Morning Walks

Sometime during this past winter, which was particularly long and bitter cold, (by western North Carolina standards anyway), I vaguely recall vowing to never again complain about the heat. What's that my mother always says about never saying never? Well, I'm not exactly complaining yet (that will probably come in August), but my, it sure has been hot lately! But, generally speaking, the muggy humidity is nicely counterbalanced by an abundance of garden fresh food, sundresses, straw hats, flip flops, berries, and banana splits. Besides, when you can greet the day with a jaunt down the driveway, surrounded by wildflowers and the boundless enthusiasm of a toddler, a little heat is nothing to fuss about.

The sweet little daisies have been replaced by the more sophisticated, mature Queen Anne's Lace, which I think may be my favorite of the seasonal wildflowers that spring up around here. So simple, in their subtle mix of strength and delicacy. Perfect in a Mason jar, set in the middle of the table. Or anywhere for that matter.

Kate adores them too. The stems are a bit tough, not something she can easily pluck like a daisy, so our morning walks are punctuated by commands to "get the white flower Mama!"

I'm not sure what these little blue flowers are, but they just appeared this week, and are lovely as well.

I suppose I won't mind terribly if summer sticks around for awhile.

Thrifting Treasure

To avoid filling the house up with clutter, I've implemented the $10 rule for my thrifting adventures. $10 is the maximum I allow myself to spend on any one trip. Sometimes of course, serendipity will place something in front of you that fits so perfectly into your life and for just the right price, that the only thing to do is throw that rule right out the window, ask the ladies to hold it, and dash home for more money. But for the most part, it works. Case in point: Tuesday, Kate and I ventured up to our favorite treasure digging spot. I ended up spending a total of $3. The $3 was for a little pop-up tent for Kate to play with in the back yard. Granted, I wasn't intending to buy a tent when I went up there, but the squeals of joy that have come from the hours spent playing with that tent have definitely been worth $3. But the real treasure was yet to come.

As I was checking out, one of the ladies from the back storage room came to the front to ask the other lady about some books that had just been donated. She was wondering what to do with them because they were so old. She said most of them were from the1890s, and not in very good condition, so she supposed she would just throw them out.

Well, of course I immediately asked if I could look at them, because I have a longstanding love affair with old books. I went back with her to look at them. There were seven books in all, and they were exquisite. Antique books are truly works of art: the ornate cover decorations and the vibrant gilt. I don't believe any of them were first editions, but they were all from the 1890s, and given their age, not really in such terrible shape after all. I told her I would very much like to buy them.

At which point, she put them in a bag for me, and told me to just take them, since she was going to throw them out anyway. I couldn't believe it, and told her I would be more than happy to pay for them, but she insisted.

So that's how I wound up with seven gorgeous antique books, that are going to look just perfect on our mantle (after I give them a thorough and careful perusing; a few of the titles I was unfamiliar with and they looked fascinating). At first I couldn't help but feel a little guilty, even though I had offered to pay for them. But, I do donate a lot of things to the shop (mostly loud, modern, plastic toys given to Kate by well-meaning friends and family, which I'm sure sell well), so I suppose I'll just consider it good thrifting karma (never underestimate the power of karma in the thrifting world), and not worry about it. :)

On an unrelated note, we'll be headed up the mountain to Boone this weekend, to visit Mark's family. It's always a nice trip, and hopefully the higher elevation will mean a few degrees cooler temperature which would be a relief from this unrelenting heat. And it's only June!

First Summer Harvest and Winter Firewood

Last night, we enjoyed our first garden harvest supper. Oh my! Actually, we've been enjoying those green onions for awhile now, along with our lettuce and some herbs from my herb garden, but for some reason, it doesn't really feel like a summer garden dinner until you have some beautiful, cheerful yellow squash to liven things up. Sliced in wedges, drizzled with some olive oil and a dash of salt and pepper, and tossed on the grill....it just doesn't get more summery than that. That sweet little purple pepper was an early bloomer, the only one of its kind so far, but quite tasty, and pretty too! More of those to come later, I'm sure. Of course, by mid July we'll be entirely sick of squash, and trying to pawn it off on random strangers, but for now, it's new and fresh and fabulous!

Last week, we finally had the big tree directly behind our house taken down. It was such a big job (and so close to the house) that we called in a professional, one with a fancy truck with one of those little buckets they ride in, in order to be able to take it down limb by limb. It made me sort of sad to see it go, but it was entirely dead, and the huge branches hanging way over our house were definitely dangerous, so I suppose it had to be. On the upside, this one tree will likey supply all the firewood we'll need for the winter. Or at least a huge chunk of it. Mark and my dad spent most afternoons last week busting the wood into manageable logs for the woodsplitter. We'll start splitting these into fire logs soon. Such is the nature of farm life, to be splitting firewood in the dead heat of summer.

Last night, we loaded the farm truck down with branches and brush and moved it down to a ditch in the lower pasture. What with the weather being so hot and dry right now, we probably won't be able to burn it for awhile, but when we can, what a bonfire! I foresee several Nutella s'mores in my future.

Kate and Her Fellas'......or A Belated Father's Day Post

My mother-in-law just sent me this picture, which is why I'm only getting around to posting it today, but it was taken on Father's Day. My little lady love and the most important men in her life. What a blessed girl she is, to have the strength, love, and support of these amazing men.

From left to right, Grandbob (Mark's dad), Mark, and Granddaddy (my dad).

Making Friends With My Sewing Machine

Schoolgirl confession: I very nearly failed my home economics class in high school. Of course, by this time home ec had morphed into something that fell under the curriculum header of "Teen Living," and we spent most of our time reading text books and role playing various scenarios intended to enable us to withstand peer pressure and build positive self esteem. In fact, the only two practical skills we learned were how to bake biscuits, which I enjoyed very much, and how to sew a pair of gym shorts, which I decidedly did NOT enjoy. Oh, what a mess. Somehow, my finished product was so lopsided that one leg reached nearly to the knee, while the other was too short to even pass dress code. It was abysmal.

As an Honors student I wasn't used to experiencing failures of any sort. I could spout off ten page research papers with no problems, ace history tests, even memorize the periodic table with relative ease. And although I remember being frustrated at the time, I recall also having a rather flippant attitude toward the whole thing. After all, it was only "home ec." I was worried about my grade, but as far as being able to make a pair of shorts, well when would I ever need to do that? I was a college prep student. We had bigger things to think about.

It amazes me how blind I was in those days. How mindlessly I followed the system so deeply engrained in our culture that is bent upon creating consumers, and not producers. Obviously, I've done a complete 180 in my life philosophy, living my simple little life in my cabin in the woods. The majority of my days now are filled with activities my adolescent self probably would have scoffed at. But don't be too hard on her. She just didn't know any better.

Still, even though I'm happy to spend hours in the kitchen, or even in the garden, the sight of a sewing machine fills me with trepidation to this day. I really like the idea of sewing, and many of my favorite blogs feature crafty folks who are wizards with a sewing machine. I love the idea of being able to make clothes for Kate, and even myself. But then comes the part where you actually have to sit down and thread the darn thing. And what about patterns? It's like geometry of the worst kind and it hurts my head. And, of course, there's that nagging bargain shopper voice in the back of my head saying, "You could just go out and buy this a lot cheaper and with a lot less headache." Sometimes that voice wins out, but on my better days I know this is not true. Yes, perhaps I could scour the clearance racks and find "great deals" that might cost my personal bank account less than a piece of nice fabric. But somewhere down the line, someone is paying the expense of these "cheap" goods, whether it be the exploitation of underpaid workers in other countries or ravages upon the environment from factories and transportation. I don't mean to sound preachy, this is just the sermon I have to deliver to myself, whenever I find myself slipping into a mindless consumer mentality.

Ethical issues aside (because honestly, it's doubtful that I'll ever get to the point where I'm making all of our clothing), I've also reached the conclusion that sewing is one of those things that a person should just know how to do, whether it is their grand passion or not. There are, of course, super talented folks who will be able to work magic with cloth and thread. But for the rest of us, there is still the aspect of sewing that is a "skill" that can be acquired, versus a "talent" that must be innate. With the abundance of ready made, "cheap" goods on the market, my generation has pretty much looked upon sewing (and many other important life skills) as a hobby. Both my grandmothers were excellent seamstresses, out of necessity. One of them enjoyed sewing, the other did not. But even the one who did not particularly enjoy it, knew how to do it, and do it well. It's sort of like cleaning the bathroom. I don't particularly look forward to it, but it's one of those household chores that has to be done. Truthfully, I think despite my reservations, sewing has potential to be a lot more fun than cleaning the bathroom. It's just going to take a little work, attention, and perseverance to get myself to a skill level where I can enjoy successes rather than rip my hair out over crooked seams and tangled threads. I'll let you know how it goes.

Morning Escapades

It was an interesting morning around here. Just as Kate and I were sitting down to breakfast, we heard a stampede of cows coming around the side of the house. Now, that in and of itself is not as unusual as you might think. The cows frequently wander around the house, but this was decidedly different than the lazy meanderings of these normally docile creatures. For one thing, they were running. And also there was a big uproar of mooing and snorting that was quite out of character. So, we abandoned our oatmeal and ran onto the porch, to see what all the commotion was about and low and behold, this poor little (well, in comparison to the cows) fellow was being chased around by the entire herd. He (or she) was beside himself. Sally Rose had to get into the action too, so she ran after the pig, barking her head off, but was too much of a coward to get too close. We still don't know who this pig belongs to, although we've put the word out. I haven't seen it since this morning though, so I like to think he's off in the woods somewhere enjoying his new found freedom.