My mind has been full of Hagar School days this morning. Although it has been more than 75 years since I began my education there, the past stands out in perfect clarity.

I smell again the wooden floors that have been oiled in crude oil, and see the bank of windows overlooking the outdoor toilets down over the hill.  I see the tall oak tree that grows close to the windows, the same tree that once was struck by lightning and I remember the powerful shock that traumatized all us students.  I see again the ball of fire that ran down the aisle between the seats and hear Rosalie screaming, “Oh, Mommy! Oh, Eugene!”

I can feel the heat from the big gas stove that sent out flames of fire, and smell the wooly odor of the wet mittens and gloves that are spread out in front of it.  We used our recess for snowball fights and other winter games such as “Fox and Geese” and came in wet and muddy many times.  When Mr. Hinkle rung the hand bell that signified that recess was over, someone always yelled “Books are takin’ up!” and we didn’t want to be tardy.

This time of year, when the days were wet and sloppy with nothing to break the monotony, came the bright and exciting Valentine’s Day.  Someone always made a Valentine box covered with crepe paper and lace and ribbons, big enough to hold all the valentines we sent one another.  We got an assortment of penny valentines, and dutifully wrote down each name in the room.  There were a few special ones sent.  When I was in the eighth grade, I received my first “special” valentine enclosed in a card.  I will never forget the thrill that reddened my cheeks and touched a soft place in my heart.  I think that was the time I first became aware of boys as an object of interest.

The valentine has been lost in the multitude of years since, but the memory is still in my heart.  I have received many valentines since, and still have many of the handmade ones that my children gave me.  I remember one in particular that Andy made me when he was in grade school.  It read, “This is the day you like the best.  This is the day you get to rest.”  I don’t know how he figured that.  I had six kids in school at one time, and it seemed that I was busy from daylight to dark, and sometimes later.

Another bright spot in February was our annual pie social.  You never hear about that social event now, but it was the only fundraiser we had then.  The proceeds were used to purchase books to stock our library, which consisted on one wooden bookcase.  My love of reading started then, and has never diminished.  Mr. Hinkle encouraged my love of reading, and tried to stock various books that would appeal to young people.

I read my first “Zane Gray” book at that time.  His description of the West was thrilling, and I loved his books.  I wonder now if Mr. Hinkle was a Zane Gray fan, as he alone selected the books.  “West of the Pecos” was one of my favorites.  There was a series of nursing books, which I devoured, plus a few more of other subjects.  I read all of the books in the bookcase at least twice, and some of them more than that.  One of my fondest daydreams was to be locked in a big library so I could browse to my heart’s content.

The pie social itself was a bright note in the midst of a gloomy February.  The community turned out for this social event, as there were not many occasions to get together.  I guess pie socials are a thing of the past, but then it was a lively event.  Sometimes box lunches were prepared in place of the pie, and much care was taken to decorate the boxes that held the goodies.  The pies were unmarked, and supposed to be a secret as to whom they belonged.  Whoever purchased the pie got to share it with the maker.

Often times a little hint was slipped to the boyfriend of a special pie maker, and that was when the bidding would get fast and furious.  I was about twelve when I was allowed to take my first pie. Mom made a delicious homemade caramel pie from scratch, and she prepared a special one for me.  I carefully decorated the box, and proudly carried my pie to the social.

I watched eagerly as my pie was bid in by a handsome young man by the name of William Rogers.  If he was disappointed to find a little, knobby-kneed, scrawny girl, he never showed it.  To top it all, when the pie was cut, it was soupy!  In fact, it had to be eaten with a spoon.  He was such a gentleman, and scooped up the pie with a spoon and reassured me that it was delicious.  Sadly, he was one of our Clay County boys that marched off to war and never returned.

I hope that all you wives and sweethearts received a nice Valentine present from your better half.  I loved the story of one couple that I won’t identify.  One year he bought the wife a nice bouquet of roses.  While she was thrilled, she berated him for spending money on something that wouldn’t last, but would soon wither and die.  The next year he bought her a set of bathroom sales!  My dad once bought Mom an expensive fishing rod—you can guess who used it!

Rain is pouring down upon ground that is already saturated with water, and muddy rivulets are running down the hill from the barn.  It’s hard to believe that in a few short weeks, the meadows there will be covered with green grass, and the trees will be putting out green buds.  We can always look forward to another season, for God has promised this to us.

In Genesis, after God had brought the flood upon the earth and destroyed the earth, except for Noah and his family and the beasts that were in the ark, he made this promise.  Verse 21, “I will not again curse the ground any more for man’s sake. . . verse 22, “While the earth remaineth, seedtime and harvest, and cold and heat, and summer and winter, and day and night shall not cease.”

I am anxious for seedtime.