First Snow

This weekend we went over the mountain to see some friends.

It snowed!

September 28th - the first snow!

That's crazy.

(Had to get a pix in a spot where it wasn't snowing so you can actually see.)

I've heard from a few sources now that winter will be harsh this year.

It's interesting how Mother Nature makes provisions

to feed and care for her critters..

I mentioned earlier that the elderberry trees were loaded.

Between last weekend and this weekend being in the mountains

(or passing through,)

I've also noticed the mountain ash berries and rosehips

are both abundant this year as well.

(source)

We've not yet had snow down here in the valley,

but it's cold.  The high yesterday was 48*.

I've been getting the garden put to bed and trying to get things cleaned up and ready for "the snow goose to molt" while flying over.

Heehee.

We have to have that sort of goofy humor when we are talking snow in Sept.

I was hoping the spaghetti squash would ripen a little more

before I had to pick them, but I might just have to get them in.

There was a light frost this morning so I'll take that as a warning.

I am looking forward to not mowing the lawn at two houses though.

Still praying for the right folks to find our mountain house.

It's so beautiful with so many attributes.

Then next summer I will only have one yard to tend.

Learning the Old Ways

Have you ever thought about

just spending a week in history?

Or even a day for that matter?

Over the past several years, I have had a garden,

canned , made soap and lotion,

learned to spin - well...sorta,

tanned hides, and used a loom.
Some of these things were "once 'round",
but I tried them out and learned something.

Growing up on a ranch and living out of town,

we did plenty of make do or do without

which is a saying that seems to have come back into fashion.

I've put up hay,

had my arm up the south end of various critters,

fed, fattened, and butchered others,

made feeders with nothing more than scrap wood,

a few previously used nails and a skill saw. 

(no trip to the hardware store, YouTube, or lumber yard)

However,

there was/is something missing.
And so I digress~

Growing up,

we always looked forward to Grammy's 

home-canned green olives.

(Good Italian family!)

Grammy is my only grandparent left - 95yrs. young.

In talking with her a while back,

I asked her how she made her olives.

Her reply...

"Well, I just do it how Grandma did it."

Meaning her mother, my great-gma.

Of course she did.

My aunt still has the giant crocks she used for curing them.

That knowledge wasn't passed down,

because along came a generation or two

of those who found it easier to buy a can of olives and such things.
As Grammy told me the process, I took notes.

I don't think I am alone

in wanting to restore and preserve the knowledge

not only of the 'how-to'

but also the why and to what end.

Grammy said when she picked olives,

she was very careful with them and

set them in the bucket or they would bruise.

If you just drop them in you would

end up with brown spots on your olives.

That's what I'm talking about.

Those little details of life

that had meaning and reason

that were passed from one generation

to the next seamlessly without even realizing it.

I have a tendency to love talking with

let's say 'well-aged' folks.

My mom says even when I was little 

and other kids shyed away from the old,

I was right there.

Maybe this is part of the reason.

There's something I connect to,

a wisdom I crave,

and a knowledge I may never realize.

I am in a continual state of learning.

Bless my dear husband.

He is so patient as I try out a garden idea,

bring home an antique tool of some sort,

and share tid-bits of facts like

"If you pick green beans with the dew still on,
 they will get rust spots."

We found that out the first year we planted them - 

now we know why.

It would have been so much easier to

learn that from someone

before

we picked them in the early morning dew.
Multiple generations of a family used to live together or
at least within close proximity to one another (generally speaking.)
We are so distant now - in so many ways.

I'm not certain if there is a real point to all this,

or if it's just the sharing of a feeling,

but if it keeps you from picking green beans in the morning, or

encourages you to call and visit your grandma or grandpa

well then,
that is enough.
If you are a g-ma or g-pa, please share.
We need you.

PS Thanks Grams:)

Harvest Season

I just have to share with you folks.

This is crazy.
This is zone 7.

When we moved here, the lavender was already planted.

It was actually the only planting.

No biggy.  I've had lavender plants.

There was lots of space between, and it was on the right side of the building

so I decided to plant the tomatoes in between the lavenders.

Weellll, evidently things grow a little larger in zone 7.

I keep saying "zone 7" as a reminder to myself.

I can't believe how big the lavender is.

And I can't believe the tomatoes!!!

Not only are the vines ginormous, but they are absolutely loaded.

They're turning.

They're on.
Hot diggity!
I pruned out about 1-2 plants worth of vines and they are still wild.
Needless to say, I am having to learn how to garden in zone 7.

Life is like that sometimes.
Just when we think we've got something down pat,
Whammo!

In the mean time, I am canning tomatoes and tomato sauce 
on a regular basis.

In another corner of the summer kitchen~
A few weeks ago, I ran across this apple corer/slicer at a thrift shop.
I am hoping it doesn't have to peel them.
We like the peels on.
I think I can adjust it for that.
I'll soon find out.
It appears to be vintage so of course 
will probably last me to the end of my days.
I hope somebody at that point in time will appreciate these old things.
We got a couple boxes of apple yesterday so 
as soon as my tomato skins are off the dehydrator,
I will get some apples sprinkled with cinnamon going.
I will probably make a small batch of applesauce 
and maybe some cider for Mr. LB.

The trees are all in full production up the mountain.
I made a batch of pink plum jelly that is just beautiful.
Hubby has been eating fresh blackberries on his homemade ice cream.

The regular purple plums should be ripe by this upcoming holiday weekend.
And the pears are right there with them.

In the meantime,
the summer kitchen is a disaster!

In addition to preserving the harvest,
we are planning a yard/estate sale for the weekend after Labor Day.
We are finally nearly finished moving - bahahaha.
It's only taken us 8 months.
After 18 years in the same place,
the "going through" of everything takes a little time.
I am looking forward to the huge bulk that sits both in our garage
and the summer kitchen to be gone.

Then hopefully, we can settle into winter with a full pantry,
clean storage areas, and peaceful minds.
There will be a time for resting,
but right now, as the saying goes~
we are making hay while the sun is shining.

Working Hands

     These days it's all about the germs.  Germs are bad.  Germs will make you sick.  It's like some sort of anti-gem rebellion.  Children aren't allowed to get dirty let alone work, but are instructed to wash their hands relentlessly. We didn't have germs back then.  Seldom has anyone even heard the quip, "A peck o' dirt before you die."  It's an old adage meaning that each of us will have eaten a peck of dirt (4 pecks = 1 bushel) by the end of our life.

     Way back when, we worked outside - in the fields, in the barn, in the garden, in the woods.  We worked and we got dirty.  Dirty with dirt.  Our muscles were the tools used to do that work.  We swung hammers, axes, and hoes.  We dug holes, furrows and roots.  And we pulled weeds, ropes, and levers.  We were the machines that technology has replaced.  Able hands and a strong back were valued assets.   

     A noontime dinner was the norm back then.  The "hands" would make their way to the house and wash up before dinner.  But it wasn't for fear of germs. No, it was because it is rude not to before sitting at the table and offending the cook(s) could be a recipe for going hungry.  Come noontime, the men would make thier way towards the back porch.  A few would light up a cigarette and pull up a bucket to sit on if the old wooden bench was occupied.  One by one, they had their turn at the laundry sink or the garden hose with a bar of soap sitting on the rail of the picket fence.  Those who used the hose for washing were careful to point it out toward the pasture next to the house while washing and when finished, either handed it off directly or set it in Mama's petunias.  Every man here has a wife or mother who has trained him to do just that, and it's no different at someone else's house.  It was usually pretty quiet at first - nobody in a real hurry to talk.  It might start with "Here ya go Pete."  Then after a few minutes, there might be a comment like, "Those birds don't seem to care at all about us imposters coming in," to which a couple of the fellas might respond with a nod or single syllable.  

      Pretty soon, Mama would poke her head out the screen door and announce, "Hope you brought your appetites.  It'll be ready in about five more minutes."  One by one, the cigarettes are snubbed.  A remark about it smelling good enough to eat is heard, and though not new or even very funny, earns a chuckle and a reply in agreement.  Within moments, Mama's back at the door cryin', "Come 'n get it," as she props the screen open with a brick that sits at the ready for that sole purpose.

     "Go ahead Morris.  Find you a seat," Pa invites.  Morris being the eldest garners a certain amount of respect.  The others file in after him in order of age and rank, Pa bringing up the tail being his own home.  Nothing needs to be said.  Each man knows his place.  One of the young men wouldn't dare try to enter before Morris.  Showing respect is a respectable act in itself.  They all politely mill around until Pa finds his way to one end of the table, then the others take their seats.  Morris is at the other end, is asked to say the blessing and obliges with honor.

     "Amen.  Now don't be bashful.  Dig in."  At the very words hands begin reaching for dishes of hearty nourishment.  

     "It smells delicious Margaret," Wendle comments.

     "Strawberry jam is my favorite, Mrs. Arnold," Porter pipes up.  These and other such compliments are made in Mama's direction.  After a few minutes of the only sounds being that of the utensils connecting with plates, words become audible.  

     "You did a nice job on that fence where the elk broke through.  Looks like new."

     "Most of it is, the buggers.  They tore up that lower section pretty good, but the grass sure came on nice where they made their highway through."

     "Yea, I always thought it was too bad you can't teach 'em how to use a gate."

     "Can you pass the green beans please?" Porter requests of Wendle who's on his left.

     Pa directing him, "Now only eat what you're worth," with a grin on his face.

     Porter being quick, "What's for desert?"  

Laughs come from all around and Wendle in his slow and easy manner says, "Grady over there's gotta few years on ya and still bucks more bales."

     Porter in defense responds, "Yea but he's built like an angus bull an's as stubborn as a mule."  At which Grady looks up smiling, "Hey, how'd I  get into this?  I'm just over here eating what I'm worth.  I'd take another biscuit please."

     The mood being light and words in jest, Morris recollects, "I remember when I could eat like I had a hollow leg.  My momma would put extra spuds in my soup sometimes just tryin' to fill me up."  Such talk continues until the plates begin to empty and Pa says, "Well, you fellas keep eatin'.  I'm savin' room for peach cobbler."

     Mama having cleared a few of the empty dishes brings a stack of smaller plates and spoons.  "Pete brought these peaches by yesterday so I thought what better way to use them."  Porter and Grady by now are the only two still eating and hurry to finish so they can share in their part of the cobbler.  

     "Are they the ones from that tree in your side yard Pete?" Wendle asks.

     "Yep."

     "That's a pretty good tree.  Seems like every year it's got a bumper crop hangin' on it."

     "Yea, Judy dumps her wash water out there.  She claims it likes the flavor of dirty laundry.  It always does better than the one down by the barn."

     The plates of cobbler are passed and the spoon for the fresh whipped cream is passed from hand to hand.

     "Margaret if you keep feeding me, I'm gonna have to borrow that shade tree out front and take a nap.  Then Ed here 'll fire me."

     "Thank you Wendle."

Easy conversation flows as the cobbler disappears and dishes are stacked and cleared.

     "Well, I s'pose we should get back at 'er."  Pa and the others rise with another round of gratitude payed to Mama.  And they file back out to get their hands dirty once more.  The young trying to prove they are worth their salt, and the old trying to prove they are still productive.  Being a good hand was a source of pride.  It was a healthy and honest way.  I can't for the life of me understand why the young people today seem to abhor such a life.  The way I see it, they would be far better off to seek it out.  Maybe I'm just gaining ground on Morris's end of the line in reflecting years past.  Who's to say.