Dreams Do Come True

I have never had a dream about where or how I wanted to live. Often living on a lake or stream is appealing, but I've pretty much made do wherever I've lived and usually found good things at every location. Our first home was in Sturtevant, WI a suburb of Racine. Our home was a starter home and had great neighbors and a good place for young children to grow.

Our second home was what our family refers to as the Globe Heights home. It was a beautiful three bedroom home on a residential lot in a nice neighborhood. The home was large, had a nice family room with fireplace and the basement was huge and allowed me to have a work shop for the first time.

We moved to Sheboygan Falls and a large split-level home that eventually got tedious constantly going up and down stair to get from one level to the next. However the real charm was the neighborhood and the opportunity for our children to participate in school events and form close bonds that remain to this day twenty plus years after we lived in that home.

Divorce broke up the string and to some degree I started over again. I was an apartment/rent home dweller for a few years as the marriage broke up and I moved to the South to follow a dream that never materialized in the form I had hoped and planned on at the time.

Finally twenty-two years ago I bought a little log cabin on five acres of land in Arkansas. About nine years later I bought an additional five acres adjacent to our property with a home that we rent out. The property has matured, the field is now a young forest as the trees take back the land. The adjacent property is a mature woodlot with a variety of land form to explore and gives me a feeling of being back in the north-woods at times.

I have never made a list of desires when it comes to a home. However I always found the lifestyle of my first father-in-law appealing where he had property to care for, could work out of doors in an area that was quite large and he could do what he wanted. I also found a rustic life style very appealing where you grow food you eat, and provide some for yourself. I found the log cabin appealing but became unhappy with the one I own because it fell into disrepair through my own neglect. I like living in a small town, while it may not offer great conveniences or restaurants it is good enough.

In the previous post I talked about the evening my wife Terry and I had sitting by our new fire pit enjoying an open fire and the cool evening air. Looking around at the tall pines on our property, the log cabin that has been renovated, the fruit and nut orchard we've accidentally developed and the garden holding blueberry bushes and raspberry canes I realized if what I have desired is a dream then I've realized that dream. I don't have a lake nearby, nor does a stream go through our property. I do have ten acres to enjoy, woods to walk in, a path to enjoy a seasonal variety of plants and trees, a garden to provides us with some fruit and vegetables and a work shop I can go to anytime I wish. So sitting by the fire last night with the woman I've come to love dearly, looking over the tall pines, the large yard, the renovated log cabin, the orchard and gardens filled with flowers and other plants I realized that dreams do come true.

A New Memory

Terry never expressed much interest in an outdoor fire pit. I've never really felt inclined to have one either. There were some neighbors who made a pit with some concrete blocks next the our access road and sat there in the evening drinking wine and watching logs burn. Their fire pit sat in an ugly part of their property and a drainage ditch ran right next to it, not a nice setting at all. So there was not much motivation for us to build a fire pit.

However, in recent months Terry has started to mention the idea and frankly it took on some interest in my mind. So last week while we were on vacation I rounded up some field stone we had collected over the years and built a fire ring about a foot high out of loose rock.



We broke it in on May 30, 2010. Zeb and daughter Tracy came over and we "ignited the fire pit and charred some mammal flesh." Zeb was exhausted after a day in the sun fishing and riding in a boat so they left about 7:30 PM. To my surprise Terry stayed by the fire until we finally came in at dark, about 8:45 PM. We had a great evening sitting there talking and just enjoying the peace of the evening.

The view of our yard was very different than from the porch. For one thing I hadn't really thought about how our yard slopes down going northward from the driveway. The pines looked taller and we had an unfettered view of the tree tops which is cut off by sitting on the porch. The orchard of fruit and nut trees was rather impressive.

We talked about having some cooking implements out there and perhaps making a breakfast over the open fire. We talked of how comfortable it will be in the fall when cooler temperatures make sitting out more pleasant. We talked about a Christmas fire, even a Christmas tree by our now designated, "Outdoor Living Area." Terry got a poker and played with the fire moving logs to have a small flame going much of the time.

It was as pleasant an evening she and I spent together in a long time. I am sure we will find other evenings equally pleasant and a small investment in time and resources already on the property made for a lovely setting and evening. One thing for sure, after last year's ice storm, we've plenty of fuel.

Flatulent Florias

I guess this should be added to the repository of history this blog is meant to collect. My family, the Floria side, has long had a love affair with farts. While for some the subject is gross, disgusting, and generally a subject left for the porcelain throne, for the Floria clan it has been a rich source of relief, pleasure and down right slapstick humor. One of the funniest books in my collection is a Dictionary of Farts given to me by my daughters years ago at Christmas. It still makes me laugh when I find it and read through some of the definitions.

My Dad always enjoy a good fart. He would tell the story of the time when my brother Dean was a young boy. This had to be in the late 1920's or early 1930's. Dad would put his socks on while sitting on the floor. In the summer the floor felt cooler on his bottom and he would sit down on the floor to moderate the summer temperatures. One day, while sitting on the floor he happened to pass some gas. Well, it was not a quiet passing but to quote my Dad, went "Bango." It shot across the floor and hit the baseboard on the opposing wall with quite a whack. Dad said he could hear Dean in the bedroom next, say in quiet admiration, "WOW!"

One day, coming out of his office at 410 W. Superior St. in Munising, MI he felt the urge to break wind. Checking around to see if there were any passersby and feeling that he was quite alone he fired a cannon shot down Superior St. Only to hear the familiar voice of Rosemarie Froberg, an old family friend say, "Well, Vern, you shot me." Apparently she had just stepped out of the door that lead to upstairs offices above his office and appeared quite suddenly after he had checked for witnesses.

One day in our apartment at 812 W. Superior when I was a kid, I was startled by what I thought were three separate and distinct loud hand claps. I raced from the kitchen to the living room to find out what merited such loud and distinct applause. I found my Mother, doubled over, holding her stomach, with her legs crossed. In her later years, my mother would tinkle slightly if she laughed very hard and had to assume a protective position to keep from embarrassing herself. She was laughing, silently, too over come to talk at the moment. Finally, after several minutes of quiet glee she settled down enough to tell that she had passed some gas. My mother was a rather heavy woman and always wore one of the "horse collar" girdles to control her appearance. Apparently the girdle held the cheeks of her butt closed that the fart when it emerged separated into three reports and resulted in what I thought were three distinct, powerful hand claps. A feat remembered from time to time in our household with some reverence.

I do not know if my Grandmother Toot was a gas passer. However, one must wonder where she got the nickname Toot. My lovely, college educated, sophisticated daughters apparently are not immune to the Floria talents. It even sounds like my Granddaughters enjoy a good toot from time to time. So perhaps that earthy humor will survive for some generations. I hope so, there is nothing more funny than a resounding fart to bring a smile to my face.

Moods of the day

It is 2:20 PM Mother's Day, 2010. Terry and I are stirring after a short afternoon nap. The morning was busy, daughter Jessi and Tracy were here along with their kids and Zeb, Tracy's boyfriend. We had a mid-morning brunch of biscuits, eggs, sausages and gravy. Then everyone stuck around for a couple of hours and got haircuts from Jessi and just visited. It was fun. I get a little overwhelmed by the busyness, but I found myself visiting with grandson Tim and had a nice morning.

So the mood of that part of the day was pleasant, family and busy. After they departed Grandson Sam headed to the trailer to watch TV and perhaps nap. Terry and I headed upstairs to lay down. The day is cool, not even 60 yet, and air fresh and clean. As I woke after a nap of indeterminate length I lay there with puffs of air blowing in the window at the foot of the bed washing over me. It was very refreshing. I was transported back in time. I recall the fresh sensation you can get from being along Lake Superior. I felt like I was standing on the commercial fishing docks of yore in Brown's Addition just west of Munising. As kids we could walk there. Joe Hase and I would often take our fishing rods and walk the mile to that area of Brown's Addition and explore the piers the commercial fisherman owned. No one objected to our being there. In the spring we had great hopes of catching an abundance of Perch, perhaps some Menominee or Whitefish. Usually were were skunked, I think occasionally we caught a Perch but most of the time we spent watching the water, listening to the talk of the fishermen and looking at the catches of Lake Trout they brought in from their nets. The fish were bound for the markets of Milwaukee and Chicago to be sold to restaurants and dined upon in those pleasant places.

In the meantime the breezes off Lake Superior would be chilling and oh so fresh. It was kind of like a soft cold cloth brushing your face and penetrating your clothes that made you momentarily shiver but felt so good. Mixed in might be the smell of diesel as a small fishing tug came to dock or the smell of fresh fish that added to the overall sensation. As I lay there this afternoon I could close my eyes and be transported to that time when the lake was swaying to the swells of motion and the tugs moved in a tippy fashion approaching the dock. The fresh air and cry of gulls, the breeze and blue skies were enough to make a young boy fall in love with his home. So it was this afternoon. I longed to be in that northern home I so dearly love and would like again to stand with my face in the breeze and my nose sniffing the cool clean scent of Northern Michigan.