I guess you could call this a “Scarborough Fair” kind of day, in that I cooked with parsley and cleaned and froze sage, rosemary and thyme. The parsley went into a vegetable lasagna that also contained homemade pesto sauce, home-grown carrots, mushrooms, spinach, and Jack’s green onions. We served this with a Richard’s salad creations and fresh turnip greens from Mamie’s. Too bad Gayle, my soul-sister who arrived today, didn’t have room for dessert; we had a choice of cherries jubilee or carrot cake.
We’ve been anticipating this visit for a couple of months. She and I have known each other since our over thirty-five-year-old children were in diapers. The last time we were together was at a retreat, making her truly my soul-sister.
I wasn’t sure she’d make it all the way here, as she was already hyperventilating over the curves in the road while still on the interstate two hours away. When she walked in, she said that this was one of the prettiest drives she’s ever taken. I guess she may come back now that she’s survived the drive and found us the first time.
I don’t think anyone has arrived here without exclaiming over the impossibility of “happening upon” our house. They all have one question, “How did you find it?” I tell them the truth; it all started when our granddaughter had to poop.
After Hurricane Katrina swallowed our retirement home on Lake Pontchartrain, I never wanted another house. I wanted a small piece of property on the water near Scott on the Mississippi coast and another piece of land in the mountains of North Georgia, near Rachel’s family. My plan was to live in our RV and travel the country forever. Richard wanted roots and a home. He was also afraid if all the grandkids came to visit at one time that I’d have him sleeping under the RV or on the roof while I tucked the kids into the RV beds.
When I despaired over finding anything in North Georgia to suit us and our budget, Rachel took over, suggesting that we look near Indian Boundary off the Cherohala Skyway in Southeast Tennessee. Her family loved camping in the area, and she felt that this may be a more affordable option than those we had found in Georgia. Rachel and her family offered to guide me there. We were in two vehicles, and I was an hour behind them.
As Rachel’s family passed through Coker Creek on the way to the Cherohala, one of the girls needed a potty break. There are very few businesses in Coker Creek, so they stopped at the first place that appeared to be open. While my granddaughter used the facilities, Rachel got to chatting with the artists who owned the shop. They had just received a flyer from a man with a home for sale two miles from where Rachel stood. By the time I met them, Rachel was absolutely sure that she had found our place, and the rest, as they say is history...
Monday, October 26, 2009
Sunday, October 25, 2009
Animal Antics
I’ll admit that I was wrong about the leaves. This week-end all the colors of fall festooned Coker Creek. I was also wrong about the weather for the Leaf Turning Festival. What was supposed to be a beautiful day was cold, windy, and overcast. It was the closest thing to a Nor’easter that we get in the Tennessee hills. Jack and I, like many merchants, spent considerable time chasing our signage and righting our displays and tents.
There were a couple of animal adoption agencies braving the cold, one with orphan pets in tow, the other attracting people and pets. The Monroe County Animal Shelter was taking photos of pets. This prompted a lot of folks to come out, despite the weather, with their precious pooches. The other animal outfit came from Cleveland, Tennessee with several adoptable dogs, including a Great Pyrenees. Since our Gypsy Woman is a Great Pyr, and she was adopted from the Monroe County Animal Shelter, I visited with both associations, sharing tales of animal antics.
Some of the best animal stories have to do with animals that don’t act true to breed. The guy with the Great Pyrenees commented on how gentle this watch-dog breed is. He recounted a story of how a litter of puppies from another breed, after having lost their mother, had taken up residence in the eight-inch coat of this male Great Pyr . Of course, I had to allow as how our cat most often sleeps on our dog. Another fellow stopped by to tell us about his Great Pyrenees that convinced his black sheep that it was a dog so they could chase cars together. His dog is dead now, and he regrets not getting a video of that.
I told of how when my grandkids were small, Gypsy would let them ride her. And Jack loves to tell the story of how he had a pig that he’d ride when he was a little boy. Jack’s brother was always into horseback riding, but Jack preferred to walk or ride their pig. I can’t wait for him to write this as a children’s story.
Mary told me about her baby horse that spends so much time on her porch that her dogs are unable to act like the good porch pets that they are. Not only does Mary object to her horse hogging the porch so her dogs can’t lay at her feet, she’s also afraid the porch will collapse when the horse gets to be his full-grown thousand pound self. She warned me that when we come to collect our garden gold, the pony will run to greet us like a puppy. She says we’d better be prepared to stop him before he head butts us off our feet.
Between the animal antic stories and the fact that we sold a good number of books, we had a fine festival. It is true that only “an evil wind blows no good.”
There were a couple of animal adoption agencies braving the cold, one with orphan pets in tow, the other attracting people and pets. The Monroe County Animal Shelter was taking photos of pets. This prompted a lot of folks to come out, despite the weather, with their precious pooches. The other animal outfit came from Cleveland, Tennessee with several adoptable dogs, including a Great Pyrenees. Since our Gypsy Woman is a Great Pyr, and she was adopted from the Monroe County Animal Shelter, I visited with both associations, sharing tales of animal antics.
Some of the best animal stories have to do with animals that don’t act true to breed. The guy with the Great Pyrenees commented on how gentle this watch-dog breed is. He recounted a story of how a litter of puppies from another breed, after having lost their mother, had taken up residence in the eight-inch coat of this male Great Pyr . Of course, I had to allow as how our cat most often sleeps on our dog. Another fellow stopped by to tell us about his Great Pyrenees that convinced his black sheep that it was a dog so they could chase cars together. His dog is dead now, and he regrets not getting a video of that.
I told of how when my grandkids were small, Gypsy would let them ride her. And Jack loves to tell the story of how he had a pig that he’d ride when he was a little boy. Jack’s brother was always into horseback riding, but Jack preferred to walk or ride their pig. I can’t wait for him to write this as a children’s story.
Mary told me about her baby horse that spends so much time on her porch that her dogs are unable to act like the good porch pets that they are. Not only does Mary object to her horse hogging the porch so her dogs can’t lay at her feet, she’s also afraid the porch will collapse when the horse gets to be his full-grown thousand pound self. She warned me that when we come to collect our garden gold, the pony will run to greet us like a puppy. She says we’d better be prepared to stop him before he head butts us off our feet.
Between the animal antic stories and the fact that we sold a good number of books, we had a fine festival. It is true that only “an evil wind blows no good.”
Saturday, October 24, 2009
Cooking and Christmas
It was a quiet day at our house in the holler. A niece has begun corresponding with me because of my blog. She has a small son, and is interested in recipes for soft vegetables that she can prepare for him in the short time between her college studies and her mommy responsibilities. A favorite food of my toddlers was beef and barley soup, which I still make by the vat and freeze. Then again, I cook vats of everything. I grew up cooking for my mother’s brood of nine children, so I don’t know how to cook small amounts. Sharing the results of my kitchen capers has helped me earn a reputation as the Cookin’ Cajun of Coker Creek.
I made mashed potatoes last night using potatoes from Richard and Mamie’s garden. It may be my imagination, but the flesh seemed to be creamier than that of most potatoes that we purchase. Richard wanted them the old-fashioned way, but I’m anxious to try them whipped with some of our home-grown carrots – maybe with a bit of my mountain of dill thrown in for gourmet flair.
While Richard took my van in for brake repairs, I caught up on my reading, writing, and ‘rithmetic. It was time to figures out where Jack and I stand on income versus outgo on Jack’s book – my least favorite part of the publishing process. Jack and I agreed that we’d square up once we got the October festival book signings done, hoping that we’d be in the black.
Well, this was before we bought hundreds of books in anticipation of four thousand attendees at the Buzz Fest which was, for all intents and purposes, rained out. We have two more signings scheduled before Christmas; then I have to get serious about the school fundraisers. Richard keeps reminding me that our inventory of books is an asset, but I worry that Jack is going to get discouraged.
Jack has consistently maintained that his greatest joy is simply seeing his work in print, but with all his hard work to market his manuscript, it would be nice if it provided some Christmas cash. All his friends have already bought his book, so he can’t fill their Christmas stockings with The Book That Jack Built. A bit of black ink on our profit and loss statements would sure be a nice holiday surprise for him.
Meanwhile, the weather is supposed to be glorious for the first-ever Leaf Turning Festival in Tellico Plains. We’ll meet dozens of new people who travel here from all parts of the country. Even if we don’t make a lot of money, we sure have the opportunity to make a lot of friends. My hope is that, one day, a big-time publisher will discover Jack and turn his book into a series of children’s picture books. While we’re dreaming, we might as well dream big.
I never come out of these festivals in the black. The arts and crafts make perfect stocking stuffers for our family and friends, so I always spend more than we make – at least until after Christmas.
I made mashed potatoes last night using potatoes from Richard and Mamie’s garden. It may be my imagination, but the flesh seemed to be creamier than that of most potatoes that we purchase. Richard wanted them the old-fashioned way, but I’m anxious to try them whipped with some of our home-grown carrots – maybe with a bit of my mountain of dill thrown in for gourmet flair.
While Richard took my van in for brake repairs, I caught up on my reading, writing, and ‘rithmetic. It was time to figures out where Jack and I stand on income versus outgo on Jack’s book – my least favorite part of the publishing process. Jack and I agreed that we’d square up once we got the October festival book signings done, hoping that we’d be in the black.
Well, this was before we bought hundreds of books in anticipation of four thousand attendees at the Buzz Fest which was, for all intents and purposes, rained out. We have two more signings scheduled before Christmas; then I have to get serious about the school fundraisers. Richard keeps reminding me that our inventory of books is an asset, but I worry that Jack is going to get discouraged.
Jack has consistently maintained that his greatest joy is simply seeing his work in print, but with all his hard work to market his manuscript, it would be nice if it provided some Christmas cash. All his friends have already bought his book, so he can’t fill their Christmas stockings with The Book That Jack Built. A bit of black ink on our profit and loss statements would sure be a nice holiday surprise for him.
Meanwhile, the weather is supposed to be glorious for the first-ever Leaf Turning Festival in Tellico Plains. We’ll meet dozens of new people who travel here from all parts of the country. Even if we don’t make a lot of money, we sure have the opportunity to make a lot of friends. My hope is that, one day, a big-time publisher will discover Jack and turn his book into a series of children’s picture books. While we’re dreaming, we might as well dream big.
I never come out of these festivals in the black. The arts and crafts make perfect stocking stuffers for our family and friends, so I always spend more than we make – at least until after Christmas.
Friday, October 23, 2009
First Fire of Fall
We welcomed the day of Pat and Will’s departure with our first fire of this fall. It’s so nice to climb out from a nice warm bed to be greeted by cozy flames in a wood-burning fireplace and the smells of bacon, banana muffins, and coffee wafting across the kitchen. That’s my idea of a fall stay at a country bed and breakfast.
Pat had traveled with fresh fruit, but her bananas were getting a little ragged looking. Upon my arrival in the kitchen to prepare coffee, I spied them on the counter. Since Pat, Will, and Richard were still enjoying the comforts of their beds, I decided that a parting meal of a country breakfast would be an appropriate way to send Pat and Will off on the next leg of their adventure.
After breakfast, as Will loaded the car, he could stop by the fire and chat with us between summonses from Pat that the next piece of luggage was ready for transport. And Pat and I enjoyed a too-short last visit in the rockers in front of the hearth. Armed with a picnic lunch of sandwich halves left over from our visit to Tellico Kats deli and fresh banana muffins, our visitors departed. With so much left to see and say, Pat promised they’d be back in the spring.
The bright sun warmed our world nicely by early afternoon. We were scheduled for mucking with Mary, but were relieved when she postponed that task until the next day. It’s always nice to stay home and enjoy the afterglow of overnight guests once they leave. It’s a perfect time to putter, and putter we did.
Richard took the opportunity to continue washing his winter stores of black walnuts. He still doesn’t know how he’s going to access the actual nutmeats, but that doesn’t deter him in his efforts to acquire a good stash. The fact that the squirrels don’t beat him to this harvest should tell him something. If cracking these nuts is too much trouble for the squirrels, maybe the work isn’t worth it.
He interspersed this nut job with his ongoing work on indexing and cataloging the digital plans of the PT boat that his beloved Higgins Society is refurbishing for the World War II Museum in New Orleans. I continued cleaning and cutting up basil while visions of kids and grandkids, nieces and nephews visiting for Holidays in the Holler began dancing in my head. It’s dangerous to leave me alone with my thoughts when I’m getting used to an empty nest.
Next week, I’ll begin in earnest clanging around the kitchen again. Even though it’s not even Halloween yet, it’s time to start roasting pecans, and finish preparing pepper jellies for inclusion in the many Christmas packages Santa Richard wraps. Closer to Christmas, there will also be bourbon balls and coconut macaroons to make. With an out-of-town wedding and Thanksgiving looming in November, we have little time to waste while we’re at home.
Pat had traveled with fresh fruit, but her bananas were getting a little ragged looking. Upon my arrival in the kitchen to prepare coffee, I spied them on the counter. Since Pat, Will, and Richard were still enjoying the comforts of their beds, I decided that a parting meal of a country breakfast would be an appropriate way to send Pat and Will off on the next leg of their adventure.
After breakfast, as Will loaded the car, he could stop by the fire and chat with us between summonses from Pat that the next piece of luggage was ready for transport. And Pat and I enjoyed a too-short last visit in the rockers in front of the hearth. Armed with a picnic lunch of sandwich halves left over from our visit to Tellico Kats deli and fresh banana muffins, our visitors departed. With so much left to see and say, Pat promised they’d be back in the spring.
The bright sun warmed our world nicely by early afternoon. We were scheduled for mucking with Mary, but were relieved when she postponed that task until the next day. It’s always nice to stay home and enjoy the afterglow of overnight guests once they leave. It’s a perfect time to putter, and putter we did.
Richard took the opportunity to continue washing his winter stores of black walnuts. He still doesn’t know how he’s going to access the actual nutmeats, but that doesn’t deter him in his efforts to acquire a good stash. The fact that the squirrels don’t beat him to this harvest should tell him something. If cracking these nuts is too much trouble for the squirrels, maybe the work isn’t worth it.
He interspersed this nut job with his ongoing work on indexing and cataloging the digital plans of the PT boat that his beloved Higgins Society is refurbishing for the World War II Museum in New Orleans. I continued cleaning and cutting up basil while visions of kids and grandkids, nieces and nephews visiting for Holidays in the Holler began dancing in my head. It’s dangerous to leave me alone with my thoughts when I’m getting used to an empty nest.
Next week, I’ll begin in earnest clanging around the kitchen again. Even though it’s not even Halloween yet, it’s time to start roasting pecans, and finish preparing pepper jellies for inclusion in the many Christmas packages Santa Richard wraps. Closer to Christmas, there will also be bourbon balls and coconut macaroons to make. With an out-of-town wedding and Thanksgiving looming in November, we have little time to waste while we’re at home.
Thursday, October 22, 2009
Leaves and Lunch
There are few sights more splendid than fall gold on the area waterfalls. The leaves against the black rock shimmer in the clear cold waters cascading down the cliffs, giving the impression of delicate gold doubloons tossed into the turbulence. Bald River Falls, with its hundred foot drop -- swollen from all the recent rain -- was a thundering wall of white water. The mists rose as high and far as the bridge from which we viewed the spectacle. Pat and Will took our pictures; we took their pictures. They’ll love showing these in the lowlands of Louisiana.
Will is an avid fisherman, asking several times along the way whether we ever see fishermen in the river. We usually spy several on any given trip, but saw none in the lower river or at the base of the falls. Pat and Will were interested in learning more about the area fishing, so after leaving the cascades, we continued on to the trout hatchery. The river on this ride was full of fly fisherman; there must have been a recent release from the hatchery.
Pat and Will were duly impressed with the sizes of the grandparent stock. They said they’d never seen such large trout. It’s a good thing the hatchery has the foresight to cover the tanks with netting. I’m not sure we could have restrained Will’s angler urges once he saw these whoppers. If it had been possible, I’m sure he’d love to have caught one for a trophy photograph before releasing his catch.
Pat made several purchases in local shops, her favorite being the iridescent fused glass cross pendant she obtained from the stunning collection by Elisabeth Baerreis. Our lunch at Tellico Kat’s Deli was delightful. We relaxed on their porch overlooking the Tellico River while enjoying their made-on-the-premises scrumptious soup and sandwiches. The crisp fall air and the sounds of the river were a perfect backdrop for being with best buddies.
The last stop on our daytrip tour was Jack’s house for a meet-the-author moment. Jack’s way of life brought back memories of an uncle’s house for Will and exclamations of wonder from Pat that Jack is content with so few conveniences. Then it was home to our holler for a home-grown, home-cooked dinner.
Richard lit a fire in the fireplace for our enjoyment as we sipped our before-dinner wine. We dined on Richard’s lovely salads, and my pork with ginger-cran-pear chutney, spiced butternut squash and green beans. We finished with coffee and carrot cake before slipping into food and fun induced comas for the night.
Pat and Will leave in the morning, but we were just getting started. So many things we didn’t have time to see or say. The next time through, we’ll have to entice them to stay for a week or two.
Will is an avid fisherman, asking several times along the way whether we ever see fishermen in the river. We usually spy several on any given trip, but saw none in the lower river or at the base of the falls. Pat and Will were interested in learning more about the area fishing, so after leaving the cascades, we continued on to the trout hatchery. The river on this ride was full of fly fisherman; there must have been a recent release from the hatchery.
Pat and Will were duly impressed with the sizes of the grandparent stock. They said they’d never seen such large trout. It’s a good thing the hatchery has the foresight to cover the tanks with netting. I’m not sure we could have restrained Will’s angler urges once he saw these whoppers. If it had been possible, I’m sure he’d love to have caught one for a trophy photograph before releasing his catch.
Pat made several purchases in local shops, her favorite being the iridescent fused glass cross pendant she obtained from the stunning collection by Elisabeth Baerreis. Our lunch at Tellico Kat’s Deli was delightful. We relaxed on their porch overlooking the Tellico River while enjoying their made-on-the-premises scrumptious soup and sandwiches. The crisp fall air and the sounds of the river were a perfect backdrop for being with best buddies.
The last stop on our daytrip tour was Jack’s house for a meet-the-author moment. Jack’s way of life brought back memories of an uncle’s house for Will and exclamations of wonder from Pat that Jack is content with so few conveniences. Then it was home to our holler for a home-grown, home-cooked dinner.
Richard lit a fire in the fireplace for our enjoyment as we sipped our before-dinner wine. We dined on Richard’s lovely salads, and my pork with ginger-cran-pear chutney, spiced butternut squash and green beans. We finished with coffee and carrot cake before slipping into food and fun induced comas for the night.
Pat and Will leave in the morning, but we were just getting started. So many things we didn’t have time to see or say. The next time through, we’ll have to entice them to stay for a week or two.
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
Miraculous Moments
Oh what a beautiful day yesterday turned out to be! The sun was shining. I was making progress on processing the basil. So far, I have two gallons of basil leaves cleaned, and I was finally finished getting the house ready for Pat and Will’s arrival.
Going to the van to check the condition of our herbs, I found more basil, which was still a vibrant green – as were the dill, oregano, thyme, and rosemary. I started moving our book signing supplies out of the van to make room for our guests to sit for sightseeing. As I lifted the folding chairs, I spied more green of a non-organic variety. It was the two hundred dollars, still with the rubber band around it, which I thought had been stolen at the Buzz Fest! Upon further inspection, I located my camera. I still don’t know how they go into the van, but I suspect that they somehow fell into a fold in the chair when we were giving change to a customer. I don’t really care how this miracle occurred; I was just so happy to report to Jack that we hadn’t been attacked by human hogs, after all.
Will had said that they would arrive shortly after lunch, but he hadn’t told me what time they eat lunch. I hadn’t factored in the fact they they were driving from the Central Time zone to Eastern Time. Vibrating with anticipation of seeing my soul-sister Pat, I succeeded at channeling this excitement into culinary occupations while Richard went to Mamie’s garden to remove the potentially deadly sweet potato vines. I was able to complete and pack for freezing a huge kettle of red beans, prepare lasagna, and freeze the extra marinara with Italian sausage.
The buzz of the food processor as I fed basil and olive oil into it drowned out the sounds of Gypsy welcoming Pat and Will mid-afternoon.But I did hear Pat's musical voice as she came up behind me to ask if I was preparing pesto. She almost succeeded in getting a pesto-covered hug.I didn't smear Pat with pesto, but we did enjoy pesto and tomato appetizers with our wine while we rejoiced over their finding us without getting lost – or shot.
Richard did such a wonderful job of remodeling our master bedroom and bath that I love to share it with our best friends. There were no fresh flowers to put in their room, and I had forgotten to buy mints for their pillows. But they seemed okay with the fact that we gave them our beautiful master suite with our pillow top mattress and Hershey bars, while we retired to the RV.
It’s so nice having long-time friends in our house. I love to be with people with whom we feel so comfortable that we slip right back into the middle of our relationship the minute we see each other. It’s kind of like your favorite blanket that you curl up in and know that all is well with the world.
Going to the van to check the condition of our herbs, I found more basil, which was still a vibrant green – as were the dill, oregano, thyme, and rosemary. I started moving our book signing supplies out of the van to make room for our guests to sit for sightseeing. As I lifted the folding chairs, I spied more green of a non-organic variety. It was the two hundred dollars, still with the rubber band around it, which I thought had been stolen at the Buzz Fest! Upon further inspection, I located my camera. I still don’t know how they go into the van, but I suspect that they somehow fell into a fold in the chair when we were giving change to a customer. I don’t really care how this miracle occurred; I was just so happy to report to Jack that we hadn’t been attacked by human hogs, after all.
Will had said that they would arrive shortly after lunch, but he hadn’t told me what time they eat lunch. I hadn’t factored in the fact they they were driving from the Central Time zone to Eastern Time. Vibrating with anticipation of seeing my soul-sister Pat, I succeeded at channeling this excitement into culinary occupations while Richard went to Mamie’s garden to remove the potentially deadly sweet potato vines. I was able to complete and pack for freezing a huge kettle of red beans, prepare lasagna, and freeze the extra marinara with Italian sausage.
The buzz of the food processor as I fed basil and olive oil into it drowned out the sounds of Gypsy welcoming Pat and Will mid-afternoon.But I did hear Pat's musical voice as she came up behind me to ask if I was preparing pesto. She almost succeeded in getting a pesto-covered hug.I didn't smear Pat with pesto, but we did enjoy pesto and tomato appetizers with our wine while we rejoiced over their finding us without getting lost – or shot.
Richard did such a wonderful job of remodeling our master bedroom and bath that I love to share it with our best friends. There were no fresh flowers to put in their room, and I had forgotten to buy mints for their pillows. But they seemed okay with the fact that we gave them our beautiful master suite with our pillow top mattress and Hershey bars, while we retired to the RV.
It’s so nice having long-time friends in our house. I love to be with people with whom we feel so comfortable that we slip right back into the middle of our relationship the minute we see each other. It’s kind of like your favorite blanket that you curl up in and know that all is well with the world.
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
Nervous Nellies
I looked out the window, and lo and behold, the sun was shining! Looks like a good day to sweep and de-cobweb the porch. We had a freeze during the night, but Richard had gotten the heating pad placed under Gypsy’s sleeping bag in preparation for the frigid temperature. Buster, our cat, immediately stretched out on Gypsy’s bed, claiming it as his own. Buster does have his own sleeping quarters; in the winter, we swaddle his cat carrier in a couple of layers of sleeping bag. But he much prefers the warmth of our oversized dust mop of a dog and our dog’s bed to having to generate his own body heat inside his hooch.
Mamie called to say that if we don’t get the frozen vines off the sweet potatoes, the potatoes will rot. One more thing to do before Pat and Will arrive, and I still haven’t finished freezing the basil -- some of which is laying on a tarp on the kitchen floor. The other herbs are still in the back of my van acting like organic car fresheners.
Jack removed his sweet potato vines before the freeze, but is afraid that his potatoes have rotted anyway. It’s been too muddy to dig them up with the special plow he invented specifically for his sweet potato harvest. I asked Jack how long-ago farmers survived all winter with the capricious weather dictating the success or failure of their crop harvests. He said that they dried a lot of foods before canning was discovered, and made sure not to deplete their larders in any given year.
Richard is hoping that the rain has removed the last of the black walnuts from our tree. Every night, for the past month, our roof has been under attack by projectile nut pods. The sound of shelling in a strange house in the black-as-pitch holler may be a bit disconcerting to our visitors from the lowlands of Louisiana. Especially since the sound of gunfire is a common occurrence in our area as people protect their homes and livestock from animals visiting from the surrounding forest. Richard likes to tell guests not to worry about the gunfire; it’s just the local way of conflict resolution. We can only hope that Will doesn’t suffer from PTSD, as he is a Vietnam War veteran.
I’ve already made our friends nervous by letting them know that they should arrive before dark because directions to our front door are not available on navigation systems, and cell phones get no reception in Coker Creek. It got worse when I informed them that I was signing them up on our membership for air evacuation services, in case one of them should need emergency medical care. The major hospitals are over an hour’s drive away, so this is just a precaution we take – not to worry. By the time I finished giving them directions to our home, Pat asked if I was expecting to have to send the air evacuation team to rescue them when they got lost. Will wanted to know if they needed to get shots before coming.
Maybe I shouldn’t have told him that he didn’t need to get shots, but he may be shot on his way here…
Mamie called to say that if we don’t get the frozen vines off the sweet potatoes, the potatoes will rot. One more thing to do before Pat and Will arrive, and I still haven’t finished freezing the basil -- some of which is laying on a tarp on the kitchen floor. The other herbs are still in the back of my van acting like organic car fresheners.
Jack removed his sweet potato vines before the freeze, but is afraid that his potatoes have rotted anyway. It’s been too muddy to dig them up with the special plow he invented specifically for his sweet potato harvest. I asked Jack how long-ago farmers survived all winter with the capricious weather dictating the success or failure of their crop harvests. He said that they dried a lot of foods before canning was discovered, and made sure not to deplete their larders in any given year.
Richard is hoping that the rain has removed the last of the black walnuts from our tree. Every night, for the past month, our roof has been under attack by projectile nut pods. The sound of shelling in a strange house in the black-as-pitch holler may be a bit disconcerting to our visitors from the lowlands of Louisiana. Especially since the sound of gunfire is a common occurrence in our area as people protect their homes and livestock from animals visiting from the surrounding forest. Richard likes to tell guests not to worry about the gunfire; it’s just the local way of conflict resolution. We can only hope that Will doesn’t suffer from PTSD, as he is a Vietnam War veteran.
I’ve already made our friends nervous by letting them know that they should arrive before dark because directions to our front door are not available on navigation systems, and cell phones get no reception in Coker Creek. It got worse when I informed them that I was signing them up on our membership for air evacuation services, in case one of them should need emergency medical care. The major hospitals are over an hour’s drive away, so this is just a precaution we take – not to worry. By the time I finished giving them directions to our home, Pat asked if I was expecting to have to send the air evacuation team to rescue them when they got lost. Will wanted to know if they needed to get shots before coming.
Maybe I shouldn’t have told him that he didn’t need to get shots, but he may be shot on his way here…
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