Give a Teen a Barrel of Pickles

I remember how hard it was to be strong for the Lord as a teenager. I remember how hard it was to feel different from the crowd. I remember the emotions of puppy love and daydreams of the future. I remember the silly times with my friends. I remember the heartbreak of rejection. I also remember growing in my faith and bursting with the enthusiasm and joy of being a Christian.

The next book in the Country Store Collections is for teens, 

especially Christian teens who need encouragement, 

who need to know someone understands how they feel.

A BARREL OF PICKLES 

is available at

Amazon

Full Sail Books

or 

directly from me.
(Email Me)

Buy all three books for $15
Bag of Bubble Gum -for children,
Box of Christmas Candy - for whole family

( more yet to come)

Here is an excerpt from  A Barrel of Pickles - (based on a true experience)

BON COURAGE

 “Mr. Duffy, I can’t be in this concert. This song goes against my beliefs as a Christian.”

“But, its just music. You don’t have sing the words, just play the notes.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Duffy, but I can’t.”

He didn’t understand, and by the end of the week, others followed my lead and dropped band and choir. I didn’t go back, but I knew it wasn’t over.

(click here for full story)

Easy as Pie - Dilly Beans

I'm a writer, not a cook,

but occasionally, I like to get in the kitchen

and make cookies and such,

as long as the recipe isn't too complicated.

My mother loves to grow green beans. No matter where we lived, we always had a garden and lots of green beans. She would sauté them with bacon, can them, freeze them, and give loads away. One of our family’s favorite recipes is dilly beans, which we learned from some friends in Canaan, Maine, where my father was pastor. The dilly bean's tart crunch make them great for lunches and snacks.

Dilly Beans

2 quarts fresh string beans 2 cups vinegar

4 small garlic cloves 2 cups water

4 heads of dill ¼ cup salt

Snap ends off beans, leaving them whole.

Wash and pack into 4 pint canning jars.

To each jar add 1 garlic clove and dill head.

Bring vinegar, water, and salt to a boil.

Pour into prepared jars and seal.

Store 6 weeks before serving. 

(if you can hide them from nibblers)

The Canaan Years - Leaving

I haven't continued the posts of my memories for awhile

...for a reason.

(This one is a hard one for me.)

Despite the up-and-down emotions of being a teenager, I was basically happy. I loved Canaan and its people. I loved the small town atmosphere where I felt safe and comfortable. I loved the farmlands and fields and woods around us. It was a great place to be a teenager.

I knew something was bothering my father. There is so much a pastor has to bear, which he can't share with others. One evening, he announced that he wanted to move to Bucksport. He wanted to be a part of the church there.

I was shocked and angry. I didn't want to move! I didn't want to go to a new school for my senior year. As much as I despised being different, as pastor's kid in the public school, I didn't want to start over in a new school. I wanted to graduate from Skowhegan High School.

...but I submitted. I knew the routine

and packed up my clothes, books, and memories.

In the middle of packing, my long-haired calico cat, Michelle, had kittens. I had made a "nest" for her in a box, but she didn't want that - she wanted me. I was doing dishes, and she started having them right in the middle of the kitchen floor. I put the "nest" in my bedroom, but she insisted on being on my bed. So I put an old sheet on my bed and let her have them there. I remember a black one being born on the stroke of midnight, so I named him Minuit. Since we were moving, a neighbor offered to take all of them, Michelle and her 4 kittens.

I still had about a couple month left of classes, including my finals, when my parents moved in April. The Ouellettes, a family in our church and my teacher in the Christian school, asked my parents if I could stay with them until the end of the school year. It was such a touching gift to me. They took me in and made me part of their family. Their son even gave up his room and slept on the couch. (I still call them Aunt Nancy and Uncle Norman.)



Harvey was the big brother I never had. Harvey liked teasing me about my boyfriend, who attended Bangor Christian School with him, and I got him back by spraying him with a hose.

Debbie let me tag along like a little sister. Once I could hear her call me, but I couldn't find her. She said she was in the attic, but not the attic I knew of. Finally, by her voice, she directed me to a trap door in her parents' closet. I thought that was so cool and imagined it as a good place to hide runaway slaves. Like a big sister, she listened to my tears and complaints of moving. She read my poem -

Gypsy

As a gypsy I wander; a pilgrim, I roam;

Searching for a common face, yet all alone.

A stranger's a friend, and a friend, a stranger;

Flitting, restless butterfly, all decisions waver.

Oh, to stop and drop my pondered load!

Trudging, stumbling, never pausing, on my endless road.
~ ~ ~

I didn't get as close to their second daughter, Julie. She had been away at college and was only home a couple weeks at the end of my stay. I do remember one time that she nursed a bite on my leg from a dog that chased me on my bike.

I got in "trouble" like one of their kids, too - for leaving a phonograph record out, for forgetting to wipe out the tub, for eating the last date when it was being saved for Uncle Norman's supper, etc.

During my high school years, I used to wait for the bus on the porch of our neighbor across the street, but they were the ones who adopted my cat Michelle. Now I couldn't stand having her look at me through the window. I couldn't make her understand that I was sorry that she couldn't be with me anymore. So I didn't wait for the bus there anymore.

Going to church was strange without my father and my family there. The church called a retired pastor to fill in, until they got a new one. Pastor Victor Dow was a superb preacher. He never went to school past the fifth grade or went to Bible school, but he loved the Lord and knew his Bible. I really enjoyed getting to hear him preach God's Word.



Staying with the Ouellettes was a fun few months. We hung may-baskets and rode bikes to the fire tower. I went to an all-night teen time - candlepin bowling, rollerskating, and singing around a campfire. Aunt Nancy even made a long yellow dress for me for a banquet.

I treasured those last weeks with my few friends and classmates at school. I put my heart into my studies and ended the year with great grades. Our English teacher gave us a final writing project and I wrote three children's stories. (I don't know where they are now.) I hadn't bought a yearbook, but wished I had. One boy in my class let me take his home to sign. I noticed no one else had signed it yet. On the bus home, someone told me that he never lets anyone sign his yearbooks. I would probably be the only one. Wow! I don't even remember what I said, and I wished I had gotten to know him better. It was hard to say good-bye to my classmates and teachers. I didn't want to start making friends all over again.

My very good friend, Debbie Haney, was going to live with our family for awhile. Her family would be driving us to Bucksport. I thanked the Ouellettes for their love and hospitality, climbed in the Haney's truck, and started the next chapter of my life...the Bucksport Years.

(This is when God led Randy into my life!)

School Days, School Days

School gives me mixed emotions

when I think back to my various experiences.

Bahamas
New York- Elementary School
New York - Middle School
Canaan Christian School
Skowhegan High School

Mostly, I liked school. I liked learning. I liked reading. I liked even liked math. (until I hit algebra)I liked music and band. Sometimes I liked science. (It depended on the teacher.)

I liked tests and report cards - and even homework. (I know, I was a strange kid.)I liked French and geography, but not history.



I didn't like going to a new school, where I didn't know the kids or the teachers or their own ways of doing things. I didn't like school buses. I didn't like having to share lockers because everything got dirty and crumpled. I didn't like teachers who wanted to a buddy, instead keeping discipline in the classroom.



When I taught school, I liked times when we could follow our schedule for a while without disruptions of field trips, practicing for programs, or special assemblies.
I liked reading books together or celebrating because everyone got 100% on their spelling test.



I liked spring flowers brought in from recess and hugs at the end of the day. I liked home-made cards and crayon pictures taped to my desk. I liked when a student mastered something that was difficult for them.



I'm enjoying my days at home now - writing and visiting folks and cuddling my grandkids - but there's a part of me that misses school, too.

Canaan Years -One of my Favorite Things

During my last year in Canaan,
a friend invited me to see "The Sound of Music."

It was a big thing.
First of all, we NEVER went to the movies.
(Remember, we didn't even have a television.)
We never played cards or went to dances.
(not that I wanted to...
well, I did want to try square dancing for a while.)


But I really, really wanted to see this movie
...and my father said, "Yes."

I loved it!

Seeing the Austrian Alps on the big screen made me feel like I was there.



I laughed



and cried



and dreamed.
(of love
and a big singing family of my own)



For months, I sang the songs.



Being sixteen-going-on-seventeen myself, I understood Leisel.



Over the years, I've seen the "Sound of Music" on my television set many times, but it's never been as magical as seeing it in that theater for the first time. It was certainly "one of my favorite things."

Canaan Years - Being a PK

Being a Pastor's Kid was an interesting life.

I met lots of new people,
but sometimes I wanted to be alone.

Life was filled with activities,
but I was expected to lead them.

People respected me,
but I didn't have a best friend.

We never had enough money,
but we survived by making do.
(mostly on homemade bread, peanut butter, and apple butter)

Being a PK was hard
...especially for a teenager.



I felt my every action was being critiqued -
by my classmates,
by the community,
even by the church members.

The standards of our family were used as examples. I would be asked what I read, if I was allowed to go to the movies, or what clothes I allowed to wear. Once a friend asked if I could go on a double date. I was so excited - knowing which guys would be there. I was devastated when I found out I wasn't invited. They only wanted to know what my parents thought about it.

When I walked about the community (post office, store, friends' houses, etc.)it peeved me to overhear people talking against the church or my father. Even worse, their words turned sickening sweet and polite when they happened to see me.

At school, I was different. I carried a label - preacher's kid. In a way, it was good. I was never invited to drinking parties or join their plans to cheat on a test, but I didn't know how to fit in and still maintain my standards.



Being a PK also had some advantages.

We were able to live in the parsonage. I loved that big old house -with its barns and closets and back stairs and umpteen rooms. We lived right next to the church, so it didn't take much time to get there. (Although, I got in trouble a few times for arriving late because I didn't get ready until the last minute.)

I learned new skills. I got the job of typing up the church bulletin. (Does anyone remember those Xerox sheets of paper, with the blue ink inside?) Of course, we folded them on Saturday evening or before church on Sunday. I taught a Sunday School class and helped at VBS. I sang in the choir and worked in the nursery and did my part cleaning the building each week.

There were always people at our house. We always seemed to be taking in those in need. Sometimes, I was jealous of my parents' attention. It seemed they were often too busy to listen to me, but I learned to minister to others and be a friend to those who didn't have a home like mine. Candy Church, a foster girl, moved with us from New York. She met a nice young man, and they were married the following year on Valentine's Day.

The spare room, off the living room, might belong to a drunk or a college student or a missionary. I called our family the "Elastic Family," because it grew and shrunk so often. My father quoted the verse, Hebrews 13:2, "Be not forgetful to entertain strangers: for thereby some have entertained angels unawares."




Later, I found this poem and thought it fit our family's lifestyle well -

The House By the Side of the Road
by Sam Walter Foss

Someone at school said to me one day, "You don't act the way you do because you really believe it. You just do it because your father is a preacher."

It shocked me. I wanted to say,"No! I do believe it!" but inwardly, I wondered if it was true. "Do I really believe it for myself, or am I just following and obeying my parents?" I went through a time of real soul-searching -reading my Bible and praying and thinking. I came out of that time stronger and confident that my faith was real - not that it was bad to follow and obey my parents, but I was sure of my God and my salvation.

I'm thankful for those years.
I made some great friends,
who helped me to get through those tough years.
(Thank you for putting up with me.)



Being a PK was never boring.
Yes, there were hard times,
but there were also times of great blessings.

Pray for your pastor's family.
They need your love and support.

Canaan Years - City Boy

Why is it when girls are teenagers, the guy they like doesn't seem to notice, and another is avoided like a stinky porta-potty? I wasn't any different. (What a crazy, mixed-up age!)

The summer we left New York, a young fellow came to the cabins across the road from us. (I will call him City Boy because he lived in NYC.) He was nice enough, and we wrote for a few months after our family moved.

Three years later, the summer of 1974, he wrote and announced that he would be coming up to visit me for my birthday - my sixteenth birthday. (NOOOOOOOO!) The young man that I liked would be returning from boot camp right about then, and I didn't want City Boy hanging around. But my parents said it would nice for him to visit us.

I'll have to admit that I was rather rude...VERY RUDE! I spent time with my friends, as usual, and even had a sleep over to watch the meteor shower. Secretly...or maybe not so secretly... I was glad that City Boy's allergy medicine made him drowsy so that he took naps often. I deliberately dressed in ugly clothes - long pants, even though I was sweltering. When our family, went swimming at the lake, City Boy bragged at how far he could swim under water. I took the challenge and swam at least 10 feet farther with hardly trying. I was so mean, but I just didn't want him there.

My birthday happened to land on a Friday - our youth group night. We were going miniature golfing, and Boot Camp Guy would be there. Everyone was divided into pairs, and of course, I was assigned to City Boy as my partner. As we walked from hole to hole, I often "wandered" to the next hole where Boot Camp Guy was playing instead of waiting for City Boy to take his turn. (shaking head...What a brat!)

The next day, my mother said I should spend time with City Boy, since he was our guest and he came to see me. (Ugh!) She suggested that we go canoeing in the stream and take a picnic. (Alone!?) So, obediently I packed a lunch, and we dragged our canoe down to the nearby stream. (The same one that I later kayaked to my job cleaning campers.)

City Boy had never been in a canoe, so I put him in the front to "watch for rocks." In a few minutes, I noticed he was trailing his hand in the water. He said, "Are you getting any blisters?" (UGH! We hadn't gone half the distance to the good picnic place.) We came upon a pasture with a shady tree close by and decided to stop there.

He was a gentleman and helped me out of the canoe. As I secured it, he said, "Did you think I was going to kiss you?" (WHAT?!) I was determined to get back as soon as we could. I led the way to the shady tree, and I heard "EWWWWWW" behind me. I turned to see him tiptoeing around a cow pile. (...rolling my eyes... It's a pasture! What do you expect?) I ate my lunch as fast as I could, and told him that we ought to go back and take care of his blisters. (I'm pretty sure, he was "harmless" and wouldn't have taken advantage of me. I just didn't like him anymore.)

Later that evening, we went to the Skowhegan State Fair. He talked me into going on a spinning ride. I got my brother to go with us. City Boy sat in the middle between my brother and me. My hands cramped from hanging on to the edge as the centrifugal force pulled me against him. Before going home, we watched the Gospel movie in the CEF chapel on wheels, and that night, after talking with my parents, he made a profession of salvation. Maybe he really did get saved - if so, I'm glad - but I was also very glad when we finally took him back to the bus station.

For years, my heart would skip a beat (in panic) when I thought I saw his face in a crowd. I thought, for sure, he was going to show up again. I hoped and prayed that he wouldn't show up at my wedding! (...to whomever it would be - someone who could swim, paddle a canoe, and walk through a field without saying "EWWWW"!)

Canaan Years - Marching Band

I loved being in a band. I loved when a complicated piece of music came together just right. I loved when I could feel the marching music right to my bones, when it felt my heart was beating to the beat of the drums. I loved playing the high trill piccolo notes that flew above the other instruments. I loved marching in formation, keeping in perfect step or weaving between each other to make intricate designs.

Mr. Duffy, the band director in Skowhegan, knew how to direct a good marching band. He took us to see a marching competition and then taught us some formations. I think our favorite was the "floating V" to the tune of "Hawaii Five-O." We won first place in the holiday parade in Bangor with "Tea for Two." I remember it was in November and we were freezing!

We were the Skowhegan Indians; our colors were orange and black. Our uniforms consisted of back slacks with an orange stripe down the outside of our legs, black shoes, an orange jacket, and a white overlay with the school emblem on it. We had orange hats with white plumes. (sorry no picture)

I played the flute and stood at the left front corner, a pivot point for our sharp turns. Mr. Duffy taught us to make a 90 degree turn in ten steps, the pivot person walking in place and the outer person taking large steps. (I preferred being the pivot point....my legs were too short for going on the outer edge.) It was fun being able to keep our lines straight and precise.

We also marched in many Memorial Day and Fourth of July parades. I shook the hand of Longley before he was elected governor at one of the parades. Skowhegan celebrated its sesquicentennial and our band led the way. We marched all around the town, about seven miles. The parade itself was so long, that the last floats hadn't left by the time we returned to our starting point.

Canaan had a Memorial Day parade, and Jay Holt (a boy in our church) often played "Taps" at the memorial stone in the center of town.

Marching band was certainly
one of best experiences and memories.

Canaan Years - Skowhegan State Fair

One of the highlights of summer was the Skowhegan State Fair. It was a real country agricultural fair with blue ribbons for the perfect jams and home-raised calves.

Mr. Harriman, a man in our church, was the University of Maine Extension Agent in charge of 4-H clubs in Somerset County and let my father judge the exhibits in the 4-H building, giving him (and us) free tickets each year.

Of course, we rode the carnival rides and ate cotton candy and watched the horse shows. I liked the Ferris wheel and merry-go-round and the Scrambler. I didn't like the Zipper or Bullet or anything that turned you upside-down. There were also horse races and evening concerts, but we never attended those.



One year, our youth group worked with Child Evangelism Fellowship by handing out tickets for a free movie in the COW (Chapel on Wheels). A friend and I were walking through the midway when a woman behind us yelled,
"Don't look at me like that!"

We turned around and saw that it was someone from the "girly show" dressed in netted stockings, high heels, and a skimpy outfit. We hadn't noticed her until she yelled at us. We ignored her and kept going, but she yelled at us again. My heart began racing, and my skin crawled. We got back to the chapel as soon as we could. The missionary suggested we take the rest of the day off.

Years later, I had another experience at that fair that often comes to mind. My best friend's father was the administrator and coordinator of the Skowhegan State Fair. When we went through the front gate, my friend asked if she could call her father on their phone.

"Dad, I have a friend with me. May she come in?
....Thanks, Dad."

I couldn't help but think it will be like that when we get to heaven. We will only have access through the gates because we are "with His Son."

The fair is a mixture of all kinds of people, and as most places we go in life, there is a battle between evil and good. May we shine as lights to show others the Way wherever we happen to be.

Canaan Years - Babysitting, Housecleaning, and Sweeping Trailers

Every teenager wants money. I was no exception. On a pastor's salary, my parents didn't have any extra money for allowances or the latest fashions. We had to scrimp and save just for necessities.

I cleaned house for a teacher for a couple months, but I didn't like it. (still don't like cleaning house) It was frustrating to see it as messy as it was before...as if they were trying to make things difficult for me. (smile) Also, I found it creepy to be in a house alone, so I turned on the TV. (Remember, we didn't have one at home.) That's when I learned that soap operas were stupid.

I also babysat for the Ames family. They had four children and lived on a farm. The youngest was born soon after we moved to Canaan, and I became very attached to her. She called me "My Yvonne." (She was later the flower girl in my wedding.) Often their parents would go out on Saturday evenings. I remember watching "Emergency" and "Kojak" with the kids before they went to bed. Then I'd watch the "Carol Burnett Show" while I waited for their parents. If they didn't return by midnight, they gave me an extra dollar. (When you only earn $2/hour, that is a lot.)



Once I babysat some kids across the street in an apartment made from an old hotel. The parents were out of state and asked me to stay overnight because they were caught in a snowstorm. It wouldn't have been too bad, but the 10 year old boy just told me that he had talked with a ghost with his Ouija board, and that it lived in one of the rooms of the old hotel. The parents said I could sleep in the spare bedroom, but I wasn't about to go upstairs! I stayed on the couch and didn't sleep a wink that night.

A man in our church sold camping trailers. He hired me one summer. The business was a few miles out of town, and I didn't have my license or a car, of course. My mother suggested that I paddle up the nearby stream that also bordered his business. I didn't mind, especially since he also sold kayaks and let me use one. Some day it was fun. Other days, it was drizzly and cold and
not so fun.



I always dreaded climbing into the kayak with my bare feet - hoping a spider or other animal didn't decide it would be a nice home. Also, when I reached his land, I had to wade through a marshy area at the water's edge. (I was glad we didn't have to worry about snakes or alligators.)

I swept dirt out of the trailers - which people tracked in when they looked at them. Sometimes, I worked behind the desk in the office. Once, I even went to a trade show with him. It was one of the few times I ever had a W2 Form and paid into social security. It was also the first time I worked more than played through a summer. I felt cheated out of my free time before I had to go back to school in the fall.

Money was tight, but it we appreciated things more.

Canaan Years - Youth Group

Once a week our youth group would have some kind of activity. What crazy fun we had!

I remember a scavenger hunt around the whole neighborhood - looking for old pennies and calendars and paper clips.

Sometimes we joined other churches roller skating. I was a bit wobbly on my feet. *silly grin* What a good excuse to hold hands with a boy!

I've already mentioned the sledding parties, snowball fights, and may baskets. We also went Christmas caroling, miniature golfing, and camping.



Camping brings too many memories to tell all! Yonder Hill Campground was on the other side of Skowhegan. We rented two lean-to "cabins" - one for the boys and one for the girls. (With only 3 walls, you couldn't really call them cabins.) We sang around the campfire and swam in the pool and talked all night. (at least in the girls' cabin)

Once we went to a teen retreat in Bucksport. There I played my flute, while my mother played the auto-harp, and sang "The Way that He Loves."
(My husband says it was the first time
he noticed me...smile!)

Another time, we joined some other youth groups to sing for a Jack Wyrtzen rally. He used the Skowhegan high school gym. It was packed! I remember being so nervous. The choir sat on stage the whole time. We sang "We are More than Conquerors." I remember that Mr. Wyrtzen was really nice and talked with us before the meeting.



Being the pastor's daughter, I could put in my requests for activities. I remember choosing a certain night for our hayride because it landed on a full moon. A farmer pulled trailer of haybales up to the fire tower. I even had the nerve to invite a guy to sit next to me. (not quite the innocent girl that you thought I was, huh?)

Those teen years were the best and the worst. But it's funny how the bad parts don't seem as tragic now as they did when you were 16 years old. Each part of life has its ups and downs, doesn't it?

Canaan Years - Books, Rented Movies, and a Player Piano

We still didn't have a television, but that was fine. We had plenty of other things to keep us busy.

One was a little one-room library almost across the street from the parsonage. I discovered Grace Livingston Hill books. There one one whole shelf of her books. (For those who don't know, these are wholesome romance books, written in the early 1900's. Yes, they were usually about a rich girl who wishes for a simple life and a strong farm boy who rescues her from a dangerous predicament, but I liked them. All of them mentioned faith in God, and many of them gave a simple salvation message. ) I read every one of them, at least once.

There were plenty of quiet nooks around the parsonage where a person could read in peace. I remember reading Quo Vadis, The Robe, Green Mansions, The Hobbit, Jane Eyre, The Hiding Place, anything from Twain or Dickens, and many, many more...

Our family often read books together as part of our family devotions. We usually read biographies of missionaries, but sometimes read other books. I had recently finished reading Where the Red Fern Grows and suggested we read it as a family. I remember when we got to the end of the book, we were all crying over the dogs when someone came to the door. It was hard to explain that nothing was wrong; we were just reading a book.

Our youth group often passed around some good books. I remember one year, we all read Christy, by Catherine Marshall. We had long discussions as to who we thought she married, since the books leaves you hanging at the end. (I love those kind of endings.) The discussions became so intense, that one of the boys said that he'd read it to settle the argument. (I think she married the doctor.)


For a special treat, my father rented a movie for my brother's birthday. (Back then, the movies were DVD's or even VHS. They came on big reels, and you had a rent a projector too.) We invited a bunch of people over and watched The Prince and the Pauper and a short movie "Ti-Jean, the Lumberjack" of a Canadian tall-tale character. (It was funny to watch that one backwards.)

Just before we moved from New York, my father bought an old player piano with some rolls. He repaired the bellows as best he could, but it still took endurance to play a whole song. It was through that old player piano that I learned many old tunes, like "The White Cliffs of Dover", "Let Me Call You Sweetheart", and "By the Light of the Silvery Moon." My brother was the only one who could make it all the way through "The William Tell Overture."

Who needed TV?