Last week I had the privilege of speaking at the Women’s Connection brunch here in Bismarck. I was filling in for another speaker. With one day to prepare, I used material from my book of essays, Grace Like Snow and a couple unpublished stories. The title of my presentation was “Nurturing the Garden of Your Soul.” I talked about finding peace, hope and grace in a garden setting.

This Saturday I’ll do a similar talk at the Bismarck Garden Expo. The other speakers are horticulturalists and master gardeners. They grow vast gardens and know the Latin names of thousands of plants. Me? Not so much. We have one tiny garden, five rose bushes—assuming they all come up, and a dozen flowerpots.

Still, I offered to do a seminar on Garden Glory and they accepted. On Saturday I’ll click through my PowerPoint presentation and attempt to inspire the audience with family gardening stories.

The Women’s Connection and the Bismarck Garden Expo are happy occasions, compared to one we attended in our hometown on Easter Saturday. That day a “Celebration of Life” was held for my first cousin, Judy. The day was bittersweet. We did celebrate the life of this wonderful woman, even though our hearts were breaking.

Judy will forever be linked to my book Secrets of the Dark Closet, because she owned the house that held the Dark Closet. She also hosted a two-day book signing party for me when the book was published, for which I am indebted.

I’m writing about these three unconnected events, because one person ties them together for me. That’s my grandmother, Bessie. At Women’s Connection, I told of growing up with Judy and my other cousins. We loved to run around Grandma’s big yard and pick leaves from her mint plants. Mint has become a symbol of hope to me.

At the Garden Expo, I will tell about the mint, but also about the rich heritage of gardening that was passed down through Grandma Bessie and her mother.

Today would have been Bessie’s birthday. She was born on April 17, 1888. Although she died when I was seventeen, decades later I think about her every day.

Bessie’s influence was not in what she said, but who she was. I write about her many gardens. I write about her cheerful attitude and grandmotherly ways. It was because of these things that I ended up writing a book about the secrets from her childhood and how she overcame so much.

In our fast-paced era it’s hard to see the influence we might have on future generations, but Grandma Bessie’s example endures.

I’ll close by sharing the last paragraph of my Garden Expo talk, which I hope gives food for thought:

“Methinks that peace might reign in the world if we all tended gardens. To delight in overnight garden miracles, to bless one another with flowers and vegetables, to trade gardening tips for the new growing season. These things are real and close to the earth. They ground us in the goodness and glory of God.”

So Happy Birthday, Bessie! And Happy Spring to all of my readers! Please make time to discover the garden glory of new plants raising their heads to the spring sunshine.

“The glory of gardening: hands in the dirt, head in the sun, heart with nature. To nurture a garden is to feed not just the body, but the soul.” – Alfred Austin.

In early September, I went outside to work in the garden. A clouded, dewy morning greeted me. It was already 70 degrees out. No wind. Too early for neighborhood mowers to cut the silence or Hemi’s to rumble into the peace. I was alone in the silent light of the season’s colorful, full-scented offerings.

Our garden was a tish past prime. The leaves on the green bean and towering tomato plants were turning brown. Still, dozens of new cherry tomatoes appeared each day. We’d already made salsa, spaghetti sauce, and dried cherry tomatoes the day we picked another 18 pounds of tomatoes.

This morning, I took out a strainer and filled it with green beans. What a wonder! From a small handful of seeds, the plants quickly outgrew the poles and fences we put up for them to climb. The beans came early and bountiful, and then they quit producing. The tops of the plants held hundreds of blossoms for a week, two weeks, three weeks. Would they ever deliver more beans? Then one morning, four-inch, five-inch, six-inch beans hung ready to be discovered and picked.

The glory of gardening is stepping into the house with green bean blossoms sprinkled in your hair and on your shirt, and a strainer full of beans in your hand. Unless you’ve reach into the viney depths of a bean patch, you might not know their leaves stick like Velcro to your clothes, or that a passel of beans can remain cleverly hidden right before your searching eyes.

For weeks, we watched swallowtail butterflies and honeybees frequent the zinnias which were in a tub right outside the back door. Sometimes finches flitted in and snitched petals from the flowers. What great entertainment for the price of a packet of seeds and a watering hose.

 “Gardening is cheaper than therapy and you get tomatoes.” – Anonymous

One day I went to check on the flowerpots lined up in front of the house. I was wearing a cotton t-shirt with a row of flowers across the front. Suddenly something flew at me, zipped around me and went back to the flowers. A hummingbird! But, since when do hummingbirds attack people? Upon closer inspection, the tiny winged creature was a moth that looked like a hummingbird. And apparently, it thought my shirt looked like a flower.

While writing this, two women from a different religion came to the front door to talk about faith and politics. However, they got sidetracked from their mission. We spent ten minutes talking about the African Milk Plant that lives in the shelter of our front porch. They departed after a lively discussion about gardening, their original purpose forgotten. Later my husband said that before they rang the doorbell, they snapped a photo of the room-size rose bush in our front yard.

Methinks that peace might reign in the world if we all tended gardens. To delight in overnight garden miracles, to bless one another with flowers and vegetables, to trade gardening tips for the next growing season. These things are real and close to the earth. They ground us in the goodness and glory of God.

“Flowers always make people better, happier, and more helpful;

they are sunshine, food and medicine for the soul.”  –Luther Burbank.

Consider this story a late Mother’s Day post. The inspiration came to me this morning as I considered the next chapter of my memoir, Little Sister. In the end, I decided it didn’t fit well with the chapter I was writing, but it might make a good blog post.

In her early years of motherhood, Mom struggled to raise six kids in the heart of the Depression and Dustbowl. She said that one year my father asked her to clothe all the children for the winter with just twenty dollars.

She became an expert at patching and remaking clothing. The girls wore dresses made from flour sacks. She even made coveralls for the boys, judging by one of the photos from that era.

Her bad-tempered old sewing machine was a constant source of frustration through those years. Then in 1940, Mom did something unheard of—she purchased a sewing machine on credit.

She ordered the Singer treadle sewing machine from Fargo on April 13 for $110. For the next several years, she made $3-5 payments each month with money she earned from selling cream and eggs. The machine had a dressmaker head to handle heavy fabrics, such as denim and wool.

She used that machine for over forty years to make clothing for herself, and her children and grandchildren. She patched jeans, designed winter coats, and sewed formals for her daughters. One of her granddaughters now has the machine. The three original bobbins and the receipts are still in it.

In later years when there was less need to make garments, Mom pieced quilts and sewed them together on her Singer. Then she set up a quilting frame in her living room and quilted them by hand. She seldom bought new fabric for quilts. Instead, they were made of remnants she stored in a clothes hamper.

After I came along and we moved to town, she began working fulltime. She always had a job where she stood on her feet all day. Yet, at night after the household chores were finished, she’d take out her latest sewing project and work on it.

Mom loved to sew the way I love to write. It was her passion.

Perhaps the steady thrum of the thread being pulled along its route, the whirl of the wheel dipping up and down, and the sigh of the treadle moving back and forth brought peace to her insecure life.

When she moved into Grandma Muir’s house, she clipped a copy of the Serenity Prayer from a magazine and framed it. For the rest of her life, it hung over her sewing machine.

The prayer reminds me of an old hymn that Mom surely sang in church for most of her life. What a Friend We Have in Jesus was written by Joseph Scriven, who endured much heartache and hardship in his life. One of the lines says, “What a privilege to carry everything to God in prayer!” There is no greater peace than to trust God for the outcome of things we can’t control.

May you find that serenity today!

Writing Update

Many thanks for ordering my books and sharing them with others. It’s so much fun to hear from readers! That’s especially true because I haven’t been able to do book signings or events yet this year.

Friendship is sewn by love and measured by kindness.- Anonymous  

Dad always planted potatoes on Good Friday. It was a tradition passed down in his family. A tradition he kept no matter what, even though his family was Christian, but he didn’t go to church. Even though, he lived by the Golden Rule and Ten Commandments, but sometimes forgot to come home from the bar.

One cloudy, cold Good Friday Dad came into the house and announced it was time to plant the potatoes. Mom frowned as she looked out the kitchen window, which was splatted with cold raindrops.

We’d set out teacups, along with a little box of red, blue, green and yellow dye to color Easter eggs. She had punched the bread dough down and formed a pan full of buns that rose on the counter with yeasty fragrance.

Usually, Dad drifted along with life, but he was firm about planting potatoes on Good Friday, so Mom took off her apron.

We eased down the wooden steps into the dirt cellar under the kitchen. The potatoes were kept in a bin in the corner. There were just enough spuds to feed us until the summer crop came in. Dad and Mom filled their bucket with the ones that had sprouted “eyes.”

Back in the kitchen, Dad stepped to the window and peered out, maybe seeing how cold and wet it was for the first time. Then he went to Plan B, deciding to only plant a couple hills of spuds. They’d seed the rest of the crop when the ground fully thawed.

We drove to a field south of the farm buildings and got out. The damp chilly air passed through our woolen coats like a ghost through a wall. My teeth chattered with cold.

I watched as Dad scooped out a couple holes in the hard, dank earth. Mom sliced some potatoes with a knife, making sure there was an eye in every piece.

I didn’t dare ask the questions that burned in my heart. What if the sprouts didn’t grow? It seemed dumb to bury perfectly good food. And why, for Pete’s sake, did we have to plant potatoes on Good Friday no matter what the weather?

My job was to bend over the holes and push in the potatoes, eyes up. Then, Dad solemnly shoveled dirt over each hill.

Dad’s been gone now for over fifty years, and I’m only beginning to understand why he found it urgent to bury potato seed on Good Friday.

For us, potatoes were the staff of life, like bread or rice are in other cultures. To bury them was an act of trust that new life would burst from them, multiplying the seed.

Certainly, Dad’s desire to plant potatoes on Good Friday was a veiled clue to his beliefs. It was his way of showing that he believed in the hope found in Jesus Christ.

“Jesus replied, “I must fall and die like a kernel of wheat that falls into the furrows of the earth. Unless I die I will be alone—a single seed. But my death will produce many new wheat kernels—a plentiful harvest of new lives.’ John 12:24 The Living Bible

I first noticed my hearing problem when I was a rookie reporter way back when. While attending city commission meetings, I often asked my fellow reporters what had been said.

Eventually I went to an audiologist and learned I have a fifty percent hearing loss. I can hear high and low sounds, but not so well in the middle. It’s likely I was born with a congenital hearing problem.

Since then, I’ve struggled through board meetings and situations with poor acoustics or sound systems. Also, my family members have very soft voices, so I find myself reading their lips, and watching gestures and facial expressions.

In addition, more than once while driving I’ve failed to hear a nearby ambulance or fire truck. Neither can I hear sirens warning of bad weather.

This all came to a head one day while hiking with my grandsons. One of them made a comment. When I didn’t respond, the other one leaned in and said to him, “She can’t hear you.”

Oh, that I heard. It was time to visit the audiologist again.

Hearing aids help, but I still struggle with my soft-spoken family and hearing in public places. Noisy restaurants are a hearing disaster. In some, the background music is ridiculously loud. It’s stressful enough to hear over the clatter of dishes and voices without music drowning out what little conversation can be had. We look for restaurants that offer quiet ambiance.

We use closed captioning when watching television. That is partly because many shows have background noise that drowns out dialog. Plus, many actors speak clearly until they get to the punch line, and then drop their voices. Without closed captioning, I only understand about one in ten words. It must bother others, too, because a recent article in the AARP magazine stated that a lot of younger people “read the TV.”

There are varying statistics on the number of people in the U.S. with hearing losses. However, the older we get, the more likely we are to have a problem. Here are some tips for communicating with people who have trouble hearing:

• Be aware that it is exhausting for the hearing impaired to discern mumbled words.
• Face people when speaking. It’s surprising how many people turn aside as they speak or try to carry on a conversation from another room.
• Don’t cover your mouth with your hands when you speak.
• Don’t prop your head up with your hand, for this subtly changes your delivery.
• Wait to have serious conversations in a quiet place.
• If something isn’t understood, try rephrasing it.
• Project your voice, or as I tell my family, “Use your outdoor voice.”
• Don’t shout, just shape your words clearly and change the pitch of your voice.

There is no shame in having a hearing loss. Many people can chalk it up to the result of working in a high-decibel environment or listening to loud music. Here are some tips for people who are hard of hearing:

• Get your hearing tested already. Maybe you have earwax. Or maybe it’s time to invest in hearing aids.
• Let people know you can’t hear. I belong to a large book club that meets at the local library. The acoustics in the room aren’t that great. When I finally confessed my problem, the library began microphones.
• Yes, silence can be golden. It is in those quiet moments that we organize our thoughts and dreams. However, we need to hear one another to have a quality life, so don’t delay in getting help.

“Listen to advice and accept instruction, and in the end you will be wise.” Proverbs 19:20

Writing Update: Oh, I have so many writing projects that need help to settle down and work on just one! Meanwhile, I’m taking a thought-provoking online class on Memoir Writing.

Each week I’m blessed with more good comments on Grace Like Snow. When you open your heart and your history, and put it on paper for the world to see, it’s gratifying to know others enjoy and relate to your work. Thank you for every comment. They are treasured.

Happy Valentine’s Day!

Have you wondered what you would say if you were invited to speak in your hometown? That’s what happened to me last fall when the LaMoure Chamber of Commerce asked me to speak at its annual awards banquet.

During the weeks before the banquet, I marveled at the invitation. My husband and I had moved away so very long ago. I was eager to go, but pondered over what to say. It seemed to me that the audience deserved a dose of hope and humor, and some meat for the soul.

This past year, the understanding of “Defining Moments” has caused me to look at the world in a new way. And so that became my topic.

You may not be familiar with the term “Defining Moments” but you’ve certainly had a few crises or turning points in your life. They can be something that happens to you, or something you make happen.

Sidney Evans wrote in a Forbes online article, “A defining moment is a point in your life when you’re urged to make a pivotal decision, or when you experience something that fundamentally changes you.”

Defining moments force us to change, recalibrate our thinking and build resilience.

I’ve had a number of defining moments, and that evening I decided to share one that happened at LaMoure when I was nine. When my parents and I moved from the farm to town, I was sick about it. I’d miss my country friends, prairie views, and the wonder of the big night sky. And, I worried about who would take care of my beloved barn cats.

Yet, after we moved, I embraced being a town girl. I no longer had ride the school bus for two hours a day. Instead of being alone on the farm with my cats, there were lots of kids to play with. I was also able to join after-school activities. (And my brother cared for the cats.)

The change that I dreaded was not the end, it was a new beginning. 

Often we let fear overcome us in stressful times instead of viewing them as opportunities. Or, as Industrialist Henry J. Kaiser said, “Trouble is only opportunity in work clothes.”

Also, often crisis forces us to settle what we believe about spiritual matters. Is there a God? Is there a heaven? What happens when we die? Why do people suffer?

I asked these questions as a young woman as my father neared death. He had heart disease, cancer and a broken hip. Watching him suffer was almost more than I could bear, and it motivated me to seek God. In time, I embraced Jesus Christ as my Lord and Savior.

Knowing there is a God in heaven, and He knows my name, has helped me recalibrate my thinking and better navigate life. It’s so simple and yet so hard to just trust God to direct our lives. However, that is the best way to become an overcomer with hope and resilience.

It’s so important to notice when others go through troubling moments and offer encouragement. Sometimes people just need to know someone sees and cares when they take on a new challenge or wade through a difficulty.

Because nothing is more draining than indecision, it’s important that we embrace the problem and deal with it. Creating an action plan and moving forward will help bring joy back into our lives.

A welcoming sign

We drove into LaMoure the day of the banquet and were delighted by an electronic sign announcing the event. For a few seconds each minute, it read, “Guest Speaker Gayle Larson Schuck.”

The Chamber of Commerce awards banquet was held at the local mall in a lovely room with beautifully decorated tables. The food was five-star. Each of the award nominees was more than deserving of recognition.

And how did my talk go? Hmm, you’d have to ask the audience. However, I came away satisfied because they laughed at the right times, a few tears were shed, and I knew the message was meat for the soul.

So, what are some of your defining moments? Whether they were funny or tragic, they are worth remembering. Tell them to your children, grandchildren or anyone who will listen. By telling your story, you may give someone the hope and inspiration to go on.

And take it one step further. A runner thinks everyone should be out jogging. And a quilter thinks everyone should be in love with fabric stores. A mechanic can’t understand if you don’t enjoy looking under the hood of a car. Well, I’m a writer, and I think everyone should write down their defining moments.

Have a blessed and happy New Year!