MUSINGS ON BABY CARE

My mother with Clint, Milo, and Baby Hallie

Here we are on the last day of September, so if Hallie’s baby, “Little Guy,” is going to have a September birthday, he’ll have to hurry. I suspect he’s reluctant to leave the comfort of his present abode. Maybe he’ll come on his Uncle Clint’s birthday, October 6. It's a lovely time of year to have a baby.

Anyway, when Little Guy gets here, I’ll go to Seattle for a few days to help daughter Hallie take care of him. It’s tradition. My mother did it for her daughters, and I will do it for mine. However, methods of care have changed, and Hallie has gained so much knowledge on her own that I’m not sure I’ll be of much help. Maybe I can at least give her confidence. She will soon see that she and Nick really can nurture this little person. Nevertheless, I’m grateful for the opportunity to bond with him early on. I think that’s important.

I was just six when my sisters began to have babies, and I was right there to help. (Well, okay – they let me watch.) Do you know that we didn’t bathe them in water for the first week or so? In the ‘50s and ‘60s, we cleaned them with a cotton ball saturated in baby oil -- absolutely no water until the navel healed. I guess somewhere along the line the medical community decided that didn’t matter so much. My babies (born late ‘70s / early ‘80s) enjoyed baths in the kitchen sink.

And how about all those lotions and potions and powders? Mennen’s Baby Magic smelled great! And powder was sprinkled liberally on baby’s tush until we decided the talc just wasn’t the thing for his lungs. Somehow millions of us survived anyway, or we think we did.

Baby Clint gets a sink bath

And the new baby came home from the hospital with the expectation that his bath would occur in the morning. That schedule worked for me until I had the third one – Hallie. Then I struggled to supervise two little boys while I bathed her. “There’s nothing set in stone about the baby’s bath time,” Mother said. “That’s just what the hospital does. Bathe her at night when the boys are in bed.” That’s what I did, and it was great together time for the two of us.

When I was a little girl at the family home in Orofino, the large house across the street was called, “Hayden’s Apartments,” but in earlier decades, Mrs. Hayden ran a kind of hospital there. That’s where my mother’s first baby, Harriet, was born in 1930. Mother said that the screams of women in labor could be heard all over town, and as time for the birth approached, she asked the doctor at what point she would start screaming. “You aren’t going to scream,” he said. And she didn’t. I figured that was Mother’s subtle way of letting me know that screaming would be unnecessary and unhelpful. I didn’t scream. KW

A SAD PASSING

I’m not an avid reader of the local newspaper, but I try to look through the obituaries. As one who has lived in this region most of her life, I know people and recognize names. I think it’s important to keep up with who’s no longer with us.

Ina with her daughters & Patty

I opened the obituary section some weeks back and immediately recognized a photo of my cousin Patty. Apparently, she had been in failing health for some time. I didn’t know. As little girls we were occasional playmates, but we weren’t close and lost touch in adulthood. I reached out to her from time to time, but while she was cordial, it was clear she wasn’t interested in visiting. Well, it just feels like a lost opportunity.

Kathy & Patty

Patty, two years older than I, was my first cousin once removed.  Her mother, Shirley Jean, and I were cousins. Her grandmother was Aunt Ethel, my dad’s sister (and perhaps best friend). 

Roberta and Marilyn Shockley

For that matter, through online search a couple of months ago, I discovered my cousin Roberta was deceased as of 2017. She had been living in Maryland. While I can’t say we were ever close, her mother, my Aunt Shirley, always remembered me with a gift from her daughters, Roberta and Marilyn, at Christmas when I was small. They came to visit at the farm, too. I always think of them fondly. I was sad that I would not see Roberta again. 

Ethel, Shirley Jean, & Ina; Patty on floor

These were people who were part of Ina’s world, a world that I contemplate from time to time, a world that was almost gone by the time I was born. KW

Photos:

#1 -- Ina Dobson and her daughters: Pearl Sanders, Shirley Shockley, Ina, Myrtle, and Ethel. Ina looks to be passing her first great-grandchild, Patty, to Ethel, Patty's grandmother. This was taken on the south side of the front porch of the farmhouse, late September 1947.

#2 -- Kathy and Patty, Christmas at the farmhouse with Ina, 1952. Patty is five; I'm three.

#3 -- Roberta and Marilyn Shockley in the "kitchen yard" at the farm, July 1944.

#4 -- A four-generation photo taken Christmas, 1952 -- grandmother Ethel, mother Shirley Jean, and great-grandmother Ina -- with Patty.

 

THE CHANGING RETAIL SCENE

I headed to Albertsons last Wednesday morning (Sept. 15) to pick up a few groceries, and while I was there, I got my whooping cough booster so that I can play with my new grandson when he arrives.

Then I did my grocery shopping. Much to my dismay, Albertsons is adopting a “club” format, and I overheard the cashier telling the customer ahead of me, who had declined to enter her phone number, that one must now enter a phone number in order to receive the club prices and specials. I hate to see grocery stores become exclusive. We should be able to buy our food without such superimposed rules, especially in those areas that serve all walks of life. My Albertsons is a small store located on Highway 12. What about people who aren’t regular customers but just stop to pick up a few items as they travel?

“Many people just don’t want to enter a phone number,” said the cashier in confidential tones as I punched mine into the machine. As I’ve waited in the check-out line, I hardly ever see anyone entering a phone number. I suppose Albertsons/Safeway has studied the situation and knows what they’re doing, but I wonder if they’re killing themselves. If you know the area, you know that Walmart is just a block away.

And today, as I checked out at Albertsons, the cashier casually mentioned that in ten days they will begin charging for plastic sacks. JoAnn’s is already charging. Again, I try to remember to take my reusable shopping bags, but I don’t see other shoppers providing their own bags.

And then there’s Walmart, and they mess with the system in their own way. Sunday morning, Mike and I went there to buy dog food and a few other items. The store is upside down and inside out as they “remodel,” whatever that means. The beauty supplies, which used to be right inside the south door, are now on the opposite side of the store. School/office supplies are in the garden center – probably temporarily. Pricing labels cannot be trusted, and the employees are as clueless as the customers. We got the dog food and left. We agreed it had not been fun and vowed not to return until the remodel is complete. Then we will have to relearn the store.

We went to the farm for a few hours on Saturday. Mike bought a new 4-wheeler from a dealer in Spokane Valley, so we went to the farm to get the trailer and bring back the 4-wheeler we had borrowed from son Clint.

My zucchini squashes are misshapen – a bulbous stem end tapering to a point that tends to have blossom-end rot, but the plants still look good. I picked half a dozen ripe tomatoes. The pears are now falling from the tree and the deer have indeed been eating them. KW

 

COUNTRY FRUIT

Monday morning, as I watered the fruit trees with cistern water, I felt a sudden drop in pressure. As instructed under such a circumstances, I hurried to the cistern and turned off the pump. Mike checked, and sure enough! The water level is low and the pump is sitting high. So, that’s it for the cistern water until we get a good rain – or maybe several good rains – and then I probably won’t be watering any more anyway.

The pond is another indicator of water level, and it’s really low. The cattails are taking over, especially in the old part. It’s disappointing because we had hoped to have a nice pond. Mike put a lot of effort into it. Some of the other ponds in the area are nearly dry.

Apparently rain is in the forecast for this next weekend, which may alter Mike’s plans to hunt. It’s opening chukar season in Idaho. But then, I think the game bird season has probably been altered anyway by heat and wildfires. The guys have discovered that many of their favorite places are burned.  

Just one Rome apple tree that split apart

The country fruit is poor this year. Some years the pears are a normal size, but this year they are itty-bitty. A bunch blew off in the windstorm last week, and the deer will probably find them soon. 

 

Mike munches a Rome apple

The apples are small, too, as well as wormy and mealy. The plums, or Italian prunes, are better, but the plum preserves I made years ago were a hard sell.

 

 

 

Italian prunes above Stove Creek

Mike and I headed down the road on the 4-wheeler last Saturday, just to get out of the yard, see some sights, and also pick up a little trash. “Elderberry Alley” is a lost cause. The bushes are dead or struggling. 

Elderberry bushes above Stove Creek

Other elderberries we have checked are not juicy, but fortunately, I still have two quarts of juice from last year. I thought it was silly to save that juice, but now I’m glad I did. I also have serviceberry juice, so there will be jelly when I get to it. It’s the jar lids that might be the problem, though I have some old ones. I’m really not afraid to use them. There’s always the freezer if they don’t seal. KW

MORNING HIKES

Farmyard from June's field

It has cooled considerably – the temperature, I mean – and the coolness feels good. Initially, it felt so good that I didn’t even trade my summer clothes for warmer wear. I’m layering my clothes now because afternoons can be quite warm.

Plank's Pitch

Now that the fields are harvested, we have enjoyed hiking, both our place and the neighbors’. I have donned jeans and boots and joined Mike and Bess for the morning hikes.

Smoke in the canyon

This morning it was just Bess and me on the hike because Mike is riding with friends into Joseph Plain. In the spring, Bess was reticent to go with me if Mike wasn’t along, but this morning she readily led the way. We walked beyond the pond, up June’s field, and then across the top. We have lots of trails left by the harvesters, but as I walked north, I overshot the main arterial. We had to double back, but we didn’t mind.

Thursday morning I looked out the window to see a big heron sitting on the barn roof. I was lucky to get this shot through the window. And on a recent evening, we saw two deer in the yard between the house and barn. Mike opened the front door, and the stare down commenced. They are quite bold.

Interesting pine tree in the north gulley

We had a brief storm Thursday evening – wind, lightning, rain – but really very little rain. That seems to be the pattern these days – a quick, ferocious storm with very little moisture. 

A curious deer pauses to look us over

Friday was dark and dreary. We didn’t see it rain, but Saturday morning our boots became caked with mud during the hike, so we figured it must have rained a little during the night. The sun is still hot, so the world dried out quickly. It’s still hazy, but visibility has improved noticeably. Field burning has resumed. This morning, we noticed dew. Remember dew?

Photos here are a selection taken during our hikes. KW

LATE SUMMER UPDATE

Wednesday morning, September 8

 

 We had a nice Labor Day Weekend in town. Sons Milo and Clint worked with Mike to convert an old Gary Fisher mountain bike to an e-bike. It was actually Milo’s project, but Mike has the shop and the tools. After fixing any problems with the bike, they installed a pedal-assist motor on it. The project went well (for a change, you might say), and Milo left Monday with his dream bike. He also bought himself a helmet with turn signals. What will they think of next?

New credenza; old TV

Mike’s part in the bike project was finished by Sunday noon, so Milo helped him carry the flat but heavy box containing our new “you assemble” entertainment credenza into the house. It was good that I didn’t have to be the other half of the lift team. And Mike spent Sunday afternoon assembling it while I mostly looked on.

We did come to the farm last week – just an overnight trip to water the gardens and fruit trees, etc. I picked one nice ripe tomato off the Siletz vine and we had BLTs for lunch. Today I picked three or four more. I find it pays to pick them a little on the green side to keep some garden marauder from nibbling on them. I estimate that the plant has about a dozen more tomatoes of various sizes and shapes – green but beginning to whiten and turn orange. I see no blossoms. I suspect the plant feels the change of seasons.

My garden hod

And the zucchini is just disgusting! Such robust plants and the squash remain immature! Last week I picked half a dozen “mini” zucchini, thinking that this might encourage the plants to produce more. Perhaps that worked. Today there are several larger squashes.

Our overnight lows are a little cooler as we move toward autumn. It takes longer for the day to warm up, and evenings cool more quickly. The long shadows lend enchantment to the evening scene.

The deer still cavort on the far side of the north field. We see plenty of them right now. 

 

 

Bess pointing huns at canyon

We have a couple of coveys of Hungarian partridges in residence, and Mike has seen chukars at the canyon. A hummingbird came by last week looking for the feeder, so I rehung one on the front porch. I needn’t have bothered. He didn’t return.

Our iris beds in town are totally overgrown, so we’ve spent some time digging and separating the rhizomes. We brought a bunch to the farm and I set them out on the bank behind the house. I’d love to have an array of lovely iris, but they’re expensive to buy, and it just isn’t worth it. We’ll just keep planting the leftovers from town.

And it’s DRY! Mike came back from the pond this morning and commented that the old part hardly has any water and the cattails are taking over. Even the weeds are dying from lack of moisture. It’s ironic that the East suffers water devastation while we are parched! It’s also smokey again – really quite smokey. We could smell it in the early morning hours and the buttes are obscured. KW

HERE AT LAST – THE LONG-AWAITED SEPTEMBER

Mid-century baby in bassinet

This is it! September is here -- the magic month in which Little Guy, our new grandson, is due to arrive. Or, he could decide to wait until October, as his mother predicts. Such is the way with babies. His mom is now enjoying her month of prenatal maternity leave. She just bought a used Baby Bjorn bassinet which she and Nick will repair.

Mid-century baby on bathinet

Last evening, a family walked past our house pulling a 2-year-old in a rickety old wagon lined with a blanket. The round-faced, dark-haired little boy was taking in the sights. I was reminded of the wagon we bought in anticipation of our family walks.

1950s

In sewing blankets for Little Guy, I have watched video tutorials to review mitered corners and learn to work with those soft minky / cuddle knits. I let Man Sewing show me how to hem gauze for swaddle blankets. And as I merrily machine stitched the hems, leaving the bobbin thread on the right side of the fabric, I could feel my mother’s disapproval from somewhere over my 1shoulder. “Hemming should be done by hand,” she says, as Grandma Portfors and Aunt Bessie nod in approval.

1950s

 

“Things have changed, Mother,” I say to myself. “We don’t have time for that.”

And it’s true. We don’t have time. Most sewing gurus today promote more casual techniques than those practiced by the sewists of yesteryear. But it’s not just the time. I know that within months Little Guy won’t need these blankets, and they will find other uses – or other babies. They will be serviceable wherever they land. What more did we want?

1965

Sixty years ago, one of my sisters had a summer baby, and of course, we didn't know the baby’s gender in advance of the birth. Mother bought some lovely white seersucker patterned with pastel pink and blue balloons. She made a kimono (gown with front ties) and a matching wrapper (blanket) and embroidered the hems with
variegated floss. Such a lovely set! Of course, it looked feminine and the baby was a boy. He wore it anyway to his first doctor’s appointment, and someone remarked to my sister that she had dressed him like a girl.

A fleet of old Tonkas waits for Little Guy

To Mother’s generation, the distinction between boy and girl baby clothes was somewhat blurred. And today with all the advances in prenatal care, it’s just a different world. We know Little Guy is a boy, so we’re careful that if his stuff isn’t totally masculine, at least it isn’t girly. KW