WinterMary Ball

“The snow had begun in the gloaming, andbusily all the night, had been heaping fieldand highway with a silence deep and white.”The First Snowfall, by James RussellLowell.As I look out my window today that bit

of the poem comes to mind. Truly the pineand hemlock are “ridged inch deep inpeace.” My grandma would have said,“That’s more truth than poetry!”Mother Nature gives us seasons to enrich

our lives and perhaps remind us of thepower and the capricious nature of thenatural world. In those days gone by on theother side of beauty was the ever presentresponsibility of caring for the stock,shoveling out, and the 24 hour tasks of thedairy farmer. There were times when my

dad would have been taking the milk to thecreamery with his beautiful team of horsespulling a wagon. Coal for the stoves wascarried from the coal bin across the road (inthe “shop”), and that plus the wood pilebehind the house would carry us through thecold days.The Currier and Ives version of winter

doesn’t reflect all that winter really was. Itend to remember best the happy andmemory-framing moments: images ofbuilding snowmen, trying out new skis, andsliding down hill on my new sled. Schooldays were rarely cancelled. This was ageneration of strong and resilient people.We walked to our one-room school wherethe teacher would be there, keeping the firegoing in the pot-bellied stove, and we wenton with our lesson plans. The school buswould follow the plow to the high school in

Editors: Innes Kasanof; Peg DiBenedetto; Judy DiBenedetto; Carrie Bradley Neves; Art: Nina Kasanof

THE TIMES OF

HALCOTT

Winter 2018 Vol 85

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Fleischmanns.The black and white winterscape was not

dull or drab. The mountains reflected thebright blueof winterskies inshades ofblue andpurple.Cardinalsand bluejays wereornamentsof theseason, plustheoccasionalred fox

running by.My mother would be feeding bunnies on a

low windowsill in the kitchen and throwingout bread crumbs for squirrels. The radioprovided the daily farm and weather reportsand a host of soap operas. In the evening, itwas Gabriel Heater, Lin and Abner, TheShadow and The Hit Parade. I loved walkingat night. The stars so close and such brightwindows into heaven. The winter holidayswere so special. The centerpiece of theseason, and so full of joy and color. Betweenthe holidays there were the quiet times. Thecoastal fishermen call it the “mending of thenets time.” The work of farm families, asdifficult as it may have been, was also a timeof recharging emotional and mental batteries.The earth was now resting. Sleeping

under a white blanket. Does the earthdream? A nice fantasy! It dreams of newlife waiting to come alive at the first warmthof spring.

Halcott Chocolate Candy Caper orLife Really Is Like A Box Of

ChocolatesPam Kelly

A large old house used to sit at thecorner of what are presently Bouton Roadand Turk Hollow Road. The couple wholived there was John and Libbie (Fuller)Kelder. Their final resting place is across theroad in the Halcott cemetery. Libbie's sisterPearl Fuller Myers passed away in her 30's,about 1935. She and her three children hadresided in Fleischmanns. Pearl's kids werenow without a home. Edward, Ralph (akaLonnie) and little sister, Betty came to livewith their maternal aunt and uncle, John andLibbie. Lonnie was about 14 years old,Edward was a little older and Betty, theyoungest.

An uncle was staying with theKelders for a while. I do not know his name.There was and still is a small triangle of landwhere Bouton and Turk hollow roadsintersect. When this uncle was staying therehe kept a flower bed growing in that littletriangle of land. This uncle bought a box ofchocolates for his girlfriend. Imagine whatan extravagance that was back in the mid1930's. He made the mistake of asking theboys, Edward and Lonnie to walk to theHalcott post office and mail the package tohis special girl.

As their two and a half mile trekwore on the thought of all those chocolatesmust have gnawed at the young boys' minds.They agreed she'd probably not miss just afew out of the whole assortment. They

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opened the box, choosing the morselscarefully, replacing them with little pebbles(of which there was and is abundance alongthe Halcott roadway.) The package wascarefully rewrapped and dutifully mailedout. Their uncle could not understand whyhe never heard from his girlfriend again!Decades later Lonnie retold this caper with achuckle.

Fast forward several years: Lonnieattended Fleischmanns High School. Hewas one of the many young men whoforfeited a high school diploma to join theU.S. Army in WWII. Summer of 1943 hewas stationed in Fort Rucker, Alabama. Hiswife Helen Moran Myers gave birth to theirbaby girl, Carole Ann at MargaretvilleHospital. Lonnie asked his sergeant forleave and was denied! He then went tosomeone in higher command. He was toldhe had 24 hours leave! In his "hurry" to getto home to see them he received a speedingticket. The speed limit was 35 miles perhour, an attempt to conserve gas for the wareffort.

Heserved inCentralEurope,NorthernFrance,Rhineland,the InvasionofNormandyand D-Dayat OmahaBeach.Much of his

service was under combat conditions.Lonnie served two years in Europe, a longtime to be away from Halcott and his family.Can you imagine the tranquility of theCatskills upon his return?

Helen and baby Carole lived withJohn and Libbie during Lonnie's time away.One of the memories Helen recalled duringthe time was that she and some friendswould occasionally walk to Fleischmanns tothe movies. If there were no neighborstraveling the Halcott road up from town,they would walk the whole distance back toJohn and Libbie's house. The summernights could be very dark. One night Helenwalked into the broad side of a waywardcow standing in the middle of the road!

When I think back of Lonnie andHelen telling anecdotes of their early yearsspent in Halcott, how I wish I had listenedmore and better.

Please Mow Your Fields LaterIt used to be that farmers would

spend the summer haying their fields, thenlater in the fall would get around to brushhogging side areas and neighbors’ fields notneeded for hay. It worked well, because bythen there’d have been a hard frost or two,and the vegetation in those extra areas hadfinished production. By then, insects andbirds had spent the summer and part of thefall collecting, eating, and spreading pollen.They had consumed much needed caloriesfrom the seeds and berries of many kinds ofshrubs, flowers, and grasses beforemigrating south or completing their lifecycles. Instead of being “fallow” orunproductive, these areas had provided

F.

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Helen & Lonnie Myers with baby Carole

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important sources of food energy and pollenfor several months. The cutting of thevegetation after its production ensured thatthe this process would continue year afteryear.

Fast forward to these days of fewhayfields and farms, more “fallow” fields and“gentlemen” farmers, and more brush hogs.Fields and side areas are now being mowedearlier and more often through the summerand fall, essentially removing significantfood sources of milkweed and other flowers,fruits, and seeds from pollinator habitats.Just a couple of principles govern the oldmodel of mowing:1. It takes about 3 years for woody

growth to start to establish.2. It takes 1, 2, or sometimes 3 frosts to

kill plants and stop plant production.So, the most effective way to promotepollination while controlling your vegetationis to brush hog once every 1 to 3 years, butwait until late fall or winter, until after atleast 2 frosts. The more land you manage inthis way will support more birds andpollinators. At the very least, mowingaround patches of milkweed will help.Pollinators in New York State and worldwide are facing steep declines, affectingnatural food cycles and farm and gardencrops as well. Later mowing can make a bigdifference. PD

Please Drive with Care!We just received this distress call

from our Halcott farmers:We are having problems with people tryingto pass the milk truck when he is backing into our place and Greg just had a close call

with someone up near Jennifer Bouton’swhen he went to turn in with the tractor andspreader. This is occurring with increasingfrequency and it's quite a dangerous situation.Also, the milk truck now backs up from theTown Highway Dept to our farm, since he nolonger has to go to Tim and Christl’s. As youcan imagine if someone comes too fast overthe little hill by our barn it could be a baddeal for both parties. JD

And Please License Your Dog!Halcott Town Clerk, Pattie Warfield

reminds us that New York State law requiresthat all dog owners license their dogs. Doglicenses may be purchased or renewed forone to five years. All dog license fees arenon-refundable.

Pattie’s contact information is as follows:Office: 845-254-6441 Home: 518-610-1214email: clerk@townofhalcott.orgHer office hours are hours are 3–5pm onWednesdays and 10–12noon on the thirdSaturday of the month. Other times byappointment. The Office of the Town Clerkis located downstairs in the Grange at:264 Route Halcott Center, NY 12430

CORRESPONDENCE:To all who contribute to the Halcott

newsletter: I am the oldest daughter ofHarold and Mable West, Harold being theson of Bertha Kelly West and Charles West;Bertha being the sister of Emerson Kelly ofwhat used to be the large Kelly homestead inHalcott. Her oldest brother Chauncy Kellyand his wife ran a boarding house up the roadfrom the Kelly farm. He also was a beekeeper. I grew up on honey and maple syrup

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from the Halcott valley. My brief annualvisits include a trip to Halcott to buy maplesyrup from Ronnie Morse.Also, my best friend since age 4 is KathleenBouton Mech. Her brother still has thefamily farm (Russell Bouton). I have manyHalcott connections and read your newsletterlooking for bits of history. I also rememberthe DiBenedetto farm in Townsend Hollowwhere they raised sheep. I believe Anthonywas a grade or two after me at FleischmannsHigh School. He may have had a brotherwho was in my sister, Laurilyn WestFraiser’s class at FHS. Thank you for doingwhat you do! Sincerely,Marilyn Morock

Homemade Herbicide- Instead ofRoundUp:

Works the same, doesn't kill bees!1 gallon vinegar, 2 cups of Epsom Salts, 1/4cup of Dawn*

Skunk-Away1 qt. hydrogen peroxide1/4 cup baking soda2 tsp. Dawn*Rinse dog. Sponge on mix. Rinse after 20minutes. Repeat as needed.(*Must be Dawn, my source declares. Dawnis used by oil-spill bird response teams theworld over. Cuts grease like nothing else.)

Love Carries On!

A 50th Anniversary Party was givenin honor by their children to Kathleen andKarol Mech at the Rainbow Lodge inWalton, NY on June 23, 2018. Their familyincludes Michael and Amy Mech andchildren, Daniel and Macy; Michelle and JonWolbert and children, Joshua and Jacob;Karen Mech and son, Ethan Hunt, and KevinCostello; Sarah and Kevin Zablocky andson, Carson; David and Jen Mech andchildren, Olivia and Evan. Kathleen andKarol Mech were married on June 22, 1968at the Sacred Heart Church in Margaretville,NY.

Good for ChristmasThe Times of Halcott has now

published three collections of formervolumes. The current issue that you hold inyour hands is Volume 85; our collectionsinclude the first 75 volumes. These areavailable from the Halcott Community Fundand make good Christmas presents (orValentine’s Day presents, or birthdaypresents or…). The books cost $10.00 each,or the set of three for $25.00 plus $5.00

Kathleen

and

Karol

Mech,

June

23,

2018

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shipping. Send a check made out to HCFtogether with your address to Jamie Vogler,Bouton Rd., Halcott Center, NY 12430.Jamie will forward your request to PegDibenedetto who will fill your order. Yourpurchase helps support our efforts. Thankyou!

PassagesIt has been an extraordinarily dark

year in which Halcott has lost many of ourtreasured elders. In the time between theautumn issue and this, our winter issue alone,six beloveds have left us. We celebrate theirmemories, as best we can here, in the contextof a community that cherished them and thatis made poorer by their departure.Carol Sanford: Carol’s attachment toHalcott was sealed when she allowed herprecious daughter, Jen to marry DennisBouton. Since the time that Jen and Dentook up housekeeping on the Bouton flat,Carol was also here, an honorary citizen ofthe town who loved the Times of Halcott andlooked forward to every issue.

Bob Johnson: (from Pattie Kelder) Bobdied in Pennsylvania one day short of his 94thbirthday, after celebrating most of the othersin Johnson Hollow on the family dairy farm.Over cake at a Town Board meeting on oneof those birthdays, I asked him what hadbeen the best time of life. He paused, thenreplied that it had been his 50’s, before all theaches and pains set in!

Bob and Audrey raised a daughter,Gloria, along with sons Kip, Dan and Timjust up the road from the barn. Their homehad been one of four district school houses in

town. Audrey, an amputee, didn’t get out inthe fields much, so Bob got the idea ofshowing her what was going on around thefarm by taking home movies. Like manyfarmers of his generation, Bob was veryinvolved in community life. Whateverneeded doing, he was there, whether in anofficial capacity or as a neighbor. He had apatient, thoughtful and practical approach towhatever work was at hand. Bob was anactive Granger, serving as Master for manyyears. He could still name most of theservice projects that earned Green ValleyGrange the National Sears Award afterWorld War II. When my college friendvisited some years later to give a slide showat the Grange, it was Bob who thought tohand her some gas money for the return triphome.

In town government, Bob wasSupervisor for several terms until Audreysaw that his plate was too full. He laterreturned to the table as a Town Boardmember. His experience driving loaded haywagons out of many hillside fields in towngave him a useful perspective when workingon the Comprehensive Plan.

As President of the Halcott CemeteryBoard of Directors, Bob was involved withmapping the graves. When a group of nearbytrees threatened the back corner, he figuredout the logistics of removal . . . and thediplomacy. It seems that one of them, acommemorative tree, was planted on hismother-in-law’s lawn! Another time, hestopped to explain the “no planting” rules toa shrub-toting monument owner, only to endup helping the man plant it! His rationalemust have satisfied the listener in Bob, forthe bush remains a compact one to this day.

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As a member of the Halcott UnitedMethodist Church (where his mother hadbeen Sunday School Superintendent), Bobtook a turn as Chairman of theAdministrative Council. When the floor wasrefinished, he assisted by moving the pewsinto storage at the Grange Hall. Later, afterhe and Walt Miller loaded them back on thetruck, they enjoyed an open air ride up thevalley, seated on a couple of pews amid theswirling snow flurries.

Years went by. Audrey died, andBob married Norma Kelly, who was alsowidowed. They resided in Pennsylvania untila massive stroke sent Norma to a nursinghome. Bob was invited to live with hisgrandson, Rob German and wife, Lynne.They were wonderful caregivers.

Decades ago, Bob’s first heart attackdeveloped during evening chores in the midstof a blizzard. It was Tim, I believe, whoconvinced him to take a life-saving ride tothe hospital before conditions coulddeteriorate further. Bob’s last heart attackhad a different outcome. He got up in thenight and died before he could hit the floor.He had a good life and we had a goodneighbor.Note: Bob generously made Deborah MorseJohnson’s photograph album available forreprinting as a Halcott Fair fundraiser. Hehas previously been mentioned in No Cats inthe Catskills, Passages: Stella Kelly, ThePower of Prayer and other TTOH articles.Perhaps there are more stories out there abouthim and other Halcott folks of the “greatestgeneration.”

Alex Anagnos: Alex's daughter Maria Piercehas written a beautiful eulogy for him that

includes a loving history of the Greek peoplewho came to Halcott. We are saving herarticle for the spring issue. IK

Adele Siegel: (from Elizabeth Bernhardt)Marcus Aurelius wrote, “When you

want to gladden your heart, think of the goodqualities of those around you; the energy ofone, the modesty of another, the generosityof a third. For there is nothing moreheartening than the images of the virtuesshining forth in the characters of thosearound us. Be sure to keep them ever athand.” Adele Siegel embodied the qualitiesthat Marcus identified – energy, modesty,and generosity. Though she passed away lastsummer, for me and my family, she is ever athand.

Adele was talented, warm, andfunny. But her predominant characteristicwas generosity. Just as she made a warm,loving home for her children andgrandchildren, she extended herself to herfriends, neighbors, and community. She andStan hosted innumerable brunches, lunches,and dinners for new friends and old, alwayswith delicious food and a warm welcome.When my family first moved to Halcott, in2007, the Siegels – our closest neighbors, justa short walk up the hill -- soon enveloped uswith help and hospitality. You like to swim?Swim in our swim pond! You have a pond?We happen to have some rainbow trout tostock it! You will be in Halcott thisweekend? We are having some people forbrunch – please come!

We soon came to love Adele andStan, and to appreciate their erudition andprofound kindness. It was Adele who tutoredchildren studying to become Bnei Mitzvah.

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Adele who tirelessly raised money forMargaretville Hospital. Adele whofaithfully, every day, followed the religiousprinciple of tikkun olam (to repair the world).She never stopped contributing her wisdom,energy and love to Congregation Bnai Israel,to the Interfaith Council, to the hospital, andto many other good causes in the Catskills,the U.S., and Israel.

Adele was constant and true in hergenerosity and touched many if not most ofour lives. I knew that if ever I needed to talksomething over, Adele would be there for mewith frank good sense and perspective. Beingsuch a near neighbor, she and Stan were alsothere for us in more concrete ways –sheltering us when we were without heat,water or electricity. When an old friend ofhers from New Jersey – out of touch fordecades – felt a bit lost, Adele was readywith an invitation to Judd Hill.

During her last year of life, Adelefound new joy -- the antics of hergreat-granddaughter Maisie, “theworld’s cutest toddler.” I willnever forget her laughter anddelight in watching the Maisievideos. Adele was a very goodperson, who made goodness lookeasy and fun. Farewell, dearfriend. I will try to keep you everat hand, where I need you.

Patrick Pagnano (A memory ofhis life from Scott Moroff)

A few short years ago in2004, on a spring day in Halcottfull of promise that warmer dayswere ahead, my friend Pat arrivedat our house with a 1000W smile.

Beneath the smile was a brand-new HarleySportster. Somehow, Pat had parlayed anagreement with Kari for a Vespa into iconicAmerican Iron.

Fast forwarding to later that summerwhen, I too crossed one of the list andacquired a motorcycle, our weekly ridestogether began. The rides would begin withPat calling out “Scaaaht” in Chicagoese as Ipulled up to their house and Kari’sencouraging us to have fun and be careful;sometimes accompanied by a small shoppinglist. Our first ride together was over hilly,curvy back roads from Halcott to Roxbury onfreshly spread gravel. Absolutely terrifyingbut Pat just laughed and reminded me that“motorcycling can be an adventure”. Samefor the time we were caught in athunderstorm and were lucky enough to beherded into a dairy barn by a sympatheticfarmer or the time, early on, when weattempted to follow Mark Neves on roads not

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familiar to Pat or I.Pat brought his artistic sensibility to

riding, from executing smooth, graceful turnsand perfect lane position, to looking the partof a Harley dude. (He gently teased me aboutmy “green hornet” not cool riding jacket)

Neither of us cared where we rode sowe’d take turns leading the ride not knowingwhere we’d end up. The only criteria for theroute was how much time we had that day toexplore the Catskills. There were quick spinsaround the Pepacton or all-day rides to theErie Canal or parts South, West or North.Pat introduced me to Schoharie County andBarber’s farm, still one of my favorite ridesand farm stands. We’d almost never ridewithout stopping for lunch. Standards werethe Black Cat Café in Sharon Springs, MrsK’s, in Middleburgh and the Andes Hotel forburgers and pool. There is something aboutriding together that fosters great conversationthat otherwise might not occur. We talkedabout damn near everything, from politicsand work to our personal lives and plans. Atsome point, on most rides, Pat would effuseabout his pride and love for Kari.

We’d both had visited many parts ofthe US and beyond but agreed that there wasno place we thought more beautiful than the

Catskills; andwithin theCatskills ourvalley. Wespoke ofdistant tripsto “TheDragon” inNC andelsewhere.Although

those plans escaped us there are very fewcurvy roads in the Catskills we have notcarved together.

In the past few years, we rode lessfrequently but our last ride together was thebest and most memorable. Pat, Kari, Ida andI rode together to Barber’s Farm inSchoharie, had lunch at the Sap Bush HollowFarm Café and even enjoyed the adventure ofa little rain on the way home during anotherwise perfect sunny day.

Lillian Steinfeld: (from Innes Kasanof)How difficult it is to imagine Halcott

without my friend Lil. She was one of thefirst to welcome me into the community.Over the years, Tony and I loved to watch theSteinfelds loving Halcott . (One didn’t speakof one without the other. They met in highschool, fell in love, and that was it.) Pauldisplayed an enormous love and knowledgeof trees; Lil displayed her enormous love andsupport of her husband. Their pride in theirIsraeli connections was legendary and wewere invited to watch the maturation of firstbeautiful grandchildren and then, mygoodness! Great-grands. Lil dove intolearning to quilt at the tender age of 71; trueto form, she was precise and dainty in all herstitches. We had some rollicking meetings ofthe Lena Haynes Johnson Quilt Club, ofwhich, I believe she was secretary. Herartistry embued all that she did. She was avalued editor for a major publisher, ameticulous gardener, treasuring any pop-upvolunteer that happened into her patch underthe willow behind their house.

I loved to sit at Lillian’s table: it wasrichly laden with delicious dishes allprepared by her. Her soup was unparalleled.

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In her last years, I had a life that keptme away from her, but every time we spokeon the phone or on a visit, it was as thoughwe had been together the day before. Herlove glowed like the larch in autumn that sheadored.

SEASONSThere was a loud commotion among the

blue jays above my head today. I was sittingbeside the Vly Creek because it was also incommotion, a great rushing commotionswollen by the huge rainfall of the past fewweeks. The hemlocks bent down over thedark, tumbling waters, silent, impassive, butof particular interest to the raucous jays whodarted among them. It was a few minutes ofsunshine eagerly enjoyed by all of us. Thelow boughs of the hemlocks mademysterious pockets of deep shadow along thebanks. Watery caves where a child’s fancycould linger. But the jays! What were theyabout? I had seen a few branches of brilliantscarlet and yellow leaves on a maple as Iwalked down to the creek. I cried out tothem, “what are you thinking? It’s only mid-August!” But like the undeterred travel of thechuckling, dancing, joyful stream, theseasons of the Catskills cannot be stopped.Their very sounds, like that of the creek, singof constant, rolling change. And the jays? Ithink they were shouting in their raspyvoices, “Cold! Cold! Cold coming!” And onsuch a hot and humid morning! How darethey? I don’t mind the stately, steady stepsof spring with its silvering thorn apples andbrilliant green and white snowdrops. Buthow to brace oneself for the relentlessapproach of callous autumn with cruel winter

nipping atits heels?

Somehow,it would bedisloyal tothese noblehills andvalleys torevel inone seasonand to runfromanother. So how shall I love thee, ohdifficult winter? Let me count the ways.Getting up in the darkness? – er, not exactly.Putting on my Michelin Man down coat?Again? – nope, not even close. Hot soup forlunch? Well, yes. Knitting wool socks infront of cozy fires? Nice. Watching snowfalling with no place to go? Very nice!Snuggling into bed under a fluffy comforter?Blissful. Counting the days until spring?Always.

The rhythm of the Catskills seasonsis a sweet and gentle teacher. We’ve had aterrible time of loss this year, but there can bequiet comfort in trusting this rhythm. Underthe frozen ground of sadness, without wordsor thought, there comes healing. It is like thedaffodils that are growing in icy darkness.We discover their green spears at first. Werevisit them on chilly wintry days,disbelieving their bravery. In late April orearly May, when they finally burst forth intheir golden glory, there is spring all aroundus, without our having done a thing to assistits coming. It is good to trust in the seasons.IK

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Updates: Thank You!The fall Crock Pot Supper has been

postponed indefinitely. Stay tuned.The Election Day Bake Sale was very

successful. Thank you all!Several children gathered to pack 34

School Kits for UMCOR and 16 shoeboxes forOperation Christmas Child. What caring youngpeople!

Pastor Debb is on vacation at press time.We hope to hear from her in the next issue.Looking Ahead: Invitations

The church piano has been freshly tunedin time for the Christmas Candlelight Service at7:00 p.m. on December 23rd. It replaces the usual9:00 a.m. Sunday service. We hope many readerscan attend this traditional service of scripture andcarols.

The next 5th Sunday is December 30th.Parish wide worship will be at the MargaretvilleUnited Methodist Church at 10:30 a.m., followedby a dish to share lunch. All are welcome. Therewill be no 9:00 morning service in Halcott.

Ash Wednesday is March 6th this year.Readers are invited to attend Lenten Lunches onWednesdays in Lent at no cost. A free willoffering basket will be available for missions.Lunches consist of soup and sandwiches at noon,followed by a brief Lenten meditation. Thesemeals rotate among the churches of the Parish. Aschedule should be available in February.Help Needed: Fill a Container

High school groups across the countryhave a friendly competition going to see who cancollect the most pull tabs from aluminum cans.Removing the tabs does not interfere withrecycling the cans. All proceeds go to ShrinersHospitals for Children. So save up some tabs andcall for a pick-up.Reflections: Grange Hall Christmas Program

Preparing for the Christmas Program hasbecome easier as the next generation of youngwomen gels into a cohesive team of organizers. Ieven got to sit in the audience for the rehearsaland part of the program this year . . . for the firsttime since high school!

Yes, the baby boom Sunday Schoolteachers (Claretta Reynolds, Ruth Reynolds,Shirley Bouton and Ruth Kelder) often looked inmy direction for a reader. Well, “reader” isn’tquite the right word. I was coached in a wholehost of verbal performance skills. “Slow down.”“Take a deep breath.” “Read louder.” “Holdyour script flat so your voice can project.” “Readso Mr. Hard-of-Hearing understands from theback row!” They were a great team, but boy, didthey put me through my paces!

Some things haven’t changed. I still doclean-up detail backstage while Santa distributeshis gifts. This year, something different caughtmy attention. After the first couple of nameswere called, I heard a sweet, sincere, tiny littlevoice say, “Thank you, Santa!” His heartfeltsentiment was echoed a few seconds later by his

The Times of theHalcott United MethodistChurch

Winter 2018 Pattie Kelder, Correspondent

brother. I listened for more echoes, but alas,excitement or shyness prevailed. Hopefully, Santaknew from the smiles how much he wasappreciated.

I mused. If this happens with children,what about us desensitized adults? Remember theten lepers who got the clear skin surprise of alifetime? Only one said, “Thank you, Jesus.”Our stories don’t have to end like that. God is soinfinitely good to us that we get a fresh newsupply of opportunities daily to say, “Thank you,Lord.”Who Is Your Daddy?

Years ago in the Fleischmanns (HS)cafeteria, a little boy told Mom he had threedaddies. After he left the counter, she turned toDoris Reynolds for an explanation. It wentsomething like this: The biological father wasdeceased, the step father was estranged, and aboyfriend was acting as head of household. So hereally did have three daddies!

In truth, all of us have at least twofathers, a biological one and a heavenly one. As

surely as God breathed life into Adam, hebreathed life into Adam’s descendants. Yetdespite being made in God’s likeness, ourheavenly parentage isn’t always recognized.

Nowhere was this better illustrated thanon the road to Emmaus, where two bereaved menencountered a sympathetic fellow traveler. Withthe crucifixion fresh on their minds, they pouredout their sorrow to this stranger. Unknown tothem, this traveler actually was Jesus . . . in hisvery own skin! They weren’t expecting himbecause they had seen him crucified, dead andburied. Therefore, they didn’t recognize him untilhe broke bread at the evening meal.

We were reminded of this story recentlyby Rev. Ralph Darmstadt. When he broke breadfor communion, I suddenly recognized God inRalph and thought, “How many times do weoverlook God in others because we aren’t lookingfor Him?” As we enter this new year, may weconsciously seek the divine spark in others, andtreat what we find with love.

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Winter2018