The Weekend List

Our plans for last weekend:

Dig potatoes. Plow garden and plant cover crop. Pick grapes. Make grape juice. Pick elderberries. Make jelly. Cut grass. Change the oil in my car. Dress out seven roosters and five turkeys. Go to the Joe's Run Music Jam and get some homemade ice cream. Chill by the fire pit.

What did we actually accomplish?

Dig potatoes. Check.

Plow garden and plant cover crop. Check. Turnips, lettuce, kale and other seeds await the arrival of rain.

Pick grapes. Check. Make juice. Check. Six quarts of purple passion are in the freezer.

Pick elderberries. Check. A pint of deep red juice is reserved for the making of elderberry butter this weekend, due to the promise of my neighbors that it is delicious.

Cut grass. Check. Larry did that while I messed with berries.

Change the oil in my car. Check. Larry was the man again.

Dress out seven roosters and five turkeys. Roosters--check. Turkeys--we wore out. They're on the list for the coming weekend.

Go to the music jam. Check.

Get homemade ice cream. Check--Larry took care of this one.

Chill by the fire pit. Check, for two nights in a row.

It was a good weekend, and pretty productive. As for those roosters, the hens are much happier now that the stress of so much male ego is abated. The constant crowing had to be driving the girls nuts because it sure wasn't making us happy. That makes twelve birds in the freezer for a total of about 45 pounds of chicken.

What does home-dressed chicken look like?

Like this.

What does it look like after it's been cooked?

Like this.

(You thought I was going to show you terrible pictures of the chicken-cleaning process, didn't you?)

Dinner Sunday night was chicken and noodles, made with our home-raised chicken, onions, celery and carrots. It was delicious, and a good way to end a long day.

A Family Fairy Tale: For John, Visitor #100,000

Once upon a time, in a kingdom by the sea, there lived a young widow with her four daughters and little son. They lived happily, if frugally, on a farm in the country and all was well. Then war came to their country. Their simple, happy life changed. Some of the girls went to work as land girls, helping their government in whatever ways they could--sewing bandages, working on farms, raising money through efforts of all kinds.



One day the young widow and her youngest daughter who was seventeen ventured into a nearby city to do some necessary shopping. At teatime they decided to give themselves a rare treat and have tea in a little tearoom in the shopping district.

As they stood in line, a group of young soldiers from a distant land entered the shop. One of them wore his hat at a rakish angle and his blue eyes sparkled as they fell on the fair face of the youngest daughter. She stood closer to her mother and he approached boldly, asking permission to take tea with them. The young widow, unaccustomed to such quick introductions, murmured something that the soldier assumed meant, "Yes." He joined the women at their table and the daughter soon fell under his spell. As they rose to leave, the soldier swept up both checks, and over their protestations, paid for their tea.

When they parted, the soldier asked if he might see the daughter again. "I suppose so," she said. "There is a dance in my village tonight. You may come if you wish." He promised to be at the dance and said good-bye.

It was only when he left that the daughter realized she had not told him her name or the name of her village. With a sinking heart, she knew it was unlikely she would ever meet the soldier again.

She had underestimated his determination. He was angry with himself for being so foolish. Why had he not asked at least where she lived? In desperation he asked everyone he knew if they had heard about a dance to be held that evening. At last, one person said he though there was to be a dance in a small village about seven miles away. The soldier put on his best uniform, mounted his bicycle, and rode quickly to the village.

He found the village with ease, but he had no idea how to find the young maiden he had met at the tearoom. A man walked into view and the soldier approached him.

"Excuse me, sir. I am looking for a beautiful girl with auburn hair. Do you know of such a girl?"

The man looked at the soldier. "Oh, indeed. I know who you're looking for." He leered at the soldier. "She lives in the end house on the next street. You can't miss it."

The soldier thanked the man excitedly and rode down the street. At the last house on the street he dismounted and walked to the door. As he raised his hand to knock, the door opened. There stood a woman with red hair, but this woman was heavily made up and her clothing made no mystery of her trade. Low-cut, clinging red satin draped her figure.

"Hi there, honey, come on in." "No, thanks," the soldier stammered. "I seem to have found the wrong address." He stumbled back to his bike, embarrassed.

He rode slowly back to the main street, thinking he would never find the girl that had filled his mind since their meeting that afternoon. He did not even know where in this village the dance might be taking place. He had been on a wild goose chase, he thought. It was no good; he would never see her again.

It was at that moment a movement caught his eye. Coming down the street was the very girl he had been seeking, walking with her mother and laughing. The young man rushed over and before she could say a word, he said, "Please tell me your name so I will never lose you again."

They married five months later, moved to his country, had thirteen children and lived happily all their years.

He never lost her again during their sixty-one long years together.

But...

Back in her country, her sisters also married and had children. The cousins on either side of the ocean seldom heard from each other except through their mothers, and only saw each other once or twice over the long years. Then a miracle occurred. Someone invented the Internet. Someone invented email and blogging and Facebook.

The long-separated cousins could finally share photos and messages across the miles. One cousin started a blog, and her cousins read it in their distant home, and heard their cousin's voice through another invention called podcast.

The elderly aunt and uncle heard the podcast too, and when one cousin emailed across the ocean to share this news, he became the 100,000th visitor to this blog. And they will all live happily, talking and sharing through their computers, to the end of their days.

The End.

Photos of Uncle Ted, Aunt Flo and John (my 100,000th visitor and wonderful cousin) and lower photo of my cousin Les who found us on Facebook and posted these last two pictures on FB. I am pretty sure he won't mind me borrowing them.

Ghost Stories: Looking for a Scare...

I've been invited to tell ghost stories in Athens, Alabama at the Athens Storytelling Festival on October 30th. I tell a lot of ghost stories and have many in my story bag.

But I'm thinking, why not look for something new to tell? I have time to develop a new story, almost two months.

Last night I started in on my collection of ghost story books and folk history books that I thought might have a tale or two. I found some interesting ideas:

In "History of Monroe County West Virginia" by Oren F. Morton there were several tantalizing references; one to a grave in which the corpse was buried vertically (standing up), another to a home about which the author said he'd heard many ghost stories, noting that the "harnt's"could be the ghosts of slaves buried beneath the creek bank. But that was all he said. Now the stories are probably lost because this book was published in 1916. Those who knew the stories are gone, unless by chance they passed the tales on to others.

In Jim Comstock's West Virginia Heritage Encyclopedia, he tells the story of the Rich Mountain ghost, a Civil War ghost story that while spooky, isn't scary enough for my needs.

Then I found a Scottish story about a crying baby in the night, and its ghostly mother; several Scottish accounts of visits from water-horses, strange beings that rise from the water and drag people below the surface to eat them.

There was a strange tale from the Gulf Coast of the United States about a greedy ship captain and ghostly harp music that brought his doom, and several about witchcraft and its effects.

I am still searching. One of these stories may still be the one I develop, but the pile of books still to be looked through is still tall, and there may yet be something that jumps out at me as "the" story to tell. Which is not meant as a pun! That is how it works, as any storyteller can tell you. A story is heard or read and it sparks something in the teller's imagination that says, "Yes. This one is for me to tell." (Which in itself is kinda spooky, now I think about it.)

Somewhere I have read a story about a slave woman who uses a spell to hide her husband in a pine tree so he won't be sold away from her. It's an eerie tale. Perhaps I'll stumble on it again. It has remained in my mind, a tale too powerful to forget.

So I am still searching. Maybe tonight the story will be there, buried in the pages of a book published in 1890-something.

A ghostly legend haunting the pages, waiting for me to open the book.

I hope.

If you have a ghost tale to tell, I'd love to hear it.

(I suppose the festival will update its web page soon--it's still showing Lyn Ford, a fantastic teller from Ohio who was the ghost stories teller last year.)

Now back to the kitchen. This weekend is grapes and elderberries again, potatoes to dig and roosters and turkeys to prepare for the freezer. We'll see how much of these tasks we accomplish.

Granny Sue Podcast

Now you can hear me telling a story online, through a podcast I did this week with Eric Frtzius of West Virginia Writers.

Click here to go to the website where you can hear the podcast.

How cool is that. The Internet never ceases to amaze me.

Thanks, Eric!

Book Review: Earth Day: An Alphabet Book

Simple is the best way to describe this little book.

Simplicity of design, text, and color earmark a tight little alphabet book that celebrates the earth and all its creatures.

There are no overt messages here about being ecologically aware, or about celebrating the Earth Day holiday. Each two-page spread introduces animals, plants, and insects with fresh, crisp illustrations. Alliteration creates a rhythm for words often grouped in surprising ways, like "bumblebees, bananas, blueberries and beagles." (I have to say I have never considered blueberries and beagles in the same sentence before).

Given the readability rating for a sampling of the text (9.9 on Flesch-Kincaid grade scale) this is a book for reading aloud to a child rather than one which a young child would read alone. Reading aloud offers opportunities to teach early literacy skills on each page. The reader might ask the child, "What other words do you know that start with B?" or, "What color is the elephant?" Large letters at the top of each page can be traced with little fingers to learn the letters' shapes, and the sounds of the letters could be practiced .

A slight disappointment is that some words are not illustrated; there are no raspberries on the page with the "R" words, and no nasturtium on the "N" page, for example, even though these words are included in the text. A young child would probably have no idea what a nasturtium looks like, so a learning opportunity is lost on pages that include words that are not illustrated.

With a title like Earth Day, I would have expected a page or two at the end of the book explaining the Earth Day holiday and its significance, or some suggestions for enjoying nature with a young child. Such information would have enhanced the book's value to caregivers, parents and educators.

Earth Day is a gentle, easy read celebrating the diversity of life. The book's enjoyment can be enhanced with early literacy techniques and activities to develop a child's understanding of language, and with nature activities to extend the awareness of our earth and its living creatures.

Written by Gary Kowalski
Illustrator: Rocco Baviera
Published by Unitarian Universalist Association, May 2009
ISBN-13: 9781558965423
Age Range: 4 to 8
32pages
$12.00

For ideas on exploring nature with a young child check out these websites:

Family Fun Magazine article on outdoor activities

Canadian Child Care Federation's article on Exploring Nature with Children

Exploring Nature.org offers pages of information and activities for children

Project Wild offers a printable brochure of ideas

The Sierra Club's website includes a section that addresses "what can I teach my child about the environment?"

99,768

That's how many visitors this blog has had as of this moment.

Amazing.

And of course, now I'm wondering who will be the 100,000th visitor. And how I should honor the occasion.

So, what do you think? What's the best way to celebrate 100,000 visitors?

Share your ideas! I need them because this is too amazing to me. I know many bloggers probably get that many visitors in a week. I've been writing here for 3 years and readers have come and stayed with me. I have met some of you, written to some of you, and feel like I know all of you.

It's been a journey filled with surprises and joy. I hope all of you are here when we hit 200,000.

But...what do you recommend as a way to celebrate? I'm all ears!

Rindercella: A Blory Stog

If you have never heard of Spoonerisms then the title of this post is probably yeek to Grou. If you were a Hee Haw fan, however, you probably heard Archie Campbell tell the story and know exactly what I am referring to.

Spoonerisms (named after Dr. William Archibald Spooner) are phrases that exchange the first letters of words to create new words or phrases with entirely different meanings ( for example, "Larry had a little Mamb" certainly conveys a different meaning than "Mary had a little Lamb").

I love spoonerisms. I first heard Rindercella some years ago when a storyteller told it at a story swap. Now I cannot recall the teller's name or even where the story swap was--I'd guess it was at a National Storytelling Conference--but the story amazed me and I decided to learn it.

Rindercella is one of the few stories I memorized because the placement of letters and words is important in this tale. For most of the stories I tell, I learn the story, commit its "bones" or outline to memory, and then tell it in my own words. The telling varies by audience; their comprehension, the amount of time we have, their age all impact how I tell a story. In the case of Rindercella, I tell the story almost exactly the same every time.

Here is my version of Rindercella:

Tonce upon a wime in a coreign fountry, there lived a geautiful birl named Rindercella. She lived with her sticked wetmother and her two sister step-uglies. Poor Rindercella! She had to do all the wirty dork and those two sister step-uglies? All they did was hush their brair.

Now in that same coreign fountry there lived a prandsome hince. That prandsome hince was so lad and sonely that he decided to have a drancy fess ball and invite all the geautiful birls. When those two sister step-uglies heard that, they wanted to go! They said, "Rindercella! Drix our fesses and hush our brair! We want to go to the drancy fess ball!"

Well, after they left, Rindercella just cat down and shried. She was citting there shrying when her gairy fodmother showed up. "Rindercella, why are you citting there shrying?"

"I want to go to the drancy fess ball, but all I have to wear are these rirty dags," said Rincercella.

"Pro noblem," said the gairy fodmother. She turned a cumpkin into a poach and she turned six mite hice into hix mite sorses. Then she said, "You must remember to return at the moke of stridnight!"

Well, off Rindercella went to the drancy fess ball, and when she got there, the first person to see her was that prandsome hince. And he lell in fove with her, um hmm. They danced and danced. Then suddenly, the mock cluck stridnight! And Rindercella, she stan down the rairs!

But when she stan down the rairs, she slopped her dripper. And when the prandsome hince followed her, all he found was that slopped dripper.

The next day, the prandsome hince went all over the coreign fountry looking for the geautiful birl whose foot would fit into that slopped dripper. When he came to the home of the sticked wetmother, well those two sister step-uglies wanted to try it on. But their fig beet fidn't dit it. But when Rindercella tried it on, her fittle leet fid dit it.

Well, to make a strong story lort, Rindercella and the prandsome hince were married and they hived lappily ever after. And the moral of the story is: if you want to catch a prandsome hince, all you have to do is slop your dripper.

(Did this ever drive my spell-check crazy! Or should I say, did this ever spive my drell creck chazy!)

Other stories told Spooner-style:

Pee Little Thrigs

Beeping Sleauty

And closely related to Spoonerisms is a British tale I sometimes tell, Master of All Masters. The version below is from Joseph Jacob's English Fairy Tales.

Master of All Masters

A girl once went to the fair to hire herself for servant. At last a funny-looking old gentleman engaged her, and took her home to his house. When she got there, he told her that he had something to teach her, for that in his house he had his own names for things.

He said to her: “What will you call me?”

“Master or mister, or whatever you please sir,” says she.

He said: “You must call me ’master of all masters.’ And what would you call this?” pointing to his bed.

“Bed or couch, or whatever you please, sir.”

“No, that’s my ’barnacle.’ And what do you call these?” said he pointing to his pantaloons.

“Breeches or trousers, or whatever you please, sir.”

“You must call them ’squibs and crackers.’ And what would you call her?” pointing to the cat.

“Cat or kit, or whatever you please, sir.”

“You must call her ’white-faced simminy.’ And this now,” showing the fire, “what would you call this?”

“Fire or flame, or whatever you please, sir.”

“You must call it ’hot cockalorum,’ and what this?” he went on, pointing to the water.

“Water or wet, or whatever you please, sir.”

“No, ’pondalorum’ is its name. And what do you call all this?” asked he, as he pointed to the house.

“House or cottage, or whatever you please, sir.”

“You must call it ’high topper mountain.’”

That very night the servant woke her master up in a fright and said: “Master of all masters, get out of your barnacle and put on your squibs and crackers. For white-faced simminy has got a spark of hot cockalorum on its tail, and unless you get some pondalorum high topper mountain will be all on hot cockalorum.” .... That’s all.

Is your tonuge completely twisted now? Then try some of these tongue twisters:

The Tongue Twister Database

IndianChild's Tongue Twisters for Kids

Thinks.com tongue twisters

ESL for kids tongue twisters

Have fun! Tee you somorrow.

Grape Jelly: A Photo Essay

From the start: washed and cleaned grapes.

Weighing the grapes

A little helper

bubble, bubble, toil and...

strain the juice! measure,

cook,

and eat!

Finished.

Grapes and Elderberries and Jelly, Oh My!

Daughter-in-law Jaime and her two children came to visit this weekend with a goal: learn to make jelly. The grapes were picked and in the cellar, waiting for her. The elderberries hung on the bushes, waiting for her. The kitchen was ready. She brought jars, sugar, pectin and a determination to conquer the mysteries of jelly making. We had a wonderful, sticky, hard-work time.

The photos below are of the elderberry jelly-making process.

Berries in the basket, ready to be washed and stripped from the clusters for cooking.

In the kettle, the berries are brought to a boil and simmered for 10 minutes.

Then strained through the jelly bag. This set-up was my mother's and I wonder how I did without it for so many years. It's very handy little tool and the legs unscrew for easy storage.

Someone's little fingers were in the sugar! It takes a lot of sugar for jelly--3 cups of juice (and a quarter cup of lemon juice) needs 4 1/2 cups of sugar.

The juice goes back into the pot, and the sugar is added after the juice reaches a full rolling boil. Then it's cooked and stirred until it returns to a full boil, and stirred for one more minute at a full boil. Jelly and jams like to boil over at this stage so the cook better be standing there stirring unless she wants to clean up a sticky stove.

After removing from the heat after the one-minute hard boil, the jelly is stirred and skimmed and allowed to cool for 5 minutes before jarring up. We sterilized the jars and lids in boiling water. My mother always said that skimming removes any impurities from the jelly. I'm not sure if that's true; some batches will have a lot of foam on them to be skimmed, other batches will have hardly any. It's a mystery to me how and why this happens--anyone know?

We use a canning funnel and ladle to jar up the jelly. Then we wiped around the rims of each jar to remove and little drips that might cause the jars not to seal, put the lids on, tighten them ,and flip the jars over for about 10 minutes to help them seal. After 10 minutes, we flip them upright, and voila! Jelly!

This is part of what we made this weekend. (That's sugar all over the table--we did make a nice mess in the kitchen!)

We ended up with 20 pints of grape jam, 3 of elderberry. After Jaime left I made some mixed batches of white grape and elderberry, and one of white grape, elderberry and a little orange juice because I didn't have quite enough of the other two for a full batch. This last one is very good-a nice tang to it. I made 8 or 9 pints of the mixed jellies.

Today it is recommended by food experts that jams and jellies be processed in the canner. Refer to a canning guide for recommended times and methods for different types of preserves.

Oh, Honey!

This morning I was up to my elbows in elderberries and elderberry juice, the peppers were still staring at me from their basket on the floor and a half-bushel of cucumbers was waiting on the porch.

I heard a knock at the door.

I went to the door, and there stood my husband in his bee suit, holding two frames of honey. "Here," he said, "take these."


I looked. The frames were crawling with these...


and honey was dripping on the floor.

"Uh, no," I said. And closed the door.

Of course, I couldn't just back out on him at that point. I knew he was going to the hives and planned to bring back some honey. I was so busy with berries I didn't consider that I might need to get something ready for it. And Larry figured I'd take care of whatever he brought back.

As I scurried (grumbling loudly, I assure you) around the kitchen trying to find clean containers for catching the honey--everything is full of berries, berry stems, juice, and squished-out berries--Derek and his crowd arrived.

Oh boy. Now we had bees, honey and kids on the porch. Someone was bound to get stung. Hannah immediately let out a shriek. "A bee is on me." Haley's answer? "Well, duh, Hannah. You're stepping in honey." Haley had a bee on her hand at the time (pictured above--she also took the photos for this post, while holding a bee.)

Me? I was still grumbling and fussing at Larry while Derek laughed at both of us. Old people, I bet he was thinking. Listen to 'em! He studied the situation and figured out what he needed to do to calm down the old woman (that would be me).

Hannah overcame her fear to watch her Dad cut honey off the frame. Poppa Larry got out of the bee suit and out of the way. I ran around trying to figure out what and where to put the honey. I knew where I wanted to tell Larry to put it, but it would not be nice to say it here. Just kidding. Really.

In the kitchen, I put chunks of comb into sterilized jars and strained the rest of the honey through my jelly straining bag, which happened to be already set up for the elderberries. A clean bag and a pan was all it took and I was in business.

Finished product: almost a gallon of honey, ready to use. And not one bee in the house. Amazing.

I was sticky from my elbows to my fingertips, don't ask me how. I had managed to sticky up a lot of pots and countertop too. Haley hosed off the porch but there are still some sweet spots attracting a few bees.

But we've got honey! Considering the amount invested in our hives to date, I'm figuring each jar so far has cost us about $40. Two of the hives were new this year, so we may not harvest any honey from them until next year. It's going to take a while to recoup the investment in hives, bees, tools, suits, veils, smoker, and so on.

That first taste of honey made the expense worthwhile. We'll take a little more this year, not much because we want to be sure our bees have plenty to keep them over the winter. Next year, if all three hives survive, we should get a lot more.

Sweet thought.

A Peck or Two of Unpickled Peppers

Guess what' I'll be doing tomorrow?

Cutting up and packing for the freezer, and stringing up the chili peppers to dry, if you didn't guess already. Along with making some grape jelly with my daughter-in-law and maybe elderberry too. And finally getting the carrots put away. Maybe make some dill pickles?

It will be a busy day. Time for me to get to bed so I'm rested and ready.

Seeing Red

I like red glass. For the past few years I've been adding a bit here and there. Some of it came from my mother's collection--I'd bought things for her that found their way back to me when my parents passed on. Other pieces were added when I sawsomething I liked. I didn't intend to collect it, but the collection grew, it seems, by itself.

In this photo, left to right: a cranberry glass pitcher that has a matching sugar bowl that my mother gave me several years before she passed away. She bought it at an antique shop when I was seven or eight, and she told me it's very old. Maybe so--it is blown glass and I just like it. Next, in the back, a hobnail fairy lamp I bought at Fenton Glass and gave to my Mom as a gift in the 70's; front--a small egg cup that was Mom's, then an amberina vase bought at a local shop and in the back an amberina vase I've had for a long time. Front, a large salt cellar, not red but I like its heavy glass. Then a red crackle glass pitcher which was a gift from my sister Julie, a Ruby Flash candy dish I bought for my mother in the early 70's and an amberina pitcher I've had for many years. Far right is a copper plate handcarved in Turkey and given to me by a library board member in 1993. A friend of hers had brought it back from Turkey.

This photo shows the sugar bowl that goes with the cranberry glass pitcher, and an amberina coin glass candy dish that was a gift from a friend about 20 years ago. The white and black-trimmed teapot was made in Czechoslovakia; I like its shape.

In the kitchen, the Ransburg canisters and cookie jar share counter space with the red pitcher. I use all of these items every day. On the shelf above you can see the shell-pink square daffodil plates (circa 1920) I found at an auction last year for $8. These are our everyday breakfast and dinner plates. The cookie jar used to belong to my ex-husband's great-aunt. I think about Aunt Eva and her bathtub gin every time I put cookies in her jar. She was some lady.

In the living room, red art glass has a place on top of the oak wardrobe we use as a coat closet.

The first piece on the left is, I was told by the antique dealer who sold it to me, an expensive piece that lost value because it has a chip (doesn't bother me, I just like its color and shape). In the back is an Italian glass piece found on eBay. Front center is red crackle glass vase, and last a Ruby Red Depression era tall vase that is so dark red it looks black in most lights.

I have a few other pieces of red glass and pottery, and I love the vibrancy red brings to my house and table.

How about you? Do you collect/use red glass, or do you prefer a different color?

Book Review: Rain Gardening in the South

Rain Gardening in the South is a how-to book for those who are interested in "ecologically designed gardens for drought, deluge and everything in between," according to its cover. That intrigued me.

We've had droughts the past two years and further south the drought has been even longer. This summer I thought I heard old Noah out back measuring in cubits during the many long rainy spells we've had; flooding has been imminent many times. As for the "in between": we've had snows, high winds, late frosts, and a killer ice storm six years back. So certainly a lot of variety in the local climate. I wanted to know what the authors proposed as a solution to the many dangers a gardener faces from the weather.

As it turns out, what I expected the book to be about wasn't exactly what it was about. The authors give step by step instructions for constructing garden spaces that preserve water and drain off excess rainfall in an ecologically healthy way. Double-digging, soil corrections, drains, mulch, contouring and careful selection of plants are the keys to this gardening method. Each chapter covers a different part of the process, from the planning stage to the completed garden. A section on resources and contacts, a chapter on troubleshooting and one on water barrels and cisterns, and an index round out the book's offerings.

The benefits of this method of gardening are manifold. Protection of topsoil and waterways and healthier gardens are the obvious ones. The impact is deeper and wider, however; less water runs off onto hard surfaces and into storm drains; rainfall is filtered before entering storm drains, and stored water is also filtered as it makes its way to the water table. The careful planning and attention to plant selection results in beautiful, hardy gardens that do not need as much maintenance as the traditional method of planting.

What can this method of gardening benefit those who live deep in rural countryside? There are few hard surfaces in the country to worry about runoff, and often nary a storm drain in sight. Even the roads might be gravel and porous enough to handle some run-off. Why would someone in the country want to try rain gardening?

It only takes watching a heavy thunderstorm pass through to realize the answer. Run-off, especially in hilly country, is a real problem. Gullies carve down the hillsides, creeks churn red with washed-out soil. In drought conditions, every drop of rain is precious, yet if we have had a long period of dry weather, the rain that does fall often pounds on hard soil and runs off. So for those who are willing to put in the time, effort and expense of a rain garden installation, the results would a boon to the environment both immediate and further downstream. For anyone who has gardened in raised beds, the methods employed in rain gardening are very similar, and the costs probably comparable. We're not talking thousands of dollars, except perhaps in terms of sweat equity.

The book includes some excellent planning tools and plant selection charts that detail the varieties by height, sun/shade and water requirements, color and other features. Even if you never plant a rain garden, the plant charts are a great resource. I was disappointed that the book did not address vegetable gardens, a topic near and dear to us country types. These plantings are purely ornamental and functional, not edible. Maybe there is another edition in the works for the vegetable gardener.

Rain Gardening in the South: Ecologically Designed Gardens for Drought, Deluge, and Everything in Between by Helen Krause and Anne Spafford. Eno Publishers, 2009
ISBN-10: 0982077106
ISBN-13: 978-0982077108

$19.95

Rural Route

Sandyville, Rural Route 2
Spread over fifty-four miles
Of thin tangled roads
Still follows the route
From days of horseback mail
When roads were muddy trails
And it took all day to deliver
To one hundred families along the way





Years later
Housewives watched Archie
In his gray ‘52 Ford truck
Chug through fender-deep mud
Sometimes getting stuck
Men would hitch horses
Pull the truck free

These days, Jack brings the mail
traveling the winding route
In any kind of weather
Pulls up to the mailboxes
Puts down the rusted flags

Sometimes
He might bring a package,
Drive to the house
Pet the dogs, talk
Before crawling up the hill
In his Jeep, back to the route

Sandyville, Rural Route 2
To deliver mail
To Box 110

Friendly Faces from Over the Sea

Sometimes Internet "virtual" friends become real, flesh-and-blood friends. My first experience with this was when I joined the Storytell listserve in 1996. I was a brand new storyteller and a friend told me about a group that talked via email about storytelling. It was an amazing concept.

Now, 13 years later, I have hundreds of storytelling friends all over the US and several other countries because of Storytell. We meet in person at conferences, stay at each other's homes, collaborate on projects and grieve and celebrate life events together.

About two and a half years ago, I started this blog. I've met a few of my readers, and this weekend had the grand opportunity to meet one from across the Atlantic.


How amazing! There she is--Susan from Ireland and Stony River Farm blog--on my front porch! Susan and her family have been in West Virginia this summer, but the summer almost slipped by before we had a chance to get together.

When I called her to set up the visit, the conversation took off as if we'd just talked yesterday. And when she arrived, zoom! We were off again. I'm pretty sure somewhere in the mists of ancestral time we must be related because she felt like a sister. I'm positive she'd fit right in with my seven other sisters. Something about that sense of humor...

What did we do? We ate, lots of food. We talked. We looked at my (by now pitiful) gardens, the chickens and turkeys. We took a ride in the truck to Twin Rocks, and I think Larry did his level best to pitch us all out of the back of the truck as he tore across the ridge. Okay, maybe he didn't go any faster than usual, but it sure feels different when you're perched on a spare tire or a five-gallon bucket in the open back of a rocking four-wheel-drive truck. (I think Susan got lots of speed-blurred photos that might look fine to the inebriated in a pub somewhere.)

Then we talked some more. I thought she was funny online, but I can tell you she's even funnier in person. Her little ones chased lightning bugs, gathered eggs, played with the dogs, explored the house, and got filthy, seriously dirty. (I'd pitch that little shirt, Susan!). Her older daughter who will soon be in college was enchanting.

Susan brought me pint canning jars from the basement of their summer house (bless you!) and we sent her home with apple butter, pickles and a copy of The History of Harrison County (where her summer house is located).

The only problem was that the visit was so short, and she'll be back in Ireland before long. There's always next time, I suppose. And online conversing.

If you haven't visited Stony River Farm blog, you've missed a treat. For writers, Susan offers links to many potential places to get published. I have learned much about parenting autistic children and feel humbled by what I've learned. I have laughed about her adventures and misadventures living in a remote, stone cottage where laughter is a frequent feature and comic disaster a common visitor. For all of us, Susan offers a peek at her life, a window on her wild imagination and some just plain good writing. Stop by her blog--you'll see what I mean.

Bridge and Bird

This bridge crosses the Great Kanawha River near Falls View, WV. I had to drive across, just to see what the river looked like from the bridge.


This is what I saw: green trees, wide rippling river, fog rising from the mountains after the recent shower.

Then I saw a bird--but what kind was it? It was too far away to tell, so...

I zoomed in when the bird landed (watching all the while behind me to make sure no cars were coming--this is a narrow bridge, and not much on the other side, so I felt comfortable about stopping and snapping)...

and saw where he (or she) had landed on a dead tree. Still I was not sure what this bird was.

but in the last zoomed picture, I think that it is an osprey, also known as the fish hawk. And it seems to have its wing spread to dry--or is that for balance?

The trip across the bridge was definitely worth it. I noted that on the other side, there is a road down to the water. Next trip on Route 60, I'm going down there to see what might be hidden on the shores of the river.

Two-Lane Livin' Meet-Up

I'm not mad, really! Larry was taking pictures of me with Lisa Hayes-Minney, editor and owner of the monthly magazine Two-Lane Livin'. I was asking, "did it take?" when the camera flashed. Oh well. The other photo he took is too blurry to use. Lisa looks awesome!

Finally the day came when I would meet my fellow columnists for Two-Lane Livin'. And did I remember to take pictures? Of course not, or at least not until the evening was almost over. Ah well. I am hoping Lisa will post some on the TLL website.

Good food, good conversation, and a chance to pick up back issues of TLL that I was missing--all in all, it was a wonderful Friday evening.

I did at least remember to take some photos of the musicians! Mack Samples is a contributor to TLL and he invited his good friend Buddy Griffin to share some music for us.

The instruments are coming out! That always indicates a good time is on the way.

Buddy Griffin and Mack Samples did not disappoint us. Both are names well known in West Virginia music circles. We heard some good, good tunes--Marching Through Georgia, Lizy Jane, Barbara Ellen, Old Joe Clarke, and others.

Here Buddy demonstrates something that was a trademark of an old-time musician in West Virginia called Natchee the Indian--loosening the bowstrings and playing with the bow on one side of the fiddle and the strings against the fiddle strings. He played a little of Precious Memories for us using this unusual technique. (More about Natchee below)

About Natchee: Since I had never heard of Natchee the Indian, of course I needed to look him up online. I found little information; usually what I found was in relation to his partnership with the better-known Cowboy Copas who died in the plane crash with Patsy Kline and others.

Here is a little about Natchee:

STORER, LESTER VERNON “NATCHEE THE INDIAN” (c.1913-1970):

Natchee was a fiddler born in Peebles, Ohio, who became well known in
southern Ohio in the 1930s. He and Lloyd “Cowboy” Copas traveled with promoter
Larry Sunbrock, who staged fiddle contests pitting Natchee against other famous fiddlers
of the day, including Clayton McMichen, Curly Fox, and Clark Kessinger. Natchee was
a showman and trick fiddler and would win a lot of the contests. The general consensus
is that the contests were probably fixed (most of the fiddlers were paid by Sunbrock).
There is some doubt that Natchee was even an Indian; he was rumored to be either Italian
or Greek. To add to the confusion, he worked on radio with “Indian Bill and Little
Montana” (Bill and Evalina Stallard). He apparently also worked around Dayton and
Cincinnati with Emory Martin and with Jimmie Skinner. Aside from all rumors, people
who saw Natchee remembered him for his showmanship. From the Miami University at Hamilton webpage on musicians from the Cincinnati area.

This photo of Natchee (the only one I could find online) is from
a page of old-time music photos on Perry Blech's website.

Article from the WSU Libraries Wallis and Marilyn Kimble Northwest History Database.