Author: Suzie

Suzie https://perspectives2ponder.com I'm on the younger side of the Baby Boomer generation. Among the most important of the many hats I wear are wife, mom, Grammy, sister, friend, middle school English teacher, and writer. I'm still new at all of my titles every day...the world just keeps on changing. To keep up, I have to keep changing, too! So, here I am muddling my way through. By sharing my perspectives, stories, and research, I hope that you will have something to ponder and ease your own daily muddling!

Dad…One of a Kind

Featured

Oh how I miss him so.

Dad’s Eulogy – I wrote and then read my Dad’s eulogy. Writing it, and re-reading it periodically continues to be therapeutic for me as I face all the stages of grief, which by the way, appear when I least expect them. As I was re-reading it to myself today, I decided I wanted to share what a wonderful person he was with the public.

February 27, 2024, St. Dennis Church, Hopewell Jct, NY. 12533

Dad…One of a kind! 

  • As I look around the church, I see a room full of people who have their own Vince stories – and if you are blessed enough to have your own Vince story, you’ll know what I mean when I say you always wanted to have him on your side. 
  • Dad was a devoted husband to mom, the love of his life. He loved our immediate and extended family, and his many dear friends. He went out of his way to work really hard for our family, and helped us with whatever he could whenever we asked. He adored his grandchildren – Christopher, Stefanie, Vincent and Raymond. And in later years, he loved to hear the stories about and watch the antics of his great-grandchildren, Maddie, Logan, Eli, Lily, Peyton, Otto, and Cole. Dad loved his son-in-laws, too – Bruce and his cooking, and Howard and his chickens and gardens.
  • His quick wit, humor, sarcastic tongue, and funny stories were unmatched. Dad was God fearing and respecting, honest, trustworthy, loyal, rational –  a man of high integrity. He had the unique ability to have a consistent overall demeanor of being calm and gentle, and at the same time having a big presence, wherever he was.
  • He had his ‘only him’ way of putting a comical spin to his different philosophies on life. About the medical field, he’d say, “I’m not going to another doctor. Every time you go, they always find something wrong that keeps you going back. So why start!?” 
  • If you did business with dad, even if it was him being the patient in a doctors office, he made you work. He appreciated people more when they could talk and share things about daily life. It was important for him to have person-to-person connections. When he first met one of his recent doctors, he wasn’t a fan. He came out of the office humorously commenting, “I feel like I just went through my first year at medical school. I don’t really like him. I’m not going back.”  During the second, persuaded visit, Dad started chatting with the doctor about mowing his lawn. Well, low-and-behold, the doctor also loved to mow his lawn. The conversation veered toward collecting and rebuilding old cars and trucks. The doctor also had a car he was rebuilding. Then all of a sudden they were sharing ideas of how to cook the Thanksgiving turkey.  After that, the doctor was okay in dad’s eyes. Dad was even caught admitting on his own, “I’m kinda enjoying my trips to see him.” That’s just one tiny, recent story about the life-long lessons we learned from him – this one was people usually just want a human, common connection, and then they can get down to business.  
  • Dad was always respected for being a problem solver in the most logical, pragmatic, and positive of ways. He liked things to be done efficiently – done right the first time.You could count on him for help or advice with most anything in life. Sometimes his help was solicited, and sometimes it wasn’t. If he saw something wrong or that he didn’t approve of, he’d often comment right away. But, then that was that, and the conversation would move forward  One of my favorites of dad’s many sayings was when he stated, in that logical tone, you know – you can picture it  – with his hands slightly raised in the air, with his head moving slightly while looking you straight in the eyes, questioning, “Why are you doing it that way? You might be better off to…” and he’d then go into a quick detail of how to work through most any situation, be it mechanical, anything to do with a home, a business, property, political issues; he was usually spot on.
  • We’ve heard many stories over the years, and actually to this day we are still hearing about Dad quietly helping others in need. He had a huge heart, especially if he knew you needed help or were in pain. He didn’t need recognition for those good deeds, he just quietly did them and moved on in his day. He respected hard workers, and honest, kind people.That’s the kind of person he was. 
  • From the age of 16, Dad belonged to the Beekman Fire Department; a lifetime member. He really enjoyed his time there serving the community, and the social life that came along with it. He held almost all of the officer positions,and lastly was a commissioner for a number of years.  He was one of the main members who was instrumental in getting the current fire house built years ago. You could hear his pride whenever he spoke about belonging to that wonderful organization.  
  • Dad was a model of working hard and playing hard. He and mom shared an awesome life together. They worked as a team, from when they were teenagers and for 67 years – 2 years dating and 65 married. They worked together with all that they did, always running thoughts and opinions by each other. They were each part of running successful businesses. Sometimes life was not at all easy for them, yet they persevered and were able to make do in a pinch. As years passed, they were very blessed to be able to reap the rewards from their hard work. 
  • In the late 50’s and early 60’s, Dad was Franklin D. Roosevelt Jr’s farm manager, on his Clove Creek Farm in Poughquag. A perk of the job was being able to live in a farm-hand house on the property.  So dad had a first hand, daily view of the life of the Roosevelts. He was full of funny and interesting stories about them and their many guest’s comings and goings. He even met Jacki O.  there.  
  • In 1965, Dad left his Clove Creek Farm manager job to start his own construction company. 
  • That’s when he and a couple of partners started Clove Excavators – with just a backhoe. He worked unbelievably hard for about 45 years, growing that business into a fine success often with  40 – 50 employees, and so many pieces of huge equipment – backhoes, loaders, excavators, graders, dump trucks – 10 and 18 wheelers, bulldozers, pavers, compactors, and so much more. I listed these because dad was able to buy, operate, repair or rebuild all of these different types of equipment. That’s amazing! 
  • Clove Excavators built roads, bridges, worked with developers, businesses, and municipalities. He made thousands of connections with people from all walks of life, all over the Hudson Valley, in Dutchess, Westchester, Putnam, Orange, and Ulster Counties. He had a bent for knowing exactly what to do at a construction site. On the rare occasion he didn’t have an answer, he was not too proud to seek the advice of a trusted resource. Wendy, Darrell, Christopher, Stefanie, and I each had the opportunity of working for him at Clove Excavators in different roles at different times over the years. I worked in his office during high school summers – and I got to see first hand all that he did, all that he knew, and all that he handled. He was smart and great at it; a perfect model of how someone can be super successful in a trade. 
  • When dad started Clove Excavators, we moved from the farm-hand house on the Roosevelt property to the beautiful 1804 colonial on Gardner Hollow Road. Dad’s home and property became his pride and joy.  After long hard days at work, he’d come home and work just as hard perfecting his garden and mowing his lawn. Over time, the garden phased out, but he upped his lawn-mowing game when he eventually purchased his John Deere Zero Turn. He had a specific  height and a specific direction he wanted every blade of grass to be, even if that meant lightly trimming the grass, every day to achieve perfection. Mowing the lawn was a great source of relaxation for him. 
  • Over the years Dad could also be found updating, improving or rebuilding parts of the house or his barns. He loved tinkering with most anything you can find in a garage. He especially loved rebuilding his collection of tractors and his antique autos -the model A was one of his first proudest rebuilds. We lost count of how many tractors and cars he bought, sold, and traded. He cherished his time with anything that had a steering wheel, tires and a motor!   
  • Dad loved our hobby farm – he proudly shared his knowledge with Wendy, Darrell and I while raising our  4-H steers. He was awesome at helping us not only because of his work on the Roosevelt farm, but also because he too had been a member of the Dutchess County 4-H Beef Club when he was kid. I remember many muddy spring visits during the 70’s, when we’d hop into his pickup truck and go for our annual Polled Hereford steer shopping trip. The well-rounded life lessons we learned because of him sharing his farming expertise with us – immeasurable.  
  • Our home grown steers also played to his favor, as anyone who knew him knew he was a stickler for fine prime-prime red meat. Along with the beef, his chickens and their eggs, and his pigs with their pork chops and bacon, all made for an annual freezer full of healthy food. He loved the huge garden that he and mom used to plant in the side yard, and was so proud of mom when she used to can and freeze nearly all of our basic vegetables for the year. He had a hankering for eating healthy food, which mom always had ready for him. He loved her cooking. That’s not to say he didn’t enjoy his Wise potato chips, his Breyers Vanilla Bean ice cream, or a piece of chocolate, but his meals had to be healthy. 
  • Another favorite of Dad’s was our many years of snowmobiling. He had so many friends who used to ride together through the fields, all over town. Our yard connected the fields from one part of town to the other. Dad had such fun when the group would gather in the backyard, and share their tales of surviving the bonfires and cookouts up on the mountain, or stories of who had trouble going up or down horseback hill. We even went on long weekend snowmobiling adventures up north – sometimes to Old Forge, sometimes to Lake Luzerne. Dad was always happy at full throttle on his black Arctic Cat Panther. 
  • When we reminisce about our snowmobiling days, we can’t leave out the topic of Dad’s much sought after homemade hard cider.  But at the same time – let’s just leave that topic right here. If you know you know on this one! 
  • Dad loved our decades of annual two-week family vacations to the Daytona 500, and side trips to Disney World. For decades he held eight annual seats for the race. We learned our enjoyment for NASCAR stock car racing because he loved it. Back then, Dad’s all time favorite driver was the king, Richard Petty.  Don’t you remember Dad wearing his Richard Petty black cowboy hat and black glasses?
  • Dad and Mom were pros at throwing parties, including backyard clambakes, picnics, and Kentucky Derby dinners. But a couple of their parties stand out as over the top:
    • In 2004, their house turned 200 years old. So they threw the house a birthday party.They planned for well over a year to have an open house to share their piece of history with hundreds of people from around the Hudson Valley. 
    • In 2009, to celebrate their 50th anniversary, they booked a block of rooms at the Queen Elizabeth Hotel in Montreal for immediate family and close friends. We all traveled together, almost filling an Amtrak car, from Poughkeepsie to the station underneath the Queen Elizabeth Hotel. We spent a long weekend sightseeing, eating, and celebrating their 50 years.  

Dad was always happy when he and mom were entertaining.  

  • Dad and mom shared many trips around the world. They took Amtrak trips back and forth across the United States, an Alaskan cruise, a longboat cruise down the Rhine River, a cruise through the Panama Canal, they visited Scotland, and flew St. Martin a couple of times.  They loved these travels – but their favorite was Ireland, which is why they visited there four times. They could talk for hours about how much and why they loved Ireland.
  • After returning from their trips, Dad was most happy when he had an audience to share his stories about the people they met, all that they did, saw, ate, and drank. Sometimes they traveled just the two of them, but more often than not, they shared those trips with dear relatives and friends. He adored their decades of wintering at the LaCasta in Pompano, Florida, and all of their friendships they formed there. While in the south, he’d love to hear from us in the north about our snow storms and cold temperatures. He was happier than anything to say, “Well, it’s sunny, about 75 here, and the ocean looks calm today.”  LaCosta isn’t going to be the same without Dad there in the winter. 
  • In more recent years, during good weather when mom and dad weren’t out of town, you could find them, nearly every afternoon, both freshly showered, fluffed and buffed, sitting on their beautiful front porch “pre-gaming” with their four o’clock cocktails, just watching the traffic go by. Dad got such a kick out of the many people who drove by that he didn’t know, yet who all waved and beeped at him.  When he had to miss an afternoon on the porch, often people would reach out to us to make sure everything was okay. I can’t count the number of times over the years that when former colleagues of mine, or even strangers, learned where we grew up, they knew the landmark – the big pretty white house on the sharp turn, in the late afternoon, with the two people sitting on the front porch waving. Even a few weeks ago, one of the sweet nurses who took care of dad said, “Oh, that’s where you live?!  Every time we drive by there, I tell my husband I want to sit on a porch just like they do and watch the world go by.”  Dad loved his self-assigned job of bringing joy and smiles to passers-by, from his front porch 
  • Wendy, Darrell and I learned at very young ages that dad was 99.9 % right with most anything he said, and that if you listened closely to him, and followed his lead, you’d be on the right track. This was him right up through his more recent tough days when he wasn’t feeling well. I’ll leave those stories out, because even though he enjoyed being the center of attention with sharing a good story and laughing with everyone, he really was also a private person. Private, proud, strong, and stoic…a definite member of the teflon generation.  

We could talk all day with each of you, and we could create a Netflix series from all of dad’s interesting, fun, and some unbelievable life experiences. For now, in honor of him, I’ll share his favorite afternoon routine and cocktail recipe. 

  • After your chores are done, and just before you go to take your late afternoon shower,
  • Get out two little 6 oz canning jars to use as your drinking glasses.
  • In each jar pour one jigger of vermouth and two jiggers of vodka –
    • That is – Martini Extra Dry Vermouth, and Svedka Vodka
  • Line up the two glasses, one behind the other, on the top shelf in the fridge to chill.  
  • Head upstairs to freshen up. 
  • After you’re done with your shower and have the handsome smell of Old English cologne on, head back downstairs, straight to the fridge.
  • Take out one of the jars and fill it to the rim with ice.
  • At this point, decide whether you want to add a drop of worcester sauce – depending on your mood (Sidebar – True story this was a recommendation made to him by his heart doctor!). 
  • Pick up your drink, head to the front porch.
  • Sit and enjoy the world passing by, while listening to your Irish music on the little, yellow, old fashioned portable radio. (Although he did recently upgrade to an Alexa speaker.) 
  • When you’ve finished your first cocktail, look next to you and say, “Shirl, are you going in for another cocktail?”
  • Be sassed by Shirl, often about being cute or handsome, then wait a few minutes until she returns from the kitchen with your second of their pre-game cocktails, and maybe some crackers, cheese, or chips.  
  • Between cocktails, it’s recommended, not mandatory, to take a pinch of Copenhagen.
  • Take your time to finish the second cocktail.
  • Then close up camp on the front porch and head inside.   
  • While Shirl prepares dinner, sit at the kitchen table to watch your favorite Fox Five News, and simultaneously scroll through the internet on your laptop to find out what was new with any favorite topics such as local or national news, Rush Limbaugh, politics, vehicle auctions, trains, and anything history.    

We’ll “See you in Chicago;” We’ll “See you in the funny papers;” and “Don’t take any wooden nickels, Dad!”

Copyright © 2024. Suzann Peterson. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this text or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information, address the publisher.

Remember to Remind Yourself

Featured

Remember to Remind Yourself

Several months ago, a friend sent this text, which I edited to respect her privacy.

 “I don’t know what’s going on with me, but I am not in a good place. So many things are upsetting me and I don’t know how to handle it. I feel so angry. Things piss me off easily. I have too much stress right now.”  

I knew about the things to which she was referring, as she had shared her thoughts on several topics prior to her text that day.  I responded to her with some of what is in this writing. I’ve since added to it, and thought I’d share it in hopes of helping another person – beginning with reminding myself of these things when life gets a bit bumpy.

*****

I’m so sorry you’re not feeling at the top of your game and feel so much stress. The first thing to check is your blood pressure. If it’s high, it can be a contributing factor to feeling ouchy. After that – I know you are often worried about your parents, concerned for your husband, worried about the kids [grown-ups], and worried about the future as you head toward retirement – all rightfully so. Just those things are enough to overwhelm anyone. You’re not alone. Many who are our age and at our stage in life have similar worries. None of our families or situations are perfect. Some moments are better than others, some days are better than others, some weeks are better than others.

Try not to be too hard on yourself or too hard on the people you’re either worried about or angry and pissed off at. The only shoes we’re in are our own. We often don’t know the stresses others have with which they manage to cover up and smile through, or the stresses they can’t hide which are causing them to be cranky.

And then this – on a personal level, chances are that much of whatever is upsetting you or making you angry, you have every right to be angry about. So give yourself a break about being upset. At the same time, keep in mind that this might be one of those times that it’s healthier for you to deal with this not head on, but rather with an understanding, so that it doesn’t fester within your heart. You can’t change someone else’s behavior, but you can figure out why their behavior is hurting you, and then find your way through it from that perspective.  It’s taken years – too long – for me to get to the part where I understand the “why” a situation is causing me turmoil in my heart or mind. I’ve always realized that no one has the right to do so, but it’s that last follow through to the why which can bring peace. 

Over time, I’ve learned that whenever I’m faced with an interference of my personal calm or peace, be it a thoughtless statement or action of another person in situations such as a text or email, on the phone, social media, at a store, in traffic, or at a social gathering, to immediately help myself, I try to remember to  “give myself a breathing pause.” 

This can be done conspicuously if needed, and gives the immediate appearance of being in control of yourself while you go through your thoughts and choose your words. I breathe in through my nose while counting to six, then exhale through my mouth, while counting to six. If needed, I do it a few times. It sets the stage for me to refocus and to keep myself from reacting or overreacting. Then while in a calmer state, I’m able to rationally think through the situation, and attempt to look at it from the other person’s perspective. This is not always easy, but the reward for me is peace, calm, and a settled heart and stomach. In each situation, the sooner I remember that there are more ways to think, act, and react than just my way, the better off I am. It eventually can become second nature to approach tough situations. There will undoubtedly be exceptions, but for the most part, it works. 

In the bigger picture, outside of our immediate circle, there is also enough negative news on any given day – enough to stress out the most calm of people. The state of our country, for the most part, is not in a good place. We’re in the midst of one of the most horrific political situations that has been experienced in many decades, regardless of political affiliation. The many politics and policies or lack thereof, are affecting everything we touch financially. The old saying, “Money can’t buy happiness” may be true, but when everything costs so much more than only a few years ago, the increased financial struggles are more than most people have prepared for and it has caused extreme stress for many people. 

This situation does not help or make it easy for people our age who are retired or trying to retire. Most people in our country have been feeling the domino effect of high costs financially and ultimately emotionally, for a few years. Beginning at the top of the supply chain, all the way down to the customer, everyone feels the financial squeeze. Businesses worry about their bottom line. Employees worry about their jobs. Customers are cranky about the costs of daily necessities. Many struggle to stay happy while enduring such situations; we all have our own breaking points with finances and emotions. Maybe this is your breaking point. 

When you’re at your breaking point, your reality has to know that the only thing we have some form of control over is ourselves, our attitudes, and how we choose to view and respond to our situations. To help myself through times that I know I can’t control or during situations that are tough for me, I trust in my higher power, and pray while saying, “Jesus, please take the wheel.”  Maybe this or something similar could help your heart, also. 

Given all that is going on within our immediate circles as well as in the outer layers of our lives, try to go easy on yourself and your expectations of others. Go easy on yourself while working through how to best handle each of the things that are bugging you, one thing at a time. 

You are a beautiful, wonderful person and friend. Your family adores and counts on your love. You deserve to take any breaks, pauses, and breaths you want or need. Bad days have at least something good in them and most days have more good than bad. 

Now I have to remember to give myself the same advice! 

Copyright © 2024. Suzann Peterson. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this text or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information, address the publisher.

Forgiveness Does Not Have to Include Reconciliation of a Relationship

Featured

Forgiveness Does Not Have to Include Reconciliation of a Relationship  

In the interest of privacy, I’ve left out specific names, dates, and situational details. Rest assured that if you are reading this, you can trust that it wasn’t about you.  

This was one of those times when I wrote about a situation not to send it to the person, but rather to just to help myself sort through it and to find peace about it.  After I wrote this, I just tucked it away. In reflection, I did find peace and have smoothly moved forward.  I decided that enough time has passed such that I feel comfortable sharing this in hopes that one day it might help another person.  Here goes…

*****

If you are looking for forgiveness, I forgive you. I truly believe that if a person knows better, they do better. But, forgiveness does not have to include reconciliation. I’m not interested in reconciliation in this particular situation. I cannot change you, but I can change my responses. Thank you for reaching out, but I am no longer available to be hurt by you.  

Perception is reality. I don’t believe it’s actually me you are missing, rather I believe you are missing having some fresh “dirt” or “gossip” about me or my family.  I believe you are missing having someone to speak down to. I believe you are missing having someone to judge. I believe you are missing reminding me of any negatives that might be or have been in my life or my family. And, I believe you are missing me sharing so much of myself with you and your family – a fault of mine – I did and gave too much, for far too long. 

I am far from perfect, and sometimes even too critical of myself, but that does not give you or anyone in your family a right to make fun of or disrespect any part of me – my thoughts, words, decisions, my looks, body, face, hair, what I wear, my personality, or how I hug and love, to my face or behind my back, like you so often enjoyed doing.

Right now, what I clearly remember are years of your mean words, judgemental raised eyebrow looks, and negative snippy, sharp comments. I am not missing being spoken to in your condescending tone. I am not missing making phone calls to your home – knowing you or your family are there yet choosing to not answer, and grumbling or laughing about my call. I watched you do it to others; I know you did it to me. I am not missing the feeling of knowing that whatever personal information I shared with you in private was being talked and gossiped about, critiqued and judged by you and whomever you decided with which to break my confidence. I am not missing being pushed,begged,made to feel bad, coerced,manipulated into doing things I didn’t want to do, no matter how trivial. And I am not missing knowing that whatever personal situation of mine that I shared with you was being cataloged with fine detail in your mind, and stored at the ready to eventually be slung back at me, in a mean-girl manner, beginning with your patronizing, inhaling statement, “I always remember when…”  

I have forgiven many hurtful unkind things that you’ve done and said to and about me throughout the years. I always forgave you; I always reconciled – your way – for the good of what I thought was a friendship. I picked myself up and brushed off from whatever betrayal you flung my way. I moved forward, forgiving, trusting again that you wouldn’t hurt me.  I was wrong, time and time again. Were there good times? Sure there were some over the years. However, I now realize that you had many more good times than I did, at my expense.  

While thinking through my forgiveness for your most recent insult, I asked myself why, why all of these years did I forgive and reconcile, so many times, generally with you not caring how hurt I was? The best answer I could give myself was that, as a friend, I simply believed it was the right thing to do. I guess I thought I was doing what my religion taught me to do – “turn the other cheek,” you know, don’t respond with an insult or in an unkind way.  I now realize that it was the wrong thing to do, for myself.  It took me much too long to totally understand that although one should turn the other cheek, that does not include returning to be hurt again. Turning the other cheek does not include reconciling. 

This time there is no going back, and no going forward with what I have misunderstood as a friendship. You see, it’s one thing to disrespect me. but it’s a completely different thing when you believe you get to disrespectfully make fun of my family and friends. They might not be perfect, but they are perfect just as they are and they’re mine.  

You had the audacity to believe that you would again get to come out ahead and on top, with your condescending, self-amusing, “Oopsy.” But not this time. It was more than me who you hurt. You do not trump my family, and how dare you believe that you trump my husband. Neither he nor I are perfect, but we’re perfect for each other and together. He loves, adores, and cares for me unlike any other. We’ve been together for decades; he is my everything and I am his everything. You cannot break through that with your thoughtless remarks.

You and I differ on what I believe are some of the most important things in life. Among them are the definitions of friendship, kindness, confidant, trust, understanding, and being a taker vs being a giver. 

I am fine with my decision to forgive you, yet not reconcile.  I hold no grudges, I forgive you, and I wish for you only wonderful things in your life. At the same time, you have severed my trust for the last time, and I will continue to protect my family, friends, and my heart against further hurt from what I now understand to have been your inconsiderate folly. I am no longer available to fulfill your need to hurt someone.

When I see you in public, of course I will wave, smile, say hello, and then I will move along.  Lessons are repeated until they are learned.  I finally learned. 

Copyright © 2024. Suzann Peterson. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this text or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information, address the publisher.

June 2022 Letter to Rising 9th Graders

Featured

Dear Rising Ninth Graders, 

Congratulations on succeeding in doing what it takes to make it to this milestone!  Your hard work and persistence to rise above a variety of obstacles in order to get to this moment have paid off!  

I am excited to share this milestone year with you; it’s my retirement year!  Like you, it has taken me many years of hard work and persistence to get to this special time in my life!  I’d like to share a few things that have helped me along the way, in hopes that they might help you.   

Have gratitude. You have had years of encouragement from many people who surround you – family, friends, teachers, coaches, neighbors and others in your community. Take a moment to reflect on all that they have done for and with you. Take the time to tell them how grateful you are for their care and support. The character trait of being grateful will always serve you well!  

Be a person of integrity, be positive, and have humility.  By now you’ve learned that things in life don’t always come easy nor are they always fair. What really matters is how you handle getting through those tough times. Look for the good, stay positive, surround yourself with good and positive people. If you fall, pick yourself up;  learn from your mistakes. If you succeed, do it with humility. Above all, do everything with integrity. That is, be honest and hang on to your strong moral principles to always do the right thing. The character traits of being positive, having humility, and being a person of integrity will never let you down as you navigate the worst and best of times.  

Be kind. One of my favorite quotes often attributed to poet Maya Angelo is, “I’ve learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.”  Be friendly, generous, considerate, help others, don’t act entitled, choose your battles wisely, use your manners, smile, and sing happy songs! These acts of kindness will help you arrive gracefully where you want to be in life. You’ll always be able to feel as if you made a difference in the lives of others when you know you’ve been kind in all situations.

Be strong. Don’t confuse gratitude, positivity, humility, integrity and kindness with being too soft.  It takes a strong-minded person to succeed at having these character traits, and to be able balance them with all that life will present to you. As long as you stay committed to working at being a good person, the puzzle pieces for the rest of your life will all fit when and where they should! 

If you’ve had me for a teacher then you know I have a lot of silly sayings. My favorite is, “Act like how you are supposed to be acting.”  Please use my quote as often as you’d like.  It can keep you from looking back and saying, “I could have or should have done different or better.” Best wishes for a lifetime of good health, success, prosperity, love, and joy!  

With fond memories, 

Mrs. Peterson

Pandemic 2020/2021 School Year – Happy Valentine’s Day to my 6th Graders

2 Comments

February 14, 2021

Happy Valentine’s Day to My 6th Grade Sunshines!

As we head into the second half of your 2020/2021 6th grade school year, I wanted to let you know how proud of you I am, and how proud of yourselves that you should be, for doing your best in school during this crazy pandemic time!  Since last March 2020, you have been navigating through something that no other school children in history have ever had to handle.  

Never in history have students, as a whole, had to attend school from their home, while watching your teacher share lessons through a computer. You’ve attended from different locations –  kitchen, bedroom, dining room,  living room, office, stairway, outside on the deck or porch, at a picnic table, on the floor someplace, at a parent or guardian’s place of employment, in a car, at a relative’s home, at the sitter’s/daycare, or even in a restaurant!  The background noise and activity level in your “home-school” locations have ranged on any given day from hearing crickets to not being able to hear our classroom meet.  But, you have done your best with a situation that you didn’t ask for; you’ve been honest, you have rolled with the punches, and you keep showing up, day after day, even when the schedule of daily times is switched up on you, too often. Thank you! 

Your patience with me, your REALLY “non-tech savvy teacher,” has been amazing and beyond my wildest expectations! I truly appreciate your willingness, every day, to help our virtual and hybrid classroom run smoothly by sharing your technology skills and knowledge with me, and with each other.  You have shared without giving it a second thought. Your sense of humor has also truly helped to get me, and some of your peers, through those tech speed bumps. Thank you all, from the bottom of my heart!  

Your virtual kindness toward each other has been wonderful! For those of you who have attended hybrid school in-person, I see how happy you are when you are able to “just chit-chat” with your classmates, in the same room. For those of you who are remote, I notice how patient you are while the in-person activities happen; I notice how good you are at, and happy you are while communicating and socializing through your devices.  Your smiles are beautiful, regardless of your location! Thank you! 

Your bravery and the self-confidence it has taken to feel comfortable enough to follow “all cameras on,” is to be commended.  It is not always easy to let others into our “personal spaces” part of life, virtually, like this pandemic has required us to do, me included!  Some of you were comfortable from the beginning…so much so that you’ve taken us on tours of whatever and wherever your personal space is, you’ve shared your pets, your family, and your hobbies and projects. Some of you didn’t start out quite so comfortable, but you’ve (me included) done it; you’ve respected the requests of your teachers and the district, and for that I thank you!  If you are someone who is still hesitant about virtual school at this time – no worries – we each have our own timing for things in life. However, I promise you that if you choose to be willing and flexible, for now, it can work for you, too!  Even virtually, everyone has something special to offer in class. It is working for so many of you, for now, because you’ve chosen to let it work. Thank you! 

I also want to let you know that I appreciate your willingness to accept any guidance and support from anyone at home who has been helping you behind the scenes to: show up on time, further explain your school work, get the work done, help you organize, and make sure you have food and a place to sleep during these tough times. Thank you, my students, for respecting and helping the adults in your life, when you can, in the wonderful way that you do!   

Sure, school this year has been completely different than any of my 25ish years of teaching – but because of your willingness to roll with it, you’ve been able to learn, regardless of what life has thrown your way…and I know so many of us have had some not-so-great things thrown our way this year! We’re all in this together on that topic!

Is life these days traditional and what we expect, are used to, or want? No way! Is this way of school forever?  Probably not.  Has it been perfect? Not yet; it probably won’t ever be.  But in our ELA class, we’ve been able to figure out a way to make it work. We’ve read stories, we’ve had great conversations about characters in the literature we’ve read; you’ve learned new grammar, punctuation, and reading and writing skills; you’ve had to think – yes, in a different and virtual way, but you’ve been able to make it happen!  

Be proud of yourselves for your participation and willingness, for being patient, for your bravery, kindness, honesty, humor, and for showing up daily!  Thank you for being you, for giving it your all, and for helping your classmates and me smile and learn, every day!  We have been able to create a classroom personality that has a wonderful blend of seriousness and silliness!  You are noticed, you are special, and you make a difference! Happy Valentine’s Day!  

With much warmth,

Mrs. Peterson 

Pandemic, COVID 19 Trying to get used to the new normal, for now. 3/28/2020

4 Comments

We’ll be fine. I feel for China and Italy, but I’m not worried for us. It’s not going to get to our area! Hmm, yes, it is. Actually, it’s here. Memo advised us to take personal belongings home from our classroom in case school closes due to the pandemic. Smack. Shock. This is real. Too close! Surreal. Emotionally paralyzed, of sort?

Plan the work and work the plan. Okay, I’ve got this, no worries!

A fleeting thought, a mention on social media, a press conference on television. Then, whomp, crumble! The whole scene overwhelms me. Tears. Usually in private. Sometimes on my husband’s shoulder. Tears of fear of the unknown, tears grieving and missing what used to be, tears for others who are in pain, and for those who are sacrificing. Tears to release tension. As quickly as the tears come, they leave, in prayer form. Please let this be just a bad dream. Leave all of us. Now. Please.

St. Patrick’s Breastplate Prayer is a prayer for protection. I use my own version of it for a mantra in tough times. God on my left, God on my right, God in front of me, God behind me, God above me, God below me, God surround me. God within me. Repeat until…. Using it daily, these days!

To slow my breathing for refocus – breathe in through my nose count to three, out through my mouth count to six. Five times. Usually works. Then chit-chat and laugh with a family member or a friend who can share a piece of joy, be a positive ray of sunshine.

Sometimes I’ll reach to my collection of inspirational messages. Calm and strength resurface. My current favorite is printed on a pretty purple background, and surrounded by colorful spring flowers.

“And the people sat still and the earth healed and Spring came, flowers bloomed, bringing hope and beauty back into the world…” Okay, I’ve got this, for the moment.

Time to be constructive. Get out of the paralyzed state. Out of bed. Off the chair. Chores. School work. Reading. Writing. Napping. Texting. Telephone. Television – news looping sure can pull you in and down! Video chatting with kids and grandchildren; they’re all fine, so I’m fine. Miss them horribly, but I’ve still got this, for the moment. We’re going to be okay!

Sleep is a blessing, a safe escape, a way to refresh. Sometimes it takes a little while ‘til I remember to use this technique to quiet my runaway mind. I start at my toes. “Toe(s) go to sleep. Heel(s) go to sleep. Ankle(s) go to sleep. Calf go to sleep….” The rule is that the minute any part of my body flinches, I have to restart. The flinch breaks the focus. I usually don’t get beyond my knees. Okay, I’ve got this, for the moment.

I love that feeling when I first wake up. My mind is clear. Freedom from the invisible beast. I open my eyes. Okay, I’ve got this, for the moment.

Questions. It this real? Wait, what? No alarm? I’m not supposed to go to work today? This is real, a pandemic, and I’m not supposed to go anywhere or visit anyone in person, right? Okay, new day. I’ve got this, for the moment.

Wait, what? I’ve got to teach online? From home? Very willing. Beyond leery! Huge learning curve for me with new technology. How can I offer my very best for my students; how can I offer them what they deserve, when this whole scene is overwhelming me. Crumble. Here it goes. Again. Mantra. Breath. Reach out to friends and colleagues. They are all dealing and feeling the same. Okay, I’ve got this, for the moment.

This thing is here to stay for how long? Weeks? Months? Governor says it’s bad. President says it’s bad, but we’ll be okay, soon. Our state has the most of any state? I live next door to the epicenter of this beast? This beast has a rolling epicenter! The whole scene overwhelms me. Let’s turn off the news. Watch a movie for distraction. Prayers of thanks we can distract; many cannot. Okay, I’ve got this, for the moment.

I know, we’re supposed to always “look on the bright side of things,” and realize, “things could always be worse.” True and valid; caution: to be used at appropriate times. These statements should never be used to downplay or minimize someone else’s feelings. During a pandemic is generally not the time to “be right.” It is generally not the time to “take a stand.”

Everyone has their thing. Some private, some public. Our perception is our reality. We each have our own. We each have our own way and timing for dealing with big things. Big. Things. Pandemics.

This pandemic is affecting everyone in as many ways as there are people in this world. Someone might validly retort to this post, “That’s ridiculous, you should…” or “You think that’s bad, you should see….” At that moment the reader and writer, or the listener and speaker, must remember that it’s okay for each person to talk or write through their perceptions, their thoughts and views. Different from yours is okay, for the moment.

Remember to take a breath, be extra respectful, kind, and patient with ourselves and each other’s perceptions. (Note to my Bruce: I promise I will do this for you! xoxo)

Yup, usually there are worse things. Yup, usually there is a bright side. In time, we’ll each find our bright side and be thankful. Acknowledge. Guide. Enjoy. Hope. Love. Positive. Laughter. Listen. Be. This isn’t forever. We’re going to be fine. It’s okay, I’ve got this, for the moment.

Copyright © 2020. Suzann Peterson. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this text or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information, address the publisher.

Humanness in the Face of Hurricane Harvey

August 17, 2017–September 2, 2017

by Suzie Peterson 

It was hot, humid, with pretty blue skies that Friday morning when I was visiting my family in Katy, Texas. Predictions for later that day, Hurricane Harvey’s Category 4 winds and rain were aligned to slam the Texas coastline, for days.

Whipping winds and relentless, slanted rain pummeled. The cul-de-sac filled with water, surrounding roads impassable. Water climbed the driveway. Drainage from the house gutters and downspouts resembled mini rivers.           

A tornado alert blasted simultaneously on our cell phones. Contained panic overtook me; we should be running, hiding, taking cover. The family remained calm. Within an hour, another alert, and another. By the third alert, we were scrambling!

One tornado alert on a cell phone can stir chatter for a day. Thirty relentless tornado alerts on three cells phones in one home, in forty-eight hours, during a hurricane, can make you feel like you’re under a constant air raid attack. Two days of non-stop blaring alerts took me to an unnerving psychological state. Impending doom. Petrified. Vulnerable. Danger. Helpless. Uncertainty. Overwhelmed. Prayers. Survival?  

My son’s neighbor, meteorologist Chad, had a man cave full of computer programs to track severe weather. He created a community text thread during Hurricane Harvey. After each National Weather System Wireless Emergency Alert, sleep deprived Chad followed-up on our group text with the tornado’s location, projected path, timing, and an action statement. Chad’s statements were comforting. Details I needed. “Stay alert, but this tornado is headed to the west side of town.” Each message eventually followed with, “All clear!” He responded to five of the thirty tornado alerts, “Take cover now!” We scrambled to the big closet. There were pillows and blankets for the kids and a kitchen chair for me. I had no idea how long we’d be stuck. We’d no sooner begin breathing after the “All clear,” when another alert would blast. Constant, forty-eight hours. Chad’s texts became my source of hope. I hadn’t met him, but adored him so.  

For two nights I slept with my shoes on, holding my phone, ready. I slept on a futon mattress on the living room floor, with my six-year-old granddaughter. “Are we going to die?” A game of pretend camping, giggling, and playing with flashlights under the covers eased her fear.

My two-year-old grandson was not easy to resettle at 3 AM.  He had been whisked out of his crib, and taken downstairs to the safety closet. Chad’s “All clear” message became the toddler’s opportunity to run free with his bag of Cheetos. His tiny hands were now orange and sticky. Giggling, running, jumping on his big sister and me. Her limited tolerance, “Don’t hurt my Grammy and me!” His mom and dad were at their sleep-deprived wits-end with his three AM shenanigans. They scooped him up, and headed upstairs. I heard mumbling and joking, “The next warning that comes through, he gets to stay in his crib!” Comic relief.

The sun came out. Tornado alerts ceased. Drained, our nerves now trained to be on edge. We were fragile. It would take time to come down from this historic catastrophe.

Bush Intercontinental Airport and roads leading to it remained closed. My flight home was delayed four days, but my Grammy-heart was full. I had opportunity to spend more time with my grandchildren while my son and daughter-in-law volunteered to help less fortunate; so many lost their belongings, homes, lives.   

The airport was just waking up, Saturday, 6:30 AM. The young gentleman two seats away asked, “How did it affect you?” Reality startled me. Every person in this enormous airport had been affected. There was more than my fear, and thirty tornado alerts. I explained that the tornado warnings messed with my head, my son’s home was not damaged, but others nearby lost everything. Thankful, blessed, I was among the lucky ones getting to leave. “You?”  

We had Harvey in common, his story different. This thirty something stranger poured out his heart; I listened, I understood. I was the first he spoke to, aside from fellow rescuers. He volunteered five days as an American Red Cross diver. He showed me his credentials to dive more than one hundred twenty feet, proving what he’d been through was real. The deeper you go, the shorter the time spent. Flooded Houston dives were eight to ten feet, more time under. His hand-drawn map showed water current directions of the floods. He had been on a dive near my son’s home. He looked exhausted, his tears heart-wrenching. My eyes swelled of sadness and tears with him. 

For five days he swam with rodents, snakes, in mud, slime, raw sewage, unable to see beyond his hand. He swam into flooded homes, located medications, had to tell people their pets he searched for died, and he and his rescue team located deceased bodies. At the end of his days, he was so full of filth that he showered several times. First with all his scuba gear on, then without.  

His day job, VP at a major North American bank. He shared a picture of himself in a company advertisement. He was trying to reconnect, escape horror. He, too, was fragile from stress of disaster. Concerned, I asked if he was going home to someone. His girlfriend would be there, but might not understand like someone who had lived through the storm and devastation. He stood and tried to walk off his overwhelming emotions.

“Boarding United Flight 1666 from Houston to Newark will now begin for on-time departure.”

A year later, still a bond. I wish we had shared names. At home in New York, when news of devastation is reported on television, I get tears and goose bumps, still. I look in a different direction, lower the volume, change the channel. More than just a storm happened. It happened to hundreds of thousands, with an equal number of perspectives, majority of stories worse than mine. My thirty tornado alerts weren’t that bad, after all.    

Copyright @ 2017 Suzann Peterson. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this text or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information, address the publisher. All rights reserved.

A Heavy Bag to Carry

(Flash fiction)

by Suzie Peterson

She sent me a text. “On the way home from our honeymoon. Let’s get together soon.”  She didn’t miss a beat, as if nothing had happened. A lot had happened. But, that’s been the cycle.

Why has she been so angry? I was never enough. Her hate deep. For years she has publicly berated and humiliated me, hurtful insinuations on social media, and even kept my name off the newspaper announcement.

I reached out, again. I found her name on a wedding registry and sent the most expensive gift, with love and congratulations. We met several times for lunch. A glimmer of hope. Six weeks before her wedding, when we met at the diner, my heart sank, again. “Nothing’s going to change, the wedding programs have been printed,” her parting words.

Dinner plans made. Looking forward. She cancelled. “Not going through with the plans; you’ll disappoint me!” was her text. I was disappointed, again. The story ends the same, every time. She builds me up to knock me down.

She seems to want to make a connection, but then pulls away fast, without missing a beat. She manipulates the situation and places herself in the role of disappointed victim. She works hard at making sure she has followers. Somehow she is able to always make me look like a horrible dad, in her eyes.  

No invitation arrived. I sent them chocolates, a bottle of champagne and “Mr. and Mrs.” champagne glasses the week before their wedding. On her wedding day I sobbed at home, grieving the loss of what should have been. Still not understanding her level of anger and hatred.  

All of the other people she decided to call mom, dad, sister, brother, and who she has designated as her “parents-in-heart,” or her “rock to lean on,” have been safe places for labels of the family she had desperately wanted.  A need to replace me in honor of her mom.   

Her mom and I had been going through a bump. Her mom had complained about me to her, our friends, and family. She even had an affair. I didn’t know what to do. I was happy being married. This was just a marriage speed bump, I thought. We’d figure out the new jobs we needed, and our finances. But, her mom wasn’t sure. I didn’t know whether we were working out our problems or separating. Fate decided. Her mom died that night that she and I were hit head-on by that drunk driver. I lost the chance to right our marriage.

Nearly a nervous breakdown. I did my best for our daughter, and myself. I spoke kindly about her mom. My daughter and I had a hard time. Counseling. Buying things. Vacations. Even after her mom died, it seemed to be them vs. me. Her mom had modeled how to be disappointed and complain about me. I didn’t have a chance. Berating me had been one of their strong connections. Now a strong lasting connection.

“The wrong parent died!” she yelled.

For nearly twenty-five years, she has kept that connection alive. She hasn’t moved beyond her mom’s ‘unhappy wife’ perception. She treats me the way she remembers her mom treating me.

There is only so much disrespect, berating and verbal abuse a dad should be expected to take, from an adult daughter. I took the tough love route. Stop the manipulations, lies, stories and drama, and make better decisions about money and relationships.

I didn’t realize it at the time, but the only thing my tough love did was give her more fuel to keep her loyalty to her mom alive, stronger than ever. She pushed me further away. To give me respect would be going against her loyalty to her mom’s perspective.    

Leaving me out of her wedding was the most heart-wrenching thing she could have done. Lost chances, lost hope, shattered heart.

I finally understand. Had she invited me to the wedding, then her life of high drama, manipulations, and made-up stories about me would have fallen apart, both in public and in her heart.

The unveiling, in front of her world, would have meant that many years of placing herself in the role of victim, and all of her imagined and self-created disappointments, were for naught.

By not having me attend the wedding, her lies and stories were able to continue; she comfortably remained the victim. Her mom and their strong connection were with her at the wedding.

I’ll probably never have my daughter back. I now understand that by me taking these hits from her, she got to keep her mom alive in her heart – in the only way she knows how.

Copyright © 2018 Suzann Peterson. All rights reserved.

Ball Lightning

An Unexpected Science Lesson at Grandma and Grandpa’s

by Suzie Peterson

When we were young, my siblings and I had many sleepovers at our grandparent’s homes. One of our sets of grandparents lived in a big, old, stone house, with lots of windows. It was situated at the foot of a big mountain. Although I adored time with my grandparents, odd things that made me feel uncomfortable often happened at that house. 

The house was surrounded by a small yard that seamlessly blended into the deep woods. There was a path that traveled through the woods and up the mountain. We’d only hike and explore so far that path before we’d get nervous and run back to the house. 

Behind the house was a small foot bridge that crossed over a stream. On the other side of the stream was a tree swing. We loved to pump that swing as high and as fast as we could, ponytails whipping in the wind. For a second or two we got to hang over the water. 

About thirty feet from the swing, the stream was fed by water that trickled over a little dam at the edge of a pond. We had lots of fun in Grandpa’s rowboat on that pond. His dog even loved to hop in and float with us. We didn’t swim much in the pond because there were too many snakes in the area. We had to take turns riding in the rowboat. We didn’t want to take a chance of overloading it and tipping over, for fear of having to swim with the reptiles to get back to shore! 

On one particular overnight visit, my sister and I slept upstairs in aunt Sandy’s old bedroom. Her room had a pretty, mirrored vanity. Next to the vanity were flowy curtains which framed the French doors that led to a small, wrought-iron balcony. It overlooked the woods and the road, two stories below. 

A powerful thunderstorm slammed through the area that night. During the storm, a glowing ball of orange lightning, the size of a basketball, traveled in through the double dining room windows. It zipped past grandma, who was sitting at the dining room table, missing her head by a literal hair. It traveled up the switchback staircase, and turned one final corner into the bedroom where we were sleeping. We startled awake. The hair on the back of my neck and arms stood straight up. The ball exploded over our heads.The light was blinding.The crack was deafening. Then it disappeared! Just like that! Gone!

We were petrified. Our bodies shook from our head to our toes, and we screamed bloody murder. Our aunts and grandma ran up to check that we were okay. We were fine. No damage, no fire, no extra heat, none of the things that one might imagine. 

Was it a nightmare, or did this thing we’d never heard of really happen? It did happen. Everyone in the family talked about it for days, especially grandma and our aunts who had seen it. It was so bizarre that even though it did happen, I still wondered whether we were crazy? 

Years later, when I researched ball lightning, I was comforted to find similar stories and information that supported what we had experienced. We weren’t crazy after all!

 As of this writing, scientists continue to have a variety of speculations on the physics of ball lightning which has been considered a mysterious phenomenon for hundreds of years. Over the past several decades, as technology has improved and more people, including scientists, have been able to record ball lightning, it is becoming less of a mystery. Scientists are putting more effort into all the questions that surround it – where, when, why, and how does it occur?

There are a few general observations that scientists agree on, so far. Ball lightning usually moves parallel to the earth, and sometimes takes vertical jumps. The one we experienced did both. It traveled parallel to the earth until it reached the stairs, and then vertically floated and bobbed up the stairwell and around the corner. 

Ball lightning sometimes comes down from the clouds, and other times for reasons unknown,  it can suddenly materialize either indoors or outdoors. It can enter a room through a closed or open window, through nonmetallic thin walls, or even through a chimney. The one we experienced entered the house through the windows. I don’t remember whether the windows were closed, or whether the ball caused a burn mark as it entered. 

Scientists have determined that ball lightning is harmless when it is inside structures that have conducting frames, such as houses, submarines and airplanes. We were startled and scared, but we weren’t hurt inside the big old stone house that had lightning rods. 

Regardless of whether ball lightning is harmless or not, I don’t want to experience being near it again.That night left the strongest impression I have from my visits to that grandma and grandpa’s home. It sure was one heck of a science lesson!

Copyright©2019Suzann Peterson.All Rights Reserved

GREAT BALLS OF FIRE!: A 1901 engraving depicting ball lightning

Photo source: National Geographic

Reflections and Memoir of Growing Up On A Hobby Farm

1 Comment

Reflections and Memoir of Growing Up on a Hobby Farm

By Suzie Peterson 

I didn’t know it at the time, but when I was growing up on a hobby farm, I was getting quite the well-rounded education about life, surviving, and ultimately what it means to be a wholesome, good person. 

There’s a thread of farming in my family history, which led to me growing up on a hobby farm in a rural town seventy-five miles north of New York City.  My dad was raised on a farm where he was expected to help out with all the chores. During his childhood and teenage years, he raised steers with the local 4-H club for show and competition at the local county fair. As a young adult, one of his first jobs was that of Clove Creek Farm Manager for FDR Jr., on the Roosevelt property in Poughquag, New York.   We lived on that property until I was 5 years old.  My dad decided that he wanted to start his own business, so we moved to a big ol’ farmhouse on the other end of town, which was owned by my dad’s new business partner.    

Prior to our family moving on to the property, and eventually purchasing it, it had been a large working dairy farm. When we moved in, the fields surrounding the farm house were rented out to local farmers to grow corn for their livestock, and as a place for their animals to graze during the summer.  It was always an exciting day in mid-spring when the Black Angus farmer dropped off his trailer load of 20 –30 cattle.  It was so peaceful during the summer to watch them lumber about the fields, huddle together at the tree line, chew their cud, and swish their tails.                       

It took time for dad and his partner to grow their construction company business, which meant that money was not easy for our family at that time. This is when the hobby farm was integrated into our already hard working and busy lives of work and school.  My parents knew that a way to save money, and stay healthy, was to grow a big garden for harvesting, freezing, and canning produce, and to raise our own meat. My dad’s farming experiences kicked in. They rototilled a huge garden. The family planted, watered, weeded and picked from the garden all spring and summer. Dad built a root cellar into the side of one of the hills where the potatoes, carrots and the other root vegetables were stored during the winter. We canned tomatoes, froze beans, peas, and corn, made pickles, and we had fresh tomatoes, lettuce and cucumbers all during the growing season.   

The pigs we raised would eat just about anything, but they especially liked it when we brought them the leftover produce from the local grocery store. They were really happy, snorting, critters when they saw our station wagon back up to their pigpen. They knew there were bins of vegetables in their immediate future.  After devouring all that they could, they would retreat to their happy place – in the mud, in the middle of the stream that ran through their pigpen.  We raised and slaughtered our own chickens, which is where I learned that there really is such a thing as “running around like a chicken with its head cut off.” We also raised our own Polled Hereford steers for 4-H, for competition in local fairs, and ultimately the freezer. My sister, brother and I were expected to help take care of the family hobby farm – the garden, the property, and especially our steers.    

The real solid work ethic it takes for ten, eleven and twelve year-olds to raise a steer is unlike any other. Those 1,250 pound animals counted on us for their survival. There was no such thing as staying inside because of bad weather, or taking time off to enjoy the good weather.  Although the animals did not require us to be with them full-time every day, our days did have to revolve around the times that the animals needed to be cared for, fed, and watered.  

Before school every day, around 5:00 a.m., flashlight in hand, we headed out back to the barn to feed the animals.  It was a daily challenge to keep their food safe from any number of varmints who enjoy freeloading in barns. The bales of hay and feed bags of oats and corn mixture that we carried for our animals were real darn heavy. We had to carry multiple five-gallon pails of water from the stream to the steer’s water bin, several times a day; no such thing as running water in that barn back then! These animals each had their own personality; they knew who they each belonged to, they knew our voices, and what we expected from them. They enjoyed when we washed, brushed and talked to them. Their ears perked up and wriggled happily.  Daily stall cleaning was different depending upon the season. Mucking a stall in subfreezing temps brought mixed feelings – you were frozen while you’re doing the work, but the manure was solid, easier to handle, and the smell was not as potent as in the summer.   The smell increased during the 70- 90 degree weather, so the faster you worked, the quicker the smelly job was done. We eventually became immune to the smell. It was always a good feeling to leave a clean stall for our steers, knowing that they would have a fresh bed of hay to rest on, until the cycle of cleaning up after them started again. They especially enjoyed eating fresh green hay. Anything fresh and green was like their “candy.” Their ears would perk up, they would get happy-frisky, their tails would wave, and they would chew and chew. 

 Humor is inevitable on a hobby farm. All you have to do is sit and watch the antics of any of the animals and their interactions with their people to put a smile on your face.  

 One morning, our big, drooling St. Bernard, Molly, hopped into the pig pen.  She was bound and determined to let the pigs know who was boss. She stood and barked non-stop at Arnold and Mildred.  Mom, in her robe and curlers in her hair, heard the commotion. She ran up to the pig pen with a broom in her hand, hopped in, and was doing what she could to swish and corral Molly and the pigs apart from each other. She was blindsided by one of the pigs when he ran between her legs. She went head over teakettle into the mud. Thank God she didn’t get hurt.  It was unnerving for her then, but the thought of seeing her be flipped flat by a pig, in her curlers and robe, is now a funny story that is retold and laughed about at many family events. 

 And then there were Homer and Jethro. They were our two chubby white pet ducks who waddled their way up to the kitchen window at our dinner time on most evenings.  They would have quite the stare-down and quacking conversation with dad until he gave them some chunks of bread through the window. They always made a disgusting mess near that part of the sidewalk, so we seldom walked barefoot in that area of the yard.    

Every once in a while a steer or two would escape from the pen.  The cause might have been as simple as someone forgetting to lock the gate, or as annoying as the steers having pushed through part of the fence.  It took persistence, patience, coaxing, and manipulating skills to find the runaway steers, figure out how to get them calmed down, corral them back to their pen, and repair the route of escape. Not easy, and not fast. The scene of escapee steers, if they’re not yours to catch, can be quite entertaining. They get so excited that their tails stand straight up. On Polled Herefords that means the little white tip at the end of their tail is playfully waving high up in the air; they kick their hind legs up in a rascally kind of way, and then they gallop. Straight for the nearest cornfield – their candy store.  

 When you raise a steer in 4-H, you have to train him so that he cooperates for you for when you exercise him and when you bring him to shows. The training begins with a lesson on how to make your own harness or halter to put on the steer. That’s followed by a lesson about the persistence it takes to try to get an active, nervous, young animal of about 300–400 pounds, calmed down enough to trust you to lead him.  It takes a while, maybe a week or so, but with persistence, physical strength, and consistency, a steer can be trained to let you lead him down the road, into the hollow, for a nice long walk. These walks became their daily exercise to tone their muscles and fat to get them market ready for when it’s time to take them to the show, and eventual auction. The road I walked my steer on also happened to be the road where one of the best looking guys in the high school lived. So I took extra care to be sure my hair was done just so, and that I had on very neat clean clothes when I walked my steers…just in case he or his family (city folks) would pass by. And when they did, they’d stop and chat for a few minutes, intrigued by the sight of seeing a 1,250 pound Polled Hereford being taken for a walk down the road by a teenage girl. That just made my day when I got to talk with them. Thanks, steers!    

On the business side of our hobby farm, we had to keep track of the original cost of the calves, the cost of their food, shop for the highest quality and best priced feed, track the proportions of their different types of food depending on where they were at in their growth cycle, track how much they ate, and their weight gains. We had  know when they needed a veterinarian to visit, and we had to know how to speak with the veterinarian, We had to know what the going market prices were at auctions for our types of animals, and then we had to decide what cost per pound would be an acceptable bid when we sold them at the auction.  We had to understand the amount of the animal that would be considered waste and how much actual meat it would yield. We compared our data and traded tips with other local hobby farmers.  One year, the University of Connecticut purchased my steer to bring back to their farming students as an example of a really well grown animal!  

There were even lessons about charity on a hobby farm – my dad’s company would often purchase either a steer, a pig, or lamb at the county fair livestock auction and donate it to the local children’s home for their freezer.   

When you’re a kid raising a steer on the family hobby farm, if you want time off to go to your friend’s house to play, or for a sleepover, you have to drive some kind of a worthwhile bargain with your sibling to take care of your steer while you’re away. That bargain, among other promises, always included a demand that the favor be returned. 

Dealing with all of the weather elements in the northeast was not up for negotiation on the hobby farm. In the winter, we often trudged through many inches, or feet, of fresh fallen, unplowed snow to get to the barn. Our hands would freeze even when we had on our sturdy work gloves, and our cheeks would be real rosy. We used a pick to break through the layer of ice on the stream in order to gather pails of water for the animals. We learned early on in life that the fresh cold air is healthy, that you don’t melt in the rain, and that fresh fallen raindrops feel good dripping on your face. In the hot weather, we could often be found in the barn, near our steers, in front of the fan which would not only cool both of us down, but also keep the flies away from them. As kids, each time we stepped into the barn, regardless of the weather, we were unconsciously reminded of its complete peacefulness. The animals were generally calm, quiet, and happy to see us. It was in the barn that we would forget about any uncomfortable weather and hard work. The harmonious feeling took over, and got us through it all.    

When you’re a kid growing up on a hobby farm, there is very little room to tolerate such things as disrespect, drama, laziness, procrastination, carelessness, or impatience. You learn from your mistakes immediately, and move on. The seasons and the life cycles of the plants and animals are what you work with, and plan for. You learn responsibility, accountability, integrity, and honesty. The family has to work closely together. 

 Of course, like any family, some spats do occur…because we’re all different. You learn to get over the spats quickly, regardless of whether you are the winner, loser, or you compromise. You learn to just move on. It’s not all about  “you.” The animals, plants and your family are counting on you. Being kind to all of them, thinking through situations on their behalf, comparing and contrasting different instances, understanding causes, effects and results, learning to be flexible, to work independently, with a partner, or as a group are all part of the normal day for a family on a hobby farm. By nature, for it to all work, it has to be that way. You naturally learn that communication skills, spoken, unspoken, or written are invaluable for both your family and the animals. You learn to understand the value of wide open spaces, to appreciate and ‘read’ the sky, the wind, and the trees. You truly appreciate the fresh, homegrown taste of breakfast, lunch, and dinner.  Hobby farmers work hard and smart. They work beyond the point of being tired because they work until the job is done.  It isn’t easy, but the best rewards and appreciation come from the things we have to work hard at in order to succeed. 

 Finally, when the job is done, kids on a hobby farm know when to hop on the sled and slip down a snow-covered hill. They know when the time is right to take a bike ride down the tree covered road, or play in the creek, to swing or rest under a big ol’ maple shade tree, or to just lay in the field of deep green grass and daydream under the fluffy white clouds and crisp blue sky.

Copyright @ 2020 Suzann Peterson. All rights reserved.