Go to: DearMeLoveGlenn.blogspot.com

My exerpts from my letters and journals from my years in Europe and Africa (1966-69) deserve their own place.  So today I started DearMeLoveGlenn.blogspot.com.  I asked ChatGPT about a sub-title.      He/She/It says: "Considering the appropriateness for a blog that focuses on conversing with your past self through letters and journals, ... "Glenn Is Lost and Is Found in Europe and Africa," appears to be the most fitting. It captures the essence of personal growth, introspection, and self-discovery, which are central themes in your blog series." I'll probably go with just "lost and found in Europe and Africa." But sub-titles can be handled later. If you like this, let someone know. Check it out.

Cousins Turning Eighty

 

Another rhyming poem

Memory lane has a way of putting me in the doggerel verse mood. Why? Well, why should we care/ if it seems fun and fair?  Actually, the idea for this was suggested by cousin Johnny Gehman (top right).  We four Groff cousins born in 1944 don't look much different from this 2006 photo, do we?  Johnny's wife, Norma, passed away last year.  The last time we met with her she said to me that she hopes I get to writing again. So I dedicate it to her.

The Groff Cousins Four Turn Eighty

Dedicated to Norma Groff Gehman (1944-2022)

by Glenn Lehman in the style of Dr. Seuss

Calling all Groffs, the strong and the frail,

Whether in Groffland, in Grofftown or Groffdale.

Pause, if you please, for this news very weighty:

The Groff Cousins Four are about to turn eighty.

This calls for a party on the old Kinzers farm.

Put down your pitch fork, come in from the barn, 

Whatever your chores, wherever you live,

It’s good news, not bad, that we now want to give.

These wonderful cousins, these valiant four–

Before Father Time can come lock the door–

Want us to look back for some mem'ries to share,

To honor the past and all families who care.

Yes, the four have been faithful for many a year,

Oh, they’ve climbed many-a mountain, shed many-a tear.

For twenty-nine thousand two hundred days, let me say it concisely,

They’ve followed God’s ways, if not precisely, at least very nicely.

No, nothing to fear, we just want to give praise

To these birthday cousins, the four from nineteen forty-four--

John, Lois, and Harold, and Glenn–let them rest—

This quartet of four have now passed life’s big test.

At the top of your voice, raise a cheer, give a shout

We are friends and we’re cousins we can let feelings out.

So friends, raise your voice, let’s be noisy almost.

Let them know that you notice and then raise a toast.

They’re eighty, you say, 

That cannot be right

They cannot be eighty,

With no wheel chair in sight.

Ah, you are a doubter, just let me be clear

I’ve added up decades, and counted each year,

I started way back when the world was at war,

Way, way back in time to nineteen forty-four.

Elva, Miriam, and Elsie and Clarence, back in the day,

Already had children who’d giggle and play.

So much they loved family that those Groffs wanted more,

Wouldn’t you know it, the year Grandma died, they went and had four.

Sweet babies, those four! They charmed uncles and aunts,

What smoochie fat arms, what nice underpants,.

Those babies were cutsies, woochie-tootsies and more,

But not many pictures.because of the war.

The babies were healthy, at six learned to read..

Each Sunday was church; chores meant chickens to feed.

In Grandpa’s brick house, we all would rejoin.

At Christmas each grandchild got a silver half-dollar coin.

We’d walk to Kinzer church, he might puff a cigar,

He’d show his hearing aid, and an old phone–both quite bizarre.

He’d start up his Ford, drive us around, show us his bank.

Speed east on Route 30 and go fill up the tank.

He was a good father-in-law; his seven daughters gave him joy!

Uncle John, Grandma Brackbill, memories time could not destroy.

The Grahams, the Martins, the Groffs and the Gehmans,

All passed through that house, yes, the Hesses and Lehmans.

The birthdays kept coming, the calendar never lied,

At sixteen we drive–the year Grandpa died.

The four cousins stood ‘round his grave that sad day.

The whole family gathered In the graveyard to pray.

We held hands and we cried in the Hershey graveyard that day

The day that he died and was taken away.

He lies in the ground, in the ground shall he stay,

Beside his fair bride, till the great judgment day.

Behold, now how silent where children once played,

Where parents kept vigil and solemnly prayed,

The stories! The laughter! Now silent forever.

But God’s love that binds us, no, nothing can sever.

So Lehman and Gehman let’s now sing a song

And tell Martin and Groff to sing right along.

And praise the good Lord with a four-part Hallelujah!

There’s nobody here that will spoil it or boo ya.

We had tough decisions, sometimes suffered loss,

Never mind colds and measles, chicken pox, and whooping cough.

This family has genes, it’s not run-of-the-mill.

The family has destiny–it’s Groff and Brackbill!.

So Johnny, start up that enormous hammermill,

And Harold crank the John Deere, the Groff lands to till,

And Glenn play your music, go on, write a song,

And Lois, run that mental health clinic to keep the people strong.

So, Groffs, our dear cousins, let pride our hearts swell,

Honor father and mother, live worthy, love well,

And thrive e’er our glory and strivings shall cease

When we all get to heaven and rest in God’s peace.

February, 2024

Tribute to Cousin

My cousin, Lois Greene, and I met at the
Leola Elementary School where 72 years
earlier she rescured me when I missed
the bus after my first day there. I probably
had not said thank you, so I wrote the
poem on the left.

The Smart Daughter

For Lois on her birthday, Apr 2023

The smart Martin daughter

Got up early and bright,

gulped down some fresh milk,

Yep, chores done before light.

She had all the skills

to help dad in the stable.

Then went on in the house

to help mom set the table.

Like Barbara and Thelma

Doris, Ruthie and Bob,

Hard work made good character

And made the heart throb.

But she was much more

Than just business and chores

She lived for real peace

And never chose wars.

Don’t believe me, take a look. 

She’ll be posting it soon on facebook.

She’s quick, not slow as a turtle

Check out how she wins playing Wordle.

But, back up the years

When she started first grade

In a pretty little dress 

and her hair in a braid.

At first she knew no one

at this local school

But she learned to how to read

And to follow the rule.

Then in spring came a cousin

Into Miss Gish’s room

This added some friendship

We have to assume

But this little cousin

By name of Glenn Mark

His first day at Leola

Was tragic, not a lark.

When the school bell did ring

And the kids went bye-bye

Little Glenn missed his bus

And he started to cry.

You’ve probably never seen

A poor child in such fear,

But Lois saw his trauma

and held him very near.

Such acts of care, of mercy

Is how she always lives

The world’s a better place

Because of how she gives.

Some years have passed

Since that touching first grade tale

But Lois has only grown

With grace we see her prevail.

When time for college,

she wanted the best

She packed up her car 

and headed out west

Her faith guided her 

to the very best one,

She never stopped driving 

till she got to Hesston.

If you’re friends with Lois

Permit me to tip you off:

Treat this beauty like a princess

Afterall, her mother is a Groff.

We’re Groffs, neighbors, cousins,

We love our family.

We pause to give tribute

To Mothers, Elva and Elsie.

Our two mothers were sisters

The Kinzer angels did guard,

Now both lie in rest eternal 

In Stumptown’s graveyard.

But we, heirs of their faith,

The Lehman and Martin clans,

Now sing “happy birthday Lois,”

As in joy we hold hands.

–Glenn Lehman

Garden ready

 Wes Groff rototilled my garden . The fee was $45. I tipped him $5. Freedom begins at the end of a hoe. Your freedom ends at the end of mine. What is this power discourse?

A garden gives all the freedom I want.

to stay, to move, to improve

This old house in Monterey got an indoor bathroom upstairs in 1953, thanks to my parents.  When my father could no longer go the stairs, he had a commode installed in a closet downstairs.  We took that out in 1988 when we moved in with strong legs and two kids.

Assuming we should have a bathroom downstairs (and we so assume), the big debate is whehter to build on or put a half bath in existing space.  I wrote down pros and cons to help me think it through.  It helps. It did not solve the issue.

 Reunion Tent

Right now, 4:00 p.m., Thursday, 2/23/23, my Apple watch is registering 70 degrees outside.  What's going on?  I don't like these reminders of fossil fuel splurging.

I do like that this weather reminds me of happy days last summer.  We rented this tent.  We had it put up in the meadow.  All 25--yes, each and every current family member by birth or marriage--of the Lester and Elva people showed up for the day.  Take a look at that.

Calendar pages turn, stop

 

The year turns. At least calendar pages do.  I equally rely on a pocket calendar and my iphone.

Before I tossed last year's paper calendar into deep storage, I copied several pages, which illustrate that we have been building an addition to our house. Deciding takes time.

Some good reasons to build:  be prepared for nursing care, have a downstairs bath for guests.

Some reasons not to:  why enlarge when I need less space now than I did with a family of four.  Would it be good money after bad?  I am not a family budget philosopher.

 Is blogging for me?  We'll see.

Going back in the blog archive to October 9, 2014, I noted the sweet potato harvest that fall eight years ago, by the renter that year of my small field across the road, one Amos M.  This year Amos and Fannie S. rent. They planted the whole acre in squash--delicatas, acorns, and butternuts (in photo above).  They line them up shoulder to shoulder, all the easier to pack into crates.  The crates are stored in their basement, and sold off in lots over the fall and winter.

Why did the blogging stop? The blogs petered out with two perfunctory notes in 2015. One in 2018 and one in 2020.  The genesis for that last one, I guess, was ennui--the pandemic isolation was getting to me and I was reaching, I guess, for delight in the past--in that case a vacation in Montreal in 2009.

Is blogging for me?  Is it a thing, even? Maybe.

Montreal vacation

August 9 through 13 Dorcas and I took the Amtrak Adirondacks to Montreal, clutched our passports tight while we waited and waited at customs and enjoyed three fabulous days there.  Take a look:

Going to France again, after 52 years

Enough about Monterey for a while.  Leaving Sept. 3, Dorcas and I will travel to France for ten days.  In a half century, this is a first for me.  Put another way--it was 52 years ago, almost to the day (it was August 15, 1966), that I flew from New York to Brussels.  The flight was on a Boeing 707, the biggest passenger jet at that time.  The airline was Sabena, Belgium's airline.  That flight was the launch of three years overseas with Mennonite Central Committee.

So, in fifty years it is a first.  In my life it is the second time I fly east over the Atlantic Ocean.  Here's what that day before looked like at Monterey, getting photos of the family and me on Sunday after church, before I left the next day, Monday the 15th.  House in background is neighbor's, since razed.  I stand beside my mother and father, bending my knees, I guess, to say I'm still their son, not taller than them.

more hot air

Yesterday evening a hot air balloon landed in the schoolhouse yard across the road.  Soon children from Monterey ran to the schoolyard.

scribbles from the past

It might not qualify as hieroglyphics, but for my money, finding this date scratched in concrete 60 years ago motivated me to photograph it.  January, 1955.  I was in 5th grade.  My father was 45 years old.  We were celebrating the dedication of a new "indoor" outhouse with a real window and double walls and a septic tank style disposal area.  I found this date when we tidied up the shop a week ago.  I had seen it over the years.  As most of his peers, my father exited school after the 8th grade.  So he never "majored" in anything. Yet I knew him as attentive to history and having a kind of reverence for dating things, especially concrete he poured around our house as property improvements.  So, with Father's Day coming up:  thanks, Dad (Lester Lehman, 1910-1981).

sweet potato harvest in the lot

The neighbors are harvesting their sweet potatoes in our lot, where in the 1950s my parents had a garden.  A team of horses pulled a shovel beneath the row and brought to light the several varieties.  Next they pulled them to the top of the mound to dry before packing them.

mysterious hieroglyphics

Sunday night reading in bed, I heard a thunderous roar of a crowd of Amish youth,  after the singing at the next door neighbors,some walking past our house, some at a distance.  A primal scream?  A ritual of that gang's leaving after a day of volleyball and singing by gas lanterns?

Today a silvery marking on the zelkova tree caught my eye.  Youth on a rampage marking territory, or doing graffiti?  Some ancient spirit writing hieroglyphics as a warning, as a sign.  Or, a lost snail confused about which way is up in the dark. Or two snails' courtship, leaving their slime which in sunshine turns visible.

All speculation.

first corn picking

Here's the first picking of my sweet corn this week.  On May 26 I planted 4 rows of Butter and Sweet.  Maturity was supposed to be 75 later.  But I picked it 70 days later and it was a little too old.  We froze this picking here and got 8 pints of frozen.  There's nothing quite like walking down your rows of corn the first picking.  Three weeks after May 26 I planted 4 more rows, to spread out the harvest.

neighbor's house demolition begins

Sharp at 7 this morning the crew took power saws, crow bars, and hammers to the neighbor's house.  They had already moved into the new house behind the old one.

tulips search for something

A bit late this spring, but when they had the nerve to open they were as resplendent as ever--the tulips by the pump.  Yesterday Groff rototilled the garden, so no more pretending the earth is sleeping.

more of the river

Here's a long view and the river up close, again from Wrightsville, April 27.

Wrightsville escape

For a short afternoon escape we drove to Wrightsville, York County, Pa., yesterday, especially enjoying views from the west bank of the Susquehanna River, behind this restaurant.  In the past week the ground has popped into green.  We also hiked up to Chickies Rock without the camera.

walked up to the pinnacle

"a poem as lovely as a tree"

What does a tree look like?  Depends where and when you look.  Here is a piece of a tree which served as a shingle over my head for 25 years until a wind blew it off.