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Lovina Spends a Special Day with Her Daughters and Enjoys Meals with Family

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Guest Columnist
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Lovina’s Amish Kitchen
Lovina Eitcher,
Old Order Amish
Cook, Wife &
Mother of Eight

On Wednesday all five of my daughters spent the day here. It had been a while since we all were together for a day. Elizabeth has three children in school and Susan has five children in school. That fills up their schedules with dentist and doctor appointments. I remember those days very well. Susan brought a casserole, so lunch was easy. Elizabeth baked Chocolate Chip Cream Cheese bars for me after she was here. Those were warm and great for a snack after everyone came. It was a different recipe I had wanted to try that was in a cookbook I received from my friend Lucille. She lives in the Mennonite community in Virginia. They drive horses and have buggies which is similar to the Amish. We met Ray and Lucille many years ago when our daughters were pen pals. Lucille, if you are reading this, thank you for your friendship through the years. When the eight grandchildren are in school, we still have Andrea, 4, Denzel, 3, Byron, 2, Ervin Jr, 2, Kylie, 1, Sharlene, 7 months and Brooklyn, 6 months here when they come home during the weekday. Elizabeth and Susan left earlier so they could be home before their children came home from school. Lovina had an appointment in town in the afternoon so she left Brooklyn here with us. She did really good and was easy to take care of. Such little sweeties!

I fried chicken for our supper and made steamed potatoes. Along with that we had cheese, lettuce and homemade sour cream (which we put on our steamed potatoes). Also, ice cream and the bars were on the menu.  Everyone was hungry for fried chicken again. Dustin, Loretta and children, Daniel, Lovina, and Brooklyn, Daniel Ray and Verena and son Benjamin’s special friend Joanna were here for supper. 

Thursday I baked over a hundred chocolate chip cookies. I took some to church on Sunday and made the extra to have on hand here. Friday I washed laundry and with it being such a nice day, I hung out outside to dry. The temperature was in the upper fifties, and everything was dry to put away. After I was done I helped daughter Verena with her laundry and hung it out as well.

Friday night we had supper at Dustin’s. He made supper in the deep fryer outside. On the menu were broasted chicken, fish, and potato wedges. They told the family whoever wants to come can, so Tim’s, Ervin’s and Daniel Ray’s went. Joe came home from work feeling sick, so he decided to stay home and rest. He didn’t feel like eating but told me to go over and have supper with the family. I baked five loaves of bread that day so I took some warm bread over to have with our supper. 

Sunday morning Ervin, Susan, and their seven children picked me up to go to church at our neighbors Joas and Susan. Joe was still sick so he stayed home. (He was home Monday yet from work. He went back Tuesday to work.) It was nice to have Ervin’s visit our church district again. When we divided our church district they were in the other district. Ervin’s brought me home after church services and they stayed here for supper. Dustin’s and Daniel Ray’s also came here after church. Dustin and Daniel Ray grilled the chicken for supper and also made potatoes and carrots on the grill. That made supper easy on me. For dessert we had ice cream and chocolate chip cookies. They played games in the afternoon and visited. The children wanted to color but I was short on coloring books so I said they can tear sheets out of the books so everyone can color. They like it when I hang their colored sheets on my refrigerator. I remember how fun it was to color with my sisters when we were young. We would always tell each other that theirs was nicer (although we probably thought our own was). Haha! We would always write our name and age on the page we colored. Looking through some older color books is interesting to see that we were the ages my grandchildren are now. Time sure does not stand still. 

I’ll share the recipe for the Chocolate Chip Cream Cheese bars now. God’s blessings!

CHOCOLATE CHIP CREAM CHEESE BARS

1 chocolate cake mix

1 egg

1/3 cup vegetable oil

8 ounces softened cream cheese 

1/3 cup sugar 

1 egg

1 cup chocolate chips 

Mix the first three ingredients together until crumbly. Pat all but 1 cup of crumbs into a 9×13 cake pan. Bake for 15 minutes at 350 degrees. Mix together remaining ingredients until light and smooth. Stir in 1 cup of chocolate chips. Spread over the baked layer. Sprinkle the remaining 1 cup of crumbs on top. Bake for 15 more minutes. Cool and cut. 

 

Lovina’s Amish Kitchen is written by Lovina Eicher, Old Order Amish writer, cook, wife, and mother of eight. Her three cookbooks, The Cherished Table, The Essential Amish Cookbook, and Amish Family Recipes, are available wherever books are sold. Readers can write to Eicher at Lovina’s Amish Kitchen, PO Box 234, Sturgis, MI 49091 (please include a self-addressed stamped envelope for a reply); or email [email protected] and your message will be passed on to her to read. She does not personally respond to emails.

The Fog Moves On

By
Dawn Phelps
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Dawn Phelps
Columnist

A few years ago, I was scheduled to attend an early morning meeting in a town about fifty miles from home. When I left my house that morning, the fog was “as thick as pea soup,” and the poor visibility continued for about thirty miles.
During those miles, I was forced to drive slowly. I felt vulnerable and unsafe as I crept along, overwhelmed by the engulfing fog. My fingers gripped the steering wheel tightly—I was tense, feeling unsure just where I was. Even though I was on a road that I have traveled frequently, the road no longer felt familiar, but strange and eerie.
I knew that at some point on the east-west highway there was a one-lane bridge under construction. I remembered one recent evening when the temporary traffic light had not been working. So I was afraid I might not be able to see the light in the dense fog, or worse yet, that the light would not be working at all.
As my car moved through the fog, I remembered Carl Sandburg’s short poem about fog, one I had memorized in grade school. It reads:

“The fog comes
on little cat feet.
It sits looking
over harbor and city
on silent haunches
and then moves on.”

The fog was silent all around me, sitting on “silent haunches.” I was thankful when I came to the bridge and the light was working even though its light only shone dimly through the thick fog. The light turned green, and I drove forward, hoping no car was coming from the other direction. I made it to the other side safely.
A few miles later, I approached the interstate, turned on my left blinker, and slowly moved onto the highway, hoping there was no vehicle in the lane into which I was merging. I breathed a sigh of relief—again I was safe!
As I slowly drove southward, there were times when the fog lifted momentarily. It was reassuring to even briefly glimpse the highway in front of me. Then the fog would close in around me again, thick, white and silent. Then ever so slowly the fog became less dense, and I could see the highway clearly, even the sides of the road.
By the time I reached a small town about fifteen miles south on the interstate, the fog had completely lifted in front of me, but remained in the lower areas, sitting “on silent haunches,” hovering close to the ground. Then the sun began to peak through the clouds in the southeast sky, displaying a sunrise with gold-lined clouds—a glorious and welcomed site after the fog!
Driving in the fog that morning reminded me of my life a few years ago when the pain of losing my husband to cancer was so acute. Life had felt unsafe, unfamiliar, and I was unsure if I could find my way. Thinking back, my grief experience was similar to driving in the fog. At first my fog was so dense there was no clarity at all. Then I experienced some brief moments when the fog would clear, and I could see the road ahead.
My fog still lurked in the lower-lying areas, but no longer confronted me head-on, totally obstructing my hope for life. Then, with time, the fog seemed to move on, leaving me with memories of the good times and some of the sad memories began to fade.
Like the clouds with the gold linings, there were still clouds, but my grief was less severe, and the sun began to peak through. If you have recently experienced the death of a loved one, perhaps the fog in your life is still very dense.
You may feel afraid and unsure of where life may be taking you. It may be difficult to see your road ahead. But hang on—the fog does not last forever! The fog may linger nearby but maybe not as up-close as in the beginning.
Don’t forget to look for that gold lining and take extra care of yourself. Overwhelming fog does not last forever. With the passage of time, like Carl Sandburg’s poem says, the fog does move on.

[email protected]

 

Digital Edition 03.11.26

By
tammiehoeme
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0
digital edition

Digital Edition 03.11.26

Auction Antics

By
Milo Yield
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0
Thayne Cozart
Milo Yield

Attending an auction sale in farm and ranch country is a fine opportunity to buy “stuff” that you do need, or, more likely, “stuff” that you don’t need.

Sometimes, your bidding get that “stuff” bought at bargain prices. Other times, you end up shaking your head in disbelief at the price you ended up paying because you nodded your head one too many times to the silver-tongued auctioneer’s chant.

However, an excellent side-benefit to attending an auction is the opportunity it provides for people watching. If you’ve attended as many auction sales as I have, I’m sure you’ve seen as many humorous or strange “Auction Antics” as I have. This column will relate a few of those auction antics that I’ve either been a part of or heard about. I think they are all mostly true auction happenings.

***

One auction antic related by one of the old geezers at our daily gabfest happened years ago at a farm auction where the early bidding on the junk wuz going slower than the auctioneer wanted. So, he deemed it necessary to liven up the proceedings a bit.

And, he had a plan on how to do it. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a plain white envelope. He held it into the air for everyone in attendance to see and proclaimed, “I’ve got here a genuine, $20 bill that I’m putting up for auction.”

Then he opened up his chant and took the first bid for $5, then $10, then 15, and then the bidding stopped at $20. He had his buyer/sucker. When he handed the bid winner the envelope, the guy opened it up and found a $20 bill to be paid from the local hardware store.”

The bid-winner knew he’d been taken in, but took the prank in good humor. And, the prank put everyone in a good humor and the regular bidding immediately picked up.

***

My fishing buddy, ol’ Castin Crankitt, wuz the 16th of 17 kids born into a Minnesota family. He tells an auction tale about one of his brothers and sisters-in-law.

They were attending a local antique/furniture auction and the sale dragged on and on. So, they were not together when the auctioneer started selling the piece of furniture they hoped to buy. The bidding wuz brisk and the winning bid breezed right on by the price they’d mutually agreed to pay.

Eventually, folks in the crowd started chuckling out loud. Then the auctioneer broke into a big grin. It turns out that the hubby and wife had run the price up by bidding against each other. In the end, they not only had their piece of furniture, but also a treasured family memory.

***

At one time in my life, I was a frequent buyer at the premium auction sales of 4-H and FFA livestock that happen at the end of county fairs.

I wuz attending one such premium youth auction in August. It wuz hot enough in the sale ring to melt marshmallows. It wuz back in the days before digital watches and I wuz wearing a wrist watch with a metal band that wuz a bit too loose. I wuz sitting on the front row in a short-sleeved shirt and I wuz irritated at the sweat pouring from beneath the metal watch band.

So, I gave my wrist a vigorous shake and simultaneously heard the auctioneer, ol’ Hayes T. Speaker, cry “SOLD.”

Yep, he’d taken the final bid from the shake of my sweaty wrist and I wuz now the proud owner of some 4-Her’s ribbon-winning pig. I never acknowledged my mistake, but just acted like it wuz an intentional bid.

***

One of the funniest Auction Antics I’ve ever seen happened at a Quail Unlimited fund-raising auction. At this particular QU banquet, the evening opened with free bar drinks. The clear purpose wuz to get folks well lubricated before the auction started. And, the tactic worked.

After everyone had feasted, the live auction started and the bidding wuz brisk and the prices high. At a table near me, a bunch of younger guys in their 20s were sitting with their wives or girlfriends. It wuz a boisterous group.

Well, about midway through the auction a group of beautiful head paintings of 20 different duck species came up for sale. The small paintings were well-done and would make some hunter a fine collection. The auctioneer plainly noted before the bidding started that the bidding wuz for a single painting and the final bid would me multiplied times 20 for the total amount owed.

When the bidding started, one young fellow at the nearby table, enthusiastically ran the bid up to $15 and he won the auction. Then the auctioneer announced that the total wuz $15 x $20 or $300.

At that announcement, the bidder complained loudly, “I thought my bid wuz for all the paintings.” “Nope,” the auctioneer replied, “it’s $300.”

That’s when the memorable Auction Antic happened. The bidder’s wife promptly grabbed him by his ear-lobe and escorted him right out the front door, never to be seen again that night. After an embarrassing few moments, the auctioneer said, “Well, I guess we’ll re-open the bidding.”

***

At a farm auction I attended in my youth, the auctioneer wuz a fun-loving type who could liven up auctions. His clerk wuz a dapper banker who was wearing what I call an Irish cow-patty cap.

The auction opened with the miscellaneous sale of items stacked on a hay rack. The auctioneer stood on the hay rack and his clerk wuz on the ground in front of him. One item for sale wuz a hand-clipper for clipping a horse’s mane or fitting a sheep.

The auctioneer held the clippers aloft and proclaimed, “Boys. These are sharp enuf to get the job done.” He then reached down, pulled the Irish cap off of his banker clerk, lifted a tuft of the clerk’s hair and cleanly snipped the end of it off.” Needless to say, the crown roared with laughter. The auction brightened up. I don’t recall that the clerk did.
***

Words of wisdom for the week come from a bumper snicker: “Life is short. Make sure you spend as much time as possible on the internet arguing with strangers about politics.”

Have a good ‘un.

Cultivating Trust: A Trauma-Informed Approach to the Therapeutic Alliance

By
Guest Columnist
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0

Health care professionals enter every patient encounter with the goal of helping individuals heal, yet many don’t realize how often past adversity shapes the way a person experiences care. Trauma, whether from childhood experiences, medical procedures, accidents, interpersonal harm or environmental conditions, doesn’t remain a distant memory. It becomes embedded in the body through biobehavioral adaptations that influence posture, muscle tension, breathing patterns, nervous system sensitivity and low body safety. When we understand that trauma lives not only in stories but also in tissues and reflexes, we begin to see why a trauma-informed approach is essential for building trust.

Trauma and adverse experiences are more common than we may realize. More than two-thirds of the patients that health care providers encounter in practice are likely to have experienced trauma in some form. Trauma‑informed care should be a universal precaution, guiding providers to assume that any patient may have a history of adversity, even if it is never disclosed. This mindset shifts the focus from “What’s wrong with you?” to “What’s happened to you, and how is it affecting your health today?” For clinicians who rely on touch, such as physical and occupational therapists, physicians, nurses and primary care professionals, this awareness is especially important. Touch can be grounding and healing, but it can also activate the sympathetic nervous system, triggering a stress response before a patient has words to explain why.

Trust becomes the foundation of the therapeutic alliance, and trust is built through safety, predictability and respect. Trauma‑informed practice encourages providers to slow down, explain what they are doing and invite patients into shared decision‑making. Simple actions, such as asking permission before touching, checking in about comfort, offering choices and being transparent about what comes next, signal to the nervous system that the environment is safe. These small shifts can reduce physiological stress responses and create space for true healing.

Research on trauma‑informed health care highlights how past adversity can influence patient engagement, adherence and outcomes. When patients feel overwhelmed, misunderstood or rushed, they may appear “non‑compliant,” when in reality their nervous system is doing its best to protect them. A trauma‑informed lens helps clinicians interpret these reactions not as resistance but as communication. It encourages us to look beyond the symptom in front of us and consider the whole person, including their history, their stress load, their strengths and their goals.

Holistic care means recognizing that physical symptoms rarely exist in isolation. Pain, fatigue, dizziness and muscle tension often have emotional and neurological components. When providers acknowledge this mind‑body connection, patients feel seen rather than dismissed. They’re more likely to share concerns, ask questions and participate actively in their care. This collaboration strengthens the therapeutic alliance, which research consistently links to better health outcomes across disciplines.

Trauma‑informed practice is not a specialty; it’s a skillset. It requires curiosity, humility and a willingness to adapt. It asks clinicians to be mindful of their tone, body language and pace. It reminds us that healing happens in relationships, and that every interaction, every moment of touch, every explanation, and every pause can either reinforce safety or erode it.

When we approach patients with the assumption that their bodies carry stories we cannot see, we create conditions where trust can grow. And when trust grows, so does the capacity for healing.

Patti Berg-Poppe, MPT, Ph.D., is a physical therapist, professor, and Chair of the Department of Physical Therapy at the University of South Dakota. She has published on trauma‑informed care, including work examining how adverse childhood experiences influence patient engagement and how trauma‑aware practices can strengthen therapeutic relationships. Her writing and teaching emphasize the importance of trust, safety and respectful communication in all health care interactions. Shana Cerny, OTD, OTR/L, BCP, is an occupational therapist and associate professor in the Department of Occupational Therapy at the University of South Dakota. Her research, service and teaching interests revolve around trauma-informed care, including publication of practice guidelines for trauma-informed occupational therapy, interventions for individuals after exploitation, and the effectiveness of a trauma-informed care curriculum for multi-disciplinary care providers. She is a Trust-Based Relational Intervention® Educator and co-creator of the Child & Adult Advocacy Studies graduate certificate at the University of South Dakota. Follow The Prairie Doc® at www.prairiedoc.org

Prairie Doc®, a medical Q&A show (most Thursdays at 7pm, YouTube and streaming on Facebook), 2 podcasts, and a Radio program (on SDPB, Sundays at 6am and 1pm).

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