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My Heart is Knowing

The first gold leaf dropped down today; The butterflies are still at play

In a white and yellow cloud, that’s way Above the lawn, the bees still stray Among the flowers. Not far away The autumn walks, for just today

The first gold leaf fell down.

I shall not grieve for summer’s going, Today the sweet south wind is blowing,

And high above white clouds are glowing In September haze, while vines are showing

A tinge of red. My heart is knowing That autumn comes…there is no slowing

The pace of Time…but autumn brings The harvest, and glad strength for wings.

-Georgia Moore Eberling

Mother to

Mother

September 2020

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Please direct all correspondence to:

Glenn & Mary Beth Martin

177 West State Street, Granby, MA 01033

Phone: (413) 354-7860

Fax: (413) 255-0262

Email: contact@mother-to-mother.org

Hello friends… I hope this finds each one enjoying good health and the blessings in each day! Often, what we look for is what we will see. Even amidst the negativity bombarding us on every side – riots, racial tension, political rhetoric, and coronavirus complications overarching it all – we can be thankful for a God who does not change. Here are a few verses I find comforting and encouraging:

“Jesus Christ is the same yesterday, and today, and for ever” (Hebrews 13:8).

“[God] is able to do exceedingly abundantly above all that we ask or think, according to the power that works in us” (Ephesians 3:20).

“The king's heart is in the hand of the Lord, like the rivers of water; He turns it wherever He wishes” (Proverbs 21:1).

Our challenge is to keep a quiet heart by focusing on God and His

unchanging promises.

I’ve been busy canning tomato chunks and juice, pizza sauce, pickles, and green beans this week. Now we pulled the bean plants and my sister-in-law, who supplied me with cucumbers, pulled them as well, so some things are finished. However, there are still lots of green tomatoes hanging on so I will be dealing with them for a while yet. And I’m glad; seems like we use lots of tomatoes.

There are little hints that fall is approaching. The oppressive humidity that dogged many of our summer days has given way to cooler mornings and evenings. One morning Kent even brought in an armload of firewood to start the woodstove to take the nip from the air. The “burning bush” that turns red each fall has crimson tints on its leaves. And we have been noticing V’s of honking geese heading south! The children are hoping for a hard winter.

Beginning with this issue, we welcome Marie Lapp with a new series (every other issue) of how-to instructional articles. For her fascinating article on “Forcing Bulbs Indoors,” turn to page 12. It may sound like a winter or early-springtime activity, but the process actually starts in the fall. Read it to learn more!

You will notice we received very few answers to the questions this month. If you have thoughts on any of the questions that weren’t well-represented, send your answers and I will print what I have room for in “Tete-a-Tete.” Please take a look at the new questions, as well. I look forward to hearing from you!

God bless and keep you and yours!

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You Ask, You Answer…

⇨ I’m waiting to hear what others say about bedtime snacks. We wish our children didn’t think they need them, but they almost always ask, and are far from overweight. We usually give them two options for bedtime snacks: either homemade yogurt, or milk. Sometimes we add stevia and coconut extract to the milk. That is very yummy and sugar-free.

-Paraguay

⇨ As a child, we did not often have bedtime snacks and I sleep better without them (though bedtime snacks are common for me during early pregnancy, to help control constant, nauseating hunger.) When our children ask for a bedtime snack, I say, "We had a good supper, you don't need a snack." They soon learn to do without and no longer ask. If we had an early, hurried supper I let them have small portions of something simple and light at bedtime. Carrots, crackers, cheese, nuts, raisins, or apple slices are easy to serve. When guests are present, we might pop some popcorn. A toddler who is transitioning from nursing or bottle will probably need a snack, otherwise I feel it is better for their health if they aren't dependent on food at bedtime.

-Missouri

It probably would depend on how late supper is eaten as to whether a snack before bed is necessary or not. My husband and I grew up with bedtime snacks and now our children are growing up that way too. There’s something cozy and relaxing, gathering around the table as a family for a bedtime snack!

As far as healthful snacks – if the daytime meals were healthy and balanced, probably anything eaten for snack (in moderation) wouldn’t harm your family’s health.

A favorite snack when I was growing up as well as for our children now, is graham crackers and milk. My husband and I have memories of Mom sitting and peeling and coring apples for the family for snack, and now our children can have those same memories since I do it for them.

Raw veggies and dip are a very healthful option. Cookies or bars, and crackers/pretzels and cheese are quite hassle-free.

-Pennsylvania

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“True evangelical faith cannot lie dormant, it clothes the naked, it feeds the hungry, it comforts the sorrowful, it shelters the destitute, it serves those that harm it, it binds up that which is

wounded, it has become all things to all creatures.” -Menno Simons

Question : Do you feel it’s important for children (toddlers to teenagers) to have a bedtime snack every night before bed? If so, what are some healthful, hassle-free options you find to work well, especially for larger families?

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Editor’s note: No answers were received to this question.

⇨ Fruit flies! I’ve been there. We have a fruit farm and our house is surrounded by

orchards. In the later part of summer, the flies used to get so bad in my house I almost breathed them in. Someone introduced us to PT Alpine Pressurized Fly Bait and it works! It is a liquid pressurized fly bait and is food safe. Spray it on your kitchen cupboards, ceiling fans, and wherever desired and reapply every three months. It’s available online or from your local farm and garden center.

-Pennsylvania

A few years ago, I made banana pickles using stevia instead of sugar, following a

recipe from Food for Life cookbook. If I tell you that this summer the remaining

pickles went to the chickens, you’ll know how successful that was. Even though I used the spices called for in the recipe, the pickles were very bland-tasting. And they were not crunchy. I wonder if it would have been more successful to use part sugar and part stevia, but I have never tried it. If you want sugar-free pickles, my advice would be to stick to dills that don’t need sugar (which is easy for me to say because I really don’t like sweet pickles anyway!).

As for the crunchy part, I’m not sure how much depends on how long you can them and how much (if anything) depends on using sugar versus a substitute. I can pickles by bringing the water “just so” to a boil and then immediately turning off the heat and removing the jars as soon as the water stops bubbling. My friend pours boiling syrup over her raw cucumbers and caps them, never boiling the pickles at all. I think our “jar sealing” success rates are about equal, and we both have crunchy pickles.

-Massachusetts

Question : For various reasons, we would prefer to forego gift giving at Christmas, but both our families have gift exchanges. Is there a way to quietly, respectfully bow out without causing hurt feelings? Has anyone had a similar experience?

Question : What are remedies for fruit flies? I have tried pouring vinegar down the drain, vinegar and dish soap in a container on the counter, and a fruit fly trap – but the fruit flies still abound. What can we do to get rid of them for good? Even a wet dish cloth seems to attract them.

Question : Does anyone have experience making pickles or cinnamon rings using stevia instead of sugar? I still want them to be crunchy and good!

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New Questions… 1. How does a mother with a number of preschoolers profitably visit school? By the

time I get to the third classroom (we have students in three classrooms), good behavior has evaporated and I feel like we're more of a bother than a blessing. My husband has limited time available to visit due to his work responsibilities.

2. What are some large-family tips for speeding up the nightly bedtime routine,

while keeping it a pleasant, happy time for children to end the day? And on evenings where you return late, how do you integrate the family into a “now we’re home; time for bed” mode?

3. For the last two years I have hungered for tender homegrown sprouts to add to

salads and sandwiches. I have a screen top for my sprouting jars. I have citric acid. I have NOW brand sprouting seeds. But I do not have success! More times than I can count, the seeds stick out wee green tails and then set for days without changing and eventually turn dark and moldy. I’ve tried various locations, levels of darkness, and rinsing frequencies without success, but I cannot figure out what I’m doing wrong.

4. Does anyone know what causes cracked, ugly sweet potatoes? I have a few nice

ones but most are not and then don’t store well. Does it have anything to do with our growing season in the north?

Please respond with answers by October 15, 2020.

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Minute Meditations…. “Am I a God at hand,” saith the Lord, “and not a God afar off?

…Do not I fill heaven and earth?” Jeremiah 23: 23, 24

Wisdom for a Washwoman

Closer than this wash pile Or this laundry soap

Is the Lord. His cleansing Floods my soul with hope

On a Monday morning When I thought I could not cope.

-Lydia Hess

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Fox Tales…

Riding with Marlin by Florence Fox

“If you get any tow jobs this morning,” I told Marlin, “I’d like to go with

you.” Marlin drove out the lane, and I thought of the last time I’d ridden in the tow truck ages ago. Though I didn’t wish for anyone’s truck to break down, I really wanted to ride in the tow truck again. With three children in school and only two preschoolers, spending time with Marlin felt more doable than before.

Many factors needed to align if I would be able to go along. The job couldn’t be an emergency situation where Marlin must leave immediately, because after he got the call, it would take a few minutes for me to pack up the children and join him. If a truck driver needed to ride in the tow truck with Marlin, there wouldn’t be room for everyone in the truck cab if the children and I were along. It was almost ten o’clock when I got a message from Marlin. He needed to go ten miles north of Clare to pick up a box truck. There were no riders, he said, and he had time to wait until I got to the shop. I grabbed water bottles and snacks and ran out the door with Jacia and Brinton. Marlin was waiting in the tow truck when I parked in front of the shop. He helped us into the truck and we headed north. I’d forgotten how much fun it was to watch Marlin drive. The truck felt like a powerful workhorse beneath us as we sped forward, Marlin shifting gears smoothly, the truck performing flawlessly. We chatted the miles away, and a short time later we found the problem box truck sitting on a side street just off the main highway. Marlin turned the tow truck around and backed up to the back of the box truck. I stood on the sidewalk and watched as Marlin pressed levers to extend the lift that slid under the box truck. Once the lift was directly under the frame, he pressed the lever to lift the back of the box truck. From a toolbox on the side of the tow truck, Marlin pulled out several heavy chains and dragged them under the box truck as he crawled underneath. I peered under the truck. “What is that for?” The chains clanged and screeched as Marlin pulled them tight, metal grinding against metal. “Chaining up the axle.” After the chains were secured, Marlin again pressed the lever for the lift, raising the back of the box truck twelve inches off the ground. We had been sitting along the road less than fifteen minutes by the time Marlin was ready to go. Marlin pulled up to the highway, and at the first break in traffic, made a wide right turn. I watched in the side mirror, amazed at the amount of room needed to make a turn and keep the front wheels of the box truck from running over the curb. “This feels like a long rig,” I said. “But I know this is only a box truck and you sometimes tow tractor-trailers.” Marlin Jake-braked for the entrance ramp to 127 and made another wide turn. “It is a long rig. A semi is seriously long though.” The tow truck growled under the load but surged steadily forward, its CAT engine fully capable.

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Soon we were back in Clare. The tow truck felt wide, not to mention long, and as Marlin pulled up to a smooth stop at the traffic light in the middle of town, I wondered how he didn’t worry about hitting oncoming traffic or the traffic on our right. When the light showed a green arrow for the left turn, did Marlin worry about stalling in the middle of the intersection or brushing the bumpers of the cars on the street we turned into? At the International dealership on the east side of Clare, Marlin pulled in through a narrow entrance, squeezed past the shop, and swung around to the far corner of the parking lot in an area that was barely more than stamp-sized. “It’s usually tight back here,” Marlin said, “but this is the most room I’ve ever had.” I couldn’t help wondering what Marlin would consider truly tight quarters. Marlin didn’t turn around to park the box truck along the fence like I expected. Instead, he was backing towards the shop. I asked, “Do they want to work on this truck right away?” “Yep.” Marlin cranked the steering wheel one way and then the other, sometimes almost standing up to see in his side mirrors. I shrank in my seat, trying to stay clear of the mirror. Marlin was backing awfully close to the shop. And then I realized: he was backing the truck into the shop! Slowly, carefully, Marlin maneuvered the truck backwards until the box truck was through the overhead door. A few minutes of unhooking was all it took before Marlin joined us in the truck. “Let’s go for lunch.” Marlin said. “Where do you want to eat?” “You say—you’re the one who has to worry about parking.” Marlin chose the Subway that offered a quiet side street for parking the tow truck. The wind was getting stronger and rain pelted us as we dashed into the building. We had just finished our subs when Marlin’s phone rang. “Hey, Nate,” Marlin said, and after a pause, “By the Marathon? Sure, I can do it. See ya.” I piled the sub wrappers and napkins on the tray. “Another tow job?” “At the Marathon on the north side of town. A motorhome I need to fix or tow. I’ll have to look at it first.” Marlin slid out of the booth and picked up Brinton. I held Jacia’s hand, and we ran through the rain that was coming down harder than before. Marlin started the tow truck and we drove the short distance to the north side of Clare. Before we pulled into the Marathon gas station we could see an old motorhome parked off to the side. Marlin jumped out to look at the motorhome, and I sat in the sleeper and played with Jacia and Brinton who were getting sleepy. Marlin was soon in the truck again, backing up to the front of the motorhome. “I’ll have to tow it.” “Do the people need a ride?” I stacked the children’s books and pulled my purse out of the way. “No, they have a vehicle they towed behind the motorhome. They’ll follow us.”

continued on page 10

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Food for Thought…

The Secret Stockpile by Regina Rosenberry

It was coming. The extinction of mankind. At least that's how the news media made it sound. To survive The Virus onslaught, we had to buy truckloads of toilet paper (whoever thought toilet paper would become a prize at the end of the treasure hunt) and hand sanitizer (which was even harder to find than toilet paper), and hunker down in our homes. I wasn't about to buy into the hype. But I thought perhaps it would be wise to stock up on a few extra items. Just in case. But I couldn't stockpile several months’ worth of everything or we'd be out of funds plus house space. I didn't want my children finding sticky sanitizer and mouse-eaten toilet paper in the attic fifty years later. After contemplating, I thought of the perfect solution: two staples that would cover most aspects of household, laundry and personal care. Two staples that were cheap, natural, and had a long shelf life. And here is where the colorful ads would leave you with a cliff hanger and make you send money to order the booklet with the secret. But instead, I'll whisper mine for free. Lean in close. “It's white vinegar and baking soda.” Yep, that's it. I said it was simple and cheap, but a booklet could be written about all the things these two workhorses can do by themselves or together as a team. Here's how I've used these two items through the years with great success. Laundry:

• Add baking soda to your detergent for a booster or in an emergency, use baking soda by itself as laundry detergent.

• Use white vinegar in place of fabric softener. You can mix in a drop or two of essential oil for fresh smelling clothes!

Cleaning:

White vinegar can be purchased as 5% acidity or as a cleaning vinegar which is 6-7% acidity. The acid in vinegar is what gives the germ-busting cleaning power, so any white vinegar can work. But if possible, purchase white vinegar labeled “cleaning” for your cleaning purposes. For all other uses, use the normal 5% acid vinegar.

• Use full-strength vinegar when anti-bacterial or disinfect cleaning is needed. When I took in-home hospice nurses’ training, they taught us to use vinegar as a disinfectant if nothing else was available. While vinegar won't kill all germs and viruses, it is effective against most. For best results, after spraying vinegar on surfaces, let set for 15 to 30 minutes before wiping or rinsing.

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• For a general cleaning spray: fill a spray bottle half full of white vinegar. Fill the rest of the bottle with water and if you like, add 10-20 drops of essential oil like lavender, lemon, or orange.

• For window and glass spray: fill spray bottle with equal parts vinegar and water. Optional: add ½ cup rubbing alcohol. Shake well.

• Use white vinegar in toilets in place of toilet cleaner.

• Furniture polish: mix 2 cups water, 1 tablespoon olive oil, and 1 tablespoon vinegar. Mix in a spray bottle. Spray onto a cleaning rag to dust furniture.

• Add a little water to baking soda and make a paste. Use to scour pots and pans, stove tops, counters, and sinks. Follow with the white vinegar spray and polish to a shine.

• Sprinkle baking soda liberally in your bathtub and/or sink. Pour white vinegar over the soda and let the chemical reaction make scrubbing that soap scum away an easier job.

• Sprinkle baking soda into trash cans, clothes hampers, diaper pails, shoes, and refrigerators to absorb odors.

Food:

• White vinegar can neutralize and remove pesticides on fruits and vegetables. Fill your sink with three parts water to one part white vinegar. Let your produce soak for several minutes, then rinse. Or keep a spray bottle mixed with a 3 to 1 solution and spray on your produce. Let set for several minutes and rinse.

Weed Killer:

• To 1 gallon of white vinegar (5% acid) mix 1 cup salt (preferably rock salt) and 1 tablespoon dish soap. Stir well to dissolve salt. Put into sprayer and use for weeds on patios, between driveway cracks, walkways, and more. But be careful as it will kill flowers and plants, too!

Insect Deterrent:

• Some claims have found spraying white vinegar around windows and doors can repel insects and spiders. Another great reason to use vinegar as a window cleaner!

Skin care use:

Baking soda and vinegar can be used in place of shampoo, toothpaste, and many more skin care items. But that info and how-to recipes are still a secret. Purchase the winter issue of Keepers at Home to get the full inside scoop.

Next time you're flying by these items in the grocery store, grab one or two. Or five or six. They'll last in your closet for years and if The Virus would send us back under cover this fall, you'll be glad for these workhorses on your shelves.

continued

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And here is an added bonus. Enjoy! Infused Vinegar Cleaning Spray

• white vinegar (preferably the kind labeled “cleaning”)

• Lemon Herb scent: lemon rinds, and choice (or mix) of thyme, lavender, basil, and rosemary

• Harvest Spice scent: orange rinds, cinnamon sticks, and cloves.

◦ Fill a quart jar with rinds and herbs or spices of your choice.

◦ Fill the jar with white vinegar and cap. Shake the jar well to mix everything together. Let the vinegar infuse on your counter top for about two weeks.

◦ Strain the vinegar and place 1 cup into a spray bottle. Add 1½ cups of water. You may add 1 Tbsp. dish soap to strengthen the cleaning power.

Shake everything together to mix. Spray onto counter tops, sinks, toilets, appliances, and wipe with a wet rag.

Riding with Marlin, continued from page 7

Because of the rain, I didn’t watch Marlin hook up. He returned to the

truck, soaking wet. Less than ten minutes later we were back at the shop. Marlin stopped by

the van to let me off before he unhooked the motorhome. The children and I were all tired, but what a fun morning it had been.

“You know what Nate told me?” Marlin said when he came home for supper. “The motorhome customers were back at the service counter, and the owner told Nate that he liked the tow truck driver. Said he was careful and took his time.”

We laughed together. Being mistaken for an employee always made Marlin’s day. But you know what made mine? Getting to ride with Marlin, and observing his skills for myself.

Florence considers it a privilege to serve her husband in their Michigan home. But times they

spend together “just because” are an extra-special gift.

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“This is God’s universe, and God does things his way. You may have a better way, but you don’t have a universe.”

-Vernon McGee

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Breakfast Blessings by Ella Zimmerman

“So, Mom,” explained Blake, “this is how you make a cursive ‘y’ that is not coming off the line.” I tried to show my interest by making eye contact. This seven o’clock rush to get breakfast on the table was fast spiraling out of control. “See Mom. Mom!” Blake was talking faster and louder. He had to, to be heard above Bruce, who was also eager to show me his preschool attempts at cursive. I lifted Wyatt to his favorite spot on the counter, then grabbed pot holders to rescue the well-done egg casserole from the oven. Pushing markers, scissors, and papers aside, I found a spot for it on the kitchen island. I took a moment to admire Blake’s cursive skills and praise Bruce for being innovative. “Boys, would you please set the table for me? Daddy is ready to eat and if you want to go along to the shop today….” “Oh yes, yes! We forgot about that.” A tsunami of papers and pencils, followed by dishes, spoons, and cups swept through the kitchen. The rumble subsided as we prayed, but resumed after the “Amen.” “This is our table,” said Wyatt. I agreed, holding out my plate for a share of the eggs Carl was dishing out. “This was our table at our other house, too,” Bruce said around the first spoonful in his mouth. A nod satisfied him as I took a drink of water and reached for Ava, whom Blake had brought from the bedroom. Hair in her eyes and an overflowing diaper weren’t keeping her from wanting food. Now. She wiggled in delight. Taking advantage of being the oldest, Blake couldn’t help saying, “I’m the only one that remembers this table at our first house.” The debate following was sprinkled with reminders from Carl to keep eating. Sure her brothers couldn’t settle this without female input, Ava paused her chewing to add a couple unintelligible “Yah, yah’s.” Wordlessly, I evaluated them all. Boys needing haircuts, talking with their mouths full. Baby girl with frowzy hair, slightly cross-eyed, resting comfortably on my extra twenty pounds. The handsome head of the household… Was his hair thinning? Sudden mirth threatened the scrambled eggs I’d just forked in. When had we become so middle-aged? The most observant boy noticed. “What’s so funny, Mom?” After chasing the last bite with a swallow of orange juice, I answered, “I’m thanking God for a family more beautiful than I ever imagined!”

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Forcing Bulbs Indoors by Marie Lapp

When winters are long and cabin fever sets in, forcing bulbs can provide a bright spot while you wait for spring’s warm sunshine. It isn’t hard, especially if you are doing it for fun and aren’t trying to meet a deadline. All it takes is a bit of foresight. The project starts in the fall. Most bulb suppliers send out their catalogs in June or July, when thoughts of winter are far from your mind. Many require your order by August or September, and ship the bulbs in October. My favorite bulb catalog is Beauty From Bulbs.* An assortment of bulbs can be used for forcing. Amaryllis are probably the most common, and you can choose from more than a dozen different color combinations. If you want blooms by Christmas, plant Christmas Flowering Amaryllis from South Africa. Royal Dutch Hybrid Amaryllis are slower and will put on their show in January or later, about eight to twelve weeks after planting. Both have a choice of single or double blooms. The miniature version has shorter stems.

Some varieties of tulips and daffodils are better for forcing than others. Check the catalog recommendations. Single or double early tulips, miniature daffodils, or Fortune or Ice Follies daffodils are good ones to try. And don’t forget the hyacinths and crocuses. Paperwhites have a delightful fragrance. They are in the daffodil family, but don’t need pre-cooling. Pre-cooling means keeping the bulbs at 35°- 48° for ten to twelve weeks. A more happy-go-lucky method is to pot them and leave them in a

cold spot for several months. An unheated garage or basement is perfect. You can even pre-cool in the refrigerator if you don’t store fruit in it (fruit releases ethylene gas as it ripens, which causes bulbs to rot). Pre-cooling is necessary for most spring-blooming bulbs of the north such as tulips, daffodils, and crocuses. It is not needed for amaryllis. When your bulbs arrive in autumn, plant them snugly into a pot of any size. There should be no more than one inch of dirt around each, so the bigger the planting container, the more bulbs you will need. Water well, then do not water again until shoots appear. Over-watering keeps the roots from developing. By January you can bring some indoors. Give them a drink and set in a warm place out of direct sunlight. It can take several weeks to break dormancy. Be patient! Gradually expose them to brighter light. Cool temperatures and bright sunlight keep the stems short and flowers nice for a longer time. Sixty-five degrees is ideal. If the stems get too leggy, cut them and display in a vase. They are terrific cut flowers. Treat them like any normal house plant and water regularly. Cut off the faded blooms once the show is over.

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At this point you have several options. If you don’t want to be bothered, just throw the bulb out after flowering. I haven’t had much success with forcing the same outdoor bulbs two years in a row. However, you can plant them outside after warm weather arrives. Transplant like any other flower. Don’t trim the leaves; they’re the energy factory for next year’s blooms. Allow them to die a natural death. Be sure to mark the location if you want to transplant them in the fall. They like bone meal and rich, well-drained soil. After a year or two outside, when they are blooming well again, dig and plant the biggest bulbs to repeat the fun. For indoor bulbs like amaryllis, continue to treat them like a well-fed house plant until mid-July. They need a dormant period before blooming again. Do this by setting the potted plant in a dark, out-of-the-way corner for several months until dry. The closet of a spare bedroom works well. Do not water. Or you can transplant them like the outdoor bulbs. Be sure to dig them before the first frost, any time after mid-July. Avoid damaging the roots when you dig them. Store in a dark, dry, well-ventilated spot for about two months. Amaryllis leaves don’t die naturally. You have to starve them so the energy goes back into the bulb. After drying for several months, you are ready to start the cycle over again. Break off the small baby bulbs that grew from the base of the big bulb. Plant them in their own pots if you want, but they probably won’t bloom the first few years. You can also keep them over winter and wait to plant until you move the other bulbs outside. Cut off the dead leaves, set your bulb into a pretty pot, and enjoy the show again.

* Beauty from Bulbs PO Box 638, 23 Tulip Drive Bantam, CT 06750-0638

Phone: 860-567-0838 Fax: 860-567-5323 johnscheepers.com

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The Night Before

Has it always been this way For moms?

On this, her last night Of being zero,

I think of tomorrow Not only as her birthday, But also as her Birth Day.

Each week and month pushing relentless, Away from the time when

She was solely mine. -Jaleen Burkholder

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The Overflowing

by Meredith Horst

Did you ever fill a full cup fuller, fuller? The scientific law of

molecular attraction allows you to heap water higher than the brim. A fragile heap it is. One drop more, one wiggle, and the liquid will be streaming. My heart is brimming, heaped with unsteady emotions. One more drop, one jiggle, and my eyes will be streaming. We have just emerged from The Meeting Room in the Holt Children’s Services building in the Mapo district of the metropolis of Seoul, South Korea. Way out of the comfort zone for this country couple from Kentucky. God’s grace had clotted the blood, wiped the sweat, and dried the tears of a fifteen-month-long paperwork pregnancy, and brought us here for the birthing. Here, day is our bodies’ night, and night is day. Behind us lie twenty-four hours of airports and planes. Around us swirl the scent of food and city unfamiliar and the musical lilt of a language foreign. Within us weighs the care of two sons still in the western hemisphere on that farm in Laurel County – a weight known only to parents separated from their children by a Pacific. In front of us, at the focal point, is our lovely new daughter. For the adoption of her we are here. At ten months of age, she is attached to her doting foster mother but displeased with us, this pale-faced, large-nosed couple. The long-awaited Meeting Room hour with her has vanished as a breath on a cold morning. Now we wait in the lobby for her to depart with her foster mother. For two more days. Two more days until she is handed from the security of the familiar to the wrenching adjustment in a new home with new parents in a new country. Two more days for Foster Mother to say good-bye while we sightsee in their mother land. Two more days of stretching our love to touch New Daughter in heart before embracing her in arms. Two more days to drink of God’s grace for the wait. The sky is pouring a rain blessing. Foster Mother calls Foster Father to come get them in the car instead of going out on the street to catch a bus or traverse the subway. We soak up the pleasure of more time with New Daughter while they wait. Grace flows already. But she doesn’t like us. So we stand along the lobby wall and watch while Foster Mother and New Daughter play together. And we take photos, always photos. We observe New Daughter interacting with a foster baby of Foster Mother’s neighbor who came along. For moral support? Our minds leap with recognition of The Door Man and The Nurse in Aqua. While this is our third adoption trip to South Korea, social workers change, buildings are painted or torn down, subways are altered, lakes are drained. We’ve been here before, but we are still one couple in an unfamiliar city of millions, alone, just Husband and me, laboring for New Daughter. Recognition of something, Someone,

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feels like Old Friends. Yes, always the same Door Man, gray-haired, illiterate in English, but knowledgeable and benevolent to foreign adoptive families. We snap pictures of New Daughter bowing to The Door Man. We smile and bob our heads animatedly at The Nurse in Aqua when Social Worker translates to us, “She remembers you.” “Yes, yes, we remember her, too. Yes, we do.” Grace is visible here. And we smile at the older couple who sit at the side of the room quietly observing. Who are they? The outside door opens. In walks a lady with a little bundle. “Ahhh,” breathes The Door Man, The Nurse in Aqua, and the Social Worker. The lady lays the baby down, right there on the lobby table. Nurse in Aqua brings a paper to place on Baby’s tummy. The paper reads with today’s date and an identification number. We know this scene, recognized from the photos we received of our babies when they were here. “Just born today,” explains Social Worker to us. We smile and nod while they click photos of Baby for identification and to show to his prospective adoptive parents. Pictures form in my mind. Pictures of our three treasures at this place, nameless as yet, freshly handed from birth mother (wherever she was) to social worker for the purpose of finding a family for them. And the birth mother? Somewhere is The Mother. Are her arms aching, is her heart breaking, are the tears gushing an endless grief, does her breath come in gasps, does a fog threaten to drown her? Does she have support through this horror of choosing adoption for her child who she loves too much to raise in the desperate situation she is in? And the birth father. Does he know of the life he helped create? Baby sleeps, oblivious to the yanking of heartstrings and the decisions made for him. Only later will he know. And then? Where is God in this? As the rays of realization strike my mind, emotions wobble. My throat chokes; my eyes prick. I swallow. I blink. No, not in front of all these stoic Asians. No, no, I will not. The older couple along the wall is rising now. A social worker places Baby into their eager arms. They smile. Love fills their eyes, their faces. They carry Baby out the door. Ah! Foster parents for Baby! Foster parents who will bridge the gap between the birth parents and adoptive parents. Someone to nurture Baby through the slow-turning cogs of legality. Love still soothes the most tearing scenes. God never forgets to send grace. Soon, too soon, Foster Father arrives in the car to drive Foster Mother and New Daughter home. We follow them out into the rain to meet Foster Father. We wave and watch them drive away before turning ourselves toward the subway to swoosh back to Seoul Palace Hotel. Our hearts have been longing for New Daughter. But now that we have seen her, touched her, heard her – now she carries a part of us away with her. Two days is a long time to wait to be whole. We wait while we tour the city of lovely old and stark modern. We wait during the meals deliciously Korean. We think constantly of her while we shop for souvenirs in the charming Namdeamun Market. We wait through the restless nights and tired days of our bodies’ backwards time. Two days gone by at last.

continued on page 19

Page 16

To Stephanie

Twelve years ago today you gave her birth,

just one wee, helpless baby brought to earth.

Dear Stephanie, these words I long to say to honor life you gave, so swiftly borne away

from your arms into mine. It seems unfair,

Through circumstances life sent you to bear, you never knew the joy of loving home

while I, by grace, had never cause to roam, And felt, through parents’ care,

the love of God; while you, in sorrow’s clutch,

a desert trod.

But nonetheless, through God’s omniscient mind the lives of two young women,

now we find In unexpected meeting of the other;

By mysterious twist, are both called “Mother.”

There’s you— the one beneath whose heart

she grew, and I—

within whose heart love flourished too.

Most precious gift of life God can bestow,

you chose to nurture, to preserve,

and grow. I lend you all the thanks a heart can give,

for through your priceless choice a girl will live!

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I held and cherished her through baby days while you snatched glimpses

till we parted ways. My soul ached,

and my heart was crushed for you; I glimpsed the fearful storm you stumbled

through. I saw the tears that shimmered in your eye, The day your hope’s last glimmer fell to die.

My heart sought yours with brief, exchanged embrace,

I felt the sorrow arms could not erase. For though she was not yours to keep,

I knew a loving thread of mother-heart ran true.

Yet ‘twas God’s plan, for me,

life’s journey through, to show to her

the Light you never knew.

Do you recall and dream of her today?

The dear, pink baby girl you gave away? Are you at rest?

Or is grief sad and wild? Love her just a bit—

because she was your child!

My prayer is this— because I owe you all,

and that which I can do is very small— “God, hold her close

when life is bleak and blue, and each new day, some way,

draw Stephanie to You.” -Doreen Sensenig

Author’s note: This poem is truly written from “Mother to Mother.” Since I am unable to share it with my daughter’s birth mother, I offer it as a tribute to all mothers who gave up their babies by choice or dire circumstance and to all adoptive mothers who find that special love flourishing within their hearts.

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To School on a Tandem by D. Z.

We craned our necks to watch our children leave for school this morning.

Most times I just toss a “Good-bye!” toward the back of their heads as they scramble out the door. Then I exhale. But this morning, as they biked out the lane, we stuck close to the windows – my husband and I, our two little boys, and our eldest son, newly graduated. I suspected if Calvin ever desired to return to school, today was the day, if only to catch a glimpse of his schoolmates’ expressions as they watched four children arrive on three bikes. Our scholars do not bike regularly. We have a dedicated school van driver, but he is also a busy farmer. At our first parent-teacher meeting, we agreed to allow him another month with no driving obligations. Getting the students to school and home now lay on each set of parents. This household summoned Cinnamon, our quirky miniature pony, from his carefree roaming in the pasture, and put him to work. Cinnamon had never been used daily before this. His specialty is to avoid anything that hints of drudgery. On a mile-and-a-half drive, he might try seventeen times to turn around and go home. Especially if he senses his driver is inexperienced, as was our seventh-grade son Daryl, who now sat behind the reins. I was admittedly pessimistic. Despite my qualms, Cinnamon got the children to school and home every day for three weeks, and they were not tardy once. But we ran into another problem. Our pony’s unshod hooves have worn to the quick from all that trekking. Either we needed to get shoes on Cinnamon or have the children use their bikes. We weren’t sure, though, if first-grade Katie could manage the two miles of gravel road twice a day. After the children were in bed one evening, my husband once again presented a plan that had been brewing in his innovative mind since school started. “I’m going to take two of the children’s bikes and smith them into a double-seater,” he stated. “It will be easier for Katie if she has someone to help her pedal.” I leaned back in my recliner and rolled my eyes at the ceiling. “Forget it. Till all’s said and done, Katie would be better off using her own bike.” But Daddy did not forget, as I knew he wouldn’t once his mind was made up. The following day when the children came home from school, they entered the kitchen with an air of awe. “Mom! Daddy is….” “Yes, I know; Daddy’s making a two-seater bike, isn’t he?” I chuckled. “Would you like to ride it to school?” Would they! Their unwavering trust in Daddy made up for any doubts from Mom. For once, they were prompt to change into everyday attire, and bee-lined out the door, eager to try out Daddy’s workmanship. The two oldest boys got to demonstrate first. The contraption didn’t work well, just as I had expected. They careened helplessly all over the driveway, struggling vainly for coordination.

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Not to be outwitted, Daddy took the bike back to the shop and tinkered some more, removing this and adding that. From my sink window I saw him mounting his “toy” for another try. Suddenly I didn’t want to miss out on this. Leaving my supper preparations, I flew out the door. “Wait! I want to ride with you!” Gleefully I hopped onto the empty seat behind him, feeling like a little girl again. We biked out the lane, beautifully in sync. As we neared the road, I saw a vehicle pop over the hill. I leaped off and walked sedately back to the house. After supper and chores, Daddy worked on the bike once more. Sounds of grinding and welding wafted from the shop. By now my own confidence was bolstered in my husband’s abilities and I, along with the children, anticipated what the finished product would look like. The next morning the transformed bike was waiting when the children awoke. Katie and her third-grade brother raced outside to practice a few rounds before breakfast. They returned, bursting with confidence. “We can turn corners and everything!” Thus we watched as they left for school, picking up speed as they pedaled smoothly down the road. “If the bike’s chain jumps off, stop and help them fix it!” Daddy yelled after Daryl. All day I kept wondering if my children had made it to school without difficulties. They would have a stout west wind to face on the way home, I noted worriedly. And then they were home, blustering in the door in typical fashion. I was surprised at their nonchalance. Indeed, they would hardly have mentioned their biking adventure had I not plied them with questions. “Yes, the bike worked alright – oh, the chain jumped off twice, but we fixed it again. And the lower-grade boys about fell over each other to try it out.” When I asked if the teachers also tried it out, they giggled, “Of course not, Mom,” then “Can we have a snack?” This daily exercise is good for the children. I am ready to suggest another month of tandem travels. Daddy’s success has won over Mom’s skepticism…again.

______________________________________________ The Overflowing, continued from page 15…

Finally, the appointed hour arrives to speed toward Holt Children’s

Services. Again in that lobby, New Daughter is placed in our grasping arms. We smile at the joy; we smile at the beauty of dreams fulfilled. We smile at the graciousness of God.

But New Daughter still does not like us. She cries. Foster Mother knows she may never see her foster daughter again. She weeps. Joy, sorrow, grief are the droplets overwhelming, the thrumming too much. My heart-cup spills, my eyes stream, my breath throbs in my throat, producing a geyser of release. Warm tears and cool water join on my cheeks as we bear our sobbing daughter out the door and through God’s rain of grace.

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Housekeeping Secrets by Anna L. Martin

Visitors come when my babies are born. Gobs of visitors: both sets of

grandparents, uncles and aunts, neighbors and friends. As if a new baby signals an open house, folks flock to my door. They ask what time suits the baby and me for their visit. They bring enchiladas in one hand and a gift bag in the other. It doesn’t matter to them what my home looks like; all they see is that swaddle of newborn sweetness.

My grandma is not one such caller. She must come see each new great-grandbaby and she must come when it suits her. She will stay as long as she likes and not a minute more or less. Whether it happens to be my naptime, my children’s lunch time, or Baby’s bath time – when she is coming, she comes.

Grandma’s visits are formal. She raised her two sons by the motto children should be seen and not heard; this surfaces sharply when my toddlers tumble into the living room to see how she likes their new sibling. I have history with her, history from childhood visits to her house of expensive, untouchable clutter. I have other history with her, pleasant moments woven in with the impression that she is elite. I also remember helping my mother clean our house before Grandma’s visits. I learned young that everything must be in royal company state for this relative.

But my home, after a birth and processions of well-wishing relatives, is not in company shape, let alone ready for royalty.

Dad is the one who brings her, since she cannot drive. Normally he gives me a warning. But the week following Trevor’s birth, there was a glitch. He called to let me know Grandma was coming. He also mentioned they were several blocks from my house.

My sister-in-law, Melody, was helping us out over Trevor’s arrival. This particular morning, we were having a wonderful time. She’d set bread to rise and left the icky Bosch mixer on the counter when I asked her to put Cole down for a morning nap. Trevor seemed especially darling this morning, fresh from his bath, sweet in a lotion-scented sleeper. Melody cuddled him while I drank my first cup of coffee. We were mutually numerating Trevor’s newborn charms when my father phoned.

Melody leapt up, passing Trevor to me, and tried to clean up the whole house in one swipe. This was impossible. Our morning had been deliciously lazy, and it showed. In the mortification of the moment, I had a terrific idea.

“Load all the dirty dishes in the drainer and set it Cole’s room,” I directed her. “We’ll just say he’s napping.”

Melody did this. The kitchen looked company-ready in a miraculous moment or two. She laid a pretty tea towel over the swelling loaves of bread. This made the kitchen look homey, if not palatial, but I am fine with homey. She gathered up another armful of family clutter and gave it a new home. Then Grandma was at the door.

Melody graciously welcomed my guest. Grandma balanced on the edge of my sofa and held herself there stiffly, as if it were not proper to relax back into the cushions. I passed her my newborn son. She held him stiffly as well, commenting

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cordially on how well he fit into the family, how much he looked like his grandfather.

This was actually true with Trevor. He resembled her side of the family highly. “But where is Cole?”

“He’s napping,” I said, hoping my tone was kind enough to shroud the non-negotiable insinuation.

Grandma accepted that. “He’ll likely wake up before I leave,” she decided. We chatted for half an hour. Trevor slept like newborns should, giving his mother great peace while entertaining her visitor. Others of my babies have not been so agreeable. This distresses Grandma and, naturally, distresses me too. But Trevor behaved. This visit was turning out well.

I caught Melody’s eye once while she loitered around the dining room and almost laughed at the quirk in her smile, signifying our secret of the quick kitchen clean-up. I couldn’t look at her again. Just a few more minutes of small talk, and then Grandma would be on her way, and we could collapse together in relieved giggles.

But wait, what--? “I just have to see Cole before I leave,” Grandma was insisting. My father looked at me uncertainly. I felt Grandma’s eyes on me and couldn’t signal to him. I could only beg with my own eyes. No. No. She couldn’t see Cole. “I just have to,” she said again. “I’ll just tiptoe in there and look at him while he’s sleeping. Will it disturb him if I open his door?”

I had to be honest. “Nooo--” I felt, rather than saw, Melody shrink behind the kitchen cupboards. This

couldn’t be happening. Worse than my grandmother finding dirty dishes in my sink would be her finding them in a bedroom.

“It won’t disturb him,” I reiterated, hoping to hide my panic with calm assurance to her. Maybe the trick of over-relaxed would distract her from this idea. You know how it is; sometimes you can change a body’s mind by acting like their idea is a perfectly good one. “You may look in on him. We were planning to bring the boys to visit you in a few weeks, when I’m up and around again.”

“That’ll be great,” Grandma said, pushing herself up from the sofa edge with both hands on her cane. “You don’t need to get up. I’ll see myself to Cole’s room and then be ready to go.”

I had the vague, awful sense that she just wanted to glance around the rest of my house. The main living area appeared to be too tidy for a mom of small ones, I thought, and she wanted to see if the rest was in order. Well, what was, was. I am no perfectionist housekeeper. I enjoy my days of post-partum rest. And I absolutely adore my newborns. If that meant we cut corners somewhere, so be it. But-but—this was extreme. Grandma was about to discover the secret of the faux tidiness in our living area. I’d be guilty forever, in her book.

There was no stopping her. Dad carried her oxygen tank and lines as she edged down the hall, but I was the one needing oxygen. I felt Melody’s horror stifle the air between us. My own horror made me cower on the couch. Grandma gently opened the bedroom door. I envisioned her peeping in, sweeping suspicious eyes around Cole’s room. I could feel the shock for her as she discovered the drainer full of dirty, doughy dishes. Oh, why hadn’t we thought to set the drainer behind the bedroom door, thus hiding it peradventure Grandma insisted on seeing Cole?

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I don’t know why we hadn’t thought of it. I don’t know, in fact, what we had thought of.

Grandma nodded approvingly at my sleeping blonde cherub, then stealthily shut the bedroom door. Cole didn’t stir, just like I expected. She calmly bid me adieu, emphasizing that she is just so glad she got to see both great-grandsons.

I don’t know what else she may have seen. I could not read behind the emotionless mask on her well-set face.

One thing I do know which is enough for me: fortunately, she didn’t need anything in my dryer.

______________________________________

I Love Doing Dishes by Arlene Hoover

A sink of warm water to plunge my hands into.

Pure joy! Perched on the booster seat atop a kitchen chair, I’m Mom’s right-hand helper, a mature one-year-old who knows all about rinsing dishes. Mom puts them into my water. I fish them out and put them on the rack. First are the cups. I pick up a blue one and hold it high. Warm water cascades down my dress and forms a balmy sea under the chair. Mom intervenes, putting the cups on the rack. Next is silverware. I pick it up, put it on the rack; say, “Now!” Do it again. “Now!” And again. Then…splash! A knife slips back into the water. Silly me! I grunt and put more silverware on the rack. Mom turns her back and wipes off the table. Her water has suds; delightful, tempting suds. I scoop some out and pat them into nothingness on the edge of the sink. How do they taste? Not bad. Funny mouth-feel. More. This is fun, too. Mom sees me. She says, “No.” Oh? I scoop more and slurp them off my hand. She says, “No,” and slaps my hand. Really? I scoop again. “No,” and another slap. Really! That hurt. I cry, a rosy mouth framed with sudsy white whiskers. But I am learning one of the first Laws of Dishwashing. The water swooshes and gurgles down the drain. That drain is fascinating. I stretch for it and teeter on the edge of the sink. For an instant, it appears I’m going in head-first, then I totter back on the booster seat. I look silly and don’t know it. Mom laughs and chokes on her drink of water. She makes ridiculous noises. I watch her and grin. She looks silly and she knows it. Dishes are done and I cry in disappointment. Someday, Mom will remember these days – when I loved to do dishes. And I will learn more Laws of Dishwashing. Today we savor the simple Laws and simple Joys.

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Across My Kitchen Table… Main dish salads hit the spot on hot, busy summer days – and September

still has some of those! Check out the following recipes for some easy, light-n-tasty meal options.

For next time, share the recipe for one of your husband’s favorite dishes, and tell us what side dishes you generally serve with it. Send recipes by October 15, 2020.

____________________________

Chicken Breast Salad Layer in a 9x13-inch pan your choice of salad ingredients: Lettuce Cucumbers Carrots Hardboiled eggs Can of warmed black beans

Tomatoes Crushed corn chips Shredded cheese Baked chicken breast

Before baking or grilling the chicken breast, flavor it with your favorite

chicken seasonings. After baking, chunk it and sprinkle on top of the salad. Serve with salad dressing.

Baked rice is good as a side to this salad! Joanna Ruth, Bahamas

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Southwest Salad 6 cups lettuce, cut up 1 can black beans, drained 2 cups whole kernel corn ½ lb. fried, taco-seasoned hamburger

½ cup green peppers, diced 1 cup tomatoes, diced 1½ cups shredded cheese 1 cup barbecue corn chips, crushed

Layer twice in a large glass bowl. I pass the crushed chips separately and let each person add their own.

Rosene Martin, PA

Chili Cornbread Salad1 (8.5 oz.) cornbread muffin mix 1 (4 oz.) chopped green chilies,

drained 1/8 tsp. ground cumin 1/8 tsp. oregano Pinch of rubbed sage 1 cup mayonnaise 1 cup sour cream 1 envelope or 3 Tbsp. ranch

salad dressing powder

2 (15 oz.) cans pinto beans, rinsed and drained

2 (15 oz.) cans whole kernel corn drained (or 3 - 4 cups whole kernel frozen)

3 medium tomatoes, chopped 1 cup chopped green pepper Chopped onion, as desired 8 -10 bacon strips, fried and

crumbled 2 cups shredded cheddar cheese

Prepare cornbread batter according to package directions. Stir in chilies,

cumin, oregano, and sage. Bake in a greased 8-inch square pan at 375° for 20 - 25 minutes. Cool.

Combine mayonnaise, sour cream, and dressing mix and set aside. Crumble half of cornbread into a 9x13-inch pan. Layer with half the beans,

mayonnaise mixture, corn, tomatoes, green pepper, onions, bacon, and cheese. Repeat layers. (Dish will be very full!) Cover and refrigerate for at least two hours for best flavor.

I sometimes like to use a combination of two kinds of beans. Black and pinto together are good. For a small family it works very well to bake the full recipe of cornbread and use only half in a smaller pan to assemble. The other half can be frozen and pulled out on a busy day with only assembly to do. A wonderful dish on a hot summer day!

Elfrieda Mellinger, NM Variation: Omit the green chilies, cumin, oregano, and sage. For the

dressing, add 2 cups ranch dressing to the mayonnaise and sour cream, instead of ranch powder.

Jenelle Sensenig, TX

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Layered Chicken Salad 3 cups cubed cooked chicken,

divided 2 cups torn lettuce 1 cup cooked rice 1 pint frozen peas, thawed

¼ cup minced fresh parsley 2 large tomatoes, chopped 1 cup thinly sliced cucumber 1 small sweet red pepper, chopped 1 small green pepper, chopped

In a 3-quart glass bowl, layer 1½ cups of chicken and all the lettuce.

Combine rice, peas, and parsley; spoon over lettuce. Layer with tomatoes, cucumber, peppers, and remaining chicken. Dressing: 1 cups mayonnaise ½ cup sour cream ½ cup finely chopped onion ¼ cup sweet pickle relish 2 Tbsp. milk

½ tsp. celery seed ½ tsp. dill weed ½ tsp. ground mustard ½ tsp. garlic salt ½ cup craisins, optional

Combine ingredients and spoon over salad. Refrigerate for 8 hours or

overnight. Before serving, garnish with red pepper rings and fresh parsley sprigs, if desired. Serves 10-12.

One of our favorite suppers for a hot summer day. I often serve with fresh rolls or breadsticks with pizza sauce for dipping.

Rosene Martin, PA

Chicken Bacon Salad Marinade: 2 Tbsp. lemon juice 1½ tsp. oregano 1½ tsp. cumin ½ tsp. chili powder ½ tsp. paprika

2 Tbsp. oil 1½ tsp. seasoned salt ½ tsp. red pepper 1 tsp. garlic powder

Cut 1½ lb. chicken breast into thin strips. Mix marinade, pour over chicken, and refrigerate 4 hours. Fry chicken until cooked thoroughly. To serve, layer on each plate: 1 cup chopped lettuce 1 cup chopped broccoli Shredded onions Shredded carrots Shredded cheese

Bacon pieces Chicken strips Ranch dressing Tomatoes

You may also add any of the following: peppers, cucumbers, beans, eggs, nuts, mushrooms, or corn chips. This makes large servings. You may want to serve this like taco salad instead of layering on individual plates.

Joylyn Zimmerman, WI

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Tête-à-Tête…

___________________________________________________________________

On the question about alternatives to aluminum foil (from the July issue)…

I recommend that you look for baking dishes with glass lids, such as Corning Ware brand. Otherwise look for stainless steel or cast-iron options.

Judith Olson, FL

This is about the question on baby gold peaches staying fresh. I had trouble with peaches sealing properly, until I was told to put the jars in hot water and bring them to a real good boil. Boil one minute. Turn off and let set approximately five minutes before removing jars from water. I have had very good success with this method. I check them the first couple weeks to be sure. Prolonged cooking and boiling seemed to bring poor results. I like an outdoor cooker and use two kettles and rotate them, cooking one while the other sets. I use half the amount of sugar and add stevia from Bolivia. For this stevia, ¼ teaspoon is like 1 cup of sugar.

Faith Weaver, PA Thank you for all the work you put into this magazine! I look forward to each new one. And it’s always good. I especially enjoyed “Sacrificing My Elephants.” It was just right! Oh, and the next time they go on a book-buying binge; take me!

Lisa Martin, OH

Thinking of spiritual nourishment and inspiration for mothers of little ones, a memory came to me from when I was a teenager. A mother said, “I often pray for the mothers and their babies before I go to church.” I was challenged to remember to pray for relaxed mothers and restful babies. It is a part I can fill.

Julie Ehst, PA

“Tête-à-tête” (tāt ə ‘tāt) is a

French word which conveys

the idea of a cozy, friendly chat

between two people. I like the

connotation! Please allow us to

include your name unless it

truly is a sensitive issue.

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The replies to healthy eating in the July issue were interesting to read. One answer states that “meat is often loaded with antibiotics.” This is a myth, and is simply not a true statement. As time passes, there becomes an ever-widening gap between the farm producers and the consumers, which creates the possibility for a lack of understanding on the production of food, in this case, meat. Every FDA drug on the market has a milk and meat with-hold time label which prohibits the marketing and sale of food tainted with antibiotics. Before every trailer load of raw milk is unloaded at the processor, it is tested for the presence of antibiotics. If present, it is condemned and the producer is held responsible for the entire load of milk. In the beef industry, much testing is done for antibiotics as well. Beef cattle, especially sick or suspicious-looking ones, or if lesions appear on the carcass after the hide is removed, are tested for the presence of antibiotics. If antibiotics are found, the producer will receive an unwanted visit from the FDA officials, who will examine the record of drug use on your farm. In Pennsylvania, these violations are recorded and can be viewed online by anyone who wishes to do so. The poultry industry has almost completely gotten away from using antibiotics or hormones, and continues to move in that direction. I recently saw a Purdue chicken truck and their slogan on the side of the trailer was “No antibiotics ever.” I also purchased a 40-pound case of chicken and on the bags was written, “The federal government prohibits the use of hormones or steroids in poultry.”

I conferred with our licensed veterinarian before writing this to ensure accuracy of content. She said that the United States is one of the safest food sources in the world. While purchasing meat in the store may not be your preference, rest assured, the meat is not loaded with antibiotics.

Leah Hoover, PA

I saw there was no answer to question 4 in the July issue about an

aluminum foil replacement, so I thought I'd add my two bits here in Tete-a-Tete. Recently I was introduced to silicone lids from Norwex. They can be used to cover dishes in the oven, microwave, and fridge; to keep your coffee or another dish hot; or even as a hot pad or "lid gripper.” I haven't used them myself, but I've seen them at several Norwex parties. They might not completely replace aluminum foil, but they come pretty close. There's several different sizes and colors. If you don't know a Norwex consultant personally, here's contact information for you (shared with permission):

Joanna Lehman 9920 Beecher Road Clayton, MI 49235

(717) 825-9628 itssimple2clean@gmail.com joannalehman.norwex.biz

Carrie Gingerich, CO

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Desires Directed

King David of old longed to build a grand temple To honor the Lord, but the plan he thought simple

Was bluntly denied, though we don't see him chided; He altered his plans as God's covenant guided.

So, worthy desires may be good in their places,

Just not for me now when duty displaces. Desiring to sew – but each stitch of time dashes

To quiet my girls and have school-at-home classes.

A longing to write – but my arms rock dear baby. To dig and to plant – but God shows me that maybe

I'm planting in hearts as each moment brings chances To sow words and smiles for His kingdom's advances.

There’re many right ways to take part in God's story

But only when done in His time, for His glory. Oh, Lord, help me hear when my way You're defining,

And yield with delight to eternal designing. -Kimberly Charles