I want to garden like Tom!

Yesterday I took a class to Montecello and Montpelier. What inspirational homes! While the tour of Montecello was more like a forced march, "Come along! We have another group behind us!" it was still enjoyable. My students were fascinated by the alcove beds, the polygraph machine which created duplicates of handwritten documents, and the gardens. We were all inspired by the lovely vegetable garden, which although it was being put to bed, was still striking. Full of old fashioned veggies, the garden was so well maintained and organized, I wanted to come home and till under everything in my yard and redo it all!

And, we won't even discuss the flower gardens! So lovely! So many old varieties were in residence in the garden. We walked, compared and took a ton of photos. I was impressed that students wanted to "take a picture to show my Mom!" of the gardens. No wonder I love this class so much! They are great!

The point of the day was to learn more about how that sense of place informs our understanding of the literature we are reading in "Women in Literature." While Montecello is more about Mr. Jefferson, Montpelier is all about Dolley Madison. I would have loved to have known her! What a personality and such energy! Did you know that she had a special seat in Congress throughout her life so that she could come and observe the goings on? And, were you aware that she instituted the Inaugural Ball and the White House Easter Egg Roll?

Perhaps the most surprising discovery of the day was that my students, by and large, and never traveled in their own state! They knew little of the history of the people who were national leaders nor about their lives! What a great experience to hear on the drive home that, "This was cool! Can we do another trip?" And, btw, they are COLLEGE students! Isn't this just too wonderful?

Do you travel in your own state? Do you know about your state's history?

Bless this house

There is a wonderful junque store near us, "Polly World", where one may find any number of things from lovely glass to fireplace inserts to mismatched dishes to very old farm implements. Polly and Jack are the kind of people who never know a stranger and that make you always feel as though they were waiting just for you to come visit!

A few months ago, Don and I were "visiting" (read: shopping) and a fella came in with a box of his mother's treasures. Momma had gone home to the Lord and he had been cleaning out the house. We could already tell he was single and that he had no sisters because this lovely piece was in the box of goodies he brought in. I nearly cried to think that Momma had worked so hard on this (as well as on the lace, aprons, tablecloths, and other wonderful hand created delights) and now it would left with strangers. It felt as though I was watching someone set out a dog on the highway. I was physically ill.

And, so, you know that I had to talk to him and find out about Momma and how old the piece might be and so forth. Polly could tell I wanted the piece desparately; she understands the love I have for wonderful hand created things. It is what I do and I desparately hope that someone will treasure what I leave behind. It is like Aunt Jane says in Aunt Jane of Kentucky: "Honey, cooking and cleaning don't last, but a bit of calerker will. Ain't that the saddest thing to understand?"

Polly couldn't make me a price right then, but she remembered me and tucked this away for my next visit. Words cannot express my sheer delight that this, along with several other wonders, have come to my house to live. Although I have no daughters, I have a wonderful son who understands the importance of textiles, especially hand created ones. He will make sure that my goodies are loved or place in a loving home.

Who could ask for more? I hope Momma would be pleased.

E-S-C-A-P-E!

Bringing in feed for the goats is seldom easy and never fun. We try to buy two weeks at a time, so we are hauling in 5 50-lb. sacks at a time. It becomes a match of wits as we struggle to bring IN the food while keeping the goats IN as well. Chalk it up to poor fence planning and not having an easy way to close off the back door of the milking parlor. We have to open the gate to get to the door. This is usually when the goats, in the guise of eating hay and watching the chickens, lay their plans to escape.

Today was no exception. I drove the Forester to the fence and backed up. Pulling my cart around, I unloaded the feed into the cart, only to discover that the handle had pulled loose. So, I was reduced to carrying the sacks from the car to the milking parlor. Fortunately, John came in just in time and he carried most of the bags for me. So my job was to "distract" the goats so that he could get in without being bushwacked.

While I was waylaying the bucks, the does, led by Mary, the roundest pygmy you have seen, made a break by pushing the gate open and heading for parts unknown. When I found them, they were having a leisurely meal of the duck's cracked corn. Mary had wiped out the bowl while Clara was trying to find a way into the cracked corn bag. Lucy had scooted to the space between the coop and the toolshed and was enjoying the geranuims in the window box. Mia was working her way into the turkey lot and Clarice was hiding behind the clothesline eating a delectable meal of goldenrod.

Frustrated, I began to take each one to the barn. After 20 minutes, everyone was where they should be, bellies full of what they most likely shouldn't have had, but at least they were in the fence. As I began to milk, I thought, "why didn't I just open the milking parlor door? They would have come right to the door."

Sometimes the goats are just smarter than I am.

Pigs charged with breaking and entering....

More than a few years ago, my husband and I decided that we wanted to raise pigs. Don't ask me why. It makes no sense to me now, but it did then. We purchased a lovely Yorkshire pig named Wilma. She had many husbands named Fred all of whom died tragically in a butcher shop accident. Anyhow, this particular year we had bought four gilts (young female pigs) and let Fred have a harem. Ultimately, we ended up with more than 60 darling pink and white piglets. Little did we know that they had a strong criminal gene.

Shortly after the gilts and Wilma had farrowed, we decided we needed a short vacation. We recruited our friend Tony to check in on the girls and feed them twice a day. They knew him well and so we just knew it would be an uneventful week. We packed the van, loaded up the children, and off we went, merrily to Dillsboro for a few days of R and R.

The second day, we returned to find a message on the chalk board mounted on our cabin's front door. It was short and sweet: "Call home immediately, please!"

My husband rushed to the lodge manager's office, and called home, thinking that the house had burned to the ground or we had been robbed. If only it had been that easy.

When he returned to the cabin, he was wiping his eyes.

"Oh no!" I thought. "Someone is dead..."

Then he sat down, his head in his hands, and his shoulders were shaking. By now I was beside myself trying to think of what could be so terrible. My parents? His? The house? What?

Finally, I couldn't stand it. "What is wrong?" I demanded.

He lifted his head and I realized he had laughed so hard he was still weeping.

"It is the pigs," he struggled to say and he collapsed into giggles again.

"Pigs?"

"Yeah; they got out."

He snorted.

"And ran down the road."

He chuckled, struggling to maintain some composure.

"And broke into Paul's store. Knocked the door clear off the hinges, according to the Highway Patrol."

He fell back into the chair and started laughing uncontrollably.

"Then they preceeded to eat an entire bushel of tomatoes in a box on the floor, knocked over the bread counter and ate all the bread. Then, they ran out on the Parkway."

By this time I was sitting and giggling.

"Is that all? Is everyone okay and back home?" I asked.

"Nopers. It gets worse.. or better... it really depends on who you ask."

"What!??" I demanded.

"The State Police, the Blue Ridge Parkway Rangers, and the County Sheriff's deputies are trying to wrangle the pigs off the road, but they can't seem to get all of 'em in one place at one time. Traffic is stopped on the Parkway while they chase the pigs. Seems it has created quite a mess. Tony thinks we need to come home to get the pigs in."

He was laughing so hard that he couldn't finish his sentence.

"Well? Does anyone know whose pigs they are? Are we going home?"

He lifted an eyebrow and wiped away another tear.

"What do you think? If we stay here, no one will know they are OUR pigs. Maybe things will calm down by the time we get home. What do you say?"

"Fine by me; how about BBQ for dinner?"

Even now, I have visions of 60-plus pigs, mouths ringed in tomatoes, wearing black shirts and masks holding up cars on the Blue Ridge Parkway. Did I mention that we no longer have pigs?

Isn't this cunning?

Today we had to run to Miller Bee Supply to pick up a few things to get ready to spin honey. I adore going to visit Beverly and Presley. They are such interesting people and make you feel so very at home! The saddest thing to me is that we live more than an hour and several mountains apart. Beverly and I always plan to "meet for lunch" but with their growing business and Don and I working, there just doesn't ever seem to be time. Isn't that how life is?

Anyhow, whilst there, I spotted the most adorable bee items! Beverly's Pennsylvania niece is creating these wonderful pieces in her spare time. Now, bear in mind this little lady works a demanding job, but still has time to create the most precious goodies. This is called a "light's out jar." Can you guess why?

If you lift the top, which will fit either a taper on one side or a tea light on the other, you can store candles and matches for those times when "the lights go out!" Isn't that just too dear? I was so smitten that I just had to have one. So, dear Don antied up and got me this little treasure. Beverly also had canisters which resembled a bee hive with charming gardens and beeskep (of course!) detailed on the lids. Hive bird houses, tea light holders, and the most adorable ceramic flowers with bees lit on them filled out the collection. I wish I could have had every one of them!

A few nights ago, when Don went to feed the bucks, he came back with a little charmer. What do you think? It is a mushroom! Although I created my very first, and so far only, shitake log this spring, I think if I found this growing on it, I wouldn't eat it. Would you?? By the next morning, the 'shroom was gone, but I have to wonder... I believe in fairy rings. What kind of "fairy" do you think made this? All I can think of is Johnny Depp or Shakespeare's witches in "the play" (MacBeth).

So, all this is really to show off my newfound skill! I can post pictures now! Hooray! Oh, the things we can see now! What fun!

Morning has broken

The best part of my day has to be the time between 5 and 6 a.m. I have an 8 a.m. class and an hour drive before I get to work, so I have, ironically, become an early riser. As a teen-ager and young adult, I always worked a third shift job because I was wired to be a late night person. Mornings made me break out in hives....

Living out in the country as we do, we have no near neighbors for more than three miles, if you don't count the monstrousity being built on the ridge which is a summer and vacation home. We are all alone in our little hollow and always will be as I own most of what I see here. Thus, it is quiet here. So quiet that you can hear the cycadas, crickets, deer crashing in the woods, and the turkeys gobble. Woodpeckers live in our bottom meadow and we regularly hear them chipping at the dead trees for a delicious breakfast of fresh bugs.

This morning there is a magical mist on the meadow between the house and the woods which form my southern boundry. It is in this meadow that the does live and the chicken coop is nestled. My potato bed and garden are in the edge of this meadow, so it is a very snuggly feeling to look out and see all this sweeping off to the south. The mist gave everything a feeling that the Irish in me relates with fairies and all things magic between this world and the next.

The dogs sleepily come to breakfast as do the cats. The does low softly, calling 'good morning' to me. Chickens sing their soft song as they slowly wake up and the rooster announces that dawn is nearly here.

I love this time of day because of the sense of promise. The day is fresh, shrouded as my meadow in the mist, wrapped in what Emily Dickinson called "possibility." Once I open my college email, once I get on campus, my day slips away. It is too busy for me. Meetings, students, classes, paperwork, and all the various things that fill the day keep me from even finding time to take a walk. Lunch is often grabbed between writing lab and club meetings. Often, even in the bathroom, a student will ask, "Is that you? I recognize your shoes."

And yet, between 5 and 6 a.m., my life is quiet. I sit with my friend, God, and we talk for a little bit. I savor my breakfast and day dream of quiet summer mornings, crisp fall mornings, promised snow days, and spring break. I build my castles in the air. And, until the sun melts the mist, my life is my own.

Grandma's Frugal

Yesterday I went with a friend to a local restuarant for a baked potato and, while we were talking, our favorite server rushed past, arms and hands full. Just as she turned the corner, down went her apron -- right to her feet. She stopped to look at it and I laughed out loud. Then we all, my friend, the other servers and I, all just roared and I giggled, "Lucky it wasn't your pants!"

This got us to talking about funny wardrobe malfunctions that we have all had when I remembered my Great-Grandmother Gunter. She was Scot-Irish and that alone should tell you how very "careful" she was with a penny, much less a dollar. While she was a terrible housekeeper and cook (except Irish soda bread, for crying out loud), she would walk five miles to see a good horse or fight. She would have her shoes resoled until there was nothing to attach the new sole to.

Once, when I was quite small, maybe six or seven, we were in downtown Mt. Airy (think: Mayberry) and walking past Rose's when, Grandma's panties fell down around her ankles! Seems that she had worn them until the elastic was gone and she had tied a knot in them to keep them up. But, as she had walked, the knot worked out and, whosh, down they came! She stood there for a minute looking down; then, she looked around. Carefully, she stepped out of her drawers, took one shoe, looped a leg opening around the toe, and kicked them under the Chevy parked on the street. Then, tucking her purse under her arm, she said in her terse, Scot-Irish accented voice, "Let's go, wee one."

I dared not giggle.... until I got home.

Grandma went home to the Lord more than 40 years ago, but I can still see those panties wadded up on the ground and her stepping out of them. I guess it is a small wonder that she didn't pick 'em up and tuck them in her purse for 'next time!'

What is your favorite wardrobe malfunction?