Hay mow (or, hay loft) basketball is a foreign concept to many young, up and coming basketball players these days. Back in the day when big red barns were more of a farm standard, the hay mow was the closest thing young people had to basketball skills camp. I’m sure the reffing was questionable and rules may have been bent, adapted or even eliminated. How did they ever survive?
This lucky young man along with his siblings and cousins have spent many hours playing basketball in this hay mow. Memories made and life lessons learned.
What are YOUR memories of games or shenanigans in the hay mow?
Red is the Pemble color and it is only fitting that my dad is depicted with red socks and shirt. The scene is from a trip to Mexico after being diagnosed with esophageal cancer. He passed away a few months later.
Chester Ward Pemble was born in 1917 during WWI. I was told that at delivery the doctor exclaimed, “You’ve got yourself a little Buddy!” ( Battle buddy was a term used in WW I to describe a partner assigned to a soldier in the U.S. Army.) His father nicknamed all the children so he was referred to as Bud for the rest of his life.
Growing up during the depression in the region of Hawick/Paynesville, MN couldn’t have been easy for Dad’s family and I feel this experience was the driving force behind his determination to succeed in business and life.
Looking in the mirror, I can see that I resemble my father much more than my mother. While I did not inherit his math and business skills, I am confident that I am similar to his sisters who were teachers. Dad held teachers in high regard and was proud that I chose that career path. Teaching matched my gifts in life and was the most fulfilling career choice I could have made. For this I am thankful. I have also inherited his love of travel along with an appreciation of solitude.
I just received the results from my DNA test through Ancestry.com and according to them I am 49% Scandinavian, 30% Scottish, 6% Iberian, 5% Europe South, 4% Europe West, 2% Great Britain, 2% Middle East, less than 1% Europe East and less than 1% European Jewish.
Hmm… By the looks of it, I’d say the 6% Iberian Peninsula came from him.
This time of year finds the prairie grasses blooming with the splendor of the season. Children of the prairie, I believe, lead somewhat of a “charmed” life filled with textures beneath their toes, fireflies lighting up the night and the soothing sounds of frogs croaking in the night.
The past has floated away like fluff on a dandelion as the prairie winds blow across the old abandoned yard. The young girl’s grandmother has long since passed away, but the old house from her childhood still stands as if to be a testament to her very existence.
The skeleton of a house is what remains, but in the mind are memories… laughter, tears, struggle and joy are carried by the wind as it flows through the empty windows. Heat radiating from the wood burning stove, smells of fresh baked bread permeating the air, the cluck of chickens in the coop to the sound of chicken sizzling as it fries in the old cast iron skillet…
I was lying in bed early this morning listening to Minnesota Public Radio and they reminded me of the anniversary of the horrendous ice storm of 2006 along the Southwest Minnesota and Northeast South Dakota border.
I remember it began with rain that morning, changing to freezing rain which froze to any surface it touched, eventually in heavy proportions. Power lines sagged with the weight of the ice and outages quickly ceasing any activity requiring electricity. Some were out of power for up to two weeks.
While this power outage was inconvenient, it did force us to go without electronic devices and interact with family on a deeper level. Playing cards, board games, talking, etc. were activities often engaged in when there was no electricity. Neighbors helped neighbors by opening their homes to those still without power and helping in whatever capacity was needed. Creative thinking was put into force as we tried to come up with Innovative ways to prepare meals and feed the family.
I captured this image near our home as the last rays of light danced across the ice on its branches. This tree is now reduced to a pile of wood as it was demolished last summer.