Anyway, I decided to reissue these posts in honor of my Mother – posts which I actually wrote back in February. So you can see, I am not a latter day Mom-lover ……not a fair weather Mother guy at all……I come by my love and care for those Mom’s who were unfortunate to produce us quite honestly.

Happy Mother’s Day to all of you and to all those wonderful women who began life for morons like me.

I could – and may – just as easily write about my father, Fred Snedeker. But Dad passed away in 1983 and my Mother is still around, “fresh off” Father’s passing, still in love with the man after 42 years of marriage and now 27 years after his death. We pass December 22 each year in a bit of prayer and remembrance as it is one of Mother’s worst days. Her devotion to Pop honestly is an awesome characteristic which I can barely even imagine, considering the course of my own uneven married events. But she is most definitely what you see. She has been through so much in general, and she feels so young at heart and so full of life and curiosity at 92 years old, she will forever stand as a guiding light for me and innumerable others who have encountered her.

I returned to Louisville, as I had announced, on September 30, 2 years ago. It was a beautiful Autumn in Louisville that season and Mother and I traveled all over town.

It gave her a chance to walk and talk, exercise and do what she does so well – teach. She reintroduced me to the area and we also discovered much which was all brand new. Yew Dell Gardens, Bernheim Forest, the wonders of Main Street in Louisville including the brand new basketball palace – Cave Hill Cemetery, the glories of Cherokee Park, their old rental apartment on St. James Court where they renovated into magnificence an entire floor of a beautiful historical old home. We were peripatetic after my arrival, getting out all over town.

(She had taught – Accounting Principles –  at various small colleges in Louisville until she was 84. These were full loads, standing all day, after which she would often walk up to 3 miles per day. At 90, she had given up her season tickets to Louisville basketball games – what used to be my Christmas Gift to her every year – although I did accompany her and her great good friend Kathleen Drummond to the opening basketball game in the new arena – Yum! Center – for the Louisville girls against Tennessee.)

Here’s a cool pic of Mom grasping her little Beena Girl at our place in Reno. I’s say she looks rather pleased.

Anyway – this changed a bit after she suffered a couple of falls – while with me both times, sadly enough – and she has found herself just a bit less inclined to get all out and about, certainly not as much as when I first arrived. Her fragility has increased a bit, in short, although to this very day, she just finished 2 weeks on jury duty downtown. So she aint crippled, lol.

If one gets nothing else from reading this strictly personal tale of my own selfish interests, please know I do it because I can – for one thing. For the second “thing” – I admire this lady endlessly. For the third “thing”: even if I did not, I feel we gain from knowing older people. Their versions of history are remarkable and all-too-often silent. In our rush to buy the next new gizmo or catch the fab new TV sitcoms which so often determine our off hours, we overlook the hard yards the generations prior to us had to cross in order to deliver us to our Present. This person endured a period in our history which was at equal turns deadly, depressing and inspiring. When you ponder Mother’s birth year – 1919 – and what she may have encountered as an active, intelligent woman with an independent streak, you will find elements of the evolution of our National Consciousness represented nearly completely. It is supremely humbling to me, finding out about the casual cruelties administered to racial “others”, the poor and dispossessed and to women themselves during her lifetime and how she dealt with that.

Just the same, all I take from it all is currently, in real everyday life today – at worst – is that we were able to relish what we experienced since I have been here. Nor is it as if there’s not some mighty fine events which have taken place within the very walls of where we now live. While we haven’t set activity records, the love pretty much never stops in the persons of visits from her grand daughters and now her great grand daughters from the same gorgeous Meagan. Her other “grands” – my kid Alena, Mike and Lisa’s Beckett and Zoe, the very sunny Hannah, Meagan, Jenny and Aaron – simply exist as parts of a heart more than roomy enough to entertain stories and attention at any given time – on any given day.

It is often hard to relate to young folks what it means to have spoken and loved her Dad and Mom, for example, and hear about what life was like prior to automobiles and electric lighting. It was always amazing listening to her Dad speak of opting for a horse on snowy days to deliver the mail in the flatland and bitter winds of central Illinois during severe Winters.

Speaking of my Grandad and Grandma, they flank everyone here, with my Mom being second from the left, her sister Jody the Bride standing next to Grandad. My older brother and sister are obvious, as is the apprehensive young baby – me – seen in the foreground in the fashionable killer shorts.

But it can be equally instructive listening to Mother relate what the times were like as she grew up a kid in East Central Illinois in the ‘massive’ (insert cynical chuckle) urban metropolis of Humbolt, Illinois – population 350. Our visits to “Granddad and Grandma’s” house always involved pretty much an all day ride and were spaced throughout my entire life as a kid as near routine. We got to make Icons out of various elements of this setting – my brother Mike, for example, has these “often-chthonic” dreams of the huge corn silo’s which existed beside the railroad tracks which also bordered the home there. Inside those silo’s, Mike has encountered a Stephen King-like retinue of events and weirdness which inspire creepy deep psychic exhumations and symbols which that sort of setting completely appropriately provides. Think “Children Of The Corn”.  Also, inasmuch as we moved so often during our childhoods – with our Father being a contractor and upwardly-mobile at that – Grandad and Grandma’s place was of pivotal permanent importance to Mike – and even the rest of us – who went to something like 10 schools in 12 years.

Mother’s beginnings were humble enough – one of two daughters of the local Postal Dude who pretty much knew everyone in the local world, Paul Rogers and his wife Etta. In the end, Paul Rogers – her Dad – ran that route for 47 consecutive years. This placed them in a reasonable spot with permanent incomes as the Depression and the Dust Bowl wore on throughout Mother’s childhood. She was even able to attend college at Eastern Illinois University, where she met my Pop. Their stories are private but her confidences concerning their romance have absolutely warmed my heart like few other events. It is moments such as those where I almost always reflect on how incredibly cool it is to be able to share these splendid times with such an experienced yet loving Mom.

“The Choice” – whether to return to Louisville in person and launch things totally ready to help out –  arrived at one evening out on the porch at Mike’s home during one of our many Sunday dinners in Portland, talking with he and his wife, Lisa. It remains a decision I am more than content with and one which I actually wish more could share. I feel lucky now.

A cool look at the ‘fam’ – brother Mike, sister Diane gabbing at Meagan and Jeff’s wedding while Mom proudly looks on.

Whereas Mother had recently experienced a broken back (lol, true story) at the time of our sibling confab, and seeing as how she had also experienced a few financial setbacks, we sat and contemplated what we could do. The more we explored things, the less satisfying they were. I had recently stopped landscaping full time and had undertaken writing for a living. It was actually working, providing me with an income of at least some stability, even as new as it was to me. I had never really considered myself a writer at all, frankly, but life brings us to some odd crossroads.

I had a small epiphany: Why don’t I go live there a while? I mean, I am mobile now. My market is in the ether.

I broached the subject out loud, looking for holes to punch into the theory, and we decided it was impossible to find many, provided I didn’t mind the trip ‘back in time’ – to Kentucky and my early life. Hell, that one was easy at the time – it was actually exciting. That night we booked my flight, I made the local arrangements, and the rest is history.

But this is current stuff. Mother’s story is more Prehistoric!  (She’ll kill me for that, lol.) If there are no further posts here in the future, look no further than her room for the perp.

As a teacher, she naturally influenced hundreds or, better yet more likely thousands. I know her reputation and it was universally fairly stellar. She stuck to business, had her favorites, tried to understand whether they understood and she had the reputation as the rarest sort of “color-blind” person and teacher. She loved when people became successful – it was always one of her proudest moments, to relate some success achieved by someone she had taught. Like any great teacher, I think, for her “success” was a mutual thing, won with the help of others.

Here is the house she grew up in, now-sold and ‘improved’. The railroad tracks which so accompany any memories here are seen under the tree branch to the left. That’s the line that connect New Orleans with Chicago. To say it gets traffic is an understatement.

Growing up in rural Humbolt saw Mom joining the first classes at the “new school” there, I believe which included grades 1-12. She and her little friends were equal parts darlings and semi-devilish and they had the run of the town in a somewhat safe, definitely family-centered town. Yes, the Depression saw many travelers as the railroad tracks which border their house sent car loads of “hobo’s” and “hillbilly’s” north to Chicago during the early 30′s. It was the Depression and, to make matters merely 5 times worse, we suffered a climatic event of the Century at the same time – the Dust Bowl. Etta Rogers and Paul were sometimes “guilty” of feeding those who stopped in Humbolt to try and find a rare bite to eat. The times were exceedingly grim for everyone, even in Humbolt.

This is Betty’s original home, up the street from Mom’s place.

Her best friends, Lucille and Betty lasted as “best friends” for their entire lives. Our trips always included visits to both ladies’ homes where we were as accepted as family as can be imagined – without hesitation. Amazing things happened some times. My brother Tom once had a dog bite nearly through his head off the porch of a neighbor of Lucille’s. A huge and vicious German Shepherd only restrained by a chain on the front porch, Tom figured it was yet another animal he could win over as a complete animal lover and as someone who rightfully was considered more than just a little “good with animals”. Wow – the amount of blood pouring out of his little head was incredible as he ran, screaming and so disappointed back to “home base” where we all panicked and where Dad went to “take care” of the dog for good. The rips were huge – Tom wore “clamps” instead of stitches for weeks afterwards and – for the record – the dog was put down by its owners.

The famous Humboldt Post Office in it’s raw glory:

Betty Edgar was a woman whose heart was beautiful to me. Like Lucille Abel, Betty and Mother were as thick as thieves as kids. She made sure we all visited her family and children who had moved over to Charleston on a regular basis and they would also scheme to hook up with us at Lucille’s big farm out in the flatlands. Betty lost her husband, Cecil, in 1953, in a car accident, and never remarried. I think that tragedy made my Mom and their friend Lucille that much more necessary and close. Of course, she had 3 strapping boys to raise, so it’s somewhat understandable. And she did a marvelous job of that – by all means.

A good look at the local Illinois environment?  Right here; not a lot of mountains:

The good news for us was that Betty and Lucille both had children who were generally our ages and with whom my brothers, sister and I enjoyed play and a general take on the stuff around us. Jim, who was more my age, eventually became the first downstate Governor in Illinois for some unGodly number of years and is still regarded – to this day – as an very popular and successful governor. Jim Edgar. (Wiki Link included). He and his older brother Tom were favorites of ours and guys we would see almost every visit at one point or another. Plenty of Mad Magazines, comics, toys and such were shared, along with walks in the corn and the explorations of Lucille’s big broom corn farm. We buried ourselves more than once in corn, lol.

A look at Arcola, Illinois’ big corn silo’s beside the tracks – nearly exactly the same as Humboldt’s:

When Jim was inaugurated as Governor, the first ladies invited were, of course, his Mom and mine. Lucille worked harder for him than she did at golf – at which she was something of a fanatic. She made the scene also because she was such a mover and shaker in politics. She would have been invited anyway, lol, and needless to say, she worked tirelessly in behalf of Jim.

Later, during my family’s diaspora to everywhere in the world, my younger brother, Tom, used to visit Lucille’s son Jeff and ride horses. It was something I missed out on but they evidently made it work like nobody’s business.  Huge barns, great big silos, cattle, odd animals of almost any stripe could be found all over. These were big farms, all broom corn and now soybeans, alfalfa and even sunflowers. We visited them, Tom and I, when I had first returned to this area, in 2009. As warm and friendly as ever, in many ways it was as if 45 years had moved quickly between visits.

This little triumvirate of lasses made differences in their worlds and they – as much as My Father, it often seems – impacted Mother’s and our own lives forever. All worked for a living and all made splashes wherever they found themselves.  I think they were all a part of an emerging modern day type of woman and they were each quite successful in incredibly diverse ways. When one considers their shadow and their impact, one is humbled by how such humble beginnings could lead to such amazing accomplishments.

Here Tom and I visit the graves of our relatives and the Edgars and Abels in Humboldt’s township cemetery. It was incredible moving for us both – my first visit to Humboldt since 1982.

Lots of folks know Jim Edgar as this guy, celebrating his election victory as Governor of Illinois:

But – Ha ha, man – this is my memory of Jim, the youngest here with his brothers Fred and Tom:

This is the grave of my Grandfather and Grandma. Such a peaceful and gorgeous setting:

Upon graduating from Eastern Illinois University, my Mom made her way to Chicago to experience life on her own. Her relationship with Fred – or “Sned” as she called him, just like so many of my current friends call me – was always important and they were in love but she decided she needed to check things out, nevertheless. They put rushing into the Big Decision on hold. Dad had graduated and had gotten a gig teaching and coaching basketball at the high school in McComb, Illinois, so he was committed. Mother found herself asked to do a bit of modeling, did some severe secretarial work and lived ‘the life’ until Dad became essentially too hard to live without. He was a persistent man, my old man. Finally, they tied the knot.

Just in time for a War.

Our Father joined the Navy and ended up being posted to San Diego. There is some long story about how an important Colonel or General liked him, but Dad had a background as a shooter and as a teacher, so he began as a Drill Instructor on a rifle range and stayed in that position for the entire war effort. He has oodles of pictures of a few hundred guys posing at a time upon graduating, all with Dad in the middle of them. I hate saying this, but having had my own version of Drill Instructors in the Army, I regret to say I can picture him doing this.  ;-)  Most importantly for them, it not only kept the family together, the family expanded.

The above is Dad with Mike who is apparently practicing an early oral argument on the yard in San Diego. Note the sweeping hand gesture, something we witness on a daily basis to this very day.

Well, the War ended and the Big Build began and our father became a contractor, moving after 8 years in San Diego and the birth of 3 kids including yours truly, to various construction projects. Mother would sometimes work with him as his responsibilities began including some projects of his own as a subcontractor, and, in a version of  ”The Help”, we had numerous Nannies, almost always African American ladies of the sweetest dispositions, as we careened around the South, from New Orleans to Jackson, Mississippi to Biloxi and thence to Paducah, Kentucky. It all culminated in a move from Toledo, Ohio to Louisville, where Dad found his own business and constructed what was then Tanglewood subdivision (now Wildwood) off Shelbyville Road – a single family housing development of upper middle class representation.

Dad’s business failed then – he got back on his feet, no sweat – and Mother’s career began. She began teaching high school. From this point on – with the notable exception of helping Dad yet again as he attempted another business, Mother taught either high school or college for the next 52 years. Having already borne 4 kids, dealt with oodles of moving and relocating, worked as Girl Friday/secretary/accountant for Dad and others, she began her career again at this tiny 1-12 grade and high school in a tiny Kentucky town outside of Bowling Green called Alvaton – where I encountered my very first 16 year old true hillbilly 4th grader.  There was a poverty there which we rarely spoke of, Mom and I, on our trips out to that place. But it was most certainly there, including one of my classmate’s homes, hard by the school, that you could literally see through. And it wasn’t because of the windows.

The social exclusions and cruelties I witnessed there were sobering to me. I found more out about the world around us than I did at any other time in my life outside of the Army, and it was as bittersweet as it ever got. I cried at times, thinking of how poor some of my acquaintances in that class were. Shoes with holes and no socks, dirty faces, weather at sub zero temperatures, small holey jackets made a tableau which formed much of my later politics without my even knowing how or why. It may well have been the most influential year of my life. Mother, meanwhile, became known as a “cool teacher” among the kids who attended there.

(Random shot of Mom and her Great Grandaughter, Quinn.)

Mother – seeing the handwriting on the wall – decided to get her Masters Degree then and attended Western Kentucky University for the purpose – in Math.

Still later, 3 years, we relocated to Owensboro. Mom taught high school there for 3-4 years then got the opportunity to join her good friend Joe Voyles at his new edifice – Owensboro Business College, where she taught accounting and some word processing/secretarial science. The shorthand she had so assiduously learned (and still uses) which enabled her to take dictation, she found edging its way to the scrapheap as the new world emerged – of technology and filing and transcribing progress. Finally, in 1970 all that changed with Dad’s business going South and they moved to Louisville.

Since then, Mother taught at Sullivan, Spalding and McKendree Universities as well as providing Accounting classes for the management and workers at the huge Ford Motor Company plant, during evenings. I and she run into her former students literally all the time – at Louisville basketball games in elevators, at Doctor’s Offices and on the street. For someone as used to independence as myself, and with my own levels of popularity where I have lived for various reasons, it is sometimes sheer crazy how many people she has impacted. She’s one of them there Wholesale Impactors.

Yet another family picture with my brother Tom, his girl Meagan, Quinn and Mom. For some strange reason, the Snedeker boys issue some amazingly gorgeous females. I’d like to take credit for that.

Mom taught until she was 84. She would come home and rip back out to take walks – often covering 3 miles. Her health caught up with her in that year and she has had what I suppose is a somewhat predictable round of health issues since that time. Her heart problems caused her to not renew her contract – in spite of being pled with by the University faculty and staff to take some time off then return. When I say they missed her, I honestly mean that.

We decided not to take the Pimpmobile on this particular day.

Since that time, Mom has lived the life of a retiree. She has been a regular at the Louisville Symphony and at University of Louisville basketball games. We attend both events together at times and her knowledge of the game of basketball is superb. We have developed a nasty superstition for my social life. She is pretty certain the Cardinals have a better chance of losing when I don’t watch with her in her room. Unfortunately, it appears she may have something there. Bye bye, microbrews!

She attended darn near every sporting event I ever played. Her devotion was exceptional, as was my Father’s. Make no mistake, we are talking an average of some 200 events a year. Our baseball team played a high school schedule of generally 50-60 games, then the American Legion season commenced. That was usually around the same. And they did the same for all the boys’ sports. They had tickets to every town’s college games, no matter where we lived – Bowling Green and Western Kentucky University’s Red Barn, Owensboro and now Louisville. Naturally, Dad was the mover concerning all this – he played football at Eastern Illinois and did well until a knee injury in his incarnation as  ”Freddy The Flash” – – he was truly a talented player and he had that nickname laid on him in local newspapers of the era – a nickname my friends were merciless in using around him after I busted him.

These were not stay-at-home parents!

In summation, Mother spends these days at a mellow clip. She has great good friends she sees nearly weekly for a luncheon group which has been around in one form or another for 20 years – ex-teachers and girlfriends who she goes to games with or with whom she attends the orchestra. She reads voraciously and her acumen seems as solid concerning the world around her as it ever has. Her distant kids, Mike and Diane call weekly and she looks very forward to each call. Her sister Jody is equally devoted and she calls and sends pictures of her clan – our cousins Sam and Rachel and their children – in Galesburg, Illinois. Now Meagan or Hannah will call increasingly often. I can see in Mother’s expression the rare and severe delight she relishes at these moments. The advent of free long distance has been a boon to my family of positively tectonic proportions. It sure makes her days. She absolutely relishes being up to date.

We speak of spiritual matters at times and of private confidences as well. She is very liberal politically, probably as a result of dealing with so many disadvantaged kids, from every walk of life. Her grandfather and his father were preachers in Decatur, so she has had the underpinnings of a Christian education, to say the least. But she is a modern woman who also believes the best stuff in the world happens in front of our faces. She has a life.

From my end, it is bizarre living with her again. It seems so strange, after all these years of living 2,500 miles away – 40 of those years, actually – to reunite like this in such an every day manner. There are those days I wake up and feel incredibly lucky to have her around. My role in providing her later years with some extra oomph gets its reward in climbing the stairs and seeing the size of her smile every single morning. One can only wonder at the reservoir of happiness which motivates such a gorgeous take on the day and in the simple pleasure of seeing #2 Son walking by. Having a child of my own does, however, give me insight into the world of Unconditional and Total Love – and she gets to multiply that by 4. So, what the heck. It makes sense after all. What I am saying though, is that she makes it a 2 way street. She gives rewards – simple and cleansing ones, still.

My life will still be the same stupid set of mistakes, loves and losses, interspersed with a few major successes, I hope. But the one thing I most certainly do NOT regret is in returning to this family.

Love ya, Mom.

My recent visit to Portland included revisiting this eye candy project and some speaking with the new owners who were delighted to know all the ins and outs of the construction of this place.

I have featured this project in other posts but I have recently unearthed a new little trove of pictures taken as we were leaving. These pictures were taken on the day we actually finished the project. It’s hard to believe a month or two earlier the area was all mud, complete with the broken and sawed up tree parts and underbrush which comprised the entire area prior to our excavations and then landscaping. Interestingly, the water clarity in these pictures, although it gives a really pleasing mirror-like reflective finish, is still a bit dirty, proving the “unfinished” nature of it all. Later, it was crystal clear.

There were numerous and very intimidating challenges to it all. For one thing, the deck seen hovering over the water was always designed to stay just an inch above the waterline. Naturally, installing the deck preceded almost all the landscaping work save for the excavation. In typical fashion, therefore, it became our typical logistical nightmare.

Having said that, once a “level” is decided upon, at least we have something solid to base the rest of the construction on.  The impracticalities all come home to roost right around then.

This project was pretty gnarly to make. The liner itself was something like 80′ by 60′, meaning it took 7 of us just to spread it out, much less to adjust it all. EPDM Liners are heavy as heck. Just getting it into the back yard required a machine. Nor was this the only liner on the project. We also had a creek to construct because we wanted at least some water recirculating and oxygenating instead of becoming an algae-infested mess. Yes, it is pretty much shady back there, but it still got enough sunshine to make algae an issue.

So we made a good sized creek, with a fairly good rate of flow. Making it look natural was pretty easy, frankly, owing to the density of plantings and the availability of plants we had relocated, ready for planting, upon the commencement of the project:

(click images to enlarge)

The look from the patio:

The project was complicated by the desire of the owners for a small island. Man, anything but that!

This is not easy when designing with liners. The little mound where the island goes has to be made just right, at the proper height and width, nor can it eventually sink. So it got compacted to a large degree but not so it would become impossible to plant.

Hey – hand me that piano, OK?

When all was said and done, we had ourselves a real winner, I think. We found abundant forest material to insert into the edges of the water, making it appear far older than – ahem – one day old.

The Springtime effects look gorgeous in many of these shots – there were blooms galore and bright shiny new leaves everywhere.

The project remains a rather epic achievement for yours truly, shared by many, of course. These sorts of projects can be frustrating and challenging but they seem more than worth the effort with a little ‘remove’.

(please enlarge images by clicking)

Once again, the entire Gardens are simply World Class edifices. I just feel and felt then so lucky to be able to take part in all this incredible landscaping. This is pretty much the best in the galaxy.

Next…..

Later, we pass by the Australian Garden section, rife with Eucalyptus and these guys….. This is where Hummingbirds go to retire.

Flowers are the primary attractions here…..with some Eucalyptus trees, of course. I am so jaded now towards Eucalyptus, I didn’t even bother taking pictures. That was actually a mistake because the bark and trunks congregated there were richly-colored.

Guess where this leads…….

This spot is on the march between the Aussie Garden and the splendid Japanese Garden, of course. It was yet another present for the senses and featured some absolutely amazing Bonzai plants which made me wonder at the ratings these plants would receive in comparison with absolutely any others. I mean, I just suspected these were also some of the best Bonzai examples in the world. Incredible stuff!

Here’s today’s Daily Double worth a billion – I was really beginning to believe these guys knew what they were doing.

The Japanese Garden was closed for a year or so as they remade a water feature and added some features. Indeed, it had just been opened for a couple weeks before our visit. This is a real sweet Japanese Garden.

I rate the Water Feature a total success……with a perfectly bubbling sound and the absolutely correct flow rate.

As always in Japanese Gardens, we get to witness the changing patterns in the sand or stones lavished daily for our pleasure. More minimalist, gorgeous lines soothe our souls as we connect with the purpose of this combination of Man and Nature.

We then cut through a grove of Camelias which were almost spent by this date. But what was even cooler were the hardy orchids which so adore life under the canopy between the Japanese garden and The Chinese Garden.

Here are the beginnings of the canopy, complete with some Camelias:

And here are the orchids along the paths……

Cool stuff………….and now our Favorite

The Chinese Garden……..note the ham welcoming committee. These guys even supply gorgeous models!

I now consider myself somewhat of an expert on Chinese gardens, having worked on the actual construction of the Portland, Oregon Chinese garden personally. I rate this version as near-equal. This is simply a phenomenal place, no if’s and’s or but’s. It’s simply just as good as it gets.

Walk with us…..

As always, the gorgeous foot-massaging pebbled walkways are the eye candy that ties it all together.

Hide the women and children! 

The consistent fascination Chinese Gardens illustrate for windows and the Feng Shui aspects of peeks into another dimension never fails to please.

What a wonderful place. Alena and I both offered that the Chinese Garden was out favorite spot on the entire Huntington’s grounds. This is a stunningly beautiful garden.

Oh yeah – and a great beautiful Mahonia, too.

And, finally, a beautiful bridge.

Next, I’ll finish Huntington up.