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| I put the rhyme on this graphic taken from an old baby book. |
Sunday, August 5, 2012
Baby's Little Shoe
We've all done "This Little Piggy" on our children's toes, but Grandma Belle had another rhyme for little feet. My mother learned it from her and taught it to me. I quoted it to my children and grandchildren. I've never seen it in a book or found anyone else who knew it. The original source is unknown; a web search turned up no matches, so I'm going to publish it here as another unique part of our history.
Uniquely Mac
It was a joy to spend some time with all of you at reunion. I wonder exactly how many there have been? The picture used as the header for this page was taken at an early reunion, the one that celebrated Earl and Belle's 25th anniversary in 1947. So, the history of our reunions go back at least 65 years. And here you thought, you were just enjoying good conversation and hiking, when in truth, those of you who attended were continuing a longstanding tradition.
During my childhood in the 50's and 60's, reunions were held yearly on family farms near Moorhead, IA. Every Memorial Day started as we gathered five gallon buckets full of peonies and irises and headed down dusty back roads to Spring Valley Cemetery. Mom showed us the family plot with the fence around it along with the little grave belonging to her brother, Calvin. After our personal history lesson, we joined sundry aunts, uncles, and 2nd cousins once removed for the potluck dinner at Rowena Lamb's or at Westin and Theressa Taylor's. Mom made a big pot of baked beans every year and crowded on the table would also be deviled eggs, potato salad, and that lime jello concoction with marshmallows, pineapple, and whipped cream. The conversation was good; the sense of belonging somewhere even better.
When I go to the MacIntyre reunions, I observe things that we have in common. Along with the genetic components that seem to give us white hair and waistlines that expand easily, cutthroat cribbage games must also be part of our DNA. Okay, perhaps that trait is environmental, but everytime we get together someone pulls out that deck of cards. At the age of six or so , Grandpa Earl sat me down with a deck of cards and his folding cribbage board (I think one of my uncles made it in a high school woodworking class). During the course of the next few days, we drilled every possible combination of fifteen. So, while some of you younger family members may not realize it, the McIntyres have passed the love of the game through the generations.
During my childhood in the 50's and 60's, reunions were held yearly on family farms near Moorhead, IA. Every Memorial Day started as we gathered five gallon buckets full of peonies and irises and headed down dusty back roads to Spring Valley Cemetery. Mom showed us the family plot with the fence around it along with the little grave belonging to her brother, Calvin. After our personal history lesson, we joined sundry aunts, uncles, and 2nd cousins once removed for the potluck dinner at Rowena Lamb's or at Westin and Theressa Taylor's. Mom made a big pot of baked beans every year and crowded on the table would also be deviled eggs, potato salad, and that lime jello concoction with marshmallows, pineapple, and whipped cream. The conversation was good; the sense of belonging somewhere even better.
When I go to the MacIntyre reunions, I observe things that we have in common. Along with the genetic components that seem to give us white hair and waistlines that expand easily, cutthroat cribbage games must also be part of our DNA. Okay, perhaps that trait is environmental, but everytime we get together someone pulls out that deck of cards. At the age of six or so , Grandpa Earl sat me down with a deck of cards and his folding cribbage board (I think one of my uncles made it in a high school woodworking class). During the course of the next few days, we drilled every possible combination of fifteen. So, while some of you younger family members may not realize it, the McIntyres have passed the love of the game through the generations.
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| 1956 Reunion in Moorhead. I'm the little girl second from left in the front. My feet are in the air. |
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