Early on a Frosty Morn

Ed was up and out early this morning. I, on the other hand, was snuggled in bed much later than usual. When I finally got up, I turned on the fire in the study and seriously contemplated not going out for my morning walk/jog down the drive. It was so cold out, so warm in.

I'm glad I decided to go. Look what I would have missed had I stayed cocooned inside...

One Good Thing About All the Rain

Just in case you have not been following the saga of our lake, I'll fill you in.

Our lake was dug this time last year and slowly filled up. It looked beautiful in the early spring, but by early summer the water was inching its way down, flowing out on the far side of the dam into the creek. We had heard stories from almost everyone who had a lake about problems they encountered: some solvable, some not.

We worried about the catfish, bass, sunfish and bullfrogs that we had stocked in the pond. The water got down to just a foot or two before help arrived in the form of a bulldozer and a knowledgeable lake guy. He worked on repairing the dam, which he believed was the source of our sorrows. As he tucked our check for the work into his front shirt pocket and backed his bulldozer-loaded truck rig out of the field, he leaned out the window and said he "thought he had fixed it." We wouldn't know until the lake had filled back up and the water stayed where it was supposed to stay (inside the lake). So we waited, and waited and waited. With each rain, the lake rose by an inch or two.

But with all the rain we have had in the last week or so, it started filling up faster and faster. Every morning I'd look out and see that it was fuller and fuller.

It's back to being beautiful again. Keep your fingers crossed that it stays filled in.

And now, you are filled in.

Firewood!

Our firewood supply was running low. Thanks to Ed's labors today, it has been replenished.

So Much to Learn...

...Now I know why they call them "straw"berries.

Taking Grandmommy's China Out for a Spin

In some ways every generation balances the pleasure of traditions, legacies, roots,
with the equally American appeal of a fresh start.
I wonder how much stuff, and stories, our children can carry with them to their own table
and still have room for the new.

- Ellen Goodman

Like (retired) columnist Ellen Goodman, this Thanksgiving we are taking my grandmother's china out for a spin. Yesterday as I held the stepstool steady, Mary pulled Grandmommy's "M" china down from the top shelf of our pantry where it was carefully stacked last March when we moved to the country.

For the past eight months, I've only used our simple Fiesta-ware and my plain stainless cutlery. Our wedding china, Grandmommy's "M" china, Ed's mother's white-with-gold-rim china, all seem too froufrou for our country lifestyle. But not today. Thanksgiving is a day for bowing to tradition – for being grateful for those around us and for remembering those whose lives have shaped us. So out comes Grandmommy's china and Ed's mother's silver goblets.

We'll sit down to a very traditional dinner of turkey, three kinds of dressing, cranberries, mashed turnips and potatoes, chipotle whipped sweet potatoes, green beans and two kinds of pies. We'll thank God for our many blessings. We'll raise a toast to those around the table, to Jack in Germany, and to those who have gone before.  And then we'll dig in!

______________________

If she were still alive, my grandmother, Mary B. Rinehart, would be 104 tomorrow.
She was born on November 25, 1907 and died shortly after her 91st birthday in 1998.
I still miss her – every day.

Let It Snow! Let It Snow! Let It Snow!

It felt like Christmas morning as I opened a heavy box that was delivered to our front door yesterday. Inside were 13 packages of Rancho Gordon beans. Now, these are not your average dried beans, they are glorious, old-fashioned and heirloom beans and they hail from Napa, California. They are to beans what Bentleys are to cars and I treat myself to an order once a year.

Not only are they amazingly delicious, they have names to match their colors or shapes.
Names like: Christmas Limas, Eye of the Goat, Snowcap, Jacob's Cattle, Black Calypso, Yellow Eye, and Cranberry.

I'll head to the Bardstown Road Farmers' Market and pick up some ham hocks for our freezer. Then when the weather outside turns frightful, Ed will build us a fire that is so delightful. And since we've no place to go, I'll whip up some amazing cassoulet, bean soup, homemade hummus, and baked beans. So let it snow! Let it snow! Let it snow!

Keeping the Vampires Away

You can never have enough garlic. With enough garlic, you can eat The New York Times.

– Morley Safer

I'm very serious about wanting to have a more productive garden in 2012 and realized that if that is to happen, I need to do some work on it in 2011. I just figured out that if I want garlic next year, I needed to get it in the ground, lickety-split.

I broke apart two garlic heads and selected the best looking cloves.

I tucked the cloves in the raised garden bed, pointy side up and covered them with about an inch of soil.
Tomorrow I'll add a layer of straw to keep them nice and warm

In the spring (if all goes as planned), I'll harvest the garlic scapes. Then, come summer, I'll harvest my own Farm Dover-grown garlic heads. Vampires beware! You are not welcome here.

The Right Tool Makes the Job Much Easier

I never knew that planting daffodil bulbs could be so easy!
(Okay, last year was easier, but that's because Jack did it for me.)

Winging It Through Germany and France, Part II

Here's a look at the highlights and lowlights of our trip...
Note: Ed's comments are in italic.

Best moment(s) of the entire trip
Okay, this is where my "mom" persona takes over. It was really great to see Jack and see where he teaches, where he lives, meet his roommates, see him play basketball, meet up with him in Cologne, Trier, and Dusseldorf. Now, even though I have no idea what he is up to, I can imagine him walking to his school, catching the train, spending time with Felix and Melanie, or with the Wolff family. It helps alot.

It was great fun to be with Jack even if he did accuse me of messing with his German with my terrible accent.

Jack spent a couple of days with us
as we made our way up from Trier to the Moselle River Valley.

Best food
The German breakfasts are hard to beat. I couldn't much longer keep up the pace of starting the day with such a large offering, but it sure was enticing while it lasted.

The breakfast at Hotel Haus Lipmann in the tiny town of Beilstein was so fantastic, we extended our stay for one more day.

We enjoyed a little sekt in the morning.
The bubbly German wine came with breakfast.

Most memorable dining experience
Our Fodor's France book listed Chez Yvonne in Strasbourg as a one $ (inexpensive) recommended place to eat.

What they call inexpensive is a little confusing to me, given what it cost in euros. The trip taught me a lot about what it is to be an addict.  I became addicted to ATM's.  Like any addict, I kept needing more and more and more to get the rush (all those wonderful colorful euro just for knowing a four digit code).  Now I'm cold turkey with only my credit card bills to remind of those highs.

We found this classic winstub after wandering down a picturesque little street in the Old Town and popped in to see about a reservation. We made one for one hour later and then headed out for a beer in the church square. When we returned, the staff seated us in an intimate alcove surrounded on three sides with red-checked curtains. It could have been a bit kitschy, but instead it was quite charming. We split a smoked salmon appetizer and I ordered choucroute while Ed chose a white fish -- both dishes were served with a pile of sauerkraut, which we were not yet tired of. The website describes Chez Yvonne as "a magical and very charming house in which each 'stub' (room) exhales its own intimacy, bringing out a feeling of warmth and well-being." We concur.

The meal ended with a glass of schnapps with coffee.  I even remember part of the walk back to the hotel -- the getting lost part. Try reading a small print city map in the dark after a long haul at dinner with Alsatian wine. 

Being charmed at the charming Chez Yvonne.

Worst food
Without a doubt: Delta Airlines. Don't get me started.

Nicest hotel experience
We treated ourselves to a 4-star hotel in Cologne located just next to the Cathedral. In return, the Excelsior Hotel Ernst treated us royally from the moment we pulled up and the valet greeted us.

The staff was professional; the room huge; the bathrobe fluffy
and the slippers a nice touch.

Worst hotel experience 
For 16 days, Ed and I were inseparable. We did everything together, side by side, never more than an arm's length from each other. Until one morning, he  awoke early and decided to go down to the hotel lobby to read and catch up on the news on my ipad. "Take your time," he said as the hotel door closed behind him. Into the tiny shower cubicle I popped, pulling the glass door tightly shut. Once showered, I pushed on the door, but it wouldn't budge. I pushed harder. No luck. I lowered myself down to the tile floor and tried opening the door by pushing on it with both feet. I was sure that if I pushed any harder, the glass would shatter. So, I just sat there, in a yoga pose, and tried to breathe deeply, knowing that eventually Ed would come back to the room to check on my whereabouts. And, eventually, he did, and freed me from my captivity.

I couldn't figure out what was keeping her.  I was thinking that maybe I misunderstood our plan.  When I got back to the room, she was so pathetic sitting in the shower cubicle I completely forgot about getting the camera and thereby missed the best picture of the trip.

Most scenic town
Every village along the Route du Vin (the Alsace Wine Road) is strikingly charming: the vineyards that run right up to the village edge, the half-timbered medieval houses, the belltowers, the chateau ruins, the degustations (offering free wine tastings). Because we spent several days driving along the route and detouring up into the Vosges mountains and back down, all the villages began to look the same and all had names impossible to pronounce: Ribeauville, Riquewirh, Blienschwiller, Gueberschwihr... We decided our favorite village was the slightly-less-touristy: Kaysersberg. It was there that we found a winery tucked back into a steep vineyard, run by a young man, a  third-generation vintner, who sold us a couple of bottles of Alsacian wine, both white and red, as well as a sparkling bottle of Crement.

A stork's nest sits atop a bell tower in one of the many villages we visited along the Wine Route.

Window boxes of flowers were on every house in every village.

Best exercise
It's a tossup. We rented bikes one afternoon and rode many, many kilometers through the Mosel Valley. I hadn't been on a bike in many, many years and I wasn't sure I was going to make it back to the ferry.

They say you never forget how, but that's not exactly right.  I wish I hadn't run into that sideview mirror trying to get going. Anyway, it didn't fall all the way off. 

Getting off our bikes for the ferry ride home
was a very welcomed idea.

On our way back to Dusseldorf, we stopped at the 12th century Burg Eltz Castle, nestled in the hills above the Moselle River, but built down in a deep valley. We parked our car and started on the route down. Shortly, we saw a man breathing very heavily walking back toward the parking lot. Wimp, we thought. Wrong, we found out. The way down is long and steep. The way back seemed even longer and steeper. But it was worth it, the castle (along with the armoury and treasury) are really something to see.

Berg Eltz was built in the 12c way down in a valley.

Getting around
We rented an Audi A6 with a GPS. So another woman got to tell Ed how to get from town A to town B. In a nice English accent, she would politely say, "Recalculating. Please make a U-turn."

Simply put: GPS saved our marriage.

Craziest sight
The naked cowboy serenaded us as we sat at a cafe in Cologne.

The Naked Cowboy: No further explanation needed.

Best shopping
For high-end shopping, there is no finer place than the Konigsallee in Dusseldorf. This glamorous boulevard is home to shops of all the top designers, and to exclusive jewellers, perfume, porcelain and antiques shops that offer the most luxuriously goods imaginable. Needless to say, other than a bit of window shopping, this didn't really do it for me.

I had more fun in the markets of Trier where I spied woven market baskets with long leather handles. I bought two -- one for each of my girls. Our other "find" was a topferie (pottery shop) along the roadside that follows the Moselle River. We saw the simple rustic sign and pulled in. The old man who answered the bell spoke zero English but nevertheless managed to sell us a beautiful vase that his wife had made.  And then there was the Mustard Museum in Cochem....I managed to limit my purchases to three heavy jars.

Real heavy.

Nice to bring back such a beautiful souvenir.

 


Toughest language challenge
Ed's French is very good.
Just good enough to dig myself a grand trou.
He took French in high school and college. He reads (tries to) French novels if they're real simple. He listens to French language tapes driving back and forth from home to work. His French language skills served him (us) very well the whole time we were in France -- except when we stopped at a laundromat (laverie automatique) to do a load of wash. Figuring out how to load the machine and select the proper temperature, acquire laundry detergent, and pay correctly was just beyond his grasp. Fortunately two French woman took over, loudly arguing between themselves about what needed to be done to help this poor American man get his clothes washed properly. I just stood by and watched.

4 euros to run a load of wash? 

Benefit of getting old -- you don't care if you wear the same pair of pants all week.  It doesn't compensate for ear hair but still ...

Final Thoughts
We were gone for 16 days, our longest vacation to date. It was great to be gone and great to come back home to Farm Dover.

 A look out of our hotel window
in Obernai, France

There's no place like home...

Sweet!

Maggie harvested one frame full of honey from one of her hives.
The bees will feast on the remaining honey over the winter. Lucky bees!

Winging It Through Germany and France, Part I

Planning our recent trip to Germany and France was a bit of a challenge. With limited internet access from the farm and limited knowledge of the region we were targeting, we finally decided that we would just book our flights into Dusseldorf, reserve hotels for only a couple of nights along the way and then wing it. That's right, wing it. Our plan was to stop at the tourist information bureau at whatever town we arrived in and figure out what comes next, based on our rather loose itinerary. I must say our non-planning added an element of intrigue to the trip.

Our general plan was to rent a car at the Dusseldorf airport, drive over to see Jack, spend a couple of days in Cologne and then head down the Alsace region of France to Strasbourg and points south. The second half of the trip had us crossing the Rhine to Trier, Germany and then following the Moselle River Valley back up to Kolbenz before angling back to Dusseldorf for a last visit with Jack. The actual trip turned out better than I had expected. The weather, the food, the wine, the landscapes, the company – all delightful.

And I don't want to forget any of it, not the pumpkin soup in Trier, the soaring cathedral in Cologne, the geranium-filled flower boxes on every medieval house along the Alsatian Wine Road, the thrill of again watching Jack play basketball, our bike ride through the Moselle Valley, our dinner with Laura Wolff's family (see photo below). None of it. Not one single moment. One of the best things about traveling is the fun of reliving the experience. But sometimes I can't even remember what day it is, much less what how delightful a mid-afternoon coffee and kuchen can be.

So...not so much for your pleasure, but more as an aid to my memory, I'm putting down the highlights (and lowlights) and asking Ed to chime in (see italics). Then on a cold February day, I can remember back to the afternoon spent at the chocolate museum in Cologne or the Paffgen beer garden where waiters in long blue aprons brought glasses of slightly hoppy Kolsch beer, keeping track of the number of glasses we consumed with tick marks in pencil on our round coaster.

Stay tuned for Part 2.

Posing in Trier, Germany. Jack came down for the weekend to meet us.

High Cathedral of Sts. Peter and Mary in Cologne, Germany.

An afternoon bike ride along the Moselle River

Grapes. Everywhere.
Down to the edge of towns, up the steepest banks.

Laura Wolffe (far right) spent last year in Louisville, as an au pair.
Her family lives less than an hour away from Jack and has shown him great hospitality.

In Honor of Friends and Fall

Friends are coming for dinner tomorrow night and pears are perfectly in season. So in honor of friends and fall, I baked a cake tonight. This is a very big deal for me. It requires that I follow directions and measure carefully -- both cooking skills that I simply don't possess. I'm confident that tonight's cake will be delicious because, truth be told, I made this same recipe a few weeks ago. It was so good I had to send half of it home with Maggie for fear I'd eat it all myself.

Start with four perfectly ripe peeled pears...

The recipe comes from friend Lynn and includes directions for a caramel glaze
– but the cake is so good without it, and it might be pushing my luck to think I could actually ice a cake –
that I chose to leave it plain.

 

 Just in case you are inspired, here's the recipe for Lynn's Pear Cake:

THE CAKE
4 ripe Bartlett pears, peeled and diced (3 cups)
1 tablespoon sugar
3 large eggs
2 cups sugar
1.25 cups vegetable oil
3 cups all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon baking soda
1.5 cups pecans, coarsely chopped
2 teaspoons vanilla extract

Preheat oven to 350 degrees F. Toss together pears and 1 tablespoon sugar; let stand 5 minutes. Beat eggs, 2 cups sugar and oil at medium speed with an electric mixer. Combine flour, slat and baking soda and add to egg mixture, beating at low speed until blended. Fold in pears, chopped pecans and vanilla extract. Pour batter into a greased and floured 10-inch Bundt pan. Bake at 350 for 1 hour or until a wooden pick inserted in center of cake comes out clean. Remove from pan and drizzle Caramel glaze over warm cake.

CARAMEL GLAZE
1 stick margarine
1.5 cups brown sugar
1/3 cup heavy cream
2-3 cups powdered sugar

Combine margarine, brown sugar and cream in heavy saucepan. Bring to boil for 2 minutes. Watch carefully. Remove from heat and beat in about 2 cups powdered sugar. If too thick, add more cream. If too thin, add more sugar. (Remember, as icing cools it will thicken.) Ice cake while icing is still warm.

Enjoy!

Parsley, Sage, Rosemary, and Thyme...

Someday is not a day of the week.  – Author Unknown

Today was the day that I was going to tell you about our trip to Germany. I intended to gather all the maps, photos, mementos, etc. and recreate the highlights of our itinerary. Instead, I headed out to the garden, just to do a bit of clean up before the cold and rain come in later this week.  Three hours later, look what I created instead of a blog about our trip.

Finding Luck

One leaf is for hope, and one is for faith,
And one is for love, you know,
And God put another in for luck, -
If you search, you will find where they grow. 

- Ella Higginson

I believe in luck. I have a friend who will argue that what I call luck is just hard work and being prepared. I prefer to think of it as Divine Grace or perhaps as Blessings. Whatever one calls it, my life if full of it.

I'm keenly aware of the grace of it when I take my daily walks. The morning air, the warmth of the sun, the colors of the fields, the birds raising up from the corn stalks --  all remind me of my relationship to the world, my responsibility for it, and my gratefulness of it.

This morning as I walked my way toward the end of the gravel drive, I glanced over to the raggedy grass and a large four-leaf clover caught my eye. Rather than finding it, it seemed to find me. "Pick me. Pick me," it called out. And so I bent down and picked it.

This ability to find four-leaf clovers (or luck) has been a hidden talent of mine since I was a grade schooler. I can remember being six or seven and leaning out of a second-story window claiming that I could see a four-leaf clover from on high. My younger sister seriously doubted it and challenged me to go pick it. I jumped off the toilet seat that I was standing on, tore down the steps, slid through the kitchen and out the back door. While she waited in the window, I reached down and picked a perfect four-leaf clover, holding it up to her so she could see. Looking back on it, I doubt that I could see that clover from two stories up, but rather was bragging about my ability, and then (luckily) was able to find one once I got down to ground level.

Finding four-leaf clovers is not that hard. You just need to know where to look and how to look. Maggie's got the hang of it and claims it as her hidden talent. Mary asked me to teach her today and so I did. Within four minutes, she found four four-leaf clovers. May she be blessed with good luck!

If It's Tuesday, It Must Be Beilstein

I'm so confused. I've lost all track of the days of the week. I think it must be Tuesday, and I know I'm in Beilstein,Germany. I may be dreaming it all as it is so like a fairy tale. After a hearty German breakfast, Ed and I climbed to the top of a grape-vine laden hill (mountain) to the 1539 castle ruins of Metternich. We are renting bikes this afternoon for a ride along the Mosel River, with a stop along the way for a coffee and Kuchen. Doesn't get any better than this. More later...

Salad Bowl

A quick trip out to the garden yielded a plethora of late-season salad makings. Doesn't get any fresher than this!

Taking the Long View

The best time to plant a tree was 20 years ago.  The next best time is now.  

~Chinese Proverb

Ten October Glory Maple trees planted last week along the curve of our driveway...ten years from now we are hoping they will form a beautiful alleyway leading up to our house. We're taking the long view; but in the short term, we are hauling five-gallon buckets of water out to them.

Shortcomings

Please welcome my guest blogger today: Ed Galloway

“Except as a fellow handled an ax, they had no way of knowing a fool.”  

– Robert Frost, “Two Tramps in Mudtime”

I have a lot of shortcomings; just ask my wife or children.  Some of them even I recognize.

One shortcoming is being too ready to judge people based on their formal education or the way they talk – people who know how things work, who work with their hands, people who actually make things – even though, or maybe because, that’s where I came from.

Trying to learn what I need to know on Dover Road, I now know what it feels like to be on the other end of that position.  Recently, I went to a used farm equipment auction to see about buying a tractor. The auction took place in a field. There were several hundred attendees. It was hot. There was no shade. There were hundreds of items for sale, only a very limited number of which could I even identify.

“Oh, look, there’s a nice garden disk.”

“A garden disk?  No, that’s a post-hole digger lying on its side.”

There was a clean New Holland tractor about the size I wanted, even though I didn’t know how to start it, much less what all those levers and pedals were for. To prove my sense of these thing (and fortunately), the bidding on it started about where I was going to stop.
 

Anyway, my point is every one of the people there (little kids included) knew more about the equipment than I did. And everyone that I talked to was kind to me despite my abysmal ignorance (although I expect that they get a good laugh when I move on).  My esteem for these folk is great and growing. I know that if I pay attention to what I’m told I’ll learn something, and I’m learning to go easy on the prejudgments.

And so it goes.

We’ve Been Busy

It’s been nearly a year since I published my first blog post on Farm Dover – and much has happened in those 12 months. 

Ed and I have gone from a wish and a list to feeling at home here. We’ve packed up our house on Calumet and moved 30 miles to our place in the country; built a lake (twice) and stocked it with fish; planted tulips and daffodils to greet us in the Spring; harvested kale, corn, tomatoes, herbs, pepper and beans from our first garden; planted an orchard, maples, an oak, a sycamore and two willow trees; said goodbye to Aunt Gladys; learned how to chainsaw, to can to beekeep; been (continually) amazed by the critters and weeds; welcomed Maggie back to Louisville, gotten Mary settled in a first apartment and wished Jack great success with his teaching year in Germany; travelled to Madison, Baltimore, France, NYC, Montreal, Juniper and Arowhon Pines.

It’s been a good year. Good, but busy. 

Even in the midst of the busyness, we've still found time everyday to enjoy the peace, the quiet, the visits from friends, the breeze on the back porch, the sunrises, the sunsets, and especially, each other.   

Make Way for Turklings

On Friday afternoon Ed and I made our way into downtown Shelbyville for lunch and a few errands. We parked the truck on Main Street and walked up one side to the Post Office before turning around and walking down the other side to a little cafe for lunch and a strawberry shake.

Along the way we stopped in two antique shops. Now, as you must know by now, I've spent the last two years getting rid of "antiques" and trying hard to keep our new home from too much "country" clutter. Nevertheless, it was fun to poke around these shops, looking at crocks, cast iron skillets and corn bread pans, old kitchen utensils, fishing lures, and out-of-print books.

While Ed was checking out the serious fiction (coming up with a first edition of Henry Miller's Tropic of Capricorn) I gravitated to the children's books, picking up a well-worn copy of Make Way for Ducklings, a picture book written and illustrated by Robert McCloskey and winner of the 1942 Caldecott Medal. I have always loved the charcoal illustrations and the story of traffic being stopped in downtown Boston for Mama Duck and her eight ducklings to cross safely into the island lagoon, where they meet up with Papa Duck and live happily ever after.

The story's scene of the crossing of the ducks on the road was recreated for me this morning. As I walked down our drive, a Mama wild turkey and her 11 turklings crossed the road in single file and disappeared into the brush. Just as the 11th one was entering the tree line, Mama Turkey circled back out and got in line behind him/her, just to make sure they all ended up where she wanted them.

Once I got up to the place where they entered, they took flight – not exactly the most graceful thing I've seen.

I can only hope they make their home on our farm and live happily ever after.

Lonesome Dove

I wish you could see us now. It is late Monday afternoon. The temperature has dropped 35 degree since this time yesterday. The clouds are hanging dark and low across our bush hogged fields. Summer has up and disappeared.

Ed and I drove out in our Ranger (think golf cart but without the place for golf clubs). We park underneath the big old tree that we've been working around to clear the brush and briars.

We unload two canvas chairs, our books, binoculars, and a single loaded shotgun. We've come hunting for doves -- all of whom have cleared out once they saw us in our bright orange vest and caps. (I just googled "dove hunting + fashion" and found out that we are supposed to be all in camouflage.)

Yep, not a single lonesome dove in sight. But nevertheless, a pleasant way to spend the last few hours of the long weekend. And, I won't have to pluck any feathers for our dinner...

auf Wiedersehen, Jack

Ed and I dropped Jack at the Louisville airport this morning. The ride in from Shelby county was quiet -- none of us exactly felt like talking or even knew what to say.

I suspect Jack was excited to be leaving for a year in Germany and maybe a bit anxious about getting there and getting settled. I also expect he was tired of me asking if he had his passport, computer cord, boarding pass, turkey sandwich, etc.

I was excited for him but, as always when I say "goodbye" to my children, my heart was breaking. I much prefer to have my three nearby, but we have raised them to be independent, confident young adults...So Jack is off on a fine adventure: teaching English in a German high school in conjunction with an award as a Fulbright scholar.

Jack, please know that I am so proud of you. I'll miss your whistling around the house, your appetite, your piano and guitar music, and your help with all things heavy, or high up. I wish you all the best in the next year. I know you will be a terrific teacher. May you learn much, make good friends, be safe, and know that we will miss you back at home.

auf Widersehen & Ich liebe dich. mom

Jack, outside his cottage, this morning, before heading to Germany.

 

Alone

I woke up this morning. Alone. Jack and Ed had slipped out of the house before dawn to go fish the Elkhorn Creek near Frankfort -- a bit of father/son bonding before Jack leaves for Germany. The sun was up higher than usual and still I considered rolling over and going back to sleep, like some teenager who stayed up too late.

Instead I headed out for my morning ritual of walking to the end of the drive, touching the red flag on the mailbox for good luck before turning around. It's only about a mile, but every morning I see something new. It might be geese flying overhead, a green snake slithering through the weeds, or a hawk gliding through the skies. I sometimes hear a donkey braying, or a cow mooing, a horse neighing, or a quail bob-whiting. Last week it was foggy and the sun was shinning through a million spider webs strung between tall dried grass. It looked more spooky than Hillcrest Avenue in October.

After my walk, I puttered. It's my favorite way to spend a morning. I watered the bourbon-barrel planters on the back porch and each of my dozen fruit trees. I changed our sheets. I made some mint tea and some hard boiled eggs. I weed whipped around the house and cottage. It was such a pleasant morning. It was quiet, and cool, and I was alone. But it was the good kind of being alone – alone, but not lonely. 

I know my boys will come bounding in later this afternoon, hopefully with a cooler full of smallmouth bass. I also know that I better quit puttering and head into town for some groceries as there is nothing worse than a hungry Jack with no food in the house. So, I'm off....

New Beginnings

Hurricane Irene is headed for the East Coast and so I headed for home yesterday afternoon. I had been in Baltimore, getting Mary settled in her first apartment. I had planned to leave after dinner and drive partway home, but decided to get on the road a few hours early and get out ahead of the rain. I pulled into our drive at 11:59 p.m., happy to be home.

But my heart is hurting a bit. I woke up missing Mary. If only we had one more morning to snuggle together and talk about what we were going to do today....

Mary, Maggie and Jack had brunch with us last Sunday. It may be a while before we are all together again...

...But life goes on. Mary starts her junior year as a graphic design major at MICA on Monday. After living in the dorms for two years, she and roommate Hanna have moved into a third-floor apartment about a half mile from campus in the Mount Vernon cultural district. It has hardwood floors, high ceilings, and a tiny fire-escape balcony. As of yesterday, it also had a bed and mattress from IKEA, a love seat, a bookcase with baskets and red bedside table. A special thank you goes out to friends Hanna and John for putting all the parts and pieces together. (I'm hoping Mary will send a photo and blog post so all can see her new digs.)

Before Mary left for school, she googled her address to confirm the zip code and discovered that Wallis Simpson, Duchess of Windsor, grew up in her very apartment building. She took that as a good sign that her life was destined to be interesting this year. I hope it is, in all the best possible ways.

So here's to first apartments, new school years, being 20-years-old and up for grand adventures. Have fun baby. Be safe. xxx

Tornado Alley

My neighbor told me recently that our little part of Dover Road was known as Tornado Alley, not the most encouraging thought. But all in all, we survived yesterday's storm relatively unscathed. Here's the count:

Down yesterday evening:

• 12 tomato plants
• one row of late corn 
• (the only) 4 pears on our tree 
• one tin rooster.

Up this morning:

• electricity and a dry basement
• 10 tomato plants 
• and one tin rooster, relocated to our back porch

Hoping all our Louisville friends fared as well. 
 

I am Woman; Hear my Chainsaw Roar!

I don't think Helen Reddy was singing about the how great it feels to fell a tree with a brand new chainsaw, but I'm telling you, it was empowering. It was loud. It was a bit scary. But it made me feel like "I can do anything. I am strong. I am invincible. I am woman (hear me roar)."

One of the things I've experienced about moving out to the farm is a growing desire to know how to do things; to understand how things work; to not be reliant on other people to fix everything/tend to everything. I want to know how to change the furnace filter, plant my garden, unstop the disposal. The problem: these skills don't come easily to me (and to be honest, I'm not sure they come that easily to Ed either). So, when we bought our chainsaw at the Simponsville Stihl dealer, Bobby Cottrell had to show us how to start it and how to properly use it so as to not cut off a leg instead of a log. The problem was that we then didn't use it for a month and forgot all he told us. So last Saturday, we went back to Cottrell's and admitted to Bobby that we needed another lesson. It was kind of embarrassing.

This morning Ed and I headed out to clear a swath around a huge tree whose beauty was lost among vines, honeysuckle bushes, deadly briars and small locust trees. Ed did most of the chainsawing and I followed along with the garden clippers. When we got toward the end, I took over the chainsawing -- just to prove that I could do it.

In the last month, I've learned to:

• drive our zero-turn mover in a fairly straight line
• can peaches, dilly green beans and beets
• drive a manual transmission pickup truck
• weed whip without going through the whole spool of line in 5 minutes
• operate our Polaris Ranger
• change the furnace filter
• till the garden with the attachment that brother-in-law Steve gave me
• water the Maple trees out front with the rain barrel loaded on the back of the Polaris

For most of these tasks, I've had someone to teach me. For example, Maggie was at my side as we canned the dilly green beans and beets; Friends Karen and Ken provided advice and good company while we cooked up batches of peach preserves and chutney; Jeremy, our contractor, came over one morning and went over all the mechanical doings of the house; and Ed gave me a lesson on the mower. But some of the skills are only learned by trial and error and some of the errors if caught on video might make a strong entry for "Funniest Home Videos" (i.e., Mary and I trying to tilt the rain barrel to get out the last of the water for the trees).

Stay turned. For as Ms. Reddy's sings:

I am woman watch me grow

See me standing toe to toe

As I spread my lovin' arms across the land

But I'm still an embryo

With a long long way to go...