Sucking the Honey From Honeysuckle



I felt the first sprinkle of rain last night while riding to Berea on our old motorcycle. It actually felt good and as we rode further into Berea the rain gently pelted my bare arms. We pulled into Sonic and parked under the shelter. After eating a sandwich, we headed home, and was thankful to find that we had missed most of the rain showers.

Later, after resting on our front porch for a while, we decided to take out the loud, orange with red flames  – 750 Honda that all of Kirksville is able to recognize from the loud sound coming from the straight pipes – out and chase the sun for the evening.

The sweet fragrance of honeysuckle assaulting the rain fresh air was the first thing that received my attention as my ears took a moment to adjust to the pressure from the helmet.  

“Do you remember sucking the sweet honey from the the honeysuckles, when you were a little boy?” I asked Mike, leaning in so he could hear me.

I drifted into a memory coma for a few minutes, thinking of days playing in the fields and walking the fence line around the farm. Parts of it was covered in the honeysuckles. In late spring – early summer days, the vines are in bloom with pretty little yellow flowers. in the center we found a bud filled with honey. We would cap the bud, and suck the honey. Umm.

As we continued our ride, I breathed in deep breaths of the fragrances of wet hay, grass, weeds and the wet animals as we rode by farms. All of this reminded me of my days on our farm in Garrard County.

We didn’t ride long, but we did follow the sun and I took several pictures of the sun as it was setting. The rain intensified the many odors and fragrances in the air, and I think there is nothing any prettier than the Kentucky Hillsides and valleys after a fresh soaking.

The world was beautiful  last night. I would say though, if we looked – really looked at the world around us each day, we would discover hidden beauty, and fragrances that will remind us of home and sweeter times.

We didn’t stop to pick honeysuckles, but I can recall the sweet taste – even now, after all these years.






Madison County Kentucky

Downtown to RedLick, Estill Panola and Kingston 396 Kentucky Scenery Downtown to RedLick, Estill Panola and Kingston 347 Downtown to RedLick, Estill Panola and Kingston 337 Downtown to RedLick, Estill Panola and Kingston 321 Downtown to RedLick, Estill Panola and Kingston 320 Downtown to RedLick, Estill Panola and Kingston 319 Downtown to RedLick, Estill Panola and Kingston 316 Downtown to RedLick, Estill Panola and Kingston 304 Downtown to RedLick, Estill Panola and Kingston 277 Downtown to RedLick, Estill Panola and Kingston 251 Downtown to RedLick, Estill Panola and Kingston 245 Downtown to RedLick, Estill Panola and Kingston 237 Downtown to RedLick, Estill Panola and Kingston 222 Downtown to RedLick, Estill Panola and Kingston 220 Downtown to RedLick, Estill Panola and Kingston 174 Downtown to RedLick, Estill Panola and Kingston 148 Downtown to RedLick, Estill Panola and Kingston 142 Downtown to RedLick, Estill Panola and Kingston 137 Downtown to RedLick, Estill Panola and Kingston 136 Downtown to RedLick, Estill Panola and Kingston 135 Downtown to RedLick, Estill Panola and Kingston 134 Downtown to RedLick, Estill Panola and Kingston 127 Downtown to RedLick, Estill Panola and Kingston 103 Downtown to RedLick, Estill Panola and Kingston 101

 Madison County Scenes

Madison County Scenes

Still in Love After Seventy Years of Marriage

The gravels crunched beneath my tires as I drove my automobile up the inclined  driveway.  Bits of grass grew wildly between some of the rocks.  After parking, I took a moment to view the house I was about to enter. 

 The two story older home looked like it had new siding – a pale yellow color.  The front held two porch swings –one on each end of the concreted covered entrance. The lawn neatly mowed looked inviting. The trees in the front looked as if they were coaxing me to pull up a lawn chair and sit beneath them on this warm summer day, I immediately thought of my childhood home. 

As a writer, this was my first time of interviewing people for something other than memory writing. Although I was a little nervous, knowing the couple I was about to interview for an article that I was writing, kept most of the butterflies at bay.

 After walking the path to the front door, I banged loudly on the door to attract the attention of the older couple I was visiting.  They were expecting me.  I could hear the television – even with the front door closed.  I knew Cecil wore a hearing aide.  Many times sitting a few pews back from them at church, I’d hear his hearing aide buzzing because he had it turned up too loud.

 Sally ambled to the door and after opening it, she invited me in, greeting me with a huge smile. After instructing Cecil to turn off the TV so that they could hear me, Sally offered me a seat.

 The floral sofa did not match the floral chair.  Most of the furniture was mixed matched.  Photographs of their son, grandchildren, great and great great grandchildren lined the walls, shelves and tables. The hardwood floors held a variety of throw rugs.  I noticed white country style curtains hanging on the windows in the family room and the kitchen.  I wasn’t sure about the curtains in the rest of the house since I hadn’t seen it yet. I did notice the beautiful antiques, furniture and glassware. 

I began my interview, starting with how long they had been married, (seventy years) to what times were like when they first married. I soon realized this wasn’t going to be a typical interview.  I had to yell my questions, and they answered what they thought the questions were, most answers didn’t have anything to do with what I’d just asked.

 These people were about the sweetest married couple I’d seen in a long while. The way they answered the questions together or looking at each other and their mannerism was refreshing. The couple brought back my faith in the institution of marriage. Although my intention was only to interview  women, they were so tightly joined that it would’ve been almost impossible to just interview one of them.

They told me things like, we’ve never gone to bed angry with each other, never had a fight so big that divorce was contemplated, always worked hard and made decisions together. Cecil proudly says they’ve never purchased anything they couldn’t pay for in cash. They don’t use credit cards and don’t live above thier means.

Sally and Cecil say that their faith in Jesus Christ is what has sustained them through their marriage and just recently through the loss of their adult son.

Cecil and Sally attend church regurlary every Sunday and requires no special accomendations such as handicap parking and wouldn’t hear of being treated any differently than every other church member.

When I grow up, when I’ve been married seventy years, I hope to be as happy as Cecil and Sally are in life.

High School Reunion Time

By Darlene G. Snyder (find me on facebook)


Another picture of beautiful Kentucky River at Buckeye in Garrard County


No way.  Unbelivable. Has it really been that long?


The invitation came in the mail today – so, it’s true.

Reading the names on the reunion committee brought a flood of memories. The flood though, must have garbled my brain somewhat for I had to pull the old 1973 yearbook off the shelf to match committee member names to the faces in the yearbook.

In the past, I’ve received invitations from another high school’s 1973 class reunion.  I’d grown up in one county with a certain group who I went all through grade school, middle school and even went to high school with them for a year and half.  Then my family and I moved.  Those people at my first school are the ones I know the best – spent the most time with – I’d fit in better if I could attend thier reunion and just pretend I did graduate with them.  Wonder if anyone would figure it out.  I mean, if they invite me surely they want me there, shouldn’t I just go?

There wasn’t anything wrong with the school from where I did graduate.  In fact, I made some wonderful friends there. During my senior year, my friends, Charlene, Clelly and I became best friends.  On senior skip day, we drove to a state park, met other classmates and had a picnic.  On ballgame nights, we’d stay in town after school, walk to the courthouse square, eat in the local drug store restaurant and meet-up with some of our favorite guy friends. During the ballgames, most of which we never watched, we’d roam around to see who was with whom. Those were the days.

Moving to another school in the middle of my tenth grade year really wasn’t that tough.  I made friends pretty quick and before I knew it, I was a junior in high school , then a senior. You know how time flies.  Some of my friends were dating, but I wasn’t allowed to go on dates until I graduated from high school.  Sounds crazy, I know, but daddy wanted to hang on to his girls for as long as he possibly could.  Not dating didn’t really cause me or my sister too much trouble though.  We were rather shy in nature, not in the “popular” crowd, and besides, it wasn’t like we were even being asked out.  I don’t know why though, neither one of us was ugly…

Daddy did allow me to go on a double date to the prom with someone whom he knew I didn’t like as a boyfriend.  I want to tell you what I wore to my senior prom.  I swear it’s true.  I have pictures to prove it. My mom made me a pantsuit.  The pantsuit was white with big, humongous, kelly green bicycles all over it. I kid you not.  I bet had I looked close enough, I would have seen the word ugly written in the spokes of the bicycle wheels.

Now, I always considered myself to be very fashion minded.  However, it is evident from wearing that pantsuit that there was a time when I must have not been thinking clearly.  Even if it were 1973, wearing a pantsuit was one thing, but an ugly one?  I can’t for the life of me even guess why I thought that it was ok to wear that thing – ever, especially to my senior prom. And I wondered why no one ever asked me out, ha!

My high school days were filled with fun.  I was lucky enough to have attended two different schools in that four year period.  I have friends from both and I wouldn’t trade memories of one place for the other. I must admit though, I’ve never attended a class reunion from either school.  This year though, I might just attend the reunion…maybe both if I’m invited.

If I find time to hunt down that picture of me in the pantsuit, I’ll scan it into my computer and post it here later. Come back and look for it, it’s too funny to miss!



What Makes A Good Mother’s Day?

Braxton and me on Mother\'s Day  This is my grandson Braxton and me on Mother’s Day.  I had him hold my finger because when Eric tried to snap the picture, Braxton’s hands were always in front of his face.  Isn’t he adorable!

On to other things…

I love listening to Tina Turner.  My son, Eric makes fun of me and can’t comprehend my attraction to her music. At least he respects my choice of music.  The Mother’s Day card  he and April gave me was one of those Hallmark cards that plays music.  Imagine my delight when I opened it and read, “You simply rock and heard Tina singing Your simply the best. The perfect card! Eric actually had purchased one for April and she insisted that I needed one exactly like it.  Bless her heart!

The journal, photo album and my sterling silver grandmother necklace were great gifts and I loved them, but the best part of my day was spending time with my family.  Braxton wanted to sleep most of the day away, but he did wake-up for a feeding.

I enjoyed our church service also. The men cooked and served breakfast early and afterwards I sang in the all women’s choir making sure to stand next to a great soprano singer…I never sounded better!  She sang loud enough that I couldn’t be heard so I was able to sing my heart out.  I can’t carry a tune at all, but I thought I sounded good next to her. Thanks Janette.

Today, I cooked lunch for the family.  My mother came to eat with us too.  While cooking and putting the meal together I recalled a Mother’s Day long ago when my sister and I decided we wanted to cook lunch for mom and the family.  We were probably ten and eleven years old.  I can’t recall everything we cooked, but I can just see us standing in the kitchen mashing those potatoes with a hand held non-electric potatoe masher…they turned out rather soupy. Ugh.  I’m sure that’s why I don’t like mashed potatoes now.

My sister and I took mom out for breakfast yesterday and then shopping for her Mother’s Day gift. She loved her gifts, but the time spent together meant the most to her.  She and I agree that when we try to recall all the gifts we’ve received for Mother’s Day in the past, nothing really comes to mind.  Maybe, gift cards, cash or jewelry, but for the most part, what we remember are the meals eaten together as a family and the fun we shared.

For most mothers, it isn’t about the gifts, it’s more about children acknowledging that the day is special because of thier mothers.  All we really want is time with our children.  Usually, that ends up being the most expensive gift for them to give.






Rock on a Fence Post

By Darlene G. Snyder (find me on facebook)


Rock on the Fence Post  This photo was taken last summer at Buckeye in Garrard County Kentucky near a place where my husband’s great grandmother was raised.  When I snapped the photo, the only two things I noticed was the gate and the old house.  When Mike saw the picture, he noticed immediatly the rock sitting on the fence post.  He reminded me that farmers always left rocks to use to hold the gate open while they drove through.

That litte tid bit caused a flood of memories.  I can’t recall how many times I’ve gotten out of a truck to open a gate and looked for a rock to hold the gate open.  Sometimes if there were more than one of us in the truck, one would stand and hold the gate open while the other drove through. When I was younger, I loved to jump on the gate and stand on it while it went flying backwards. Sometimes I even had to climb the gate to get to the hook on the other side that kept it locked. This type of memory really isn’t significant.  Even so, I wonder how many of our children ever had to hold a gate open or ride on one.

I’m currently working on preserving memories. I want to write a combination of my mother’s memories and my father’s, and how they met.  The things they experienced are things I will never relate to or understand.  What they went through didn’t seem important for others to know, now small things like gates and rocks are bits of interesting information.

I’m also preserving some of my own memories. I’m reading and working through a book called The Legacy Guide.  There is a website also which has helps that go along with the book. It is a guide with questions and statements to help readers recall buried memories in order to record them in a format style suggested by the book.

This got me to thinking…what about you? Do you have insignificant memories like swinging on a gate?

I’d like to hear from you about buried memories of yesterday.  If you have a moment, drop a comment about a memory from your childhood, or life long forgotten.

Have a great week!