October 20: Pembroke Pines to Bradenton

We loaded up Cal's Lincoln on Friday morning: two big suitcases in the trunk, along with several smaller bags of stuff, a few of M's clothes hanging behind the driver's seat, a selection of cassette tapes resurrected from our dusty collection (the CD player in Cal's car being broken), and an assortment of books on tape from the library, two glasses of ice water between the seats. Then Mary-Lou and I left the rest of the family for our two-week trip to northwest Arkansas and back.

The idea for this journey came to me over a year ago. I would drive M to Pea Ridge where she could visit old friends and revisit Jack's grave, something I thought she would never do on her own again. Very quickly I dismissed it as nuts, altruistic notions tossed aside. Two weeks alone with my mother-in-law in a car? But the idea of it would never leave. And as it grew, it grew more attractive. Perhaps my many driving trips of the past year encouraged me to think that I could handle such a journey with pleasure. But I kept pushing the thought away. When May came and I was still thinking about the trip, I thought I ought to mention it to Cal. He also thought I was nuts. But moments later he encouraged me to do it if I wanted and blessed me for it. We talked of the calendar and decided the best time for it would be October. The summer came and stayed and my besetting sin continued to plague my heart. Some of my readers will know what that is. As the idea for the trip never left me, I finally decided to broach the subject with M. And she thought I was nuts. But after a day's consideration, she, who thought she would never trust herself to another woman driver, and who thought she could never return to Pea Ridge, told me that she was interested.

So I got to work planning the trip. She is one who just loads the car with snack food and maps for in case of lostness and sets out on a meandering drive. I am not of that persuasion, not with the amenities of Google Earth and Mapquest and email addresses of friends all over the Southeast. I finally presented our itinerary to her mid-September and she helped to fill in a couple of holes with phone numbers or addresses.

But the week of our departure I was sick with a urinary tract infection and maybe more and she almost died in the doctor's office with an allergic reaction to cortisone. Neither of us got packed until the last minute: hence the large suitcases. When you can't carefully plan, you take too much.

Our trip across Alligator Alley was fairly uneventful, except that with trying to heal the UTI, I had to stop often at the rest areas. It was a beautiful, sunny, hazy day. We both had our extra protective sunglasses on. We talked. I can't remember of what. Probably the scenery and our memories of driving trips. I heard again how she is happy to travel with no radio. I knew that. Which is why I didn't put anything on at first. There would be times later to listen to the tapes or the radio. And there would be times to converse. And there would be times to just travel in quietness. I could start the journey out making her feel comfortable.

The road between Naples and Bradenton was not as bad as she had remembered it, much of the construction being finished. Still, it was one of the least pleasing of all the roads we were on during our adventure. We arrived in Bradenton, she navigating fairly well by memory of her past visits to her sister-in-law's. We arrived at Fleta Boyd's about two-thirty in the afternoon. We unloaded her things from the car as we waited for Fleta to come to the door. Fleta has Parkinson's which slows her down. I sat with M in Fleta's living room after looking closely at the interesting art and family photos around the rooms until my hostess, Mary Jett, rang to say that she had arrived home.

Mary lives a few miles from Fleta in a condo she bought twenty or thirty years ago. For a few years I had lost touch with her, but we discovered each other just a couple years ago. Now that I was in Florida I had hoped to visit her sometime. She had been a good friend to me in the year of and following my graduation from college. It was a wonderful reunion with her. She is an incredibly cheerful and optimistic woman, twice widowed, truly in love with Jesus, her Savior, having been nurtured in Bible Study Fellowship for many years. I spent the afternoon with her catching up on our respective families.

At six we picked up M and Fleta to dine at Fleta's favorite Pennsylvania Dutch restaurant. M and Mary hit it off over supper; I hope they will spend time together in the future. But I was glad to be going home alone with Mary at the end of the day. I was also in increasing pain from the thing that had afflicted me throughout the week, so I begged for bed early. Sometime in the middle of the night I was in such intense pain in my lower abdomen that I thought surely in the morning I would have to turn around and return to Pembroke Pines, abandoning our trip. I knew M would be fine with this as she had told me so several days before. But two hours later, when I woke, the pain was virtually gone. Later that day and for a few days afterward I had mild pain in my kidney. It occurs to me now that I had been passing a small kidney stone. I'll never know. But I am thankful that we were able to push on. Mary took me to her favorite beachside restaurant in Cortez where I enjoyed a spinach/feta cheese omelette and a brief walk on the beach, after which we said our "see you later"s and I fetched M for the next day of our journey.

October 21: Bradenton to Havana, Florida

Saturday was a lovely weather day. I put on a cassette tape of classical guitar Christmas music and we headed up the Tamiami trail, crossing over the Manatee River, connecting with I-275, and then I-75 north. Before getting to I-10 where we would head east for our destination northwest of Tallahassee we stopped by one of the citrus stands along the road, settling on only two grapefruit for bedtime snacks later in the week. Everything else seemed too expensive for the quality. At least it was a chance to stretch our legs.

The drive west across I-10 was beautiful. I love this topography. Impulsively we thought perhaps we might stop and see old friends in Live Oak, but could not reach them. When we reached Tallahassee early, I stopped just south of Havana at the MacDonald's for a rest stop, buying M a cup of tea which she relished. Thought we might stop in at the Birkenstocks outlet, but never did find it. We reached the Masons' at 4:30 p.m. as scheduled. What a beautiful spot in the woods they have.


Ray Mason is a retired forester who hired Cal eight years ago to speak on environmentalism to a group of foresters from the southeast. They treated our whole family to a trip to Panama City, and on the way we stayed in their spacious home then with all the kids. Doris delighted us with food for which I later asked the recipes, and also with her extensive and official Beanie Baby collection in the nursery. As we pulled away from their home to attend the meeting in Panama City, she gave each of the children a Beanie Baby of their own, encouraging them not to remove the tags, as they would be more valuable later. Of course the kids removed the tags...

Ray and Doris were delightful company. Doris had a delicious dinner of peach pork chops and roasted asparagus ready for us. Ray fixed my peanut butter brownie ice cream sundae with chocolate malt sauce as well as dark chocolate syrup. We retired to the library where Ray led us in devotions, and then they told us the stories of their children and grandchildren, and a bit about the OPC church which we visited with them the next morning.

M was put in the nursery and I was given the upstairs guest room, filled with furniture from other rooms as they were getting ready for some flooring installation the following Monday. How lovely to be in the woods, where when the lights went out it was dark. One of these nights I would have to make a point of seeing the stars.

October 22: Calvary Orthodox Presbyterian Church

Though the Masons don't usually make breakfast on a Lord's Day morning, Doris made us praline pecan French toast, sausage, and coffee. (Oh, my, I ate on this trip!) Had time for a short nap before we loaded our car and followed them to Tallahassee to attend, for my fourth time, Calvary Orthodox Presbyterian Church. Our first visit there, eight years ago with the children, included a Sunday school taught by Herman Gunter IV whom we know now as Shannon Carraher's husband, and Lord's Day dinner hosted by Pastor and Mrs. (Mimi) Bill Hobbes, at the time newlyweds (He joked that as she was his biggest critic so he had to marry her to shut her up).

We visited again with the children on a Sunday night when we vacationed at Tom Ertl's vacation home. And Cal and I returned for our own weekend there a year later (that was just before the unexpected Chicken Pox plague), again enjoying a meal and an afternoon of fellowship with Bill and Mimi in a new home. It is a wonderful church, notwithstanding the candies the pastor passes out after the service. I was delighted to learn that it was Heather Finn's church while she was at FSU many years ago.

We enjoyed an informative Sunday school class by one of the elders on 2 John. I learned that it is a letter written to commend the readers for their Christian hospitality but to warn them strictly not to show such hospitality to the wolves in sheep's clothing that were afflicting the church. I thought it had much to teach us now, and much help to my thinking about how to treat those pursuing theological error. And another wonderful, reverent worship service followed. How I appreciate Pastor Hobbes prayers: so personal and bold yet humble and reverent at the same time.

Pastor Hobbes preached from James 1:12-18, asking Is God good? God has placed a witness in every heart. Therefore if someone asks if there is a God it is because they have a problem with God's goodness. James has told the diaspora that they should rejoice over all their trials. In verses 2--4 we learn of what pastor called the "upward road": Trials lead to testing which leads to endurance and finally maturity. Verse 12 speaks of the same road, contrasted with the wide road of Matthew 7. The man who endures temptation is blessed of God. Revelation 2:10 tells us "you may be tested, and you will have tribulation ten days" The ten days is a symbol that our testing will be limited. But it will be difficult. 2 Timothy 4:6-8 teaches that though we have a fight to go through, "Finally, there is laid up for me the crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous Judge, will give to me on that Day, and not to me only but also to all who have loved His appearing." James 4:12: "Blessed is the man who endures temptation; for when he has been proved, he will receive the crown of life which the Lord has promised to those who love Him."

He parenthetically examined seemingly intentional ambiguities in scripture. Is it a crown of life or is eternal life the crown? Is it the obedience of faith or is faith the obedience? Is it the love of God; or is the love of God that He first loved us?

Then we learned of the "low-ward road" in verses 14 and 15: Lust leads to sin which matures to death.

Are our trials from heaven and a sovereign God? No. Verse 17 tells us that His gifts are good and perfect; whereas verse 13 tells us that He does not tempt us. And verses 14-16 and 19 warn us how it is that sin comes from us. Pastor Hobbes capped it with verse 18 which shows us that though we trashed the world in which we live and breathe death everywhere we go, God's goodness never quit and "of His own will He brought us forth by the word of truth, that we might be a kind of firstfruits of His creatures."

So, since we know these things--about the upward road and the downward road and that sin comes from us and that God is only good, "therefore, my beloved brethren, let every man be swift to hear, slow to speak, slow to wrath..."

During the service, the last Gunter child to go through FSU was brought into church membership. I went to greet her after the service and talked about Herman and Shannon's kids, one of whom I have met and she has not. We followed the crowd to the fellowship hall to wait for Mimi who tells me that Tom Ertl has a woman and asks that I keep my eyes open for a husband for a lovely young single woman in her church who works with autistic children. It had poured during the church service, but now the sun was breaking through the clouds to reveal the beauty of the falling leaves. After a cup of orange juice and a few crackers with yummy dips, M and I picked our way across the mud puddles in the parking lot to head west.

October 22: Tallahassee to Mobile

We headed away from Calvary OPC in Tallahassee but quickly drove into oncoming thunderstorms. We saw the blackness come at us and soon we were in driving rain. It lasted just long enough to be stressful, but not to ruin the whole afternoon. I had put on Hymns Triumphant tape as we left church and it cheered us those miles through beautiful rolling panhandle country. After a while, we put on C. S. Lewis's Screwtape Letters (hopefully more on that later). We had been listening, the day before to a novel on tape that I had come across in the library entitled The Will by one Reed Arvin, son of old family friends who were attorneys in Kansas and fine Christians. The novel has a lot of father/son relationships so much as to make it a prominent theme. I wondered if Reed were working out his own relationship. But what a wonderful father he had. We did not finish the novel until the second half of the trip. I put it aside for Lewis because I joyfully take seriously Isaiah 58:13-14:

"If you turn away your foot from the Sabbath, from doing your pleasure on My holy day, and call the Sabbath a delight, the holy day of the LORD honorable, and shall honor Him, not doing your own ways, nor finding your own pleasure, nor speaking your own words, then you shall delight yourself in the LORD; and I will cause you to ride on the high hills of the earth, and feed you with the heritage of Jacob your father. The mouth of the LORD has spoken.”

Which brings me parenthetically to my internal mental struggles over how I should feed M and me as the day wore on. I cannot censor others, but for my own part, I would not only be at rest through the Lord's Day, but leave others able to rest, whether they choose to or not. Had I been alone, I would have fasted the rest of the day, waiting on the Lord to provide. I had hoped to perhaps visit an evening service at a PCA church along the way, and there may have encountered hospitality.

We came upon Pensacola way too early for the evening service at the OPC, planted recently by the Tallahassee church. At Pensacola we got off the highway, intending to locate the OPC church and thinking about returning from Mobile later in the evening after I had checked M into our inn. We followed a state highway that paralleled the interstate to the next exit. We decided to see what the town was about and to take a break. Must have got on the wrong highway because all we saw for miles were car dealerships. I ran in to a MacDonald's to use the bathroom and we continued our drive west.

The approach to Mobile was quite stunning. We were on a causeway for several miles, headed west toward clouds graciously covering most of the western sun. There was enough sunlight peeking through to make it very beautiful. We drove west through downtown Mobile long enough that I had worried that I had taken the wrong directions. We passed long blockfuls of large, old mansions on a wide boulevard overhung by Spanish moss on the giant trees. M began waxing reminiscent of Mobile and all of Alabama where they spent several productive years (Cal was born in Tuscaloosa) and where she and Jack had attended press association meetings in Mobile.

We arrived at our destination long before sunset, a place I had found online the week before. It was the one "splurge" of our trip and well worth it. And I'll recommend the Kate Shepard House Bed and Breakfast to anyone! As we pulled in to the driveway we were met by KoaBear, the chow dog, followed quickly by owner, Wendy James. She showed us our wonderful rooms, told us what was available for food in the area (not much on Sunday evenings), and welcomed us to a glass of sherry which we enjoyed on the front porch. When she brought us fresh, warm cookies, I asked her to take a photo of us to share with you:



The few minutes on the porch with our glasses of sherry, the smell of Alabama in the air, the southern hospitality made M pensive to the point of tears. "I wish I knew that Jack knows how happy I am."



Wendy was kind enough to let me use their computer to look up local PCA or OPC churches. I was still hopeful to make an evening service. There were several that I found including the one pastored by Ken Wendland, but the only one with an evening service was already in progress by the time I found it. So my mental stresses regarding what to do with M who did not wish to go with me were over.

We decided to catch some supper at the closest restaurant. Which was also her favorite kind of food! On the way to supper I got a cell phone call from Susan, so we sat in the car outside the restaurant for ten minutes while I chatted with her. The area of town on a Sunday night seemed dubious, but an elderly couple came out and recommended it to us. We entered Wintzell's Oyster House and were seated almost immediately. The walls up to the ceilings were stuffed with funny quotes on colored papers, and the waiters all had colored Wintzell Oyster House tee-shirts on. Of course M was in heaven having a chance to eat oysters in any form she wanted. She told me the story of the time she was at a nice function with her husband and was served her beloved oyster stew. She asked for a second bowl of it. And then a third, astounding everyone with them. And though she ordered a cup of oyster stew as appetizer at Wintzell's this night, they mistakenly brought her a bowl!

The wall sayings kept us busy at conversation, giggling at some of the sayings, marveling at the apparent age of the restaurant, wondering how long it took to fill the walls. Her fried oysters came and so did my blackened shrimp salad. And soon her memory was figuring out that it was this very restaurant, but back in a side room, that she and Jack had met with other press association folks fifty years earlier. Sure enough, the restaurant is old enough for that. Oh, M was happy. Oysters and good memories and a connection to the past. She had not thought that she could make this trip Back to Bountiful, but all along our way the Lord's providence delighted us with things we never could have planned.

On our return from dinner I went to the very charming Mobile Bay Room and Mother to Isabelle's room. I spent a fascinating hour leafing through a book of Mobile's history, and one of the effects of Hurricane Katrina. Then enjoyed a chat with Cal whom I must bring back here, a bath in the old-fashioned black enamel clawfoot tub, and a good night of sleep in a deliciously dressed queen-sized bed.








The next morning Wendy (above in her kitchen; and that is the butler's pantry off the dining room) fixed us a fantastic breakfast of an artistic fruit salad, praline pecan French toast, some fabulous egg dish which now I can't remember (but I lingered long over every bite), baked apples with crumb topping, and individually steamed cups of coffee. She honored us with her company and told us all about the Kate Shepard House, their short history with it, and the fascinating story of the boxes and boxes of papers and personal effects of the extended Shepard family that they found in the attic and recently turned over to historians that were thrilled to find holes in the history of the War between the States filled by letters and receipts. Wendy teared up as she told us of letters written by women waiting for the return of their men and one written by a mother asking how much a mother should bear: now they wanted her nine or ten year old son whom she needed to help her on the farm; her son and husband already dead. And we laughed to tears when she told us of the staid gentleman-historian who had sat over the papers at her dining room table all day, answering her pressing questions at the end of the day if he thought they were of any value: "Miss Wendy" he drawled in his South Carolina accent, sitting back in his chair, and slowly removing his glasses, "I'm peein' in mah pants."

M and I hated to leave, but the time came to press on. We've made a friend in Bill and Wendy James and hope to see them again sometime.

October 23: Mobile through Hattiesburg to Tchula

M and I left the Kate Shepard House B & B after our wonderful brunch and drove past Midtown Mobile and into the Ashland Place area of the Mobile Historic District Driving Tour to see a few of the old mansions. That put us on Springhill which was the route we wanted to take into Mississippi. First stop: Jonathan Landrum's.

Jonathan, born on the infamous day Roe v. Wade was made into the law of the land was one of Cal's very best students and one of our family's very best friends while he was at Covenant College. We had hoped and prayed for a number of years that the Lord would give this fine, young man (the likes of whom Dana Skogen and I wanted our daughters to marry) a wonderful wife. We failed at all our own attempts to match-make him. And then he got him a wife we didn't know anything about. Now I would have a chance to meet her and the three children she has borne Jonathan.

Mapquest failed me and Erin had to guide me to their home out in the country northwest of Hattiesburg the last couple of miles. The day was clear and sunny, but not a bit hot (by South Florida standards). I was surprised to drive into a wide, slightly wooded spot with a lovely vista and a charming brick (?) house. We were greeted by their big, barking dog, and it was some minutes before Erin could come and reassure us that the dog would not bother us. What you gonna do when there is a big sign on the tree that says BEWARE OF DOG? And I thought Jonathan was still in his bachelor's mobile home!





We arrived just minutes before Jonathan came home for lunch. Elise, Nathan, and Seth met us as we passed into the lovely side porch garden area. Elise was eager to show me her bedroom (are all little girls like this?) and I was eager to use their bathroom. Erin had made us fresh, hot, cranberry-filled scones which we enjoyed while Elise made her daddy another sandwich. Erin was like a mirror out of the past as I considered with how scarily like me she is. God bless her as she raises her dear family. I know He will.

The drive northwest, through Jackson, Mississippi, made for a lovely afternoon. We decided to stay off of the interstate past Jackson. US Hwy 49 took us past harvest crops under a blue sky. At Yazoo City we stopped at a Popeye's chicken so M could compare their crust with KFC's and decide for herself that it was superior. Picking up Hwy 49W into Tchula, we started passing more and more cottonfields and swamps, brighter for the lowering sun; and fewer and fewer signs of towns or homes. As we entered Tchula we crossed the Yazoo River, passing only the poorest of black families hanging around their small, run-down homes. I wondered how we could be so close to the Freemans', yet we were. We pulled in to the drive, met my a kitty or two, and soon the dear faces of Mike and Barbara appeared as they came out to greet us, along with their noisy, little poodle whose name I have now quite forgotten.





What a wonderful, rambling house they have. It had been the local doctor’s home, so included extra rooms at one end of the house that used to be waiting room and examining room and office. Barbara put me in the attic floor which until recently housed the dear family of her son, Matt Baugh, and was decorated whimsically with wall paintings to please five little children who had lost their daddy in God’s perfect providence.

Barbara had invited Shannon, Matt’s widow, to bring the family back from their new home at a parsonage in Yazoo City to join us for dinner. Shannon brought a delicious shrimp and noodle cassserole (with 360 baby shrimp: she “counted” them!) and Barbara had made a wonderful pear salad for us. The Baughs arrived shortly after we did, and instantly I was inundated with little friends, most memorably: Laura who graced me with a lovely painting she had just done in art class of a little spotted gray goat. She had made the picture for her sister, Jessica, who is pining for her Haitian goat. So I promised that I would send her a painting of a goat just as soon as I could get one made after my return home. (It’s on my to-do list!)

We had read a letter from Shannon to the giving congregation at Calvary OPC in Tallahassee the day before. Now what a blessing to meet this beautiful, godly, young woman. May God bless her mightily with more courage and strength and all provision. May He help her as she raises her children to follow in their fun daddy’s footsteps. How I would love to envelop all of them in Christian friendship. Not just Shannon and her dear children, but her in-laws and Barbara’s elderly father as well.

But the road goes on. And how grateful I am to pick up new saints to add to my corner of fellowship along the way.

After a yummy dinner and lively conversation, constantly, but happily, interrupted by the needs and attentions of the children, we sat around visiting until Shannon took her children back to Yazoo City and bed. Shortly after that, I retired, having another conversation with Cal in my little eagle’s nest. The good night’s sleep was interrupted only by a barking dog in the midst of middle Mississippi quiet. One of these nights I’ll have to get out and see the stars.

October 24: Tchula to Wenger Mountain

We took our leave of our gracious hosts after breakfast with Barbara. I had gone out to take a walk down Lakeview Drive, enjoying the cool air and the sun coming through the trees lining the Yazoo River. Until I got to a big, barking dog. Or was it two? Not wanting to tangle with redneck dogs, I turned and walked the other way. Passed the Freeman's house and walked around the few blocks of the neighborhood which border a cottonfield. There I picked one small sample to show my kids. It stayed on the dashboard for the rest of our trip. I learned from the Freemans that once they saw otters in that field. My otter fan, AJ, now wants to visit them.



Mike and Barbara let us north out of town, pointing out the cotton gin and the place where the cotton producers leave their bales for market. I wondered how many Land's End shirts are in one of those bales?


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On north into Greenwood and a gas station we drove, stopping along the way to get pictures of swamps and cottonfields. Oh, I love this country! So cool to see the cotton along the side of the road with the swampland beyond.




We reached the Mississippi River and then the Arkansas border about noon, stopping at one of the much appreciated Arkansas Welcome Centers: along with brochures and maps from all over, one gets a free cup of coffee. But you pay for it by listening to the state employee singing the praises of their native son, Bill Clinton.

As we drove west across Arkansas we finished listening to Arvin's The Will. A good story.

Nothing quite prepared me for the finished interstate 540 from Fort Smith, across the Boston Mountains (we used to travel winding US 71), to Fayetteville and north. It was nearing the end of daylight, when the sun's angle makes all the colors more brilliant. And I-540 was cut with a wide swath through the mountains, so as to make grand vistas with every hill and curve, no close trees, only views of the mighty forests from afar. And the colors! Red and Yellow and Green in perfect proportion. I wish I had stopped (it never seemed quite safe) for a few photos. But it will remain in my memory as one of the highest lights of our journey.

We had been prepared for all the changes in Fayetteville, Springdale, Rogers, Bentonville, and Pea Ridge. We got off of the interstate at Walnut in Rogers as our gas tank was low. The changes along this road were indicative of the rest, and vast. Still we were able to pick out old landmarks. And I found my way just fine up toward Garfield.



Les and Mary Gay had to guide us with mileages and directions the last few miles as I had forgotten the way to Wenger Mountain. Once I passed Gateway I remembered about US 62 and Indian Creek. We arrived in time for a late supper of Mary Gay's homemade chicken noodle soup and homemade sour dough whole grain bread with sunflower seeds. She's the best.

October 25: A day of no driving

Tuesday night we made the plan to spend all of the next day with Les and Mary Gay, and out of the car. Mother and I were sharing opposite ends of the basement in comfortable cots. Though a folding door and a bathroom separated us, we could still hear each other. But my bed was placed near the door to the back hillside, so I let myself out before seeing anyone and walked around the Wengers' mountain around dawn. This day would be misty all day, and I sheltered my camera as I took pictures.




I found Les and M having coffee on the back porch while Mary Gay was fixing us breakfast. After breakfast Les took us down to the lake. The wind was up and it was actually chilly. I was bundled up in one of Les's jackets. He and I separated from M & Mary Gay and picked our way down amongst the rocks at the edge of the lake, talking about life lessons and reminiscing about earlier days at the lake. I collected some olive-blue-gray and orange, striped sedimentary rocks which now sit in a pile on my bathroom baker's rack, a shelf under the gray and white, smooth stones I found on the Oregon coast in September. Les pointed out three eagles circling in the cloudy sky above us, then told me a story of seeing eagles mating in the sky. We rejoined the ladies, then Mary Gay and I walked off in another direction. She asked me to tell her some deeper things about my kids. We ran into a friend of theirs who came from Huntington Beach, not far from where M had lived. He was out running the dog and invited us to come back to his home so he and Les could see if he had a part that would fix Les's grill. We met his very lovely wife in their very lovely home with its very lovely view. Returning to the house, we had lunch and naps. I actually slept for over an hour. What a delicious change of pace.

Les and Mary Gay are old friends from our Arkansas days (1985-1992). After making a lifetime of money in investment advising they left the rat race up and "retired" to their present home on Beaver Lake, settling in early enough that the mountain on which they sit is named after them. Cal's parents owned the local newspaper at the time and they went to the office to introduce themselves, befriending Jack and Mary-Lou immediately. They were both involved in various volunteer activities as well as conquering their property. When Cal and I met them David was just a toddler and I was pregnant with Susan. Over the years we enjoyed many trips out to their place, once even taking some nephews on the lake in Les's boat.

They are eclectic collectors, but the collection I found most interesting are the arrowheads. Les has picked them up in swap shops and thrift stores and antique places all over and arranged them in stunning designs on black velvet in deep frames.

Several years ago their son was killed on his way home for Christmas. They told us the story in greater detail and we rejoiced to see God's hand of care upon them through the hard days following. Among the photos on their refrigerator are several of smiling son, as well as photos of them with their recently met grandson. And then there are pictures all over the house of their daughter's daughter, pride and joy.

October 26: A day of visiting

Cal encouraged me on Wednesday night to make a plan with my old friend, Annette, to give M & me a little well-earned separation from one another. All was well on schedule as I said goodbye to Les from the car. But after driving a few feet on the top of the hill where I was parked I became insecure about just where the driveway was. I got out of the car to look, walking a few yards in several directions, ignoring the idea that I should just go back in the house to ask Les. Ah, there is clear lane!

Why didn't I notice that the lane was so grassy with no tread paths? Well, I didn't. Until I met three deer behind the twiggy trees growing at the bottom of the lane. In my way. Not a driveway. Later I learned it was their nature trail. Short of freaking out about the hillside to my left and the cliff to my right, I put the car in reverse and slowly (oh, I'm no good at backing backwards and turning in the right direction!) backed up the hill. Until halfway up I heard the car crunch into a tree on the right (nice cliff fence). I got out of the car to check the damage. Thankfully, I did not smash the tail light as I had feared, but had only torn the metallic trim out of its place on the bumper. I was only halfway up the hill and my heart was sinking fast. That is when I found that the grass was too wet to let me back up any further. I stopped when I realized I was spinning my wheels into the soft turf. That is when Les came out for the paper and heard the noise.

I wish you knew Les. All optimism and cheerfulness. He wouldn't even let me call myself the idiot that I was for doing what I did. After a little assessment of the situation he agreed to try to drive the car out of its fix. (I hadn't liked the idea of his hooking the car up to his tractor.) But he would have to drive it all the way back down to the trees so he could have a running start at the slick part halfway up. I was relieved when he got in the driver's seat. I was alarmed when he told me to get in the passenger seat "for ballast". I am such a chicken. Oh, I will let him drive my car out of its pickle, but I don't want to be in it? Oh, he can go down the cliff, but I'll be safe? What was I thinking? I was terrified.

But he did it perfectly I am here to tell you. I thank the Lord for heroes like Les. And for giving us success. Though he told Mary Gay, he never told M about it, figuring it was not for him to tell of such an embarrassing situation. He doesn't know me well. Here I am telling all of you about my ineptitude and stupidity and laughing about it. He sent me on my way, a little later than planned.

The drive down Arkansas Hwy 62 was as I remembered it, hilly and curvy and beautiful. I wish I had stopped when I saw the grazing bison because when I returned they were too far away to photograph. The herd that I used to see with baby David is now many times larger. The perennials nursery is still there and looks to be thriving. Not much has changed, until one approaches Rogers.

I met Annette at the Atlanta Bread Company on west Walnut. She came out to the car when she saw me. She looks wonderful; still the same after all these years, but sporting a shorter haircut. She bought me coffee and scone and we sat in a corner and talked as long as we could. I promised that M & I would come by the newspaper office later in the day.

Annette is the mother of nine beautiful children. We knew one another while we both lived in Pea Ridge, Arkansas, sometimes getting our families together for play. She came by the house the day Peter was born. She had six daughters before she had her first son. At which time everyone clucked that now she could "quit" as she had her son. And in God's providence and irony she did not have the next son for several years. She just bore the comments with good grace. Two of her daughters are now married. Her youngest son is five. God has provided her a job well-suited to her ability and need in her attempts to provide for her family, which is almost the same job that Cal's mom left when she sold the newspaper eighteen years ago. Do you remember my mentioning the Freemans in Tchula? They are the ones that bought the newspaper from M. After their years with it, they sold it to a small local chain who is now Annette's employer.

I left Annette at the last possible minute to keep our day's schedule. M and I had a mantra throughout our trip that started in the first hour of our journey: "We are not in a hurry!" But we were meeting an old couple at a nursing home for lunch and that was scheduled and we could not be late. Passing a Hobby Lobby I ducked in for jigsaw puzzle glue-paint to fix the puzzle that Les & MG's granddaughter had just put together the week before. They thought they would have to take it to a framing store and pay to have such a thing done.





When I arrived home Les was beginning to clean the trout that he had just caught out on the lake. If I knew enough about blogging, I might share with you a couple of small videos I made with my camera of Les cleaning and fileting the fish. It was a quick, clean, fascinating piece of work.

We left after our fish cleaning lesson for Bella Vista, driving north on Gann Ridge Road into Pea Ridge and up Highway 94. All of this took much longer than I remember the driving. Such beautiful country. We reminisced and reminded each other of old friends and old events. I called Ed King on my cell to let him know that we were running late. And then I called David on his cell to tell him that I had just rediscovered a place on the highway we once dubbed Red Fox Hill. He knew immediately what I was talking about. When we arrived Ed was sitting next to his dear bride who was smiling sweetly from her wheelchair.



I wish you knew Ed King. What a saint. To be with his wife in her advancing Alzheimer's he has moved into a nursing facility. They share a sweet room and he cares for her with great tenderness and affection. We were led into a private dining area and began catching up while we waited for a delicious meal of pork roast and mashed potatoes. Ed pulled out an old newspaper clipping of an article Annette had written in 1992 about our departure from Pea Ridge for Cal to teach at Covenant College. I was amazed to see the large photo again of Cal, me, and our children sitting in our Pea Ridge home, smiling for the camera. Ed pushed the paper at me and explained how somehow it had been saved through their several moves and with tears in his eyes he said: "When I saw this, I said, 'I'll never see these people again.' and here you are!" We talked about his family and our family. We talked about the church for which we had worked and prayed together back then. It is now a thriving congregation. After lunch we went back to their lovely room and he showed us, framed on the wall, a most lovely letter from one of his grandsons, thanking him for his example of faithfulness to the family through all the years, thanking him for showing them Christ. I put Susan's Redeeming Love album on his boom box and he exclaimed to Thelma "Mama, this is real Christian music!" (I must send him the other albums I promised.) We prayed together before we left. And how we hated to leave. Those moments were one of the highlights of my journey. Shall I see him again in this life? I shall spend eternity with him through Christ's love!

Heading back to Pea Ridge to meet Annette at the newspaper office, we stopped off at the road's bend that leads to White Oak Holler and the house that held our five oldest children in their infancy.




We found the new quarters of the newspaper office, now across the street from the old, gray barn that had housed it when Jack and Mary-Lou Beisner owned it. Annette showed us around and then introduced us to the sheriff who stopped in to see her about something. After enjoying an hour's chat with Annette we headed down the street to stop in to see our old friend, Cleva Douglas, now in an apartment of her own at a retirement home. We caught her napping on the sofa, but she rallied when she heard us, and kept us there long after they called her for dinner.



"Grandma" Douglas, mother of four, grandmother to thousands, is one of the godliest women I have ever known. How gracefully she is aging. She turned 99 this last week. And though age is beginning to show ever so slightly on her darling mind, she still remembered stories about our life together that I had forgotten. She laughed about how she had felt sorry for me with all the babies so had come out to help me one day. She asked after all of the children and I asked about her own grandchildren whom I had known all about back when we spent time together. Often I would take the children to visit her in the house in which she spent many years. She taught me how to bake refrigerator rolls, and always sent me home with home-canned something or other. As often as not I would find her out in her large vegetable garden. She reads the Bible steadily and understands much. Now during our conversation she revealed to us that she never finished grade school; there was no transportation to the subscription schools, and her poor, widowed mother needed her at home. She gets around with a little more difficulty now as her knees and hands seem swollen with arthritis. But her glad spirit as God's beloved is infectious. Here is a picture of her latest quilting project which is on her bed at her apartment:



After delivering her to the dining room where they were saving shrimp for her, we got in the car to make one more stop. We hadn't talked about it, but I had intended to take M to the cemetery. I figured she would want to go, but might not be able to suggest it. She went along with my suggestion that I stop at a little nursery I had seen in town to find a nice mum plant to leave at Jack's grave. The shop was supposed to be open but the CLOSED sign was up. I walked around back and found the owner and her cats still putzing around. She unlocked and sold us a bright, yellow chrysanthemum plant and talked about her life in other places and putting the shop on the market because the it was too much work and about her cats who seemed to be helping her run the cash register.

We drove the quarter mile to the cemetery and found it fenced and locked. The fence was obviously for cars, for it didn't extend all the way around. I parked the car and we entered between a couple of yellow maple trees behind a tool shed. We spent only a few minutes there. I can't remember the few words we had. But they were real and not sentimental. And I knew that we were two women who loved and bore pain and waited on God. As we left the yard I broke a sprig from the maple. It graced the dinner table that night.

Well, this post is already longer than anyone will have time or maybe even inclination to read. I would make another post about the rest of the day only to share some wonderful photos with you. But I'll save it. We drove back to Wenger Mountain ro find Les and Mary Gay spreading grass seed on bare spots in the yard. They abandoned their work to greet us and then they fixed a wonderful trout dinner for us out of the morning catch. In the middle of the night Mary Gay awoke to remember the grass seed was outside where they had left it and we had heard predictions of rain. She woke Les and he shone a flashlight on the yard from the porch while she went to fetch the seed. Though she was right outside my door, and no curtains on the windows (who needs curtains out in the wilderness?!) I never woke.

October 27: Northwest Arkansas to Kirbyville, Missouri

We all got up early on Friday morning so that we could be on our way before Les & Mary Gay had to leave for their doctors'. It promised to be another misty or rainy day. I ignored the warnings that it would turn cold and dressed inappropriately which I came to regret. We said goodbye to dear Les and Mary Gay. The photo above is the last I took of them as they stood by our car.

At breakfast Les had drawn a map of a shortcut to the road we wanted in southwest Missouri, recommending a visit to Bass Pro Shop's Big Cedar Lodge or Dogwood Canyon along the way to fill up our time. Our hostess, less than two hours away, didn't plan for us to arrive until late afternoon. The scenes of the mountains and valley and lake through the morning mists were incredible. Following 187 from the Dam Site Road we came upon some of the most beautiful country yet. These gray mornings had been preferable to sunny skies for displaying the brilliant fall colors. And the vistas from the backroads in this country are exquisite, changing around every bend, so that I had to back up several times just to get pictures. Click on the photos below to see them larger if you'd like.





We came to a bridge known as "Golden Gate", the first of several one-lane bridges that we would cross. As we neared Hwy 23 we decided not to turn north according to Les's map, but south to visit Eureka Springs. M learned that I had never seen the historic Crescent Hotel. It was still so early that it was doubtful the shops would be open, but perhaps we could find a cup of coffee at the hotel itself. We wound our way down through the lower part of town and found the visitor center where we picked up a map and directions to the hotel and I unpacked my suitcase to get out a heavier jacket.

Winding our way to the hotel through the tiny, twisting streets lined with B&B's and cute houses and hillbilly shops and stairways up or down to the next level in this mountain town, one could readily imagine the hippie mecca it must have been thirty years ago, or the New Age haven it still may be. We found the hotel at the top of the town and helped ourselves to a tour of it. The views were sometimes spectacular, and the history of the hotel nicely displayed around the lobby areas was interesting, but we quickly got the sense that it was really second-rate now, and perhaps on its last renovation. There is certainly much structural compromise to the building, slanting stairways attesting. And that they had the same antique print framed at the same place on each landing was a bit cheap. Mother led me to the dining room which disappointed immediately as it was decorated to the nines for Halloween. Nor did the brunch look that inviting. We decided to wait and find coffee downtown.

Mother's foot is chronically damaged and it hurts her to walk sometimes. I was quite aware of it, and tried to convince her that we didn't need to walk anywhere, but she wanted to see stuff, so she kept pushing herself, to her later regret. My regret, that I had not dressed more warmly, became more intense as the weather turned windier and colder. Just a nasty day. The kind you should really be squirreled away in a warm, cozy, brightly lit room. We parked and paid the meter and found a few shops open early. Tourist shops, gift shops, overpriced jewelry shops, overpriced art galleries, but no coffee shops. We walked too far uphill, passing a nice lady with a nicer dog which M had to pet, but never found a place to sit for a cup of coffee. We crossed the street and headed back downhill, eventually finding a small ice cream shop that advertised cappucino. Inquiring inside, we discovered that her machine had just been turned on and we would wait twenty minutes before getting a cup. So we moved on. M thought she recognized this shop or that alley. But soon Eureka Springs lost its appeal. I think that was about the time it began to drizzle.

We got in the car and drove through a much busier town, now that it was waking to business. We tried a thrift shop we'd been told about (I was on a mission to find Judy Rogers with whom we were to stay the next week on our way home a cup and saucer to add to her nice collection of them). No success. We got back in the car and I drove east on 62, heading toward Berryville. (This is where the Beisners used to have their paper printed every week, so M knew the route well.) Before we'd gone a mile we saw another junk shop. This one produced for us, not only a beautiful Limoges cup and saucer for a price I was able to haggle down, but an enjoyable conversation with an overweight, overaged hippie with long hair. He'd hardly ever been out of Eureka Springs.

Pressing on we were looking for the Wal-mart we knew about where we would buy stuff and gas. We still hadn't found coffee. And it was getting colder and rainier. Driving into the downtown area of Berryville, we found a likely place for coffee. We parked but took a detour through a gift shop next door. Seeing more perfect gifts for various friends, and talking ourselves out of them, we chatted with the proprietor who suggested a coffee shop at another corner. We entered the restaurant next door, but the interior smelled strongly of frying foods for which we were not in the mood. So we took her advice and found a delightful shop. It was a bright, warm second-hand shop, carpeted, and filled with cloth-covered tables. They were serving soups and sandwiches, cornbread, and chili. We ordered our cups of coffee after browsing the shelves, so nicely arranged with lots of things we wanted to buy. And then we kept getting up to look at more. There were a variety of locals who had come in for lunch, including a three-year-old with her mother who called out in delight when her daddy came in at the door to meet them for lunch. I left without buying the things I'd picked out for each of my daughties.

On impulse I headed north on highway 103 just a few miles east of Berryville. The map showed me that it would connect me to highway 86 in Missouri which we had wanted to take to Branson. We traveled through more beautiful country, passing small towns and large farms and wide hills of autumn trees. But right near the Missouri border, when the highway I wanted turned to a sharp left (and intuitively the wrong direction), the signage failed me and I ended up on highway 311 which we would learn over two hours later led back down to highway 62 and less than a mile from where 103 had put in. What a frustration that was.



But the drive had been full of beauty, if not some rain. And serendipitously I passed New Leaf Publishers which I had just learned about a month or so ago in looking over some homeschooling material. I turned around to investigate and found that it was right there in the middle of northern Arkansas! M sat in the car while I went in and introduced myself and talked with a very nice young woman who told me that yes, I could buy books right out of the warehouse, and that if I liked, I could buy them from the slightly damaged bin for only $1/lb. What a delight. I left a half hour later with 35 pounds of books, including an enlarged facsimile, nicely bound, of an early illustrated edition of The Pilgrim's Progress for the Skarie family, and the Ussher's Annals of the World which we gave to the Ortega family when I discovered someone had already given it to us. So the frustration of wandering on the wrong road was mitigated by this happy providence.



After finding ourselves back at 62 at Green Forest, we decided to stay on the main roads, coming quickly to US 65, wide-laned and hilly and faster traffic than we'd been in all day. The road was longer than I expected and I was tired after the long day of driving aimlessly. The rain was steady now and it was cold. It was still too early to meet Carol; we hadn't been able to reach her by phone and did not want to show up at her house before she was there. I wished for a place to rest, warm, and with a cup of hot chocolate. I began to describe such a place in a prayer request but quit with the happy thought that God knew better than I what would please me. Road construction was making the travel more harried and I decided I must get off to find a restroom and a break from the constant gas pedal. Ah! There is a Cracker Barrel. Good enough, I thought. So we got off the road. But the exit did not lead to the Cracker Barrel. I would have to go further and turn around to be on the correct lane to reach it. But my going further put me smack into the entrance to the College of the Ozarks. M knew of the place already and had simply forgotten about it. But she was sure there was a restaurant in the big lodge we were facing. There was not only a restaurant (and more importantly a bathroom) but there was a Starbuck's style coffee shop in the middle of the spacious, warm lobby. I never could have dreamed of this refuge. We ordered hot drinks and sat in the overstuffed chairs and enjoyed our rest until Carol called and assured us we were only seven minutes from her.



Carol Pratt is an old friend of M's who we knew when we lived in Pea Ridge. She lives in a comfortable doublewide with three bedrooms in the middle of a lovely woods. She is an earnest Christian who lives to serve. She has a few social qualities that drives M up the wall, but this visit in her own home made me love her more than ever. Her idiosyncracies don't bother me so much as her fellowship way outweighs them. Her voice is loud and she is given to emotionalism and I'm sure I would not be happy to live long term with her. But I found myself loving her.



She made us supper of bean soup and cornbread after which she put on a videotape of a church meeting of twenty years ago that included toddler David and baby Susan. We had missed seeing our old pastor when we had visited in Arkansas, but this tape made M and me feel as if we had seen him and his dear wife again and worshiped once again with them.

Retiring to my room (tomorrow we would see Cal!) Susan and I had a rich cellphone conversation that lasted over an hour. I was tickled to realize just how many minutes because of the log on the phone and called her back to tell her so. Of course she called me back to correct me because the second call had added minutes.

October 28: Kirbyville to Jackson, Tennessee

I woke early, before dawn. Since M and I were sharing a bathroom, I decided to get a jump on it. Back in my room and quietly packing an hour later Carol roused us, not knowing we were both awake. We visited in the kitchen for awhile before M was ready to join us for a small breakfast of leftover cornbread and thawed bran muffins. After yesterday's cold rain, the sun was shining. It was cool. But beautiful. Carol and M hugged one another goodbye on the back porch while I loaded the car. I caught them there, along with the sun on the poke berries and a walking stick on the siding. (Carol and M had an argument over whether it was a praying mantis or a walking stick. Now I don't remember who thought what, but I quietly intended to come home and find out. So much for my secret pettiness.)



Carol had helped me carefully pick out a route along southern Missouri the night before, using her own atlas. And then Cal had called. His recommendation was to go north, out of our way, in order to stay on the main roads. I did not want to do this because I figured it would be heavily traveled on Saturday because of local traffic. He left it for me to decide, and Carol and I went around and around about it (as only Carol and I could do, eh, Cal?) and finally she spoke Biblical wisdom to me and told me I ought to do as Cal had said (even though she would have been free to go on our route because she didn't have anyone telling her what to do).

Quickly, and all day long, I was so thankful for the delight following Cal's route brought. US65 north out of Branson continued the gorgeous vistas we had enjoyed in the rain the day before, only now there was early Saturday morning sunshine. And when we turned east the roads were mostly divided highways, two lanes each direction with little traffic all day as the roads rarely went through towns proper.

We stopped first for a cup of coffee at a spooky little town (was it Norwood?) that sported boasts of being one of the Laura Ingalls Wilder homes. We pulled in to a little restaurant, walked in to cigarette smoke and no clientele, very yellow looking old scrambled eggs and thick, pasty looking gravy for biscuits in the breakfast buffet bar. Informing someone we were only after a cup of coffee, we went to a back dining room where the smoke was not so bad. We examined the quilts on the walls and the burnt orange colored ketchup on the tables and the crummy prints of Little House days. It was in going to the restroom that I discovered the waitress serving the coffee on a table up front. She tried to protest when I explained to her that we were going to be in the other rooom, but we were insistent. Over coffee, M and I got talking about her bedroom. I explained why I have stayed clear of her redecorating attempts after she told me of associated woes. That is when she invited me to help her, assuring me that she likes anything I do. So now we're working on it. She returns Monday from a trip out to see her daughter's family and I haven't got plans ready. As we were leaving we learned that the whole town was downtown at a fundraiser barbeque lunch to raise money for a family whose son was seriously impaired and whose father had just been terribly injured in a farming accident. That explains why the place was deserted. That and the terrible coffee and unfriendly waitress...

Contrasted to that stop was a later pit stop at a busy MacDonald's in a town whose name I have now lost. It must have been just after a football game and the store was in a Wal-Mart plaza. It was crowded but everyone seemed cheerful and even wholesome. I thought I had gone back twenty or thirty years; I knew I was in the midwest.

As the day wore on, we listened to a couple of Agatha Christie stories on tape. And drove through incredibly beautiful country. Like the Mark Twain National Forest. Here the four-lane highway had been recently widened and paved, but there were yet no lines painted on them. Though they were very wide, and there was few cars around, I had a terrible feeling of insecurity as I drove the wide curves and gentle hills.

At I-55 we headed south into the bootheel of Missouri, now the cottonfields were becoming more prevalent. M had to bring up her knowledge of the New Madrid fault lines and get me hoping that we would not have an earthquake while we were driving to meet Cal. Silly. But bridges and earthquakes and plane landings...

The road in to western Tennessee was even more beautiful than anything else. How I'd love to live there. We stopped at the visitors' welcome center (no free coffee, but a nice little museum room with front porch rocking chairs, and a very friendly associate who showed us a detailed map of our destination in Jackson) and left with a few "orange leaves" for Denna. (She never got them: they dried to boring tan and I haven't seen her since I returned.) I had been on the cell phone off and on all day with Cal who was flying from Florida to Memphis, renting a car and driving to Jackson. He got there slightly before we did. During the last portion of our drive there was no signal for us to call him. We found the Jameson Inn where M would stay, checked her in, checked our email online at the lobby, and waited for Cal who arrived with chips and dip and wine for M.

We left M and Cal took me a couple miles north to Union University where we had a suite on campus. He would be "exhorting" and teaching at Covenant PCA the next day and debating Dr. David Gushee on policies related to global warming on Monday. We were expected for dinner at Dr. Michael Salazar's home and were cutting it close. The drive out there was longer than we had expected, but the beauty of the western Tennessee cottonfields in the setting sun was a rich treat. We found the Salazars' home at dusk, sitting proudly on top of a slight rise of a corner, perhaps a quarter mile from the street, and only one other house in sight (turns out it is the grandparents' home).

As we had never met the Salazars we had no clue what to expect. Would they have other couples from the college joining us? Would it be a fancy affair and was I dressed okay in my traveling clothes? I confess, I didn't even think of children. The last time we were in a college campus setting (Covenant College) most of the faculty were older than we, and most had grown children. Imagine our shock and delight when a child or two; make that three, no four; wait, there are more, came out of the garage to meet us. Three year old Joel walked right up to Cal's car door and stuck out his hand and introduced himself. Soon there were six children lined up in the garage doorway. Then Michael came out, holding two year old Josiah, followed by Keri, carrying their yet unborn daughter. We made our introductions, big dog, too, and followed them in to the house through the garage, the wonderful smell of Italian food greeting us.




Before dinner we managed a couple of photos and here we are with (left to right) Luke, Lillie, Joel, Josiah, Lizzy, Caleb, and Isaiah. We all sat around their dining room table and had a wonderful time discovering what great fellowship we shared. After a delicious meal of two different lasagnas Lillie and Lizzy asked if I wanted to see their room. Are all little girls like this? We stayed looking at stuff until being alerted that we were missing the brownies. Before leaving for the college, we shared in their family worship after the little ones had gone to bed. Oh, bless the Lord for His goodness to us in giving us such fellowship of the saints. What an encouragement it is to meet, to see the blessing of the Lord on the obedience of their faith, to count them as eternal friends and to hope for more temporal communion. Those of you who are friends of mine: you will love them as your own friends should you make a point of looking them up whenever you are in Jackson, Tennessee.

October 29: Lord's Day in Jackson, Tennessee

I need to finish this journal soon for I know I am losing memories of the journey.

After fetching M from her hotel we went back to Union University where Covenant Presbyterian Church, PCA meets in a small lecture auditorium of the school. The Salazar boys came out to meet us as we were finding our way. How I want to commend Michael and Kerith, and thank the Lord for the fine raising of these young men. We stood in the hallway, watching kids devour donuts, including one very little girl who was not supposed to have one in the first place. She chose an especially gooey chocolate one, which her older sister took from her as soon as she could. But only to effect great anguish which did not quiet until the mother showed up. Keri did her best to clean up the tot before that happened, gingerly throwing the violated donut in the garbage bin.

Cal “exhorted” on the meaning of justification in honor of Reformation Sunday after a wonderfully reformed worship service.

And then we followed the Salazars out to their home for a wonderful afternoon of fellowship and feasting with her parents. Michael’s parents drove in for a visit midway through the afternoon. It was the birthday of twins Isaiah and Lillie. We were treated first to a trip to the chicken house at the far end of the yard to see the newly hatched chickens. And then a recital of the children’s accomplishments on piano and of ballet. The gracious encouragement and patience the children had for one another’s recitations was the loveliest part. Oh, that we could have taken lessons from them! After lunch the girls took me on a tour of the schoolroom over the garage, and a tour through their own curriculae.


The Salazar Children


Walking to chicks/Lizzy with house in background/Luke and Isaiah


The Valiant Mr. Joel


Lillie's recital & little Josiah

I think we left their home mid-afternoon for a rest, dropping M at her hotel for the same. Then we all drove to a St. Augustine school where the church meets in the gymnasium for the evening where Cal gave a lecture on the Calvinist contribution to ideas of liberty and limited government. There was a fairly good turnout as the lecture had been advertised further than just the church. I sat next to Lizzy and drew pictures for her and wrote her name in pretty calligraphy throughout Cal’s talk. After the worship and lecture segment of the evening we broke for a full supper buffet of snacks, returning for a question and answer period. We stayed long afterward visiting with various saints whom I will remember in heaven.