...want of learning is a calamity... - Liz Flaherty and Helen DePrima

by Liz Flaherty 
         
 I haven’t seen Helen’s post for February yet, so I apologize for us not "matching." Sometimes our row of ducks is startlingly crooked!

Shirley and Laurie mentioned Black History Month the other day. I’ve been reading a lot about it, particularly black women in history, and have been inspired. Here are a few links in case you haven’t seen them. Since I’m a retired postal worker, Mary Fields is a particular favorite. Watching the stories of Katherine Johnson, Dorothy Vaughan, and Mary Jackson, the heroines of Hidden Figures, was a life-changing event. Both times I've seen it. Every time I read a quote from Frederick Douglass, I am amazed by his wisdom. My favorite (and it must be everyone else's, too--it's everywhere) is "It is easier to build strong children than to repair broken men." Amen, Mr. Douglass.

Chubby Checker came out with "The Twist," in 1960 (I was 10, so I don't

remember it all that well) and I remember watching him on "American Bandstand." I grew up in a farming community that was more diverse in its breeds of livestock than it was in races or ethnicities of its residents, and I knew very few African-Americans. But what I remember was that when I watched Chubby Checker, I just saw a cool guy who could sing and dance better than anyone I'd ever seen. It was the first time--and thankfully not the last--that I saw the person instead of his or her color without thinking about it. It was a great lesson for a 10-year-old. I'm glad it stuck.

It is a time of strife in this country. Of divisiveness. Of anger and pain and hurt. Our history, particularly that which we celebrate this month, shows that all those things have been around a long time. It's disappointing how little we've grown in some areas. And exhilarating how much we've grown in others. 

I wish I'd done more during my life to open things up. To make that anger and pain and hurt better. But I'm still enthralled by our country's history, hiccups and all. And I'm so glad I was there when Chubby Checker was on "Bandstand." You remember him. He's the cool guy who sings and dances better than anyone you've ever seen.

by Helen DePrima

February in northern New England is a test of endurance. Christmas is long past (although I haven’t gotten around to taking down my wreath), and my gardening catalogues have been studied and dog-eared for new flower and vegetable varieties. Unless you’re a winter sports enthusiast, which I’m not, February is a month to curl up beside the wood stove with a mug of coffee and a favorite book, to read or to write.

I grew up with my grandmother’s books. She read voraciously, and new books came into the house on a regular basis. I was allowed to read anything I could puzzle through, from history and poetry to essays and fairly steamy novels, for the day. One of my favorites, which I’ve reread almost to death, was Mrs. Appleyard’s Year, somewhat like today’s blogs, with chapters devoted the specialness of each month. Mrs. Appleyard was a proper and prosperous Boston matron living on the brink of World War II – little did I suspect that I would become familiar with her world, light-years removed from my grandfather’s Kentucky farm or the Colorado mountains where I worked after college. In our forty-plus of living in New Hampshire, we’ve made many trips to Boston for plays and concerts and Celtics games. Now our visits center more on the superb medical facilities, but I still delight in the pre-Revolutionary buildings rubbing elbows with modern glass and steel, the peaceful resting places of early patriots occupying prime city real estate.

Mrs. Appleyard liked that February could produce both snowballs and snowdrops. Her year must have included a mild winter, because just an hour north of Boston, we’re still a good month from seeing any kind of flowers that don’t come from the florist or blossom on my geraniums spending the winter on a south-facing windowsill. But the snow is receding around our big maple as sap begins to rise, and robins peck industriously in sunny spots thawing on the south side of the ell. Most exciting, a bluebird and his mate are visiting my suet feeder regularly; I hope they’ll decide to homestead in the birdhouse properly sited at the edge of the woods. And with luck, in a few weeks I’ll find last fall’s spinach making a brave comeback under the mulch.