Phend-Fisher Family Reunion Ledger - 1916

1916 - Eighth Reunion

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The Phend reunion was held June 24, 1916 at the home of Will Phend. there were 61 present to enjoy the bountiful dinner and the good times following. Victor Phend spent his last day with his relatives before departing for the Mexican border.

The total expense of reunion for the year 1916, was $10 all made up in collection. No balance.
Officers for the ensuing year are as follows
Pres. Will Phend
Sec'y Mrs. Mary Phend
Treas. Jacob Phend

Following election of officers was prayer by Jacob Phend
A short talk by Chirst Phend
Oldest present Jacob Phend age 89 June 27 1916
Youngest Mary Alice Phend age 14 mo.
Blanche Evelyn Heckman age 15 mo.

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Marriages -
Cecil Phend
Ivy Phend
Waldo Phend
Ivy Senff

Births
Delta Conrad
Cecil Phend. daughter 4th of April

[those who attended]
Mr & Mrs John Phend
Mr & Mrs Henry Phend
Gladys Phend
Bernice Phend
Donal Phend
Vergil Phend
Paul Phend
Gerald Phend
Mr & Mrs Christ Phend, Mary
Mr & Mrs W A Phend
Mr & Mrs F. A. Wehrly } LaMarr & Evelyn
Mr & Mrs Herly Phend
Mr. & Mrs. Harry Phend and Mary Alice.
Mr & Mrs Ivo Phend
Mr. & Mrs Harvey D. Senff
Lucile Senff, Arlena Senff.
Mr. & Mrs. Ralph Albert

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Mr. & Mrs. Archie W. Senff
Wilbur R. Senff
Lulu Conrad
Lucile Conrad
Harley Conrad
Mabel Heckaman
Jacob J Phend
Jacob Phend Sr
John W. Miller
Mrs J. W. Miller
Violet Miller
Mr & Mrs Jacob E. Senff
Ruth Senff
Lawrence Senff
Hilda Senff

The Phend-Fisher families gathered for a reunion in Elkhart County, Indiana almost annually from 1909 until 1943. Usually held at Nappanee, the events of the day were recorded in an old ledger book. Spelling has been retained as it was in the original though some punctuation and paragraph breaks have been added. To view all articles in this series click on the "Phend-Fisher Reunion Ledger" label at the bottom of this post.

Fiddling with Handlebar Height

I've been riding my fixed gear bike ("Mercy Anne") fairly regularly since we put it together in September. Not long rides, but frequent short rides. Unlike my geared roadbike, I never stopped riding the fixed gear over the winter. And of all my bicycles with drop bars, for whatever reason this one is the most ridable in regular clothing, so if I don't feel like wearing cycling clothes on a short ride I don't have to. I've even ridden it in skirts and semi-high heels a few times; it is surprisingly tame and versatile.




Maybe it's because of that versatility that I find myself constantly fiddling with this bicycle's handlebar height. It's not that my positioning doesn't feel right, but more like all the positions feel equally right and I can't decide which one to settle on. When we first assembled the bike, I had the stem "slammed" and the bars considerably below the saddle. It felt perfectly comfortable, but over the winter I started riding in the city more and decided to experiment with being more upright. So I raised the bars to saddle height, and that felt great also. Then one day I lowered them again just for the heck of it, and that too felt good.




Strange that on other bikes I feel a distinct "sweet spot" as far as handlebar height goes and on this one I do not. Not sure how many times I've raised and lowered the bars now thanks to the easy up/down adjustability of the threaded stem, but it's probably time to settle on one position and stop the madness. How do you decide on handlebar height, and do you tend to fiddle with it after the initial set-up?

The Body Speaks Bike

Those who've spoken more than one language over the course of their life will sometimes notice a curious phenomenon: They will remember events and conversations from their past not in the original language, but in the language that is currently dominant for them. It is as if our mind auto-translates the dialogue. I will remember conversations in English that couldn't have possibly happened in English. And then I must struggle to reconstruct the real dialogue, the actual words used, in order for my mind let go of the auto-translate and restore the "correct" memory. It's just one of those weird, fascinating, disturbing things that the human brain does. And it isn't limited to language.




Last weekend I went berry picking at a nearby farm. Blackberries are in season now, and with a small green basket I headed out to the rows of bushes. Pulling the plump bubbly things off the prickly branches in the afternoon sun, I remembered the last time I'd done this: It was in my 20s and I lived in England. Our small university town was surrounded by miles and miles of meadows, a riverside path winding through them. I remembered in vivid detail cycling through the meadows in the exquisite afternoon light and stopping to pick blackberries along the way. Sometimes I'd be alone, other times with my friend. In summer the blackberries were everywhere and, excited by this discovery, we gorged on them shamelessly - staining our clothing in the process, drunk on the countryside smells and the sheer beauty of our surroundings. In my mind's eye Iseeit all so clearly: The river. The farm gates. Climbing over nettles to get to the berries. And, of course, riding my bike along the path. Except, wait... rewind. I could not have been on a bike. I did not own a bike at the time; I did not cycle when I lived in England.




And so there I stood now, dismantling this incredibly real-seeming memory of myself riding a rusty 3-speed through the East Anglia countryside. And its companion memory of riding together with my friend - both of us astride such machines, summer dresses fluttering in the breeze. In fact we did not cycle side by side. We did not dismount our bikes and toss them onto the grass upon spotting the berries. I suppose we must have walked. But the visceral recollection of walking is vague, buried somewhere in there like the true dialogue of those auto-translated conversations I struggle to remember in their original language. I guess my body speaks bike now.

cat owners?

Jo left a comment "I have found it to be true that you can never own a cat...they own you." And this is so very, very true. Here is a photo of Murphy, on the left and Jade, on the right. It is a rare sight to see them together but they do it once in a while. Right now Jade is in my lap helping me type.

Wheeling and Dealing: Can We Learn from Owning (and Selling) Bicycles?

As you have probably noticed, I own more than a couple of bicycles at this point. I have also sold a fewand may be paring down further before the summer's end. Most of the bicycles I've owned have gone through a variety of experimental alterations - some minor, others major; some successful and others not so much. So, what is the point of it all? Were some of these bicycles "mistakes" that I should not have gotten in the first place? And are my various projects ultimately wastes of time and money if I end up selling the bicycle in the end?



Bicycle ownership for me has two purposes. First and foremost, it is utilitarian: Ideally, I want to own several bicycles, each of which will excel at a designated function - such as commuting or cyclotouring. But I also enjoy learning about different kinds of bicycles. This includes understanding bicycle history, geometry, positioning, and the differences between manufacturing styles. And I would argue that this kind of knowledge can only truly be gainedthrough owning and riding a variety of bicycles; just reading and chatting about it is not sufficient. For me, bicycle ownership has been educational, and no bicycle I have acquired and subsequently let go of has been a "mistake": They have each helped me understand something crucial.



Some things I have learned through my experiences:

. the relationship between bicycle geometry and bicycle handling

. how to adjust my position for maximum comfort on different kinds of bikes

. which components work best for me, and why

. what is really my optimal bicycle size

. how to maximise a bicycle's strengths andcompensate for a bicycle's shortcomings

. how to determine whether my cycling limitations are due to lack of skill or to discomfort

. and, of course, how to perform a variety of DIY adjustments



Though there have been frustrations, there have also been great rewards. The Pashley Princess was a dear fried whose beauty inspired me, and thanks to whose stability and reliability I immediately became comfortable with vehicular cycling. The Raleigh Lady's Sportstaught me all about vintage English 3-speeds, plunged me into anobsession with cream tires,and, ultimately, made me realise that I prefer loop frames to straight step-through frames. And the Mercier mixte helped me understand derailleur gearing by allowing me to boldly experiment with drivetrain conversion, as well as to experience an authentic French city bicycle from a bygone era.



I do not see myself as a collector of bicycles, but I am happy to serve as foster parent to a few that will ultimately be passed along to another owner - learning all I can from it in the meanwhile. As for the financial costs of the purchases and the alterations - I have been lucky to more or less break even,and that is good enough for me. I have also been lucky to get lots of advice and help from experienced bicycle lovers not only locally, but from all over the world. Thank you all, and I hope that some of my experiences have provided useful or entertaining information for my readers.

This really made my day

In the interest of full disclosure, I should probably tell you that this envelope was sent to me by a cousin. (She added "Incredibly Good Smelling" to the actual business name.)

But still. It really did make my day!

What's in a Cycling Cap?

I was in the Ride Studio Cafe the other day, when a woman came in to buy a cycling cap. She was already wearing a cap - one that looked to be from the early '80s, faded yellow with "world champion" rainbow stripes. She looked around the shop and tried on several of the caps they sell, but seemed restless and her eyes kept wandering over to me. I was wearing a white cap with rainbow stripes, very much like her own only newer. Before she even approached me, I could sense that she was attracted to my cap. I thought that she was going to ask me where I bought it. Instead she asked if she could have it, buying me a Rapha hat as a replacement.



So that is how I came to be in possession of my very own article of Rapha clothing that I'd critiqued only a week earlier. It's (even) less flattering to my face than my other cap, though admittedly it works better under a roadcycling helmet and the fabric and stitching are of higher quality. But more than anything, I like the unusual manner in which I acquired it. Sometimes an item can serve as a memento of a day or a social exchange, attaining the status of a personal keepsake.



Cycling caps are a very particular design that has become iconic: The skull-hugging panel construction, the small visor that flips up, the racing stripes. I don't think that any of the variations look especially good on most people, but their symbolism seems to hold at least as much appeal as their objective attractiveness or their cycling-specific usefulness. I would bet that the sale of cycling caps went up when Breaking Away came out, as well as more recently, when the Yehuda Moon comic became popular.



On a personal level, a specific cap might remind us of an experience associated with cycling that was exciting, formative or inspiring. Maybe our favourite racer wore one just like it. Or the cool older kid in the neighbourhood used to ride his bike around wearing one. At some point I realised that one of my first memories of my father involved a cycling cap. He is not a cyclist, but it was popular to wear them in Europe in the '80s, especially on the beach. I have a very clear memory of him sitting on a blanket and sipping beer while watching my mother swim in the sea, wearing a cycling cap with the visor flipped up. It was either yellow or white, and it definitely had the "world champion" rainbow stripes. Funny.



When the woman at the RSC asked for my cap, I had the distinct feeling that it reminded her of something, and it made sense to give it to her. But I will probably buy myself another one at some point: Those rainbow stripes remind me of Europe in the early '80s, of vintage bikes, and of childhood days at the beach.