James Richard McDonald, Wonderful Hubby

James Richard McDonald                                                                                                         

                  

 “Mac” as known by his students and friends went to his eternal rest surrounded by family early in the morning on Monday, July 15th. Mac loved teaching Agricultural Education and spent 37 years with his fellow “A teamers” planting the seeds of hard work, creativity and ingenuity into multiple generations of students. He especially loved it when he was able to teach a son or daughter of a former student. Richard was very well known throughout Greene County because of his willingness to stop and chat with anyone. His warm presence drew people in even when they might be busy or in a hurry. It did not matter where he went, if you were lucky enough to be with him, you had better plan for an extra hour because he would inevitably run into someone he knew or someone he had a connection with. He taught us all to be interested in others regardless of the hurried pace of life.                                                                                                                                                                                                                 “Richard” as he was known by his loving wife Cynthia and family could discuss a wide variety of topics and somehow, he would pull you into conversations about topics you never even knew existed. “Hit and Miss” engines, the blueing of a beautiful vintage rifle, John Deere tractors, what to look for in a fine bourbon, his grandson’s latest basketball game, the skills needed to obtain a part for a historical car that he was re-building or what was the best all time John Wayne movie. Those conversations never ended on Thursday nights when a group of his friends appeared at “Mac’s Forge” to make something out of metal for a friend, a special occasion or just for fun. It wasn't as frequent, but some of the most beautiful hand-crafted knives were made in that forge and ended up in the hands of loved ones through out the country. In addition, many of the world’s problems were solved in that shop as well as with fellow members of the MBPCR Club. Mac had a true passion for long distance target shooting and loved all the people that enjoyed the sport with him. He was so proud when he would win the competition in his age group, but far more important was the relationship he built with his fellow competitors. They were a 2nd family in many ways.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                  Richard’s life never transitioned too far away from the farm. Growing up on a farm, then teaching Agriculture, being involved in FFA, 4-H and the Fair were a way of life for his family especially supporting his granddaughters 4-H livestock shows. Sheep, pigs, and especially horses were a love of Cindy’s and his three children, Ryan, Trisha and Emily. Whatever they loved, became a love of his. Fixing an old car or hooking the horse trailer up for another competition or endurance ride was just part of the job of being a husband and father.  Of course, Richard always found people to connect with at camp and on the road, but he was selfless with his time when it came to his family. As they grew and changed, so did he. Fair animals and horses slowly transitioned to motorcycles and ball games. In recent years, Richard and Cindy have been able to travel all over the United States with many of the miles coming on the back of a Harley Tryke. They loved the time in Monument Valley and all the National Parks, but more importantly, they loved the time they got to spend with friends and family along the way. Their travels often brought them to Shelby County for their grandkids ball games and of course, Richard became an adopted brother of so many in the crowd.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                  Richard was a man's man. He was not afraid to fix a baler even if it tore up his arms, help load stubborn animals into a trailer even if they needed a little extra coaxing, drive the grain cart when he wasn't feeling well, or just making sure that his grip was firm (and often crushing) every time he greeted you. However, the love and pride he had for Cindy, Ryan, Trisha and Emily will be how he should be truly remembered. As death was nearing, all of Richard’s beautiful talents and interests became secondary. Despite only being able to nod his head, Richard persisted for hours just so the right question could be asked. “Dad, do you want to tell us that you love us?” and then the resounding up and down motion of his head in response. That was Richard “Mac” McDonald. Our hearts are broken and he will be missed every day. Richard was born on January 26th, 1947 and was 77 when he passed. He was preceded in death by his father, James Wilfred McDonald, mother, Kathrine (Randall) (McDonald) Gregg and his sister, Elaine (McDonald) Straley; brother-in-law, Tom Green. Richard’s family includes his wife of 55 years, Cynthia (DeRemer) McDonald; son, James Ryan and two granddaughters, Caitlyn and Elizabeth; two daughters: Emily McDonald and Trisha (William) Reichert; grandchildren Aidan, Kellen, McKinley and Tatum; a sister, Ann Green. A celebration gathering will be held on September 14th, 2024 at 4 p.m. at the McDonald’s home, 2430 Tarbox Cemetery Rd., Cedarville. Bring a lawn chair as the family gathers to share stories and celebrate Richard’s life. Memorial gifts may be made in his memory to JC Athletic Boosters, 204 South Linden St., Jackson Center, Ohio 45334 or Greene County Sheriffs Office, 120 East Main St., Xenia, Ohio 45385 In care of Greene County Youth Activity Fund

Time Has Come

This year, 2020, I am finally making progress on my idea of compiling all of my blogs into a manuscript.  Eventually, it will be printed and bound.  I'm not sure who really cares, but my need to leave something behind that another might want to read, seems to be driving me.

This has become a major, almost overwhelming project.  I have been trying for two years to get this off the ground and this is the year it will be done.

In doing this I have figured out how save and transfer each blog to my computer, correct the fonts, move paragraphs and then save into a PDF so it can later be transferred to a publisher/printer.

I currently have experimented with a couple online publishing companies.  In doing this I have created three other books already in 2020.  So at this point I have published two "coffee table" books.  They contain 100 photos each, one of my paintings and one of my gourds.  I am very happy with them and feel they are a good compilation of work I have done in the last twenty years.  It is very satisfying to realize how much artwork I have created and it really only touches a small amount the work coming from the Wild Gourd Studio.

The other book was an experiment of publishing online and content is from some of my blogs on horses and other animals on our farm.  It is wonderful, but many things I will correct for the manuscript I am working on now.  The title of this little soft cover book, with twenty five stories is, TRUE HORSE STORIES and other stories from the farm.  

MEMORIES

     This morning, I cleaned around the old computer area.  Oh, the things I found.....  So many notes and papers that may or may not be important today.  I bag for recycled papers, a pile for "keep" and another pile for "find another home".  

     Then it happened, I found the bundles of maps and agendas for our trips out west.  I had thought I might make some photo books from all the beautiful pictures I have stored in my computer and phone.  Of course, I never made time to follow through on that project.  I suddenly realized the books are no longer important.  Who cares about them?  Only me now, I have lost the only other person I could have shared those memories with.  I am the only person to care and to carry those memories.  It is a hard reality when I have to be seventy-five years to find that our experiences are only ours to carry, no one else can understand those memories or even care beyond the polite acknowledgement of your momentary mention of your remembrance.  

     I did save my journal notes, I'm not sure why.  I will probably never read them and basically, they were the daily notes of the miles ridden, towns we stayed, the parks we visited and maybe a good place to eat.  I might actually read them at some point and then throw them away.  Oh well, that's another day.

     I will dry my tears and try to find happiness knowing I have had wonderful memories with a wonderful man, I will relish the sunshine and cooler temperatures.  I will enjoy the happiness my little dogs, Fen and Millie, give to me.

     

A Walk To The Bus

Just having a flashback, brought on by the bright early spring morning we are having.  When we were kids we lived back a very long lane.  Easily a quarter mile long.  We always walked the lane to the bus, the three of us, my brother Brian and Margaret and I.  At the end of the lane sat a small building with windows so we could see the bus coming when it was cold or rainy.  I rarely remember getting a ride to the end of the lane, but maybe on the worst days.

Spring mornings were my favorite for walking to the bus.  It was bright, new, fresh and we wore sweaters instead of winter coats, we carried our books and our lunch boxes.  The sun was glowing and new grass was damp from the morning dew, the birds were singing.  When we were older, we would often ride our bikes to the end of the lane, we'd lay them in the grass along the drive and retrieve them in the afternoon when we were dropped off again.  We never worried that our bikes would be gone, it just didn't happen in the country in those days.

We were the first to get on the bus and the first to be dropped off.  Our ride in the morning was usually about forty minutes long.  I never really minded that, I always sat with the same friend and we were happy with each others company.  I loved our bus driver too, I see him still in my mind, he was always smiling and said, "Good Morning" to everyone that stepped on the bus.  And in the afternoon, he always said, "Good night". 

When I was older, being the first to get on, I would request the job of opening the door for each stop.  It was fun to stand at the front of the bus and be the door person.  I never got the job at night being the first off.  I don't ever remember if my brother or sister got to do this or even if they wanted to, it seemed to be my job. 

One of the other things I remember is going home from school with a friend, all I needed was a note from my Mom to tell the friends bus driver that I had permission.  These days my grandchildren have to get off the same spot every night, no changes allowed.  If they have somewhere else to go they have to be picked up at the school by the parent in charge.  And there is no way they would be allowed to stand at the front of the bus and open the door, they might fall out or something.  Seriously, it is a wonder I have lived as long as I have with all the safety things out there now.  Could I ride my bike to the end of the lane without a helmet, or would my bike be found when I returned in the afternoon? 

It is good to remember the simpler times when we walked our lane on a warm spring morning.

Baking Bread

Lately I've been craving homemade bread.  I love the yeasty aroma of bread baking in the oven.  I have watched the beautiful dough filled pans turn a golden color as they mound above the pan edges.  Pulling them out and rubbing them with butter to keep the crust from getting too hard.  The knife is waiting for it to cool enough to cut, that first bite is the most wonderful mouthwatering flavor in the world.

I learned in 4-H long ago how to make yeast bread and rolls.  I had the most amazing 4-H advisor, Mary Mott and our club was called "Happy Workers".  She taught us to make bread in her own farmhouse kitchen.  Several 4-H'ers would gather at her house on a summer morning and begin the process.  It was often messy and flour was everywhere and I don't recall she ever seemed to mind the mess.  Our reward was watching the dough rise in those towel covered bowls all in a row.  As soon as it had risen enough it was punched down and kneaded to eliminate air pockets and then formed and placed into the waiting greased bread pans.  Another hour of waiting for it to rise before it went into the oven.  Oh, it was the most wonderful moment when we pulled them hot from the oven.

Of course we made yeast rolls too, they were perfect cloverleaf rolls in 4-H.  They were the best, fresh gathered eggs and real butter was used, giving them the most amazing golden color.  When rolls were made at our house when I was growing up, I always made a double recipe.  Everyone love the homemade rolls.  My grandmother also made yeast rolls, she would flatten out a ball of dough and the swish it around in melted butter, fold it in half and place it in the rectangular shaped pan.  I will never forget the smell and taste of her yeast rolls at the Christmas table.

I still made bread and rolls when my children were growing up.  I'd roll the dough out on our old butcher block in the center of the kitchen, flour everywhere and then turn it into a great yellow crock bowl with a towel over the top to rise.  That bowl was then placed inside a cupboard to rise.  You see we had hotwater heat during those days and the person who installed that system in the kitchen ran the heater lines inside the cupboards, they were always toasty warm and in the winter, we'd have to leave the cupboard doors open to have a warm kitchen.  It did make the most perfect place for yeast dough to rise.  Those cupboards also made the most wonderful place for our cat Polly to take a winter nap.

I then remember getting a bread making machine.  All the ingredients were placed inside a "bucket" and it was mixed, allowed to rise a couple times and then baked.  In three hours the entire house smelled of fresh baked bread.  As soon as the timer went off the "bucket" was pulled from the machine so it could cool faster and then be cut and slathered with butter and jam.  My mouth waters just thinking about it.

Might be just the thing to do today!

Forty-Five Years

Our wedding day was forty-five years ago.  How can this possibly be true?  Where is that sweet, young, innocent couple that dated in high school and married four years later?  I was twenty and he twenty-two.  

Richard just graduated from Ohio State University and acquiring a job in our county was pretty much the best way to start a marriage, he would be an Ag. Teacher at the Greene County Career Center.  Oh, we were young and like all other young couples, probably had our head in the clouds.  Life would be perfect and we would grow old together.  

Three years into our marriage we had our first child, Ryan, three years later we had Trisha and three years after that we had Emily.  Each came with no special planning, it was just "time" and so it happened.  I think sometimes we have always just moved along, everything happening in it's own time.  

I laugh when I think about having children, we didn't have a clue what we were doing, everything just happened along.  Working out the difficulties of living on a little farm, raising animals, kids and making do with what we had.  I never wished for more, we were happy and things were just they way they needed to be.

Children grew up, children left home, children married and have children of their own.  We are grandparents?  What?  When did that happen?  Then we are talking about retirement, seriously?
We are too young to think of that, wonderful husband taught for 36 years in the same school that hired him when he was twenty-two.  Does anyone have a job in one place today?

Then suddenly we are talking Medicare.  What?  Life goes on.  We have NO control when it comes right down to it.  We make decisions based on the information we have at that very moment.  Time keeps moving us on to the next stage.  And yet our hearts still are young, we think we are still able to do things that our body is telling us not to do.  Doing things that used to take a couple days might take a week to finish.  What happened to those twenty year old kids?

My wonderful daughter thought it would be fun to notify our friends of our anniversary and have them send cards.  Well, we have been overwhelmed with lovely cards, some from people who were actually participants in the wedding!  New friends, old friends and even our insurance company sent a card!  What fun!  

Our three wonderful children are taking us out to dinner tonight, grand-kids included.  Should be great fun.  

With Thanks and Happiness to all who have made our journey together even more wonderful.

Sleeping in the Tipi

Last night I slept in the tipi.  It was a wonderful night for July to be out there, we have little humidity in the air this year, could be because we are experiencing a drought across the country.

When I'm alone in the tipi,  I count the dogs as company, so not really alone, I usually go out late, maybe eleven or after.  It is always quiet and dark, I  have wood ready for a fire and will often bring a flute to play or sometimes a drum.  I have my own little ceremony before lighting the fire.  It seems I am in constant gratitude for even the smallest gifts found in my days.

The fire isn't really needed for heat in the summer, it does provide light and maybe helps with creepy crawly things.  I have never been bitten by mosquitoes in the tipi.  Of course creepy crawly don't much bother me, we usually have a toad that takes care of things in tipi.

Anyway, not much goes on in the tipi when I'm alone.  However, when I have friends come and stay with me all that changes.  We'll go out earlier, sometimes sit and talk at the outside fire.  When we all go inside the tipi and get our beds ready and sit around the fire, our tiredness is suddenly gone and we can stay awake a while longer laughing and sharing stories.

I have been blessed with some special ceremonies in my tipi lodge.  We will drum, sing and play the flutes and most importantly pray.  These are often moments for the memory to record, there are no photos taken, no recordings and certainly held with much honor and respect. 

The nights are usually quiet, my tipi sits as far from our road and house as I can get it.  We will hear a distant dog bark, an owl in the trees nearby, night insects are singing their songs.  One night I heard snorting, from a deer I decided.  I think one had a fawn in the trees not far away.  I will even hear coyotes yelping in the distance.  My dogs have  often been drawn out of the tipi for something I never hear, I always pray it isn't a skunk.  Raccoon sometimes can be heard chattering, but all have kept their distance and for that I'm grateful!

Morning sunrise is cause for celebration, a new day!   The birds start their song at first light and they can be deafening!  I am always awakened at dawn by their singing and the morning light on the tipi.  I'll cover my head and try to go back to sleep for a little longer.  I find it hard to sleep under such conditions.  The dogs will still be snoring peacefully, worn out from running outside and checking to make sure all is well outside the tipi.

I love when my grand children come and stay with me in the tipi.  They giggle and wiggle around.  The fire lights their faces as we talk and catch up on things in their life.  Pretty soon they are snuggling into their sleeping bags and are visited by their dreams.  I look at their sweet faces and am grateful to share this space with them.