Monday, August 28, 2017

Monday Journals





August 21, 2017



Back in Staunton with our Little People and the rush to get it all done for a few days.  I can’t believe we kept up this pace for so long both of us killing ourselves with hard labor and 18-hour days for so many years.  I also can’t believe I took care of all three of the older grands as often as I did for the first two years (two and three days a week with all three and then the rest of the week with Analia).    It was a gift they were born before I turned fifty or I wouldn’t have been able to handle it.  Rory is not quite five months old and started crawling yesterday.  The doctors didn’t believe Alissa when she told them that Rory was already rolling over, sitting up on her own and preparing to crawl.  When the doctor witnessed it for herself, she actually called in the other doctors and nurses to see it.  Our Rory is a big, strong, happy girl and I pray that she remains that way and always loves herself for her strengths and not for the physical beauty which she also possesses.  Oh how I wish I could teach my grandkids that outward beauty fades so quickly and that what matters is on the inside.  In this world that focuses on the outward appearance, it seems to be one of the most impossible tasks.  I have never considered myself beautiful but always being in great physical condition and having nice hair gave me the confidence that I needed to get through.  As I age and things change physically, I’m not in as good shape and my hair is a lot thinner and not so pretty anymore and I realize how quickly things change and outward beauty fades and one is only left with what is good on the inside and the good that one can give away to others.  It makes me wonder why I wasted so many years worrying about the outward appearance instead of having more fun.  Not that I didn’t have fun and enjoy life.  I did plenty of that, but those little things that seemed to matter so much for so long seem silly when you reach a certain age.  I know I sound “old” when I write anymore but turning fifty changed so many things for me physically, mentally and emotionally.



Today is a happy day!  My daughter, Alissa, who has been through many obstacles to get her degree and is two semesters away from her Masters starts a position as adjunct professor at Blue Ridge Community College.  I could not be more proud.  She has worked her way through school paying for it herself while serving as a waitress for 12 years.  She has had two little girls and somehow maintained her grades on top of working.  Happy day for this momma. 

August 22, 2017

Yesterday was a busy day for me with Analia and Rory.  The twins were sick and were not able to come visit.  We always miss them when they can’t come.  Mike mowed down some hay and will work on getting that up.  He also dug some of the potatoes.  As I mentioned previously, the garden was a disappointment this year and the potato crop really suffered.  Not sure why we had such a bad year but things have a tendency to work out.  Maybe we just needed the break or maybe that’s what had to happen to get us to slow down from selling so much produce and working ourselves to death.  The profits from produce sales of course have been minimal this year because we didn’t go to Verona and sell.  Neither have we opened up officially to sell at the farm.  The sales we have made have been mostly bulk sales to long standing customers and the honor system sales to those who happen by and see what’s on the cart (either in Staunton or at our Southern property). 

Alissa’s first day teaching at Blue Ridge Community College was a difficult one for her.  She was so sick with not only a bad cold but also a migraine and nausea the previous night.  She said she was so out of it that she was sure everyone thought she was an idiot.  Well, I doubt that but I sure am sorry her first day had to be so hard.  She was so excited after all this time of planning and working towards her goals.  She laughed because she said her students just looked at her expressionless and did not participate in her excitement.  I do love that girl.  Alissa’s husband, Gabino, has had stomach pain for days and ended up in the emergency room last night with an inflamed appendix and intestines.  They said it was nothing to worry about and sent him home with antibiotics.  I swear I don’t know about the medical system anymore. 

This morning I caught up on a bit of correspondence and then milked the cows.  I have been only milking Faith, who is a full Jersey.  We love her milk and each week I separate her overnight from her calf and take the milk for our use.  Last night, old Char got separated too.  She was with Faith and was being stubborn about moving to the lot where I wanted to put her, so I just left her separated from her calf for the night as well.  Char is a miniature half Jersey/quarter Angus/quarter Charolais cross.  I milked her for about three years when she was younger but it’s been about five years since I have milked her at all.  In fact, she was running with our beef herd for a while until she had difficulty calving year before last with a huge bull calf and we moved her and the calf back to our house where I could take care of them and where I could breed her to the Mini Jersey bull.  I wondered how she would do since she has not been in the stanchion for so long.  Char is pretty stubborn and while she is very short, she is built like a tank.  (Her beef genetics really show with her wide hips and the amount of weight she carries well.)  She was perfect.  She walked right into the stanchion and never lifted a foot when I milked her.  Our only issue was that she did not want to let down her milk and didn’t give me much.  Her calf got plenty when I was done though!  Her milk was clean with no lumps or mastitis and I am looking forward to tasting it once again after all these years.  In her prime and at her peak, the little chunk use to give me three gallons per day, which is amazing for a half beef, miniature cow.  Today she gave me not quite a gallon, but I am sure if I continue to milk her she will let down and I will get more.  The cows are only on grass unless they are in the stanchion and since she has not been in the stanchion, she has had no grain.  I was pretty impressed with the old girl.  (She must be almost ten now, I believe.)

August 23, 2017

I’m writing this as we drive down the road again on our way to our Southern Property.  I didn’t think we would get away tonight and that would have been all right but Mike said he would rather travel tonight than in the morning.  I kept the girls today for about six and a half hours.  I am not sure what Mike did other than I know he got up some more hay.  That’s in fact why we were so late leaving.  While I waited on him, I had opportunity to get the floors swept and mopped.  There’s no sense in doing it at all until after I am through watching Little People for the week. 

This morning when Alissa brought the kids in, Rory who turned five months old yesterday, smiled with her deep dimples showing and reached out her arms for me.  That just melted my heart.  Analia came running up to me so excited that we both had on skirts.  Watching the kids is a lot of hard work but I am so thankful for the bond that I have with them.  I was fortunate to know two of my great grandmothers and one of my great grandfathers.  My paternal grandmother lived until I was well into my adult years, and my maternal grandmother is still living.  My maternal grandmother is the one I have always been the closest too.  I thought about her today as the girls responded to me with such excitement.  I thought about all the time I spent with my grandma and grandpa and all the special things they did with us over the years.  They always made me feel so special and so loved.  Even when they were far away in Alaska and I was growing up in Missouri, their love for me made a difference.  I think the examples we see as children can serve to help us be better adults.  I know many times I think of the things my grandparents did for me, or the things they said, or the time they spent with me and it helps me to be a better grandparent to my grandkids.  I am thankful I had such good examples in my life with all my grandparents.  Each one of them was different, but taught me so much. 

August 24, 2017

Today was a beautiful day.  We stayed all day at our property.  It felt so good, just “nesting” as I call it, enjoying the beautiful weather, and planning for the future.  We had ordered a new mattress set to be delivered.  Our Rural Retreat has some great old beds but the mattresses on them are not so great.  We took the worst off to be thrown away and moved the one from our bed to the “boys” bedroom upstairs and then put the new set on our bed.  Hopefully we will have a few less aches and pains when we wake in the morning.  I use to be able to sleep on the floor or even on the ground but my bones won’t take that anymore.  Of course, with all the moving of mattresses and box springs, I found plenty of dust and cobwebs underneath the beds and spent time cleaning while everything was torn apart.  We are having a yard sale tomorrow and I spent a good part of the day pricing items and loading them onto the trailer.  I guess it can’t be considered a yard sale since we aren’t going to be selling in our yard but we have a spot out on the main road that a friend is going to let us use.  We did have a big disappointment today.  We thought we had found someone who would come and work on our barn.  He kept giving us excuses as to why he couldn’t come out and tonight, after he didn’t show up, he finally texted us and said he just didn’t want the job.  (He hadn’t even looked at the job.)  We were very disappointed.  We are having a difficult time finding contractors who want to work. 



Alissa told me that Rory tried two or three times to pull herself up and stand today.  That girl is something else.  She just turned five months old.  Alissa was standing and taking steps at seven months of age.  It will be interesting to see if Rory does the same. 

August 25, 2017

There was a slight chill in the air last night when I went outside to call my grandmother around 8 pm.  (We talk every night and have done so for about four years now.)  I have to walk up the hill away from the house to get just a bit of a signal so I can call from our Rural Retreat.  Even then, sometimes I have to sit very still to keep from losing the signal.  Last night the weather was clear and we were able to talk pretty well.  I don’t mind the lack of reliable service here.  It’s nice to be somewhat disconnected from things.  I threw on a jacket last night when I went out and this morning when I stepped onto the enclosed porch where we have our washing machine, it was quite cool.  It feels like the first hint of autumn.  The seasons come so quickly.  I feel like that is how this new season of life has come upon Mike and I.  It wasn’t anything we planned to happen this soon. 

I woke up this morning thinking about how blessed I am to be able to communicate with Mike and that we are able to work together toward common goals.  I guess looking at the barn and planning what we wanted to do with it yesterday put me in this mode of thought.  There has never been any question of our love for each other but there have often been questions as to whether Mike and I were able to communicate adequately enough to really get to the heart of the matter.  Our methods and styles of communication are so different and with that, we always had the hindrance of working ourselves to the bone and spending very little actual time together.  Weariness and frustration are enemies to communication.  Wives of farmers understand that in order to have a conversation, you have to squeeze it between some pressing need on the farm and there is always some person, animal or job that needs your husband worse than you do it seems.  I always understood that and accepted it and although I never would have seen the path that we now follow as part of the course of our life, I am thankful for it.  I see how much we have grown together in the last year and how our communication has gone from shallow to deep.  Of course, we still struggle to get our points across sometimes, and we often of different views or opinions on things, but the growth that our relationship has taken is such a blessing. 



August 26, 2017

I wake early most days.  That internal clock just won’t stop and while I don’t have to get up to milk the cows at 3 am like I did the first year the grandkids were born, I can’t seem to get past that schedule.  Often, I just go ahead and rise, perk my coffee and sit down to write.  This morning when I awoke at our Rural retreat, I looked up.  There is a window at the head of our bed.  The master bedroom is not exceptionally big and the bed is centered under a window.  As I looked up, the stars were so incredibly bright.  Being here reminds me of how crowded it is in the Valley.  I remember when I left Alaska after living there for 13 years and the huge culture shock it was to me to find that most of the “Lower 48” states are so crowded with people that it’s hard to find a quiet spot.  I found some spots out west that were somewhat like Alaska, like parts of Idaho and Montana, but mostly I just found scores of people wherever I went.  Then, moving to the East Coast, I found I just couldn’t find a place to get away from people and that has always been so important to me.  I don’t want to sound like I don’t love people, because the truth is, I do and I’ve always been sensitive to the needs of others as well as excited for the joys and successes of others.  But, I have always needed the alone time and a lot of it and I have always needed my time to really breathe in the natural world.  The Jerseys have truly been my salvation over the last dozen years.  Staunton and the Valley are so built up and crowded with people.  Our home sits back off the road there, but even at night and early morning, there is traffic.  Mike tells me there was a time when there weren’t all the houses around the edge of our property and a time when the road that goes by his mom’s place was quiet enough that they only saw a few cars a day.  Now you have to be careful not to get run over pulling out of the driveway.  That’s one of the things that appeals to me so much about our little Mountain Retreat.  Our house actually sits right off the road and we can see the traffic.  There are cars during the day but we laugh, because it’s like someone has told everyone they need to be in bed by 8 pm because after dark, the traffic is almost nonexistent.   We sleep with the windows open when the weather permits and we can hear the sounds of the creek just outside our window.  There’s an owl that likes to make his presence known and we often hear the raccoons busy in the night.  From where we sit, our fifty acres connects to another farm at the rear.  On one side we have a steep, wooded area, part of it belonging to us and part to neighbors whose property adjoins.  It pretty much ensures that that section will remain uninhabited although I guess it’s not entirely impossible that someday someone might try to put a cabin on the side of the hill, but I don’t think it’s likely.  To the other side there are a couple of neighbors but the lay of the land and the trees keep us from seeing them and mostly from hearing them, although occasionally we hear the one neighbor’s lawn more.  One of those neighbors only lives here part time.  In front of us the mountains come down into a holler and there is a good bit of land there.  The house on that property is all the way to the top of the highest ridge and sits a good distance away from us.  We can see it from the very top of 50 acres but can’t see it or hear it from our house.  The man who owns it actually stays at his place of business further down the road and just keeps his mules at this property across from us.  Sometimes at night I can hear the mules and they sound like they are right outside our window as the holler accentuates the sounds.  I hear them snuffling and chewing and the sounds of their hooves on the ground walking through the grass.  They are magnificent draft animals, well kept, who work pulling wagons and carriages.  I am so thankful that here at our Rural Retreat, the mules are our closest neighbors. 

We sold yard sale items yesterday.  What we sold wasn’t the most desirable, so I guess we did pretty well considering.  We also didn’t advertise but just set up out on the highway.  The man who owns the mules has a business building there that he was renting out that was recently vacated.  It’s a great location to sell and we set our trailer there for the day.  When we go to auctions and purchase antiques and vintage items for resale, we end up with less desirable items.  The auctioneers know that in order to move some of the less desirable items, they must mix them in with something that people will want.  So, they may put one item in a box they know will sell and then a lot of other items that are nothing but yard sale quality (or worse).  A few things we simply throw away but most of it we can either donate or sell at a yard sale.  I really don’t enjoy having yard sales but I also don’t enjoy having items pile up.  So, I insisted that if Mike wanted to attend any more auctions, we had to have a sale and get rid of the less desirable items.  It was a perfect day for it, neither too hot or too cold and no rain.  We are going back today to do the same.  I’m thinking since it’s a Saturday, we will have more traffic and maybe we can move most of the items. 

In the afternoon, we closed up the yard sale and went to pick up my contacts at the optometrist’s office about 45 minutes away.  Mike had to return some shoes that didn’t fit at the shoe store and then we grabbed a quick bite to eat.  I hadn’t been feeling well all day and had been unable to eat much but by evening I was feeling better and was able to eat a regular meal.  We then went to the colorful, evening auction that we like to attend.  Guess the locals are starting to accept us as one of them at the auction.  People have begun stopping me to chat or ask questions.  They can tell we are dealers by the items on which we bid and a lot of people want to ask questions regarding where we sell.  Some people are just curious where we are from.  Although my southern roots run deep with my paternal family being from the Mountains of Northwest Georgia, the fact I was raised in the Midwest and spent half of my adult life living either in Alaska or on the West Coast leaves me with an accent that leaves most people confused.  I have always had a colorful mix of southern expressions but I also have a somewhat distinct Midwest vocabulary and way of talk that labels me as “not from here”.   Most folks realize I am not “a yankee” a term that comes frequently from the mouths of the locals to describe anyone north of the mason Dixon line, a line that still clearly exists in their minds.  Last night’s auction wasn’t a great one in light of good deals or great finds, but it was pleasant and I probably relaxed and enjoyed myself more than previous sales.  It’s starting to feel like I am not an outsider to those who frequent the sale there. 

Auctions are competitive and there is often one person there who just dominates.  They don’t care how much they have to spend to get the “good items” and they are not afraid to knock other people out of the game.  That’s just the nature of things.  For many of us, there’s an unspoken rule of respect.  We frequent the same auctions and get to know each other and instead of being so competitive that we forget ourselves, we practice some unwritten rule of auction etiquette and back off a bid when we realize a friend really wants an item.  The favor will be returned. 

August 27, 2017

Yesterday’s yard sale was very disappointing.  We actually had better sales on Friday than we did Saturday.  I was irritable because it’s so much work to get everything set up and then not be able to move many items.  I kept thinking, “I could be home nesting rather than sitting here on the side of the road selling yard sale items.”  Then I started thinking about how hard we worked selling produce the last few years and all of the effort we put into it, how back breaking it was, and demanding.  It made me think I shouldn’t complain about one or two days here and there since it’s no longer a most every day thing like it used to be.  We are still meeting folks who live close to us.  Yesterday a man stopped and told us that he had been picking up produce at the end of our driveway and it was the most delicious produce he had eaten in a long time.  We all chatted for a good while and he invited us to his place where there is good fishing and solitude.  He was a very nice man.  I am just amazed at how hospitable and kind people are around here to welcome us.  A little while later, another man whipped in beside the trailer.  He seemed like the kind of person who works hard and plays hard and likes to get down to business.  Mike had met him a couple day earlier when he was looking at the property across the road from us and discussing building a pole barn for the neighbor’s mules.  Mike had asked him if he would be interested in working on our barn and he had said he would come by and look at it.  We have been so disappointed in contractors here and their lack of initiative, that we honestly didn’t expect him to follow through.  But, here he was and ready to go look at the barn and let us know what he thought.  I can’t begin to express how excited I am that he has agreed to help us get the barn in order.  He runs a crew of four and he said it shouldn’t take but about two weeks to restore the barn.  He said he can have it done before winter and mostly likely in October.  We are beyond thrilled and now getting down to really thinking about the details such as should we patch the old metal roof or put on a new one that will last the rest of our lives?  Should we go with metal siding that will never need to be touched as long as we live or do we go with wood and keep the more traditional look?  If we decide on wood, should we paint it red or leave it the natural color?  Should the metal roof on the barn match the metal roof on the house (which is green)?  Should we leave the shed on the back for additional protection for the Jerseys who are not use to living in the mountains or should we take it off?  Should we enclose it with metal like it is now or should we use wood to make it match the barn if we go with wood on the barn?  This is the exciting part as we begin to plan in earnest and then watch the outbuildings and property begin to take shape. 

Right before we packed up the yard sale items for the day, Mike was on the phone talking to our neighbor who owns the mules and he said, “I’ll see you in a minute.”  The next thing we knew, he turned onto the four-lane highway driving his wagon pulled with two of his draft mules.  They are truly magnificent animals!  He stopped and we talked for a minute.  The mules were calm even with the road traffic and perfectly behaved.  He said one of them had not even been hitched up for a year and yet there he stood with perfect manners!  It amazes me that animals so huge and powerful will cooperate with their humans.  It is obvious the mules and their owner have mutual respect for one another. 

I did get sad news last night.  A friend had been trying to get I touch with me to let me know that a mutual friend had passed away.  The cell phone service is so poor here that her call did not come through and she called my daughter who also couldn’t get in touch with me right away.  I am not sure of any details at this point, but it did come as a surprise.  The things I will remember about this friend is how tender her heart was towards those who were hurting.  It did not matter what the source of the hurt, she was sympathetic and understanding of the pain.  I have a beautiful, soft “Prayer Shawl” that she knitted for me about five years ago now when Patience, one of my cows, was just a little calf.  Patience was very sick and the Veterinarians did not understand what was wrong with her or how to help her.  We had run every test we could think to run with no negative results and yet the calf was deathly ill.  It was suggested that her only hope was to ship her off to Virginia Tech and see if they could help her.  We felt like she would die if we sent her away, and if she was going to die, we wanted her home with us.  We devoted so much of ourselves to saving the little calf and I was weary, sad, discouraged and losing hope.  This friend sent me this hand knitted prayer shawl in the mail and it was such a comfort to me.  I still keep it out and in close reach where I can throw it around my shoulders to ward off a chill or when I need the comfort of feeling something snug, warm and soft around my shoulders like a gentle hug.  I am thankful for my friend’s heart, for her kindness, for her encouragement and for her hands that knitted that prayer shawl which I will always cherish.  May she rest in peace. 













Sunday, August 27, 2017

Soul Full Sunday


Photo Courtesy of Pixabay 

Life will break you. Nobody can protect you from that, and living alone won’t either, for solitude will also break you with its yearning. You have to love. You have to feel. It is the reason you are here on earth. You are here to risk your heart. You are here to be swallowed up. And when it happens that you are broken, or betrayed, or left, or hurt, or death brushes near, let yourself sit by an apple tree and listen to the apples falling all around you in heaps, wasting their sweetness.

Tell yourself you tasted as many as you could. ~ Louise Erdrich

Thursday, August 24, 2017

Thursday's Focus on Vintage and Antique: Tramp Art

Intricately layered Tramp Art Box made of Walnut


Mike and I were at an auction the other night when a "Tramp Art Box" came up for bid.  At the time, I didn't know anything about "Tramp Art" but the name made me think of Gypsies. The box was a beautiful piece made from walnut with an intricate design carved on the top and the inside fitted with notched, slim pieces of wood to divide it into two parts.   I began researching Tramp Art and found that while my idea that genuine "Gypsies" made the box might not necessarily be accurate, Tramp Art does have a fascinating history.

Tramp Art historically was an art movement that began around the time of the Civil War in the 1860's and continued through the 1930's.  It is believed that this type of art was brought to the United States by German and Scandinavian wandering apprentices (known as Tramps).  The artist used their imagination, whatever tools they could carry with them (often something as simple as a pocket knife), and made use of readily available items such as cigar or produce boxes to showcase their skills.  The artist would carve out intricate, geometric shapes and designs.   The methods used having been compared to the art of quilting, because the patterns were often intricately layered to create the final product.  One method of creating Tramp Art is called the Crown of Thorns, "a woodworking technique using interlocking wooden pieces that are notched to intersect at right angles forming joints and self-supporting objects, objects that have a "prickly"and transparent quality. Common examples include wreath-shaped picture frames that look similar to Jesus' crown of thorns." (Definition taken from Wikepedia)

Each of the antique pieces of Tramp art represent many hours of skilled labor and imagination to produce a unique piece of art that has survived over time.  These pieces might be tossed aside by many who do not recognize at first glance the hours of work involved and that the object has not been mass produced.   Understanding the history of these pieces and paying attention to the details of their design brings a deep appreciation for this type of homespun art.  Evidently the market agrees, for the prices of these items can be quite high if you are fortunate enough to come across them.

Tramp Art Picture Frame with Currier and Ives Print


Reference and Additional Reading:

The History of Tramp Art

About Tramp Art

Wednesday, August 23, 2017

Preserving Pickled Beets (Reviewed and Updated October 4, 2022)

Photo Credit:  Burpee Seeds

It's 2022 and I am making my way through some of my blog posts, checking for blatant errors, updating, and trying to provide practical information I have learned over the years using these recipes.  In 2017, I posted here Treva's Pickled Beets, a recipe I received from my mother-in-law.   With the high vinegar content in the recipe, I am certain it meets the USDA guidelines for canning.  

I am also including the recipe I currently use which I have named Stella's Pickled Beets.  I am so pleased with the beauty, quality, and taste of these beets, but be warned that this old recipe most likely does not meet USDA guidelines. I hope you will read the posted story that accompanies this recipe



Treva's Pickled Beets

Wash young beets and cook until tender.  Peel and cut into the desired size.  Small beets can be left whole.  Heat one quart of vinegar, two cups of sugar, and one teaspoon of salt to make a sweet brine.  Put beets in syrup and allow them to come to a boil.  Pack beets in sterilized, glass, canning jars.   Cover beets with syrup leaving 1/2 inch headspace.  Wipe the rims of the jars to make sure they are perfectly clean.  Place lids and rings on the jar, screw down finger tight,  and process for 10 minutes in a hot water bath canner.

Note:  If you are unfamiliar with hot water bath canning, you can find instructions at this link from the National Center for Home Food Preservation.  

Recipe for Homemade Pickling Spice

2 Tablespoons Whole Mustard Seed
1 Tablespoon Whole Allspice
2 teaspoons of Coriander Seeds
2 crushed Bay Leaves
2 Cinnamon Sticks broken in half
2-6 whole cloves 
2 Tablespoons Black Peppercorns



October 4, 2022

Often when we think of Appalachia, at least historically, we conjure up images of Old Granny women with their folk remedies and what many would consider superstitious ideas.  Perhaps we easily dismiss this as a part of bygone history from a geographic location that many love to exploit but don't take the time to understand.  Occasionally, those of us fortunate enough to call these mountains our home may stumble across a tiny piece of history that takes us back to an era that is fast fading away and captured only by the interpretation of someone who takes the time and makes the effort to share the events with others.   And while I know very little about Stella, her story grabbed my attention.  

My friend Carolyn who fought valiantly but recently lost her battle with pancreatic cancer was unable to process her garden beets due to her failing health.  She asked me if I would use her friend Stella's recipe and pickle her beets taking half for my effort.  I was happy to do so, returning all the beets to her and saving only one jar so that I could try them for myself.  Carolyn had shared with me that Stella was probably eighty years old when she shared her recipe with Carolyn who received it approximately fifty years ago.  It is very likely that the recipe is a hundred years old or more and it comes from the kitchen of one who was gifted.  Now when I say she was gifted, I am not speaking of her abilities in the kitchen.  Rather, that term was used by my friend to describe Stella's ability to heed the inner voice that we sometimes describe as divine intuition.  Others might call this practice divination, granny magic, or superstition and others might dismiss the idea completely.  The fact remains that Stella's ability to predict the unpredictable was manifested to my friend Carolyn on more than one occasion and in personal ways.  One of the ways it was manifested was when Stella described to Carolyn the man that would later become Carolyn's husband of more than 30 years and predicted before they ever met that they would be a couple.   Though I never met Stella, I am intrigued by her story and wish that I knew more about her.  While I do not have much of Stella's story, thanks to my friend Carolyn, I do have her recipe for pickled beets. Recipes are not just simple instructions for making food, rather they are pieces of history passed from person to person.  Recipes are meant to be shared as well as the stories that surround them. Stella's mystical story is incomplete to me, but sharing her recipe provides a link to the past and a piece of Appalachian history.  

Stella's Pickled Beets 

Use young, tender beets with tops, and approximately 1/2 bushel.  Cut tops off, leaving 2/5 inches of the top on the beet.  (This keeps the beets from bleeding out all their color while cooking and leaves a beautiful finished product.) Wash thoroughly.  Boil the clean beets until the skin becomes soft and will rub off easily.  Peel and quarter the beets (or leave them whole for smaller beets).  

Mix the following:

8 Cups Water
5 Cups Vinegar
4.5 Cups Sugar
1/2 teaspoon of salt
2 Tablespoons of pickling spice tied in a cheesecloth (or similar cloth like flour sack or t-shirt material) and dropped into the vinegar/water/sugar mixture

Add beets to the mixture and bring to a boil.  Simmer for 15-20 minutes.  Discard the bag of pickling spices.  Put beets into clean, sterilized pint canning jars and cover with the vinegar mixture.  Wipe the rims of jars and apply lids and rings.  Tighten rings on jars to just finger tight, cover with hot water and bring water to a rolling boil.  Allow jars to process in a water bath canner for 10 minutes.

Tuesday, August 22, 2017

Preserving Peppers (Reviewed and Updated October 5, 2022)




Yes, you can freeze the peppers that have abundantly produced in your summer garden!

Did you know that freezing peppers is so simple that it's not even necessary to blanch them first?  

Cut your bell peppers in rings or strips and put them in a large ziplock bag.  You can later pull out just what you need.  Or, make smaller packages of just the right amount for your recipes.  Perhaps you have the option to vacuum seal them.  I have found the vacuum-sealed peppers will last for several years in the freezer and still remain fresh.  

If you are going to make stuffed peppers, then it's a good idea to blanch the seeded, whole peppers first before freezing.  This helps the whole peppers cook faster and be easier to eat when you use them later for meals.  Blanch for three minutes.  Dip them in cold water to cool. Let the peppers drain dry, and then lay out flat on a tray and pre-freeze for an hour or two before transferring them to a Ziploc freezer bag.   (This will keep the Sweet Bells from sticking together in the freezer and you can pull them out in any quantity as needed.)  

I take the tops off my pimento peppers and remove the seeds but freeze them unblanched and whole in a large, gallon-sized Ziplock bag.  I can remove one pepper at a time for grating and using in my fresh pimento cheese.    

I also like to freeze jalapeno peppers.  I simply wash them and throw the into a freezer bag.  (I first allow them to drain and dry so they don't stick together.)  I can pull as many out as needed and ad to dishes or use them to make jalapeno poppers.  You can seed them before freezing but I have found that the frozen peppers are easier to remove the seeds.  The frozen mass of seeds pops right out and makes less mess.    (Make sure you wear gloves when you seed hot peppers and don't touch your face or eyes!)

Other methods of preservation for peppers include pickling and dehydrating.  When I dehydrate bell peppers, I like to seed them and slice them into pretty rings.  I then place them in the dehydrator until they have dried thoroughly.  I think dehydrated bell pepper rings are pretty stored in vintage glass jars.  The dehydrated peppers are great in soups, meatloaf, and even rehydrated and put on pizzas.

Peppers are expensive in the grocery store, and especially out of season.  It just makes good sense to take the abundant harvest of summer and store it up for a later time.  

Need a recipe for using some of your peppers?  Here's one from a previous blog entry.  Or, you might like to try using the peppers to make this delicious PepperJack Cheese.  



Monday, August 21, 2017

Monday Journal Entries





I have to wonder in years to come, ( when I am gone from this world, and my children, or grandchildren, or great grands, or some stranger perhaps comes across some of my words and they read that I mention Charlottesville and the riots that occurred there over the weekend), what will they think?  Will this world in which we live be still so racially divided or will the majority of those living at that time here in the United States have found a way to live in peace?  Will my grandchildren, who are bi-racial ever be able to live their lives without fear?  Will their wonderful dad who is one of the kindest, gentlest, loving souls I have ever met have to continue to live in a country that targets him because he is not Caucasian?  Will ever generation refuse to learn from the generations before? 

Today, I gathered my grandchildren close to me and was thankful for the peace we were able to share.  Oh, the house was not peaceful at all with three, four year olds battling for center stage and continually working out things like “sharing”, who would go “first”, and who would “be the boss”.  And a teething four and a half month old isn’t exactly peaceful either.  However, we had peace and we had love and for now, we are all safe.  My two bi-racial granddaughters and my daughter were initially scheduled to be in Charlottesville this past Saturday at a park very near where the riots broke out.  A friend of my daughter’s, who also is married to a man of a different ethnic background than her own, and Alissa were scheduled to meet for the kids to have a play date.  She felt uneasy taking the kids down there at a time when the Neo Nazi, KKK and Alternate Right groups were scheduled to protest in the area.  Thank God for the wisdom the girls had to stay away and keep those precious babies out of harms way.  So it was with a thankful heart, a more thankful hear than usual, I dealt with the chaos of having all my grands together today.  We had homemade pizza and we fed the animals and we played outside and in.  We read books and we sang songs and we ate snacks.  We fussed a little, we cried a little and we laughed a lot.  We made messes and we cleaned them up.  We got our clean clothes dirty along with our hands and faces.  We gave kisses and hugs and said our prayers. 



Dear God, please help this grandma to teach these children to love in a world full of hate, teach them that money and race and social status doesn’t make one group better than another, and that we were all created to love as You love and that is without barriers.   Thank you for another day in which to live.  Amen. 


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I missed a day journaling and the day just felt off.  I have so very much enjoyed the routine of putting down my thoughts and the events of the day.  I actually thought I had missed more than one day of journaling, but when I looked at the last date of entry, I just missed one.   I know I sound like a broken record, but our days in Staunton are just so filled, that it’s all I can do to catch my breath.  It seems like it gets harder and harder to get everything done there so we can head south.  We have a lot we need to accomplish on this trip but it’s hard to get mechanics, contractors, and business owners to really take initiative it seems.  That’s true whether we are in Staunton or our Southern Virginia home. 

Speaking of our “Southern Virginia” home, I had to laugh the other day when someone said they had heard a rumor that we were moving to South Carolina.  The way that facts get twisted as they are told can be quite amusing, as well as damaging in some instances like what happened to me several months ago regarding my grandmother.  Someday, I may write down all the particulars of that situation but for now, I am just trying to focus on the positive and the lessons I took away from that particular situation.  I wonder why people would rather make things up than go directly to the source? 

At any rate, we had wanted to get a lot done but keep running into stumbling blocks here in Southern Virginia today.  We have a diesel truck that refuses to start and Mike is trying to get it going or he will need to call a tow truck and have it taken to the garage.  We have contacted a contractor about working on our barn, but we seem to be having trouble connecting with him in such a manner as to get him out for an estimate.  With winter coming, we need to get oil and propane.  (Our house in Staunton is heated entirely with wood and Mike has already started getting it stacked up for the winter.) 

I mostly sleep better at the Rural Retreat than I do in Staunton.  I think it’s the sound of the creek running just outside our bedroom window.  The sound is so relaxing.  However, I still typically wake quite early (around 3:30 to 4:30 am).  Last night I slept really well though.  I did not get up until 7:30 am this morning!  I made homemade, blueberry muffins and perked a pot of coffee.  We had eggs to go with it and a sliced tomato.  Late afternoon, we had a BLT.  Somehow, I have let the summer slip away without making a BLT until today. 

Mike continues to put his produce out by the road on the honor system while we are in Southwest Virginia.  He makes a few dollars every day and loves doing it.  I am glad that it brings him joy and that he has found a way to keep doing it without being completely tied to it.  One of our neighbors stopped this morning and talked to Mike.  He said he has wife had gotten some produce last week and it was just the best fruit and vegetables they had eaten in a long time.  It was nice for Mike, who was out by the road setting things up, to be able to connect with one of the neighbors.  He loves it and I love him.  As I sit on the porch typing this, someone else has stopped.  Folks get what they want and put their money in a cigar box.  There’s something sweet, simple, and neighborly about that.  I hope that Mike can continue to operate in this manner without abuse.  All it takes is one person to ruin it for everyone. 

In Staunton, typically, I hit the ground running a long time before Mike and when he gets up and goes off to eat with his mom, we don’t have a whole lot of time to talk.  At our retreat, we are able to start the day slowly together and I love that.  This morning we lay I bed and something that was said brought both of us to reminiscing about when we were kids and how we would “run wild” outdoors, playing in our natural setting with very little parental intervention.  We talked about how kids today in most instances no longer do that.  I told Mike how I remember doing all kinds of dangerous things like riding the pony bareback while being barefoot and riding without a helmet.  I must have been about five.  I told him how I went to the woods and stayed for hours and no one worried about me or wondered where I was or what I was doing.  He told me how he would run all over the farm, play in the creek in the summer and during the winter, how he and his brother would pull the sled, with an axe to the top of the hill to break the ice in the pond for the cows.  Then, they would both climb on the sled, with the axe, slide down the hill, under the fence, across the road and back to the farmhouse where his grandparents lived at the time and where his mother now lives.  He also told me how that one Christmas he caught a big fish in that pond with his bare hands.  He admitted the fish was probably half frozen. 

I guess that was one of my dreams when we bought this rural property, that our grandkids would have a place where they could get lost in their own world and experience the natural surroundings without so much suburbia.  I hope they will be able to do that. 



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The “neighbors” continued to stop by for produce yesterday.  Mike talked to several of them.  I stay in the house and hope no one ventures that far.  I am beginning to admit to myself just how deeply the last betrayals have hurt me and how I have built up walls that I had finally, with time, let down.  I am afraid the walls have gone up thicker and stronger than ever before and knowing that I am definitely middle aged and at a time when it would be nice to be able to trust people, I instead find myself suspicious of most everyone’s motives.  I hate that because in spite of always being an introvert, I always operated under the premise that folks would react with goodness in most instances if that is what you expect of them.  My newly opened wounds leave me feeling in ways I don’t know that I have ever felt before this.  Even when I lost my Josh due in part to the selfish and just plain evil acts of others, I still held on to believing that my love, forgiveness and acceptance, not of the harm that was done but of the individuals who perpetrated that evil, could make a difference.  Actually, I still believe that.  I will always believe that.  Just writing it out and reflecting on my thoughts causes me to see that I really do still believe in love and the power of good over evil.  I guess I’m just tired AND in the past couple years I have come to realize that the kind of love of which I speak is sacrificial and I am too weary to know how much of that sacrificial love I have left to give except to my family and a few very close friends. 

Well, that’s enough of that for one day.  Too depressing to be the focus.  I have so much for which to be thankful and counting blessings is a much better use of time.

We went into the closest incorporated town yesterday which is approximately 15 minutes away.  We needed some parts and tools for the Ford diesel which won’t run right now.  It was a nice little excursion and while there, I picked up a few things I needed from the grocery store.  I spent the afternoon doing odd jobs around the house and then in the evening, we went to the little auction house that is near our home.  When we got home, we had a big bowl of ice cream and watched an episode of The Waltons.  In this episode, the family loses their beloved, Guernsey, milk cow named Chance.  I wondered if most folks would even understand why the family was crying over the old milk cow in this episode.  Although I know a good number of people with family cows, thanks to the internet making the world a smaller place, the family cow isn’t a common addition to most families in this day and age.  Sometimes I hate the internet and all the ugliness it can bring into a home and a life, the way it pulls at us to distract us, the way it keeps children indoors instead of playing outside like I did when I was a kid, and the way it distracts us from the things on which we should otherwise focus.  But, there are times I am very thankful for the vastness of the internet and how it has connected me to people I would never have connected with otherwise.  My family cow friends are some of those people.  We can live a world apart but we have so much in common and a connection that has given us a basis for the type of friendship that lasts.  Being sort of a throwback can make one feel isolated at times, but the internet allowed me to connect with others who love their family cows and who enjoy the homesteading/farming/ranching life as much as I do.  I am thankful for that and thankful for each of them. 

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Time is flying.  It always does but it is true that the older we get the faster time flies.  We were so busy yesterday that I was unable to even get a minute to sit down and write.  I really feel lost when that happens now that I am creating a routine of writing every day.  I am sure part of that is that I have isolated myself from Facebook and without the little blurbs and connections through the day, I am more isolated (by choice).  The journaling is so much better in so many ways.  I am thankful for those friends who write to me via US Mail and those who text and email me.  There is so much more depth to our conversations.

Saturday, I was able to get a good bit of housecleaning done.  It was so hot outside (although probably ten degrees cooler than in Staunton, as the mountains are always cooler).  I stayed indoors and knocked down cobwebs, swept, mopped, and dusted.  I am thankful that I have a very conscientious husband who does not drag a bunch of dirt in the house regardless of the fact he is always getting very dirty.  He is also good to keep his clutter to designated areas.  We typically have a neat house but I tend to let the cobwebs and dust and the dirt that tracks in build up a lot more than I use to.  Looking back, it makes me sad that I worried so much about keeping my house perfect rather than just enjoying life.  I am trying to remedy that with the second half of my life.  We also ran into the nearest little town, about 15 miles away, and picked up our truck.  We had to have it towed and worked on by a mechanic.  He was a man, probably early twenties, and he got right on it and got the job done.  We were impressed that he took care of it so quickly as we find most people don’t take that initiative.  We had just happened upon his garage the day before and I had encouraged Mike to go in and talk to him.  Mike had made multiple phone calls that morning looking for a tow truck and/or a mechanic with no satisfactory results.  The one we found by “happenstance” ended up being the ticket.

We had chicken fried cube steak with gravy, eggs, and sliced tomatoes for breakfast and I had put a pork roast in the oven with celery, potatoes and carrots for dinner.  I also made a huge bowl of pasta salad with the cucumbers and tomatoes from the garden.  People continue to stop by to get produce and Mike continues to meet folks.  He said everyone has been so nice.  They have, in fact, been nice everywhere we have been.  One thing that does concern me is the blatant prejudice from the people here towards those who have a different color of skin or are of a different race. ( I will write more of that another time as time doesn’t permit me to delve into it right now.)

Saturday, we went to a daytime auction.  It is one that we have frequented for about nine months now.  It is by far our favorite auction house.  The folks who run it are honest, which is refreshing.  They are straightforward about the quality of the items being sold and they are fair towards those who are bidding and just all around nice people.  They are also very organized which is of importance to me.  Saturday evening, we went to the local auction I described in a previous entry where some of the locals come to hang out and where it’s a lot of fun to people watch.  At one point, I saw that the seller was bringing up a quart sized hot water bath canner and mine and I wanted one to keep at the Rural Retreat rather than have to  keep taking mine back and forth between our Southern Virginia home and Staunton.  I wanted to make sure it was good with no holes in the bottom and that it had the rack so I impulsively ran to the front of the auction and asked the seller if I could see the bottom and asked if there was a rack in it.  He was showing me when I hear the auctioneer say, “All right Vanna, show the next item up for bid.”  I turned around with the canner in my hand and did my best Vanna White impersonation and bid on the canner at the same time.  No one bid against me and the seller threw in the other canner that didn’t have a lid or a rack as a backup and I got it all for two dollars and everyone had a good laugh.   So much for my remaining inconspicuous and hanging out in the back of the auction house to people watch!  Later, at the same auction, an elderly lady came in late.  She approached me before the auction was over and asked me if I would sell one of the items we had bought (for resale at the Antique mall).  She said she wanted to give it to her great granddaughter.  I really didn’t want to sell it because I knew we could make a decent profit on it at our booth, but there is no way I could tell that sweet little lady “no”.  I sold it to her for what we had in it.  She was so very happy. 

We decided that today we would try the little stone church that we had started out to visit last week but when we arrived found the service had already begun.  We didn’t really know what to expect as it was a denomination that neither of us had personally attended.  However, I was more familiar with what to expect than Mike having studied church history and having friends who attend this particular denomination.  The thing it, I am finding, a lot of folks in the area don’t fit the typical “labels” you see on the churches.  We have tried out every Brethren Church (we are Anabaptist) within driving distance (and one must drive a good distance to them) and have found every one of them to be led by Baptist trained pastors who do not preach and teach and hold to the Anabaptist background that we really are drawn to.  I had found out that several of these Rock Churches seemed to have changed from their Presbyterian roots to Baptist.  I wasn’t sure if this church would be more Presbyterian or more Baptist or something entirely different.  However, anytime I go to a church, I go with an open mind and try to get something from the service.  I figure we can all learn from one another.  Sometimes, we have to stretch a little further and try a little harder to get something from a service but I try really hard no matter what the circumstances.  Today, I didn’t have to try very hard.  As I mentioned in a previous entry, I have been struggling and not very happy about going to church anywhere recently due to being hurt by a situation that involved some Christians from two different churches by whom I felt very betrayed.  I figured this church would leave me feeling about the same, disappointed and ready to go back to introverting.  I mostly wanted to attend the service because of the local history of the church and the story behind it.  I am drawn to the history of an area, especially if that history involves rural mountain people, so very much like my own family in the Mountains of Northwest Georgia.  I went mostly out of curiosity and adventure but what we found was a handful of people in a little Mountain Church who were kind and friendly and a visiting speaker who spoke of betrayal, hurt, and forgiveness as he spoke on the story of Joseph confronting his brothers as they came to Egypt years after they had betrayed him.  I sat there with silent tears streaming down my face feeling every ounce of the hurt that I have been feeling and then letting it go holding to the belief that somehow all that has happened has served to bring about some good in spite of the ugliness I have felt. 

I had been wanting to buy the book ‘THE MAN WHO MOVED A MOUNTAIN” which told the story of these rock churches and the man who started them, but I had not taken the time to order it.  It was available at the church and I bought it today.  On the trip home, as Mike drove, I read it out loud to him which turned out to be a real treat.  Not only is the book interesting, well written, and helps satisfy my thirst for local history, but never have I been able to entertain Mike with something written for so long.  For almost two hours we read together as he drove and we were both glued to every word for the story takes place in the area where we have our new home and we recognize the landmarks mentioned in the book as places we have come to love. 

Sunday, August 20, 2017

Soul Full Sunday: Heron Rises From The Dark, Summer Pond by Mary Oliver

I was fortunate to be able to witness and photograph this Heron at our South West Virginia home.


Heron Rises From The Dark, Summer Pond

A poem by Mary Oliver

So heavy
is the long-necked, long-bodied heron,
always it is a surprise
when her smoke-colored wings

open
and she turns
from the thick water,
from the black sticks

of the summer pond,
and slowly
rises into the air
and is gone.

Then, not for the first or the last time,
I take the deep breath
of happiness, and I think
how unlikely it is

that death is a hole in the ground,
how improbable
that ascension is not possible,
though everything seems so inert, so nailed

back into itself--
the muskrat and his lumpy lodge,
the turtle,
the fallen gate.

And especially it is wonderful
that the summers are long
and the ponds so dark and so many,
and therefore it isn't a miracle

but the common thing,
this decision,
this trailing of the long legs in the water,
this opening up of the heavy body

into a new life: see how the sudden
gray-blue sheets of her wings
strive toward the wind; see how the clasp of nothing
takes her in.

Thursday, August 17, 2017

Kelvinator Refrigerator

My Kelvinator refrigerator after
a recent defrosting.  It's normally 
full of food from the farm
and milk from our Jersey cows.


One of the things I love about my farmhouse kitchen is my old appliances.  There's no denying that today's refrigerators and ranges are much more convenient than the vintage models, but there is just something about an appliance that is still functional after seventy years or more.  For me, antique and vintage items are all about the stories they represent.  We don't know a lot of history surrounding the old farmhouse and acreage that we purchased as our current retreat and future retirement home, but we do know that it was part of a larger, dairy and poultry farm owned by the Jackson family.  I was told that Mrs. Jackson had a large garden and canned a large amount of produce every year.  I was also told that she sold her canned goods to the public.  While Mrs. Jackson did not own this particular refrigerator or the range that is currently in the house, she no doubt at one time owned very similar appliances.  While the kitchen has been totally remodeled and bears no resemblance to the space where Mrs. Jackson worked, I find contentment in knowing that at one time another farmer/farmer's wife with hopes, dreams, and motivation preserved produce from her garden for her family, friends and the community standing in the same spot where I stand when I do the same.

Antiques and Vintage items represent things that have stood the test of time and remain.  I think that's what I like so much about them.  They represent resilience.





(Note:  As I begin to revive my blog, I plan to present photos, information, and essays on vintage and antique pieces each Thursday that I am able.  Some of these items will be from our personal collection and others will be items that we have for sale at The Factory Antique Mall in Verona, Virginia.  If you would like additional information at any time on products we have for sale, please contact us at tcuppminiatures@yahoo.com  We are currently taking a year-long sabbatical from Facebook, but you can follow us on Instagram for additional photos of our farm life, antiques, and our family.)