There is a legend in our family that I am stingy about Halloween candy. Sam says one year I bagged up cereal! (I do not remember this and think he dreamed it).

Brian always says I don’t buy enough. I think that myth dates to the first year we were married, 37 years ago, when we ran out and had to go buy more. But run out and buy more we did. I don’t think we’ve been short since.

In fact, the opposite is true. And that's exactly why we should not buy the most delicious candy.

In our hands, tiny bags of M & Ms are nothing if not gateway sweets to full-sized Reece Cups or even Jumbo Hershey Bars. Brian and I do not need candy. In fact, we need to avoid candy. That means we shouldn’t be entrusted with a bowl brimming with 160 small bars of Snickers! We should hand out Skittles or Three Muskateers or Milky Ways. Those, I can turn down.

But no, Brian picked out the best stuff.

If there are leftovers, and there will be, we need to immediately stash them somewhere like the trunk or the crawl space, somewhere that requires effort and a contemplative walk of shame to reach.

I was gone to a conference most of yesterday and today and didn’t figure I’d get home until the little goblins had come and gone. So I told Brian, weeks ago, that I was giving him more than two-weeks' notice that I had resigned from handing out candy this year. Turns out I got home early, but my resignation from these duties remains in effect. It’s all him.

I’ll be in the tub.

I remember a few unusual Halloweens. Years ago, Brian and I visited Abraham Lincoln’s home in Springfield, Ill. on this day. One year we transferred my father-in-law’s nursing home residency. A few years ago my brother and sister-in-law Tim and Jeannie Jobe and I went to the Exotic Feline Rescue Center on this date.

There were years I took the kids around locally. One of my favorite pictures of the boys is when they dressed up as Batman and Robin.

Then there was the year I married Bradley Rigsby. Bradley and I were in first grade and rode the school bus together. I was a bride that year, and I guess Bradley wanted to be a groom because we got hitched. On the bus. Gee, this must be our 51st wedding anniversary. Too bad he moved away after first grade.

Many years I went trick-or-treating with my relatives Mike, Lisa and Marlene. A couple of years, Barbara Earl and I created a haunted house in our basement and invited in the neighbor kids. We loved to scare them with things like eyeball grapes and spaghetti brains.

I have a memory of getting full-sized candy bars – Hershey Bars as memory serves – in Philomath. Apparently they got so few treaters that they went big for the local kids they knew. I always think of Philomath when I think of Halloween.

When I was very small, I attended the Halloween party in the Brownsville Gymnasium, long since burnt down. I remember Perry Floyd dressed as a clown. He scared me and I cried. Maybe that’s why I don’t care for clowns today. Perry was a nice man -- as long as he didn’t look like a clown.

It’s time to turn on the porch light and sequester the dog. I will tell Brian to unload those M & Ms first. They need to be gone when I emerge from my bath.

 While in Jerusalem last year, specifically in a courtyard near the Pools of Bethesda and the Sheep Gate, I took a close-up photo of a beautiful fern-type plant.

I had never before seen (or maybe never noticed) such a specimen. Perhaps it was indigenous to the Middle East and wasn’t available in the Midwest. But when I posted it on Facebook, I was quickly informed that it was a Fox Tail Fern. Kim, owner of Garden Thyme, said she carried them and this spring, I picked up a small one at her place.

The plant thrived in a pot on the front porch all summer as it rapidly grew and produced new shoots that filled out nicely in all directions.

Last week, I noticed that while my hanging Bostons were browning and sadly,  finished, the Fox Tail still looked as pretty as ever, thriving.

Early in my marriage, I enjoyed house plants. Most of the time, I didn’t even kill them. Their appeal was that they were inexpensive to acquire and maintain, and added color and decorative touches to our mobile home, then our rented farmhouse. Even when we were broke, I could scrape together enough to buy a small jade or “airplane” plant along with the groceries. Through the years, I moved on to other interests. Every now and then I’d take a notion to bring home a big, beautiful Boston Fern but they didn’t fare well as indoor plants, and they shed like crazy.

I always wanted to raise African violets in various shades of purple like my childhood neighbor, Mrs. Rigsby. Hers were sequestered in a back room under a special light. When we went to her home for fresh eggs, she showed me those plants and once, she gave me a start.

The only indoor plants I’ve tried keeping alive in recent years were a trio of African violets in the kitchen window. I got them one spring, and they did well all summer. But as soon as cool weather hit and the window chilled, they started to die.

Going back to my Fox Tail Fern, I just couldn’t take letting it sit there on the porch for nature, in the form of cold weather, to send it the way of those African violets. I love it because it is one easy plant to love, and more, because every time I look at it, it reminds me of the heart of Jerusalem.

I moved the plant inside, positioning it on a wicker stand from the back porch, and placed in front of the newly cleaned window in Ben’s old room. There it will soon look out on frosty mornings, and then snowscapes. There the window glass will turn cold.

I have no idea how the plant will get along. It may shed like its Boston cousins. It may turn brown. It may, I suppose, in the most unlikely scenario, survive the winter.

I’ll keep checking on how it does in that bedroom all by its lonesome. I’m leaving the curtains open in there and as I drive home, I glance in and see the plant front and center in that window view. It looks so cheerful. Right now, anyway.

I’ve changed the ending to this blog because originally I planned to appeal to anyone with a warm, sunny Florida room or greenhouse to board my fern for the winter. But I’ve changed my mind. The plant looks so sweet in there, I’m taking a chance.

Sometimes on people’s Facebook pages I see huge, blooming Christmas cactuses or poinsettias that have quadrupled themselves and live out their years on coffee tables. I marvel.

I’d like to think that maybe, my Fox Tail Fern could be like those plants. I have my doubts, but I am at heart nothing if not hopeful.

Every year around March, when we’re sick of winter, a sunny Saturday is in the wings, and it’s above freezing, Brian or I will mention that if we were really ambitious, we would wash windows.

The other one, whichever the case may be, will glance through the nearest unsightly window and after careful consideration, say, “Nah.”

Then the months pass, the windows get dirtier, and before you know it, another March has arrived.

Here it is late October. So when Brian’s inner Heloise kicked in last night, and he suggested that we wash windows today, I was taken aback.

That’s late March talk, I thought. That’s the kind of thing that is forgotten for another year by April once the lawn needs mowed and other warm-weather duties swamp the chore list.

It wouldn’t be such a bad job if the screens weren’t such a pain. You have to hold your mouth just so and speak a little French directly at them, and often at each other, to wrestle them out or worse, back in place. A few of them are bent so badly that one small animal or hundreds of large insects could fly in around the gaps. The bent places no doubt came from us trying to force the screens into place while hurling insults at them. In French, of course.

You would think that a grown person, or two of them, would know for sure that screens and every other object will not fit better by applying brute force.

But then, every now and then, a screen will just gracefully drop itself into place, leaving us wondering how that happened, and trying to duplicate the effort with the next window.

Who knew that washing windows was such a popular topic? I asked for suggestions on Facebook and got about 20 responses. Some offered recipes featuring things like vinegar and ammonia. Others hinted that the wiping materials – paper towels or rags or special cloths—were the secret to sparkle.

Several promoted the use of newspapers. While I could kiss anyone who promotes newspapers in any way, I find the prospect of using them as cleaning materials a bit daunting.

We went with store-brand window cleaner and store-brand paper towels. They worked great! (We also bought store-brand toilet paper this week. Will let you know how that goes). 

Brian worked outside and I was stationed inside. For the screens, we scrubbed them with orange-scented Spic & Span /water mixture applied with a brush and then sprayed with the hose. But the secret to clean screens doesn’t end there. That’s been my mistake before! This time I went over the screens, drying them with paper towels and pulled off a lot of loosened grime that would have dried back in place.

A couple of hours later, we had crystal-clear windows, and we vowed to do this more often. I imagine that means that five or 10 Marches from now, we’ll revisit the topic.

Brian is prancing around admiring our work as I write this. He said the cheap stuff worked great, didn’t it? He wants some props. I told him it did, indeed.

Trying not to brag, he said with humility, in a “good-enough” sort of way, “We’re not doing the governor’s mansion.”

Good thing. That house has a ton more windows than we do. And the screens are a lot older. Probably bent.

It would require a lot more French than I know.

A few months ago, Sharon Lindsey of Liberty was assigned the task of contacting me about giving the program at the Union County Extension Homemakers’ Jamboree.

We didn’t know each other at all, but we found that we had something unexpected in common: We had traded places.

What resulted is a pen-pal relationship  since then, due largely to that unique fact.

To her, home is Pendleton but she lives, happily, in Liberty.

To me, home is Liberty, but I live, happily, in Pendleton.

We are both interested in the people, events and milestones of one another's hometowns because they are our hometowns too--either in the original or transplanted senses.

Sharon gets her hair done by, and is friends with, my childhood friend, Angie. Some of the names on my Facebook friends roster ring a bell with Sharon from her days growing up in Pendleton.

So when Jamboree evening came, and I pulled into the 4-H building complex, there was one car in the parking lot awaiting my arrival: Sharon’s. We recognized each other right away (not so difficult when mine is the next car that arrives and we’re both smiling from ear to ear). We both got out of our cars and offered each other a hug.

“You look like Pendleton! You smell like Pendleton!” Sharon told me. She meant it in the best of ways.

We chatted and she told me about the table they had awaiting me, all set up with a beautiful white mum for decoration and plenty of space for my books in the room’s prime location. “Do you remember where the fireplace is?” Sharon asked.

“Of course I do!”

I enjoyed my evening with the Union County Extension Homemakers so much. I think I had goosebumps the whole time, reflecting on old stories that happened in the county, town and even right there in that 4-H building. The ladies were receptive in listening to my tales and kind in purchasing books.

The only problem was that, like all good things, it was over far too quickly.

 I look forward to seeing them in November 2016 at their fantastic annual bazaar, always the Saturday before Thanksgiving—with copies of my sequel in hand.

And until then, I’ll keep up with them through my new friend, Sharon.

I saw a Facebook poster on someone’s page that read something about how everything and everyone in your life are temporary, so don’t get attached.

You’ll never see that on my page.

I attach.

On Wednesday, I had the privilege of speaking to the Union County Extension Homemakers in the 4-H building. During the back-roads drive from Centerville to Liberty, I passed my maternal grandfather’s childhood home, my childhood home, my maternal grandmother’s home, my hometown church, my brother’s home, my elementary, junior high and high school. I loved seeing each and every one of my personal historic sites, and would drive by each of them, slowly, once a week, if my life allowed it.

Next to home, church and schools, the 4-H building was the top landmark of my youth. To have the opportunity to stand behind a lectern and talk about this real Sweet Land of Liberty, as well as my book, Sweetland of Liberty Bed & Breakfast, was an honor. I chose some columns I had written through the years to share with the hometown ladies. Joy.

I got to Liberty early so I could visit with my brother and sister-in-law. But I was still early (early is often my signature) to arrive at the fairgrounds. So I drove over to Liberty Elementary, parked, and went to the door and stared in like a stalker.

An employee spotted me and immediately came to the door and asked what I wanted. I explained that I only wanted to look inside because I went to school there 50 years ago. She asked my maiden name.

“I remember you,” she said, and with those magic words, she invited me to follow her around for a tour. I hadn’t expected that, but I wasn’t about to say no. We toured the kindergarten, first- and second-grade wings, passing the rooms of long-ago teachers Miss Goble and Mrs. Myers. The green chalkboards and paler green plastic cabinetry were still in place, so surprisingly familiar after so many decades.

“Does the office lobby still have those tile murals?” I asked.

“Sure does,” the employee said, showing me. They looked new, like no one had touched them in a half century. Amazing.

I explained where the old music and art rooms were. I could have found them in the dark, but they are no longer used for those purposes. We went into the lunchroom / gym. It  looked the same, except for the wall paint. I shared memories such as the thrill it was in fifth grade when you were chosen as a lunch helper. “Not anymore,” the employee told me. “It would be considered punishment today.”

I would have loved to have progressed on down the other hallways, passing Mrs. Orr’s room across from the girls’ restroom; Mrs. Huntington’s room on the corner, then Mrs. Sipahigil’s, and Mrs. Davisson’s. Oh, I know, those teachers are all either retired or passed away now, but forever, they will be teaching in those classrooms in my mind.

I remembered that I had left my car window rolled down, car unlocked, purse and cell phone on the seat. As much as I wanted to continue the tour, I felt compelled to be responsible and return to the car. Besides, it was time to meet up with the Extension Homemakers for the program.

It was an unexpected trip down memory lane. In fact, Wednesday was filled with an assortment of memory lanes. As soon as I saw the Union County Line Road sign south of Abington, I couldn’t wait to cross over into the promised land.

Don’t  get attached?

Impossible. 

Monday night I couldn’t sleep but I don’t think Brian had a clue because I didn’t toss and turn, just tucked myself around a body pillow and stayed put.

When I got home Tuesday evening, I thought of all the things I should do. Two lessons to read and complete for two separate classes; some fall decorations to gather for work as we’re decorating for Friday's big community party; some lists I should make regarding that party; regular-life stuff. And yes, I wanted to tune in to the Democrats’ debate.

While contemplating all of that, my eyes fell on the big, blue bag next to the TV. On Monday, our friend, Gay, stopped by on her way to Indy to visit her daughter. I was at work so her visit barely registered with me, as she chatted with Brian for a while and I missed her completely. But Gay left her calling card in the form of The Bag. It was full of magazines.

One of the many things we have in common is our love for magazines. And through the years, between us we’ve developed a fine recycling system. I save my old ones for her and she saves hers for me. She subscribes to a couple and gets others from her mother, who hands them off to Gay.

I have stopped subscribing to magazines, in favor of borrowing them from the library, but sometimes people give me copies they are done with, and other times, I pick them up at garage or library sales, or I see an issue that I just can’t resist and purchase it from the newsstand.

Once I finish reading Gay’s stash, I hand the issues off to my daughter-in-law, Allison, who also enjoys magazines and then shares them with her mom.

Historically speaking, the flow of this type of reading material is a consistent, but rather complex operation. I get Oprah, Good Housekeeping, Real Simple and More from Gay, and a travel magazine from Gay’s mom, which then will go to Allison, except for the travel magazine that my friend, Cheryl, gets. But my Country Living and other oddball magazines are funneled toward Gay, which then likely go to Gay’s mother.

When my friend, John Hodge, was living, he shared stacks of his sports, news and AARPs with me, and they were then sent into both Gay’s and Allison’s directions, as the proper cases may be.

Still with me?

It occurs that in the past couple of years, I haven’t been pulling my weight in magazines. I don’t have a bag full to share with anyone these days. Instead of reading magazines, I tend to fill most evenings working on my Bible study lessons or projects regarding my books. I also like to slip in a yummy novel or biography into my reading mix.

When I looked at Gay’s bag, filled with top-shelf periodicals that I enjoy so much, I felt a stab of guilt that I had nothing to send back with her. But then, I decided that on such a chilly, beautiful, fall evening I would give myself a respite from my usual self-imposed homework to pursue a favorite pastime. I selected three magazines from the bag, headed for the bathroom, filled the tub with water and lavender froth, then sunk into the hot water. Heaven.

However, it wasn’t long before my sleepless Monday caught up with me and despite the splendid company of choice issues with some particularly exceptional articles at hand, I found myself flat-out asleep, head dropped over, magazine nearly dunked, right there in the tub. I was, however, still gripping the magazine with both hands. Survival instinct of some kind, I suppose.

I woke up, got out, put on jammies and climbed into bed. If I was too tired to read, at least I could surely listen to the debate, and I stretched out sideways across the bed. At 10:30 Brian came in and asked what I thought of the debate.

There was a debate?

I had no idea.

This coming Friday, Oct. 16, has been 175 years in the making. We're throwing a party for the paper, one of Indiana's oldest continuously operating newspapers.

For months, we've written stories heavy on New Castle Courier-Times history, personalities and inside stories. For weeks, we've invited special guests, gathered some cool door prizes, and worked to spruce up the place at 201 S. 14th St., New Castle. Today's blog that follows is a reprint of my wrap-up article in today's Sunday paper. I can hardly wait for Friday! And I can't wait to see you, either! So come over, 10-3; free meal, sign up for door prizes and prepare to party like it's 1840!

In The Courier-Times photo are staffers Hope Stevens and Stacie Wrightsman who are pulling out the old landscaping on our front patio area. Tomorrow -- a landscaping crew is arriving and will be giving us a new garden.

Here's the story:

The Courier-Times is having a 175th birthday party and you are invited.

There will be food, a variety of door prizes, visits with community columnists and personalities, a reunion of former employees and visits with all current staff. The open house is 10 a.m. to 3 p.m. Friday on the patio and inside the newspaper, 201 S. 14th St., New Castle. It’s all free.

Courier-Times Publisher Bob Hansen said that the newspaper has a long, proud history in Henry County and that the staff works diligently to chronicle the county’s progress.

“Our open house will be a time to share with the community,” Hansen said. “We are happy that several of our business friends have decided to share the occasion with us by providing door prizes and some of the food for those who attend. We hope readers will come to meet with some of those whose work is featured in our pages.”

At press time, the door prizes include: a recliner and two glider rockers donated by Myers Furniture; a gift basket from Michelle Frazier / Edward Jones; a gift basket from Balinda VanHook / Mary Kay; oil changes from Goodwin Brothers; a 12x12 carpet remnant from Henry County Flooring; a gift basket from Glen Oaks Health Campus; a gift basket from Heather Drake / Rodan & Friends; gift cards from Montgomery’s Steakhouse; a gift basket from MainSource; a free pizza from Noble Romans; a basket of goodies from Temptations; a gift basket from Twisted Scissors; pillows from Mattress USA and a gift from the YMCA.

While guests need not be present to win, the only way they can sign up for the drawing is during the 10 a.m. to 3 p.m. event. Prize winners’ names will be drawn at 3 p.m. and notified shortly thereafter.

Lunch is on us

New Castle-Henry County Kiwanis will staff the grills on the newspaper patio for the duration of the open house and the sandwiches will be served free of charge, along with mac and cheese donated by KFC, cole slaw donated by Lee’s Famous Recipe and homemade birthday cake baked by C-T Missed Delivery Manager Tena Palmer. Iced tea, lemonade and ice water will be served with the meal. The Courier-Times is providing the hot dogs and Knightstown Locker donated the burgers.

The newspaper office is freshly painted in part of the building, thanks to Ace Hardware. The front garden is getting a landscaping makeover by Pro Green.

Special guests

A variety of local guests and one Indianapolis media personality will be present to visit with readers.

Humor columnist and author Dick Wolsie, Indianapolis, will be at the paper starting at noon to meet and greet readers and offer some of his books for sale and signing. Wolfie, a syndicated columnist, is often featured in The Courier-Times.

Long-time columnist Chuck Avery of Hagerstown will be at the paper from 11 a.m. to 1 p.m. to visit with those attending. He will have copies of some of his books available as well.

New Castle historians and authors, including former Courier-Times Managing Editor Darrel Radford and historian Doug Magers, will be at the paper to visit and to sell copies of their book about New Castle history. They will be at the paper from 10 a.m. to 3 p.m.

Courier-Times Neighbors columnist and artist Stacey Torres will display her art and have copies of her cookbook for sale from 10 a.m. to 1 p.m.

Hagerstown artist Tom Butters will display art during a portion of the open house and frequent Courier-Times contributor and author Rex Bell will be at the paper with copies of his book from 11 a.m. to 1 p.m.

Spirit Stroll 

Also attending is Lisa Perry, former Managing Editor of The Courier-Times and author of the book, “Looking for Catherine: Memoirs of a House That Spoke.” She will visit, sell and sign her book from 10 a.m. to 3 p.m. Perry will also host the evening Spirit Stroll, an event she created last year. The stroll is at 5:30 p.m. and those attending should call to sign up for planning purposes by noon, Wednesday, Oct. 14. Call: 765-575-4619.

Joining her at both the open house and the Spirit Stroll is Steve Miller, owner of New Castle’s Thornhaven Manor, featured on the SyFy series Ghost Adventures. Miller will accompany the Spirit Stroll tour and sell T-shirts at the Courier from 10 a.m. to 3 p.m.. For more information on Thornhaven Manor and Halloween trick or treating activities there, like the webpage at Facebook.com/Thornhavenmanor.

“So what downtown building is haunted by an apparition affectionately known as ‘Margaret?’” asks Perry. “Do the courthouse elevators have unseen fingers pushing the buttons? Which location, a former morgue and funeral parlor, now hosts glowing balls of light that have been spotted floating from room to room?”

She says for the answer to these and many more questions, RSVP for the event.

Staff, past and present

While everyone is invited to the free meal during the entire open house, a special invite is issued to all former employees to make connections with each other at 11:30 a.m. when they can visit and share memories together.

Current staff members will all be present to chat with the public, readers and advertisers specifically from noon to 2 p.m. and at other times during the day when available.

During almost 57 years of living, I don’t recall a single month that has been as jam-packed as this one. Basically, I’m holding on as I fly through the days, hoping and praying that I’m not forgetting something as I go.

When my little book came out in the winter of 2014, I had already booked several programs relating to it  and thought I’d see how long the interest lasted. I had no idea if I’d have an audience for a couple of  months, a year, or if I’d need to camp out at every little festival I could find to peddle my inventory a book at a time to break even.

A year and a half later, things generally have slowed down, but October has found me with three book programs on the calendar. Monday night I headed to the Kids & Kettles Home Extension Club in New Palestine.

At the end of the month, on Wednesday, Oct. 28, I’ll be at the Indianapolis Propylaeum giving an evening reading as part of its “Pages at the Prop” series featuring Hoosier authors. I am honored to give the evening program. Reservations are still available for that night out with the girls in that elegant venue. It’s a different kind of event and I love the excitement of new territory.

If you regularly follow any aspect of my writing, you’ll recognize that theme of  "new territory"  as my mantra for this year.

So it is with irony that what I am looking forward to most of all this month concerns old territory: home! And when I say home, those that know me understand that I’m talking about Union County. It doesn’t get any more “home” to me than the 4-H building within eye shot of Union County High School in Liberty.

A few months ago I got an email from Sharon Lindsey wondering if I would be the Union County Extension Homemakers Fall Jamboree speaker. Tears came to my eyes and I felt like getting up and running around the newspaper building. Would I? Little could she have known that this was the “gig” I had long hoped I would get.

As a 10-year 4-H member, that building was in many ways my epicenter. From dress reviews (they call them fashion reviews now) to Share the Fun contests, Junior Leaders meetings, display of my projects at the fair and numerous other events, including dinners prepared by my mother’s Brownsville United Methodist Church women, to auctions, I have spent hours in that building.

Extension Homemakers are among my favorite groups of women to speak to so to get invited home, well, I am humbled and elated.

But book events aside, what a month this is! My church pals and I had our fall getaway to one friend’s lake house in Brown County last weekend and from there, we headed to Madison to tour the farm belonging to another member of our group. She and her husband plan to eventually build a home there and spend their retirement back, way back, in the countryside. We also did a tour of barns that was going on that day.

I’ve got not one but two special publications to put out this month. One is the fall HER magazine for women, and the other is our once-every-175-year magazine commemorating that anniversary of our newspaper.

The daily paper where I work, The New Castle Courier-Times, is one of the oldest continuously operating newspapers in the state. We’ve got some big doings going on from 10 a.m. to 3 p.m. Friday, Oct. 16. If you reading this, consider yourself invited to a free meal and visit with our special guests, including Indianapolis media personality, author and humor columnist Dick Wolfsie and several other talented writers and artists who are affiliated with our newspaper as columnists or regular contributors.

I’m helping chair the special day and that includes such glamorous tasks as helping clean and paint this Friday in preparation.

I’ll wrap up the month with attending a Faith Writing Conference at Anderson University Oct. 30-31.
It’s a fulfilling month, to be sure, but I don’t mind telling you that I’m looking forward to a lighter schedule in November.

Meanwhile, I hope I’m not forgetting anything. Happy October, everyone.
 
 

I guess you know you are a farm girl at heart when you look forward to a barn festival and tour of southern-Indiana barns. And all the better when you get to take the tour with a van load of like-minded gal pals.

That's the plan for Saturday, Oct. 3, and I thought if you are a farm-geek like me, you might want to know about the doings. A bunch of interesting barns are on tour in Madison and Switzerland counties from 9-5 tomorrow. Some are drive bys, and others, I think you can go inside. Then at 5, just outside of Madison, there's the grand finale, farm style, it's a Barn Fest, with food, music and more. I wonder what they mean by "and more?" A hoe-down? A shindig? Guess we'll find out. Yee-haw.

Check out the Indiana Barn Foundation on Facebook for details about the festival. (Scroll down; they curiously don't have it as the lead post). Basically, you'll need to slip by the Switzerland County or Madison (city, not county) tourism bureaus to pay a small fee for directions and addresses and you are off.

As for the photo with this post, it's my late grandfather, Roscoe Jobe, with his draft horses. This is one of, if not my very favorite old family photo. For one thing, Roscoe looks exactly like my own father, and for another, the photo is taken in front of the barn that was on our farm all of my growing up years. It's still there today.

I never knew Roscoe -- he passed on before I was born -- but Dad spent countless hours in that barn. It was, I suppose, his office, so to speak. I always found something comforting about seeing the barn lights aglow at night, spreading yellow light across the barnyard evenings when he was working late welding something that broke or doing whatever it was he did in his special domain. 

When I think of Dad, I see him in his barn. In this barn.

I came along when we had tractors, not work horses. I would have loved to have seen and known them. But now, it's all part of Indiana farm history, not the way things are today.

But tomorrow, we'll take a tour of the way things were. Can't think of a better way to spend an October Saturday. Maybe if you don't have anything else on your plate, you'll join us; we'll offer up a friendly howdy-do wave as we pass you on the back roads.

It's a rural thing, you know.