That is my father's Model A Ford that he dubbed Nellie. That was the car I was nearly born in as my parents rushed to my grandparent's (Strahl) farm for my birth. I am not sure which cabin was ours ... but I think is is the one behind Little Nellie.
I like hearty black tea, but do brew a cup of green tea daily, supposedly good for something, but don't remember what. My mother first introduced me to tea when I was about six years old. We lived in a one room, cold cement floor cabin in the Krause Kabin Kourt. (There, as I remember, was where my father forced me to eat some celery ... which I promptly gagged on. I never liked celery after that. (Till now)) I was in first grade at Boulevard School, a country school on Losey Blvd. (La Crosse, WI) where I completed four grades and half of fifth grade. (The school closed, and we were sent to Longfellow School near Green Bay Street.) Interesting, a big K-Mart store replaces the Texaco station and Kabin Kourt at the corner of Hwy 33 and Losey Blvd. And the Winter Gardens Roller Skating Rink and Wonder Tavern have also been torn down and replaced. But I am getting nostalgic ... nothing is static ... change is inevitable.
My mother also introduce me to coffee at that time. I think, for her, it was something hot to send me off to school with. I am sure hot chocolate was out of her budget, and neither tea nor coffee appeared to be no, no's for children, maybe a part of her upbringing. Let's face it, we were dirt poor!
But getting back to tea ... it has always been my favorite comfort drink. Some English contaminate their tea with cream and sugar, but me, I like mine strong and black ... so strong, I do not remove the tea bag. Yes, it does get a little bitter. Sometimes, if I have one handy, I will squeeze a bit of lemon in. Sitting out on my front patio on warm summer days with a cup of tea in hand is one of my favorite past times. I gaze out on the broad expanse of prairie and imagine the string of wagon trains making their way across, eager to find water and a place to camp for the night. I imagine a band of Ute Indians charging across the plains in pursuit of buffalo. But alas, my eyes wander to the left and there is my neighbor's trashy house/yard and deplorable outbuilding and the image is promptly shattered.
I have often thought, if there was a previous life, if I had been one of the pioneers crossing the vast plains to find a new life in the West. I have always had a "love affair" with the West and the vast open spaces. Which brings to mind an essay I wrote when I was in third grade. In it I wrote that I wanted to marry a rancher, teach school, and fly an airplane. I think in a way, I accomplished all three. Though I did not marry I rancher, I retired onto a former ranch where cattle graze during the summer months, I did teach school for a total of 15 years, pausing to marry twice and raise six children and write for a newspaper, and I did take the controls of a small plane briefly while flying with a friend of my first spouse, Sam Donnell. I think his name was Dave Mears. I still remember that hair raising plane ride, but thankfully, Dave was a good pilot and we landed safely on the ground.
I know my grandchildren have their own impressions of me, but I do want one of them to be that of a part English, tea drinking grandmother who wore jeans (still do) and rode horses. Sadly, my two horses have gone to horse heaven and I have to settle now for riding my John Deere tractor and driving my gray metallic Nissan truck.
