Remembering Grandpa

Ten years ago today our family lost someone very dear to us. My son and my nephew carry his name, the rest of us carry memories.

Evert Lyell Elson, 1920 - 2000.



Grandpa and Grandma, we miss you both.

(follow the link for last year's more lengthy post)

HAPPY BIRTHDAY!

From all of us at Country Roads:

HAPPY BIRTHDAY
to my baby sister!



"Now may the Lord lift up the light of His countenance upon you, and give you peace, in your going out and in your coming in; in your sitting down and your rising up; in your work and in your play; in your joy and in your sorrow, in your laughter and in your tears; until that day comes wich is without dawn and without dark." Amen.

Joy in Winters Past

Most Midwesterners have somewhat of a love/hate relationship with winter. Oh sure, some love it unreservedly, some hate it with equal passion, some love to hate it, but most us both love AND hate it at various times. In my last post I began to delve into some of the unsavory aspects of winter, primarily... it just lasts way too long!

The last few days, however, have been a pleasant reminder that our Midwestern winters can be beautiful, joy inspiring times. My walk to work has been under stars that are as bright as stars can only be when it's below 20F outside. The air is crazy crisp and cold, the moon is a tiny sliver of silver with the rest faintly, but clearly visible. The snow has been fairly undisturbed and about 5-7 inches deep. The mid-day glance across the fields reveals windswept white landscape, punctuated by still-golden corn stubble under an impossibly blue, endless Illinois sky. Evenings are cold with the blazing orange sunset lighting up the snow and casting the bare trees into sharp silhouette before the sun fades and snow and sky take on a short-lived shadowy blue that has to be seen to be believed.

In this spirit I share with you an article pulled from the pages of the Pantagraph chronicling past winters and the advent of ice-skating as a common past time at Miller Park in Bloomington, IL. Follow the link to read the whole article, a few excerpts:

The first known reference to ice-skating at Miller Park on the city’s west side appears in the Dec. 5, 1895, Pantagraph. “Bloomington has found a new winter sport, and from this time on skating parties will be as common as bobsled parties and coasting parties have been in the past,” noted the newspaper.

That evening “mirth and jollity reigned supreme” as 400 skaters sped around the frozen surface. “The wind was as sharp as a razor, and those who stood on the bank shivered. But the moon rose, round and bright, over the eastern trees, and filled the entire valley with a flood of radiance,” added The Pantagraph. “Fancy skaters were there by the dozens, besides those who slid on their heads. And young ladies were out by the scores, some who could skate and some who couldn’t and some who were afraid to try.”

If you've never ice skated on a frozen pond on a winter's night, you really need to find an opportunity to do so. Even better of there are areas of fresh, new, powdery snow - not too deep of course. Nothing quite like gliding over unmarked snow in the moonlight.

Way back in January 1896 a feature in The Daily Leader (a long-defunct competitor to The Pantagraph) painted a picturesque portrait of a “grand skating carnival” with “belles and beaux … skimming on steel beneath the electric light and soft moonbeams.” In the early evening The Daily Leader reporter “mixed with the gay throng, 500 people, men, women and children; boys in knickerbockers, misses in kilts; young men and young women, all ages, all colors, all creeds, all nationalities, all political faiths.”

A day earlier a heavy snowfall had blanketed the city, so 25 men on skates pulled and steadied an improvised scraper to clear a track along the edge of the lake, “and in this the merry-makers glided in groups, one behind the other.”

From time to time through the decades city officials established other skating venues. In the winter of 1928-1929, for instance, the city flooded the old school lot at the corner of Oak and Monroe streets on the city’s near west side. Lobbying hard for the rink was Alderman Val Simshauser, described as “a champion of fun and safety for children.”

Despite the occasional appearance of such facilities, Miller Park remained the community hub for skaters. In mid-January 1942, an estimated 1,000 locals ages 2 to 70 “whizzed” over 10-inch-thick ice on Miller Park’s large lake. “There were children hardly able to walk on solid earth, scampering along on all fours,” noted Pantagraph reporter John Temple. And for those fleeing Old Man Winter, the park pavilion offered a “huge fire in the old-fashioned stove.”

I've recently become somewhat fascinated by Miller Park and its part in the history of Bloomington. Mostly just because I'm a history dork, but I think we're all starting to realize our culture has somehow lost a sense of community that we didn't realize was worth saving... 'till it was gone. The good news is, we don't need a city sponsored park or infrastructure to have good relationships with our neighbors and enjoy the types of community we all need.

Get out and enjoy the winter! Don't be afraid to skate on the ponds (don't be stupid about it either, Country Roads takes no responsibility for idiots). Invite your neighbors, get some bumps and bruises, have fun. Take joy in winter.

~ Gabriel

Bill Kemp, the Archivist/Librarian at the McLean County Museum of History has put together a series of articles at the Pantagraph detailing various aspects of life in Bloomington/Normal and the surrounding counties throughout the history of the region. I find these articles fascinating and intend bring a few of these articles and stories to my blog in an effort to celebrate the history and cultural roots of Central Illinois.

February Return

The children are sleeping. The fire crackles lazily in the fireplace. The dog sleeps fitfully by the door, waiting for Nikki to come home. Smoke rises gracefully from the briar as the snow swirls outside the window. Fernando Ortega serenades me from the computer as the wind bends the trees and their tops thrash the sky. A train whistle screams through this dark, cold, February night. I sit at my keyboard and take it all in. We're in the very heart of the long dark of an Illinois winter. Winter is traditionally a somewhat melancholy and introspective time for me. Perhaps that is what has prompted my return to Country Roads.

Last month was the anniversary of the passing of my grandmother, next week will be a time of remembrance for the passing of my grandfather. The dark mornings, dark evenings, gray fields, skies, roads and trees all begin to eventually take their toll. Winter can be a cold, bleak and windy affair on the prairies. This winter has brought its own unique worries, what with the poor economy and work climate... This post seems to be taking a decidedly dark turn. Apologies.

This has actually been a relatively good winter for us. The snow has been plentiful, I was able to spend hours trudging through the fields with my Remington on my shoulder - communing with God, the countryside, and hunting for pheasants. The children's new rooms are finally coming along nicely and I actually have some time for blogging. While work has been slow, I do have work. God has been good to us, for sure.

I could not possibly hope to catch up on family, cultural, and world events since I was last actively blogging. In the weeks and months ahead I will finish and post some of the myriad of half-finished drafts I have lurking in the archives, but for the most part I'll just be picking up and going on. I plan on focusing a bit more on homeschooling and family stuff, since the kids are getting older. This will be in addition to the usual political and social commentary, not to mention sports (pitchers and catchers report in 7 days!) and hobbies. I've missed Country Roads, while it's safe to say there's only a handful (at best) of folks that feel likewise, it's good to be back. As always, feel free to comment on anything. Your comment may not appear immediately as I had to take some precautions against spammers, but it will be read and posted.

This has taken way too long, (though I haven't really said anything) the fire has died down and I must head to bed, but first, a few words in remembrance of Grandma. This taken from my remarks last January:

Well, the Dunhill is naught but ash in the bowl and it's getting late. I shall wrap this up for now, but first, a few words in closing about my Grandma, my Mom's Mom, Doris Elson. It was the 6th year to the day since she passed away on Jan. 2nd. I shall write more about her and my Grandpa's lives in Feburary, so this will do for now. Grandma lived a long, often hard, often joyous, life here on the windswept prairies of Illinois as a farmer's wife. Her years included memories of the Great Depression, WWII, the births of 4 children, 12 grandchildren, at least one great-grandchild and countless rotations of the seasons on which a farmer's family depends. She had suspected that she had breast cancer for years before it became obvious enough that she had to bring it up. Her last months were charactarized by faith, peace, and confidence that her Lord would bring her home in His time. She passed away peacefully, in her own bed, surrounded by some of her family members, un-afraid, secure in the knowledge of God. She is missed.

~ Gabriel

"In Triumph doth Wave"

Considering how well we all know the first verse to this song, it's rather incredible how little most of us know the rest. Take a moment to read through the lyrics as we head into Independence Day weekend. Take a moment to remember that, as with all things worthwhile, our freedom and way of life came at a cost. A cost that was paid and victory won. We may have declared our independence on July 4th, but our independence wasn't a reality until victory had been fought for and won.

THE STAR SPANGLED BANNER
Oh, say can you see by the dawn's early light
What so proudly we hailed at the twilight's last gleaming?
Whose broad stripes and bright stars thru the perilous fight,
O'er the ramparts we watched were so gallantly streaming?
And the rocket's red glare, the bombs bursting in air,
Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there.
Oh, say does that star-spangled banner yet wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave?

On the shore, dimly seen through the mists of the deep,
Where the foe's haughty host in dread silence reposes,
What is that which the breeze, o'er the towering steep,
As it fitfully blows, half conceals, half discloses?
Now it catches the gleam of the morning's first beam,
In full glory reflected now shines in the stream:
'Tis the star-spangled banner! Oh long may it wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave!

And where is that band who so vauntingly swore
That the havoc of war and the battle's confusion,
A home and a country should leave us no more!
Their blood has washed out their foul footsteps' pollution.
No refuge could save the hireling and slave
From the terror of flight, or the gloom of the grave:
And the star-spangled banner in triumph doth wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave!

Oh! thus be it ever, when freemen shall stand
Between their loved home and the war's desolation!
Blest with victory and peace, may the heav'n rescued land
Praise the Power that hath made and preserved us a nation.
Then conquer we must, when our cause it is just,
And this be our motto: "In God is our trust."
And the star-spangled banner in triumph shall wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave!