Morrow Family Tree

For 89 years and through many generations, the Morrow Family holds an annual reunion in Tidioute, PA. I was given the Morrow family name as my middle name upon birth, and have proudly kept it over the years, whilst other names have come and gone! Betty Morrow Stevens recently introduced me to our “Cousin Bob Morrow” and included me in the growing “B. Morrow” clan within the family tree, which began nearly 200 yrs. ago with Robert Wallace Morrow. She forwarded this cleverly scribed poem of quite a prolific bunch, outlining the Morrow lineage in rhyme.

The Family

MORROW, (Robert and Sarah Nancy) was our ancestor's name

From hardy, pioneer stock they came.

With the sweat of their brow and the toil of their hand

They established a home in Penna.'s rugged land.

To grace this union, in due course of time

Susanna Jane was first in line.

When to womanhood she grew, she had not long to wait

For Andrew Robertson, whom she took as her mate.

To them, Robert, Harry and Raymond were born;

Tragic death took two. Raymond only to manhood grew.

With the passing of time, as the records will tell,

The stork's second visit brought Juliette Isabelle.

Belle married John Shanly, and with him by her side

Her two motherless sons she took over with pride.

Then Maudie, Bert, Rob, Bessie, Edna and Fannie

Appeared with a regularity almost uncanny

Little Maudie had not long to stay; the hardier five

Are still with us today.

Johnathan Lenz came third, a fine sturdy lad.

With wife Gertrude Palmer, Robert, Joseph and Adaire they had

Three handsomer lads one seldom would see;

How they've remained batchelors is a mystery to me.

Harriette Seville came fourth, a true bundle of joy.

Hatti married Jerome Morrison, himself quite a boy

Came Jim, Bill, Agnes, Tom, Bob and Harry—six children in all,

Three are still here, three have answered the call.

Then came Mary Elizabeth to gladden the house.

The handsome Will Bimber she took for her spouse.

Grace, Harry, Walter, Ray, Archie, Marion and Edmund--

a fine family are they.

The second one (Harry) has now passed away.

Next William Sherman came into this life.

Isabelle Chambers he took for his wife.

Eight children they had--Charlie, Marshall, Rusell, Luella,

Fred, Annabelle, Sara and Walter--

And 'tho left alone, Belle's stout heart did not falter.

With courage undaunted she tackled the task

and raised a fine family from first to the last.

Nettie Matilda next raised her sweet voice.

The gallant Bruce Fairchild was the man of her choice.

Helen, Irene Robert, Frances, Mary, Jim and Ted—four girls

and three boys

is the family that came to add to their joys.

They brought them all up with more or less ease,

Now they're doing real well with their college degrees.

Carrie Leona now joined the gay throng,

With husband, Fred Holcomb, two children were born.

She was left a young widow; then Will Tapp came along

And their forces were joined to raise quite a throng.

With her Gladys and Raymond, his Bill, Margaret, Harold and Ted,

They had a full house from the day they were wed.

The stork, somewhat weary, now paused for a rest

'eer Bertha Luella was placed in the nest.

She married Robert Fairchild, a man of much sense.

And William and Marjorie were their blessed events.

The descendants of those mentioned in this bit of a rhyme

Are too numerous to mention in a brief space of time,

But they're here in great numbers, and together the crowd

Makes a mighty fine family, of which we're real proud.

And 'tho many have gone to the rest they well merit,

I'm sure that today they are with us in spirit,

And happy to know, that 'tho they are gone,

The tradition they started, we still carry on.

SO HERE'S TO THE OFFSPRING OF THE GREAT MORROW LINE:

MAY THEY MULTIPLY AND PROSPER TO THE ENDING OF TIME

By Miss Edna E. Shanly.

July 20, 1952

I sincerely hope we can join you this year. I look forward to seeing you again for the first time!

Brightest Blessings to All,

B. Morrow (Holcomb Tapp Miller Feeley) Evans...whew!

Morrow Family 2006

Food Inc. The Movie

“Frozen Banana” Shake

I was recently inspired by “Tommy’s” restaurant on Coventry in Cleveland Heights who is offering a free milkshake for Facebook fans who post a memory.  Tommy’s is best known for their sensational and unique combinations.  I purchased a bag of really ripe bananas then baked and shared as many of them as I could before I began to run out of ideas.  In an attempt to risk their sacrifice, I decided to make a banana milk shake.  My personal challenge was to make it as healthy as possible preserving the food value, while avoiding “unfriendly” dairy.  Not sure how “good” it would be sans the ice cream, I satisfied both sweetness and creaminess with whole, ripe bananas and it goes something like this:

3 lg. Ripe Bananas

1 ½ c. Almond Milk

Generous dose of Organic Chocolate Syrup

Sprinkle of Penzey’s fresh Cinnamon

½ tsp. Penzey’s Cake Spice

Several Ice Cubes

Blend on High Speed until smooth

Variations on this recipe include: Oat Milk or Rice Milk (also naturally sweet)

½ tsp. Agave Syrup to sweeten, in lieu of the Chocolate Syrup

A dollup of Yogurt, Vanilla Pudding or Orange Sherbet; if you have no dietary considerations.

1 tsp. of Pure Vanilla Extract for added dimension!

Have fun and try your own combinations you may crave, and please, share your creations.

Heart Day Cookies

 
When I was 4 years old, I received a parcel in the mail from my Grandmothers. A shoebox wrapped in brown paper and tightly tied with white cotton string contained a greeting card inside wishing me a “Happy Valentine’s Day”. The card was particularly special because inside was a metal heart-shaped cookie cutter with the best cookie recipe for rolled butter cookies. Beneath the lumpy card was my first doll, a “Raggedy Ann” doll whose face is painted with the most sincere smile. What made Raggedy Ann especially significant for Valentine’s Day is the heart tattooed on her chest that reads “I Love You”. My Raggedy Ann had an additional heart, a pink candy heart that also read “I Love You”. I remember asking my Mom if I could have the candy heart and she told me that I could since Raggedy Ann would forever have a heart with the message of love.

The Valentine Cookie recipe became a tradition in our home. My Mother would make a production baking these cookies every year to share in our classrooms, for neighbors and at home. We all took part individually decorating the carefully rolled, crisp and flaky heart-shaped butter cookies. I remember seeing the cookies in stacks 6 high once they cooled, parsing them into equal numbers for each of the lucky recipients. Mom made royal icing from scratch adding a couple of drops of red food coloring to turn it the most perfect pink. From that first bite, I knew what “pink” tasted like! In the center of the heart, we positioned a candy heart with a selected message, just like Raggedy Ann’s. I topped-off the surrounding 3 points of the heart with heart shaped-cinnamon red-hots, later becoming a staple in our home for these annual cookies and Mom’s homemade signature pink applesauce come fall. I remember placing three cinnamon hearts to represent “Home”, “Family, and “Love” because “with these, what more did you need”. As I became the “Mom” and the daunting task of making these Valentine Heart Day Cookies became my legacy, I soon realized the huge responsibility with which that commitment came. It did not take long before I took a year off and made them biannually. With my daughter fully grown and family separated by many miles, it has been so long since I have made them and am long overdue! I have been craving them recently which reminded me of our “Heart Day” tradition and our reason for making them altogether…”Home”, “Family” and “Love”.

Extra love to "Dad S." (Arnie) for his appreciation and acknowledgment of my cookies and me. He took great pleasure in sharing his portion with others!

“Thankfulness Thursday " and every day of the week

As we move into the New Year, I am faced with many notes of thanks to those who created and shared another wonderful holiday season. As time passes, it becomes a more daunting task, overwhelming me as an assignment rather than a sincere gesture. Ironic since my first blog article was about the etiquette of writing “thank yous”.

I have a list of business tasks and phone calls to make, cookie dough in preparation of baking cookies and “eleventyninethousand” other things going at once and am putting all that aside to write my mass “thank you”.

First, I wish to thank you, my readers, for your cherished feedback since I began writing creatively this past year. Your comments and memories are as pleasant for me as remembering my own! Social media like Facebook has put me in touch with many familiar old friends and introduced me to many additional new ones. Through these mediums, I am able to share my experiences and knowledge while gaining even more from you. Thanks Charisse for your personal instruction how to best use these mediums. Thanks Beth for ‘hooking me up” with this technology in the first place, and the lap top with which to put it in motion. I should also thank your husband Jim, for keeping my equipment and software updated so that I may participate functionally. I also will thank you for feeding us unbelievably well throughout the year. Beth procures culinary gifts that exceed any expectations she herself may have and presents a feast of surprises every time we are in their presence. Some of these inventive recipes of which I have boasted over the holidays are featured on Windespherewitch. When Beth is involved, there is always food whether at their home, our home or her Sister’s home, where we reveled in the annual solstice supper with friends and family. This year really rocked with additional folks I had the opportunity to meet as bartender! Good food, great fun and the most excellent gingerbread brownies, Molly & Ellen! Thanks so very much Ellen and Peter for your warm hospitality you generously bring here to share every winter from southern CA. We also appreciate your giving us Sting’s Christmas CD “If on a Winter’s Night”, to which I am currently listening for inspiration. For those who are not familiar, this music was recorded during winter of 2009 in an old Tuscan home, Ceilidh style, with a group of Celtic musicians and their authentic instruments while gathered around the kitchen fire drinking hot beverages to keep warm. Your Solstice and Christmas get-togethers set a similar scene created in your cozy traditional hearth-centered home overlooking the valley.

The Christmas cards flowed like molasses until just the week before, when a deluge of greetings in colorful and sparkly artwork donned our bookcase from top to bottom. Among them were letters from family with whom we have not seen in many years. What a treat to hear from them and read about the rich memories of Christmases past; like our German Christmas tree, that we shared every year throughout my childhood. I have already composed responses to you all to which I keep adding thoughts as they resurface in my heart and mind. Of course, we received most recent kids’ photos from dear patients and of our own grandchildren. Daughter Laurel’s family continues to grow with their 3^rd son due in March. Eldest son, Brandon, turned 5 yesterday and Christopher 3 on Christmas Day! That is one heck of a present.

Shortly into what is already proving to be a pleasantly hectic New Year, I came home one night to find a message in my Facebook inbox from someone I was not familiar, about a subject that helped mold me into who I have become. “Robileth Lodge” it read, which would be pretty cryptic for anyone who has not experienced Robileth Lodge personally. A really long story shortened, another family had also spent summers in Ontario, Canada as guests at the exact same private place we stayed from 1967 into the 1980’s. Never having known this until now, I have been spending time nearly every day reliving the precious memories with new friend “Robileth Lodge Karen” and her brother, swapping stories and photos of many summers past. Having just missed each other in passing by a day or even hours, what a gift it is to find someone in space and time to relive those life-shaping events. This has been the inspiration for me to send “Happy Holiday Thank You Greetings” in January in the future. The New Year typically brings bills and tax information and necessary dietary changes that remind us we may have overindulged. I am thrilled to know so many of you and thank you Karen, for introducing yourself and family into my life. If the film “The Lake House” had not already been written, this would be our story!

As gifts we exchanged on Christmas Day, Beth especially expressed the pleasure and ease with which she magically found her presents for everyone this year. “They simply presented themselves” she proclaimed, like the perfect cocoa pot for our early am coffees or late evening teas in the privacy and peacefulness of our bedroom. It occurred to me that the other side of giving as well as receiving was the cheer we miss hearing about all the wonderful things others receive. As Beth reviewed her list of thoughtful gifts, I found myself as excited to hear about them as she was obtaining them, so on this “Thankfulness Thursday”, I wanted to share my many gifts with you too with wishes of spreading that same holiday cheer into the New Year and New Decade this 2010.

Special note and thanks to Facebook friend of a friend, Mr. Higgins, for sharing the concept of “Thankfulness Thursday”.

Our German Christmas Tree

Holidays are about tradition and Christmas time is the time of year our family celebrated with friends and family for 2 weeks during the holiday break, between Christmas and New year. Our family’s tradition was our German Christmas tree. As the story goes…my Mother’s Great Grandfather resided in Leisnig Germany as a Jeweler. It was during the U.S. Civil War era, he became quite patriotic toward the United States. There, he fashioned a traditional German Christmas Tree with an American flair, from materials around his shop and village. The completed tree stands about 6 feet tall, fully assembled when displayed on its wooden packing crate.

Every other year, we would visit my Mother’s Brother and family for Thanksgiving when we would exchange the multiple boxes containing the tree. Being 100 yrs. old by the time I was born, the contents were much too fragile, not to mention valuable, to ship. At first, I remember going to our Gram’s home where she proudly featured her Husband’s family heritage. After that, Gram spent Christmases between my Uncle’s house and ours, following the tree religiously. With antique toys and live candles, we were verboden to go anywhere near the tree.

One year when I was in high school and my older sinister was on break from college, we decided to take it upon ourselves to tackle the assembly which had become a “Rubik’s cube”-like challenge with its warped platforms and bent fan blades. The tree required periodic maintenance and I can picture My Dad and Uncle touching up the red, white and blue paint coating the picket fences and peg-legged farm animals rigged by wooden matchsticks. Many pieces spent the night in the vice so as to fit into its respective place, or the integrity of the entire product would fail. They meticulously numbered and labeled each piece for repacking and reassembling.

I was assigned “Great Expectations” to read over the Christmas break, which is the only reason I got out of church that morning. The otherwise privileged college student & I figured we were now old enough to raise the tree, let alone even touch it. Nonetheless, no one was home to tell us otherwise. We collectively managed to put it together, invoking the precision of a Swiss watchmaker and perhaps, our Great, Great Grandfather. Our parents were thrilled and impressed so we were "permitted” to assist in future years. It was a rite of passage until we all married, had families of our own and were never “responsible” enough to house The Tree ourselves.

The years we were blessed with the German Christmas Tree demanded an open house. Neighbors, family, friends and the local press, approaching 200 in number, would flow in and out of our house all evening. The periodic cold blasts of air from the opening of the front door would temper the heat that built up from the 45 Angel Chime candles illuminating the tree. This reprieve was essential for the tree to function properly. You see, a German Christmas Tree mechanically constructed of merely wood, is an engineering marvel of moving parts. The tilted fan blades topping the tree would catch the rising heat from the candles, causing each tier to turn. The animals were antique German toys originally filled with candy and positioned on each turntable. Wild animals donned the first, birds on the second, domestic farm animals on the third, and a miscellaneous collection (from over the century plus), on the fourth. When the surrounding air became too hot, the tree would come to a halt and when there was too much heat beneath the tree, each turntable would spin wildly out of control causing the animals to literally go flying! We would laugh at the familiar “chunk-ing” sounds from the fallen creatures. It was our cue to notify Dad that some candles needed to be extinguished. We soon understood why so many of the less stable critters had prophylactic limbs.

I mentioned that the impetus for the “spin” (pun intended) on this tree was my GGGrandfather’s patriotism for this country, inspiring him to paint the hand-carved picket fences from wooden jewelry boxes in white with red points. The blue fence posts on each corner supported the metal candle holders from watch cases. The top level featured Uncle Sam painted in the American flag, a now politically incorrect Black Sambo, an elephant, a donkey and a black cat representing superstition. Each blade of the fan alternated red, white and blue, affixed to a bent center support rod pivoting on a pin on the base of the tree, adorned by the Nativity. Old Hummel-like figurines shared the scene with more animals and a handcrafted manger cradling a wax baby Jesus. The wax Jesus was original and feel the true miracle is that it hasn’t melted into oblivion under the extreme heat all these years! When we had our own homes and incorporated our own family traditions, our Mother presented each of us with a table top version of the carved wooden German Christmas Tree. As touching a gesture as that may be, it undoubtedly alleviated her of a little guilt. This tiny tree is much easier to put together, remaining in mostly a single piece where both animals and people are permanently affixed to each layer. I take great pleasure lighting it several times during the season and remembering what it represents. Now my daughter would like it to grace her home for her children. Someday…

Whatever you celebrate or honor or recognize at this time of year, traditions like these are the most cherished and memorable. Our ancestors passed down these traditions from differing cultures to share a little bit of home and themselves, during this special time of year.

“A” Is For “Apple”

Its apple season and I sure miss the wonderful apples my Dad used to grow in our own back yard. When we first moved to Moreland Hills, I was the youngest of 3, just turning 6 years old. Dad acquired a three acre property complete with fruit trees, most of which being apples of various types. We each claimed a tree from that point on was referred to as “Beth’s tree”, etc. I chose the Jonathan, a sweeter, smaller apple hence a smaller tree of which I was capable of climbing. In addition to my tree, the yard was dotted with a couple of Golden Delicious, twin Granny Smiths, a Cortland and a Baldwin.

Dad soon learned how to care for his orchard. He went to the library to research sprays and pesticides appropriate for our region, when and how to prune, what to assess and maintain the trees he grew to take pride in year ‘round.

On those early autumn days while the weather was still warm and the late season sun cast an amber glow across the lawn, the air was crisp with the sweet fragrance from apples that had fallen to the ground. The yellow jackets buzzed around the decaying fruit the deer had left behind. We each grasped a corner of the durable woolen army blanket beneath Dad who was teetering 12 feet above us on the rickety old wooden ladder, poised to catch either him or the individual handpicked apples with care. The well-choreographed event prevented the precious fruit from bruising, requiring the unexpected phenomenon of teamwork. Wheelbarrows full of fresh multi-colored apples were carefully transported to the garage to be sorted, hand polished and measured into bushel baskets for sale.

I remember being escorted into the bank to open our very own individual savings account. Our first deposits totaled a healthy sum, even for the 1960’s. We continued to follow the same tradition every fall, introducing a different activity each subsequent year. The first year we attempted to squeeze our own cider with an antique cider press, only to find our efforts futile. The following year, we drove our harvest further out to the country to Patterson Fruit Farm, a large yet still old fashion operation. They systematically weighed our vehicle by driving our apple heaped car onto the wooden platform scale, weighing again after unloading the baskets and crates then compensating accordingly for the difference. The disappointment for me was discovering that the cider we brought home was in fact not from our apples with which I had developed a personal relationship. Some cider was enjoyed immediately, some stored to become “hard” and some kept and aged for medicinal purposes like sinusitis and digestive ailments. I got why the old adage “An apple a day keeps the doctor away” originated.

The bushels of freshly picked apples were transformed into pie and applesauce my Mom made in quantity, storing in the freezer for us to enjoy all year long. She taught me how to make the best deep-dish pie, 6 at a time! She showed me how to can applesauce she rigorously put through the ricer then slow-cooked, finally adding cinnamon red hot candies to sweeten, lending its characteristic pink colour. Decades later while living in Wisconsin, Mom sent me a huge box of individually wrapped apples from home. She included a blend of different varieties that carefully formulated a balance of both flavor and texture. It came to be known as the most expensive pie ever, considering the cost of postage by weight and volume. In anticipation of their future visit, I was also determined to make it the best!

The years past and weather took its toll on my tree. The sheer weight of ice following an unseasonable storm split my tree in half, too much of a shock for it to survive. Mom had the foresight to collect the last of the few apples that poor little tree would ever produce, and deliver them to me. Mom and Dad continued their apple ritual, earning a reputation in the community as well as with charities. They sold their now highly regarded apples to friends and neighbors, donating all proceeds to support Heifer Project International. Mom would take her pink applesauce from the freezer and package it with her signature chicken soup for friends who were ill or receiving chemotherapy.

When Dad died in 2004, all I could think to say in memoriam was the experience we had through the life of the apple. I offered an apple on the altar in memory of Dad, our teacher; of growth, harvest, teamwork, economics, sustenance, health, sharing and caring, respect for Mother Nature and the spirituality expressed by the symbology of the apple. Thanks Mom & Dad for the lessons learned and the lifetime of inspiration.