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Looking back, the 1960s were strange indeed. Girls wanted super straight hair and so they ironed it. We wore bell-bottom jeans, and tie-dyed shirts. Many of us were anti-establishment and anti-materialism. Certainly, we were anti-war, except for those who were participating in the war. Come to think of it, they were probably pretty anti-war themselves, except for the gung-ho, let’s rape women and children and burn villages types.

Pat in bell bottom slacks in the 1960s.

Many of us took up the guitar. The voices who seemed to speak for all of us were the folksingers. Peter, Paul, and Mary snagged our attention with their tale of “Puff, the Magic Dragon,” while Joan Baez’s voice rang into the night singing, “We are the Children of Darkness,” and Judy Collins titillated our senses with “Chelsea Morning.”

The soap opera/ TV screen version of Grace Metallious’ scandalous (for the times) novel, Peyton Place, came into our living rooms after school, as did images of the Vietnam War.

At the time, there seemed to be much talk about the moral decay of youth. Anyone who has ever lived in a small town, knows that illicit sex of all kinds is as old as dirt. One just does not hear the names of the offenders in larger cities. And, so it went.

As far as politics, I remember a certain individual being quite pleased at the death of JFK. After all, the president was Catholic, and after all, our little town primarily encompassed the Old Republican Guard. This person casually revealed that the president had been shot and proceeded to say, “I hope he dies.” Not politically correct, then or now, to state something so outrageous and so hateful.

The 1960s seemed to be the turning point in our awareness of the need for more equitable human rights, as expressed in the Civil Rights movement. We realized that speaking out for one’s beliefs could result in the termination of one’s life as happened, one by one, to JFK, Bobby Kennedy, and Martin Luther King, and others who are less often mentioned.

The year 1960 itself was a benchmark year for my parents when they welcomed their first grandchild. They, too, were entering the next phase of their lives. Yet, when I look back, time seemed to stand still. There were the cookouts while camping at Freeport, Maine, on the ocean; and at Burlington, VT, on Lake Champlain. There was my first chance to drive a car, my first kiss, muddling through high school, and going on to the university.

So, I look to the 1960s with still a bit of confusion about the greater world and what was really happening in it. Personally, I was changing, for sure, and so were the dynamics of my family of origin.

I have to smile whenever I hear Arlo Guthrie recite “Alice’s Restaurant” on the radio, or see old clips of the Ed Sullivan Show (a really good “shoe”). Reruns of the Lawrence Welk Show definitely jar some memories of Saturday nights at home with the “old folks.” Yes, the least mneumonic device can transport me back more than forty years to the 1960s, when the time truly were a’changin’.

Patricia Cummings, http://www.quiltersmuse.com

My train of thought tonight is turning to the subject of seeds. Of course, there is the literal meaning of the word, “seed.” A couple of lines from the song titled, “The Field Behind the Plow,” say – “… watch the field behind the plow turn to straight dark rows; Put another season’s promise in the ground.” Seeds are nature’s way of saving genetic material that becomes the blueprint for new life, and in that role, seeds are essential to the survival of a species.

Every January, (this year, December), we begin to receive seed catalogs. In a yard that has many perennial flowers that we can rely on to reappear every spring and summer, we generally don’t order many flower seeds any more.

Jim has begun to pick up any needed flats of vegetables at local greenhouses, especially tomatoes, peppers, and hot peppers. In recent memory, he started seedlings inside the house, using grow lights. Although we are pretty much set and probably won’t order from the catalogs, their arrival is like a breath of fresh air as we ponder the upcoming growing season! We peruse the pages and re-think what kind of additional annuals we might want to add to a few spaces in the yard.

Aside from the obvious association, the word, “seed,” takes on other meanings. We speak of “seed money” for those who hope to start a new business. We refer to planting the “seeds of hope,” in destitute nations and in despairing individuals. The Bible provides the parable of the mustard seed, which states, “The kingdom of heaven is like a mustard seed.” Matthew 13:31. I vaguely remember another Biblical passage that admonishes a person not to spill seed on infertile ground. The word “seed” appears to envelope the essence and meaning of life and its continuance. Any “seed” is important only because of its potential life-giving power.

Following the agrarian model, an old motto says, “Reap what you sow.” Of course, that idea can be applied to many life situations. Little kindnesses in any human relationship can help to “grow” love and affection.

Turning to another use of language, for some reason people who are considered marginally acceptable by society, and of whom we may be suspicious, are sometimes referred to as “seedy characters.” In that case, I’m not sure I understand the association with the word, “seed!”

As we drove along today, on a little trip to the other side of New Hampshire, it was apparent that the snow cover is dwindling. Some of the open water of brooks and ponds remind me that January is not forever, and cold weather shall, indeed, have a terminal point. So, my thoughts are now affixed to the idea of Spring and I smile whenever I recall the wonderful line of that song: “Put another season’s promise in the ground.”

Patricia Cummings, http://www.quiltersmuse.com