A title with a double meaning. . . unintentionally. My plan was to do a quick post on the simple Mother's Day I had yesterday. Because we don't do big stuff for that day (or Father's Day either); no trips to grandiose dining establishments, no extravagant gifts, no huge get-togethers. It's more the simple ways to say "I Love You, Mom"--phone calls from my boys who live far away, blueberry pancakes made from scratch by DD2 who set her alarm for 6 a.m. so she could cook and serve me breakfast before we went to church, oven fried chicken with baked sweet potatoes for dinner cooked by DD1. DH and I each made phone calls to our own mothers and listened to them talk about whatever was on their minds for an hour (and neither he nor I are big into talking on the phone. . .)
But after I typed the title of this post, it struck me that the things that made my Mother's Day special, the simple joys of life, probably wouldn't be appreciated by many women in today's society. No, only the simple women, the simple mothers, would feel that a phone call was a gift, that some slightly less than perfect pancakes and sweet potatoes that took longer to bake than planned, were special things that say "I Love You". This simple mother saw those things for the testaments of love and appreciation they were intended to be. My children giving of themselves, as I taught them to do, rather than impersonally throwing money at some gift of the latest fad and bestowing it on me whether it was in my tastes or not.
I'd like to share with you a poem DD2 wrote and gave to me yesterday at breakfast, along with my blueberry pancakes (and homemade maple syrup warmed up, the way I prefer to eat it).
They say a picture's worth a thousand words,
And a friend a million bucks--
But there's someone I know who's worth quite more.
Her smile brightens up the day.
Her laugh makes it all worthwhile,
Sometimes she sings off-key,
Or maybe gets it right,
Her tear means pain unspoken,
Her heart is pure gold,
She's beautiful,
She's smart,
She's kind,
Sometimes we fight,
Sometimes we argue,
Sometimes we yell,
Sometimes we scream,
But she's the best, I'll always say,
A mom's a gift, and mine's better than 'em all.
Yeah, I cried. And in my defense, may I say she's 14 and does most of the yelling, arguing, and screaming, not me! But she's coming along. I see the selfish middle-school child maturing as she finishes her first year of high school; I see the indications that she's becoming a young lady who will be quite a gift to her own children some day. And to have children like that, who will, in their turns, be good spouses and parents, is the best gift a mother can ever receive.
Monday, May 14, 2012
Thursday, May 10, 2012
Rhubarb
I think I've finally got it. How to grow rhubarb at this little place here, that is. I used to have tons (probably literally) of rhubarb at the place we owned before building this little place here. At the old place, rhubarb grew like a weed. I didn't have to do anything to it, it just grew. And grew. And grew. My kids have memories of skirts made out of rhubarb leaves, just two leaves to cover an 8 year old child, the leaves were so big. Sunhats made of rhubarb leaves. Giant fans made of rhubarb stalks (before I cut them into pie) and rhubarb leaves. Dresses for toddlers made of rhubarb leaves. A small child could crawl under the rhubarb and hide quite well during a game of hide and seek, the plants were so large and abundant. One summer I harvested, cut, and froze fifty pounds of rhubarb. Yes, FIFTY pounds!! And that was for future use, that didn't count what we ate fresh that year in the form of rhubarb pie, rhubarb bread, rhubarb crisp, rhubarb bars, rhubarb muffins, strawberry-rhubarb coffee cake, rhubarb sauce. . . My mouth waters with the memory of all the tasty ways to serve rhubarb.
Then we moved to this little place here, which before we bought it was just a worn-out farm field (clay, of course) and ten acres of cut-over trees, most of which were less than twenty years old. Before moving that fall, I dug up some of my vigorous abundant rhubarb from the old place, and transplanted it to this little place here.
It died. All dozen rhubarb plants. Three made it through the winter to send up weak little leaves in the spring, but even they died before summer arrived. My tasty, lovely, heirloom rhubarb, gone.
Turns out rhubarb loved the sandy acidic soil of the old place. Rhubarb did not at all like the heavy clay and farmed to non-nutrition soil of this little place here.
I bought some rhubarb roots (bought--oh, it killed me, I wanted my old fashioned rhubarb) and tried again a few years later, planting them in an area I had added composted horse manure to. They came up, they struggled, they died.
I tried again, a few years later, buying more roots and planting them in one of the terraced beds behind the house. Three planted, one came up. I nursed it, feeding it compost and mulching it well over the winter. It came up again, and got straggly little stalks skinnier than a pencil. Not enough to make anything out of even if I did dare to harvest it, which I didn't for fear I would weaken the plant to the point of death.
I babied that plant. I watered, I mulched, I fertilized. It came back the third year. Hooray, I must be on the right track!
I read about rhubarb. The light bulb went off above my head. Rhubarb liked loose soil, like the sand at the old place. Okay, I would work to amend the soil even more, dumping on and working in lots of aged composted manure and sawdust bedding. Rhubarb liked acidic soil, like what was found under the arborvitae and pines at the old place, where the rhubarb had thrived. I told DH to stop throwing away his coffee grounds, and began feeding them to my lone rhubarb plant. It grew better the next year. Still not enough that I dared to harvest it, but it looked healthier.
Encouraged, last year I planted another rhubarb root. This spring, the older one is lush, well, at least compared to what I've seen so far at this little place here. Not yet half the size of a two-year-old rhubarb at the old place, but big enough that I was able to make this last week:
The first rhubarb pie I have made from rhubarb grown at this little place here. It is a victory, it is symbolic (never give up!), it is historical, it was delicious!
The second rhubarb root is growing well too. I think I've finally figured out how to grow it in less than optimal conditions. It just takes some effort.
Now I can't wait for the strawberries to be ripe in June so I can make a strawberry rhubarb coffee cake. It's to die for, and I haven't had one in about nine years.
Strawberry Rhubarb Coffee Cake
Filling:
3 cups rhubarb (fresh or frozen) sliced into 1 inch pieces
1 quart fresh strawberries, mashed
2 Tbsp lemon juice
1 cup sugar
1/3 cup cornstarch
Cake:
3 cups all-purpose flour
1 cup sugar
1 tsp baking powder
1 tsp baking soda
1/2 tsp salt
1 cup butter, cut into pieces
1 1/2 cups buttermilk (or milk soured w/1 1/2 Tbsp vinegar)
2 eggs
1 tsp vanilla
Topping:
1/4 cup butter
3/4 cup all-purpose flour
3/4 cup sugar
Make the filling: in a large saucepan, combine rhubarb, strawberries and lemon juice. Cook, covered, over medium heat about 5 min. Then add the sugar and cornstarch, stirring well into the fruit mixture in pan. Bring to a boil, stirring constantly, until thickened. Remove from heat and set aside while making cake.
Make the cake: in a large bowl, combine dry ingredients for cake. Cut in butter pieces until mixture is crumbly. Beat together the buttermilk (or sour milk), eggs, and vanilla; stir into the crumb mixture.
In a greased 9" x 13" baking dish, spread half of the cake batter. On top of that, carefully spread the filling. Drop remaining batter by tablespoonfuls over the filling.
Make topping: melt butter in smallish (or medium) saucepan over low heat. Once melted, remove from heat and stir in flour and sugar until mixture forms crumbs. Sprinkle over batter in baking dish.
Bake in 350 degree oven for 40-45 minutes. Cool in pan, cut into squares and serve.
You may want to put a cookie sheet or some foil on bottom rack of oven to catch any juicy spills from coffee cake as it is baking.
Then we moved to this little place here, which before we bought it was just a worn-out farm field (clay, of course) and ten acres of cut-over trees, most of which were less than twenty years old. Before moving that fall, I dug up some of my vigorous abundant rhubarb from the old place, and transplanted it to this little place here.
It died. All dozen rhubarb plants. Three made it through the winter to send up weak little leaves in the spring, but even they died before summer arrived. My tasty, lovely, heirloom rhubarb, gone.
Turns out rhubarb loved the sandy acidic soil of the old place. Rhubarb did not at all like the heavy clay and farmed to non-nutrition soil of this little place here.
I bought some rhubarb roots (bought--oh, it killed me, I wanted my old fashioned rhubarb) and tried again a few years later, planting them in an area I had added composted horse manure to. They came up, they struggled, they died.
I tried again, a few years later, buying more roots and planting them in one of the terraced beds behind the house. Three planted, one came up. I nursed it, feeding it compost and mulching it well over the winter. It came up again, and got straggly little stalks skinnier than a pencil. Not enough to make anything out of even if I did dare to harvest it, which I didn't for fear I would weaken the plant to the point of death.
I babied that plant. I watered, I mulched, I fertilized. It came back the third year. Hooray, I must be on the right track!
I read about rhubarb. The light bulb went off above my head. Rhubarb liked loose soil, like the sand at the old place. Okay, I would work to amend the soil even more, dumping on and working in lots of aged composted manure and sawdust bedding. Rhubarb liked acidic soil, like what was found under the arborvitae and pines at the old place, where the rhubarb had thrived. I told DH to stop throwing away his coffee grounds, and began feeding them to my lone rhubarb plant. It grew better the next year. Still not enough that I dared to harvest it, but it looked healthier.
Encouraged, last year I planted another rhubarb root. This spring, the older one is lush, well, at least compared to what I've seen so far at this little place here. Not yet half the size of a two-year-old rhubarb at the old place, but big enough that I was able to make this last week:
The first rhubarb pie I have made from rhubarb grown at this little place here. It is a victory, it is symbolic (never give up!), it is historical, it was delicious!
The second rhubarb root is growing well too. I think I've finally figured out how to grow it in less than optimal conditions. It just takes some effort.
Now I can't wait for the strawberries to be ripe in June so I can make a strawberry rhubarb coffee cake. It's to die for, and I haven't had one in about nine years.
Strawberry Rhubarb Coffee Cake
Filling:
3 cups rhubarb (fresh or frozen) sliced into 1 inch pieces
1 quart fresh strawberries, mashed
2 Tbsp lemon juice
1 cup sugar
1/3 cup cornstarch
Cake:
3 cups all-purpose flour
1 cup sugar
1 tsp baking powder
1 tsp baking soda
1/2 tsp salt
1 cup butter, cut into pieces
1 1/2 cups buttermilk (or milk soured w/1 1/2 Tbsp vinegar)
2 eggs
1 tsp vanilla
Topping:
1/4 cup butter
3/4 cup all-purpose flour
3/4 cup sugar
Make the filling: in a large saucepan, combine rhubarb, strawberries and lemon juice. Cook, covered, over medium heat about 5 min. Then add the sugar and cornstarch, stirring well into the fruit mixture in pan. Bring to a boil, stirring constantly, until thickened. Remove from heat and set aside while making cake.
Make the cake: in a large bowl, combine dry ingredients for cake. Cut in butter pieces until mixture is crumbly. Beat together the buttermilk (or sour milk), eggs, and vanilla; stir into the crumb mixture.
In a greased 9" x 13" baking dish, spread half of the cake batter. On top of that, carefully spread the filling. Drop remaining batter by tablespoonfuls over the filling.
Make topping: melt butter in smallish (or medium) saucepan over low heat. Once melted, remove from heat and stir in flour and sugar until mixture forms crumbs. Sprinkle over batter in baking dish.
Bake in 350 degree oven for 40-45 minutes. Cool in pan, cut into squares and serve.
You may want to put a cookie sheet or some foil on bottom rack of oven to catch any juicy spills from coffee cake as it is baking.
Monday, May 7, 2012
The Redneck Baby Quilt
That's what I've been working on for about two and a half weeks. When DS1 broke the news to me about my impending grandmother hood, I asked if it was all right if I made a baby quilt. He told me yes, but not to be too foo-foo, that his little girl was going to be a country girl.
So, with that in mind, I made a foray to the fabric store. I had an idea, and was looking for fabrics to match the country girl theme. Of course, there would have to be some pink, being for a little girl and all, but it didn't have to be sickly sweet with girlishness. I was a tomboy, my daughters were tomboys, and a tomboy granddaughter would fit right in.
I came home from my shopping trip with the components of what my daughters have come to refer as the "Redneck Baby Quilt".
There was solid pink fabric, and a fabric with a white background and a design of pink hearts. Because even tomboys can have a gentle, feminine side.
But then there were the fabrics that earned the quilt it's redneck moniker:
So, with that in mind, I made a foray to the fabric store. I had an idea, and was looking for fabrics to match the country girl theme. Of course, there would have to be some pink, being for a little girl and all, but it didn't have to be sickly sweet with girlishness. I was a tomboy, my daughters were tomboys, and a tomboy granddaughter would fit right in.
I came home from my shopping trip with the components of what my daughters have come to refer as the "Redneck Baby Quilt".
There was solid pink fabric, and a fabric with a white background and a design of pink hearts. Because even tomboys can have a gentle, feminine side.
But then there were the fabrics that earned the quilt it's redneck moniker:
The farm animal print for a country girl
The deer print for our future deer hunter girl
The John Deere print,for our future green tractor driving girl
The 'Jesus Fish' print, cuz every little girl needs Jesus
That eclectic mix came together into the Redneck Baby Quilt:
Friday, May 4, 2012
We Can Break It, Yes We Can
If there's one thing that bugs me, it's products that don't last during normal use. Because I sure don't think that I'm abusing them, but the list of appliances, tools, furniture, electronics, etc, that have broken at this little place here under every day conditions--not being misused, but employed in the purpose for which they are designed and sold--just keeps getting longer.
I really think I need to advertise myself to product design companies for durability testing. The this little place here durability test, where things get used daily. Because who would think, that after less than 5 years a dishwasher handle would break, rendering the dishwasher unable to latch and therefore come on? Or the display panel on a wall oven stop working? Or the motor on a front-load washer would go kaput after slightly more than one year of use? Or shovel handles break? Or the head of a hoe fall off? Or a toaster die after 5 years of use? That a couch would last less than seven years (it's still in use in my house, but in pickier homes it would have been at the curb waiting for the trash man long ago)? That mattresses which got flipped and turned regularly would develop hollows after 5-6 years, and the fabric cover rip out after 10? That the ice dispenser in a side-by-side fridge/freezer would seize up in less than 9 years? That the dishwasher (now on it's third handle) would have the control panel die after not quite eight and a half years?
Or how about this one:
That's the handle for the top oven of my double wall oven. The one I was baking cookies in yesterday (for the high school drama group to sell at intermission of their Spring Play performances this weekend). I put cookies in the oven, I took cookies out of the oven. No problem. I put cookies in the oven, 9 minutes later I went to take cookies out of the oven, and the handle popped off on one side.
Luckily there is a vent area at the top of the door that I was able to stick my oven-mitted fingers into and pry the door open to rescue my cookies. And thankfully, last night after the oven cooled, DH was willing to take the door apart, retrieve the screw that had worked it's way out of the door handle and fallen between the inner layer and outer layer of the door, and put the handle back on for me.
But really?!? An oven handle that can't cope with not quite nine years of opening and closing the oven door? I cook. I bake. I expect an oven to be able to do that for me several times a week for more than eight point six six six six to infinity. . .years without the handle falling off.
So where do I advertise to get my durability test products so I can start making money at breaking stuff?
I really think I need to advertise myself to product design companies for durability testing. The this little place here durability test, where things get used daily. Because who would think, that after less than 5 years a dishwasher handle would break, rendering the dishwasher unable to latch and therefore come on? Or the display panel on a wall oven stop working? Or the motor on a front-load washer would go kaput after slightly more than one year of use? Or shovel handles break? Or the head of a hoe fall off? Or a toaster die after 5 years of use? That a couch would last less than seven years (it's still in use in my house, but in pickier homes it would have been at the curb waiting for the trash man long ago)? That mattresses which got flipped and turned regularly would develop hollows after 5-6 years, and the fabric cover rip out after 10? That the ice dispenser in a side-by-side fridge/freezer would seize up in less than 9 years? That the dishwasher (now on it's third handle) would have the control panel die after not quite eight and a half years?
Or how about this one:
That's the handle for the top oven of my double wall oven. The one I was baking cookies in yesterday (for the high school drama group to sell at intermission of their Spring Play performances this weekend). I put cookies in the oven, I took cookies out of the oven. No problem. I put cookies in the oven, 9 minutes later I went to take cookies out of the oven, and the handle popped off on one side.
Luckily there is a vent area at the top of the door that I was able to stick my oven-mitted fingers into and pry the door open to rescue my cookies. And thankfully, last night after the oven cooled, DH was willing to take the door apart, retrieve the screw that had worked it's way out of the door handle and fallen between the inner layer and outer layer of the door, and put the handle back on for me.
But really?!? An oven handle that can't cope with not quite nine years of opening and closing the oven door? I cook. I bake. I expect an oven to be able to do that for me several times a week for more than eight point six six six six to infinity. . .years without the handle falling off.
So where do I advertise to get my durability test products so I can start making money at breaking stuff?
Tuesday, May 1, 2012
I Have A Grandbaby!
Surprise, dear readers! God has blessed DS1 and his girlfriend, with a beautiful baby girl.
This was the news I've been bursting to share, but couldn't. I've known since Easter, and was waiting for DS1 to let other members of the family know. It's a long story. She's not my grandbaby biologically, but through extraordinary circumstances, she is my grandbaby by love, both my love for her, and DS1's love for her mother and his willingness to step in and be the father her bio dad is not willing to be.
The world will say what it may about the situation, but this baby is my son's dear daughter, and therefore my own beloved grandbaby. Wish I could post pictures of her, she's a real cutie, but I'm sticking to my 'no recognizable faces' policy in regards to photos, especially in this situation.
So share in my happiness :0) as I announce my first grandchild, who I think I'll refer to as K3 here simply because she will be the third generation of this family who's first name starts with K. She was born yesterday afternoon, ten little fingers, ten little toes, eyes that might stay blue, and a thatch of blonde hair. Six pounds, twelve ounces and nineteen and a half inches long.
This was the news I've been bursting to share, but couldn't. I've known since Easter, and was waiting for DS1 to let other members of the family know. It's a long story. She's not my grandbaby biologically, but through extraordinary circumstances, she is my grandbaby by love, both my love for her, and DS1's love for her mother and his willingness to step in and be the father her bio dad is not willing to be.
The world will say what it may about the situation, but this baby is my son's dear daughter, and therefore my own beloved grandbaby. Wish I could post pictures of her, she's a real cutie, but I'm sticking to my 'no recognizable faces' policy in regards to photos, especially in this situation.
So share in my happiness :0) as I announce my first grandchild, who I think I'll refer to as K3 here simply because she will be the third generation of this family who's first name starts with K. She was born yesterday afternoon, ten little fingers, ten little toes, eyes that might stay blue, and a thatch of blonde hair. Six pounds, twelve ounces and nineteen and a half inches long.
Saturday, April 28, 2012
Surprise in the Cellar
The other day I went into the cellar to refill my potato basket that I keep in the kitchen pantry (it only holds about 3-4 pounds of potatoes). I opened the cellar door, leaned in to grab the pull chain for the light in order to turn the light on, and simultaneously stepped down into the cellar. As my foot was about to hit the floor, the cellar was bathed in light and I got a surprise.
Quickly I halted my foot's progression toward the floor in order to not squish the toad. Then I noticed another toad nearby. Then I ran back upstairs to get the camera in order to document this strange occurance. :0)
Two toads in my cellar which has no access from outdoors! In the 10 years since we've built the cellar, I've never had toads there. Mice, yes. Not surprising, since mice climb and squeeze through little openings, as well as chew wood and anything else houses are made out of. But toads?!? Where did they come from? How did toads come to find my cellar?
All I can think of is that these two must have burrowed down from the outside, then come up through the dirt floor. Which, since the ground level is, at the lowest point, about six feet higher than the cellar floor, seems like quite an undertaking.
Now I'm wondering if I should allow them to live in my cellar, or 'rescue' them to the outdoors, since I don't think the cellar will provide enough toady foods to sustain them through the summer.
Wednesday, April 25, 2012
Busy, Busy.
Oh my, it's that time of year again. The busy time of spring. I can't believe it's been an entire week since I posted.
In that week, I have:
In that week, I have:
- watched DD1 play in 3 softball games, all of which her team won, and at which she accumulated 6 RBIs. I think she has only struck out once so far this year in twelve games. The other times she's been walked, or hit the ball to one of the defensive players for an out, but mostly has gotten herself on base. Her bat is on fire this season!
- bought myself a new pair of work boots, as my old pair died beyond resurrection. Hated to spend the money, but do have to admit I am enjoying having new and comfy boots.
My new boots, before they went outdoors for the first time.
- planted potatoes, onions, a short row of peas (more to come), and a Catawba grape vine.
- taken 4 more old hens to auction, fetching a price of $7.00 each this time (lots of chickens at last Saturday's auction). Not bad for birds that would have been in my stew pot (I really prefer roast chicken to stewed).
- attended the high school honors night, where DD1 gave a speech on Leadership for the National Honor Society Induction Ceremony, as well as received a few awards. Her 'better half' of the past 10 months received a full ride scholarship to the local community college, so that was really cool. We're happy for him.
- pulled weeds from the front walkway. If you could have seen it, you would know what a feat this was! It is not a short walkway.
- eaten fresh asparagus from the garden, about a month early!
Seed potatoes ready to be hilled
My handy dandy four pound sledge, for pounding stakes in the garden (and anything else I want to drive into the ground).
Purchased because I was tired of using a 'wimpy' old 22 oz. hammer to do the job.
- made my first ever batch of dandelion jelly. It turned out kind of runny (will boil longer next time), but tastes very good; honey-like. It was really easy to make, next time I'll take photos and write a blog post about how to do it.
Mmm, 2012 "spare guts"!
The skinny ones are 1st time harvest from those plants, they thicken as they get older. The really thick ones are 5th year harvest.
Two of my six jars of dandelion jelly.
- ordered my new couch! Hooray, new couch (last new couch was in 2000)! Will be getting it the first weekend in May; we ordered it from DH's friend up north, and will pick it up when we go to dig more pine trees from the cabin to transplant at this little place here.
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