A tired engineer once told me that at 40 he realized he would never be rich, climb K5, or study Chinese. That he would just have enough energy to keep on keeping-on, paying his mortgages and children's way through college, then rest a little at retirement, and then die. He said it was enough! How!? 
 

To be cliché, age is just a number and even with ill health, creaks, and frailty life keeps broadcasting that irresistible message to stay longer, do more, know more people, love, and learn. When Shakespeare posed the question, "To be or not to be..." the answer must surely come back, "To Be!" 

I hope you agree, and that you're finding life an ongoing exciting adventure--well worth the trouble! 

Having shared this slice of philosophy, I must address the most pressing question on your minds: What shall I send Rene, Eamonn and Lynn for their birthdays? This is the easiest question to answer: Please send dog food!

Well-acquainted with the human inhabitants of this farm, from now on we will feature one of our canine counterparts in future Farm Reports. This spotlight is on Sebastian von Basset, that hound of noble birth and breeding and our little darling puppy! 
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Sebastian von Basset 
Color: White With Lemon 
(Brown) Markings 
Age: Going On 4 Years Old 
Sebastian has a  page in  Dog Heaven.

Historian Robert McGrew explained the descendancy of the Moores since 1830, including the account Granville Moore was shot by a sniper on Kennesaw Mountain. He had re-enlisted in the Civil War for $400 pay, which would have purchased a good farm in those days. He survived four major battles, only to die from a sniper's bullet. 

Bob is now on the Internet, diligently looking for "missing links" to tie the Moores who migrated from North Carolina and Virginia to Southern Illinois. There are so many legends which must be separated from the truth. He will be interested in hearing from anyone with a Moore connection coming from Ireland in the 1600s to Virginia or North Carolina up through the 1840s. 
 
 

Bob's mother Zelma Persinger was the oldest Moore descendant at a perky 97 years of age. Other relatives at or near the 90 year mark are Mary (Webb) Wollard, Rev. Murrell McGowan, and Lois McGowan. 

The officers for next year will continue: Herbert Leon Moore (my Uncle Pondy) - President; Verle Moore - Vice President; and me, Lynn (Moore) Callaly -  Secretary. 

A number of guests who hadn't been present for many years appeared to everyone's delight. Helen Moore, Debbie Wagner, and Alan Moore were three, and we are very grateful to Helen for giving us several more photos for our reunion archives.  Please, everyone with old photos, tin types, or other types of images, let us know that you have them. Send along any snaps, which we will scan, possibly enlarge, and either keep in the archives or return to you. 
 

If you've never been camping you're missing out on a fabulous experience. Rene went camping for the first time just days before her 72nd birthday. Gary and his new bride Michelle and her son Alex worked diligently to set up an ingenious campsite. 
 
They created a perimeter "fence" from fallen limbs, a base for the campfire from an old wash-tub with holes punched in for ventilation and buried half-way into the ground, and placed propane lanterns all around to light up the forest.

Michelle cooked a delicious dinner on that campfire -- potatoes O'Brien and the biggest, juiciest hamburgers on toasted buns. Of course marshmallows were roasted and a few ghost stories told. Alex had a hard time sleeping after hearing about trolls, and Gary promised to take Eamonn snipe hunting. Have any of you ever hunted snipe? Eamonn is to be the fellow with the sack. 

Rene walked the half mile into the woods to get to Gary's campsite, but the trail was well marked with bits of vinyl ribbon and had been cleared with machetes earlier in the day. She had never been camping but really enjoyed the experience, says she will go again, but refuses to have any role in a snipe hunt. 

At this writing about six rows of logs have been laid on our house with Eamonn working on the job site as often as he can on the hours away from his new job. It's starting to look like a house, and the logs start as the second floor above the walk-out basement. The basement is really our first floor, and will be completely finished. 

The foundation is made of wood rather than concrete. Frank Lloyd Wright designed a hotel in Tokyo this way which has remained standing after two Earthquakes. Since we are so near the New Madrid Fault we felt it well-advised to go with this extra seismic protection. Here's a picture of how the house should look upon completion. 

Serve with chips, flour tortillas stuffed with melted brie cheese, or over tossed greens for a light and tasty dinner! 

1 white onion, finely chopped 
1 chicken breast, diced 
1 clove garlic, minced 
1 cayenne pepper, finely diced 
1 green pepper, finely diced 
8 baby carrots, finely diced 
"  ginger root, shredded 
3 tomatoes, peeled & chopped 
cup non-fat yogurt 
1 large avocado, mashed 
dash of salt 
1 tsp. fresh cilantro, chopped 
 

In fact, I am currently contracted to work on the Riverboat for ten days on a market research project. Our future visitors here will all want to have this Riverboat experience, whether you're a gambler or not. 

The setting is spectacular: a series of barges form a dock on the Illinois side of the Ohio River, complete with restaurants, bar, a pavilion where bands play, and many reception rooms. The Riverboat moors in beside these barges, and is a glorious paddle-wheeler with lots of Las Vegas style lighting. There are four levels with hundreds of tables for Black Jack (21), Carribean Poker, Roulette, Dice, and an endless number of slot machines starting at a nickel ante. 

The first night there I told Eamonn it was really more like a party and less like a job. A really fine rhythm and blues band provides a steady stream of hits from the 1960s, and there is a constant aura of celebration. 
 

(1) a 76 year old woman who frequents various casinos at least five days a week; 

(2) an Asian man in his 20s who claimed to have lost $80,000 in the past six months; 

(3) a man named Luigi from Atlantic City who was delightful to me and very personable--says he gambles throughout the country day by day, and that it is his full-time business -- has been for 30 years! 

(4) a 62 year old retired telephone operator who after seeing a churlish lady have a fit with me said she hoped I was being well-paid. She says people like that woman were the reason she retired before the age of 65. She never married and says she can't get out of the habit of going to work after 43 years on a 9-5 job and stays on the Riverboats about 40 hours a week; 

(5) a 78-year-old man who won $419,000 playing Carribean poker who is building a dream home on Kentucky Lake with his money (he was a turkey farmer); 

(6) and a biker dude who says he worked security for Elvis. He's a professional gambler, has long-hair, full beard, and a big tattoo that says Born To Be Wild! 

This project was great fun for me and lasted only ten days, but imagine the personalities Eamonn will meet working full-time in this  environment!. 
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A friend in Virginia told me of Mother Teresa's passing, and my memories of a truly great human being returned clearly. I wrote a stanza in the long poem Return To India about my meeting with Morther Teresa, and I can send you excellent sound clips via the Internet if any of you are interested. 

When I met her that hot day in Calcutta I had been staying with the family of an executive of the ITC (India Tobacco Company) and had just finished  drinking cocktails at the grand Calcutta Golf Club. 

Here was this tiny woman (only about 4'9") holding grown men like babies -- horribly damaged by leprosy and other unimaginable insect infestations, amputations, and diseases. 

She had a room full of little Indian nuns saying the Rosary over and over. I learned later that many of these girls had been sold into prostitution by their own families. 

A group of Swedes preceded me, and Mother Teresa spoke to them in some Nordic tongue then added in English, "US dollars are best." Until that moment it hadn't occurred to me that Mother Teresa had to concern herself with the financial and day-to-day business aspects of running a hospice, ashram, and convent. Who knows how much money found it's way to her ashram, but Mother Teresa never pocketed a cent. 

I had wanted to have her photo which was granted only after lengthy explanation. An opportunistic man had sold thousands of photos of her and collected a great deal of money which he promptly pocketed and then moved to the Caribbian. He was an American, so she was suspicious of Americans with cameras after that. 

She disliked having her picture taken and being revered. She said, "There is so much work to be done in this world, and so few hands that will do it. The world needs the working hands of sinners as well as saints, and only God can recognize a saint. You cannot, and I certainly cannot." She insisted that everyone visiting her ashram work, and this meant the most menial labors. Bringing money helped, but work was what really counted with her. 

I considered my wealthy companions throughout the world, many who were often unhappy all the while enjoying lives of great comfort. I compared their complaining faces in my mind to the look of peaceful contentment on those dying men's faces and the sheer compassion in the face of the Mother. I thought even harder about my own discontent and apathy. 

I began and couldn't stop  weeping.  Mother Teresa took my hand very upset by my emotion. She told me there was really nothing to cry about. 

"Look around you, and see the joy even in death." She explained that joy came from the close proximity of the dying to God, but I felt it was from a loving touch, tenderness and compassion bestowed on those poor, despised, and disenfranchised men for perhaps the only time in their lives. 

She kissed two medals, gave them to me, and asked me to tell everyone I met to say the prayer of St. Francis Of Assisi. Her approach to life was elegant in its simplicity; her faith in God and Humanity unquestioned and complete; and her selflessness truly inspiring. 

I never heard Mother Teresa's birth name. Do any of you know it? It's as if her identity only began with her work as Sister Teresa. 

I didn't feel sad in learning of Mother Teresa'a passing. She saw life in even the most horrific conditions as tolerable because of  her surety and belief in the next life--in Heaven. Surely this was her focus in the last moments of her life on Earth, and I imagine her last breath was drawn without fear or apprehension. 

These were my memories of Mother Teresa on the day of her death. How fortunate I feel to have shared those few hours in her company! 

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