Happy May Day!

© Jerrianne Lowther
April showers bring May flowers ... summer's on its way!

Updates -

Levi Owen Steinhauer & proud parents, Mike & Sarah Steinhauer.

FAMILY UPDATE -- It's a boy!
by Michael and Sarah Steinhauer

On Tuesday, April 19th, 2005, at 10 p.m., we had a baby boy. His name is Levi Owen Steinhauer. He weighs 7 pounds, 14 ounces. Everyone is doing well and everything is going great.

Photos © Larry T. Dake
LTD gets a new grandson -- right in the middle of lambing season, left;
First spring lamb born at Storybrooke Farm in 2005, right.

STUDENT UPDATE -- Homemakers & Pet Tenders, too
by Leona and Eric Anderson
Brooklyn Park, MN

It's been awhile since Eric or I have done an update. Oops and shame on us. Things have been mostly the same around here. Eric is still plugging away at his last class for his two year Accounting degree. He graduates on May 12th, but isn't going to go to the ceremony.

After that, Eric will start looking for a different job that he can use his accounting degree for. Currently, he's working at Boston Scientific. He's getting paid mostly to just sit around and chat with Wyatt and Weston online. Now if only we could all get paid to do just that. :-)

I recently got accepted to the initial licensure teaching program at the U of M (Twin Cities). That'll consist of one more year of schooling and student teaching, then I'll be ready to be thrown out into the real classroom all alone. When I got the acceptance letter in the mail, I wasn't sure I wanted to open it, fearing the worst (I'm always doing that), but when I felt that the envelope was thick, I knew it was a good sign. They never send a 6-page report as to why you've been rejected.

Two weekends ago, Eric and I tackled our annual Spring Cleaning. We spent well over fifteen hours, taking everything out, dusting, vacuuming, rearranging, putting things away, throwing things away, and taking things to Good Will. We both had major sinus headaches by the end, but we felt good about our work. Plus, things are more organized and look cleaner, if you look in our closets. Just scanning the open spaces of the apartment, you wouldn't be able to tell that we really did anything differently. Oh well, such is life.

We did have one slight adventure that weekend involving our kitten, Myca. She hates when we vacuum, so she runs and hides and we think nothing of it. Friday night, we start on the bedroom and vacuum under the bed. Myca runs off to hide somewhere ... and still is missing three hours later. That's not normal, so I get out her treats and shake the box. Eric calls her name and I find her toy and squeak it. Still nothing, not a peep!

Eric then remembers he had to go out on the balcony earlier to clean out the filter. I start to get more worried and go downstairs into the lawn to see if Myca had gotten out. There was no sign of her, so I came back upstairs, and Eric and I repeat the treats and toy shaking. Now we're both really worried, so I decide to look behind the couch, the last place I haven't looked, even though she can't fit back there anyway.

Sure enough, I see her, so wedged between the couch and the wall that she can't move or meow. She just stared at me with blank eyes, so I rushed over and pulled out the couch. Myca's fine and decides then to chirp at us and sat with Eric for a bit.

Our other cat, Casper, is on the decline. Matters are only made worse when Myca decides she's going to make Casper play with her, which ends in biting and scabs. We may get a new kitten for Myca to play with. Hopefully, she'd then leave Casper to sleep in his sunbeams while he can. Luckily, Don and Patty's cat, Gracie, just had another litter of kittens, so we'd probably take one of those into our home.

Speaking of home, Eric and I have decided to stay in our apartment for another two years. Firstly, we can't afford a house right now even though the payments might be the same or close to what we're paying now. The extra expenses is what would get us. Plus, we know where everything is from here, it's close to where we work and where I need to catch the bus for school, and we'll probably not find an apartment this size for this price anywhere else. In two years, we're going to get a house. At that time, I'll be out of school and working full time while Eric will have been working full time for awhile.

For two young people with nothing much going on, this update seems a tad long.

The Matriarch Speaks W
by Dorothy (Dake) Anderson
Alexandria, MN

May Day 1937
by Dorothy Dake

I love May! This will be our last year at Smith Lake School and probably the last time we will go May basket hanging. I guess Mom doesn't want Gert to go with Bubsy and me. She has a cold -- but she wants to go anyway. Gilbert has gone to visit his Mom in St. Paul, so it will be just the two of us this year!

We found out after Valentine's Day that Grandma Greer had shown Gilbert how to make those lovely, velvety flowers out of crepe paper. So we have been spending some time at her house on the other side of the tracks. She has been showing us how to take a coffee can and use the tin snips to cut strips down. We covered all the strips with green crepe paper... Then we made different color petals and fastened the end of the strips around a bundle of petals which you stretch a little on the edges to make lovely flowers. That means that even though in Minnesota we don't have many flowers blooming at this time of the year, our baskets will be flowery anyway.

We have made only one basket for each of us... Gert didn't really do a lot on hers, but she did work on making ruffly edges on the flowers. We told her she can fix it for Mom and then we will help her put it on the porch -- really sneaky like -- and then the three of us can hide until Mom finds us and chases us. (I know she will catch her and give her a hug.) Then we are going to wait to hang our baskets until it is dusky -- and this is our plan:

Ervin and Helen Wrobbel just got married last year and we do think it would be nice to give them each a basket. Mom helped us put some cookies and candy in it to make it nice and we are going to sneak over -- put it on the front porch -- knock really loud -- and then hide under the bushes in their front yard. I doubt we could get away from them if they saw us and chased us, so we will hide instead!! It should be lots of fun!!

They heard us, they chased us, they caught us, and hugged and kissed us -- how embarrassing -- but it WAS fun!!

Starting with Bulletin 124, I planned to run biographical sketches of the members of our staff. Now that this has been done, I want to run sketches and pictures of the readers and subscribers who have not already done introductions. Please tell us about yourself. What is your work and what else do you do with your time? How are you related or what friend introduced you into the family? I am hoping that you can share family photos and background sketches. Send all manuscripts and pictures to me at dma49261@juno.com

Who Is This?

Let's Play a Guessing Game: Whenever it is handy to do so we will run a picture of someone of the subscribers or staff members of our e-magazine. Tell us who you think it is -- we will let you know who was the first to guess it right -- and the correct guess -- in the following week's Bulletin.
(Send us some to run; we will line them up in our staging area to take their turn.)

Who are these kids?

Answers to last week's mystery picture (click here to review it):

Those would be, Douglas Anderson & Sheldon, Mitzi & Shane Swenson. Very nice looking group of people! :-)

Donna Anderson Johnson
Ashby, MN

And speaking of Doug. He's the one on the left in the mystery picture. Sheldon and Mitzi on the right ... with one of their kids, I suppose.

Marlene Johnson
Long Lake, MN

The pictures are Douglas and Sheldon and Mitzi Swenson and their son.

Mavis Morgan
Hope, ND

LTD Storybrooke

The Long Ride
By Larry Dake
Part Three

Rolling back into Denver, I passed by a conventional Peterbilt semi tractor in the median. He had tangled with the concrete abutment of an overpass. His cab was totaled.

I doubt the driver comes out of that alive, I thought.

I exited the freeway when I saw a big sign advertising showers, coffee, and diesel. I was looking for a place to get refueled and refreshed. I'd call home on a pay phone and visit with my wife, Sherry, and my daughter Sarah. Then I'd say a few words to baby Amy; if I were lucky, I'd get to hear her coo.

After topping off the tanks with diesel, I parked in one of several long rows of idling trucks.

They were left running to keep their engines, and their occupants, warm. It was a cold night.

Blue smoke hung over the big, chrome stacks. Most of the rigs were decked out with fancy paint jobs, big air horns, and lots of chrome!

The trucker parked to my right had even decorated his mud flaps -- with busty chrome figurines.

There were also company trucks -- trucks from large fleets that all looked the same. And there were a few old workhorses, like mine, with nothing fancier than licenses and permits to decorate their bodies.

A couple of women were going from truck to truck, tapping on doors, and chatting with truckers through rolled down windows. Soon they apparently found the trucker they were looking for. A door opened and the younger of the two climbed in. The older woman waved to the first, and disappeared into this city of purring iron, set on transient foundations of rubber and steel.

Someone gave a deep, throaty blast on their air horn -- perhaps just to hear it blow.

I brought my log up to date and grabbed my shaving kit. As I walked away from the trucks, in the direction of the truck stop, I was impressed and moved by the feeling of power in the air, the combined reverberations of scores of diesel engines. In addition to the parked trucks, there were other trucks continuously arriving and departing. It was a bit of a heady experience to be a part of this.

In the truck stop, once beyond the "Truckers Only" signs, I walked through the truckers' lounge. Drivers were sitting around televisions and swapping tales about weather, weigh stations, and women.

Others were chugging quarters into pinball machines.

A sign above one door advertised medical services. Another door advertised private showers, bath tubs, and a sauna. Across the way was a laundromat, with washing machines and dryers, twirling faded blue jeans, and underwear.

Several guys were standing in line next to a row of pay phones, waiting to make calls. Some of them would say a few words and hang up. Others looked like they'd been camped out there for a long time. They appeared to be embroiled in long conversations.

I checked out the showers. Seeing "what" was going into them, I couldn't bring myself to set foot in one. I'd rather smell a little around the edges. I joined a few guys at the sinks and shaved off several days' growth of beard. I tried not to touch the sink and counter. I kept my shaving kit tucked under my arm. Then I wandered back out through the lounge and into the truckers' store.

It was twelve hours before I could pick up my next load. I had a pit in my stomach and I was feeling very alone. I wished I were back home with my family.

Everything "truck" was for sale in the store. Leather billfolds on heavy chains, fog lights, city maps, and gifts to take home to wives, sons, and daughters. There were trucking magazines, girlie magazines, heavy duty tire irons, and sunflower seeds in their shells. They sold groceries, log books, and chrome. Lots of chrome!

I watched as a trucker walked in with his arm wrapped around a young woman. She appeared to be still in her teens. She was wearing a skimpy black skirt, a little black leather jacket, fishnet stockings, and six-inch heels.

As they walked by, I noticed the trucker's eyes were dilated wide. He was stoned.

Thin, unkempt, blonde hair fell over the girl's shoulders. She was skin and bones; like maybe she was dying from some horrible disease. Her face was covered with zits and open sores.

She wore a vacant expression.

And she had this trucker fawning over her as though she were his very own Madonna.

The pit in my stomach turned into an angry knot. Whose daughter was this?

A high school kid working behind the counter voiced her disgust. "Yuck!" she said, "She came through with another guy just a little while ago!" She saw a disgusting human being.

I saw a dying child, caught in a tailspin of addiction and crime. The abuse she is enduring, I thought, is paying for the drugs she is addicted to; the drugs are dulling the pain of the abuse, and thus she is coming full circle, back to the abuse, to get more of the drugs, to dull more of the pain.

In the trucking world, she's known simply as "commercial company."

Even as this child crashes and burns, her abusers are getting in their eighteen-wheelers and driving away. She's not getting out of this wreck alive, I thought.

I walked out of the store and back to my truck. I didn't smell the diesel smoke, or feel the combined power of the scores of diesel trucks. I didn't see all the pretty lights, or the chrome they were reflected in. I didn't want to be a part of this anymore.

I climbed into my rolling cellblock, released my air brakes, flipped on my headlights, and drove away.

Travelogue t

The Bolivian Beat
By Kjirsten Swenson

Editor's Note: Kjirsten has returned to Bolivia for a second year of independent study, prior to enrollment in medical school at Baylor University in Houston, fall semester 2005.

Plaza principal, Cochabamba, Bolivia

Return To Cochabamba

Congratulations to Tyler -- doing much better in track than I ever did! I think he shall carry my pack in Peru. :) 'tis probably good that I've been devoting mornings to getting in shape for trekking in Peru. First I submit myself to aerobics class, which consists of one hour of jumping around with lots of middle-aged women. They all wear spandex. I don't. They shouldn't either. Class always ends with the most torturous sit-ups imaginable, but they are slowly starting to get easier.

Much to my family's consternation, most days I walk two miles to the base of the 800 foot hill topped with the Christ statue and climb to the top as quickly as possible, before returning home on foot. So I shouldn't be left in the dust when our Peruvian adventures begin, in a month!

That leaves afternoons for wandering and visiting friends. I will miss Cochabamba so much. Most afternoons I find myself meandering through the center's busy streets and markets, savoring the sights, sounds, and smells that make this city unique. And of course it has been so special to see friends here again, after being away for over four months. I hate how quickly my time in South America has passed. *sigh*

Today was Sister Katya's 28th birthday! We celebrated twice: yesterday with friends, and today with relatives. In typical Bolivian fashion, the merry-making involved much food and music. This afternoon we grilled steaks and ate them with ají de maní, a spicy peanut sauce. To make it, Grandma Tomasa first roasted whole chile peppers over a fire. Later she used a large stone mill to grind them together with tomatoes, fresh peppers, and roasted peanuts. The result was yummy!

Grandma Tomasa also made humintas today, inspired by the arrival of fresh corn harvested from her lands near Morochata. After cooking and grinding the starchy kernels, she added sugar, butter, and anis to the mixture and steamed portions wrapped in corn husks.

Tomorrow, I return to Morochata! I've talked to both of the doctors on the phone, but still haven't seen any of my Morochateñan friends ... I'm so excited!

I'll be there until Friday. And now I must be off to pack and clean.


My Bolivian Family
mi familia boliviana: Katya, Kjirsten, Elvira & Erika.

More photos: http://community.webshots.com/user/kjswenson

Several of us -- I am not quite sure how many -- are planning a series of vignettes to paint pictures, with words, to help you understand what our Dake grandparents were like.

by Gert Dake Pettit

I am not good at making things to sound like the times that they took place. I can only write how I felt about things. So here are some of my thoughts on our Grandparents on our Dad's side.

Grandpa Warren Dake died in May 1932. I didn't know him as my Grandpa because I wasn't born until November of 1932. But he and I must have had a little bit in common, as our Mom told me that Grandpa had died of a broken blood vessel in his head. Which I think would be what they now call an aneurysm, (which I had in 2000. But by the grace of God and a wonderful Dr. Dyste, I am still here.) My Mother said that Grandpa Dake was such a good, kind person.

Grandma Mary Dake, to be truthful, wasn't my favorite Grandma. She was okay, but not really a lot of fun. She had said that she and Grandpa Dake never quarreled, Her son, our Daddy, said to that, "No they never did, because every time she started fussing, Dad just got up and walked away."

If my memory serves me right, Cousin Gilbert was her favorite grandchild. She used to fuss about a lot of things!

But I remember her telling that when she was young and they would go to a dance with a horse and buggy, that one time at threshing time they got home in time to cook breakfast for the threshers.

The incident I remember the most about her, when I was young, was when she was living at our home; it was threshing time, and I, of course, was my Daddy's helper. Roger Wrobbel and I did all the hauling in of the grain wagons from the thresh machine. I went into the house to get a drink and Grandma really lit into me because I was outside with the men, when I needed to be in the house helping my Mother.

My Mother was not a person who liked doing any kind of farm field work, other than garden and chickens, so in my behalf she let Grandma Greer know how she felt. She told her FIRMLY that my place was helping my Dad. But I guess I am glad she was my Grandma, because if she hadn't been, I wouldn't have had my Daddy!

Grandpa Ed Greer was the Grandpa I knew, although I really don't remember a lot about him. I remember him as being quiet. He must have been good, because I know I really liked him, and even though we didn't celebrate Christmas a lot, the Christmas I really remember there were two things happened. Mom let me put some silver tinsel on the hanging fern plant she had. (I think there still is probably a transplant of that old fern alive.) And my dear Grandpa Ed gave me a "Betsy Wetsy" doll. Maybe that is why I Iiked him so much.

Grandpa died of what used to be called "sleeping sickness," I believe.

Grandpa Ed and Ann Rice (possibly a cousin; graduation, maybe?)

Grandpa & Grandma Greer
(Their Wedding Day?)

A Vignette of Great Grandma Dake Greer
as seen by her first great grandchild
Carol Dake Printz

My memories of Grandma Greer center around her green trailer home that sat behind Grandpa and Grandma Dake's house on the farm. When my family visited Minnesota from Texas every few years, one of the things I enjoyed doing was visiting Grandma Greer in her trailer. It was small. I don't recall that it contained much except a bed where Grandma and I would sit and visit.

She had photograph albums with heavy covers that fastened with a metal clasp. We would look through them as she told me stories about the pictures. Some of them were of her as a young girl, and I remember thinking she must have been very pretty when she was young. Other times, I got to view pictures through a stereoscope she had. It was an instrument with an eyepiece through which you viewed a double picture. The effect was a three dimensional image that was magical!

I always enjoyed just observing Grandma. She had a pleasant expression. Her hair was always pulled straight back in a bun, and for some reason her hands fascinated me. They were slender and delicate. I don't know how old she was at the time, but I thought she must be Quite Old. Because she was elderly, the skin on her hands was fragile, thin and wrinkled. As I sat beside her, I sometimes liked to rub my hand across hers and watch how her skin formed little ridges that stood up, instead of falling smoothly back into place like my own youthful skin did.

Simple activities that made lasting memories!

This and That
by Elaine Wold
Wahpeton, ND


What ever happened to that childhood custom of going "a-Maying"? May Day was a great occasion when we were kids. Children made homemade baskets and filled them with wildflowers, candy, cookies, or treats and then hung them on the door or set them on the steps of friends to surprise them. It was a custom symbolic of love and friendship for friends and loved ones.

We gathered all that made our gardens gay,
We gleaned the woods and meadows East and West.
And hung our baskets full of flowers of May,
Upon the doors of those we loved the best.
(Arthur Guiterman)

May Day is observed in various ways in other countries. In Russia, May Day brings the rattles of arms, with parades showing the power of their armed forces. Many countries in Europe celebrate it as we do our Labor Day. Roman May festivals honored the goddess of flowers and gaiety. English festivals included going a-Maying and gathering hawthorn flowers, called Mays, and then crowning the most beautiful girl as Queen of May. The hawthorn is regarded as a cosmetic and disguise for freckles.

The fair maiden who at the first of May
Goes to the field at break of day
And washes in dew from the hawthorn tree,
Will ever after handsome be.
(Mother Goose Rhyme)

May poles were often constructed as an English custom too, when streamers would be attached to a mast and young people would dance around the Maypole.

We dance around the May pole,
And sing for May day joys,
We wrap the pole in colors gay,
As happy girls and boys.
We gather pretty wildflowers
And make May baskets too,
We give them to our friends
We think it's fun to do.
(May Rhoades)

Even though it seems this custom has gone, along with many other valued things from the past, we can still carry the spirt of May Day with us. With many various flowers reflecting May Day, I still enjoy this poem.

My son brought me dandelions
When he was three years old
Ragged, crumpled dandelions
But the color of pure gold.
Now my son is thirty three
And he brings me roses red,
But why, with all their loveliness
Do I wish for dandelions instead?
(Annie Dulaney)

Celebrations & Observances
From the Files of
Hetty Hooper

This Week's Birthdays:
May 4---Beau Birkholz
May 7---Ben Johnson
May 7---Kim Mellon (Tim's wife)

Happy Birthday!

More May Birthdays:
May 10---Curt Henderson
May 12---James Dake
May 14---Ernie Dake
May 16---Angelic Ann Freesemann (6 years)
May 17---Dwight Anderson
May 19---Ryan Hellevang
May 22---Dan Henderson
May 23---Don Pettit
May 23---David O'Brien
May 25---Amy Ellen Dake
May 26---Rick Anderson
May 28---Jason Hunt
May 28---Jazmine Jane Hill (2 years)
May 29---Kristi Kay Larson Indermark
May 31---Mavis Anderson Morgan
May Anniversaries
May 16---Nathan and Brenda Anderson Hill (9 years)
May 27---Dwight and Janie Anderson (34 years)
May 31---Tom and Mavis Anderson Morgan (48 years)
May Special Days
May 1---May Day (hanging May baskets day)
May 8---Mother's Day
May 15---Armed Forces Day
May 30---Memorial Day

Miss Hetty's Mailbox:

© Jerrianne Lowther

Dear Miss Hetty,

Thank you for the birthday card. I had a wonderful birthday with birthday cake and presents and everything! To read about my party and see more pictures, click here:


Miss Kitty
Anchorage, AK

Miss Hetty Says

To Our Readers:

This edition of The Bulletin marks two milestones: it is the 150th edition and all 150 issues are now archived and readable -- and searchable! -- on the web. For those subscribers who missed out on some of the earlier issues, there are treats in store, including dozens of recipes and lots of good stories, such as Desperately Seeking Stuckeys, a series of travel stories by Doug Anderson-Jordet at age 11, and Desperately Seeking Stuckey's 2, The Pudding Pack Chronicles, which Doug co-wrote with The Editor, Dorothy Mae Anderson. Most of these stories and recipes are also available in the Collections, though a few are still being worked on. The web pages for Bulletins 47-58 are still undergoing reconstruction, which means the headlines are still set in body type and the stories and recipes in them haven't made it to the Collections menu yet. We'll get them all reformatted and looking spiffy as fast as we can.

One reason we've been pushing to get the archiving job done is so we can use the searches to find stories that should be added or linked to the "About" pages. There's a lot of neat family history in those back issues, but it has been hard or impossible to find. Now it's easy!

Keep Us Posted!

Please drop Miss Hetty a line and tell us who, and what, we've missed. And how about a report (photos welcome) of YOUR special celebration?

'Many Thankse

Miss Hetty


A Note from Donna

I asked Barb if I could pass on her comment in a letter to me:

Barb Dewey's Note to Donna

The Bulletin was fun! ... the "after dinner mint treat." The truck drive and Beaver's cow ... and the usual rest. Good pictures and story on the kids.

This is her answer ... which is another nice compliment!

Pass along the comment ... with many, many thanks for her faithfulness in getting the stories together and sending out to everyone. It really is the highlight of my weekend.

I agree with her ... another excellent read and something I look forward to each week.

Donna Anderson Johnson
Ashby, MN

Another enjoyable Bulletin.

I noticed in your story "A Visit to Grandma's House" you mentioned Depression Cake. That really struck home with me as I have that recipe and it has been a staple in our house for many many years. Depression cake is almost always in my freezer.

My recipe card says it is from Grandma Greer Dake but I am not sure if that is correct. I got the recipe from Grandma Vonnie Dake and I know it was a favorite of Grandma Amy Dake. I made it for her every time she came to stay with us because she enjoyed it so much.

Our little Ethan loves it and calls it Grandpa's cake because Ernie is always eating it. He waits patiently until he gets part of Grandpa's cake and then grins from ear to ear. Someday this Grandma Dake will gladly tell him the history of Depression Cake. :)

I will send the recipe because it is almost like part of the Dake history.

Depression Cake

Make in pan large enough to mix cake batter.
Boil 1 cup of rasins in 2 cups of water until the juice equals one cup.
Remove from heat.
Add 1 tsp. of soda.
Add 3 TBSP. of shortening to hot syrup.
Add 1 cup sugar
2 cups flour
1/2 tsp. salt
2 tsp. cinnamon

Stir until well mixed.
Bake as a cake or as a loaf.
350 degree oven.

No time is on my recipe. A cake takes about 30 minutes and a loaf about 45.
This recipe can be adapted for fruitcake.

I have adapted a healthier version of the above recipe, but it is still Depression cake at our house.

Hint: if your juice is less than one cup when you measure it, just add a little water to get to the one cup level. Also, if you add the sugar and stir it a couple times, this cools the liquid so the flour doesn't lump when you add it.

You are welcome to add this recipe to the recipe archives if you would like.

Thanks for another enjoyable afternoon reading The Bulletin.

Carolyn Miller Dake
Duluth, GA

I just wanted to let you know I am planning on writing some articles about my trip to London in the coming weeks. I took a lot of pictures so I'll have plenty of illustrations for my stories. However, I don't think I'll get a chance to write anything this week. I have to be in Spokane, Washington, for work on Wednesday night through Saturday morning, and my company is moving offices at the end of the week. Plus I'm trying to get caught up from the time I was gone, so this week is busy to say the least. Anyway, I am planning on writing an article for next week's Bulletin, so I just wanted to let you know my plans.

Weston Johnson
Maple Grove, MN

I loved the photo funnies this week!

Thanks to Aunty Gert for setting things straight. I had begun to wonder about the condition of my memory. I've been thinking he's been taking writer's liberties.

Marlene Johnson
Long Lake, MN

By the way, that man with the lawnmower in the FUNNY FOTO section ... I hope he can handle that better than he can skates. At least he can hang on to the handles. $15.00 an hour. No thanks. My goats are only $5.00 apiece and do the job all summer.

Betty Droel
MoundsView, MN


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QUOTATION FOR THE DAY: You have a lifetime to work, but children are only young once. --Polish Proverb

EDITOR'S POLICY: If you wish to subscribe to The Bulletin, simply send me a statement of that fact. If you wish to keep receiving it I hope you will contribute to one of the columns that are running in this family epistle (at least occasionally!). My e-mail address is dma49261@juno.com

This Bulletin is copyright Dorothy M. Anderson; the contents are also copyrighted by the authors and photographers and used with their permission, and the contents are not to be used for any commercial purposes without the explicit consent of the creators.