editoradmin
Gloria
by Merry B. Harris
She is a nightingale
And I a starling
Who cannot sing as well.
Her words have sweet sorcery
Of their own making.
Mine can cast no magic spell.
She has ten Golden Talents,
I was entrusted one.
But God decrees that we not hide
The talent that he gives.
I sing my poor songs
Lest he chide.
But when I listen raptly
As her spell-binding words
Pour forth in liquid gold
I know that her sweet words
Have magic notes
A starling cannot match, nor hold.
Maritime Caravan
by Max S. Barker
Marshalltown, IA 50158
Caravan! The word conjures up romantic fantasies of desert sheiks on camel ships, and exotic food in hidden harem oasis tents. Dreams!
Reality topped dreams on our Maritime Caravan, planned and led by Al (‘Double Zero’ on CB) and Fran Schoeller, Winnebago Int. Travelers. His trademark is organization so adventure, safety, friendship and eats was assured. ‘Zero’ was our trouble shooter who brought up the rear in case of trouble.
At St. Andrews, New Brunswick, 29 Winnebago Motor Homes from Arizona to Florida, Arkansas to Minnesota, met. The 59 people were divided into four sections with a captain in CB communication with each unit. Piloted by men and women (yes, four women drivers, one 81 years young) our land cruisers brought adventure and excitement as we rolled over 1500 miles in 25 days on city streets, forest trails, sea-side mountain roads and sea ferries.
Members cooperated on timing so we were able to see forts, museums, reversing falls, tidal bores, and major sights in New Brunswick, Nova Scotia, Cape Breton and Prince Edward Island. Al and Fran were constantly surprising us with boat trips, tours to quaint fishing coves, Magnetic Hill, Anne of Green Gables Music Show at Charlottetown on P. E. I. where the book about real characters took place. We camped in the huge city shopping mall and were welcomed with gifts; tourism is number two in the Maritimes and folks there make you welcome.
At the end of each day’s trip, Fran would be on hand with a red glove pointing to camp. Next day was more London double-decker trips, bagpipe bands before our rigs, gospel singers, dress-up dinners… and more before a final banquet in Woodstock, New Brunswick.
Caravan! New friends, fun, adventure, exploration, hearty laughs and quiet Sunday morning services in beautiful camps. No dream sultans ate lobster, clam, steak chowder, ice cream, ginger cake, and blueberry muffins on their caravans. No sheik on his desert ship sailed over mountain/sea vistas like the Cabot Trail in Cape Breton in the comfort of our flying W’s. None, that is until the era of oil and the Winnebago.
Robin’s Return
by Willametta Keffer
This is the field where I was born,
Met my mate, and raised our young;
Today the tree where our nest was hung
Is toppled and every branch is torn,
As is my heart. Where is my mate?
Frightened away by the building crew
Who think to improve by something new
The quiet meadow, the stream, the gate
Where every spring we watched the cow
Await the farmer to let her through
To an orchard’s fruit that we shared, too.
Cow, Meadow, mate – Where are you now?
Stones
by Harvey Clotsman
Canora, Sask., Canada SOA OLO
Solid, silent, secretive –
The last sentinel at the end of life…
I’ve loved stones always –
The warm little pebbles that tickled my feet
As I walked barefoot on the farm trails.
Then there were the big stones – boulders –
Weathered with age and creviced,
With violets growing in each open groove.
How comforting and strong they seemed!
One especially I remember –
A big rock encircled by a willow grove,
I would go there, as to a shrine.
Leaning against its sun-warmed side
I listened enraptured to the song of birds;
the soughing of the wind;
Smelled the scented air of the summer flowers
And sailed the sheep-clouds on the soft blue sky.
Stones – the silent historians of man’s toil!
The Walls of Jericho; King Solomon’s Temple;
The Pyramids – all stones…
Watching – solid, silent, secretive.
Snowbound
by Maybelle Irene Burke
Paw Paw, MI 49079
Back about fifty years ago, Michigan had a very severe snow storm. Truckers then had no CBs, but they had regular routes, stopping in small cafes they became well acquainted. Driving Michigan’s coastal highways was an ordeal in those days, and then snow-moving equipment was small and inadequate.
On one particular occasion snow had been falling in ‘rags’ as old-timers named it. Not tiny flakes but thick pieces like handkerchiefs. Traffic slowed, cars were kept idle. Farmers who made weekly trips to town, remained at home. Most had milk cows and chickens so bread or biscuits could be made quickly; nearly all farmers bought flour by the barrel or 50-pound bag. Sugar also was bought in large quantities. Most basements held fruit and vegetables the thrifty farm women had canned during the harvest season.
The skies were black with snow clouds and windshield wipers couldn’t clear heavily impacted snow. One driver, seeing he hadn’t a chance of making it to the next town, pulled over to what he judged to be the side of the road. He knew if he tried to wait it out he would freeze, so he walked to the nearest farm.
Now over the vast white expanse of snow, there pulled up a train of trucks. They had remained close for obvious reasons. They were in a rural community, called Glenn, with houses not too far apart. The men had no recourse but to ask for food and shelter.
Farmers opened homes and hearts to the strangers and kept them for nearly two weeks. They were getting low on supplies, however, with milk, eggs and flour, they had the makings of a hot meal. So the women made pancakes – and more pancakes.
After ten days the small snow equipment plowed through. Every year thereafter for a good many years, the truckers returned again to eat pancakes in the town of Glenn. One year they hired Aunt Jemima of pancake fame to make the Festival more of a celebration.
In time the Festival was discontinued. Possibly we need storms to bring people together.
The Showcase
Being a Presentation of the Talents of Members of the United Amateur Press, this issue financed by Ruby Quillman, Betty Millar and Willametta Keffer
Published at Shady Acre, Roanoke, VA 24014
Presenting: Max S. Barker, Maybelle I. Burke, Harvey Clotsman, Merry Harris and Willametta Keffer