Mabon

Mabon is the Witches Thanksgiving. This marks the second harvest of the year, the harvest of the fruit. Look in the markets and you will find local peaches, pears, watermelons, and corn among the squash, pumpkins and other things. This is the time when farmers are working on getting their crops harvested and getting every thing to the market. Their work assures those of us who live surrounded by concrete and asphalt that we will have enough to eat. Enough to sustain us until the spring. I, for one, heartily thank them for their work. As a young teenager, I did field work for a few years on a farm in Idaho. It is hard, hot, and sweaty work. We returned home each afternoon sunburned, and sometimes with cuts from the tools we had to use. Those summers helped me to make up my mind about education, especially my own. I didn't have the physical stamina or the dedication to join the ranks of farm families, but I do have a great admiration for them.

This is also the time of the fall equinox. The balance between the light and dark begins to tip on the fulcrum toward the dark time of the year. We will see the days shorten in the Northern Hemisphere, and the cool evenings will lengthen into longer nights. We can look forward to evenings in front of a fire with a book or knitting needles in hand. At least that is what I'm looking forward to doing. It is also a time to look at your community and see what you can do to help others. There are more people who need your help than anytime in recent memory. I want to find what I can do that will make the biggest impact.

In summary, thank you to the farmers of this world without you we wouldn't eat, very important. It is time to reflect on our abundance, and time to share it with others.

Nice Little Girls

June 1955


My mother was a beautiful woman, with blue, black hair, and eyes that were so dark it was difficult to tell where iris ended and the pupil began. I remember as a child wanting my blue-gray eyes to change and be a definite color like Momma's. When I was little she always wore dresses unless she was working out in the garden. They were pretty cotton dresses that fit her waist and had a full skirt swirling around her legs when she walked. To me she looked like a goddess, or at the very least a movie star, since I didn't know what a goddess was. In the winter time she wore wool dresses that showed off her shape even better than the cotton summer clothing.

I made her angry a lot, sometimes several times a day. Often our day would start at breakfast with an argument over milk, which I wouldn't drink, or cereal which I didn't want to eat. Eggs tasted good to me but I often got the runny yellow yolk on my clothing and had to go change.
Momma didn't learn to drive until about 1956, after we moved to the country. Daddy didn't want to spend his weekend days grocery shopping, so it had to be done during the week. Since we were walking to town, she could only buy food for a day or two. This meant we walked downtown several times each week. Our shopping trips were always made in the mid-morning hours, so we could avoid the heat of the afternoon. We lived in a small town west of Boise, Idaho, in a high desert. It gets pretty hot in the day and cools down at night. The morning hours are comfortable until about noon, then it's best to be inside. In 1955, when I was four years old, no one I knew had an air conditioner. We had a round fan that moved its head back and forth to cool the room, and our house was surrounded by big trees, just like all the other houses on Broadway Street. There was a big willow tree in our back yard that drooped almost to the grass on the ground. I liked hiding there playing it was a deserted island. In the summer time, it was the coolest place to play.

Daddy worked at the local sawmill. It was across the irrigation ditch that supplied water for Momma's garden. Once across the ditch you walked a ways and you could see the whole place, but there was a bigger ditch called a canal that we couldn't cross. There the water ran really fast and the sides were steep, it was scary. Daddy pulled the green chain. I used to wonder why they painted his chain green, it seemed red or blue would be prettier. I don't remember if I ever asked, even if I did no one bothered to answer.

One week day in June, we had to go to town to get something for Momma to fix for dinner. I dribbled egg yolk down the front of my dress. “Why don't you pay better attention, Terri? There is another dress in the closet. You go up and get changed, right now.” Momma told me in her loud, mean voice. It wasn't the way she talked most of the time. “You put on the pink one it looks so pretty on you.”

My hair was a trial to Momma, it was blond and straight as string. She twisted it up on rags to make it curl in little curls. I pulled the pink gingham dress over my head and made a face at the blond curls in the mirror. They never stayed more than a day, and I hated sitting stil for the time it took to wrap all the little rags in my hair.

Momma gave me a look when I came back to the kitchen table. “You look like such a sweet little girl.” She told me. “Now, you be nice.”

I knew it wouldn't take long for me to show my usual colors. I couldn't fit my Momma's defination of nice for any length of time at all. My baby brother was thirteen months old and he didn't have any trouble being a nice boy, however I couldn't seem to get the hang of being a nice, little, girl.

The houses on Broadway street had big yards with drooping willow trees, just like ours. They were so messy my Momma said. She didn't like anything that messed up the yard or the house. I figured that was why she was angry at me so much of the time. I couldn't seem to keep much of anything clean back during those days. I was one of those children, the ones who's shoe is always untied and clothing seems to have been drug through the dirt before being donned. They always waited to dress me at the last moment, it saved on laundry I guess.

We walked down Broadway. Mike would run into peoples yards and Momma spent a lot of time trying to get him to walk down the side of the street. There was no sidewalk for two or three blocks. I knew some of the people who lived in those houses, the Erickson, and Arnolds are the only two familys I could name. They had girls that were a few years older than me, DeeDee Erickson and Tony Arnold.

We passed the Assembly of God Church, that we attended for a while. It was a small, white, building with clapboard siding. The pastor and his family lived next door, their name was Slaughter. They didn't like me at that church, and my parents, bless their little hearts, began to search for another place to worship. My Sunday school teacher, called me a child of Satan. She said I would burn in Hell forever. I had the disconcerting gift of precognition, something the good people of the Assembly of God would not accept. We didn't go back after Easter, but my parents began to punish me if I told anyone what would happen next. Truthfully, I don't think Daddy cared about that bunch, but Momma wanted to belong. My little gift prevented her from joining in somethings wholeheartedly, she never knew when I would spout off. She would hold me by my arms and stare me in the eye, brown eyes to blue, and tell me “Nice little girls don't do that.”

The people who lived in the house next to the Slaughters had a pet deer in their back yard. They had no fence and you could see him tied up with a collar on, like a dog. He seemed really big to me, and his antlers were scary. Apparently they found him in the woods as a fawn and thought he would make a great pet. I didn't think he looked very happy there in the yard, and I wanted to go let him loose. But he was scary with those big horns and I knew my Momma wouldn't like it so I passed by on our walks. I think the town made them take him to the zoo or something because he wasn't there after the end of the summer.

Momma always carried Mike past the Deer House, so he wouldn't run into their yard and get stuck by the horns. The next block had a sidewalk and we crossed the street to walk on the sidewalk. Mike always wanted down here and he would run up the gray cement ribbon to the steps that lead to Meridian Street outside the VFW Hall. I didn't know what the VFW was, but it seemed important. There were eight steps that took us up to Meridian Street, it is supposed to have been built on one of the meridian lines of the globe.

We stopped at the corner, Momma tried to take Mike's hand but he put it behind his back, his mouth pursed up like he was mad. “Terri get your brothers hand.” She said. He didn't mind holding my hand, most likely because I wouldn't pick him up. I took his hand, she took my hand and we walked across the street.

“Look both ways.” I parroted the words I heard her say so many times.

“He's your responisbility.” She told me, dropping my hand as we got to the other side of the street. We had two more blocks to McFaddens Grocery Store.

There was an empty lot on the north side of the street. The south side was the Creamery. There was no sidewalk there. Big truck were parked in front of the building and men unloaded silver milk cans from them. They were put on a a path of rollers that took them through a door that had strips of blue canvas hanging down. As the cans disappeared, I wondered what it would be like to ride on those rollers, but I knew that would be a bad thing to do. Daddy told me they pasturized milk there so no one could get sick from it. My grandparents lived on a farm with dairy cows, and chickens. When we were there in the evening Daddy would help milk the cows. The milk was warm and frothy, and tasted different than what came in the bottles the milkman delivered at our house. I didn't like either of them.

The main street in town had a light on the corner. We waited for it to change before we walked across First Street. There were several businesses between this corner and the grocery store, I liked looking in the windows.

An old man was leaning up against the building outside what my Momma had once
told me was a bar. He spoke to my mother, “Hi Blackie, how are you?”
She smiled at him and answered him. His arm snaked out and grabbed me, and he pulled me to him hard against his legs. “You have such pretty blond curls, I think I'll just take you home with me.”

He laughed as I tried to get away from him.

“No, my hair doesn't curl.” I said, thinking if it was the curls he wanted they weren't real. “Momma makes them with rags.”

He laughed harder, and my Momma laughed with him. He smelled bad. I thought if she let him take me I would never see my Daddy again. I thought he was like the witch in Hansel and Gretel, the one who ate small children. “My Daddy won't let you have me.”

“Little girl, I've known your Daddy since he was your age.”

I began to cry and Momma held out her hand. “Don't be such a baby.” She said to me. “Mr. Wilson, we need to get along now, its going to be hot this afternoon.”

He kissed me on the cheek, and rubbed his whiskery face agains mine, then let me go. I kept sniffling all the way to the store. The saddle and leather shop didn't even hold my interest as we walked passed it. I held my baby brothers hand and he patted me trying to console me.

“Stop that crying, nobody hurt you.” Momma held me by both shoulders and shook me. Staring at me in the eyes again, brown eyes to blue. “You aren't a baby any more.”

I don't know when I began to think of her as Mother instead of Momma. By the first grade, I called her Mother for the rest of her life.

Nice Little Girls Don't

These are two versions of the same story, one I tried to write as a 4 year old and the second from a different point of view.

June 1955



It's sunny outside. We had eggs for breakfast, and I don't like eggs. The runny yellow stuff always gets on the front of my clothes and Momma yells at me for being messy. She doesn't understand it's the eggs that are messy, not me. She is making me wear a dress today because we are going to the store. I don't like dresses. I want to wear my shorts that I play in all the time, but Momma says no. Nice little girls don't wear shorts to the store in June 1955, she tells me. I'm four years old.

Daddy is at work. Momma doesn't drive a car like he does so we're walking to the store. It isn't that far. Momma needs something for dinner, so we are going. We walk to the store almost every day. Daddy works at the sawmill, he pulls the green chain. I'm not sure why they made his chain green but I like that color.

There are green lawns around all of the houses on our street. Willow trees that droop down to touch the grass, the leaves on the tree are more yellow than the grass. Daddy makes me get a switch from our willow tree when I do something bad, but I still like the willows. The one in our yard makes a good hiding place where the branches fall all the way down to the grass. It is my secret place.

The neighbors have different trees in their yards. One of them drops little things my Momma calls acorns, and another has great big leaves that look almost like the picture of an elephants ears in my book. Of course, the leaves are green and the ears are gray, but I still call it the Elephant tree. We walk past these houses on our way downtown.

We walk past the little white church on the corner. We used to go to church there but they didn't like me very well, and my daddy said we would never go back. I'm glad, sitting in that place wasn't any fun.

The people that live two doors down from the church have a deer in their yard. It is tied up like a doggie. My momma tells me it's their pet. It has antlers. It is chewing something from the yard and it watches us as we walk by. My little brother wants to run and see it, but Momma picks him up and carries him past that house everyday. To me the deer doesn't look very happy.

We walk past the VFW hall. It is painted a funny green color, like the mints Momma buys when people are coming for dinner. It's a grown-up place that I don't know. I don't go there ever. The sidewalk has six steps up to the level of the street here, and Momma puts Mike, my baby brother, down so he can walk up these steps. I hold his hand because he walks where we want to go better. Momma tries to get his hand but he puts it behind him, away from her. He likes holding my hand though. When we get to the road, we stop and look both ways. Momma says it is very important.

There is a big white building kitty-corner across the street. A lot of trucks are parked outside of it. Men unload silver milk cans onto a place with little rollers and the cans move down the line into the building through a place that has blue strips of canvas. This is the creamery where they get the milk into bottles the milkman leaves at the door of our house. I know that milk comes from cows like the ones at Grandpa's farm. When it comes from the cow it's all warm and bubbly. It tastes different from the milk in the bottles we get at the door. I don't like the milk in the bottles as well. My grandma grows chickens too, and I like to gather eggs with her. When I was little, last summer, I was afraid of the hens, I thought they would peck me when I took their eggs. But they don't pay any attention to me now, and I'm a big girl and not afraid any more. Not much anyway.

We have to cross another big street before we get to the part of the street with stores on it. This is Main Street, and there is a light on the corner that tells us when we can walk across. But Momma reminds us to watch both ways even if there is a light. She tells me to hold on to my baby brother, he is my responsibility. I stick my tongue out at him, and she tell me nice little girls don't do that. I don't think I want to be a nice little girl.

There are other businesses we have to pass on the block where McFadden's Grocery Store is. On the corner leaning against the wall by a bar is an old man. He doesn't have many teeth, like my brother. My Momma says hello to him. I don't know his name. He grabs me by my arm and I let go of Mike's hand. The old man wraps his arms around me and won't let me go. He says he likes little blond girls with curls. I try to tell him my hair isn't curly, Momma puts rags in it at night to make it look curly, but he doesn't listen to me. He laughs and I smell something nasty on his breath. My Momma laughs too. He says he should just keep me. I struggle to get away, and begin to cry. I know I won't ever see my Daddy again if this man keeps me. He might be the husband of the witch in Hansel and Gretel, he looks like he could be. That means he will eat me and I'll be all gone. I cry for my Momma to help me, but she laughs again.

“Well Mr. Wilson, we have to get to the store. I don't want to be out walking when it gets hot.” Momma tells him holding out her hand to me. He lets me go and I grab her hand like it will make me safe. I don't let go of her hand all the way to the store. I don't even try to look at the boot and saddles in the leather shop. My little brother is patting my arm, as tears still drip down my cheeks.

“Terri, you are just being a baby. Stop that crying.” Momma says, making me let go of her hand. “I can't hold you and shop.” She sounds mad at me, like she did when I got the runny yellow stuff on my dress at breakfast.

I hold my brother's hand and we look around the store. The floor is wood and worn uneven in places. The things that hold the vegetables are wooden bins.

“If you kids behave,” Momma tells us. “I'll buy you some gum.”

Mr. McFadden tells Momma, “Hi, Blackie. How are you today?”

“Pretty good. It's gonna get warm today.” Momma looks in the meat case and picks out four pork chops. “I'll take those.”

Mr. McFadden wraps them in white paper writing the price on the outside. Momma pays him for it and a pack of Beamans gum. We leave the store to walk back home. I wish Momma would walk on the other side of the street, but I know she won't because that is where the sawmill, and the creamery are. There are no sidewalks there only places for trucks to park as they deliver milk and pick up the wooden boards at the sawmill.

The old man isn't on the corner as we walk home. I don't think I want to walk back to the store with Momma tomorrow.

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