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Number of posts: 3
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By Jody Wegmueller:
I once ordered 5,000 mealworms from a company called Grubco, Inc. in Minnesota. When the UPS Lady delivered them she said “I’ve carried a lot of different stuff in my time, but never had the contents try to escape!” The worms were packed in a burlap sack filled with sawdust and tied with string. Some of the wily creatures had made a break for it and the UPS Lady had quite the time chasing them down.
My mother had a way with words. How well I remember her asking my dad when he was going to find time to “dig that hole shut,” referring to a hole left by a fence post. It’s that time of year when I begin to cast my mind ahead to upcoming family anniversaries: my mother Ruth’s birthday on 12 January, her passing on the Ides of March, and the celebration of my marriage to my excellent husband, David, on the first of March, St. David’s Day.
My mother is so constantly with me and it is because of her love and care that I have become the woman I am. She taught me everything I know.
Brothers can be quite the trial. I grew up on a dairy farm in Wisconsin, the youngest of four children. We were all expected to help with every part of the farming process from milking cows to baling hay, cleaning calf pens to feeding the chickens. We all worked hard, entertained ourselves and of course had the usual childhood arguments: he’s sitting too close to me, she’s touching me, he’s breathing my air, and so on.
Every year as Christmas approached, I prayed for snow, lots of snow. I wanted it to be cold too so that when you walked on the snow it snapped and crunched loudly under your feet. I loved that sound. When I hear it now it always takes me back to my childhood on the farm in winter.