses can prance and not be crowded at all. Was there ever a child, rural or urban, who did not long for a pony? You may have the dancers and the other acts if you will just give us the pony.
“Thee are nails everywhere.”
That statement has been repeated seemingly dozens of times over the past several weeks. Then, there’s usually a follow-up comment: “I picked up ten nails today.”
An accumulation on the back porch verifies the nail pickup, and a five-gallon bucket has a lot of nails in it, too.
As roofers and tin carpenters we’ve talked about previously have removed old roofing and siding, rusty nails have scattered all over the barnyard.
And, there are still literally thousands of nails in the discarded tin in several piles, guaranteeing the problem is going to continue.
Seems like there should be a better way to remove the old before replacing with new, so there wouldn’t be spread of the hazardous aftermath. But, we’ve had different crews doing the work, and the debris spread was no different from one to the next.
Adding to compilation are lots of “new nails,” for what reason even harder to understand.
Lots and lots of nails of every size, shape, condition, along with washers, bolts, screws, tin trimmings, insulation pieces and about anything else one can think of, or even imagine, from a restoration project have been picked up by hand.
Then, the all-around carpenter borrowed a nail-picker-upper and spent an extended time pushing it around. A magnet attracted the menagerie of steel pieces to it, and had to be cleared off every few minutes.
There are literally pounds and pounds of nails in the bucket now, and the machine pusher contended: “You can go over the yard again several times, and find more. Then, if you rake, there’ll be even more.”
Our real concern is the future damage. Already, a couple of flat tires have been blamed on the “nails.”
Even more concerning is the horses getting nails in their feet. Over the years, we’ve had a number of nails get in horses’ feet, always causing lameness. Sometimes, even after the nails have been removed, there is long term recovery from infection.
No matter what we try to do right, some problem always arises.
Reminds us of First Chronicles 22:3: “There was an abundance of nails from the barn,” and Second Chronicles 3:9: “The weight of the nails was fifty shekels.” Then, Matthew 3:12: “He’s going to make a clean sweep of the trash.” Because, Job 35:15: “We have to do something about the problems.”
+++ALLELUIA+++
I was three years old and it was 7:30 AM and my Dad had dressed me and driven me to Grandmother’s. He walked me to the door, dropped a kiss on the top of my head and made a hasty retreat to the car. He was getting into the drivers seat when Grandmother arrived at the front door to welcome me.
Dad was laughing and Grandmother was mumbling as he jumped into the car and backed out of the drive way onto Stolp Street. He had done it again…………. he’d got her Irish dander up.
Grandmother sat down in her favorite chair and pulled me in front of her to go through our morning ritual. First she untied the upside down bow in the back and then unbuttoned my dress. She turned me around to face her and took my arms out of the little puffy sleeves. Then she turned the dress 180 degrees and buttoned it up the front where it belonged. Then she turned me one more time and tied the bow.
Now I was ready to go into breakfast with Grandfather who was already sitting at the table stirring his cup of coffee and waiting for me to arrive so we could eat together. Breakfast was always the same every morning because it was what Grandfather wanted to eat.
I ran into the kitchen, threw myself at him and gave him a hug. He patted me on the back (which was about as demonstrative as he ever got) and told me to get in my chair. After the greeting I skipped around his chair to my place at the table.
Grandfather always sat at the side of the table and Grandmother sat at the end near the stove and I sat at the other end right by the back door, which was always open in the summer.
I climbed up on the chair and then onto the little stool Grandfather had built for me. The stool was 12 inches square and about 6 inches high and was painted pink. It was a perfect height for me.
When I was seated Grandmother brought her green and white gingham apron and tied it around my neck. It was big enough to be a long dress for me and covered me completely. Once I had my arms free Grandmother gave me a glass of milk.
Now that I was seated Grandfather started his first course which was a bowl of all bran. I couldn’t decide if it was sticks or dried worms and never wanted to try it so I just drank my glass of milk while he ate the cereal. Grandmother was cooking at the stove.
The next course was soft boiled eggs and toast. He was given two eggs, which he took out of the shell and stirred up in a large bowl, then he tore up a piece of toast adding it to the eggs and then salt and pepper.
During the time the toast was soaking up the eggs Grandfather took a few sips of coffee and buttered a piece of toast for me. I munched on my toast as he ate his eggs and toast. Just as Grandfather finished the half raw eggs and toast Grandmother took a pan of biscuits out of the oven.
While the eggs had been boiling Grandmother was frying sausage patties. After the patties were cooked she crumbled some sausage into the skillet to fry it for gravy. Once the crumbled sausage was fried she added some flour, salt and pepper and then the milk and began to stir the gravy.
As soon as his eggs and toast were eaten Grandmother placed a plate of biscuits and gravy and a single sausage patty on the table in front of him. He had 2 ½ biscuits on his plate, 3 halves that had gravy on them and a whole one resting on the edge of the plate.
My plate had half a biscuit with gravy on it and a whole biscuit resting on the side of the plate. Grandfather buttered his biscuit and laid it back on the plate and then buttered mine and placed it back on my plate. I gave it a little pat in anticipation of eating it in a few minutes.
Grandmother finally sat down at the table and on her plate was a dry piece of toast. Grandfather and I happily ate our biscuits and gravy and Grandmother talked about what we were going to do that day. Once we had eaten all the biscuits and gravy Grandfather and I pick up our buttered biscuits and Grandmother took the dirty plates away and brought us clean plates.
The lone biscuit was placed open on the plate with the crust down. Grandfather made sure there was enough butter on his and then checked mine as I sat anxiously waiting for my favorite part of the meal.
Once he was convinced that they were just right and ready for the crowning glory he picked up the Brer Rabbit Sorghum jar. My mouth was already watering in anticipation. He always fixed his first while I not so patiently waited for the wonderful sticky stuff to be poured all over my biscuit.
When he had prepared his biscuit I quickly pushed my plate toward him. My hands remained suspended in the air with my fingers working, like a cat kneading a blanket, while he poured the sorghum on my biscuit.
I was almost drooling as I ran my tongue over my lips, and then put my hands out pleadingly as I waited for him to push the plate back to me. I was anxious to get the plate back in front of me so I could dig into my breakfast.
Grandfather ate his biscuit and sorghum with a fork but I just grabbed half the biscuit with both hands. By the time I managed to get the first sweet and slightly spicy bite to my mouth, I had the brown sticky liquid running down both of my arms all the way to my elbows and had managed to dribble some on the table.
When I’d finished eating my biscuit the green gingham apron was covered with sorghum as were both of my hands and I’d managed to smear sorghum all over my cheeks and chin. The tip of my nose was smeared with sorghum and I even had some in my hair. I didn’t mind being covered with the sorghum (or the cleanup that followed) because it was the best part of breakfast with Grandfather. To contact Sandy: [email protected].
© Rural Messenger
