Throughout their lives, Levi and Catharine Coffin helped thousands of slaves find their way to freedom. This Quaker couple opened their homes and their hearts while defying government mandates and relying on the truths of a heavenly Father to guide them while helping those in need. Continue reading “The Road to Freedom ~ Abolitionists: Levi and Catharine Coffin”
“Please excuse Ann for being late this morning. She has morning sickness.”
One year in high school, I decided to embrace a new look. I walked into the salon with my long, straight locks and walked out sporting the trendy feathered style made famous in the ’70s. And, like most salon visits, my hair looked flawless until I had to recreate the magic at home.
The first morning after my haircut was a disaster. Gone were the carefree days of wash, condition, air dry, and go. My new look required a blow dryer, a curling iron, and an unfortunate amount of patience, qualities that I quickly realized I did not possess.
Each morning, I wrestled with my poufy, uncooperative hair, growing increasingly frustrated as I transformed from hopeful hairstylist to reluctant country western singer. Instead of sleek and feathered, my hair took on a mind of its own—too big, too wild, too… country western.
I struggled so much that I was often late for school. My mom, ever the patient one, initially tried to help. But I was sixteen, and nothing went as planned. If my mom touched my hair, it wasn’t right. If she gave advice, I ignored it. And if she tried to help in any way, it only made things worse.
After a week of excuses and scribbled late notes, my mom had had enough.
“That’s it, Ann Marie. No more! I am done writing notes. You will just have to get up earlier and figure it out yourself,” she declared, standing her ground. “I’ve written a note every single day, and this nonsense ends now.”
Her warning should have been enough to deter me, but the next morning, I found myself staring into the mirror at what could only be described as Dolly Parton meets tornado aftermath. My hair was huge. My bangs curled in opposite directions. And despite my best efforts, I looked like I belonged on the cover of a country western album.
Desperate, I ran to my mom one last time.
“Mama, please! Just one more note! Look at me—I can’t go to school like this! I look like a country western singer!”
She let out a long sigh and picked up the pen. “Fine. But this is the last time. What should I say this time?”
“Just say I was sick this morning. Thanks, Mom! You’re the best!” I called over my shoulder as I frantically tried to tame my wild curls.
Mom handed me the note as I rushed out the door. I gave her a quick kiss on the cheek, thanked her, and ran down the stairs, crossing the street toward school. Once I crossed the road, I glanced at the note, reading it absentmindedly—then stopped dead in my tracks.
I blinked. Read it again.
I could not believe what I was seeing.
The note—written in my mother’s perfectly neat handwriting—read:
“Please excuse Ann for being late this morning. She has morning sickness.”
I nearly dropped my books. MORNING SICKNESS?!
I turned back toward the house, but my mom was already standing in the doorway, arms crossed, grinning like a woman who had just played her final card. She waved sweetly and called out, “Guess you’ll be on time tomorrow, huh?”
And I was. Mama, always knew exactly how to end the nonsense when it came to her unruly chicks.
Turns out, nothing cures bad hair habits faster than the threat of a fictional pregnancy documented in your mother’s handwriting.
Ann Hupp May (1757 – 1823)
wife of 5th great-uncle
John Hupp (1750 – 1782)
husband of Ann Hupp May
Casper Philip Hupp (1710 – 1761)
father of John Hupp
Phillip Hupp (1756 – 1831)
son of Casper Philip Hupp
Emanuel Hupp (1790 – 1840)
son of Phillip Hupp
Sarah Sallie Hupp (1822 – 1914)
daughter of Emanuel Hupp
Henry Allen (1853 – 1942)
son of Sarah Sallie Hupp
Thomas Allen (1896 – 1975)
son of HENRY ALLEN
Dorothy Marie Allen (1934 – 2006)
daughter of Thomas Allen
Ann Marie Reeder Bryant
daughter of Dorothy Marie Allen
Works Cited
My grandfather, Tom Allen, was a rancher who raised sheep on the western slope of Colorado, near the town of Hotchkiss. Ranching played a vital role in my family for a long time; it was a way of life. Grandpa grew up on a ranch and began helping his father at a young age. As a child, he understood the cycle. Ranch kids have always known that raising livestock means food on the table, which is why this tale warms my heart.
One year, Grandpa went hunting with his brothers and some neighbors. This was another way to provide for the family, and it allowed the men to bond and enjoy some good old-fashioned fun.
On this particular hunting trip, the men brought alcohol to relax around the campfire after a long day of hunting. My grandfather also brought whiskey, which was not unusual, as he often had it around the house. However, Grandpa didn’t drink; he used whiskey for doctoring. When a person or an animal was injured or sick, he would use whiskey to help them.
As children, if we were ill and heard Grandpa was coming, we cried. We knew we were getting his version of a hot toddy, a concoction that burned out whatever ailed us. Bless his gruff heart, his rough mannerisms softened, and our grandfather became the sweetest of saints. In a gentle voice, he would calm our fears, place a cool cloth on our foreheads, and keep the covers pulled up tight. He would sit with us until we fell asleep and only leave our side if he believed we were on the mend. He treated animals with the same gentleness.
While on this hunting adventure, Grandpa shot a buck. When his fellow hunters returned to camp, they discovered that my grandfather had indeed shot a buck, but it rested quietly after its injury. Apparently, he had grazed the animal and brought it back to camp to clean its wounds with whiskey. The problem was that he didn’t have enough to properly tend to his patient, so he used others’ private stash too.
Mama recalled that people laughed at my grandpa for years after this incident because he brought his deer home. He bought a red collar with a bell, put it out to pasture, and kept it on his ranch where he knew it would be safe. That was also the last time the rancher ever went hunting.
if love is but a dream
In April, my students and I began working on our poetry chapbooks. For one of the poems, we wrote a list poem. List poems have always been fun, for they can rhyme or not, and they can pretty much be about anything. Continue reading “A Teacher’s List: Things A Teacher Will Say in the Classroom”
Why is an ice cube so smart?
Since my life as a school teacher has usually kept me hopping, I have tried to remember to slow down and enjoy all the precious moments that make each day special. Today was one of those days that I want to remember because my students went out of their way to make my day something memorable. Continue reading “Birthday Surprises…even in May”
