RSS Feed

Tag Archives: Mirror Lake Farm

Summer Memories

Thoughts are rolling in my mind of week-long vacations at my grandmother’s farm in Shelbyville, Kentucky, Mirror Lake Farm’s name came from a small lake, shaped like a looking glass, in the front cow pasture. We used to stand on the fence and watch the herd meander in the mornings to the field and in the afternoons back to the barn.

Each day was slow paced, and no one was in a hurry.

Daddy only had one week’s vacation for a lot of years, and we always went to Kentucky.

It was a week full of visits with relatives, a day trip to Calumet Farm in Lexington, and lazy days of doing nothing. Picnics under the trees in the front lawn were fun. A night at the county fair was exciting. We made daily walks to the milking barn, and I was never successful at the task of milking a cow. Looking back, I believe that swishing tail intimidated me.

Daddy would drive around the Lexington farm on the back roads until he found a field of horses. Then he would take a handful of apples and his knife and head for the fence. Critt and I were right behind him. Calling the horses to come over for a visit, he rewarded them with apple pieces. We loved patting them and feeding them.

The Calumet Farm continues to be a place to visit. https://www.calumetfarm.com/videos/

Education was important to my grandmother Lulu. Before she married, she was a teacher in a one-room schoolhouse in Lawrenceburg. She homeschooled her four children until they reached fourth grade. Through storytelling, she taught her grandchildren about their family history, as well as United States history.

This morning I read several articles about another Kentucky educator, Mrs. Cora W. Stewart. In 1911, she started moonlight schools in Rowan County. The goal was to “emancipate from illiteracy those enslaved in its bondage.” In the same classrooms their children attended during the day, their parents and other adults sat in the same seats and benches at night. Volunteer teachers led the classes. It was the moonlight that led them to these schools at night; hence the name.

“It was expected that the response would be slow, but more than 1,200 men and women from 18 to 86 years of age were enrolled the first evening,” said Stewart of the initial 50 schools in the program. “They came trooping over the hills and out of the hollows, some to add to the meager education received in the inadequate schools of their childhood, some to receive their first lessons in reading and writing.”

I can see those lamps flickering and bobbing in the dark as the new students walked to school. For some, only the moonlight opened those paths up. Their faces must have been intent on their mission of learning to read and write.

Moonlight School

This movement gained momentum nationally and internationally. You might want to read more about this pioneer educator. Here are two books about this phenomenal and visionary teacher.

Cora Wilson Stewart: Crusader Against Illiteracy by Willie Nelms; Cora Wilson Stewart and Kentucky’s Moonlight Schools by Yvonne Baldwin

As John Dewey said, “Education is not preparation for life: education is life itself.”

I salute those teachers who are preparing to go back to school and thank you for all you do to change lives, as well as our world. What a privilege you have!

Our Spring Gardens

Image result for garden photos

PLANT THREE ROWS OF PEAS:
Peace of mind
Peace of heart
Peace of soul

Image result for garden photos

PLANT FOUR ROWS OF SQUASH:
Squash gossip
Squash indifference
Squash grumbling
Squash selfishness

Image result for garden photos
PLANT FOUR ROWS OF LETTUCE:
Lettuce be faithful
Lettuce be kind
Lettuce be patient
Lettuce really love one another

Image result for garden photos
NO GARDEN IS WITHOUT TURNIPS:
Turnip for meetings
Turnip for service
Turnip to help one another

Image result for garden photos
TO CONCLUDE OUR GARDEN WE MUST HAVE THYME:
Thyme for each other
Thyme for family
Thyme for friends

Image result for children playing in sprinkler
Water freely with patience and cultivate with love. There is much fruit in your garden because you reap what you sow. ~Unknown

Whether it is a flower garden or a vegetable garden, they both require hard work to flourish. My grandmother Lulu always had a vegetable garden on Mirror Lake Farm in Shelbyville, Kentucky. Her family and friends ate from its bounty all year long. A ginormous freezer chest in her basement was full at the end of the summer and ready to fill up again in the spring. Besides freezing the vegetables, the sleeping porch was full of Mason jars, always within hands-reach. Even into her 80’s, she worked a smaller plot.

The phrase “garden to table” was not used when Lulu was living, but that was the way she lived. It was her lifestyle.

In the late 1920’s, when she was twenty-eight and the mother of two boys and a daughter, Lulu and my grandfather moved to the farm on Mt. Eden Road. While the two-story farm house was built, they lived in the garage. This wooden building was basically one room. She washed dishes and clothes in a tin tub and cooked on a wood stove. There was a porcelain tub for bathing, and water came from the well. Every day, she fed the workers who built her home. She kept a coffee pot full and made biscuits each day to fill them up.

With all this going on every day, she was active in their church and home schooled her children. Lucile Hitt Collins was a generous, Southern lady, who had the gift of hospitality.

I believe Lulu knew what the above poem is talking about. Her own garden of daily living was an unselfish one, and she gave of her time to make the lives of others better. All through her life, I saw her taking joy from the flowers and vegetables in her garden. Every year, toward the end of February or the first of March, she would call my mom to tell her that the daffodils were finally blooming. Winters in that part of Kentucky sometimes isolated her from her friends and the town, so a sign of spring was time to celebrate. Those daffodils spoke joy and warmth to her.

Image result for photo of daffodils blooming in snow

So what shall I plant in my daily garden? What about you?

As Roy. T. Bennett said, ““Be the reason someone smiles. Be the reason someone feels loved and believes in the goodness in people.”

 

Bury the Past? Oh, No!

My grandmother, Lulu, loved history, and she shared its stories often. As a card-carrying member of the Daughters of the American Revolution, Colonial Dames, and the Magna Charta Dames, she was proud of her heritage. As a former teacher in a one-room schoolhouse in Kentucky, she never lost her love for learning. As a former home school teacher of her three sons and daughter, she put their education on a firm footing in their early years on Mirror Lake Farm, outside of Shelbyville, Kentucky.

When she wasn’t reading, she was writing. Her book shelves were full of history’s stories, both fact and fiction. She regularly visited the Shelbyville Library, attended her monthly book club meetings, worked as a reporter for the local paper, researched family history in neighboring counties, and wrote multitudinous letters to family and friends inquiring about their histories.

Carrying pads and pencils, she spent hours in the NSDAR Library while visiting with her oldest son in Washington, DC. She was an extraordinary researcher and never gave up on finding the truth, even if it meant chasing rabbits. She said she smiled when she walked into this library.

Born on May 17, 1896, in Woodford County, Kentucky, she never lived in any other state. Her imaginative travels to other places in the past would have made for good reading. She described them as if she had been there.

Whether it was the Hitt family traveling by raft down the Kentucky River to escape the Indians or Jesse James on a lathered horse, running from the law, the escapades were never dull.

And, yes, he is a relative I will tell you about another day.

 

As a retired teacher myself, I find it fascinating that my grandmother taught in a one-room school. For three years, she lived one month with a family and then another throughout the school year. This was part of her pay, free room and board, and the town shared the expense. Lulu took her packed pail to school, just like her students. Wood for the stove was donated, but it was her job to lay the fire for the day during the winter. She had various numbers of students throughout the year, since school attendance was governed by the crop season. Grades 1-8 worked at the same time in the same small room; it must have been bedlam at times with all the recitations.

This teacher and lover of books became the wife of a future farmer when she married Wallace C. Collins. Moving from Louisville to Shelbyville, she cooked over an open fire while their farmhouse was being built. The family lived in the garage until then.

As the Collins family increased, so did the work for Lulu. She made her own butter and bread and canned and froze vegetables from her garden. Rising at 4:00 each morning, she fixed breakfast for the family and any workers that were there. My dad often spoke of the biscuits, gravy, potatoes, bacon, sausage, and eggs that were a staple.

On Wallace and Lucile’s 25th wedding anniversary in 1943, Wallace died. At age 47, Lulu took over running their tobacco and dairy farm on Mt. Eden Road. During this time, the tobacco make the farm payments to the bank, and the cows paid the other bills. Both were necessary to make ends meet, and Lulu never faltered.

When we visited every summer, it was a unique experience from our city life. We always went in June, and I slept in my aunt’s bedroom. Roosters woke us up, and the mooing of cows headed to their pasture from the barn was the breakfast music. Several times a day neighboring peacocks visited and added their raucous noises to all within hearing distance.

It was like time stopped for me there. The agenda was loose, and the days were lazy. We went to the Shelbyville County fair, visited relatives, and checked out the horse farms. I read to my heart’s content and listened to the tales of yesterday. The cadence of the voices was mesmerizing, as both nostalgia and excitement peppered the stories.

Oh, how I wish I could remember more. Bury the past? Oh, no!