Clam Bakes

Family Clambake Photo; 1952.
Grandpa in shaded area of photo, 3rd from left. Mom and Dad Center. Little Nancy, child standing in front row. Janie?...not thought of yet.


Cherry Picking Group Photo; 1954.
Left to right: Uncle Johnnie, Mom and little Nancy. Grandpa second from right with Wolf.

My best guess, the "last day of picking for the year", some day around August 10th, and Dad more than likely not in the picture because he had "gone with the load" (translation: the last cherries picked that day for the season delivered to the canning factory).

What would come next day or at least within a couple? Nancy and Grandpa would take a drive to the ice cream store and eat "pig's dinners".

Ah yes, Grandpa and his clambakes. Every year. Family reunion. Steamed clams, salt potatoes, corn-on-the-cob, and about a hundred pies, sure as day that at least some of them (notice I didn't write one of them) would be sour cherry and apple. The only rule; had to be a month with a "r" in it...'cause of the quality of the clam, of course. "Don't want to eat all that sand!"


"Uncle Johnnie"
The "professional" fisherman. "Fished every mile of that Lake, from here to Canada and back."

I'd hear stories told down mostly by my Dad about the size of the fish Uncle Johnnie would catch. His favorites to tell though were always about the size of the waves in the middle and how those storms could come up outta' nowhere.

Dad would throw his shoulders back proud, "Uncle Johnnie had sailed and fished the Ocean and always said Lake Ontario had more dangerous waters. It's the way the waves break on that Lake. They roll on the Ocean. On that Lake they can come from all directions at once in a storm; rolling, and crashing, and breaking. Uncle Johnnie he knew how to handle a boat out there. But I'd never try it. Not in a storm. Not in the middle. Too far to swim to shore when you are stuck out there in the middle. I'd want a pretty good size boat to try it. Then, not sure I would."

In answer to your question: yes, my Dad has crossed Lake Ontario on a boat, The Colberg when it travelled back and forth from the Port at Charlotte (Rochester) to Canada as a young man... and yes, that was a pretty large boat, indeed.

Roots;Land and Water

Maternal Grandfather came from London ("Home" Kent, England) on The Saint Louis, (1910) as a young man of 20. Plans were to come to America to be a barber and to send money back home to his Mother. He was sponsored by a family (farmers) in the town of Ontario and worked for them until he purchased a farm, settled in the Town of Ontario, became a Father, and played coronet in the Ontario Fireman's band.

He never returned to England. Two of his brothers traveled England to America then back, then returned to America from 1909 to 1920. His brother purchased a ticket for the Titantic voyage but at the last minute "missed the boat" by a "change in plans".

Grandma Sarah (paternal line) came from Holland (farmers) with her family; Mother and Father ages 24 and 25, with three young children (born to that date) all under the age of five. Sarah, age 1, became ill on the voyage (The Veendam) and years later it was summized by the nature and lengthly period of time of her liver illness that she had contracted hepatitis on the journey. Her passing left 6 children ranging in ages from 2 to 16 to be raised by my Grandfather, the oldest children, and extended family.

2006, my parents celebrated their 60th wedding anniversary. To mark the occasion and for the gathering of family and extensive list of their friends of all ages I put together a scrapbook. I honored the fact that Mom's Dad (age 52) had passed the year prior to their marriage and Dad's Mom (age 40) had passed when he was 14 years old; neither of them living to be a part of that day in 1946.

I wrote this in loving memory to "the Grandparents I never met" and to include them on this day, 60 years later, in celebration of their children:

God, watch over me and mine I pray

Your Ocean to cross so vast.

Dream You planted in my heart just as deep

Your Promise be true, what I sow may I reap.

Set my sail to horizon -America, there may

Mother Liberty open her arms.

Captain my ship as she sails on the Sea

Me a lad or babe, Mother praying over me.

Farmland rich for Your Hands did make.

My gifts all I bring, from Thee.

My hands able to labor and music I play

Send Your Love and Guide my way. Amen.

Maternal family line; Great-Grandma and Grandpa. His family came from Holland sometime before the Civil War...stories were recorded by newspaper that he remembered the day President Lincoln was shot (about 5 years old at the time).

My Grandma had a green thumb for vegetable gardens and flowers. Memories of her many; spading dirt by shovel in the Spring and tending her gardens each Summer through Fall, a gift she inherited and learned from her father and then passed on to my Mom.

Photos taken near the Water, down on her Lakeshore; Ontario, the Great Lake. This place where families settled and they chose to be the caretakers of the land deposited there, a place to root children, and then to raise them near. She, this Great Lake and they, each generation, each family, each one...took a moment to be recorded as having been there...in this place, settled, together.

Good Friends

Grandpa, closest to water pictured above with a friend, was a farmer by trade, and an avid fisherman by hobby and at heart. His older brother, John was the "professional" fisherman on Lake Ontario waters. Stories told down of family back home in Holland, "farmers and fisherman on the Sea, they were."

Names of "Home Towns" In Holland (Providence) I saw printed, though letters switched or left off or added on through speech translation handscripted now in print or handwriting versions of the storycarriers. Here I will write them as Zeelandic Flander; Zuidzande; but most common I saw Cadzand. Speech we often heard Zuid-er-zee. I assume that meant land Zuidzande next to or on the zee (Noordzee/North Sea). Funny how sound and letters get lost over time.

Then, the waves and Sea...Now, still fighting the elements to work the land and to preserve home...that remains like Homeland, northwest Netherlands. The draw towards living near water remained in the hearts and Souls of next generations and there they settled along The Great Lake; Ontario. Farmland, rich and higher elevation this new place called, home.

Dad carried on the tradition...early morning fisherman with fish tales to tell, taking a break from farming.

Mom never learned to swim, was more fond of viewing or sitting near than being in the water. Still...the story has been told and retold how she jumped into the water (a pool, not the Lake or Bay) and saved me from drowning when I was 2.

"A day at Pultneyville Beach"

Mom sitting the closest to the Lake.

Roots of Faith

My Paternal Grandmother attended the Pultneyville Dutch Reformed Church as a child and became the organist. (photo; 1946)

My Maternal Grandmother was a member of the Ontario Baptist Church.

My faith was born under the cherry or apple tree. As a child, Daisy was my teacher. She could teach about God by a smile, the way she held out her hand, how she listened to my stories, by her patience, and by the strength of her character and Spirit.

As a child, I understood nature, sensed how life should be, accepted what it wasn't on most days, placed hope in tomorrow by living today, and trusted my instinct to know right from wrong and direction.

She taught by her compassion and gentleness to judge fairly or not at all, by her tolerance I learned to look for the good in people, and that the best way to teach was by being or reaching for the best within myself. Daisy as my friend, I sensed early on that we are all God's children; that more makes us the same than different and the contents of a person's heart measures Soul and worth.

Give us this day,

our daily bread

Forgive us our debts as we forgive our debtors.

For thine is the Kingdom, the power, and the glory, forever. Amen
Earth as it is in Heaven

Ons Vader,

Gi-j die in de hemel bunt,

Gi-j mot heileg genuump worde,

ow heerschappi-j mot ruumte kriege.

Wat Gi-j wilt mot gebeurein

de wereld aevegoed as in de hemel.

Geef ons vandaag en iedere dag

't brood da wi-j nodeg hemme.

En scheld ons kwiet onze schuldenkrek

as wi-j doen aan andere

die bi-j ons in de schuld staon.

En breng ons niet in de verleiding,

maor maak ons vri-j van kwaod.

Want van Ow is de heerschappi-j

en de krach en de glorie.Amen.

(Dutch; dialect by the North Sea)

Roots of Life

Springtime Love

Unloading apples

Moments of fun in a day's work

Now a Dad

In Charge of Wolf and Guarding the Peaches

Then along comes...

Janie

Born to be the storyteller.

Photos:

Springtime Love. Mom and Dad;1949

Dad driving tractor, younger sister Viola riding on trailer with family dog. Mom took picture. Had just returned from their Honeymoon "around Lake Ontario via Niagara Falls, Canada, St. Lawrence" (August 1946); Fall 1946

Dad and sister, Nancy in the woods on farm;1955

Nancy and Wolf guarding peaches at Grandpa's;1953

Janie, the storyteller;1959

Growing a Family

Cherry Pickin'

Friends from Rochester visit the farm, photo shoot attempted

Big Sister, Little Brother

Special moment with Mother


Grandpa (Myron) and Grandma (Sarah), the early days

family posing next to Great-grandma's snowball bush



photos:

#1 Cherry pickin'. 1933. Dad with sisters. Adult female, lifetime neighbor/family (cousin) and her husband.

#2 Approx. 1929; third and fourth,1923; fifth, approx. 1923
top; Dad center fourth from left with sisters, Isabelle clearing her eyes, Mabel crouched down holding Beulah, and right side Viola, little one consoled by adult. Early spray tank background.
#3 Dad sitting on the lap of big sister, Mabel
#4 Dad on Mother's lap, Mabel looking on
#5 Grandpa and Grandma right, Grandpa's sister, Katie left.

Childhood; 1905

photo 1905; Grandpa and sister, Carrie

Nearing Twenty

Blossom Time

A walk through the orchard


Third week of May in Upstate

Apple Blossoms; May, 1920

(photo:1920; Grandpa VerDow with horses, Fred and Kit)

Apples; the Life

Dried Apple Packing Crew. Neighbors and Family unite.



(photos: 1915-1918; Great-Grandmother, Mary
bottom row middle. Great-Aunt, Kate top row, right)

Day-to-Day along Lake Ontario; Upstate

Sun Rise

Approaching Noon

Sunday Afternoon Drive
Lake Ontario

One Room Schoolhouse


Sunday Afternoon at the Pier

Top three photos: 1918-1920
Schoolroom/class: 1912-1918
Crop Duster, aircraft view: 1947
Pier: approx. 1920; Grandma, Sarah middle

Pultneyville Back When

Pultneyville Harbor

Homecoming; The Place Called Pultneyville

Pultneyville...spoken just the way it looks...with a long e in the middle
that is unless you are talking with one of the locals...
one who's been around the block a couple times...
at the end of the day tired from working the orchards and fields,
or maybe with seasick legs just off the boat...

or then again, some days "jus' because" that's how the locals express their affection for their small Hamlet along the Lake Ontario Southern Shoreline.

Any of these the case and in fact you have found one with roots to there...Pultneyville is slurred to sound more like "Put-neyville"... Just for fun if you look real close at some written accounts printed for the Town of Williamson-where Pultneyville is properly positioned on the map in Upstate, NY, even the locals can be known to "misspell" her this way tho' they pass the roadsigns each day telling them how it is supposed to be...But...no matter, not to the locals...for calling Pultneyville..."Put-neyville" always comes with a smile.


From time to time in the future I thought I'd do some storytelling 'bout this little stop along the Seaway Trail. Rich in heritage connected to Lake Ontario...complete with fishing lines and everyday tale "lines" of "the big one that got away"; sunken ships and cannon balls found along her coast waters left over reminders of the War of 1812 and the St. Peter sunken ship (1898) at rest just off Fairbanks Point; or "the Lake was a bit rough today" warnings for sailing or fishing...

Or maybe show-n-tell you the homes dotting her shoreline of Captains past, many resting at Lakeview Cemetary overlooking, still watching their Lake. Some of the old time homes have not been reconstructed and the "hiding" rooms, many in attics of the homes remain, reminders of the Lake's purpose and calling to carry people safely by night calmed waters across to Canada. Some of the old time homes are cobblestone, small lake-smooth aged stones collected from her shoreline and carried to a coastline home or horse drawn closer to the "Ridge."

Oh...there are a million stories to tell...truth told, Lakeview Cemetary could tell you far more than I have heard to re-tell...because of the stones and the people buried there, yes, that's true...but more by the man who caretakes there. Ask anyone in Put-neyville this weekend...who to ask...about...that is, if you want to know any story that has ever been told or written about Pultneyville...and if you hear the answer, "Chet Peters"...well, you'll know first hand you are talkin' to a local.

For today..."Homecoming" Is the News around Pultneyville.

http://www.pultneyvillehistoricalsociety.org/pages/homecoming.htm

Pultneyville's Gates Hall is known to be "the second oldest little theatre in the United States".


For a listing of this weekend's production go to:
http://www.pultneyvillehistoricalsociety.org/pages/news_feat.htm



And...because the locals love the "holiday season" (even if it is the third weekend of July)
be sure to check out one of the newest attractions along Salmon Creek featuring local artists:

http://www.thelandingatpultneyville.com/pages/artisansloft.html


Have a safe and happy "Homecoming".

Jane Marla VerDow

Lake Ontario Southern Shore

Rochester, New York

Known in its founding days as "The Flour City" due to its location on the Erie Canal, the earliest means to connect a farmer's grain to regional/City manufacturing and production, Rochester is on the path of the Genesee River as it feeds into Lake Ontario. The Erie Canal waterway system, in our local region an east-west path, was primarily constructed (dug out by man, real horse power, and early pulley/crane systems) to connect farmers and local trade to international markets. Upstate has traditionally been known and remains the major apple production area of New York State and early days the Erie Canal provided the means to ship dried apple products in box-wooden crates and raw apples in wooden barrels to Europe.

Though Rochester's official associated name is and will forever remain to the long time locals, "The Flour City", meaning shifted as the Erie Canal lost its founding function and with the growth of the Lilac Festival (The Flower City).

Most recent years, the Erie Canal has regained popularity as a waterway for boating tourists providing bed and breakfast and stop-n-shop opportunities. Bike trails line the upper banks of the Canal as it travels through New York State.

Rochester is rich in historical significance, the Underground Railroad and the Freedom Trail (The St. Lawrence Seaway) providing means for slaves to Canada; voting rights led by Susan B. Anthony, the primary meeting ground to develop strategy and to write woman's history (along with Stanton from nearby Seneca Falls, NY) and the abolition movement with Frederick Douglass. Rochester is also known as the home of George Eastman (Eastman-Kodak).

What would Rochester be without a slide show?...

From time to time in the future I'll share Rochester and the regional area from my own collection of pictures of "the good ol' days" and some more current of the place I call "home" in Upstate New York along the Lake Ontario (Southern) Shoreline.

For now, to support my Home City, I'll share the tour that Rochester has offerred the world in pictures.

http://www.visitrochester.com/phototour/phototour/index.cfm?action=cover&tourID=22


To view more of the author's photography images from Upstate, NY scroll down to the base of Lake Ontario Shoreline blog.

author unknown

“Pray with your feet moving.”
-author unknown

The pathway;my life

and on the pathway...of my walk...I discovered me...some I already knew, some I was still discovering...and as I walked towards I sensed it pulling me...and on the lookbacks, I saw and felt replayed all life I had known and lived...and once I reached the end of where I could no longer walk...the answer I was searching for, there I found...and I smiled, no, truth told I laughed outloud...and said "thank-you", most grateful ...then I played there...content I walked back out and followed my path...some steps I already knew...and some I was still to discover...

Janie

A Farmer's Faith

Written on a March Sunday, 2000 when we were talking in a Church home of Jesus drawing lines in the sand. My heart and mind drew me afterwards to the lakeshore where this was written.

While others questioned where it was written and talked of straight lines and tiers of oppression holding others down, I was picturing Jesus with stick in hand drawing a circle in the sand around the woman and asking “How much space do you need?” And saying “Fill your space.”


Written June 21st, 2001…
Now on this morning of late June 2001 on the 21st day, somehow blossom time makes sense.

The Lake, ...for the first time my home on Earth discovered in my time and in God’s Time the Way my Creator planted the dream in my heart as it would be for me so many years before. I had traveled for a lifetime a Soul path to the crest of the hill, sat there always in body or mind sense looking to the Lake and praying when God’s Presence and guidance was most needed... dreamt of walking the final mile alone to the Lakeshore, then…stepping in and walking to my body balance point that allows strength and complete submission without fear, then…returning to create what God was dreaming of, too.


This was the body of what was written at the Lakeshore late March of 2000…


To provide support for the process of growth and discovery, those choosing to support that process may find that growth occurs naturally when righteous actions are abandoned, power is given rather than taken, and control is seen as unnecessary. Although forcing action-response may be the necessary tool or approach to spark awakening, to merely do so limited by hungry desires and wants or our predetermined and well-worn pathways, we risk taking the life force from the tree for only the tree knows its own time and growth space.

The true miracle of growth often comes with the passage of time in fertile ground, with supportive waiting, the balanced new air of Spring following the hardship, quiet and rest of a long Winter.

While the farmer rests and dreams, the buds of growth each respond on their own time clock, and awaken to their self and God determined Path; their opening. Wishing the onset, wishing to control the timing, wishing the blossoming, does nothing but breed the disappointment, the anxiety, the painful awareness of the long Soul wait. Believing, holding faith, and trusting that on their own each will open in their God Time to their predetermined Earth time, we dream of blossoms and fruits abundant.

It is true that the combined, the unison May time blossoming holds beauty beyond description. My eyes, oh, how many times they have been blessed to witness this event of color. Yet, no less spectacular, no less a miracle, no less eye opening is that single late flower bloom of the single blossom cluster that my eyes have always been with vision to see on that late June morning.

When all the others have faded and by now well turned to fruit, this one single blossom how captivating, so powerful in its aloneness that it holds our attention when the others have long ago become, reviving our memory of what had come before balanced against a hope-vision of what is yet to be. We do not force this one to be like the others, to catch-up, to expect this one to become the biggest fruit on the tree but rather, we sit back in curiosity and with support equal to that which we have given the others, respond to the grace that it is by just surviving and simply being, and anticipate what it may become.

We know without proof of knowing, our hearts open to our discovery and God’s gift in that moment when our eyes were most open, that this flower of blossom as it comes to fruit in its own God Time and God Space, and mirrors the image God has pictured, that by observing its presence and doing nothing, we watched a miracle of its own discovery.

Janie


Above is an edited version of a longer story.
Appears in full, nonfiction spiritual novel, Dear Daisy by author, Jane Marla VerDow

http://www.risingsparrowpress.com/Bio.htm

http://www.risingsparrowpress.com/announce.htm

Lake Ontario Shoreline

Day One.


The wise words told to me by a beekeeper at a farmer's market...

"Bloom where you're planted."