Our First Baby

We were married at the start of my junior year in college and my husband's third year of vet school, so we both had two years to finish our degrees.  In our Sunday school class at church of young couples, one couple had a new baby.  We all oohed and aahed over this precious little one and started thinking about starting a family of our own.  However, sage advice from my dad offered strong encouragement to wait until we were finished with school, and I have always been glad that we did wait.

Following our graduation on June 1, we left town to interview for a mixed vet practice in western Kansas.  John took the job and we moved shortly thereafter to begin "real" life.  He began to learn the ropes and roads of the country practice and I substitute taught in the local school.  Now that we were getting settled in, we decided that we were ready to start a family.  Four months later I suspected that I was pregnant and after several more months I went to the doctor.  The small community we lived in had a six room hospital and a wonderful family practice doctor.  He confirmed that we were expecting a baby due May 24.  We were thrilled; this child would be the first grandchild for both of our parents and first great-grandchild for my dad's parents.  Needless to say we were all quite excited.  I experienced some morning sickness, but generally, I felt great.

I often would either go with John on his vet calls out in the country or assist with c-sections on cows at the clinic.  Donning his coveralls when I helped to keep from getting too dirty, I gradually could not zip the coveralls up any more.  After one particularly late and stressful night, I had some early labor pains, so my days of vet assistant were over.  John would bring his stethoscope home so we could listen to the heartbeat and offer insights on the similarities of human and animal pregnancies.

Monthly checkups went well.  A nurse in the community taught childbirth classes which was surprising in light of it being in a rural area and the idea being relatively new. We gladly attended classes later in the pregnancy eager to learn all we could to better prepare for the birth.  These classes helped me understand what would happen and how to work with the labor process.

A week past my due date, the doctor found that my blood pressure had gone up causing some concern.  Being over-due and now the blood pressure issue discouraged me, nine months pregnant in the Kansas summer heat.  The baby had missed the due date, my mother-in-law's birthday and now it was John's birthday.  We invited friends over for strawberry short cake to celebrate his birthday and take our minds off our troubles. After our friends left and we had gone to bed, I began to feel what I anticipated were labor pains.  Sure enough, as the night wore on it was clear I was in labor, but my veterinary husband who had been called out many times in the middle of the night wanted to wait until morning to go to the hospital. 

We waited until after 8 am to go to the hospital.  My doctor was out of town, but his son who had just completed his residency in obstetrics was there for the delivery.  John was in the delivery room and the two guys discussed the similarities and differences of the deliveries they had done.  The doctor decided he needed to use forceps and this prompted a discussion of how many pounds of pressure applied with jack when pulling a calf!  Soon our first child was born, an 8 lb. 6 oz. baby girl 20 1/2 inches long.  We named her Jennifer Ann. Her head was covered with peach fuzz, her tiny ears scrunched to her head and a tiny rosebud mouth. She chose her own birthday, missing her dad's by one day.   One year after our college graduation, we were now parents. How blessed we were!

Living Intentionally

Sunday the sermon addressed the admonition in Eph. 5:15 "Be very careful, then, how you live--not as unwise, but as wise, making the most of every opportunity..."  The pastor noted that "life is so daily"--we get so wrapped up in work, errands, household duties that we do not take time to consider the significance of each day, of each interaction with others.  He also shared that the Greek word used here for opportunity is kairos, which indicates time charged with potential or opportunity that must be siezed.  Do I see life as charged with potential?  When I realize the opportunity before me do I seize it?  I am guilty of plowing through life just looking at the next thing before me instead of seeing the opportunities God sets up all around me and responding.  Reading the paper Monday morning, I was confronted with the reality of this;  I read about the passing of a friend dealing with cancer.  I had thought of her often and prayed for her, but I had not called recently and now it is too late. I had the opportunity but did not seize it.  I grieve for her passing, for her family, though I know she is celebrating with the Savior.  I do not want to miss what God intends for me to be part of; I want to respond to the opportunities He places before me instead of merely reacting to the dayliness of life.  I need to listen carefully and stay close to Him. Oh, may I be intentional about living!

Spiritual Heritage

My mother's father was a strong believer in Jesus and his atoning sacrifice.  He raised seven children during the Depression, my mother being the youngest at four, after losing his wife in childbirth with their eighth baby. He spent time reading God's Word, praying, and trusting God to see him through the difficulties he faced raising his family.  He passed this trust in God on to his children who shared their faith with the next generation.

My mother went to Pepperdine and Biola colleges where she received further Bible teaching.  Her favorite was an Old Testament class taught by J. Vernon McGee.  She said he made these passages come to life.  She married my dad and moved to the Wyoming ranch where fellowship and Bible study were not as readily available as her times in college.  They attended her family church thirty-five miles away, a General Conference Baptist, or Swedish Baptist church for a number of years. Her outreach in ministry was the Bible school she organized for the rural community families. Over the years my dad grew in his understanding of his walk with God and provided a strong spiritual partnership with my mother.  He taught a boys Sunday school class for quite awhile and served as a role model for these boys and for us as a family.

Going to church and being a Christian was an accepted part of my life.  At five, I asked Jesus to be my savior in response to many Bible stories I had heard and specifically in response to what my mother had shared with me.  I did not understand all that this meant at the time, but I did know that Jesus loved me and wanted me to accept his gift of salvation and eternal life. I continued to attend Sunday school and church, vacation Bible School and church camp. When I was eleven, I decided to be baptized and join the church.   In high school I participated in Youth for Christ where I had fellowship with other Christian teenagers and solid teaching from the leaders.  I was surrounded in my growing up years with this Christian influence.

When I went to college, there were many of my Christian friends on campus, and I participated in Inter Varsity Christian Fellowship where I made many new friends.  However, I lived in the dorm and was surrounded by many people who did not share my faith.  Their values were quite different from what I had grown up with and I began to wonder if my faith was based on truth or just tradition.  During my freshman year, I struggled with determining where I stood with my belief in Jesus. I came to the firm conviction that what the Bible said was true and I wanted to live my life based on my relationship with Jesus.

 I value the Christian heritage I have and  the impact it had on my growing-up years.  But I also realize that I had to make it mine--each generation does.  God does not have grandchildren.  Each of us must decide for ourselves where we stand in relation to Jesus' invitation to believe.  We have shared our faith with our children and now we have grandchildren.  I pray fervently for their walk with God and their salvation.

Summertime Activities

Summer on the ranch growing up meant swim lessons and music lessons in town for the cousins and our family.  My mom and two aunts would take turns being the chauffeur for the group. The younger kids would stay at home with the mom who wasn't making the trip to town. The five oldest kids all played an instrument:  Bob played the tuba, Dick the trumpet, I played the flute, Don the clarient and Dave the saxaphone.  In the summer, the band director wanted everyone to come to sectionals at which our individual instrument group practiced the music.  Since we all played a different instrument, we all had different times we needed to be at school.  Later my brother learned play the trombone and my sister the French horn, but they were not old enough at the time to be part of this adventure.

We all also took swimming lessons, which were sandwiched between the different music lesson times. The high school swimming pool was quite a step up from messing around in the muddy pond in the pasture after an occasional big rain. Needless to say, it made for a hectic schedule for the mom in town with five kids in one car (and we did not have SUVs or minivans). We all packed a lunch and ate in the park between lessons; fast food was not a way of life then. But the cousins loved being together since there was no school for socializing. Everyone was tired on the ride home and having been in the pool we were all a little damp squeezed together in the car with a trunk full of instruments (except the tuba which stayed at school).

When we were in high school and old enough to drive, we would go to town together to practice in the band for marching in the three Frontier Days parades. This happened in the evening when it was cooler and kids were more available.  Again, we enjoyed interacting with each other and with our friends from school, especially as teenagers we were quite interested in the opposite sex.  We would practice the music and marching up and down the shady tree-lined streets of the neighborhood around school.  Marching in a straight line and turning the corners with precision while playing your instrument took concentration.  I played the piccalo in the marching band and loved playing the Sousa marches, especially Stars and Stripes Forever.

I enjoyed the change of pace from ranch life and the chance to get be around other kids in the summer as I am sure even the kids in town did.

A Doherty Branding

The first summer after John and I met in Kansas City, I went home with him after the Junior Hereford Field day.  The Dohertys planned to brand at the Horseshoe ranch the next day.  Although I grew up on a ranch, I had never been much involved in the branding because calves were put through the chute and there were plenty of boy cousins to do the branding, so I helped with the lunch.  I was in for quite an education on this day!  The day began at the crack of dawn because they wanted to work the cattle before it got too hot. We all needed a  jacket in the chill of the morning, but what a beautiful time of day. All of John's brothers, sisters and cousins participated in the round-up and branding regardless how young, so there was quite a crew--ten kids plus his dad, uncle and grandfather. I was mounted on Smoky, a proven dependable horse, which was good for me because riding on the open prairie of Wyoming was a stark contrast to the rugged hills, rocks and brush of the New Mexico ranch.  I just held on over the rocks and brush and let Smoky wrangle the cows and calves as he was trained to do.

 Once the cows and calves were in the corral, they were separated.  Then the flanking crews went to work.  One guy would grab the hind leg of a calf and a second person would stand on the opposite side of the calf grabbing a front leg and lay the calf down kneeling on the neck and folding the leg up to its body.  The guy with the hind leg would stretch it out and put his foot on the other leg.  This put the calf in the position to be branded, vaccinated and if necessary castrated.  John and I were a flanking pair, so he caught the hind leg and I took the front leg. Some of the calves were quite big and a real challenge to catch and flank. All of this was a sensory overload-- cows and calves bawling for each other, dust stirred up by the cattle, the acrid stench of hair burned by the branding iron,  heat and sweat from strenous work, bruises from getting kicked by a calf, and manure on your jeans and boots from sitting on the ground in the corral.

At the end of the branding, I was exhausted, tired and dusty with manure stains on the back of my jeans, but I had the satisfaction of knowing I had passed the branding test.  It was my first of many experiences on the Doherty ranch!

What's in a Name

We all value our name and have special names for others we care for.  Our fathers each had a rather unique nicknames.  My father-in-law's name was John Franklin but he went by Tanky.  The story goes that his sister could not say his middle name Franklin so she called him Tanky, which has remained the name that everyone who knew him at all called him. In the broader family circle there were five members named John including him:  his father, his cousin, his son, and a nephew.  The family called his father Daddy John, he was Tanky, the community referred to his son a veterinarian as Dr. John, his cousin was John Albert and the nephew went by Johnny Jim.  When we had a son we knew for sure we did not want to name him John!  The family tradition of naming a child after the parent seemed like it had gone on long enough.

My father's given name was Marvin, but among close family he went by Squid, which is nothing close to his real name.   I'm not even sure of the origin of this moniker.  My mother and others referred to my dad by Squid, but his mother never would. Unlike my father-in-law's nickname that everyone used, my father's nickname of Squid caused confusion.  My mother would be talking about  her husband Marvin and then Dad would walk in and she would call him Squid leaving people scratching their heads in wonder.  So our kids have grandfathers named Tanky and Squid.

The women in our families seem to be in a quandary of what to be called.  Both of us have grandmothers named Mary and sisters with Mary as a first name as well, but who go by their middle names of Kathleen and Janette. So our sisters have gone through life being called by their first name, which they do not use. My grandmother Mary named her daughter Mary. My husband has two cousins named Mary after his grandmother in addition to his sister. My mother-in-law is Joan, but it sounds like Joann and her daughter is named Joann spelled like you would expect.  My husband has a great-aunt and an aunt named Charline. He also has an aunt Georgia who named her daughter Georgia.  So like with the men in the family, we decided on something different for our daughter--Jennifer.  I only knew one little girl named Jennifer when she was born.  When she went to college, I think there were six Jennifers on her floor in the dorm!

Names are a reflection of our heritage and our times and every family has its own treasures.

China Cups

My mother had beautiful ivory china plates rimmed in gold encircled with a lovely green wreath of leaves around the edge, but not cups and saucers to match.  However, the eclectic patterns of the various cups provided a special charm because each cup had a story.  My grandparents spent part of the winter in Arizona in their later years and each year Grandma brought her daughters-in-law a new china cup and saucer. One cup had pink, purple and white sweet peas twining around the cup, one blossomed with lily of the valley and another had magenta and pink roses adorning the sides with a rosebud peeking down the inside rim. One of my aunt's mother hand painted china and my mother had several of her cups.  These cups were more ornate in their shape and painted with delicate wild roses or lily of the valley.  One even had three golden curved legs and a broad open bowl. A deep yellow cup adorned with purple, burgandy and yellow pansies had gold trim with a gold interior.  One of mother's aunts gave her an elegant mocha bordered cup.  The favorite cup of all had a petite pattern of pink and blue cross-stitched  roses.  This dainty cup nipped inwards near the rim before fluting open wider giving a pleasing silhouette which also helped keep the coffee from cooling too quickly. Part of the fun at a family dinner was waiting to see which cup your coffee came in, and this cup was always the one each woman wanted to have because if it's delicate pattern and shape. ( I doubt the men took any note of which cup they were given.)

When I was a teenager, Grandma began bringing me a china cup and saucer as well.  I have one with dramatic red, pink and yellow roses, while tiny pink rosebuds decorate the entire outer surface on another cup. Because I love pansies, my daughter has given me several cups with these pretty purple and yellow flowers on the sides. She surprised me once on my birthday by flying in from Indiana bringing a hand-painted china tea pot, mug and teabag holder with pansies painted by a friend of hers at work.  From her world travels she also brought home a cup and saucer swirled with rich blue rose and gold from Estonia.  My sister gave me a demitasse cup in an elegant design from her visit to France, and I have several demitasse cups, one with violets and one with rosebuds from Winnipeg, Canada when I traveled with an aunt and uncle of mine.  When my husband's grandmother passed away, I received a diminutive hand painted cup with a spring green trim above a row of tiny pink roses from her collection with a note on the bottom indicating it had belonged to an aunt of hers.

My husband and I enjoy antiquing and I am drawn to the china cups I see as we visit our favorite antique stores.  Once I saw a cup just like the favorite cross-stitched one of my mother's and did not buy it, wishing later that I had.  The next time I saw that cup, I did not hesitate in my purchase, so now I have that favorite for my very own.  Even though it is not Mother's cup, it is just like it. Mom also gave me one of her hand painted cups, so the collection grows adding stories and memories.

 Below the china display shelf are pegs with mugs each telling it's own story.  One hand-painted by my aunt Gertie, who was an artist, with Mary and her little lambs and her pet name for me.  The mug is chipped and cracked but dearly loved. A black mug with a gold Mickey Mouse from Disney World reminds me of my son and daughter-in-law's honeymoon.  Another in navy blue with a gold Parker Ranch in Hawaii logo represents their visit to the ranch as part of her previous job responsibilities. A rugged pottery cup with Colorado mountains and a pretty flowered mug are mementos from my daughter's senior trip when I was the class sponsor. And finally a set of six artisan pottery cups in blue and brown swirled stripes from my son and daughter-in-law from her hometown of Salida, which I use for cappuccinos every Saturday morning. 

I delight in the beauty of each of these cups or mugs and am reminded of the people and places that I have known and visited. I am blessed to have so many wonderful memories.