Larry's Ramp-Hunting Trip

"Larry Loves Ramps."

This should be my husband's bumper sticker.

Every year about this time he starts talking about ramps and planning trips to go dig them. He probably dreams about ramp feeds.

What are ramps? You might be sorry you asked. To some people, they are a delicious, gourmet garlic/onion treat that adds a unique flavor to many dishes. To others, ramps are to be avoided at all costs--these people call ramps odoriferous, malodorous and downright offensive.

I've written about ramps before. If you'd like to see a photo or two, and find links to ramp festivals and more click here to read those older posts. I have no new photos to show you because...

Larry didn't find any. Not one. Nada. He went to his usual place along the Williams River, but came back empty-handed. Sort of. He got ramps, but he had to buy them. He did not plan to come home without, plain and simple. So when he saw a guy selling ramps on the side of the road, that was that.

I think he's plotting. I think he wants an excuse to go back to Williams River when the mollymoochers are ready. Maybe I just have a suspicious mind, or maybe after being married for 23 years I just know him well?

However, he did come out of the woods with some cool photos. And he has an excuse to go back.

If you want to read about one of West Virginia's largest (if not the largest) Ramp Festivals, you need to read the Richwooder's website. All over the state, churches, schools, fire departments and other civic groups will be hosting "ramp feeds" during the next six weeks. You can have your ramps steamed, fried, raw and just about any way you want them--I have even seen Ramp Wine for sale, and have some Ramp Dressing in my own fridge.

Do I like ramps? Yes I do--in moderation; chopped up and cooked into fried potatoes and served with scrambled eggs and a side of ham, they can't be beat. I am not as crazy about them as Larry, though, and that's a fact.

If a person eats raw ramps, they will smell like a garlic factory for several days if not weeks. I don't exaggerate here, as any of you who have tried them can testify.

So if Larry eats them raw, he's sleeping outside with the dogs. I love the man, but even the truest of love should not have to sleep with a smell like that.

Ramp-Hunting in the High Hills--Again

Would you trust your husband with these two?

He looks cold, but not scared, so I think it must have been okay.

They were on the search for these. Recognize them?

Two hams in the wilderness. I hope the grouse managed them all right.

Larry is a happy man. He has ramps. Lots of ramps. (to read about what ramps are, see my blog about his first trip to get them, and be sure to read the comments because Matthew shared some good information there).

The trip yesterday was actually a result of that post and comments. Matthew offered and Larry jumped at the chance to head to Pendleton County on a ramp hunt. We had to get schedules worked out but finally settled on Monday.

After a week of lovely weather, Monday was cold, rainy and snow threatened. But a little thing like weather would not deter an avid ramp man. And these two guys are rabid about ramps.

Larry got a few ramps this weekend at Aaron's house, but he still wanted to get more. You can freeze ramps for later use if you package them right. Carelessness in packaging will get you a whole freezer that smells of ramps, and everything in the freezer will taste like them too. Not a good mix with strawberries or peaches. We triple bag them in good ziplock bags, and Larry just read that if we put the bagged ramps into jars with tight lids it's an even better insurance policy. So that's what he'll do with his new batch.

Digging ramps in the rain is not easy. For one thing, you get water spots all over your camera, Larry tells me. I believe him.

The mountains of Pendleton and Pocahontas counties are a place where time stood still for a long time. Although growth is slowly coming, you will still see things like this barn painted with German hex signs. Matthew's family is from Germany Valley, and many of the old German ways live on in the descendants of the early settlers. You need to read Matthew's blog, Appalachian Lifestyles, to get a real sense of the area.

This old cabin was the homeplace of Matthew's grandparents, I believe. Larry was struck by its location. Imagine winters here 50 or 70 years ago, when snows were much deeper and winter storms fiercer than what we know today. Even in decay, it's beautiful.

Larry came home tired and satisfied. I heard him say something about going back soon for mollymoochers. This time, I think I'll put a tape player in the car because I know there were some high old stories in the air during their trip.

Ramps Lady

We had hoped to get to the higher mountains this month to find ramps, that highly flavored wild member of the onion family. But time got away from us, and neither of us felt like our knees were in good enough shape to hike the hills.

So today I stopped in town when I saw this sign:

That chance stop led to an interesting conversation with the ramp's seller, Shonna.

I mentioned that we still had plenty of dried ramps from last year.

"I guess I'm a traditionalist," Shonna said. "I think it best to eat foods in season. Ramps and dandelions and milkweed in the spring, that's when we should eat them, and not put them up for other seasons. Because then they lose their specialness, and we don't have it to look forward to."

She has a point. In our world where almost all foods are available year-round, even the specialness of strawberries has waned. We can get them anytime of the year now, where once they were a May-June treat. But, like most people, I am glad to have them whenever I want them, and I do love the ability to add the unique flavor of ramps to foods when I think it will add a new dimension to the taste.

"How do you cook your ramps?" she asked, and then went on to say, "Here's something you need to try: put some oil or grease in a pan, add a little sugar and a little vinegar, then "melt" the ramps in that. You won't believe the flavor." It sounded a lot like wilted lettuce to me, and that's a delicious dish. So I will give her recipe a try.

I asked her about milkweed. "People mess up because they don't parboil and throw the water out. You got to do that or they taste bad." Very similar to cooking pokeweed, I asked? Exactly, she said.

And then she asked, "Do you ever eat dandelions?"

"Do you mean dandelion greens?"

"No, the flower. Here's what I do. I pop the flowerheads off, and remove ALL of the stem, but leave that green part under the flower. Then wash and shake to make sure all the ants and stuff are out of them. Then roll in a batter and fry them. They taste a lot like mushrooms (meaning morels)."

"When I make my mushrooms, I soak 'em in beer, not salt water like most people do. Then I dip them in batter and fry them. Talk about good!"

I tucked my bag of ramps in the van and waved goodbye. I sure hope I run into this lady again. She's full of nature lore and wildcrafting information, not from books but from family passing it down and personal experience--a rare person these days.


Copyright Susanna Holstein. All rights reserved. No Republication or Redistribution Allowed without attribution to Susanna Holstein.

The Ramp Dinner

I referred recently to preparing a "ramp dinner." What is a ramp dinner?

It's a meal centered around one of West Virginia's favorite wild foods, the wild ramp (or rampion, as it is called by some). In our state, there are many civic organizations that host ramp dinners, or ramp feeds as they are often called, during April and early May. That is when the wild ramps are young, tender and at their best.

Larry's recent expeditions in the hills have produced a nice lot of ramps for our meals and freezer. Last night we invited some friends over and prepared a traditional ramp dinner just for the five of us.

What is typically served at a ramp dinner? The answer might surprise you. This is simple country food, not anything fancy, although some places do have cooking contests for ramps, and try many unusual recipes with them. But most ramp dinners stick to the tried and true. Here's a closer photo of what we fixed last night:

Starting at the top and moving clockwise:

• scrambled eggs (from our chickens--I made these without ramps, but many people mix ramps into the eggs)
• applesauce (from our cellar)
• ham
• fried red-skinned potatoes (not from the cellar, though--ours have finally gotten too sprouted out to use)
• pinto beans with ramps (cooked by Larry)
• skillet cornbread (some people put ramps in the cornbread, but I didn't) with cow butter--a gift from a neighbor.

The only thing we were missing was sassafras tea--we haven't gone out to dig any roots yet.

Today Larry is trying something new--drying ramps. I'd like to have them on hand to use in other recipes year-round, as an alternative to garlic perhaps. We'll see how this experiment turns out.

Tale of a Tired Storyteller: Ramps, Mollymoochers and Goldenseal

Ramps: Yes, Larry and the girls found ramps all right. These are the red mountain ramps, extremely pungent and tasty--and memorable. If you've ever had ramps, you know how long the strong garlic-y smell will stay on your breath and oozing from your pores. But oh so good, and sought after by gourmet chefs everywhere. Also, according to Larry, another spring tonic (add it to the list we started with sassafras!).






A fine mess of ramps. These aren't for eating though--Larry plans to try to start his own patch on our farm. Ramps are not native to Jackson County, but we're hoping that if we find just the right spot we might be able to grow our own.








This is what Larry thought was goldenseal (or "yalluh root" as he calls it. the "ya" rhymes with "ca" in cat).

Was he right?

Nope. This is actually bloodroot, another herb prized by the native Americans for use as a dye for baskets and to make war paint; also as an insect repellent. When the stem is broken or the root pierced, it oozes red juice. This is a member of the poppy family, and the spike you see in the photo is a flower bud. It blooms a very lovely white flower similar to that of the mayapple.


So this plant will also go back into the woods in hopes of rooting it on our land. Larry said there was a very large patch of it on the mountain where he found this, so I didn't feel too badly about him pulling it.




After our research we are both clear on what goldenseal looks like and will be on the lookout for this old-time medicinal herb in our woods.

Here is a close-up of the bloodroot leaf.






The mushroom hunters return. Did they find anything? They look pensive, but actually Larry was telling Hannah about what his granny used to do with yellowroot.



But mushrooms?








Yep, they found some!


These were actually growing very near the edge of the highway.

We decided to try a quick hunt for the elusive morel when we saw two men, acting a little furtive, dart into the woods. One was carrying an old pan and it looked like it was full of something that could only be morels. So we drove a little further up the road and Larry popped over the bank himself. Luck struck quickly.


He only gathered enough for a good meal tonight. This picture is before I cleaned them and soaked them in salt water to drive out any bugs hidden in the cap's many folds.





Dinner tonight will be batter-fried morels, and ramps with fried potatoes. Completely off our diet, but completely in tune with the seasons of the mountains.

(funny, Spell-Checker doesn't know anything about mountain foods and herbs--it doesn't recognize yellowroot, goldenseal, mollymoochers, or bloodroot. Must not be from here.)

Ramp Salt, Real Milk, Hummingbirds,and Randoms

57°f this morning, about 16° C. Huge thunderstorm in the night put on quite a show. 

The wind was crazy yesterday! Blew hard all day, big gusts that made the clouds scoot quickly across the sky. An uneasy kind of day. High of 80°f, too hot for this time of year.

We dehydrated the ramps I brought back from the mountains this past weekend, and boy did my porch stink for a couple days! Unless you have had some experience with ramps, it might be hard to believe that such an innocuous looking little onion could be so powerful, but believe me, it is. A newspaper editor here in WV once decided to use ramp juice in his printing ink so people from other places would know what they smelled like. The US Postal Service refused to deliver any more papers from him unless he promised not to pull that stunt again--post offices across the country reeked for days, apparently! Click here to learn the scientific name and description of ramps, which are also called rampion or rapunzel---the plant in the Grimm's fairytale Rapunzel that the expectant mother craved.

I decided to use some of them to make ramp seasoning salt.

Simplest thing in the world: put some dried ramps and a bunch of salt in the blender and whiz it up. I used three large handfuls of the dried leaves to about a cup and a half of salt.

The rest of the ramps I chopped up in the food processor, to be used in cooking whenever we want. Once dried, the ramps lose that over-the-top potency, and just have an excellent, unique flavor. 

Ramp salt and chopped, dehydrated ramps. Took about 3 pounds to make this much.

In other news, we found a source of fresh milk!

I am so excited. I used to have 2 Jersey milk cows until about 1990, I guess, when we had to put down our last old girl. I have really missed that good milk. So now we will be able to get a gallon a week, plenty for the two of us. 

And just look who's back! Mr. Hummingbird, and we rather foolishly want to believe it's Little Mister, a hummer who has been coming for years, and always perches in the same tree. Probably it is just a random fellow, but still...

A few more photos from the weekend:

Quite a horseshoe bend.

The old mill at Millpoint, WV:

An interesting screened porch in Richwood, WV.

In Craigsville, WV:

At camp:

and along the road:

Copyright Susanna Holstein. All rights reserved. No Republication or Redistribution Allowed without attribution to Susanna Holstein.

In the Mountains

Our Sunday trip to the mountains was one of those spur-of-the-moment ideas. I was tired from totally revamping my booth on Saturday but as we were eating breakfast I got such a longing to see the high hills and some tumbling water. And Larry was craving ramps. He always craves ramps in the Spring so that was nothing new, but he was all for a road trip.

It was almost 11 am before we got on the way. I almost backed out. I mean really, leaving for a 3-hour drive at 11am meant we wouldn't have much time. Was it worth it?

We decided to go the back way, avoiding as much interstate as possible. That turned out to be a good decision because we found a couple yard sales on the way. Yard sales in WV on a Sunday are rare indeed! At one of them, Larry helped a lady clean ramps while I shopped. The carrying-on was awful, let me tell you. I am not sure what they made of him, but we all laughed until the tears ran down our faces. I found lots of bargains--the prices were ridiculously low. I ended up loading 5 boxes and paid them $25, which was more than what they were asking if we had added everything up, but to me it was fair and they were happy with it.

Conversations, even with strangers, can take such unexpected turns. Larry mentioned that it was April first, and one of the ladies said quietly, "My son would have been 22 this month. He was murdered in April, when he was only 17." That made me stop and pay attention. "Did you say murdered?", I asked.

"Yes, by his best friend. My son was a good boy. He asked to go into town to see his friend and I saw no reason why not. He always came home when he was supposed to. But he didn't come home this time. We found out later what happened. They made him dig his own grave, then they shot him and covered his body with concrete. We've never found the grave. The boy who killed him is in prison now, but I've never been able to bury my son."

What do you say to a story like that? What words have any meaning? All I can do is pray for her, and for her son. Such a terrible memory for a month that burgeons with life. Still, she goes on because what else is there to do? And she can laugh, and enjoy some happy moments. Grief and loss do not preclude joy and laughter, but give them more depth and meaning.

We left the ladies eventually and continued on our way. The mountains beckoned. We passed beautiful water and scenery, and some ugly as well.




Strip mines are unfortunately ruining some of the most beautiful places in this rural county.

The green trees thinned out as we climbed into the high country just south of Cowen in Webster county. By the time we reached our destination, the Williams and Cherry River country, the trees had only just begun to bud out. We scanned the hillsides for patches of bright green that might be ramps. A young man and his friend, who were out gathering morel mushrooms, assured us that there were ramps just ahead. I would rather have the mushrooms but to horn in on their territory would have been bad manners--and likely cause for a fight! And Larry was bent on ramps so onward we went.

Finally I spotted a patch of likely green. We stopped and headed into what turned out to be wildflower heaven. Trilliums, trout lilies, anemones and all sorts of other flowers were either in bloom or close to it. I wandered, snapping photos until Larry reminded me of why I was there.

But goodness, who can resist taking pictures? Especially when the trout lilies are blooming amidst the emerging mayapples?

We did find ramps, though, and plenty of them.

Larry dug most of what we found. First I had to figure out how to get down the precipitous slope with my tricky knee. Then once down, how to get to where he was. And once I found him, how to get back up the hill. It was an adventure, believe me, and me bones are still aching. Worth it? You bet. Every minute, every ache.

For Sale: Good Taste, Mountain Style

Many of you asked about ramps--what they were, how they tasted, and how to use them. I dried the ones we harvested a couple weeks ago, and thought perhaps I would sell some since I ended up with quite a lot.

Ramps are renowned for their virulent, long-lasting aroma, but once dried they become an intriguing new flavor to add to favorite dishes. Try them mixed into fried potatoes in the last few minutes of cooking; stir some into soups and stews; add to pot roasts, tomato sauces, goulash, stir-fry and all kinds of other dishes.

You might even want to make this traditional Spring ramp dinner--scrambled eggs, applesauce, ham, fried potatoes and ramps, brown beans and cornbread. Too delicious.











Consider using dried ramps in any recipe that calls for garlic, onion, or onion/garlic salt. Add a spoonful to hamburger as you make it into patties for a really different taste. The possibilities, as you can see, are endless.










Each jar contains about 1 ounce of dried ramps, but there that is a LOT of ramps-- over 1/2 cup to be exact. That is enough to last through many, many recipes. The jars will be labeled so the postman--and your family-- doesn't get suspicious about what the green stuff might be :)

Price for per jar is $7.00 and includes all shipping and handling and can be paid for through Paypal or by check. To buy a jar, email me at susannaholstein@yahoo.com and I will send you payment information.



Add a little taste of these wild West Virginia mountains to your cooking!

More Memories of Meals

52°f this morning, clear, dry, a perfect autumn morning.

My last post brought forth so many memories that I woke in the night thinking of them.

There was the time we went hunting for ramps. It was very early in May, I think, and in many places the ramps would have been past the point of harvest. We headed up to the Williams River wilderness and soon found a plenitude of ramps. Our youngestvson Tommy was about 8, I think, so this would have been 1994. Rain began to fall hard, and we were soon soaked to the skin. But we found a little roadside shelter and we set up our camp stove to make tea, and opened a can of Ditty Moore stew. There in the rain, with a long view of wild mountains, we ate stew, drank tea, and never was a meal as welcome as that.

Another time, almost 20 years earlier, my first husband and I were here on this same land where I live today. We had just started building this house. We were here for a week that he had taken off work, and it rained. And rained. And rained. At that time we had a 1972 Chevy van, two-wheel drive. And of course it got stuck, as our mud here is endlessly deep and as slick as oil. Not that it mattered. We were busy! 

But then our food stock ran low and the van was still stuck. Now remember that back then it was a mile to the closest neighbor,  no phones, no electric, and the road from here to his house was also impassable. We had planted a pitiful garden that year, clueless as babies about gardening in this wild place, but I found a couple onions, a tomato, and a small cabbage in that weed patch. I added water from the creek, salt and pepper, and made the best soup I think I have ever tasted, cooked over a wood fire in front of the rough camping shelter we'd built---where I had wild pennyroyal hung to dry. Ah, to be that young and fearless again!

When I was a child, my family sometimes went to the Bull Run Battlefield Park, just outside of Manassas, VA, where we lived, to have a morning picnic.  The park was basically empty in the mornings so our wild horde had the place to ourselves. We would run and play while Mom and Dad cooked us breakfast over the open fire. Eggs and bacon, maybe fried potatoes, bread toasted on a long fork over the coals, hot tea...ahhh, a meal fit for a king.

Copyright Susanna Holstein. All rights reserved. No Republication or Redistribution Allowed without attribution to Susanna Holstein.

Weekends 2

I have had people say to me, "What is there to do in the mountains? What fun can there be living in the country? There's nothing to do!" I suppose fun is where you find it.

This past weekend started out with a visit to the replica of the Vietnam Veterans Memorial that was traveling through our area. We've been to the wall in Washington twice, and there are no words to describe the intensity of that experience. We didn't expect much of the replica, so we were surprised to see so many people walking its length and looking at the displays that travel it.

Ripley is a small town, so anything different will draw a crowd. But this was different. People came from all over to see the wall, to find names, to offer their respect to the lost soldiers listed on the black surface. We found the name of my husband's Marine buddy who was killed when he stepped on a land mine (a "Bouncing Betty")--William A. Ketchum, Jr. Only 19 years old, a bright boy who loved to read, Larry told me. Only days from going home.

We stayed for a while, then went on to dinner and home for wine in front of the fireplace--evenings are still cool in the mountains. We talked a long time as Larry remembered his friend and the year he spent in Vietnam.

Saturday morning we went back to town to have breakfast with friends at the Downtowner, our favorite breakfast restaurant. Larry and I went back to the Wall and were surprised again at the number of visitors. It does his heart good to see that. One man caught our eyes--he was dressed in the green fatigues of the Vietnam-era soldier, complete with helmet and boots. He didn't make eye contact with anyone, just looked at the displays intently. We walked away, and then Larry decided to go back and talk to the man. The guy was stand-offish at first; it was apparent that he'd come with a mission and he was fulfilling that--to pay honor to the dead by wearing his old uniform and remembering.

But he did talk--and talked and talked. Several young soldiers were there and they gathered around the two old vets to listen. I wish I could convey the depth of that experience, of those words. I could see it all in the man's eyes as he pulled MPC (military money in Vietnam) and Vietnamese money out of his pocket, along with his old drivers license and other documents. He'd kept it all, and he remembered it all.

We stayed with him for almost an hour, and when we left the young soldiers were still with him. Good boys, those. They knew, and they respected.

After coffee at Court Street Station, we couldn't decide where to go next. I wanted to go to an auction; Larry wanted to go to Richwood to the annual Ramp Festival. In the end, we did both. We checked out the auction, found nothing of interest, and headed off to Richwood.

For those who don't know about ramps, they are a potent wild onion that mountain people have been eating for years as a spring tonic. They're strong--so strong that you will reek for days if you eat even one ramp raw. Nowadays they're in demand in gourmet restaurants, and people have discovered how to tame the wildness of their odor. But here, they're still a spring treat to be hunted in the mountains right after the snow melts.

We got to Richwood just as the festival was winding down. They still had some ramps and other food left, and fed us for free! Ham, potatoes, ramps and sassafras tea. Nice folks there in Nicholas County, and we'll definitely go back next year. Richwood is the granddaddy of the ramp festivals, and what writer would not love a little town that has a low-ku contest (as opposed to haiku) as part of the celebration? It's what happens when a poet is mayor.

Sunday was a day of work for us, but it's the kind of work we love, digging gardens, putting down mulch, getting a few plants in the garden. We got out the lawn furniture now that it seems the snow really is over, and enjoyed dinner on the deck as we watched the sun set over the hills.

Nothing to do? More like too much to do, and every bit of it a memory to cherish.

A Tale of a Tired Storyteller, Her Husband and Granddaughters

We had a long day today--a four-hour drive to a storytelling event, 4 hours there, and 4 hours home. Add another hour or so for Larry to hunt molly moochers and ramps, and six "turn around and go back, I want a picture of that" episodes and the day got a little long. Photos and more tomorrow.



I'll leave you hanging: did he find mushrooms? did he find ramps? was the plant he found really goldenseal (or yellow root, as he calls it)? Did he actually turn around every time I asked? Whose cell phone ended up in the washer when we got home?







Where is this place we stopped today, and why were we there?

Tomorrow morning it's off the doctor for me so he can tell me what the MRI of my knee shows, or doesn't show. Keep your fingers crossed for me.



As for the questions above, stay tuned...answers tomorrow afternoon.

A Good Day for Gardening

Sunday was a great day to be in the garden. Rain? Well yeah, a little. But plants moved in the rain never know they've been moved, or such has been my experience.

We got up and out early. The sky was threatening gray and I knew we needed to hurry if we wanted to work the ground before we planted. Larry tilled, I planted.

By 9 a.m. I'd planted broccoli, carrots, Romaine, buttercrunch and ruby lettuce seeds and Larry had the ground ready to put out half-runner beans.

I stopped to make pancakes and he worked ground for corn before coming inside to eat. I jarred up the ramps he'd dried--a full half-pint! I can't wait to start using them in recipes.

We ate and hurried to town to get seed--all the seeds I've bought but did I have the basics like corn and beans? Not exactly; I had Royal Burgundy and wax beans but not half-runners which I do not like. I had ornamental corn and broom corn but not stuff like Early Sunglow and Silver Queen. I am so sensible, aren't I?

We didn't just get seeds of course. A trip to the garden centers always yields more than that. We ended up with plants, potting soil, fenceposts and yet another electric fence charger, among other things. We had to stop at the grocery store too for that indispensable item, coffee. We ran into good friends in town and invited them out to dig up some plants that I needed out of my flowerbeds.

Back home, we hurried to get the seeds in the ground. It had been showering off and on all day, but the ground was still dry enough to plant. I planted celery plants and potted up flowers for the porch. Larry planted beans and corn. (Yes, we're about 3 weeks early, but it's worth a chance. Either the seeds will rot in the ground or get frosted--or we'll have super early veggies. Worth the chance in my book.) I pulled radishes for salad later.
Our friends came out and we ladies dug up plants while the guys went mushroom hunting. When they came back after a successful hunt for mollymoochers (morels) we cooked while Larry and a little friend cleaned out the chick's box and put down new bedding. We made salad from the garden--lettuce, green onions and radishes. I made rice flavored with ramps and added our eggs. Dinner was delicious--salad, morels and rice. We drank Irish Breakfast tea while the guys did dishes and talked about honeybees, mushrooms, tilling gardens and chickens.

Our friends left laden with many plants:

• Lemon balm


• Copper fennel seedlings


• Purple bergamot (also called bee balm)


• Lily of the Valley


• Oregano


• Cosmos seedlings


• Coreopsis


• Southernwood


• Sweet Annie


• Red Coneflower

And there is plenty more of each of these, a testament to the richness of this West Virginia earth.

It was a very, very good day.

Surprises

35 and snowing after a day in the 70's. 

This was our surprise this morning:

Well, well. And Larry just put out 4 tomato plants yesterday. He covered them last night with milk jugs so they'll be all right, but what about the more tender plants now coming up? It will get colder tonight, so I'm afraid we're going to lose a few things.

April weather, like March, can be so capricious in these mountains. We've had snow in May in the past, although usually just lasting for a few hours. And if it's 35 here on the hill, it will be at least 5 degrees colder at lower elevations. I sure feel for my neighbors who also have gardens and fruit trees. I also have small tomato and pepper plants in the little greenhouse--we may have to provide some heat for them today and tonight. A lamp would be enough, I think.

The other surprise news: I started training yesterday to work at the Riverbend Antique Mall where I have some booths. I'll basically be backup to the backup to the backup, as there are a few others who fill in when the owner is off. But there have been times when she's been in a crunch, so I will hopefully be able to cover those times. I honestly never thought I'd work in a place where I have to be there at a certain time, but here I am. The good side is that I can work on my own booth in slow times, and bring some items to list on eBay while I'm there too. This is volunteer work--it will be a nice change of pace from time to time, I bet I will hear some good stories too.

Yesterday I took in these two pieces, just finished. We'd sold a small chair and a dresser, so I just filled in the gaps. 

Monday Larry went up our driveway to cut down a big stump, and was surprised to find morel mushrooms growing around it. He'd been hunting for them all over the hills and had found enough for a couple meals but these were right in full view, and we'd almost missed them. He checked our ramp patch too. We planted some wild ones on a cool, dark holler on our place, and have been waiting 10 years for them to spread enough for us to harvest. He got enough for a nice miss of ramps and fried potatoes. If you've never heard of ramps, they're a wild onion/garlic cross that grows only in certain areas of the Appalachians and are considered a spring tonic by mountain people, and a delicacy by chefs in big cities like New York and Philadelphia--I remember a delicious meal in Philly some years ago that featured trout "with ramp". Sounded so funny because they are never called in the singular here. 

And the last surprise is a terribly sad one. My friend and poet Susan Shepherd passed away Monday in the early morning hours. She fought a brave fight, but in the end killer cancer won. Her voice will be so missed; her presence was magical, down-to-earth and yet ethereal at the same time. A medium, seer, poet, writer, actress, and so much more. Her obituary surprised me with all she accomplished in her life; although we were friends as members writing and poetry groups, and with a common interest in ghost stories, I found that I knew little about all the other aspects of her life. She was the inspiration for the ghost walk I lead, as she led such walks for years in Parkersburg, WV. I will miss her smile, her voice, her presence. 

Life and death--so inexricably linked. Small plants growing, while death stalked my friend. This path we walk is no easy one.

Copyright Susanna Holstein. All rights reserved. No Republication or Redistribution Allowed without attribution to Susanna Holstein.