Manual Mode and the Farmers Market

I love to take pictures.  I usually snap all of my photos in automatic mode.  I have even managed to get a few good ones that way.  But I decided it was time to force myself out of my comfort zone (as if attempting to write a blog isn't  putting me out enough) and start using the manual mode on my camera.  Thanks to the hundreds of tutorials on Pinterest, I am now ready to say goodbye to point and shoot and try to get a bit more creative.   Thank you for allowing me to share my attempts to become aquainted with aperture, shutter speed and ISO.

So I went to the local Farmers Market today.  I thought I could get some vegetables and take some experimental pictures all in one outing.  I got tomatoes, onions and green peppers to make my world famous salsa.  I also got fresh, locally grown cilantro and you know how happy that makes me.

If you want fresh, local produce, visit the Morrison Farm booth.  They have the most beautiful vegetable and are the nicest people.

 

They have the sweetest carrots.  They are my favorite.

Their zucchini is also lovely.

As are their onions.

They were also very gracious about allowing me to photograph their vegetables.  

I bought some fresh lettuce at another table and the young man there let me take some photos of his fresh cut flowers.

I also took some other photographs around town but will be saving them for next time.  I have to make salsa.

My Boy, Luke

 

This is my almost 20 year old boy, Luke.  This photo was taken last summer when he was spreading manure for Frank.  In Kalamazoo.  A few hours away.  Where if he needed me for any reason I could get in my car and be there in no time at all.

Luke is now in Kansas City, Kansas where he has been since his dad and I took him there in July.  After attending the National Academy of Railroad Science, he is a Freight Conductor Trainee for BNSF Railroad.  Burlington Northern Santa Fe is one of the largest Freight Railroads in the United States.  And for your bit of trivia today, it is owned by Berkshire Hathaway, of which Warren Buffett is the Chairman, President and CEO.  So anyway.....

Being an only child, I always swore that I would never have just one myself.  Well, as things worked out, that is just what I did.  But Luke grew up with a whole slew of cousins down the road, so the only child thing turned out to be not so bad.  He also had Kyle and Chelsea across the street, so there was always lots of other kids for him to spend time with.  Luke was funny and smart and had a wonderful imagination.  He and Kyle were Detroit Tigers one day, complete with the entire uniform.  The next day they were out in the street riding their bikes with Chelsea through the water that would collect in the street after a big rain. He would dress up as a police officer, a cement truck driver or Captain Smith from the Titanic.  Sometimes all in the same day.   He learned to play the piano, drums and the guitar.  He had a sweet pony named Lakota that he rode in 4H.  Then he realized that there was money to be made pigs and steers and so he raised them and sold them at the Kalamazoo County Fair every summer.  He loved the UP.   At one time wanted to be Amish.  That may have been before or after he wanted to move to Canada and rode around with a Canadian Flag on the back of his bicycle.  I can't remember.

Luke loved airplanes, trains and tractors.  He ate all kinds of fruits and vegetables, even beets.  He could tell you all there was to know about Orca Whales and the Titanic.  He was obsessed with Star Wars, The Karate Kid and video games.  He could back up his pedal tractor and trailer perfectly when he was only two years old.  In the third grade he wrote that some day he would own a Chevy Diesel Truck.  He could do a spot on imitation of his Uncle Andy and Granny from the Beverly Hillbillies.  He was always a 40 year old man in a boy's body.  He could hold his own in any adult discussion.  He was an expert of center pivots and John Deere Combines.  He wanted to be a conservation officer when his best friends at school wanted to be cage fighters.

Luke wasn't a hard child to raise, for the most part.  He had the usual stubborn streak, but being Luke's mom was always a lot of fun. He made me laugh everyday.  There were times I wanted to kill him, like when he took a pen and wrote all over his brand new leather boots from Little Chick Shoe Store when he was three.   His dad and I worked really hard to instill the values that every parent wants their child to have.  Having secured not just a job, but a career and relocating to a city 10 hours from home before he was twenty shows we did a pretty good job.  Luke has become a man blessed with common sense, a strong work ethic, and a great sense of humor.  I am more proud of him than he will ever know.  But the one thing about Luke that gives me the greatest sense that I raised a good kid is that he is kind and considerate of others.

Sunday I was talking to Luke on the phone and he told me one of the hardest thing for him is being all by himself in his apartment when he has time off.   He has made some friends at work, but due to crazy schedules they haven't been able to find time to get together.  I told him he needed a cat.  His dog,  Saber, is here with us until Luke figures out what his life will look like after his training.  But I told him in the mean time to get a mature cat that will be independent when he isn't home, but there to keep him company when he is.  I even did what most mothers would have, went on Craig's List and found him one.  I called the lady, Barb, who had to re home her cat due to allergies.  I made arrangements and Luke went over and got "Kitty" and brought her home.

A short while later, I got a call from Barb, the previous owner of Luke's new cat.  She just wanted to tell me how much she enjoyed meeting Luke.  She said he sat down and visited with her and her husband  for awhile.  She was upset about having to find her cat a new home, but after meeting Luke she felt much better.  He was such a nice and polite young man and she just wanted to let me know what a wonderful son I had.  Of course, after the conversation, I cried.  Just as I am crying now.  When your kids grow up and move away you cry....a lot.

Luke Simmons, I am so very proud of you for all you have accomplished in your short life, the chances you have taken and the successes you have had. I look forward to all the future holds for you.  But most of all I am so pleased about the nice person that you have become. Bottom line, that is what I am proud of most of all.  I love you with all my heart, I miss you like crazy and will see you very soon.

Thank you Beach Monkey

I want to thank the ladies at the Beach Monkey in Oscoda for the custom pillow for the header of my blog.   Visit their shop located at 115 East River Road.  They have all sorts of wonderful things.  Tell them Andrea sent you.

A Hell of a Ball Player

                                                              

This is my dad.  My mom and family call him Andy.  People in the community call him Joe.  His name is Joseph Andrew.  The story I heard is that his mother named all of her boys Joseph so they all had to go by their middle name.  My mom met him when he was stationed at Wurstsmith and they married in 1956 after dating for a short amount of time.  He got out of the air force so he could stay in Oscoda, where my mom was an elementary school teacher.  He worked various jobs before becoming a custodian for the school system.  He retired in the late eighties.  He was very active in his church and the Lions Club.  He stayed busy volunteering around town, and two or three times a week he and my mother went to Monarch Ridge, the family golf course in Spruce, to work.  Somewhere along the line it became apparent that he had a form of dementia.  After my mother had a bad fall it became apparent that he and my mother could no longer manage on their own and I brought them to Kalamazoo to live by me.  This picture was taken last fall at their assisted living facility.  I had just bought that brand new Lands End jacket for my dad after forcing him to retire his blue, silk, thread bare Detroit Tigers jacket that was  three sizes too small.  Even though I think he wasn't too happy with me he still managed to give me a goofy smile.

Anyone who knows my dad knows he loves to tell stories.  Especially about himself and what a fabulous ball player he was.  Over the years the stories have become a skeleton of their former selves and it is hard to tell what is true and what took place only in his mind.  My uncle David managed to put together some newspaper articles written when he played ball on the base that indicate that he was pretty good in his day.  But there are two stories he loves to tell (and tell).  Sometimes he tells them two or three times if he is really feeling chatty.  The first one is that he hit two grand slam home runs in one inning.  He says the pitcher was so mad at him that he charged after him, wanting to beat my dad up.  That story has never been validated.  I think we all believe it just because we have heard it so many times.  

The second one is that he went to the old baseball diamond in Oscoda when the Detroit Tigers were in town looking for people to join their team.  He got up to bat and (according to him) hit a ball out into US 23.  In the last two or three months he has started adding an interesting little tidbit.  He says when he hit that ball out into the street he hit a car that was driving by.  The car stopped in the middle of US 23 and the people in the car got out, raised the hood and the trunk to see what happened to their vehicle.   In all the years he has been telling the story I never remember hearing that little bit of information until recently.  After that he was asked if he would like to join the team.  When he said he most certainly did, they asked him how old he was.  He told them he was twenty five years old.  Sadly shaking their heads, the scouts told him he was too old.  His professional baseball career foiled because he was all of twenty five years old.  

A few weeks ago I was caring for a gentleman in the ER.  When he was cleared to go home and we were waiting for his daughter to get the car, our conversation turned to my parents.  He asked me what their names were.  I told him.  He said "you're not Joe Mosley's daughter are you?" I told him yes I was.  He looked at me, paused for a brief second, and then said "He was a hell of a ball player."  He said he used to play ball with him out on the base when they were both stationed there.  

Not that I didn't believe my dad and his stories.  I think I had just heard them so many times that I stopped listening. It made me proud to know that my dad really was the ball player he imagined himself to be.  I thanked the gentleman for giving me that very important bit of information.  The next time I saw my dad I told him that I had run into someone who knew him back when he was a superstar baseball player on the base.  He looked at me and said "did I ever tell you about the time the scouts from the Detroit Tigers came to town?"

Dorothy, we aren't in Kalamazoo anymore.....

Alcona Pond

My name is Andrea Mosley.  I grew up in Oscoda, Michigan.  After I graduated from college I relocated to Kalamazoo, Michigan.  Due to a family emergency, along with a remarriage to a man who loves the north country, I found myself back home again.  I am starting this blog in hopes of casting a humorous light on leaving my adopted home, going through a divorce and remarriage to a man with two children (one being a girl, a completely new experience for me).  Added to my burden is the fact that I took a ten dollar an hour pay cut, I have not one, but two parents with dementia, and my baby just moved to Kansas City to take a job with the railroad.  I have three dogs over 70 pounds and no where decent to buy groceries.  I hope you will enjoy reading my take on life here in the small, beautiful town on Lake Huron.

It turns out you can go home again, but it takes a village (and a good bottle of wine) to keep you sane.