Open Session: What Readers Think

by Cappers
September 2006
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Milk memories – The story about Tim and Laurel Iwig’s dairy farm operation near Topeka, Kan., (“...

A New Life on the Open Range

Grandfather worked in Troy, New York, saving money so family could move to the Midwest.

Open Session

Open Session

Grandmotherly love - I've just reread the May issue, and I was especially touched by the Tennessee grandmother who does not live close to her only grandchild, but hopes that her love is an influence ('Hopes her love has made a difference,' Heart of the Home). Being an old grandchild myself, I assure you that possibility is as real as daylight. My 'Mama' and I always lived 150 miles apart. Once or twice as a child, I got to spend the summer with her. Wonderful! Always we wrote, telephoned and took the Greyhound bus. She was always my greatest admirer, and I hers.

I pause often by a group of treasured photos, all of my childhood family. However, the sole picture on my bedside table is of Mama, the mother to my precious mother, and the glorious grandmother to me. Love lives on.

Shirley T. Sanders
Dallas



A family tradition - My grandfather always subscribed to CAPPER'S WEEKLY in the 1920s, and then my parents started subscribing. I remember my mother read serial stories by Grace Livingston Hill the evening after getting our issue. We always looked forward to that.

Then, in 1935, my parents subscribed for my husband and me, and I have continued it ever since. I still look forward to receiving such a nice, clean paper every month.

Natalie Allen
Fair Grove, Mo.


Strange bird encounter - I am a crippled old dude of 90, and a longtime reader of CAPPER'S. I was very moved by your heart-touching story about Bill Lytle, the man diagnosed with pancreatic cancer who befriended a goose, Mr. Waddles ('Visits with cantankerous goose keep man going,' June). One can never outguess the sharpness, alertness and unexpectedness of the action of animals and birds. They're full of surprises.

Mr. Lytle is so blessed by having Mr. Waddles to provide a caring, concerned buddy's love and companionship. I pray the two closely bonded friends will be together for a long time and that their friendship grows even closer as the days go by.

My strangest relationship with a bird happened when I was a tot in the toddler stage of my life. When my mom went to weed her garden, she carried me with her in a cardboard box that she placed in the shade of a large sassafras tree. There, she could watch me closely as she worked.

I soon settled down on the spread on the bottom of the box for a nap. Mom had been working for quite some time when she suddenly heard me squealing loudly. She rushed to see what was going on. A large jaybird flew from the box in hasty exit. Mom was surprised to find the bird was trying to build a nest in my thickly curled hair! The bird was back shortly with a mouthful of straw, and it settled down to continue its nest-building in my hair. Mom shooed it away and carried the box and me to the nearby back porch. She picked the straw out of my curls and calmed me down. I had been one scared little fellow and kept yelling, 'Mean ole bird!'

The bird finally flew off. For years, I was kidded about the jay that wanted to nest in my locks. When the story had been milked for all it was worth, it was relegated to Memoryville. It emerged after I read about Lytle and Mr. Waddles. Good luck, fellow!

Tommy Davis
Waynesboro, Miss.


Shared reading - My niece Gloria gives me a subscription to CAPPER'S. I've read it for many years, beginning when I was a child. My parents traded a hen for a subscription.

When I've read my copy, I give it to my friend Margaret, who gives it to Elizabeth, who gives it to another Margaret, who gives it to Alma. Who knows where it goes then?

Needless to say, it's a favorite publication.

Elvira Dexter
Central City, Neb.

Floral poetry - I read an 'Ode to a Dandelion' in CAPPER'S a while ago that reminded me of a poem I wrote.

Ode to Dandelion

I love those dandelions so fair
But some folks hate their sight
They dig and spray and in despair
They soon give up the fight

Why over these blooms make such a fuss
They don't realize that they are weeds
They think that they are God's gift to us
So they spread abroad next spring's seeds.

Verena Buffington
Columbus Junction, Iowa

Editor's note: In the August issue, a Reader to Reader item contained a misspelling. The request should have said that Judy Prior was seeking information on how to find an antique milk bottle from an ancestor's dairy; the bottle would have had 'Lukavsky Dairy' on the bottle, probably in raised letters.

Open Session - We welcome letters from readers. If you have an opinion or comment on an article you saw in CAPPER'S that you'd like to share, send it to Open Session, CAPPER'S, 1503 S.W. 42nd St., Topeka, KS 66609-1265.


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