June 28 is celebrated as the Great American Campout (originally the Great American Backyard Campout), but it was shortened in 2015. It was created by the National Wildlife Federation, it is a nationwide event designed to encourage people of all ages to unplug, connect with nature, and enjoy the outdoors by sleeping under the stars.
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My first thought is “Home on the Range” which was sung in our household. Camping was a wonderful activity but rarely done in my youth. When I had a family of my own it was fun. I would spend Fridays mowing the lawn, any outside work, etc, packing up food, sleeping bags etc all ready for when my husband came home from the office. I must admit he was reluctant at first, but seeing the household and outside jobs done, he had no excuse to stay home. Of course the kids loved it. The words of this song aren’t said much these days and some are objectionable and definitely outdated.
The last loop of the track was brutal. By the time I reached the end my vigor and bounce were gone. The string of contestants as well as a stream of relatives and friends in the crowd, paraded in front of the judge, a well deserved welcome to the winner’s circle. In the future I will tinker with my bike, but right now, a car to drive me home and my hot tub sounds like heaven!
MLMM- First Line Friday – The Folks by rugby843, posted June 25, 2017
My parents are not generous, with money or affection. Of course that was their generation’s ways. I say that because it’s an excuse one uses when your homelife isn’t the ideal. My parents were indeed hard workers. My mother cared for four ailing grandparents that lived with us and spent many a night answering their calls for anything from water to medicine. Once in a while I would sleep down stairs on the couch to help her. She washed clothes in an old wringer machine and traisped out to hang everything on the line, even in freezing cold weather. She sewed, knitted, crocheted and made our clothes. She cooked, baked, everything and used ingredients from the garden and our dairy farm. Our cellar was full of canned or bottled ingredients. I can still taste the items she made and I miss them. I loved her without measure.
My father was a machinist in the next town at a large shop named Cone Automatic. When not working there he worked at our dairy farm, early morning and late after work. Occasionally he would play the piano or banjo, even the fiddle, at a Saturday night dance. It was a family affair with people and neighbors of all ages attending.
In between these events, life for the folks probably was not horrible, but my observation as a child was that life could have been better for them.
I remember one time, the first time I saw my dad show emotion other than anger, he cried. Sat on the porch steps, held his head and cried. He was driving home with his brand new car, a spectacular Chevrolet, complete with small fins and two toned turquoise and white paint. A big tree limb fell on it about a mile from home and he was devastated. Of course the huge purchase was important, but he was a fanatic when it came to car maintenance. He wouldn’t allow drink or food or much conversation, at least from the backseat. Of course he was a three pack a day smoker of Lucky Strike cigarettes, so that was fine. He used to joke that when the ashtray was full, it was time to trade for a new one. Thinking of it now, older and wiser, I hope, I imagine the cars were his saving grace, a way of feeling okay and proud of himself.
I don’t remember much about allowances. I know we were responsible for certain chores and keeping our rooms clean and neat. There were plenty of rules to follow and of course break occasionally. My dad’s step dad used to drive a Model T automobile. On a Saturday we loved riding in the backseat and rolling the curtained windows up and down. At our destination, my grandfather would give me a dime to spend on any treasure I found. It was the highlight of the week. Money wasn’t a priority with us as children. We had more than enough to feed and clothe us properly as provided by our farm and lands.
The Bag Lady 
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