Five Things

1.  This is the week that robins and bluebirds traditionally are seen on the mountain.  Not this year!  Winter is hanging on, but I have seen a few signs of spring:

• a roadkilled raccoon
  
• a roadkilled skunk
  
• geese flying, not north, but in circles
  
• a dog with his head out a truck window
  

2.  Recently we saw Ladysmith Black Mambazo perform in State College.  Wow.  Amazingly creative sounds, sparklingly funny personalities, beautiful worship songs in an African tongue (Zulu?).  They were introduced by an NPR hostess who loved their songs of peace.  She just omitted mentioning where that peace comes from.

3.  Our granddaughter Anna (the cutest baby in the world-- and as soon as we remember how to send pictures from the camera to the computer, we'll prove it) and our Siamese cat Chai are beginning to have things in common: they both are fascinated by the sound and feel of papers.

4.  We watched Mama Mia! last week and the songs have not yet stopped running through my head.  Recommended.

5.  "Thanks!" to all those friends who recommended watching "24."   

Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery.  Thanks, KatE.

Groundhog Dog

There are a number of reasons to make this "Groundhog" post:

1. It's Groundhog Week.  

Our famous friend Ben "Fogspinner" Hughes 

dislodged Phil from his burrow 

early on Groundhog Day this past Monday morning.  

Phil saw his shadow, 

implying there will be six more weeks of winter.  

Sorry, folks.

2. I've been going through some of my mom's papers

and found a paper titled "Groundhog Dog"

that Dad had written at Mom's urging.  

My mom really 

really 

really 

really wanted to be a published writer herself,

but instead her legacy is her students,

a few of whom were published due to her encouragement.

Perhaps she would have appreciated blogging.

3. This month marks the sixth anniversary of my Dad's death.

4. With the current economic conditions, 

you may find this information useful....

                                         "Groundhog Dog"

          Today when I talk to people about a groundhog dog they wonder, of course, if I haven't slipped a few gears.  Everyone has heard about rabbit, coon, bird, and even deer and bear dogs, but groundhog?

            During the Great Depression of the thirties (I never did understand why they called it "great") my father made a living at the barber trade.  I can remember haircuts were twenty-five cents and a shave was fifteen cents.  We rented a small three bedroom home in DuBois for $18.75 per month.  One of our main staples was groundhog.  Not many people eat groundhog today, but during the depression a lot were consumed with great relish.  My mother would cold pack the small pigs that my father would carry home and in the winter the sweet aroma would fill the house and could make the mouth of a king water.  

  

           In order to supply this sweet meat to feed three sons and a wife, my dad used a groundhog dog.  Fanny was the name of this black and tan, airdale, and other various breeds crossed to make a lovable dog that was death on groundhogs.

  

             Saturday always seemed to be the day we would take to the field in search of whistle pigs.  My older brother brother carried the small mattock.  My job was to carry the T-pipe used to follow the holes, and Dad had the Colt Woodsman 22 pistol.  Fanny would run the fields in search of a hog away from his den.  If she found one above ground she would move in to cut the retreating groundhog from its hole.  Then the fight began.  I would like to say Fanny never lost a battle--I can't, because she lost many a battle but won most of the wars.  Her black muzzle was scored from many fights, but when she got the pig behind the neck there was a whole lot of shaking going on and we would have one for the pot.

  

            During the heat of the day when most hogs were in the nice cool den, Fanny would go from one hole to another looking for an occupied den.  When one was found she would start to dig.  This was the signal for dad to call in the Rensel reserves.  Dad would get a long stick and shove it deep into the den hole to see the direction it was taking and he always left the stick in place.  He would then take the T-pipe I had been carrying and shove it into the ground looking for the hole.  When he could feel the pipe drop through the underground run we would start to dig.  Once we had the run uncovered, another long stick would be placed into our new excavation to check directions and again dad would push the pipe into the ground to find the run.  We could dig as many as five holes until we had the groundhog trapped between our manmade holes.  I forgot to give the job descriptions:  Jack and I did the digging and it was my father's job to watch the sticks.  When a stick would start to wiggle he knew the hog was crawling to that entrance.  Out the gray grizzled head of the pig would come to be met by a 22 hollow point from my father's Colt Woodsman.  After dad cleaned he chuck, we would fill in all the holes and move on to follow the dog to the next hole.  

  

          I think the record for a day was twenty-one groundhogs, but most days were six to eight.  In the evening they would be cleaned and cut up to fit the quart jars mom used to can.  During those days most people had an ice box so the meat could not be kept long  if it were not canned.  

 

           The education I received from these many outings was great:  for instance, a metal pipe will conduct electricity, a physics lesson I learned when crossing an electric fence and holding the T-pipe too low.  I would like to say it was a shocking experience, but I guess I'll pass that pun.  I can remember the biology lesson we learned when Fanny had us dig out a skunk.  I escaped the spray but Fanny and brother Jack rode home in the rumble seat of the Model B Ford coupe.  

 

           I'm sure Fanny was not the only groundhog dog in Pennsylvania in 1938 but I thought she was the greatest.  I would not trade my memories of these Saturday Safaris for the world.  My dad always said he would not live anywhere but Pennsylvania and I'm very blessed to have had a father that shared his love for the state and groundhog dogs with me. 

written by Bill Rensel

                October 1931-February 2003

2008 Newsletter: The Untold Stories

Welcome to those of you who are here as a result of the Christmas newsletter. 

 

It is a snowy night on the mountain. 

Gilda did fine until she got to our driveway;

it's the second time this winter

(and it's not even officially winter yet)

that Den had to retrieve her

from the bottom of the driveway.

The amount of time that passed

between Den's  leaving and returning

was a bit humiliating.

But I'm not here to write about the weather.

I'm here to answer newsletter questions:

Ben Affleck?  

Ben and Matt Damon were in Kenya earlier in the year,

where Ben met Aaron Adkins.

Aaron was one of Paul's groomsmen

who grew up in Kenya

and is currently working there.

Aaron and Ben spent a few hours hanging out,

and Aaron thought,

"Who can we call?"

Aaron decided on Paul, 

entered his Tanzanian number,

and handed the phone to Ben Affleck

only to have Paul choose not to pick up,

as there was something semi-interesting happening at the time.

Gilda?

Gilda is a 1990 Volvo wagon.

I first met her when she belonged to Aaron Adkins

(yup, same guy)

and She-Who-Cares-Nothing-About-Cars thought,

"That car is gorgeous!  It looks it's wearing a tuxedo and sneakers!"

The car is now is ours,

she and her quirks.

We named her Gilda 

after we pushed the clutch pedal to the floor

and it stayed

because,

as with one of Gilda Radner's characters,

"It's always something."

Currently the something is

a racing right-turn signal

and quirky wipers,

but has been brakes,

heater,

axle....

We love her.

Tossing snakes off the roof skills?

When we were re-roofing this summer,

at least two medium-large snakes

had climbed the ivy and were quite comfortable 

in the comb of the roof.

Den,

being the non-snake-phobic of the group,

tossed them off.

Iditarod?

We won't know if Den has made the final three

for the Teacher on the Trail

until late January.

If so, he'll travel to Alaska in late February.

Hope hope hope hope hope.

Knocked a hummingbird out of the air?

Den tossed a towel from upstairs onto the deck 

and when he picked it up later,

there was a hummingbird in it.

That same week,

the cat also knocked a hummingbird out of the air

but he used his paws.

Made the cat limp?

I shouldn't have indulged his request:

"I want to chase the balled-up paper! 

Please throw the paper!

Please please throw the paper!

Please please please please!

Throw it throw it throw it!" 

two days after he was declawed.

Three guilt-ridden months later he was back to walking normally.

Floating skills?

I can float in six inches of water.

Skills improve as the pounds go on.

Slid down waterfalls?

Yup.  In Malawi.

But be careful in slot canyons;

there may be flash floods.

New mouse-killing technique?

I knocked the mouse off the stone wall

and imprisoned him in a cottage cheese container.

Paul, not knowing I meant to release him,

rapidly shook the container.

Rapid death.

Any other questions???

Christmas blessings to all who read this.

Joy and peace,

Sue and Denny

A Thankful ABC

While cleaning out the costume closet last weekend,

I found my Pilgrim skirt.

"I'll wear that on Wednesday for Thanksgiving," I thought,

and put it in a good place.

This morning, 

unable to remember where that "good place" was,

I wore plan B,

my dad's leather Indian shirt 

complete with bones, teeth, antlers, 

hair (both horsehair and my mom's hair),

and lots and lots of fringe.

Today while kids walked under those fringed sleeves,

I asked what they were thankful for:

"Parents."

"My family."

"My mom."

All nice-but-bland answers

'til I got to one wild-haired boy...

"Banana cream pie!! We're having it tomorrow!"

In my classroom,

we worked on Thankful ABC lists.

B was for bologna,

G was for God,

and also for "Gesus" 

(makes sense if you think only of the letter name)

T was for "Teecher,"

X for X-box.

Den and I are working on our own list:

Antioxidants in dark chocolate

Bedtime reading

Chocolate milk

Desks, clean

Eggs, deviled (next on the job list)

Friends who pray

Grandbabies

Hot showers

Iditarod show on the Discovery Channel

Jobs finished

K

Lap cats

Moose Tracks ice cream

Nightly news (most of the time)

Owl sounds

Pilgrims (ten-greats-ago grandfather was Peter Browne, 

who actually not a Pilgrim,

 but was on the Mayflower)

Quilts (actually, down comforters)

Retirement is on the way!

Snowblowers

Trips just about anywhere

Uncle Jack conversations

Vacation days

Windows

X

Yancey books

Zappia's bread, warm, with butter

Happy Thanksgiving.

May this day find you truly thankful.

What is on your list this year?

100

My grandmother, Maud May Waugaman Rensel, 

was born in Sykesville, PA on November 17, 1908,

the fourth of six children.

I think of her often.

I think of her intricate, jungle-like gardens.

"Look, Susie, it looks like God used a purple paintbrush on a white iris."

She taught me that carrots are best eaten when standing in the garden,

a little dirt makes them taste even better.

Grandma made me costumes each year.

I won "most creative" in her gypsy costume in first grade.

She made a huge wardrobe for my Barbies;

only as an adult did I appreciate the tiny armholes and tinier buttons.

Grandma had great Christmas stuff,

and I could play with it anytime.

She'd make cutout cookies all year round.

(Poinsettias don't have to have red icing, you know.

And Kayro syrup makes icing extra shiny.)

Rainy summer afternoons,

we'd find our way to the attic

for the Christmas decorations 

that were stored near Uncle Jack's early taxidermy animals...

pasteboard houses, bottle brush trees, glass angel choirs.

She bought them in downtown Pittsburgh

when she rode the bus to her eye appointments.

She never drove.  Ever.

Grandma taught Sunday School

and Vacation Bible School.

Whenever I read Genesis 1

I picture her little planets for each day of creation.

"And it was good."

I remember her strong alto voice.

She had taken voice lessons in her youth...

great lung capacity, also good for burping.

No teenaged boy could outdo her.

She could rattle windows.

Sunday dinners were amazing.

Homemade rolls. 

Mashed potatoes and gravy.

Ham.

Homemade noodles with little pieces of celery.

Stuffed celery.

Candied sweet potatoes.

Corn from her garden.

Harvard beets.

Fried beets.

(I love beets.)

Raisin-filled cookies.

Apricot-filled cookies.

And pie! Cherry. Sour cherry.

With brown sugar streusel topping.

Maud was married the year Charles Lindbergh crossed the Atlantic.

She and Bernie eloped,

drove across the border to Salamanca, New York.

They survived the depression

with the help of a barber shop.

"Your hair grows even when you are poor."

She helped Grandpa Bernie build their camp.

Strong.

"Maud the Mule," she'd say.

She raised three boys 

with a sense of humor and great tolerance.

Who else would allow boys to bring rattlesnakes

into their backyard in town?

"Don't you dare lose any."

When Bernie died after a preventative Swine Flu shot,

Maud moved to Florida to live with her sister during the winters.

She who rarely travelled went to Europe,

to Oberammergau, Germany

to see the passion play.

She wrote us postcards,

and later, long letters

in her loopy handwriting.

They always included a joke or two. 

Always.

In her last years,

she lost her memories of most things,

but could belt out hymns to the very end.

Tonight, Paul, Katrina, and Anna came for supper.     

On the table were Maud's white china dishes, 

her figures of kids from around the world,

her tiny plastic Mother Goose statues

(more eye appointment finds).

Happy 100th birthday, Grandma.

I love you.

Susie

I don't know.... Alaska.

At the end of each first grade day, 

we learn another line in the song "The Fifty States That Rhyme."

We discuss what we might visit and do in each new state, 

then review what we've learned:

Did you know that you can search for diamonds in Arkansas?

That eating cheese curds makes a squeaking sound? 

Did you know 

that the stack of states from Louisiana to Minnesota 

looks like an elf?

That Montana looks like a man looking over a cliff? 

(Actually, I'm pretty sure the man is Richard Nixon.)

Did you know that parts of Alaska are dark even in the daytime?

We talk about Alaska a lot,

as it was my most recent vacation.  

Teacher prerogative.

Yesterday Joel asked me what the capital of Alaska is.

I replied, "Juneau."

Joel said, "No."

I said, "No?"

He looked puzzled. "No, I DON'T know...

 that's why I asked you."

True story.

S.

An Election Week Marriage

This week a friend got married again.

Her previous husband was taken by the war,

and though another serviceman had proposed,

she married a different man that she hadn't known long.

He seems wonderful in many ways--

calm, enthusiastic, smart, with many friends.

Some of his friends and their ideas make me uneasy,

and I wish she'd have known him a little better,

but she was financially unstable, 

and I think she was more than a little infatuated.

For better or worse,

I wish them the best,

and pray God will bless them both.