Sweet little brick country church

Out in the country, northwest of Fort Wayne, is the tiny village of Ege in Noble County. At one time near this little crossroad was a parish school, a pastor's rectory, a convent, general store, and perhaps a dozen houses. Now are the remains of the convent and school, and there is the lovely Catholic Church, The Immaculate Conception of the Blessed Virgin Mary.

I looked up the origin of the word 'ege,' and I found it to be an old English word meaning 'fear' and 'awe.' Perhaps sort of like 'awesome' is used today - but some of us tend to forget the 'fear' part. I think I was expecting it to be 'egg' in a different language, especially since this is in the middle of farm country. The little settlement was named for Francis Xavier Ege, a parish priest who was dearly loved for his good work in this area. As a surname, Ege is thought to have sprung from Seigbert, a German name. There are many people of German or Polish descent in this area.

The first church was built on this spot in 1863, and when a frame building used for the church burned down in 1921, the brick building used today was constructed. At the time in winter when the old building burned down, it smoldered slowly enough people were able to extract all the statues and other relics, and even the large organ was lowered down with ropes from the choir loft and saved.

There is a large, life-sized statue of the Virgin Mary in the church yard, and even though I am not Catholic, I like to go to this peaceful spot and see her - there never seems to be any one around, unless during the hours of church services, and the Virgin seems to keep watch over this site by herself. I like to walk up to this site silently and take in the presence of the mother of Christ depicted here - it's hard to see from the angle of this photo, but her hands are slightly outstretched and open, and I like to shyly take her hand and perhaps say a little prayer in her presence.

A nun who grew up here and attended the parish school as a child reported in her day, 80 children attended the parochial school. She wrote about marching around the sidewalks two by two after lunch, singing an old civil war song, "Marching through Georgia." She wrote down the words to the song, and it's listed on a website I found. She also wrote about other childhood games.

One of these was called "Pompey is dead and laid in the grave." In this game, one girl would lie in the pretty fall leaves before they were all tread upon and disintegrating. The others would cover here carefully with colorful leaves and join hands in a circle around her. They sang a song, (the verses are printed on this Ege remembrances page) - basically, Pompey is dead until an old woman comes around to gather falling apples, at which point Pompey jumps up from under the leaves and decks her with an apple. That certainly would be enough to give the old woman a heart attack. The 'buried' little girl, at this point in the song, jumps up from her leaf nest and chases the scattering girls, and tags one who then takes her place on the ground.

There are lots of old churches in the country in Indiana, and in all parts of all states around the nation. I'm not sure why this one moves me so, but I feel a magic around here, and statue Mary feels eerily alive. I am struck with quiet reverence when I am here, and find a great sense of peace. I am ready for peace to find our nation, and us all.

A Scorpion in my Bathroom

Autumn is a beautiful time in Indiana, and 2010 was a warm, glorious one. But once the tree colors have peaked, the leaves have been shed and the days turn colder, I often think about getting out of Indiana for a change, for warmth, to see something different.

I like to travel any time between late fall and spring, and if possible, I try to take several trips. Over the Veteran's Day weekend, I gathered up some of the family, and flew out of Fort Wayne International Airport to Phoenix, Arizona.

Fort Wayne has one of the country's nicest small airports. However, since it's not a very large hub, traveling far usually requires a connection through another city - few of its airlines have direct flights to the coasts, for example. The exception would be Allegiant Airlines - on this one, a person can fly directly from Fort Wayne to Orlando, Florida; or Tampa, Florida; or to Myrtle Beach, South Carolina.

Maybe this doesn't seem like a big deal, but the alternative is driving to a bigger airport such as the one in Indianapolis (about a three hour drive for me) or one in Chicago, Cleveland, or Cincinnati (also far). Add that drive time on to one's trip, plus the cost of parking the car, and I'll take paying a little more to fly out of Fort Wayne any day.

FWA is just plain nice anyway. It's one of the cleanest, friendliest airports you've ever been in. Although right now, the big issue here is the full body security scanner. I have to say I didn't think much about it - I just got in it like they told me to, stood with my legs apart on the footprints, and held my hands together, touching fingers in a diamond shape over my head. I'm just getting numb and used to this stuff, and I find myself to be very compliant in general (unless I feel threatened, at which time I kind of fire up like a red-headed Irish girl, watch out.) But I am very passive in airport security. I've taken to not even wearing a belt because I think there's enough of the whole strip-tease as it is.

On the news, people in Fort Wayne have been objecting to this scanner. Some people, such as pilots, feel that they are being radiated too much, since they travel frequently. Other people object to the detailed 3-D images of their bodies. They don't like these graphic images of their selves, perhaps specifically their 'private parts' being displayed on a screen for strangers. Ok-?

One guy was on the news because he refused the body scan, and the alternative was a physical pat-down by the security worker. After being told by the officer what to expect, the traveler told him "if you touch my 'junk,' I'll call the police." All I can think is - he must not have been too concerned about getting to where he was going. I never heard how this situation was resolved. Maybe they're still in limbo at the airport somewhere (in limbo - that's an interesting phrase).

We visited family in Phoenix, went to the Phoenix Zoo, and stayed at Tapatio Cliffs. It was a quick trip. One of the most fascinating things that happened to me, though, was a real surprise. I got up to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night the first night we were there - barefoot, very sleepy, turned on the bathroom light, and there was something silently scooting over the tiles at the joint where the floors met the walls. I didn't have my glasses on, and I squinted close to see it. A big silverfish bug, or a centipede, perhaps? No - my sleepy brain was registering what it had to be. A scorpion - a real scorpion, just like in the zodiac sign. I had never seen one before, except in a photo.

I was fascinated. Was this real? Yes it was. It was orangish, 2-3 inches long. Tiny, I thought (big, I was told later). Looking it up on the Internet later, it was probably an Arizona Bark Scorpion (poisonous, requiring medical treatment if I had been stung) or less likely, a stripe-tailed scorpion (also poisonous). I would have liked to have released it outside. No, it was dark out, and I wouldn't have been able to get very far from the hotel with the steep cliff side. I think people smash them, but I would have had to leave the bathroom for a shoe or something and I wasn't sure where the scorpion would be upon my return. I decided my choice was to scoop it up in some toilet paper and flush it. Not a lot of fussing around about it - one big, loosely gripped scooping motion and into the toilet. Which I did, trying not to squeeze the paper. For some reason, I felt terrible watching it swirl around and disappear down the sewer system - giant, bad me, destroying this small creature that had done nothing to harm me. But I had children sleeping nearby, and that's what momma bear has do to sometimes.

Mother scorpions give birth to live, whitish young, which climb on her back and go for a ride until they mature. This guy was on his own. Had I been bitten, I could have experienced severe pain, numbness and frothing at the mouth, possible respiratory paralysis, twitching and convulsions. (according to a website) Really? From that little thing? It's probably good I didn't know that at the time. Also, supposedly they want to be under things like sleeping bags and climb into shoes. We didn't see another one on the trip, but everybody switched on lights and looked around carefully if they rose at night after that. I kept looking around during the day, also. It was interesting to me how we instinctively see them as alarming - the waving little claw pinchers, the arched, dagger-like tail - what a beautiful danger. There's excitement in the bad boys. Just try to end up with the good boys and girls, so you don't get stung.