My Love ( from “Coming of Age) 2012

Once we were young

with dreams and hopes

and laughter almost every day.

His hair of black and mine of butter yellow.

We worked from dawn to dusk


He just came from the shed

pushing the wheelbarrow full of wood chunks

for the basement stove,

his white hair shining in the October sun

a little stooped where once he stood  so

straight and tall.

I wave; he stops to catch his breath

waves back and asks “How you doin'”?

“Not bad for an old lady,” I reply.

We both laugh

and for a little while we both are young again

with his black hair and mine of butter yellow.

( In memory of Richard (Dick) Morgan) 11/7/41-10/25/16




A Ghostly Tale

It looked like any farm should look like…at least in my young seventeen years’ way of thinking. It was rather bleak on the outside from years of standing there on the hillside. Inside were 12 or 13 rooms waiting to be filled or finished off and as a new bride, I was thrilled to see the space after years of sharing a three room house with five other people.

The farm had seen many inhabitants, among those my in-laws ancestors and I marveled at the stories told about its history. I wasn’t quite sure how we would add to it, but we did experience a bit of the past…I think~~~

After six years, the farm boasted of four children ages 4 right down to the newborn. Since there were four bedrooms upstairs, it worked out beautifully.  The baby always remained in a crib downstairs until I decided( in my estimation) that he was old enough to go upstairs. Each child had his own bedroom, but Alan’s crib was put in Debra’s room, making her happy since she claimed him as her own from the day he came home from the hospital.

Occasionally, Debra would mention something about a boy in her room, but I discounted this as just imagination. It went on for some time and I cannot remember from whom I heard this or where, but it was said that a boy who had lived there, died in the room from pneumonia. I still, in all my innocence, did not add up the two conversations.

But again, I digress. This particular evening, my husband and I were watching TV when I heard Alan screaming from his crib. It was not the usual fussing of a two year old but a terrifying sound. I bounded up the stairs, which led by an old attic door and into the room. He sobbed wildly and I picked him up and tried to comfort him, to no avail. I propped him on my hip, as most mothers do, and started out of the room into the hallway and he stiffened, screamed and pointed to the attic door. It was such a primal scream that I almost dropped him and can still recall the moment to this day, all these years later. Apparently he could see something that I could not. I jumped almost as high as he did when he pointed!! Down the stairs we went and after some time, he quieted enough to be taken back and the rest of the night was quiet.

Through her childhood years, Debbie often remarked that a boy came and stood at the foot of her bed. It never bothered her and she was never upset. Gary has some stories of his own, which I am sure he can relate much better than I.

I never was aware of any strange feelings during the day as I worked upstairs and to my knowledge none ever were wandering downstairs. The presence seemed to be always upstairs near the bedrooms and centered on the room in which the boy was to have died.

On one of my last visits to Debra at the farm, she graciously gave me her downstairs bedroom and returned upstairs. On her nightstand is a touch lamp and nature called me in the middle of the night. I crawled back into bed and shut the lamp off. Wait! No! The lamp came back on..then off..then on…hmm short circuit? NO. I reached over and shut it off. Five minutes later, again the on, off, on off routine began again. This time, being tired, I let out a yell “Leave the lamp alone..I am tired and I want to sleep!”  The lamp went off and stayed off. Coincidence? Who knows. Harmless for sure.

Debbie has made the farm house over into her own home now and says it is ghost free. If it were not, I am sure she could live with them peacefully.  But being Halloween month, I thought I would share our little “ghost” story.

The picture is Alan at about the age the “spirit”-“ghost” decided to wake him.