Thanks to God

  On the cusp of Thanksgiving Day, I look back on a year that has been full of blessings and challenges. Last Thanksgiving I had just come home from the hospital with a hip replacement. Our daughter came for a week to care for me and brought a smoked turkey for a dinner with all of our children that were able to come. I had a month of therapy and recovered well.  After five years of being too stubborn to go and suffering for it, the new joint swings smoothly and is pain free. What a blessing!

   We went on with life until Easter when our children noticed Leroy was short of breath. Tests showed that the stents that were put in three years ago were clogged and he needed three bypasses. The surgery was done on May 23. I was glad I was back to normal and could take care of him when he came home. He went for a month of therapy three times a week.

   We had already planned to give up gardening but that was confirmation it was the right decision. Gerald came and seeded grass in the small remanent of what had once been a huge vegetable garden. With plenty of produce farmers in the area, we had no trouble finding fresh vegetables to eat. I did plant a couple tomatoes in a raised bed, but that was it.

   We had a good weekend with our descendants at a cabin in June. It happened to be Father's Day. For the first time since our children began marrying, all of them were with their father on Father's Day. How special!

    As the year went on, medical issues began piling up. There were the annual dentist visits and vision tests. Mine showed that the one lens I had been given in cataract surgery three years ago had clouded and needed to be cleaned. Add three more appointments to have that done. Having clear vision is a blessing!

    The end of August I had an episode that scared our children and landed me in the ER. I wore a heart monitor for a month after that. When it showed nothing needing immediate attention, I was cleared to drive again. I'm thankful for that because Leroy's health was slipping and we would be in trouble if I couldn't drive.

   He had the rare side effect of getting hiccups in the hospital after his heart surgery. Nothing the doctor tried has helped and six months later he is still hiccupping. It is wearing him out. He has an appointment next week with a neurologist and we are hoping he has some ideas that will help. Sometimes the hiccupping stops for as much as a week but then it comes back again.

   In October Leroy finally had a hearing test and got two hearing aids. He needed them for years already but kept procrastinating. Now I don't have to shout or repeat everything I say. That is a blessing!

    In November I had a CT scan. It is five years since my kidney cancer surgery and this was the last time I needed to have a scan. I have "graduated" and am a grateful cancer survivor! 

   There is another month left in 2025 and we will both have another birthday. It is a blessing the future is hidden from us. I rest in the fact that it is known to God and His ways are right and perfect. Whatever comes in the future, He is already there and will take us through just like He did this year.

It Might Have Been

 

   It's November 13 again. The day we remember Steve. He was born early in the morning of November 13, 1975, and lived with us for eighteen  years. Here he is on his 18th birthday in 1993.

   Seven weeks later, on January 2, 1993, Steve's life on earth ended when the passenger side of the car he was riding in slammed into a tree. That was thirty-one years ago. Today would have been his 50th birthday. What would he have done in these thirty-one years? Who would he have married? Would he have had children? People who are fifty have grandchildren. There are so many things we will never know. I often think of what John Greenleaf Whitter wrote in the poem Maud Miller.

For of all sad words of tongue or pen,

The saddest are these: "It might have been!"

  In my mind, Steve is forever eighteen. How would he look at age 50? AI took a guess with and without hair. He was born bald and didn't need a haircut until he was four. I think he probably would have had hair only a few years and been bald like his brothers if he was here today. But then, eternity is timeless and ageless so if people have hair in heaven it probably doesn't fall out. 

     Today we remember Steve and treasure the memories we made while he was still with  us. We rest in knowing God is good and makes no mistakes. Someday we will understand why Steve left time for eternity after eighteen short years on earth.

   

Things I Don't Care About

    When I was a teenager what other people thought and did was very important to me. I wanted to fit in, to be accepted, and gain approval. This desire affected the way I dressed, where I went, and the words I said. Back in the day, we used words like "groovy (cool), split (leave), far out (amazing), square (uncool), dig it (understand).

   No girl today would want to wear the stiff slips or other silly things we wore to be in style. But they wear other things to be in style that they will one day look back on and wonder why they thought that was so stunning. And it doesn't take twenty years for that to happen. A few years ago it was the IN thing for a woman to wear a scarf around her neck. That soon died out. How that came and went is a mystery to me.

   The older I get, the less I care what other people think and do. I don't feel compelled to keep up with the crowd. I don't care if

• I'm not in style
• I don't know current slang words
• I don't have a late model car
• I wear the same dresses for ten years or more
• I have had the same things on my walls for decades
• My cooking doesn't wow anybody
• I have to stay sitting in church when everyone else stands
• I need to ask for help with techy problems
• I'm not where "everybody" is going (especially on Black Friday!)
• I don't know what is happening in politics every day
• I don't get a wrapped gift on my birthday
• My days of foreign travel are over
• My house has a dated look, hopelessly out of style

    Today I am content with the life and things I have. God is good and I am abundantly blessed.

Indians In The Cellar

   My newest book is being released today. When two Indians seek refuge at her Pennsylvania Mennonite home in1763, ten-year-old Anna is terrified.. As she learned to know the old couple Anna learned that Indians are people just like everyone else. They have talents and emotions. They have things to teach us. And they are loved by the God who created them.

   The book can be purchased online from CAM Books.

https://cambooks.org/shop/cam-published-books/new-releases/indians-in-the-cellar/

The Origins of Scrapple

 

Everything but the Oink: The Origins of Scrapple

If hot dogs are the culinary mystery novels of American cuisine, then scrapple is the Pennsylvania Dutch twist ending. This humble breakfast loaf has been raising eyebrows (and cholesterol levels) for centuries. A blend of pork scraps, cornmeal, and spices cooked into a savory brick, scrapple is proof that the Pennsylvania Dutch wasted nothing and seasoned everything. Slice it, fry it until crispy, and you’ve got a dish that’s as polarizing as pineapple on pizza. Some folks swear by it with apple butter, others drizzle on maple syrup, and plenty keep it simple with ketchup. However you dress it, scrapple is a cut above—literally.

Scrapple has roots in the 17th and 18th centuries, among German settlers who are now known as the Pennsylvania Dutch. They brought with them panhas, a dish made from pork scraps and grains. When they set up shop in Pennsylvania, they swapped in local staples like cornmeal, creating the loaf we fry up today. It was the ultimate thrifty invention. Nothing from the pig went to waste. Head, heart, liver, and trimmings all went into the pot. Add flour and spice, let it set, then slice and fry. The result was a dish that filled bellies without emptying wallets. Talk about living high on the hog—while also eating the low parts.

Scrapple has a reputation similar to that of its cousin, the hot dog. Everyone loves the taste, but not everyone wants the ingredient list. “Everything but the oink” is a phrase often tossed around. Still, scrapple isn’t trying to hide what it is. It’s right there in the name—scraps. The Pennsylvania Dutch weren’t squeamish. They saw opportunity in odds and ends, turning what some might discard into a breakfast tradition that still sizzles in Lancaster diners and Philly kitchens.

Scrapple doesn’t just sit around loafing. To reach its full potential, it must hit the hot pan. The goal is a crispy outside and a tender inside. Too thin and it burns. Too thick and it’s gummy. Get it just right, though, and you’ll understand why it remains a Pennsylvania staple. And then comes the great debate: what goes on top? Apple butter brings a sweet country charm, maple syrup makes it breakfast’s best friend, while ketchup adds a tangy kick. Some adventurous eaters even layer it with eggs in a sandwich. Whatever your topping, scrapple has a way of hogging the spotlight once it’s on the plate.

Scrapple may never win a beauty contest, but it has endured for centuries because it delivers on what truly matters: flavor, thrift, and tradition. From German farm kitchens to Pennsylvania diners, this scrappy little loaf has oinked its way into the cultural identity of the region. Like hot dogs at a ballgame, scrapple is more than just food—it’s a story, a memory, and for some, a taste of home. Love it or leave it, scrapple remains the breakfast food that refuses to be pork-gotten.

September 30, 2025  

unchartedadam

Advertising Jingles

   Funny how some things you haven't thought of for years suddenly pop into your head. They were there all the time but hidden under the clutter of years of thoughts and memories.

   Last weekend my sister-in-law started singing the first line of a jingle from the 1960s for Breyers ice cream. I remembered every word.

Hello, Bryers calling,

We have wonderful ice cream for you,

We have chocolate, vanilla, and strawberry too,

And great combinations of flavor for you.

Hello, Bryers calling,

In winter, summer, or fall,

Quality buyers ask for Bryers,

The greatest ice cream of them all. 

    That reminded me of another jingle from the same era.

For summer sunshine, 

Freshness and flavor,

Home canning like yours 

Deserves the lasting protection

That a Ball dome lid assures.

You put the goodness in, 

Ball dome lids keep it in,

Ball dome lids!

   I remember when my mother started using the two-piece Ball dome lids. She had always used the zinc lids with red rubber seals. She was a little skeptical of the new lids but soon won over. The unreliable zinc lids and rubber rings were stashed away. Years later she used some of the old blue canning jars and zinc lids to make lamps for her children.

  Other old jingles I remember are "Things go better with Coca-Cola, things go better with Coke."

  

Let your fingers do the walking

Through the yellow pages,

See the ads, learn the facts,

Find it fast.

    Music helps cement words in our minds, be it ads or Scripture verses. Marketing companies know that and there is the proof. Jingles I heard in the 60s are still in there more than fifty years later. 

Counting the Seasons

    Fall officially arrived this week. I remember reading in a book years ago that "they didn't count the months, only the seasons." I thought that was strange but now I understand. The older I get the faster time flies and the seasons seem much shorter than they used to be.

    This is the season to clean up the debris of summer and begin to withdraw to the indoors. Crops are being harvested and a few leaves in a hurry to color dot the woods. The mums are blooming and pumpkins adorn every roadside produce market. Summer is the peak of the year but the heat and humidity drains the energy out of a body. Cooler fall temperatures are invigorating and nature puts on a colorful show before it goes to sleep for the winter.

   As usual, in the fall I start thinking about the projects I want to complete this winter. There is a quilt top ready to quilt, a historical article I started and shoved to the back burner, other ideas for short stories also simmer in the background, puzzles waiting to be put together, and another set of 40 baby caps to crochet for the layette bundles at sewing circle. I'm sure other things will pop up as we go along and there are all the usual housekeeping and volunteer jobs to do.

  I often get calls from people asking genealogy or history questions that distract me. Someone stopped in this week with a question I could quickly answer. The one that came up last week took some work. There were two Henry Mussers in Lancaster County that were the same age and being confused. The children of the Henry buried in Brecknock Township in 1805 were assigned to the Henry in Leacock Township who also died in 1805. It took some sleuthing to untangle them and get the children with the correct father. That's more fun than housekeeping and my favorite type of puzzle.

   I am ready for a change of seasons and activities. Fall will flash by so fast there will not be time to count the months.