From the Journal of Clara Whitmore September 15th, 1895 – Walnut, Iowa
The Apple Harvest
What a full and blessed weekend this has been. Today marked the first gathering of the apple‑harvest season in my new home of Walnut, Iowa. Many of the townspeople turn out to the orchards that surround Walnut. I was invited to the Miller Orchard to help pick the Wealthy apples, the pale‑skinned ones with the rosy blush that the church ladies prefer for preserves. Oh my…the trees were heavy with fruit, their branches bending low as though offering their gifts straight into our open hands.
As I worked alongside the women, listening to their laughter drift across the rows like birdsong, I marveled at how many uses the Lord has hidden inside something as simple as an apple. Pies, preserves, cider, vinegar, dried slices for winter, so much provision in one small fruit. It reminded me that God often uses what seems common to accomplish His sweetest purposes. “For the Lord delights in His people” came to mind, and I felt again the comfort of knowing that we are, as Scripture says, “the apple of His eye.”
Back home in Beaty Creek, we had no orchards like these. Walnut is full of new experiences for me—so many new sights, new work, and new people. Yet I feel certain that the Lord has planted me here, and I pray He will help me grow where He has set me.
My first week at the one‑room schoolhouse has been both a joy and a stretching of my spirit. The children are lively and curious. The older ones still look for the familiar ways of their former teacher, who taught here many years. I know I am young for such a responsibility, but I trust the Lord to supply what I lack. “My grace is sufficient for thee,” He promises, and I cling to that.
This evening, as I prepared for my bath at the boarding house, I was reminded again of how different life is here. The bathwater was heated downstairs on the kitchen stove, then carried up in steaming pails by Mrs. Harrow’s hired boy. The tin tub sits behind a calico curtain at the end of the hall. I poured the warm water in slowly, listening to it splash against the metal sides, and the steam soon fogged the small window that overlooks the back garden. How different from our farmhouse in Beaty Creek, with its wide porch, screen doors, and the privacy of our own rooms. Here, footsteps echo in the hallway, and the murmur of other boarders preparing for bed drifts through the thin walls. It is not unpleasant…only unfamiliar.
Two of the boarders worked with me at the orchard today, including the widower, Mr. Josiah Montgomery. He is a sturdy man, steady in his movements, with a quiet strength about him. Yet sorrow clings to him like a shadow. The loss of his wife and infant child rests heavy on his countenance. I thought of the verse, “Jesus wept,” and was reminded that even our Savior grieved deeply. Scripture never tells us not to mourn those who have gone to be with the Lord, only that we do not mourn as those without hope. Still, I can see that Mr. Montgomery’s grief reaches the very depths of his soul.
I watched him only briefly today, careful not to stare, as he picked the apples with practiced hands, placing each one gently into his bucket. His eyes are kind, though he seldom meets the gaze of others. Perhaps sorrow has taught him to look inward more than outward.
This morning’s Sabbath message was centered on the harvest. Our little community prepares for gathering in the fields, the orchards, and even the few small grape vineyards that dot the outskirts of town. The minister spoke of the great harvest of souls and the laborers God calls. Sitting in the white clapboard church, with the windows open to let in the cool breeze, I felt as though the Holy Spirit Himself whispered through the room. How I long to be obedient, even when obedience feels difficult.
This afternoon, Mrs. Harrow invited me into her kitchen to help bake an apple pie. The room was warm with the scent of cinnamon and the sound of her cheerful chatter. As I peeled the apples, she shared pieces of her life…her childhood, her losses, her hopes. She has no children of her own, and perhaps that is why she takes such interest in the children I teach. She told me she sees kindness in me, and faith, and that she believes I will be a good teacher. Her encouragement felt like a gift from the Lord. “Iron sharpeneth iron,” the Scripture says, and I believe He has given me a mentor in her.
Her life has not been easy. Her mother died giving birth to her baby brother, leaving her to help raise her two younger sisters. Now all of them are gone, and she has no family left. Perhaps that is why she loves keeping boarders…why she pours so much warmth into this house. God has a way of providing family for the lonely, just as He provided manna for the Israelites in the wilderness.
Walnut is beginning to feel like a comfort of home. I am grateful for the journals of my great‑great‑grandmother that I brought with me. When I feel uncertain or small, I read her words and remember her steadfast faith. It encourages my spirit. I believe her prayers still cover me.
Baking pies with Mrs. Harrow today reminded me of the kitchens of my childhood…my mother, my grandmother, and the women before them. How I miss their gentle voices and their wisdom. Yet I know their faith lives on in me, and I carry it into this little community in Walnut, Iowa.
I pray that God will use me to plant seeds here…seeds of faith, of kindness, of learning…and that they will grow strong, like the apples we gathered yesterday. May He bring forth a harvest in this place, and in me, that I cannot yet imagine.
The Lord tells us in Ephesians 3:20, He forever does exceedingly more than our small prayers or imaginations can contain. May His abundance spill over into this lively Midwestern town, filling its homes, its harvests, and even the hidden corners of my own heart with His tender provision
Clara Whitmore
(As imagined by Shelly Thompson)
*The photo is my grandmother’s pie tin…darkened with decades of loving use, its surface worn smooth by her faithful hands. She went home to be with Jesus in 2004, at the age of 90, and this humble tin was passed down to me. By the world’s measure it isn’t worth much…dented, scratched, and ordinary. But to me, it is beyond price. I cannot help but wonder how many pies she baked in it…how many prayers she whispered over her family as she worked…how many moments of quiet love were folded into each crust. This little pan holds the story of a woman whose faith shaped generations, and every time I hold it, I feel the echo of her devotion lingering still. There are many times this same pie tin is used to bake pies for guests at The Gathering Room. Click here to learn more about The Gathering Room.
The Apple Harvest
What a full and blessed weekend this has been. Today marked the first gathering of the apple‑harvest season in my new home of Walnut, Iowa. Many of the townspeople turn out to the orchards that surround Walnut. I was invited to the Miller Orchard to help pick the Wealthy apples, the pale‑skinned ones with the rosy blush that the church ladies prefer for preserves. Oh my…the trees were heavy with fruit, their branches bending low as though offering their gifts straight into our open hands.
As I worked alongside the women, listening to their laughter drift across the rows like birdsong, I marveled at how many uses the Lord has hidden inside something as simple as an apple. Pies, preserves, cider, vinegar, dried slices for winter, so much provision in one small fruit. It reminded me that God often uses what seems common to accomplish His sweetest purposes. “For the Lord delights in His people” came to mind, and I felt again the comfort of knowing that we are, as Scripture says, “the apple of His eye.”
Back home in Beaty Creek, we had no orchards like these. Walnut is full of new experiences for me—so many new sights, new work, and new people. Yet I feel certain that the Lord has planted me here, and I pray He will help me grow where He has set me.
My first week at the one‑room schoolhouse has been both a joy and a stretching of my spirit. The children are lively and curious. The older ones still look for the familiar ways of their former teacher, who taught here many years. I know I am young for such a responsibility, but I trust the Lord to supply what I lack. “My grace is sufficient for thee,” He promises, and I cling to that.
This evening, as I prepared for my bath at the boarding house, I was reminded again of how different life is here. The bathwater was heated downstairs on the kitchen stove, then carried up in steaming pails by Mrs. Harrow’s hired boy. The tin tub sits behind a calico curtain at the end of the hall. I poured the warm water in slowly, listening to it splash against the metal sides, and the steam soon fogged the small window that overlooks the back garden. How different from our farmhouse in Beaty Creek, with its wide porch, screen doors, and the privacy of our own rooms. Here, footsteps echo in the hallway, and the murmur of other boarders preparing for bed drifts through the thin walls. It is not unpleasant…only unfamiliar.
Two of the boarders worked with me at the orchard today, including the widower, Mr. Josiah Montgomery. He is a sturdy man, steady in his movements, with a quiet strength about him. Yet sorrow clings to him like a shadow. The loss of his wife and infant child rests heavy on his countenance. I thought of the verse, “Jesus wept,” and was reminded that even our Savior grieved deeply. Scripture never tells us not to mourn those who have gone to be with the Lord, only that we do not mourn as those without hope. Still, I can see that Mr. Montgomery’s grief reaches the very depths of his soul.
I watched him only briefly today, careful not to stare, as he picked the apples with practiced hands, placing each one gently into his bucket. His eyes are kind, though he seldom meets the gaze of others. Perhaps sorrow has taught him to look inward more than outward.
This morning’s Sabbath message was centered on the harvest. Our little community prepares for gathering in the fields, the orchards, and even the few small grape vineyards that dot the outskirts of town. The minister spoke of the great harvest of souls and the laborers God calls. Sitting in the white clapboard church, with the windows open to let in the cool breeze, I felt as though the Holy Spirit Himself whispered through the room. How I long to be obedient, even when obedience feels difficult.
This afternoon, Mrs. Harrow invited me into her kitchen to help bake an apple pie. The room was warm with the scent of cinnamon and the sound of her cheerful chatter. As I peeled the apples, she shared pieces of her life…her childhood, her losses, her hopes. She has no children of her own, and perhaps that is why she takes such interest in the children I teach. She told me she sees kindness in me, and faith, and that she believes I will be a good teacher. Her encouragement felt like a gift from the Lord. “Iron sharpeneth iron,” the Scripture says, and I believe He has given me a mentor in her.
Her life has not been easy. Her mother died giving birth to her baby brother, leaving her to help raise her two younger sisters. Now all of them are gone, and she has no family left. Perhaps that is why she loves keeping boarders…why she pours so much warmth into this house. God has a way of providing family for the lonely, just as He provided manna for the Israelites in the wilderness.
Walnut is beginning to feel like a comfort of home. I am grateful for the journals of my great‑great‑grandmother that I brought with me. When I feel uncertain or small, I read her words and remember her steadfast faith. It encourages my spirit. I believe her prayers still cover me.
Baking pies with Mrs. Harrow today reminded me of the kitchens of my childhood…my mother, my grandmother, and the women before them. How I miss their gentle voices and their wisdom. Yet I know their faith lives on in me, and I carry it into this little community in Walnut, Iowa.
I pray that God will use me to plant seeds here…seeds of faith, of kindness, of learning…and that they will grow strong, like the apples we gathered yesterday. May He bring forth a harvest in this place, and in me, that I cannot yet imagine.
The Lord tells us in Ephesians 3:20, He forever does exceedingly more than our small prayers or imaginations can contain. May His abundance spill over into this lively Midwestern town, filling its homes, its harvests, and even the hidden corners of my own heart with His tender provision
Clara Whitmore
(As imagined by Shelly Thompson)
*The photo is my grandmother’s pie tin…darkened with decades of loving use, its surface worn smooth by her faithful hands. She went home to be with Jesus in 2004, at the age of 90, and this humble tin was passed down to me. By the world’s measure it isn’t worth much…dented, scratched, and ordinary. But to me, it is beyond price. I cannot help but wonder how many pies she baked in it…how many prayers she whispered over her family as she worked…how many moments of quiet love were folded into each crust. This little pan holds the story of a woman whose faith shaped generations, and every time I hold it, I feel the echo of her devotion lingering still. There are many times this same pie tin is used to bake pies for guests at The Gathering Room. Click here to learn more about The Gathering Room.
Shelly Thompson, Owner of an 1875 historic Bank Building in Walnut, Iowa, that housed the Boarding Rooms in the late 1800's.
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Shelly Thompson is the Publisher for The Notebook Cafe -- Inspired Words for the Journey, and owner of Millie McKeever's Vintage & Home Decor and Coffee Bar located in the quaint historic town of Walnut, Iowa. 'The Gathering Room' offers a place where women gather to share a time of fellowship, devotion, and a tour the circa 1875 historical bank building restored by Shelly and her husband. Shelly is the author of two books. Entwined; now in its fourth printing; and Heart of a Warrior - A Legacy of Faith; in its sixth printing. Her current writing project is 'The Boarding Room Journals'. Taking a giant leap of faith Shelly left the corporate world in 2015 to pursue a dream God gave her of developing a monthly inspirational faith based online reading café of words and encouragement. Today, The Notebook Café reaches over one million people each month. Shelly has also developed The Notebook Cafe Annual Woman's Conference and women's retreat. In addition to operating The Notebook Cafe shop, Millie McKeever's Vintage & Home Decor, Shelly and her husband, Dave, spend time with their family and many weekends working on home renovation projects…that thankfully never seem to end.
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