Freezing Sweet Corn (Reviewed and Updated October 5, 2022)

Frozen corn on the cob has never been that appetizing to us. However, we find that fresh corn cut off the cob and frozen is delicious if it is only warmed for eating and not overcooked by boiling. I warm it in a skillet with a bit of butter and salt.

Directions for Blanching and Freezing Corn Off the Cob

 1.  Gather the Corn

Start with the freshest corn possible. Ideally, use corn that is free from worms and deformities but you can cut the ends off cobs that have been damaged so that none is wasted. Mature corn, with larger kernels, is easier to cut off the cob.  

2.  Blanch the Corn

Bring a large pot of water to a rolling boil.  Place cleaned ears of corn in the boiling water for three minutes.  You can drop your corn down into the water and remove it with tongs, or you can place the corn in a basket strainer and submerge it in the water.  If you use a basket, make sure that the corn is packed loosely so that it can be equally steamed.  Remove the corn and chill it immediately.  

(It is suggested that an ice bath is the best method to cool the hot corn.  Because I process such large batches, I simply run cold water over the corn to cool it off.  This is an important step.  If you don't cool the corn, it will continue to cook from the heat and you won't have a nice, crisp texture when you pull it from the freezer.)

3.  Cut the corn off the cob.  

This step is messy.  You will have to find your own method and rhythm for cutting the corn off the cob.  I put the smaller end of the corn down, in a large, stainless bowl.  I start at the end of the corn closest to me and run my knife down the cob.

4.  Freeze corn.  

I used ziplock bags or containers for years but now I vacuum seal.  Freeze in portions suitable for your family.  We freeze two cups per bag.  

Having homegrown corn in the freezer to eat in the middle of winter is a real treat:  cream it, add it to salads, throw some in cornbread, and put some in your vegetable soup!  

Journal Entries for July 28th through July 31st

July 28th

Yesterday was Josh’s 27^th birthday.  He was 18 the last time I was able to speak directly to him and wish him a happy birthday.  I still tell him Happy Birthday, but he isn’t able to respond in the way a mother likes to hear her child respond.  There are no hugs and kisses, no exchange of smiles, and no birthday cakes that he can eat (or pumpkin pies which he preferred).  Although the world stops counting birthdays when a child is deceased, a mother never does. In addition to remembering and counting the years since birth, we count how many birthdays have passed since their death.  There have been nine birthdays now since Josh’s death.  Some of them I have spent in such deep grief that I have been only able to go through the motions necessary to take care of my family and livestock.   Yesterday very well may have been the most peaceful “Josh’s Birthday” that I have had since his death.   While not entirely alone in previous years on this date, I have typically spent the day pretty secluded even from family.  This was not by choice, although being an introvert and realizing the value of alone time to deal with my heart.  Mike has just always worked so hard in the summer and didn’t have time to break away from farming to be with me for the day.  Alissa has always made it a point to be with me for part of the day, but she has responsibilities and I have never expected or wanted her to take her whole day and set it aside for me.  I’m just not that way.  I actually, typically prefer the solitude on these difficult days.  But yesterday was different.  I found myself alone with my husband in our mountain retreat.  The day was spent catching up on chores, including canning some sweet pickles, and while Mike and I worked independently, we were close enough to converse and enjoy each other’s company. In the afternoon, Mike was forced inside by a heavy rain that fell.  That made me smile.  Every year except for one, it has rained on Josh’s birthday and I have always taken it for a sign that he was with me, because he loved the rain so much.

 Early evening, we decided to quit working and take a drive.  We took the truck and the back roads, the first few miles taking us through the creek twice, the tires splashing up the water as we continued up the gravel road.  We had the windows down and were comfortable enough with just the outside air blowing through the cab.  Our evening journey was perfect timing to see the wildlife and we soon lost count of the number of deer we startled.  Besides the expected wildlife like deer, groundhogs, rabbits and turkeys, we were also fortunate enough to see one of my favorite animals.  As we passed an orchard, I looked up on the side of the hill and saw something that appeared to be looking directly at me.  I told Mike to stop and I stared but it didn’t move and I convince myself it was a fallen tree.  No sooner had I said to Mike, “Is that a tree trunk?” than the object moved and I yelled excitedly, “It’s a bear!”  This is only my fourth bear sighting since I have lived in Virginia.  Two of those sightings were along the Blue Ridge Parkway and the third sighting was in the meadow across from our rural retreat. The bear entertained us for a good little bit.  We were on a back road that gets no traffic and we simply shut down the truck and sat and watched the bear until it disappeared finally into the woods.  We had a wonderful evening getting intentionally lost on the mountain roads and then finding our way back home again.  We made a stop up the road from our rural retreat where we had a little bit of cell phone coverage and I called my dad to wish him a happy birthday as he and Josh share the same special day.  Back at home we pulled out the butter pecan ice cream and watched an episode of THE WALTONS, a nightly routine that we enjoy when we are away at our second home.  As we prepared for bed, Mike did something unintentionally that struck me as funny and I laughed so hard that tears came to my eyes and I could hardly breathe.  I went to bed with a smile on my face.  As I lay there thinking one more time about “The Day”, a sob threatened to escape and my heart threatened to break.  Tears came to my eyes but this time, I held them back.  They will come a bit delayed this year and I will sob until the tears temporarily subside and the emotions have been spent, but this year on Josh’s birthday, there will be nothing but smiles and laughter.  

July 29^th

Three thirty in the morning, after tossing and turning for at least an hour, I finally gave up and got out of bed.  I often wake early, in part because my body got use to waking early to milk the cows before the grandkids arrived.  After the twins and Analia were born eleven weeks apart, I started watching them during the week when their moms returned to work.  I can’t lie, it isn’t just the internal clock that keeps me from sleeping. It’s also my age.  The bones ache more at fifty, and finding a spot that is comfortable for more than a few hours sometimes proves impossible.  Between my aching bones and the sounds of two raccoons fighting outside our open window, I just couldn't sleep.  The reality is that the natural world is not the ideal picture we often try to paint it to be.  It is, in fact, often very cruel.  When I think about the way we as humans treat each other, I have to think that perhaps we are not so evolved from the vicious survival instincts of the natural world that we consider subjected and inferior to our intellect.  But these thoughts are much too deep for such an early morning, and I would rather sip my coffee ( perked the old fashioned way on my vintage 1950’s stove in my enamel coffee pot), smell the applesauce bread I am baking in the oven, and focus on the good that I have in my life.

Yesterday found us getting around after breakfast and heading to the optometrist about 40 minutes away.  A friend joked that we really are moving towards our new life now that I have started scheduling appointments for yearly checkups to coincide with visits to our mountain home.  Mike and I have not made a public announcement, but we have also not kept it a secret that we are moving towards making our mountain home our primary home and farming there.  We have worked very hard over the years and while we are still young, we are blessed to be able to slow down a bit and begin to enjoy some of our blessings.  This has been an intentional decision on our part as the demands of trying to maintain and manage three separate farms was taking a toll on us physically.  In addition, because of the many irons we had in the fire, our relationship with each other and others often suffered.   We know wisdom lies in creating a more manageable life for the two of us.  These decisions sound trite on paper but took years for us to work through mentally and emotionally.  I recognized the changes that were coming shortly after Pops passed away four years ago.  Mike and his dad were inseparable as they farmed together.  I could see the fire going out of Mike when his best friend no longer worked by his side in the fields. I fought the inevitable with my own stubbornness, not wanting to let go of the dreams and ideals that I had created in my own mind for our future.  It took me a lot of time and I created a lot of hurt for myself and Mike until we finally were able to both see the new path that lay before us. My dream was to somehow pass the torch to our children or grandchildren and farm the land that Mike's family had farmed for three generations.  I have always been so proud to married to a third generation farmer and to continue farming the family land meant a lot to me, even if it was not my biological family.  It wasn't to be. The family farm started by Mike’s grandfather and where his mother still lives that we rented has been leased by a nephew who bought some of our beef herd.  We still have a small interest in the herd with a few head of our own, and our nephew helps with their feed and care when we are away.  We have always had our garden on the family farm but planted less produce this year and while we intended to sell produce part time in Verona, our garden did not do as well as we expected. We finally made the decision to not sell produce from our mobile stand but rather just sell the excess to a few long-standing customers.  So mostly now, the family farm is being leased by another.  We have our fifty acres and home in Staunton, most of which is crop land.  We planted a big portion of it in soy beans this year and the rest of it we use for making hay.  Most of our hay is sold to feed local equines.  In addition, Mike continues to make hay at the family farm, as well as two other local tracts of land.  In all, he makes close to a hundred acres of hay.  Beef sales and hay sales have long been our sustaining income and are our main focus as we reduce the work load in other areas of farming such as produce or the cow share program which I mostly let go about a year after the grandkids were born.  I still have my Jersey girls which currently remain at our home in Staunton, but while we are in transition, I have simply let them raise their calves instead of milking them twice a day.  (I separate Faith’s calf once a week and get enough milk for our needs.)   

With the family farm eventually becoming the property of all four siblings and our interest there potentially creating issues with others who might desire the farm and the changes made in our lives when we lost Mike’s dad unexpectedly as well as the transitions that we made in our own lives toward slowing down and appreciating life and each other more, we decided to follow a mutual dream and purchased approximately fifty acres in a rural area of Southern Virginia.  The property is a piece of a bigger tract of land that was divided among heirs and eventually sold off.  The 1930’s farm house has been completely remodeled and offers simple, country living at its best.  While we are not far off the road, we have no neighbors that we can see from our home and wild life abounds.  The majority of our property lies behind the house and offers gorgeous views and plenty of private hiking as well as pasture for my Jerseys and a few Herefords eventually when we move permanently.  While the house has been completely restored, the barn needs a lot of work but was once used to milk cows and will function as such once again when we are finished restoring it. 

Currently we split our time between our two farms and our two homes.  We put in some long days in Staunton catching up on work, making hay, selling to hay and a few long-standing produce customers, providing child care for the grandkids, keeping the grass mowed at our home and Mike’s mother’s place, and caring for the animals.  I am still canning and freezing produce sometimes doing so in Staunton and other times bringing it with me to our rural retreat.  While we do work to begin cleaning up, clearing brush, restoring the barn and chicken house, taking down some decaying out buildings and such at our mountain property, we make it a point to intentionally slow down and spend time with each other while we are there.  We also have made it a point to just stop what we are doing and invite friends and family in for get-togethers, cookouts, picnics and meals sitting on the wrap around porch of our old farm house.

We, like so many folks, have experienced tragedy and loss in our lives.  Sometimes it seems like we have had more than our share, but I know that's not true.  Tragedy strikes all of us and as we age, we realize that while some see loss at an early age, if we live long enough, we all experience it to some degree.   As Mike and I become more aware of our age and the brevity of life, we are trying to make wise decisions that give us time to enjoy all that we have been blessed with in this life: our children, grandchildren, extended family members (including Mike’s mother and my grandmother in their eighties), and each other.  

July 30

I use to be a night owl staying up late after my children were asleep.  That’s where I found my alone time but farming, especially milking cows, changed that for me.  It was a reluctant change at first but slowly I began to enjoy the early hours long before the rest of the house was awake.  Now there are no children at home but even with just the two of us, I find myself enjoying the peace of the early morning hours when my mind is clear from clutter.  These are the moments I find to journal and to write.  I like to take my cup of coffee and sit cross legged in one of my favorite chairs with my lap top across my knees. I especially love the early mornings at our rural retreat home.  From the sun porch, I can see the open meadow where the deer graze in early morning but are soon joined and replaced by the neighbor’s half a dozen or more mules.  This morning I did not have time to relax with my coffee, instead drinking it quickly and packing the car for the return trip to our farm in Staunton.  With a birthday party today for Analia, one of our granddaughters who is turning four tomorrow, we had to get on the road and get back this morning.  I’m always filled with a bit of sadness when we leave our retreat, but that is balanced by the joy I feel at seeing our family in Staunton whom I always miss.  After a false start (because we forgot something and had to go back) we headed down the road and had to straddle the mother coon and her nursing kits in the middle of the road their eyes wide with surprise at the first vehicle to pass in a number of hours.  Though they are such a nuisance, I was happy we didn’t hit them with the tires and they would live to continue creating their nightly chaos and threaten the chickens that I anticipate having at the new place before next spring.  I will probably eventually wish the little buggers were not around but this morning with the surprise and fear I their eyes, I was happy that they survived the near mishap.

The air is always a bit a cooler at our mountain home but was especially cool this morning.  Although it is the last of July, the temp barely made it to 70 yesterday and there was a cool breeze blowing all day.  We had a mere 53 degrees this morning.

The day promises to be busy, filled with Little People, friends and family and as I sit with my computer across my knees as Mike drives the distance between our two homes, I am thankful for the chance we have to enjoy the transition between “old” and “new” as we slowly make changes in our life and embrace the future while treasuring the past and breathing in the present. 

July 31

Things back home in Staunton are more hectic, less organized, more labor intensive and tiring but hold a whole lot of blessings.  Monday's blessings include four Little People whom I wouldn't trade for the world, nor would I trade my time with them for anything.  However, they do wipe me out!  I told Mike I am glad the three, four year olds were born before I turned 50 because I could never handle what I did four years ago now!  Three exactly the same age have been an immeasurable blessing and a lot of hard work for Tita!  Now we have little, four month old Rory who has joined the fun.  Rory was teething today and required frequent diaper changes and lots of Tita time.  The older three had their own challenges with bumps and bruises, disagreements between the three of them, two "accidents" when one could not be bothered to quite playing in order to go to the toilet, and so on.  Monday afternoons find me always completely exhausted but thankful for my time with the Little People.  In only one year, the three older ones will head off to school and I will be shaking my head and wondering where the time went.  

The Portfolio

Being particularly fond of vintage art, I recently purchased a group of pictures from an online auction.  Unless it is something exceptionally rare, most of the time these forgotten pictures can be purchased for little of nothing.    In that group of framed pictures that I bought for less than $10, was also a portfolio of art signed and dated by the same individual.  As I rifled through the amateur artwork, I began making assumptions based on my perceptions.  The signature on many of the paintings simply said “Carlyle”.  While this was a gender-neutral name to me, I assumed it had been assigned to a male.  While there were a few paintings in the portfolio depicting men, most of the art depicted women.  Again, I assumed a man possibly painting the woman he admired, as the model seemed to age in some of the paintings.  I also made the assumption that the artist was perhaps melancholy in nature as so many of the paintings portrayed dark colors and heavy strokes.  I also entertained the idea of another artist, perhaps someone related to Carlyle, adding a few pieces to the portfolio because some of the art seemed so out of character with my preconceived notions of the artist.  To add to this theory, I found artwork signed with two different surnames. 

When my husband looked at the portfolio, he had different assumptions.  He immediately believed the artist to be female and thought that the entire portfolio was created by one individual.  Having already formed an opinion, my mind immediately began to argue with his theory.  After all, I had this mysterious person’s story line already started in my head.  As Mike began to expound on his thoughts, I began to soften towards his ideas and could see how my preconceived notions could very well be wrong.  He offered the thought that the use of two different last names could indicate that the artist had married and taken her spouse’s last name.  And, while many of the paintings depicted dark colors and a heavy stroke, there were pieces that indicated the artist did have a lighter, less serious side.  One painting depicted a couple in a sailboat and one could almost feel the stress of the artist sailing away with each stroke that created the illusion of salty winds and waves.  For  more fun, there was what appeared to be an original pattern prototype for paper dolls in the portfolio, complete with detailed outfits sketched on thin paper.  Some of the architectural sketches that I first assumed had been drawn by a man contained colors and details that could have been more likely drawn from a woman’s detailed perspective of the things that make a house a home. 

Most likely, this novice artist will remain a mystery to us and while it is fun to try to reconstruct history and imagine the lives of the people whose hands have painted the pictures, drawn the sketches, written the words and lived in the past, making assumptions in our daily lives can be dangerous business.   Having the mind of “a writer”, I tend to want to weave what I see into a story line, even if it’s only in my head and never makes it to the written page.  How damaging this can be for those we find ourselves “studying” when we allow our assumptions to influence truth.  We never see things so clearly until we are on the receiving end of the scrutiny and the stories that are woven together by those who refuse to see the truth become daggers that pierce our hearts.

As I find myself on the other side of such a situation and try to see through the hurt and make sense of a senseless situation, I am struck with two lessons.  The first lesson is so obvious and gives me the opportunity to become a better person if I am willing to be critical of my own thoughts and actions.  I must stop the negative assumptions in regard to others and open my mind to truth rather than construct my own story lines regarding those with whom I interact.  This lesson has an internal to external application.  The second lesson is the external to internal application.  As I listened to my husband’s interpretation of the artist’s portfolio, I was finally able to laugh, realizing how different our perceptions were.  So many things influence our responses to what we see in life. We dissect everything through the lens of our own personal grief and joy.  Somehow finding the ability to laugh, or even just be slightly amused, at the erroneous misconceptions of others in regard to our character, motives or actions, is the door to being free from internalizing all that hurt.  It’s certainly not easy when the story lines that have been spread in no way resembles the person we know ourselves to be, but it seems to me if one can find a way to laugh at the ridiculousness of a situation, some of those negative emotions can be released and we can find ways to continue to foster growth in our own lives instead of resorting to the vicious cycle of defending ourselves to those who refuse to see truth. 

In the end, neither my perceptions or my husband’s perceptions of the portfolio filled with sketches and paintings really makes any difference.  What matters is that the artist found an outlet in which they were able to express their creativity.  And those story lines that others attribute to our lives when they can’t bring themselves to see or admit the truth?  They don’t matter much either.   Mostly what I see in the old portfolio of art created by someone I don't know is the obvious progress they made with their persistence to keep on practicing and creating and growing. 

Paying for the Words ~ A Personal Essay

I have a complicated relationship with other humans.  Observing from a distance is more my style than being actively interactive.  Yet, there's some draw I believe is in all creatures, to communicate.  We all seem to need to be heard, understood, and to understand.  Perhaps some of us are too sensitive for a lot of interaction or maybe we just don't process hurt very well.  And then there are some who have had more than their share of pain dumped upon them by others.  I remember as a kid wanting desperately to fit into a world in which I felt alienated.  I resorted to sarcasm and humor mostly in order to establish my rank while at school, church, and the few social events I attended.  At home, I roamed the farm and found solace alone in the woods, often in a damp, mossy spot where the creek only ran when there was lots of rain and where occasionally the ice in the winter would form a cascade from the highest ledge of the rocks, a place that looked as if like the earth had once been broken and then restacked in that exact spot.  Only in this hidden, magical forest did I feel safe and free. 

As an adult I have used writing to communicate because it somehow feels safer.  I can hide at home behind my computer, not having to interact face to face.  Here I can choose when to read or make comments on the things I have written.  Here I can go long spells without interacting at all and then pick up where I have left off.  That's not the way to build a blog or grow a steady following in the blogging world.  But, that has never been my reason behind blogging.  For me, it's about connecting with that one individual to whom my words make sense.  Often, in speaking, my words don't make sense, but when I write them down, I can make them make sense to me and to others. 

I admit, I have not tried very often to "fit in" to the world around me but the few times I have tried, I realize again that it's just not for me.  There have been two incidents in the past three years that have sent me scurrying back into introvert mode.  The one incident caused me to limit what I shared openly to the general public.  The other, more recent incident, showed me that some I assumed knew my heart and that I thought were friends, were in fact quick to not only assume the worst in me, but to involve others in their drama, thus hurting some of the folks I love the most. 

I made the decision to shut down both my personal and farm Facebook pages and take a sabbatical.  I am committed to taking the next year to sit quietly with my heart, read, and begin writing in earnest once again.  This time, I am not writing for anyone else, but I am writing for me.  Perhaps along the way, someone might glean something from what I write, but the purpose of my writing is simply because of the benefits it brings to me.  Thus, this blog will contain some of the things it has always contained such as recipes, farm life, perhaps still some photos and tutorials.  However, it will also contain personal essays and observations as well as topics I have not approached here in the past that are of importance to me. 

Mike and I have entered together into a new season in our life and while the recent events that were extremely painful to me led me away from many types of interaction and exposure, they have worked toward the good to bring about a time of soul searching and reflection and hopefully a time of personal growth.  Mike and I are moving toward semi retirement, downsizing the farm, letting go of some of the farming ventures that are taxing and not as productive, and cutting back in areas that require us to devote more time to them than we do to us.  You will see sometimes subtle changes in content to the blog as our lives evolve into the next phase.  For those with pure intent, I invite you to follow along.  For those in the world who continue to seek out information in order to manipulate, control, or destroy, I pray for you.

Un-Shattered ~ Personal Reflections on a Broken World

Un-Shattered

Personal Reflections on a Broken World

The sound of the creek outside my open door and the morning sun shooting shafts of light onto my porch as it makes its way across the final peaks of the Blue Ridge gives light to the small flock of Eastern Turkey scratching for a morning meal. The various deer graze just beyond them.  A small chipmunk runs from here to there, busy with its task, and a variety of birds come to roost on the archway that is just outside the door where I sit sipping my morning coffee.  I breathe in the peace knowing it is temporary. 

This is my sanity, these moments alone in the mountains.  Moments of peace orchestrated by the sights and sounds of the natural world around me bring a quietness to my soul, no matter how temporary.  One call,  text, or email can change everything.    Or, when I simply step away from this haven back into the reality of day to day life, a chaotic world filled with struggles is guaranteed to bring at some point another crisis. 

Like the sudden burst from a hunter’s gun, the words and actions of mankind often bring deep hurt.  These acts of destruction are sometimes brought about through carelessness, while at other times by direct intent.    Like the deer baited and then killed by the very hand that temporarily offered it life, those who work so diligently to earn our trust sometimes lie in wait for the moment of opportunity to strike, as we sit, an unsuspecting target.  Once hurt, there we lie trying desperately to bind up the wounds and find the strength to pull ourselves together so that we can return to the task at hand.

I grab my camera to take a picture of the untamed creatures outside my door. Their heads come up and then they freeze as they wait for the first sign that they should run.  I recoil from the idea that their peace is disturbed by my presence and  retreat into the shadows. 

I will hold the scene of a morning not yet shattered in my memory, rather than seek to capture it digitally. I may not recall exactly the way the sun looked rising above the mountain ridge, the dew sparkling on the grass, the exact turn of the deer’s head, or the graceful lines of her body, but I will hold to the moment left un-shattered. 

Mexican Cornbread

I love cornbread!  I love it slathered in butter, I love it with honey drizzled over it, I love it crumbled in my beans or my soup, and I love it with jalapenos/fresh corn and cheese in the mix!  We have always called this version "Mexican Cornbread". 

Cornbread

1 Cup All Purpose Flour
3/4 Cup Cornmeal (We love the local, coarsely ground cornmeal)
2 to 3 Tablespoons of Sugar (Can be omitted.  I grew up on sugarless cornbread but hubby likes it sweet)
2 1/2 teaspoons of baking powder
1/2 teaspoon of baking soda
3/4 teaspoon of salt
1/4 Cup Melted Butter
2 beaten eggs
3/4 to 1 Cup of Buttermilk (Play around with it to see what works best for you.  I find different types of cornmeal require more or less.)

In a medium bowl stir together flour, cornmeal, sugar, baking powder, baking soda and salt.  Set aside.

Add a tablespoon of butter to a 10 inch iron skillet (or a 9 inch round baking pan).  Place in 400 degree oven just long enough to melt the butter.  Swirl and coat the skillet or baking pan with the butter, coating bottom and sides of pan. 

In a small bowl combine eggs, milk, and 1/4 cup of melted butter.  (I actually just melt my 1/4 cup of butter in my skillet, swirl it around, and then pour it into the bowl.)  Add this mixture all at once to flour mixture.  STIR JUST UNTIL MOIST.  Pour batter into hot skillet or pan.  Bake for 15 to 20 minutes or until toothpick or fork inserted comes out clean.

Variations:

To make "Mexican Cornbread" stir any mixture of the following into your cornbread prior to baking. 

1/2 Cup of frozen, whole kernel corn
1 Cup of shredded cheddar or monetary jack cheese (or combination of both)
2 or more seeded, chopped jalapenos.  (Two gives the cornbread a lot of flavor.  Add more if you like it spicier.) 
Chopped Small Onion 

(Note:  I typically use the corn and jalapenos only in my Mexican Cornbread but all of the variations are good!)

Muffins:

Spoon batter into 12, greased muffin cups or use muffin/cupcake papers.  Bake in 400 degree oven approximately 15 minutes. 

Enjoy!

Vintage Wax Press

This past weekend Mike and I took a short trip to an auction in a neighboring state.  I was intrigued with this press and thought I might know what it was, but I was wrong.  The auctioneer who was selling it was also wrong when he put it up for sale at the auction.  He stated that it was a cider or fruit press.  I looked at it and thought that it might be a cheese press but remarked to Mike that there was no way to determine the weight at which the cheese was being pressed with this design. Had I been able to convince myself it was not a cheese press, I most likely would not have bid on it.   Upon a closer inspection after buying it, I knew the press was something other than a fruit or cheese press and began to research the company that manufactured it.  Immediately information surfaced for A I Root Company in Medina Ohio, a company started in 1869 that still manufactures candles to this day. 

"Hmmmmm" I mused.  "A press for candles?"  Something just didn't seem right about that.  So, I continued to research. 

I found a web site with the history of the founder, Mr. Amos Ives Root.  It seems that Mr. Root was a jewelry maker at the time when bees swarmed his place of business.  One of his employees (so the story goes) was asked to catch the swarm for him.  Thus began Mr. Root's interest in beekeeping.  (It is reported that his wife chastised him for paying the employee a day's wages in order to catch what she considered a good for nothing pesk.  Whether this part of the story is true or not, we do not know but we do know that Amos kept bees as a hobby as far back as his early twenties)   Amos Root was a brilliant entrepreneur whose interest in bees led him to manufacturing bee keeping equipment during the late 1800's, a time when beekeeping was of great economic importance to many communities.  His company shipped out four railroad cars of bee equipment a day.  It makes perfect since that Amos Root, a brilliant entrepreneur, began using beeswax to make candles. and while the company discontinued producing bee equipment in the early part of the 20th century, the candle business run by Amos Root's great, great grandson survives and thrives to this day.

In addition to his innovations in beekeeping equipment and candle making, Mr. Root wrote a book that is still currently published called THE ABC's of BEEKEEPING and he was founder of  "Gleanings in Bee Culture" a periodical for beekeepers still in circulation.   

More information on Amos Ives Root can be found here, here, and here. 

And that press?  It's a wax press used to extract honey from the honeycomb. 

If that was your guess, then you're answer was SWEET!

Photo Courtesy of AI Root Candle Company.