Hay Season Begins

I've shuttled him back and forth this morning, bringing tractors, rake, and baler to the house to be serviced; hay season begins today. The weather has finally agreed, if only for a few days, to let it begin. The grass was tall and thick; it won't dry in two days so we'll silage it and that means the day will drag on into late hours not far from tomorrow.

I had already finished the work at the chicken houses before the parade of equipment started, leaving very little time to fix a quick lunch to take to the field with us. Things always have to be done in a hurry on baling days even though there's no chance of rain today. I'm beginning to feel extreme angst; what if I've forgotten how to rake? He says he'd rather bale after me than anyone else. I always figured the reason was he could yell at me where he wouldn't say a word to a hired hand.

Quickly I fix a little lunch and pack it in coolers with water and snacks. I slather on sun screen lotion, take an Aleve for shoulder and wrist stress, swallow a couple of spoonfuls of Pepto Bismol for stomach stress, and get a Poise pad for discreet bladder protection.

It's quite a drive to the field; rough, bumpy road, narrow, with a steep bank on the side next to Granny Creek, and I wonder, how close to death am I? The trees are the same year after year: the white oak, the maples, walnuts, water oaks, red buds. But this year I'm seventy years old, blessed with good health and able to help again. The field shimmers in the afternoon sun and the windrows are many. He sets the rake up for me and then, fortified with instructions written on the tail of my shirt, I drive my tractor onto the hay and it all comes back to me.

The first round I drive carefully; sure don't want to hang the rake on a bush or a fence post. The rest comes easy; just follow the swathes made by the cutter. Around and around the field we travel; I'm leaving a long trail of swept up hay,

he gathers it, the baler rolls it up and dumps bale after bale.

In about two hours the field is covered with bales. The adrenalin rush is over now, and the quiet drone of the McCormick's engine lulls me into sleepiness. I close my eyes only for a jiffy; I don't want to veer off into the creek! So I turn my thoughts to the projects I have going at home.

With the baling finished, we take our equipment parade back to the house and exchange it for the loading tractor, truck and trailer.

Since the hay wasn't completely dry, we will wrap it in a Tubeline wrapper, a machine that wraps the bales in plastic. The grass goes through a fermentation process inside the plastic. The cattle like the end result.

The shadows stretch long before we're finished. The night air cools quickly; fireflies dart here and there in the darkness and whippoorwills sing. Again I shuttle him back and forth, putting the equipment back inside the shed. The first hay is saved; 97 bales is a good start.

Although we're tired at the end of the day, I can't help but remember the times when my daddy and my uncle baled their hay. They only baled once a year, usually in late August; we bale at least three times if the rains come often enough to make the grass grow. They cut the tough meadow grasses with a sickle mower pulled by a team of horses, then raked it into windrows left stretched across the field to be picked up and moved to the baler with a bull rake. The baler was also horse-drawn and the dried grass was fed into the machine with a pitchfork. The bales were hand tied with wire as they came from the baler, then hauled to the barn and hoisted up into the barn loft; all that work for just a few bales as compared to our 97. How spoiled we are!

Charlotte

Memorial Day

Thank you, servicemen and women, for the great sacrifices you are giving to help make this world a safer place. May God bless you and your families.

Stormy Weather -- continued

"What's wrong Charlotte? Are you feeling sick again?" asked Mama. "There - there - there's the sn-snake's tail!" She pointed to the wall. "Where? Where is it?" Wanda jumped up quickly and looked, first in her chair, and then under her feet. Daddy brought the lantern, and when he moved it the tail moved too, out of sight. "See, it is the snake!"squealed Wanda. Daddy looked again and said if it was the snake it had gone back into the rocks. He thought the storm was over and we could go back to the house.

Wanda asked Charlotte when they got back into bed, "Did you really see something moving in the cellar?" "Yes," said Charlotte, "and I don't think it was a shadow! It flicked just like a snake's tongue!"

One more time during the night Mama got them out of bed and they sloshed toward the cellar. The girls didn't want to go this time; they weren't as afraid of the storm as they were of the snake in the wall. "That's just a shadow," Daddy told them. "See, there's a cobweb waving in the air, and the light from the lantern makes it cast a shadow on the wall." He reached up and swept away the cobweb and the wiggling on the wall stopped.

When morning came the sun was shining and Mr. Johnson came to ask if they would like to ride in his truck to see damage caused by a tornado the night before. They all piled into the back of the truck and as they got closer, they began to see trees with their limbs stripped off and pieces of metal roofing scattered in the pastures. Three people had been killed and nothing much was left of the house where they had been when the storm hit. Broken bits of furniture and windows were scattered in the path of the storm. A few confused hens and roosters roamed about the yard, pecking at this and that. "Look, Mama," said Charlotte, "there's some one's dress hanging on the fence."

That night Wanda and Charlotte talked about the things they had seen at the place where the storm hit. "I'm glad we have a cellar to go to," said Wanda. "Me too," said Charlotte, "even if it does have a snake in it!"

Stormy Weather

As I wrote in the last post, we had severe weather in our county this week. Tornado warnings were in effect for the western part of the county, and since we are on the eastern side we really didn't expect weather that severe, but went to the cellar just the same. It was morning before we heard there had been two tornadoes, resulting in two deaths, and terrible destruction of homes and stores and farm buildings, in town and country. And furthermore, the second storm cut a path all the way from town, through rural areas, and up into the mountains; the way the crow flies it was only about 2 1/2 miles from us where it tore into a home, killing the man who lived there.

Now all this makes me remember storms we experienced before I was ten years old. We had a cellar, such as it was; looking back on it, I seriously doubt we would have been safe inside.

Our cellar was a hole in the ground with a smoke house built over it. Logs, covered with dirt, made the cellar's ceiling and rocks lined its walls. There were shelves on two sides where Mama put her canned vegetables, fruits, pickles, and jellies. The first smoke house was made of logs,

but by the time I can remember, planks had been added for siding. In this picture the cellar door is open, behind the boys. Now this is somewhat like our cellar adventures could have been:

One day Wanda saw a snake go between the rocks, leaving its tail sticking out. Mama brought a hoe to try to pull it out, but the snake's tail broke off, leaving the snake to hide there. As time passed, spring days heated up and storm clouds formed, forcing us to make trips to the cellar, sometimes several times in the same night. Daddy carried Charlotte; Mama threw an old quilt over us and one over herself and Wanda and we dashed out into the rain and lightning and thunder, toward the cellar. Daddy latched the door and lit the lantern. The wind roared and rattled the door, rain beat down, and hail bounced off the ground.

"I hope that snake died," said Wanda. The girls crowded close to Mama and shivered from the dampness. Charlotte felt sick inside from being jerked awake in the middle of the night; Wanda complained that her feet were wet and cold. Air from the crack around the door made the lantern light flicker, the glass jars glistened in the faint light, and shadows danced and swayed on the cellar walls.

Charlotte thought she saw something move on the wall above Mama's chair. She rubbed her eyes and looked again. There is was, sorta waving back and forth like the slow-moving wag of a dog's tail. TAIL!! That was it! That was a snake's tail! The snake must still be inside the rocks! She gasped and hid her face in Mama's quilt.

...to be continued

I am rather confused with the blogging problems; I have lost my list of followers (I am so proud to be told I now have 17!) and there are some blogs that will not let me leave a comment. But since others have said they're having the same problems, I feel better, knowing it's not my fault. lol So, if you don't hear from me it doesn't mean I'm not reading your posts; you're still my friends and I love visiting with you.

Charlotte

Wednesday -- Around the Yard

Stella d'Oro daylilies, filling in with color now that the irises have finished blooming

Spiderwort, a wild flower, very aggressive, makes a beautiful blue addition to a shady bed, closes up by noon. The roots resemble the legs of a spider and are almost impossible to pull or dig out. For several seasons I tried to get rid of it; now I just let it be since it is very pretty.

Oxalis is a good plant for small beds, pots or rock garden pockets, in full sun or half-shade. It has a tiny bulb and there are some being scattered in the yard away from the bed; I believe moles have pushed the bulbs out through their tunnels. I have been told deer really like to feed on it.

Hen and chickens is a fleshy plant, also good for rock gardens. It was formerly planted on roofs to ward off lightning; maybe I should move mine from this old wash pot to the roof during all these storms we're having! If you look closely you can see chicks under the upper left hen. These are growing in the wash pot Mama used to heat water in on wash day. Daddy knocked a hole in the side of the pot for drainage when she began using it for flowers; that ruined any value it might have as an antique.

Last night we had severe storms in our county with two deaths reported. My husband cleaned out our cellar yesterday afternoon, and when the weather radio woke us up during the night we were glad to have a place to go with one of our daughters and her family and their tiny dog in a carrier. Sometimes a cellar can be a creepy place with spiders and wet floors. A barn swallow was on her nest in the cellar and was upset whenever six people came in with a candle. We had no damage here on the farm; however, two tornadoes were reported to have gone through the county and schools were closed today because of power outages.

Be safe, and if there are warnings in your area, take action to protect yourself and your loved ones.

Charlotte

On My Creation

In my quest to make a doll, using paper clay to cover her head, my creation by God has come to mind. The Heavenly Father must have really been ready for His day of rest. Can we imagine what went into the creation of this beautiful planet? We look at the lush green trees and valleys and compare them to the dry, barren desert in wonder. Why weren't both made perfectly beautiful and productive? Why weren't all animals made with the grace and agility of the tiger? The Lord was pleased with all his creations and said of each that it was good.

After the creation of the earth, animals, fowls of the air, and fish of the sea, came the desire of God to make man after his own image, and on the sixth day Adam was formed and made caretaker of all the earth. Now where, in this space of time, did God plan the rest of us? He had a heap of clay to shape us from and a time for us, from the first to the last. Can we imagine the decisions He made? After all those beautiful human beings were made, there must have been a pile of leftover clay. Maybe one had something some other person needed.

For instance, when the good Lord came to my blueprint, it must have been smudged a bit. For here He took a little pinch off the nose of one of those girls who would someday be entering a beauty contest, and not wanting to be wasteful, He placed it on my nose, even though it was a little too much. Over to one side was the material to make teeth, and after mine were in place, He put in a couple of extras; I'd never know they were there until they pushed another one out of place and I became vain enough to want it straightened. It didn't matter if my skin was sensitive and reddened in the sun; another girl needed the beautiful complexion so people could "come closer". And there was a vertebrate in the pile of extras; guess who got it!

But alas! I cannot be bitter because I got a little extra of some things and not enough of others. The psalmist David expressed how I feel about my creation:

"I will praise thee; for I am fearfully and wonderfully made: marvellous are thy works; and that my soul knoweth right well. My substance was not hid from thee, when I was made in secret, and curiously wrought in the lowest parts of the earth. Thine eyes did see my substance, yet being unperfect; and in they books all my members were written, which in continuance were fashioned, when as yet there was none of them." Psalms 139:14-16

Blessings, Charlotte

A New Project

While I wait for fabric to make borders for the Railroad Crossing quilt top, I'm starting a new project, which is what we quilters do.

I have picked free, online embroidery patterns, primitive in style, to put in a baby quilt. The patterns are drawings of nursery rhymes and the embroidered blocks will be set together with pieced blocks made from 1930s reproduction prints from Connecting Threads. The lettering will be done in black but the drawings will be made with colored floss. Usually I have done redwork embroidery with brighter colored fabrics but the reproduction fabrics just seem to call for something other than red thread. This will be an on-going project with no set time to finish it.

The block above was scanned so the side edges are cut off in the picture; they will be 9 inches, finished. And it looks dirty, but that's shadowing.

Do you have two or more projects going at the same time?

That Fragrant Vine

I like to save small bottles, or better yet, find antique bottles in an old trash dump, for putting snippets of colorful flowers on the window sills or the center of the table. The amber color of vanilla bottles, clear fingernail polish or perfume bottles, and even the blue bottles from a certain antacid, all look pretty whenever the sun shines through them. So when my husband found this old brown bottle yesterday while working on a fence row, he picked it up and brought it to me. "I brought you a bottle," he'd said, and this morning I filled it with blossoms from that fragrant vine, honeysuckle.

Now it all depends on one's point of view whether this vine is friend or foe; it can be both for us. We love to smell its sweetness at sunrise and sunset; we detest the invasiveness of it,

for it spreads the tendrils long and climbs high up into trees,

and along new fence rows, turning fence posts into topiaries,
and burdening old fences until the honeysuckle becomes the fence.

What's your opinion concerning honeysuckle?

Wednesday -- Around the Yard

I feel lucky to have a variety of flowers in my yard, so that when one species has finished blooming, another takes its place.

Asiatic lilies and oriental poppies.

A clematis, climbing on an old iron wheel, surrounded by orange tiger lilies which will bloom later. I want to hang an old wooden gate between the posts.

Delicate little purple verbena, standing up tall

In past years I have had a serious problem with moles. The yard was so uneven it was hard to walk without stumbling over their "runs". As long as I had cats the moles didn't bother us. I guess I must take after my grandmother; remember, she liked to set traps? I tried a mole trap but never caught one, so I took a hoe as my weapon of war. Now have you ever wondered what a mole village would look like at the end of a burrow or a humped up pile of dirt? Anyway, I learned to watch for mole activity around 9:00 a.m. and 12:00 p.m.; it seemed to be their favorite time to tunnel. It took a lot of patience, standing perfectly still, creeping along through the grass trying not to snap a stick to arouse the mole's suspicion that danger was nearby. When I came across fresh dirt, indicating that the mole must be there, I poised myself over the spot and waited for movement. A mole can dart back through the tunnel as fast as a lightning strike, so it's best to find one venturing out into new ground so he has only one way to go - backward. I watched for the tell-tale sign -- wiggle, wiggle, of the dirt, to make sure he was there, and then, when he started tunneling, I slammed the hoe behind him and popped him out of the ground! Of course, by now the adrenalin was pumping through the body pretty good, the old heart was pounding, and victory was mine! Now I had to carry him to the backdoor to show him off; after all, isn't that what a cat would do?

My sister-in-law gave this darling little 'ol lady to me, not because I'm a good gardener, but it represents me, digging out moles! Isn't that sweet?

Homemade Butter

Daddy had taken a job in town working at the cream station. Women saved cream from their cows' milk and took it into town to sell it on Saturdays. Daddy's job was washing the milk cans and hauling the cream to a plant where it was made into butter.

Mama saved cream to sell, but she kept some to make butter. Whenever she milked the cow, she strained the milk and set it back in a cool place and waited for the cream to rise to the top. Then she skimmed it off, and when she had enough saved, she put it into the churn. Sometimes the girls churned for her; Wanda churned with a rhythmic motion; up-down, up-down, but Charlotte's churning was more like, up-down, Splash! Splash!

After some time, the little lumps of butter began to separate from the whey and rise to the top. Mama took a big spoon and dipped the lumps of butter into a bowl of cool, clear water. As the lumps cooled she worked them into a ball with her hands, squeezing out the whey. Then she pressed the ball into a wooden mold, and formed a delicious pound of butter. She covered it carefully and carried it to the cellar where it would stay cool until she could either take it, or send it, to town to sell.

Mama's butter churn and butter mold

Have you ever churned or eaten homemade butter?

Two Shorts and a Long

You hear the phone ring: two short rings and a long ring. Your number? Or was it two long rings and a short ring? You answer, and right away you know someone else on the line has picked up her receiver to listen in on the conversation. No carrying this phone in your pocket or purse! And no jolly little tune to alert you of a call; just those shrill rings!

This old phone belonged to my husband's grandparents, and when they were ready to toss it out, they gave it to him to tinker with; he liked to take things apart to see what made them work (he still does). So we're fortunate to have it in good condition. After we were married, my daddy refinished the wooden case and patched a hole in the side, and now it hangs in our living room. I think all the grand kids have turned the crank at one time or another just to hear the bell ring. The little metal plaque on the front reads, Sears Roebuck & Company, Chicago, which probably means they bought the phone through the mail order catalog. I think it's called a desk phone because it has the shelf in front on which to put pencil and paper. I wish I knew more about its history; my husband said that neighbors pitched in together to put up the lines.

Do you remember a phone like this one?

I wrote this yesterday, but Blogger was having trouble and apparently it got lost. I couldn't even leave comments for the blogs I follow. So, if by chance you read it before Blogger's troubles, just ignore today's posting. Thanks!!

May 11 -- Around the Yard

Foxglove

Last of the irises

Dogwood

Old fashioned red rose

...consider the lilies of the field, how they grow; they toil not, neither do they spin: And yet I say unto you, That even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these. (Matt. 6:28,29)

Blessings to you

From the Garden and A Gift Idea

Ah! There's finally something new from the garden! Whenever spring comes, I feel the way an old cow must feel; she sees the fresh, tender grass across the fence and yearns for it. So it is with me, I'm starved for fresh, tender, green vegetables from the garden. Even though we've had frozen greens during the winter, fresh is just better. Now in the south, old timers used to scour the hillsides for the first leaves of the poke berry bush, which they called "poke salet". We have plenty of that on our farm but I've never eaten it. I think it was boiled, the water poured off, and the procedure done a few more times before it was eaten. That always seemed ridiculous to me; wouldn't all the nutrients be thrown out and only fiber left? In the fall we plant turnip greens; mustard greens are the choice for spring planting. Cooked up tender and served with pinto beans and cornbread -- well, what could be better? and very low in calories and high in vitamins and fiber.

I know it's a little after the fact to be posting about a gift idea. This little thing is a battery powered can opener, 6 1/2" x 2 1/2", a godsend for us with arthritis in our hands. I prefer this to an electric can opener because it can be stored inside a drawer instead of taking up counter space. Trying to open a can with a regular can opener has become very painful and almost impossible for me, so with this I don't have to run to my husband to have him open a can for me. This one came from Wal Mart (doesn't everything?), and made in China (isn't everything?)

Charlotte

The Car -- In Remembrance of Mama

One Saturday night, Daddy told Mama he believed if he had a car of his own he might be able to find more work and we wouldn't have to borrow Uncle Dewey's car. He had found one he could buy for $250 which seemed like a lot to Mama. It was something like a 1929 A-model Ford. We were excited about having a car, and Wanda had suggested that maybe Mama could learn to drive and take us to school events.

When Daddy came home with the car he asked, "Would anybody like to ride in my new car?" and Charlotte had run to look it over; it was black and looked grand to her, with two seats, black and smooth, and windows that rolled up and down. She ran to meet Wanda coming down the path from the school bus and told her about the car. They hurried to the yard, but when Wanda saw it, she stopped and frowned. "Is that old thing what Daddy bought? It looks terrible! No one else has a car that looks that old and ugly! I won't ride in it!" she said.

But Mama said we should give Daddy a chance to take us for a ride. He drove us as far as the church house and drove back as far as the gate. He asked Mama, "Why don't you drive the rest of the way? I'll tell you everything you have to do." So Mama got into the driver's seat and Daddy gave her instructions. The old car's engine roared as she pushed down on the gas pedal, and with a jerk! jerk! jerk! the car lurched forward. Charlotte squealed with delight, Daddy laughed, and Wanda even smiled.

The car went faster and faster; dust puffed up from behind the wheels. "Slow down; let up off the gas pedal and don't hit that hole where the horses wallow!" Daddy ordered. The old car kept going, straight for the hole. Thud! It bounced everyone into the air. Charlotte's head brushed the top of the car. Chickens squawked and ran out of the road. Mama took her foot off the gas pedal and everyone pitched forward. They all laughed except Mama; she looked pale as she slumped over the steering wheel to catch her breath. "I'm never driving this thing again!"she said. But Charlotte said it was the best ride she'd ever had, and would Mama take them for another tomorrow?

After about two weeks Daddy sold the car and began looking for a truck so he could haul coal from the mines. Wanda was happy it was gone, but Charlotte was sad since they'd still have to depend on Uncle Dewey's car.

We teased Mama about this a lot, but she always took it well. Mama grew up in times when not many women learned to drive. In her later years she did drive a few times to visit her father, but I think she finally gave up because of Daddy's complaining.

Here's wishing all mothers a happy day, Charlotte

On Becoming Grandma's Hero

Grandma, 81 years, 8 months

As I have mentioned before, Grandma wasn't very affectionate; maybe after raising twelve children she just didn't care anymore. I always thought she probably considered my cousin and me as pests, and I'll admit, we did do some pesky things. She lived in the house where she had raised part of her children, with her youngest son, his wife, and my cousin, only a short distance from us, so I saw her just about every day. When we all went to work she stayed alone.

Now I have heard Daddy say she wasn't a very good housekeeper; she had rather set traps on top of fence posts to catch hawks and go check them later to see if her hens were safer for having caught one. Whenever she had a task to do, like moving furniture, she did it herself, and when someone would ask how in the world she managed to do it, she would reply, "Where there's a will, there's a way!" And one of those tasks came to involve me.

It was peach season. Daddy had started preaching this year and so he didn't work at the orchard anymore; this morning he had gone to town. I didn't go to work this day (monthly cramps), but all the rest were gone. Around noon I made a trip to the outhouse and heard someone calling for help. I listened, then realized it was Grandma so I hurried up to see what was wrong. I saw her on the ground, and when I got closer, saw dried blood on her arm; the bone was showing through the skin too. She had been pulling weeds, and when the weed came up, she fell backwards, resulting in a compound fracture to her upper arm. I helped her to the house and we began thinking of how we could get word to the others to come take her to the doctor. I thought I could drive their car but she wouldn't let me do that. And then we thought of the big iron dinner bell that hung on the garden fence post. We weren't supposed to ring the bell unless there was an emergency, but sometimes, when no one was in the field, we would ring it just to hear its loud noise. I pushed the bell back and forth, hoping, but wondering too, if anyone would hear the ringing. As luck would have it, a man up on the hill behind the house heard the bell, called to me to see if something was wrong. Then he went to the peach shed and got word to the folks.

After all this was over and Grandma's arm had healed, I think she looked at me differently, for years afterward she talked about how I had helped her.

A Real Paying Job

Oriental Poppies and Red Hot Poker plant

This morning, Dianna (www.thesedaysofmine.com) posted about her babysitting job when she was a teenager. It took me back to the first real paying job I had, working in the peaches. Of course my sister and I were no strangers to work; as soon as we were old enough to distinguish between cane plants and grass plants we were given a hoe and sent to the field with our parents. But we weren't paid for our work except in essentials, and maybe a little purchase now and then at the five and dime on a Saturday.

After the boll weevil hit the cotton fields of the south, our county was brought back to life by peach orchards. Many fields and hills were terraced and planted with peach trees and sheds, where the fruit was packed for shipment, sprang up in communities. Even before I was old enough to work, my cousin and I would play at the shed while our parents picked peaches in the mornings and then worked in the packing shed in the afternoons. We ate cold lunches at noon, things Mama had cooked before we left home in the mornings: fried potatoes, Spam, and if they had to work past suppertime, we were sent down the hill to the little mercantile for a few slices of bologna.

When I got big enough to work for money, I was sent to the orchard to pick on the same trees with Daddy. We wore a sack around our shoulders and when it was full, it was emptied into a bushel basket. At the packing shed I was given a job picking out over ripe peaches before they went through the brushes to remove the fuzz. Now if you've ever been around fresh-picked peaches you know how bad that fuzz can make you itch! As the old man would dump a basket of peaches into the bin, fuzz would fly everywhere, settling on the bends of my arms and around my neck. But, I had a real paying job! And when payday came, even at 50 cents an hour, I had a check with my name on it! I was saving with my money, and after working every summer, when I needed money for college tuition I had some to go with the scholarship monies I received.

Now when I tell you that's the only real paying job I've ever had, you're going to say, "What kind of person is she?" I have always been a stay at home mom, but I have worked, let me tell you! For thirty nine years I've worked in the chicken houses and on the farm, contributing to the family income. So, you see, I'm not lazy.

From the Farm -- May 4th

This has been my work day so far:

After doing the basic housework and listening to my Bible lesson, I went first to the barn to feed Mead, the bottle calf. He's growing by leaps and bounds and eating sweet feed now. He has done exceptionally well for a bottle calf. Next I went to walk through the chickens; they've gone from this --

to this, in eight weeks. Really it's more like I drag myself through them instead of walking.

When I come out of the chicken houses, Edgar Allen Crow is always waiting for me to give him a hand-out --

Then it's on to feed Princess Calico; she's just had kittens but I haven't seen them. She's the only cat I have left and each day I fear that dogs will kill her too. She loves for me to pet her but she won't let me hold her.

A trip to check cattle was next; these two mother cows seem to be baby-sitting.

And finally, there's a new baby on the farm.

So, that's been my day -- so far! There are still at least three hours of daylight and I know I'll be feeding Mead again, but for now I think I'll go sew for a while. Hope you've had a good day!

Hats

During the hoop-la of the Royal Wedding last week, one couldn't help but notice the hats worn by those attending. I don't think we see as many women wearing hats in America as we did in days gone by. My maternal grandma was a hat person and she also carried a parasol.

As you can see in this picture, she has thrown the hat off for the picture, taken on a Sunday I'm sure, because she is holding her Bible. I would have been about nine years old when this was made. Grandma would have been in her seventies and she seemed like an old, old woman to me.

These are some of her hats; the top one, a black velveteen with a big bow, and the others are straw.

I love the old hat boxes although they are not in the best of shape.

These little hats are not much more than a circle with netting over them, but they are cute. These belonged to my Aunt Marie.

The big black hat I'm wearing here (shown closer below) came in handy to use as a Halloween get-up one year. With a nylon stocking over my head to distort my face, the kids got quite a scare. I don't know for sure but it might have been Grandma's hat too.

And last, this was my Mama's little garden hat.

Do you wear a hat?