Category: 1913

“Grow up!” It’s a schoolyard phrase meant to put attackers on defense.

Taunter: “First came love, then came marriage…”
Responder: (Eye roll) “Oh, grow up already!”

Taunter: “I see London, I see France…”
Responder: (deadpan) “Grow up, Joe.”

Lately, though, it’s what I think when I post pictures of my grandmother to this blog. Will I ever get to 1940? (Or even 1914?) When will baby Marjorie get to grow up…

…for the second time? Hahaha

I’ll blame my impatience on both nature and nurture, if I may. New Yorkers aren’t known for the peaceful way they wait on lines. Or wait for anything, really. I vividly recall buying flowers in Buenos Aires after spending years in New York City.

“How much are these?” I asked the vendor, after having eyed the bouquet I wanted. 

“Good afternoon”, he responded in a friendly way.

It stuck with me because, of course, I should have started the encounter with my own “good afternoon”. It’s just that for so many years, the routine was to cut to the chase. Next! Next! Next!

Which brings me back to growing tired of going so slowly through my grandmother’s album. I want to move faster and post more interesting pictures but that’s just a form of wishing my life away. And my mother has been very clear that I must not do this!

In fact, that may be sage advice as we count the months until it gets warm again or until the days begin to get longer again. Don’t wish your life away. Something to think about as we check and recheck the progress on COVID vaccines.

“Just 4 more months until…”, “just 2 more years until…” How seductive it is to draw imaginary lines in the future beyond which things will be better, more exciting or easier. In fact, I just read an article in the NYT with a quote that encapsulated that idea: “Happiness always looms ahead”.

The problem is that when you constantly look ahead, you tend to miss the beauty of what’s happening right now. 

I think the last time I heard “don’t wish your life away” from my mother was when I had to cut a conversation short because of a diaper change. But even that! The hefting of a little one up onto the changing table, the way they turn their head to look at you as you rip and lift, unwrap and tape. There now. “All done!”

One day it will be ‘all done’ and since we don’t know when, well, it makes sense to unwrap today like the present it was meant to be, right? Even if the day is colder and darker and rainier than the day before? (I’m looking at you Thanksgiving 2020).

The truth is that I’m grateful for so many things this year. My husband and I have been lucky to be able to work from home since March. We’ve been duly impressed by the efforts that teachers have put into this school season.

I may complain (another thing New Yorkers are good at!) but I am very thankful for the chance to blog here, too. It has certainly helped to keep a historical perspective on what has been a **crazy year**.

Wishing a very happy Thanksgiving to you and your families!

In my family, one of the most tangible benefits of the 2020 pandemic has been our weekend hikes. One of us is only four years old (with a changeable temperament) so the trails have not been very long or arduous. Regardless, we’ve found some great paths and all within 15 minutes of our house.

The Hudson Valley has so many beautiful spots for hiking. Perhaps one of the standout areas is Ulster County, with Minnewaska, Mohonk, Sam’s Point and the Shawangunk Ridge providing millions of trails with breathtaking views. I grew up enjoying weekend outings to these places.

A couple generations before me, my ancestors were enjoying them, too! My pictures from today feature a hike that great aunt Kate took with her friend Lou Hart up in Ulster County. I’m so glad they took the old Kodak along.

It took me a little while to identify the bridge in this photo. It no longer exists but I found a picture postcard from 1908 that shows it to be Canal Street Bridge, on Canal Street in downtown Ellenville. (You can google it and – if you feel so inclined – buy the postcard from Amazon).

From Ellenville, Kate and Lou headed south to Cragsmoor, NY where (maybe) they hiked around Sam’s Point. Below you can see they made themselves comfortable with some yoga paints and hiking boots.

I’ve already talked about Lou Hart and her family here but I saved an interesting story about her son for you. A Middletown native, Thomas Riego Hart graduated from Columbia Law School in 1893. Ten years later he was instrumental in a plan to turn 30 acres of land in Northern Harlem (now Inwood) into a gigantic amusement park called Wonderland Park.

In 1904, he signed a 10-year lease for $40,000 for the first two years ($40,000 = $1.05 million today) to take the property over from Mr. Cobe and build the park. Clearly, it never got built but the story is fascinating. You can see further details on the history (with pictures) at this site: http://myinwood.net/wonderland/

I hope you can all get out for some walks in the woods this weekend. Around here we are expecting some 70-degree weather which is such a treat in November. Who knows, maybe a trip to Ulster County may even be in order?

As I considered the picture for today’s post, I got caught up in the idea of clinging. I think the pandemic forces clinging on us, really. Quarantining means we have to linger with each other the way odor ‘clings’ to a room. And you can’t very well get away from COVID news, like the way a wet shirt might ‘cling’ to your body.

More than that, though, I think we’re clinging in the “holding on tight” sense. I’ve certainly been clinging to my family, to my friends (some of them old friends whom I haven’t talked to in years). And I’d ventured to say that all of us continue to cling to the hope that “this too shall pass”.

In the above picture, my grandmother’s brother and sister (Clara and Ferris) have hopped onto their companion in a way that shows him to be an agreeable sort. In fact, what I found is that he – Bob Ketcham – was actually a cousin! He’s 28 in this picture and a year away from being a dad himself, to Robert Ketcham Jr.

He’s a Dunning cousin through his wife Blanche (same age) whose maiden name was Gardner. I can’t figure out an easy way to explain the relationship but maybe one of these will work for you:

1. Robert Ketcham’s wife (Blanche) was the daughter of Grandma (Clara) Dunning’s brother (Emmet Van Rensselear Gardner).
   
2. Merritt and Robert Ketcham are 1st cousins by way of Merritt’s mom (Clara) and Robert’s wife (Blanche)’s father…Emmet Van Rensselar.

At any rate, Bob Ketcham lived at 40 Washington Street at the time. He worked as a tool setter (a toother, according to the 1920 census) at a saw factory. The building where he worked – Clemson Brothers – has since been restored into a brewery in Middletown.

In the 1930 census, Bob’s wife Blanche was listed a registered nurse at a private practice. In 1936 became the Treasurer of Graduate Nurses’ Club of Middletown State Hospital. I also found that she taught Sunday School at 1st Presbyterian Church (the church I grew up attending).

By that time, Bob Jr. had graduated from Middletown High School (class of 1931) and also Purdue University, from the School of Mechanical Engineering. Daughter Janice (born December, 18 1919) also graduated from Middletown High School and graduated from Syracuse University with a degree in Art Education. You can read more about Janice’s life here.

Look at how Bob has grabbed on to Ferris’ feet (maybe to protect that beautiful suit). Note how pleased Ferris is to have clambered up there and how hard Clara’s working on the other side. One thing I can say about children during this pandemic is that – for all the trouble they may give – no one’s better for making an occasion lively and fun.

Hope you all enjoy this first day of Autumn 2020. The noise of the season in my neighborhood, to date, is the off-again, on-again chainsaw sound (probably taking care of Hurricane Isaias leftovers). Occasionally the neighbors’ hens will get ruffled and squawk squawk squawk squawk SQUAWK at something.

Here’s to hoping that if you’re clinging with someone during this time that it’s of the ‘cozy ball of yarn’ variety and not the bad odor one.

It’s late August. New York school boards are scrambling to define re-opening plans for this Fall. Parents’ nails are bitten to the quick. But it’s the weekend, after all, and I hope to spend it nibbling fresh CORN instead.

Below you have a picture of a corn cutting machine from 1913. This may have allowed my great-grandfather to harvest corn without having to cut the stalks by hand. One foot planted in a position of ownership, he seems pleased with the purchase, at any rate.

I tried to find out more by looking up “corn cutting machine” or “corn cutter” in old newspapers. I didn’t come up with many mechanical details but – wow! I found a plethora of gruesome headlines with arms and fingers “mutilated by” or “torn in”.

One part of this picture that I appreciate are the children sitting patiently in the background. Clara and Ferris sit, looking bored, with baby Marjorie – a vision in white – perched high on her carriage. Working from home necessarily means children around. My ancestors understood this!

I hope you have a lovely weekend. Do yourself a good turn and pick up some corn if you can – this is prime corn season in New York. I’ll leave you with the opening stanzas of a poem that always comes to mind when I think of eating corn.

How pleasant the yellow butter
melting on white kernels, the meniscus
of red wine that coats the inside of our goblets

where we sit with sturdy friends as old as we are
after shucking the garden’s last Silver Queen
and setting husks and stalks aside for the horses…

from the poem “Jack” by Maxine Kumin

“Fooling around in the papers my grandparents, especially my grandmother, left behind, I get glimpses of lives close to mine, related to mine in ways I recognize but don’t completely comprehend. I’d like to live in their clothes a while, if only so I don’t have to live in my own.”

Angle of Repose, Wallace Stegner

Hello from 1913! In real time we must force ourselves through the long slog of pandemic life. We don masks and gloves. Follow graphs and charts. Pace the house with ever-increasing desperation. On this site, though, we can escape to a happier time. For the past two posts, I’ve written about the Ohio cousins who – in the summer of 1913 – came to visit my grandmother’s family.

Smith Gardner Dunning (“Uncle Smith”) was the son of Horace, younger brother of Louise and Horace Henry (“Uncle H”) and older brother to Kate and Merritt (my grandmother’s father, who was the baby of the family). He was the only sibling of the farming family to leave the town of Wallkill, for Princeton University, no less.

Uncle Smith entered Princeton together with his cousin Harry Slawson Dunning and graduated with the class of 1892. Woodrow Wilson became a professor there in 1890 so it’s possible that the two crossed paths. At the time of these pictures, Wilson had just become the 28th president of the United States.

From 1892-1895, Uncle Smith attended the McCormick Theological Seminary in Chicago. Newspaper snippets like the following show that he spent summers preparing for a life in the ministry.

Smith Gardner Dunning, son of Mr. Horace Dunning, of near this city, who the past year has been studying for the ministry in McCormick Seminary, Chicago, is spending the summer months in Nebraska, engaged in Sunday School mission work and preaching. He is present at Table Rock, Pawnee County.

Middletown NY Daily News 1892 Dec. – Aug. 1893

His time there coincided with one of the worst economic depressions that the U.S. has ever faced – the “Panic of 1983”. In Chicago, where Uncle Smith was studying, June 1893 saw a run on banks. The gold reserves managed by the treasury had fallen so much (from $190 million to $100 million) that people were worried that the U.S. would stop the convertibility with their ‘paper’ money.

With tens of thousands of farms going under, Uncle Smith must have felt that he had chosen the right profession. He would have been a uniquely qualified minister to tend to a flock of broken farmers. And did I mention the weather hazards?

Plenty Near for Comfort

Rev. Smith G. Dunning, of the town of Wallkill, who is preaching in Minnesota this summer, finds cyclones to be quite numerous in that county.

Last summer while organizing Sabbath schools in Nebraska, one passed within 6 miles of where he was, and now a few days ago, one passed within a mile of him, doing great damage and destroying a number of lives.

Middletown NY Daily News 1894 Apr. – Nov. 1894

After Seminary, Uncle Smith spent two years under the Presbyterian Board of Foreign Missions in Western Africa. It seems like there was a Scottish woman, Margaret MacClean, who funded Presbyterians to do missionary work in Africa. The following newspaper article about his appointment shows how far the mindset of the Presbyterian Church USA has come since 100 years ago.

The “dwarfs”, according to what I researched, seem to refer to the Baka People (formerly called “pygmies”) in Cameroon and Gabon.

Will Work in Foreign Lands

In connection with the latest direct information about the Dwarfs in Africa, it is with thankfulness that we announce an effort, the first of the kind, to send them the Gospel. Solely through the benevolence of a lady in Scotland, the Presbyterian Board of Foreign Missions is enabled to inaugurate the attempt.

Rev. Smith Gardner Dunning, a Princeton and McCormick graduate, is under appointment for this service, and the Board is seeking another man to accompany him.

Our societies do not need urging to pray that a self-denying man may be found, the attempt may succeed and that, before the century closes, many poor Dwarfs may learn what their riches are in Christ Jesus.

Middletown NY Daily Press 1896 Oct – June 1897: Women’s Work for Women

After two years, Uncle Smith returned from Gabon. As per the newspaper article announcing his return, the journey was not a short one. “He left the American Mission at Libreville, Gaboon[sic], West Africa, Sept. 8th, and was two months on the way”. (Two months!)

Once home, he married Agnes Rose Powers and proceeded to have Norma (1901), Ranald (1902) and Ruth (1905). I’ve written about Norma and Ruth in previous posts and promise to get to Ranald…he has his own picture later in the album.

In the meantime, I want to introduce you to Aunt Louise, a Civil War baby, born in 1863. My grandmother had titled this one “Weesie eyeing potatoes”.

Unlike Uncle Smith, there was precious little to find about her in the newspapers. I found this sad notice, where she was listed as an entrant to a baking competition that she didn’t win:

There were fifteen competitors for the three prizes offered by McMonagie & Rogers for the best angel cake displayed at the fair flavored with their premium extract vanilla

(M. Louise Dunning, of Mechanicstown)

1898 Jan – Sept. 1898

She didn’t give up though, because I found a later article in 1898 where she won first place for Fig Cake and Breakfast Rolls, and then got the “Bread and Cake” amateur award. Two years later, in 1900, she switched gears and won first prize on her “13-year-old palm” in the Flowers – Amateur category.

Does anyone care that great Aunt Louise knew how to make a great fig cake? It’s funny, but that’s just the kind of detail that makes all this ancestor research worth it. In fact, now that I’m stuck at home, perhaps baking a fig cake would be just the thing.

In the summer of 1913, Aunt Agnes, Uncle Smith along with first cousins Norma, Ruth and Ronald visited my 6-month-old grandmother, Marjorie. In the last post, I delved into Norma’s illustrious career as a doctor in Kolhapur, India. Today, I’ll introduce you to Ruth, she who looks unhappy with her enormous bow.

Ruth was born on March 15, 1905 in Osborn, Ohio. Her father, Smith G., was a Presbyterian minister who – at that point – changed churches with some frequency. In 1905, it looks like he was pastor at a church in Pisgah, OH. In September 1910, he left a position at a church in Camden, Ohio for one in Logan, Ohio. By 1915, he was working at St. Mary’s which confused me to no end until I realized – aha! – St. Mary’s was the name of the city, not the church.

In 1922, Ruth followed in her sister Norma’s footsteps by entering Western College in Oxford. (In fact, Norma graduated from there in 1922). She graduated four years later, in June 1926, and traveled to Cameroon, in Central Africa where she headed a school for missionaries’ children for three years.

Thirty years earlier (in 1896) her father, Smith, spent a few years under the Presbyterian Board of Foreign Missions in Cameroon. Clearly, his experiences in Africa made a great impression on his daughters. Women only got the right to vote in August, 1920, remember. I’d say the fact that Norma and Ruth went to college and then worked in India and Africa (respectively) shows their parents to be quite forward-thinking for that era.

When Ruth returned from Africa, in 1929, her father had just accepted a call to the Beulah Presbyterian Church in Wilkinsburg, Pennsylvania. He settled down there, serving as pastor until 1941. Ruth, too, ended up settling down shortly after, by marrying a Princeton alum and Presbyterian minister, like her father. The groom, Reverend Charles Woodbridge was, at that time, a pastor at the First Presbyterian Church of Flushing, New York. Her father married them at the Beulah Manse.

From 1930 onward, I can only assume that Ruth’s life was filled with the many responsibilities of a pastor’s wife and mother. Four children were born between 1931 and 1941, all in different states (one in West Africa!) Charles J. Woodbridge ended up being a very well-known minister and professor, and part of the evangelical movement in the Presbyterian church. You can read about that on this Wikipedia page. (!)

Ruth passed away at the age of 57, only two years after the above picture was taken. This came from the visa that Brazil granted her for a trip to Rio de Janeiro with her husband. I think my parents will be amazed by the family resemblance when they see this!

What sticks with me in researching Ruth for this post is the importance of family role models. Her older sister graduated from the Western College for Women. Her father traveled as a missionary to Cameroon and her mother raised a family while following her traveling pastor husband. At some point, Ruth must have thought to herself, “I can do those things, too”.

It made me think about how family inheritance involves so much more than genes and property. Each generation looks at the one before and – if they’re lucky – has a vision of how to create a good life. Every time I work on one of these posts, I realize how lucky I am to have been born with easy access to good advice, insight and first-hand knowledge of the larger world.

And the dance moves. Gotta pass those down as well. Happy Independence Day to you all!

107 years ago, my great-grandfather Merritt and wife, Eleanor had the pleasure of a family visit. Merritt’s brother, the Reverend Smith Gardner, his wife, Agnes Rose, together with their three children came to meet the new baby, Marjorie. Born on New Year’s Day, my grandmother Marjorie would have been around six months old.

Uncle Smith was a fascinating and accomplished man but I’ll save his story for the picture of he and Aunt Agnes! As it is, his three children each prove so fascinating and accomplished in their own rights that I don’t have enough space to tell all their stories in one post.

For today, I’ll begin with the eldest, Norma Pennoyer Dunning. She was born on April 26, 1901 in Thornton, Ohio where her father was serving as pastor. She graduated from St. Mary’s School, a Catholic school in St. Mary, Ohio (founded in 1884 and still there!) From there, she attended the Western College for Women, graduating in 1922. Next, she pursued medical training at the Women’s Medical College in Philadelphia, with a residency at Passavant hospital in Pittsburgh (also still there).

This excerpt from her obituary gives a wonderful description of the life that followed:

Norma had decided to dedicate her life to mission work and after a few years as resident physician for Winthrop College in Winthrop, South Carolina, the Board of Foreign Missions of the Presbyterian sent her to Mary Wanless Hospital in Kolhapur, India in 1930. While directing that hospital she went on to study surgery and became board certified in the United States and the United Kingdom.

She was a member of the International Board of Surgeons and a Fellow of the International College of Surgeons. Dr. Farmer continued at Mary Wanless for 35 years, greatly expanding the capacity and the outreach of the hospital. She was a vivacious and dynamic speaker and, when on furloughs in the United States, she spent time talking to church and civic groups soliciting support for her mission work.

She had a rule never to use notes when speaking. They confused her because she could not read her own writing which was, after all, a doctors’ handwriting. She was also keenly aware of fashion vowing that a missionary need not look dowdy or drab. Her beauty and sense of fashion led the young women of Winthrop College to label their youthful Dr. Dunning, Dr. Stunning.

In 1942, a British Civil Servant, Sidney John Farmer, enlisted her help in caring for members of his staff who had escaped to India from Burma. He, too, noticed that she was a stunning woman and they were married on October 23, 1943.

Upon her marriage, the Board of Presbyterian Missions wrongly assumed that Dr. Farmer no longer wished to serve in her missionary capacity, and they discontinued her salary. Typically undeterred, Norma continued her full duties at Mary Wanless throughout a lengthy period of uncertainty, until her support from the Board was finally resumed.

2004 obituary, Farmington, MO

As befits such a remarkable woman, in 2003, the Missouri House of Representatives created Resolution No. 1922 to celebrate Norma’s achievements. I’d encourage you to read it in its entirety but wanted to highlight some phrases from it that I loved:

"..she has done her utmost to better the world by meeting the needs of people one individual at a time"

"studiously applied herself to the academic rigors and practical experiences necessary in order to enter the healing arts as a skilled and
knowledgeable physician"

"an avid reader while her sight was keen and she could find the
time from her busy schedule for one of life's true pleasures"

A detail I left out was that after marrying at 41 years old, Norma inherited a 14-year old step-son, Prof. John N. Farmer. John’s history is extremely interesting too, and can be found here. A touching detail from that piece is that John introduced his parents to each other:

“He had told his Dad that the doctor he had seen at the American hospital in town was a woman and beautiful. His dad checked her out. In 1943 S.J. married Dr. Norma Dunning, the Director of the Presbyterian Mary Wanless Mission Hospital and she became John’s loving and ambitious mother.” 

This has been a very trying time across the U.S. and across the globe. I hope the story of this remarkable ancestor helps fill your heart with happiness and inspiration as it has mine.

Hello, friends! I hope this post finds you safe and well, as you are likely under quarantine or at least practicing ‘social distancing’ at the moment. How are you adjusting? Our family has had to dip into our reserve of patience numerous times this week. We’ve come to find that this reserve is rather small…kind of like the current canned goods selection at our grocery store. You just can’t restock it fast enough!

My three-year old has had the hardest adjustment since her playmates and hands-on preschool activities have no virtual replacement. She has been doing puzzles, watching her favorite show on TV and saying positive things like this:

“The bank is closed, the museum is closed, the park is closed, my school is closed but our house is open!”

“Mommy, today we can say hello to daddy and sissy!”

(taking my face in her hands) “What’s on your forehead?”
“Oh, I have wrinkles.”
“That’s OK, I still love you.”

Today’s picture from the album is from Easter Day 1913. (The holiday fell extremely early that year, on March 23rd). The front page headlines from that date make for some interesting reading. I’ll share a few with you:

GIVE EASTER HATS TO POOR

Philadelphia Women’s Relief Fund Adopts New Charity

A new form of philanthropy was begun here to-day when the Women’s City Relief Fund distributed more than 100 Easter hats to poor women.

A mirror was hung on the stand where the organization provides food for the destitute every week. Poor women tried on hats and glancing into the mirror selected those which suited them best. The relief workers had gathered the hats from all quarters and found that the headgear brought more joy than the usual baskets of food.

Philadelphia, March 22nd, 1913

Hopefully the hats were in addition to the usual baskets of food?

WOMEN JURORS FREE PRISONER

Verdict in Twenty Minutes for Good Looking Man

Ugo Diando, charged with horse stealing, was acquitted at Redwood City to-day by a jury composed of two women and ten men. It was admitted by all present that Diando is a very good looking man.

The foreman of the jury was Mrs. Alma A. Monroe. Mrs. Violet I. Pine of Daly City was the other woman member. Notwithstanding that Diando’s testimony at his preliminary hearing, in which he admitted stealing the horse, was introduced the jury after being cut twenty minutes returned a verdict of not guilty.

All the men originally voted to convict, but they were induced by the women to change their minds.

San Fransisco, March 22, 1913

Sending a big hug to all.

I have reached a page of my grandmother’s album which consists, almost entirely, of cows. This makes sense since they lived on a dairy farm but I’m afraid I don’t have much to add…

John Cieslewitz (not Saslavigde) was a farmer who lived nearby. In the Middletown, NY directory from 1925 he’s listed as living ” far off Scotchtown Rd, RD 3″, which I guess was about as specific as you needed to get at that time. I’m not sure who took to calling him “Germany” but records suggest that he immigrated from Poland.

So how about another poem instead? Not a masterpiece but a bovine ditty to break up your other, more stressful, reading.

 Cows

1,000 pounds of mass
Emitting methane, saying moo
Tongues that grab at stems and grass
Mouths that chew (and chew and chew)

Stomachs turning grass to milk 
All four chambers working hard  
‘Ruminating’ like their ilk
While they lie down in the yard

What is black and white all over
And has panoramic sight
Must not eat sweet moldy clover?
Said “A Holstein?” Yes, you’re right!

You can ride ‘em like a horsie
And then when the day is through
Call “Come Bossie! Bossie! Bossie!” 
For to bring them home to you.

-Martha Gonzalez

Big hug to you all.

Until recently, you may not have given much thought to droplets in the air you’re breathing. Now that the Coronavirus has taken over every facet of your life, it’s likely top of your mind. (I have now received cautionary communications from our school, our pediatrician, my work, my primary care doctor and our church).

Back in 1913, infectious disease was part of life because vaccines either didn’t exist or hadn’t reached the general population yet. Now that we all enjoy looking at disease numbers so much, I thought it might be fun to review a chart from 1913. I just parsed numbers from New York City, where the population in July 1913 (as per this report) stood at 5,198,888.

For reference, fatality rate for Coronavirus currently stands at fewer than 1 per 100 cases.

[table id=1 /]

I should mention that the U.S. Bureau of the Census only began to publish annual reports on mortality starting in 1900. In this age of big data, it may be hard to conceive that there was a time – not so far back – that it was not even collected.

I first looked up all this infections disease information because the album picture I chose for today shows Mr. Wilkinson, milk tester. I assumed the “testing” was for pathogens in the milk. In fact, it’s much more likely that he tested for the quality of the milk for sale (Grade A, Grade B, etc.)

Remember that in the Progressive Era, the thrust was improving things for the general good. It was the Food and Drug Act in particular (passed on June 30, 1906) that allowed the Department of Health to have a say in the production of safe, clean milk. Even still, most people drank raw milk because the pasteurized was often boiled and caused a “cooked milk” taste.

In January 1912, the Board of Health in New York City created three classes of milk: Grade A, Grade B and Grade C. Grades A and B were pasteurized while Grade C was not. In fact, it would not be until 1926 that pasteurization of all milk sold in New York City was strictly enforced.

Consumers paid two cents more for Grade A over Grade B milk. The milk dealers then gave a premium to farmers for the extra cost of producing the better quality milk depending on the bacteria colonies in the milk.

Now, I could tell you about the centrifugal cream separator and the development of the Babcock Test to test for the adulteration of milk but I fear I might lose you. I confess that it didn’t take long in my research to get lost in the science of it.

So here’s a poem instead. It stemmed from the warning that you can’t tell whether surfaces have the COVID-19 on it or not by looking at them. It just seemed like such an apt statement for this day in age. (“Don’t touch!”)

I gave up at the end but I know you as a forgiving bunch. 🙂

 On the Surface

 On the surface 
 We
 Are closer, see

 On FaceTime 
 More 
 connected, sure

 On chatrooms
 Now
 Conversing, how

 On earth
 This
 Non-togetherness

 With links
 It stinks methinks.

-Martha Gonzalez