Onjbei
a farm
-And a
bazar
Joyce B
We are slowly recovering from
the loss of two beloved, long-time
companions.
Their demise occurred almost at
the same time, after having served
faithfully and productively. Both
played a role in our everyday
lives, so much so that a sort of
mourning period lingers.
It was actually a week earlier
that the first symptoms of unheal
tincss turned up in the computer.
Busy writing for this column, I hit
the key combination to save the
last few paragraphs. Having lost
copy in the past to sudden power
outtages, saving the data to the
disk every few paragraphs is just
second nature as a protective
measure.
But, the “Save” command
brought only a “Disk error” expla
nation to the screen. Tried again.
Same result
Now a bit of worry set in. Per
haps the drive head just needed
cleaned, though it had been done
not long before. But to exit my
word processing program and be
able to go into the cleaning mode.
I’d lose all that had already been
written.
Luck held while 1 finished and
printed the column. A telephone
diagnosis suggested a simple, no
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8 MI w
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cost, interior cleaning job on a
particular lens would probably
render the patient good as new. I
tore the system down, hauled the
computer to the “hospital,” and
after an hour’s worth of outpatient
surgery, owned a computer with
considerably less interior dust.
It worked! Until a week later. In
the middle of another column.
Another call brought a more cost
ly diagnosis: probable “mother
board” problems. Engine failure,
so to speak. My system faced a
major transplant considerable
expense with no guarantees or
replacement
Consultation with a computer
whiz friend and a timely sale on a
computer of considerable more
size, speed and capability and
less cost than my dying, obsolete
model had been made the deci
sion to “pull the plug” inevitable.
Discovery that my old printer
could be adapted lessened the
pain.
While still waiting for the
replacement surgery to be com
pleted, fate swiped a second
friend.
We had planted the pair of wil-
low trees in the back yard when
the kids were just small, probably
some 20 years ago. One was a
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corkscrew, with curlicue, erect
branches. The second, slightly
smaller but more spreading, was a
classic weeping willow.
The kids rarely played in the
corkscrew willow; its growth
habit was too tight and dense. But
the weeping willow, which had
split early into two distinct trunks,
was a natural jungle gym.
A playhouse platform in it
could be reached on the crude
wooden steps nailed to the one -
trunk. Cats spent as much time in
it as did the kids. Yearly, a pair of
mourning doves returned to build
their nest and raise a family.
Robins found the willow, which
overlooked both flower and veget
able gardens, handy for launching
worm attacks.
Roots of the willow now prot
ruded from the ground at its base,
making mowing there hazardous
to the mower blades. But, in the
nature of weeping willows, most
of the root system was right there,
near the ground surface.
After years of having rain run
down the tracks, the moisture
accumulating where the two main
sections split near the base, the
center of the graceful willow had
rotted. Under the force of the
year’s latest round of relentless
winds, unsupported by the shal
low root system, half of the wil
low simply fell over.
Two days later, an early morn
ing cracking sound signaled the
collapse of the other half.
A new computer arrived home
to replace the hole on the desk and
calm my growing panic of having
to write without a word processor.
(Thanks to Shrewsbury Radio
Shack computer surgery specialist
Dr. Mike and his assistants Cal
and Tom for their dedicated and
good-humored guidance through
this reconstructive operation!)
The gaping hole in the backyard
skyline and the ragged hole in the
border will take a little longer to
be reconstructed with a transplant.
Farm
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7 Love You, Mom’
(Continued from Pago B 4)
Heidi Negley
Cumberland Co. Dairy
Princess
She’s not a mother yet, but she
hopes someday she will be. I know
she’ll be a good mother. She’s lov
ing, kind, and patient
She has been like a mother to a
few calves, a pig a batch of kittens,
and a Imab. She pitched a tent in
the bam to stay closer to her pig
that was ready to give birth. She
even takes care of her brother like a
mother hen, protecting him from
harm.
I believe God chose Heidi just
for the purpose of being a daughter
any mother would be proud of. I
must be the richest mother.
Joyce Negley
Lancaster Farming, Saturday, May 6,1W3-B8
TO MY MOTHER,
BARBARA BERNARDINI:
Thoughts of Mother bring to mind
A loving lady, wise and kind
Blue eyes that shine, pink checks
aglow—
She is more dear than she can
know.
When as a child I was distressed.
She put my petty cares to rest
“Not feeling well, what’s bother
ing you?”
She’d ask, and then the truth
pursue.
By her kind words my fears
allayed.
Her care helped me be unafraid
Compassion, courage. Love and
play
She taught me in her gentle way.
“And how are you, dear Mrs.
Bloom?”
She’d ask as I from room to room
Would wheel my “baby” carriage
fine.
Wherein there rested “Caroline.”
While cooking if she burned her
finger.
She suddenly became a singer:
“0 my gosh, my gee, my jingo—
I (just) burned my Little pingo”
New seasons brought such joy to
me—
For Mom another singing spree:
“Over the river and through the
wood”
And other songs from her
childhood.
At first, she’d sing and I would
listen,
But before Long we were in
unison
Singing oh so merrily
We cared not if we were “on key”
And now, Dear Mother, I ask You:
How can I give the thanks you’re
due—
As time goes by, the more I see
Life’s beauty, joy, and ecstasy:
Rich gifts, please know, YOU
gave to me.
Helen Elisa Meador
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