The Yellow Season

over yonder in WV

yup, Harpers Ferry from MD

Stacy and Marlin's house in Antietam proper

blooms on the turn in Antietam

our own yellow beauties

And guess what Miss SG found ~ the first mountain morel of the season ~ up by the wood pile ~ it seems too early for them, but it is the yellow season (forsythia then daffodils - now the pink tree blossoms are out and a few white ones too -- soon the tulips and redbuds will bloom - that's the good time for mushrooms) ~ The last two seasons have been horrible - very few and far between -- maybe this is a sign of a fun fungi harvest to be!

An Afternoon Up to the Ridge

March So Far in Pix

First there was snow ~
Then there was flooding

Then the stink bugs came out . . .

Michael's Home in White

My mom, sister, and I lived on Grandma and Papa's farm, Michael's Home, from the time I was about 4 until I was 12. I loved those years at the Null homestead just north of Taneytown. I'll write much more about the farm in another post, but here are a few pictures that my aunt Susie found when looking through Grandma's photos. We don't know who the photographer(s) was.

Susie thinks this was taken in the very late 1800s. That's Michael's Home at the top of the hill. Many a Null grew up there. I love that shot of the horse-drawn sled in action!
This one appears to have been taken in the 1940s or 1950s. Notice the Taneytown water towers in the background, south of the farm.

Uncle Ed believes this one was taken in the 1950s or 60s. Its vantage point is situated where there is now the Meadow -something or other development. That's the main barn with the silo, the small dairy house in the middle, and the horse barn on the left.

Zeppy Snow

My great-grandmother's brothers were a little odd (see pic below); Clifton and LaVerne Zepp were both artists -- photographers and painters -- and they lived together in Taneytown in a big yellow house on Mill Avenue until they died. For a long while their mother Lizzie lived with them too and at some point their grandmother also. I'm not sure if the house was originally one of their parents'; I'll have to research that a bit more.
The house is now apparently owned by Antrim 1844, a fact I discovered this week when I was looking through their website to prepare for a stay there in February after the 2nd Annual Tanner's Touch Valentine's Day Gala. As I was looking at their rooms, I happened upon The Zepp House, which according to the map, must be their former house.

Both brothers were painters -- I believe they favored oil -- I clearly have more research to do in that area. But I remember that I was so proud that my elementary school had a huge purple and pink colored mural of a pond and swan scene in a stairwell that one of them had painted. I can't imagine it's there any longer. But our family does have many of their paintings -- most of them are Impressionistic in style of farm and woods scenes. I remember at least one of Antrim and another of Crouse Mill. I'll post photos of those in another post with more details about them. But today I'll share two photo slides of theirs; I'm not sure which took them. The first is of Antrim, likely from their house, in the snow.The second is of an unknown creek, I'm sure in the Taneytown area.My grandmother, their sister Gladys, also produced hundreds of photo slides -- I have many of them in my basement. Her favorite theme was clouds.

The siblings got their talents honestly; on the 1900 census, their father Edward Peter Zepp describes his occupation as "artist." He had a professional photography studio above the square in Taneytown. He was also a local band leader and music teacher.

Ancestry: Beth-Judy-Charlie Null-Gladys-Edward Zepp

Blog Ideas

We have a 2 hour delay this morning, and even though I'm supposed to be at work on time, I have to go in late and take personal or vacation days (accumulated) because there's no before-care at school for Sylvie (and George leaves for work in the morning before our system even makes the call) . . .Anywho, I've been sick with a nasty cold-turned-sinus infection for about a week now, and I spend hours on end at night trying to get back to sleep. Instead of counting sheep, I've turned to thinking about all the stuff I need to do and want to do -- one of them being blog more often about more interesting stuff. So, here's the list of topics I'd like to dip into if I ever find the time:

• my artist great-great uncles, the Zepps
• the Salty Dog Tavern across from Harpers Ferry
• the Poole's Store at Seneca
• my grandmother Helen Null
• Tanner and his battle with cancer
• Is Frog Hollow really a hollow?
• more on morel mushroom hunting
• the C&O Canal around these parts
• Antietam Ironworks in more depth
• moonshine-making past here
  
• Bernie Adkins
• the building of Michael's Home
• Michael's Home and the Civil War
• my grandmother Ann Ziegler
• George's great-grandmother Cordie Otzelberger
  

Do you have any ideas for me to explore? I'd love to hear about them in the comments!

First Snow Days

Yesterday we saw our first significant snowfall of the season. George measured 10" of the white stuff late last night. It fell in two shots: a few inches in the morning and then a fast heavy 7 more right at rush hour. The second fall created absolute chaos on the highways. Route 70 finally opened back up this morning around nine. Many drivers were stuck for 11 and 12 hours. But we stayed safe and sound at home; we lost power last night around nine, but it was back on around midnight. Today, our wonderful Antietam neighbors came over to play. A great time had by all!

EGGS!

We found out today that SG is no longer allergic to eggs! Dr. Hash told me to take it slowly and to start with eggs in baked goods. So, SG got to choose our first snow day lunch menu, and, of course, she chose PANCAKES!

The Red Byrd's Back

I don't typically do restaurant reviews as restaurants in general are slim pickins' down here in South County, but today we celebrated the re-opening of the Red Byrd -- actually, Bonnie's at the Red Byrd.

The place felt quite a bit cleaner with a new coat of paint. The menu seemed to be slimmed down a bit, but there were some delicious breakfast specials and the same familiar faces serving us. According to Channel 13's site, the current owner has operated Bonnie's Country Kitchen in Lovettsville, VA, and took up the opportunity to run this venue with some of her own recipes and 3/4 of the original Red Byrd staff.

This morning, George enjoyed the special omelet, Sylv and I shared the yummy chocolate chip pancakes, and SG got a sausage patty sandwich made just like Micky D's . . . Nice portions, kids' drinks in covered kids' cups, and hot coffee offered often -- a perfect breakfast out for a family.

You can find their well-maintained Facebook page here. The website they have posted doesn't appear to be working yet.

Fire on the Mountain

I got a call from George when I was still at work yesterday that there was a house fire across the mountain on Hawk's Hill. Indeed there was. He and the girls took some photos and video while they watched the black smoke roll from the trees. The Herald Mail's article claims that the fire started in a wood pile and that the tankers had a difficult time with the narrow mountain roads and getting enough water to the scene. Clearly, the photos show that the fire destroyed the entire house; we can't even recognize what kind it was. Here is the paper's video.

A Few Seasons Later

Summer, autumn, now winter . . . been way too long, I know. These two are keeping me busy. But I have high hopes of writing again soon. In the meantime, for all my friends who haven't ever read my silly ramblings, check out my posts from what seems like eons ago!

They Chose the Lucketts Fair

"Shoes, secret face of my inner life:" ~ Simic

What's Going On?

This photo posting has no other purpose but to make you smile . . .

We found the first stink bug in the house yesterday of the "fall" season -- surely autumn is afoot. School has started, there are yellow leaves across the ridge, and it was a mere 59 degrees this morning. But it's still dry and the afternoons get very warm. Summer hasn't gone far yet.

So, we have one more weekend before Labor Day weekend - that perennial end of summer. I'm spending a few moments thinking about how best to spend this last bastion of summertime. Of course, yard-sale-ing comes to mind. But I found out very quickly last weekend that an almost 7-year-old and 4 and a half-year-old are not kind shoppers at yard sales . . . only if I can go alone will that happen again. There's the Washington County Rural Heritage Museum's Spud Fest (at the Ag Center) at 11 a.m. I could see the girls getting into digging up some potatoes! And homemade chips sound yummy! A definite possibility. The Lucketts Fair in a nearby part of Virginia is also a real possibility. We've been before -- lots of vendors, great bluegrass, and good food. But if it's too hot, the yee ones will holler . . . we'll see how the thermometer bodes. If we don't make it tomorrow, there's always Sunday too. The last days of the Jefferson County Fair are this weekend; we've never been, so I'm not sure what we'd be missing not to go . . . I love a good fair, but nothing lives up to the fair I grew up knowing. I can taste those Hoffman milkshakes now . . . There's no way in heck that we'll be going out east to the Maryland State Fair -- I've only been once -- it is big and awesome, but it is way too far away for these tykes this weekend. Williamsport Days are this weekend -- definitely a possibility for some good yard-sale-ing -- just the thought of all those former students . . .
I would love to see Poor Ellen Smith at Beans in the Belfry tomorrow night, but that will never happen because instead we are going to have a very fine meal at the Potomac Valley Fire Department's Steak Feed!

I don't know why anyone would have read this far, but if you have, I really appreciate it! :)

Seriously, Let It Rain

We're trying to grow some new grass up here, and we've had surprisingly better luck than we thought we would have, considering the severe lack of rain this summer. The current radar looks like this:but lately even a screen like that turns up dry for us here in the Hollow. All summer long the storms have gone north and south of us, but we've hardly come up with a few drops. Here is a recent article in the Herald Mail in which an 80-year-old claims that this is the worst summer drought he can remember.

We have only had sweet corn twice this summer - once from a farmer on Mills Road - it was inedible! - and once from a farmer at the Shepherdstown Farmers' Market - it was okay. My inlaws claim that Britner Produce was out weeks ago and that he had to plow up scores of acres of dead spindly stalks.

I took this photo of the Hawks Hill just a bit ago:See the yellow leaves?! It's too early for those trees to be turning!

Wars Then and Now

I happened upon this article - well, an old letter that is explained by an article - and I'm not sure how it fits here today, but I hope you'll read it. It's the letter that a man wrote to a family member or friend about the passing of his soldier brother at Antietam. Not only are the letter and the accompanying article moving, but the comments by other readers below them bring much insight to my thoughts about it. I'm posting here some of the references alluded to by the commentators.

This poem is heart-wrenching:

"The Picket-Guard"
published in Harper's Weekly, 1861

"All quiet along the Potomac," they say,
"Except now and then a stray picket
Is shot, as he walks on his beat, to and fro,
By a rifleman hid in the thicket.
'T is nothing—a private or two, now and then,
Will not count in the news of the battle;
Not an officer lost—only one of the men,
Moaning out, all alone, the death rattle."
All quiet along the Potomac to-night,
Where the soldiers lie peacefully dreaming;
Their tents in the rays of the clear autumn moon,
Or the light of the watch-fires, are gleaming.
A tremulous sigh, as the gentle night wind
Through the forest leaves softly is creeping;
While stars up above, with their glittering eyes,
Keep guard—for the army is sleeping.
There's only the sound of the lone sentry's tread
As he tramps from the rock to the fountain,
And he thinks of the two in the low trundle-bed,
Far away in the cot on the mountain.
His musket falls slack; his face, dark and grim,
Grows gentle with memories tender,
As he mutters a prayer for the children asleep,
For their mother,—may Heaven defend her!
The moon seems to shine just as brightly as then,
That night when the love yet unspoken
Leaped up to his lips—when low, murmured vows
Were pledged to be ever unbroken;
Then drawing his sleeve roughly over his eyes,
He dashes off tears that are welling,
And gathers his gun closer up to its place,
As if to keep down the heart-swelling.
He passes the fountain, the blasted pine tree,—
The footstep is lagging and weary;
Yet onward he goes, through the broad belt of light,
Toward the shade of the forest so dreary.
Hark! was it the night wind that rustled the leaves?
Was it moonlight so wondrously flashing?
It looked like a rifle—"Ha! Mary, good-by!"
And the life-blood is ebbing and plashing.
All quiet along the Potomac to-night,—
No sound save the rush of the river;
While soft falls the dew on the face of the dead,—
The picket's off duty forever.


Bob Dylan, among others, sang this song:

Two Soldiers

He was just a blue-eyed Boston boy
His voice was low with pain
"I'll do your bidding comrade mine
If I ride back again
But if you ride back and I am left
You'll do as much for me
Mother you know, must hear the news
So write to her tenderly."

"She's waiting at home like a patient saint
Her fond face pale with woe
Her heart will be broken when I am gone
I'll see her soon, I know"
Just then the order came to charge
For an instant hand touched hand
They said "Aye" and away they rode
That brave and devoted band.

Straight was the track to the top of the hill
The rebels they shot and shelled
Plowed furrows of death through the toilling ranks
And guarded them as they fell
There soon came a horrible dying yell
From heights that they could not gain
And those whom doom and death had spared
Rode slowly back again.

But among the dead that were left on the hill
Was the boy with the curly hair
The tall dark man who rode by his side
Lay dead beside him there
There's no one to write to the blue-eyed girl
The words that her lover had said
Momma, you know, awaits the news
And she'll only know he's dead.