Happy Birthday, Youngest Son!

It was a long, hot July day, and only Aaron and I were home. Aaron was 12. I came home from typing class (my very first college class, started when I was 8 months pregnant) and stopped to pick a bunch of zinnias for a kitchen bouquet.

Four bushels of tomatoes waited to be canned in the steamy kitchen, and I was delaying. That was when I started into labor. Aaron was scared to death when I drove the two of us to the hospital. Larry arrived from work a couple hours later. Seven hours after the first indication that Tom was on his way, we had our fifth son. Happy Birthday, Tommy! (oh, those tomatoes? I gave them to a friend who was happy to take them off my hands. Along with the grapes, some cabbages and a few other things. I just languished happily in the hospital for 3 days. They let you do that back then. I needed the rest!)

Tommy at three, with his favorite toy in hand and a "bonk" on his forehead, riding high on Dad at Cranberry Glades, WV.

Tommy at 6, having a high ol' time with Dad and his toy gun.

And at 8, in a strange double exposure shot taken at his babysitter's pool.

At 12, he was still spooked on this walk into dark, wet woods to find an old graveyard in the hills behind our house.

As a senior in high school, doing what he loved best. Baseball ruled his life and ours for 5 years, and we had some very good times watching him play. One of the funniest things I remember was when he came to the mound to pitch for one game--the announcer started playing "Wild Thing" and everyone laughed because it was true. He could throw fast and had a lot of trick pitches, but he could also be wild, wild, wild. I sure loved to watch him bat, though. He seldom came away without a hit--a testament to the hours he spent practicing.

Two years ago--this is one of my rare photos of all five sons together.

And finally, this winter, after returning from Germany. Fitness and working out are his passions, and it shows. No birthday cake for this guy--instead, we fixed him a big piece of salmon to go with his brown rice and salad. I thought about putting candles on the salmon...

I sure wonder what he'll do in his next 22 years. I think it's going to be an interesting trip.

Good Summer Reading?

I finally have a little time for some light summer reading. I picked up a book at the local library the other day, and Monday evening I settled down on the couch to read.

Darn. I was disappointed. The book (Divining Women by Kaye Gibbons) did not live up to the cover blurb. It sounded good--a story set in 1918 against the backdrop of the end of World War I and the beginning of the flu epidemic, had the makings of a a good read.

Maybe I'm losing patience or getting old and cranky. I want women to be strong and able to speak up and get out of rotten situations on their own. I just could not feel sympathy for the two women who seemed rudderless and spinelss, allowing themselves to be pushed around be everyone from parents to servants to a husband. I tried to tell myself, this is then, not now, and women were different. But it didn't work. I just got more aggravated with the two heroines with every page I turned.

So I'm still looking for a good read. Can anyone recommend something to this librarian that will pull me into a really good, strong story where the characters have...well, character?

Jaime's Garden

We visited Aaron and Jaime on Saturday, on our way to the Wine, Music and Art Festival. I had not yet seen Jaime's "victory garden." She decided to plant some vegetables and herbs instead of flowers in her yard this year, and the results are beautiful--and productive.

These are a few pics of her garden:

Pickled Crabapples

The recipe I use:

1 gallon crabapples

4 cups distilled white vinegar

6 cups sugar

2 cups water

2 sticks cinnamon, broken up

1 teaspoon whole cloves

1 tablespoon whole allspice

Wash the apples. Do not peel (wouldn't that be a job with crabapples!)

Mix together vinegar, water and sugar; bring to a boil.

Put the combined spices in a cheesecloth bag (I used a piece of old sheer panel curtain). Add to the boiling liquid and boil for about 10 minutes.

Add the apples and cook until tender, but don't overcook them (or they'll be mushy). Remove the bag of spices.

Pack apples into hot sterilized jars and cover with the boiling syrup. Seal and process. (I do mine in a water-bath canner, but today's regs call for pressure canning everything. If you use a pressure canner, follow the instructions for processing pickles.)

I doubled this recipe yesterday.

Blackberry Folklore and Stories

With blackberries in full fruit, I thought I'd share some websites with stories, lore and superstitions about these luscious fruits. The blackberry is more than just a pretty berry!

You can find blackberry legends here; scroll down the page to find the blackberry. There are many other flowers and fruits listed too. Fascinating reading, I just wish I knew the source of the information presented (the librarian in me!). According to the site's author, blackberries were planted around graves to keep the dead from rising as ghosts (maybe their shrouds would get caught on the thorns?)

A Native American raven and blackberry story , along with about 1600 other Native American stories, can be found on the Turtle Island site.

The Devil and the Blackberries: advice from an English blog about the best time to pick blackberries--unless you want a helping of the devil in them!

Another Native American story on the Native Cuisine site is just one part of an interesting site, with lots of recipes, history, and lore. Scroll down to the story about Food Gathering to read the one about blackberries. The print on this page is tiny, so you may need to adjust your screen for that.

Was the blackberry the "burning bush" in the bible? In Plant Lore, Legends, and Lyrics (published in 1892), Richard Folkard suggests this might be the case.

Blackberry's medicinal uses are described at the Alternative Nature Online Herbal site. (This is not an endorsement of the remedies and information on the alternative Nature Online site; I list it as interesting reading for storytellers and writers, and for folkloric background.)

Blackberries in the story of a coat and its history at the HealingStory site.

An African story about blackberries. Blackberries in Africa? Who knew?

And more blackberry folklore on the Gothic Gardening site. Even the Celts, it seems, were into blackberries. And did you know that "when you put blackberries on a threshold or windowsill, you can force a vampire to count over the thorns and berries until morning comes." That is similar to another bit of lore I've heard--that evil spirits have to count all the holes in a screen door or window before coming in; it takes them so long that day breaks before they are through and they have to leave!

That's enough good reading to keep us busy for an evening at least, while eating a good blackberry pie.

Sunday: Day of Rest?

Maybe for some. For us, Sunday has been a day to:

*Sleep until 8:00 am after getting in at midnight from the Glen Elk Wine, Music and Art Festival in Clarksburg, WV. We left home early enough to stop by Aaron's for a visit and dinner. Jaime, James and Michaela came with Larry and me to the festival, where I was telling stories twice: first puppet stories with children, and then on the main stage, telling West Virginia ghost stories. I'll have to write more about the festival later, and post some photos.

I had to stop and take a picture of the wild chickory on the side of the road. The blue was so vivid in the morning light.

See? Here's one close up.

*Go to the bank and pick crabapples. The bank has a tree that is loaded with crabapples every year, and every year I think I'm going to get some to make one of my favorite treats, pickled crabapples, and crabapple jelly. Now before you wrinkle your nose at pickled crabapples, let me tell you you have to try them before you decide. (Recipe tomorrow)

*Go to the store and buy more jar lids and sugar. And jars. My jars vanish every year. Even though most people are conscientious about returning them, I seem to have to buy at least 6 dozen pint and half-pint jars every year.

*Come home and pick the few beans that were ready. Enough for four freezer bags. I prefer canned beans but with so few it wasn't worth the trouble to can them.

*Work up the crabapples. I made about 20 pints of pickled crabapples and have a half-gallon of juice ready to make into jelly. I ran out of time today.

*Pick some peaches. The branches of this tree lay on the roof of the turkey house when they're loaded with ripening peaches. So Larry takes the easy, if a little risky approach to picking!

*The kitchen is trashed. We've been invaded by BIG pots--canners, preserving kettles, pans for picking and cleaning produce. Everything is sticky. But everything is almost done. A little more cleaning, and jelly to make tomorrow after work.

A restful day? No. A good day? Oh yeah!

Snake in the Grass, Snake in the Road

Snake in the grass...

crosses the road, looking cross.

Sees me,

tastes the air,

...and leaves the area.

'Bye snake!

(I'm wondering if he was heading for the chicken house again. This morning we were missing a few eggs. Hmmm. Last time he showed up, Larry dowsed him with a bucket of cold water. Might be time for another bath.)

I just call these 6-footers black snakes. Do they have another, more specific name? I can't recall ever hearing one.

The Slip

Almost two years ago a major chunk of road slipped over the hill not too far from my house. It wasn't a major road--just a one-lane tar-and-chip road that connected Joe's Run with Trace Fork Road. There are few houses along the road, and one would think traffic would be light.

But the road connected two communities; without the road, travelers had to drive 20 miles around, through town, a trip that took from 20 minutes to 40 minutes, depending on how far up Trace Fork you lived.

There were some strong connections between the two communities: Mt. Hope Church on top of the ridge was the place of worship for people on both sides of the ridge where the slip occurred. The mail route ran across the ridge, traveling from Sandyville up Trace Fork, and serving Joe's Run. The route had served these homes for many, many years--I read a history written by a former mail carrier that dated the route back into the 20's and 30's.

The ridge road was the shortcut to Ravenswood, the only other town in our county besides Ripley. People from Joe's Run worked and sometimes shopped or visited the doctors there. People from Trace Fork traveled the shortcut to get to Spencer, 50 miles around otherwise, but only 30 if you traveled across the ridge. During Fourth of July, travelers who wanted to avoid Ripley cut across the ridge.

For a quiet narrow little road through quiet country, the volume of traffic sounds surprising. In truth, probably no more that 20 cars traveled the road on any given day, if that many. But to those who relied on this alternative route, not to have it was an extreme inconvenience. Take the bus driver, who lived on one side of the slip, but drove the route on the other side. His solution was to use his four-wheeler to cut through the woods to the place where he parked his bus. Not ideal, especially in bad weather. But it's what he did.

Then the drillers came. Gas wells are still being drilled here; there are several in process right now. The drillers needed access to the water in the lake on Joe's Run. So although citizens had begged the state road to fix the slip--an expensive and extensive project--no action was taken, it seems, until the drillers needed to get to the water. Or is that just my cynical side showing? Maybe the project was already being planned? I have my doubts, since we heard that the post office was planning to change all of us on Joe's Run to another route so the mail carrier didn't have to take the long way around.

But look at the road now:

What a difference! Fixed at last, and even if it was done at the insistence of the drilling companies, we can once more travel the shortcut, see what's going on on Trace Fork--and keep our same address.

Etheree: Daybreak

This is a poem in the form called etheree. The form was named after an Arkansas poet named Etheree Taylor Armstrong. The etheree is a graduated syllable poem--first line is one syllable, next is two, and so on, until there are ten lines with the last having 10 sylables. The other important thing about the etheree is that it should have strong imagery.


Daybreak

Day
Sunrise
O’er mountains
Mist in valleys
Bird song, rooster’s crow
Sunflowers turn to light
Chickory opens bright blue
Queen Anne raises her lacy head
Gardens glisten, wet with morning dew
The ancient earth awakes, refreshed and new

Blackberry Season and a Blackberry Cobbler Recipe

Four gallons of ripe, juicy blackberries, and I didn't even get a scratch--because my son Derek and his daughter Haley picked them. What a haul.
I don't remember seeing such big berries in a long, long time.

The deal--they pick, I put up.

Blackberry jam goes into the jars.

A trick I use to reduce the amount of pectin needed: mix a cup of applesauce into every 4 cups of mashed berries. You won't taste the applesauce, and your jams will set beautifully--or so it works for me.

Another trick: turn the jars upside down for about 20 minutes after jarring up. It will make the seal "pop" more easily.

I ended up with 13 pints of jam and 14 pints of berries for the freezer--just for doing my part. We had enough left to make a good blackberry cobbler too. For my recipe that I posted last year, click here.

My sister Theresa added this recipe in the comments section of my blog the other day. I haven't tried this, but it sounds so good and so easy, I wanted to post it here so folks don't miss it:

"Southern Living had a great cobbler recipe...1 cup flour, 1 cup sugar, 1 egg, 4 cups blackberries, a tbsp of lemon juice (don't know why) and 6 tbsp of melted butter. Put the blackberries in a greased 8" square pan (so mine was a round cake pan, it worked) mix the flour, sugar and egg together, sprinkle (dump) over the blackberries, drizzle (whatever) the melted butter over the top, bake 35 min in a 375 deg oven...yum. I am not allowed to make it anymore unless we have company!" tm

I can't wait to try this, Theresa. I've got plenty of berries to work with.

In the small world that is West Virginia: Derek told me that the daughter of the man who owned the farm where he picked the berries recently started work at the same place I work.

So today I brought her a jar of jam, made from her father's blackberries.

She was so surprised. I mean, it's over 50 miles from her Dad's place to where we work.

"Do you know my father?" she asked.

"No, but my son does." A small, small world.

Frog Legs, Turtle Soup and Fried Eels, Not to Mention Mudwumps

Oh man! Terry Thornton mentioned preparing eels to eat on his blog, and that reminded me of a story my Dad used to tell about his childhood.

Dad was raised in New Orleans, on Thomas Street. He and his brothers loved life in that city back in the 20's and 30's when they were growing up. They loved fishing too, a love Dad carried with him throughout his life. One day Dad told us this story (and if any of my sisters or brothers are reading, please chime in if I'm remembering wrong):

One of the things they sometimes caught while they were fishing was electric eels. I remember my Dad keeping us enthralled as he told us about how dangerous it could be to catch one--I mean, you could get electrocuted! At least, according to Dad you could. We were fascinated by the idea.

Dad said his mother didn't like eels, but during the Depression times were hard and food was scarce, so one time they caught eels and brought them home and his mother decided to cook them. (Dad did talk about how his mother prepared the eels, but I can't remember that part.)

What I do remember is him saying, "She cut up those eels and put them in the pan and they started moving, moving all around the pan! She had to keep the lid on the pan or those eels would have come right out."

Now to my young brain those words painted a vivid picture. Did the eels crawl out of the pan? or hop out? I pictured my grandmother wearing an apron and a grim determined look on her German face, holding the lid tightly onto a cast iron skillet while the eels pushed so hard against the lid she had a hard time keeping it on. I could see the eels on the dinner plates, still moving. I looked up electric eels in the encyclopedia, and my sister Judy and I talked about what it would feel like to be shocked by an eel.

Kids are like that. Give them a few words well said, and a kid can make up stories for days, and pictures to go with the words. Even now as an adult I feel the same thrill I felt as a kid when I hear the words electric eel.

Terry Thornton, I think, is still a kid in that way too, but a learned kid. My question about whether the eels really do move in the pan when cooked got Terry digging into books and other sources, and he came up with a fascinating post all about eels. That led to another post about another rather unusual item for the table, frog legs, and then of course that led to turtle, and on to mudwumps and mugwumps. I never thought there was an actual thing called a mugwump--live and learn.

So if you're curious about some down-home fare and intriguing facts, you really need to check out Terry's blog. These posts are not for the faint-hearted, but his solid research is as astounding as his subject matter. And he does write about a lot of other interesting stuff too, not just country cookin'.

Dinner, anyone?

Chickens! Eggs!

I forgot to add this in the updates last night: the chickens are laying! and not just a few eggs, either. We're not getting about 13 eggs a day from our hens. It is sooooo lovely to have fresh eggs again.

Most of the eggs are the small pullet eggs, but one hen started laying by laying double-yolkers. Grandson Clayton got to have one of those for breakfast and he was amazed because he'd never seen one before.

Some random things about chickens, if you've never had any or are just starting out with a flock:

• you can tell when they've laid an egg because they will cluck-cluck-cluck-cluck-CLUCK-cluck-cluck-CLUCK--well you get the idea. Very contented, happy sound.


• they like to lay where other hens have already laid. So it's a good idea to keep on egg in the nest to encourage them to lay, if you can spare one. some people use marble eggs, others use those white china doorknobs. I leave an egg, since we've got plenty.
  
• Leghorns lay year-round, with minor breaks. Other breeds mostly take some time off to moult (that is, grow new feathers). They look pretty pathetic during the moulting process, bedraggling around minus feathers here and there.


• Leghorns are nervous and flighty, and noisier than other chickens. The old-time heavy breeds are quieter and calmer--but they eat a lot more than Leghorns and don't lay as many eggs during the year.


• Leghorns aren't worth dressing out for meat, the heavy breeds are, so it's a trade-off. any chicken over about 6 months old will be too tough for frying. I liked to can chicken because it was very tender and easy to use. But it's been a long while since we've dressed any out.


• Chickens lay fairly well for about 5 years if they're cared for. After that, what do you do with them? I know what I do: I call Swap and Shop, the local radio show, and give them away. Someone always comes to get them.


• Chickens need 14 hours of light a day to lay. We keep a light in the henhouse year-round.


• Chickens like a lot of water. We have a water warmer for winter months so their water doesn't freeze.


• Chickens also need grit. Ours get some naturally by pecking around in their yard; I also bake and give them crushed eggshell. You can give them small creek gravel or buy crushed oyster shell at the feed store for grit too.


• Eggs keep better if they're not washed because there is a natural protective coating on them. But these days people worry about stuff like Salmonella so it's probably safer to wash them and keep them in the fridge.


• Fresh eggs are good! But you already knew that.

Stories at the River's Edge

The first time my tails ever went mobile! This lady was one of the best story helpers I've ever had.

A little drummer helps me with the tongue drums. Don't you love the delight on her face?

Tails, all lined up for a tale. This story, Uwungalema, is one of my most popular for audience participation.

I skipped right over sharing these photos from July 16th. That was my day to tell stories for the local storytelling festival, Stories at the River's Edge, arranged by Ohio storyteller Donna Wilson and me. Mostly Donna, though--I helped write the grant and come up with storytellers, but Donna is the main mover and organizer for the festival.



What it is: 8 days of storytelling for communities that border the Ohio River. This year we included the communities of Middleport Ohio, and Mason, Ripley and Ravenswood, West Virginia. Each week we featured a different storyteller who would tell at two locations on Wednesday and tow locations on Thursday.



How it's funded: through a generous grant from the Ohio River Border Initiative, a grant from Pleasant Valley Hospital, and matching funds from three libraries. Also through Donna's efforts to raise the funds (I stink at that), her ability to get people to commit to help, and assistance from several other sources. We were able to purchase a small sound system with this year's grant, which was a lot easier than lugging around my equipment. And now we're set up for next year too.

The series is over for this year. We're already thinking about what to do next year--add some more sites? Keep it the same size? Seek more donors? Add evening programs? One thing is certain--the audiences loved it and it is something our small communities need: performance art brought to their front door, or at least, to a local park.

Updates: Going from the Dogs to Storytelling

Those dogs: they're doing great. I have more photos to share but their still on the camera in the car, which is down the road getting its oil changed at Tim-the-Neighbor-With-the-Garage's garage. Rosie (the beagle) is still boss, Otis (the black lab)has a great big deep voice that is comical with his skinny little self. Baby ignores them both. She's the cat, after all--even if we know she's an overweight elderly little cocker, she doesn't acknowledge the fact.

The car: running great. I was wrong the other day, the odometer is now over 238,000. She will feel much better after some clean oil. Apparently she's starting to use a bit now because when Larry checked it there was none on the dipstick. Oops. She still ran beautifully, so how was I supposed to know? Guess when cars gets older they develop a drinking problem?

The garden: booming. Cukes and squash out the wazoo (what is a wazoo anyway, and where did that term come from? or do I not want to know?).

Blackberries: coming tomorrow. Derek is picking them with Haley at a friend's place. I will process after I get back from work and an appointment. Haley is supposed to help me make blackberry jam and maybe freeze a few and maybe make a cobbler. Yum!

The job: a mess and getting messier. It's dark days at the library.

Storytelling: a new gig this weekend at the Glen Elk Wine, Cheese and Music Festival in Clarksburg, WV. Now doesn't that sound like a great time? I'll be telling stories with puppets for children at 6pm, then ghost stories at 8:30pm.

Thinking About Coffee and Tea

I love good coffee. Especially hazelnut coffee, and especially freshly made with good cream. I'm not a diehard coffee drinker, but sometime over the years I've become picky about my coffee. I will travel miles out of my way if I know a place that serves good coffee. I will walk extra blocks at work to get to Ellen's Ice Cream because she always has fresh hazelnut coffee (from organic, free-trade beans, no less) ready made.

Coffee cups are important to the flavor of the coffee to me. Who wants to drink really great coffee out of a mug advertising Mike's Lube and Brake Shop? Not me. I select a cup to suit my mood and need for caffeine. Big, small, pottery, china, flowered, plain, clear glass, large, small, or very cool shape--all are important to finding the right cup for the brew. Weird? I thought so, but recently learned that I am not alone in this persnicketyness. My sister Maggie stood contemplating my rows of cups and said, "Hmmm, which one is the right one this morning?" It must run in the family.

My favorite coffee mug

I'm a tea drinker too. My English mother taught us to make proper English tea, and it ruined me forever for getting hot tea when I'm out. Tea, you see, is best when made with loose leaves. A teaball is acceptable, but loose leaves are better (use a strainer when pouring, unless you like straining through your teeth!).

The water must be boiling, not just hot (which is why she harrumphed at hot tea machines--the water in those is never boiling). Good tea leaves is a must --she liked a brand called PJ Tips and ordered this English tea through a place in Texas. Mom finally began using teabags as she got older, but she was adamant about using good tea. I am not so diehard about it--but I do like Earl Grey or English Breakfast the best, and don't often use anything else.

I also do not like drinking tea out of a mug (Mom's influence again). I need a teacup with a saucer, and bone china is preferred. When we were children, we looked forward to our 12th birthday because that meant we got our very own china teacup and could have tea at the dinnertable with the grown-ups. It was a rite of passage at our house.

My kitchen shelves--my dishes don't go in cabinets, because I like to look at them.

I realized this year that several of my grandchildren were twelve or older and I had not given them a teacup. I am rectifying that, finding beautiful cups in antique shops for each child who has reached the milestone age. The tradition is being passed on and I hope some of the grandchildren will continue it with their children.