New Old Coke Bottle

As fall progresses into winter I have begun to pay more attention to the falling temperatures. And I remember the significance of this.

One of the first things you saw when you stepped onto Uncle Bart and Aunt Virgie’s front porch was the Coca-Cola thermometer that hung beside the door. Firm believers in utility, it never occurred to them to hang it anywhere else. Beside the door made sense. It was easy to crack the door open a little and peek around the frame to check the temperature without letting a lot of cold air into the house. And, one had to know what the temperature had been every winter’s morning so comparisons could be made when Stecoah residents met around the big wood heater at Clyde Garland’s store. Dry Creek, where Uncle Bart and Aunt Virgie lived had pretty low temps, but some of the other creeks and hollers often won the honors—Locust Cove and the head of the head of Cody Branch, for example. Checking the thermometer in the morning also had an impact on how to dress for the day as well as on what kind of chores would be done. Physical activity like chopping kindling and shoveling out stalls were OK for cold days because they provided enough exercise to maintain warmth but still got one out of doors for a bit of fresh air. Upon returning to the house for dinner (lunch) or supper (dinner) the thermometer was checked again to see how much the temperature had warmed or cooled since morning.

I always liked that old thermometer. I recall many times one of them held me up to see that little red mercury bar when I was still too small to see it from the floor. They taught me how to read a thermometer using that old metal Coke bottle. When I got older and went to visit during the winter I always checked it as I went inside, often opening conversation with the reading. After I got married the old thermometer broke and Aunt Virgie threw it out, replacing it with a replica. It never occurred to either of them that someone (me) might want a broken thermometer. It had no utility.

When they had to move into a facilitated living home they sent the new (by then old) Coke bottle thermometer to me. I have a small newer thermometer that hangs on the post beside my front steps where I can see it from inside the house. It is ugly, but it serves a purpose. Like them, I am a firm believer in utility. We also need to know how to dress for the day. And, we like to compare temperatures with others at work, usually winning the lows in the winter and losing the highs in the summer since we live around 3000 feet. The new old Coke bottle hangs beside my front door. It still works. There are different kinds of utility I have discovered. The Coca-Cola thermometer’s main purpose now is to be a physical reminder of two people who played a major role in my growing up years. As if I could ever forget either of them.

Daily Visitors

 these guys visit daily

foraging for crickets

grasshoppers

 seeds, june bugs, acorns

 dogwood berries, holly berries,

those i really dont mind them having

their great bronze bodies

the rhythmic puttputt

a gregarious gobble

are reward for the foraging

 but

they are often marauding

pillagers

stealing what should go into

my freezer

my grandsons pancakes and muffins

though i like to watch

and listen

 to often they end up

in the orchard

blueberries

grapes

and apples

are much tastier

than bugs, acorns, dogwood and holly berries

most of our crop this year

went through their gizzard

and out as fertilizer

somedays there were as many as

twenty-one large birds

and they eat a lot

and i didnt

still fall...

 at our house...

 its still fall...

 i was hoping it would last a while...

 and so it has...

 making the most of it...

 looking closely downward...

 above zoomed in closer...

it cant last much longer

at least there will be pictures

filled with the colors

and textures

to remember

the smell

and feel

of this

one glorious autumn

Dramatic Exit OR Entrance?



8am from my front porch

front steps-caution required

Although this is spectacular to look at, I hope this is just 2010 making a dramatic exit and not a debut performance for the new season. Winter is less than one week old, and boy is he making his presence known! We remain under a winter storm warning until the end of the day and may get another half foot of snow to top the 12-14 inches we have now. The snow I can handle. The cold is quite a different matter all together. At 15 degrees with a nice steady wind blowing, the wind chills outside are serious business. I am thankful that we are safe and warm this winter's morn. I pray that everyone else is as well.

So what does one do on such a day?  

mitten knittin' of course!

At the moment I have pair #3 on the needles. With five grandsons there is always the need for mittens. The last time I knit mittens for them there were only four boys. Knowing how boys are, I thought I would make them boy proof...a nice dead leaf color that wouldn't show dirt...and all alike to avoid disagreements...well, both ideas were terrible. Mittens the color of dirt and dead leaves get camouflaged too easily in the dirt and dead leaves where boys love to play. And eight mittens of identical color and only slightly different sizes make for a real mess when Mommy tries to match them up while four little mouths whine and eight little feet shuffle about impatient to go outside. So when I asked my daughter if the boys needed new mittens she put in a couple of requests...bright colors so they wouldn't get lost in the back yard...and different so mates were easy for the boys to find...Now why didn't I think of that? Maybe because I only had one boy! And he had such a wonderful big sister to watch out for him!

And when you need a break from mitten knittin'

Peanut and Caramel White Fudge EXPERIMENT

Well, then of course you take a coffee break...but coffee begs for company! This is the kitchen experiment from Christmas afternoon. A few weeks ago when we went across the mountain to Cades Cove, we stopped for lunch in Townsend at the Apple something cafe (good burgers)...which is attached to a gift shop... which has homemade fudge...which I just had to sample! I bought a 1/4 pound each of four different flavors. One of them was a white fudge with salted peanuts and caramel and we both loved it. I have been thinking about that fudge since, and trying to figure out just how to go about making it. This is what my Christmas experiment yielded...really good...but needs a bit of tweaking before I share the recipe...next time I will use more white chocolate and fewer nuts...if it works like I think it will the recipe will follow. But, rest assured this experiment will not be wasted! Although the results are not perfect, they are really close.

Break's over! Back to mitten knittin'...maybe just another 1/2 piece of fudge before I start...hmmmm

First Apples of the Season

My dad and my brother, Berry, were apple afficionados. They especially enjoyed heritage apples. We always had lots of apple trees including Sheep Nose, Limber Twig, Green Pippin and Early June. These Early Transparents came from a tree planted by one of the two; they got it from Ralph Jenkins, a local farmer who had been grafting heritage twigs into semi-dwarf root stock. The tree is fairly compact and its boughs are bent to the ground with the weight of its fruit this year. My husband,also a great lover of apples, especially the heritage variety, planted a nice little orchard on our own property several years ago with the help of our daughter Amber. We also had a heavy crop this year,but we received a good bit of hail damage a few weeks ago that destroyed a great deal of the fruit.

When Mom gave these to me Sunday when we took her home for church I knew he would enjoy the applesauce they would make. Early apples tend not to be good keepers though. If you don't prepare them quickly the quality really deteriorates fast; usually they get rotten spots but these apples do something else altogether before the brown rotting occurs.

When I went into the kitchen yesterday afternoon after a long day working online on my grad school classes, many of the apples had cracked and broken skins. It is almost as if they continue to literally grow out of their skins after they have been picked! Those that were cracked had undergone a color change in the flesh as well so they went into the waste with the peelings and those that had already become mottled with rot. They really should have been prepared Sunday evening. I knew this from past experience but life just gets away with us sometimes.

The apples that were still good were peeled, sliced and cooked with some butter and lots of sugar. Early transparents are tasty but very tart (even more tangy than Granny Smith). The pieces begin to dissolve into very fine applesauce almost as soon as they get hot. Did it pass the taste test? Let's see...smooth, sweet, tart...Delicious! We are having hot applesauce and biscuits for supper tonight! I wonder if there are any apples left on the tree? Hmmm  ;D

Fathers' Day #1

As Fathers' Day (it is plural in my book!) approaches I would like to honor some of the Dad's who are/have been special in my own life and in those I love. As I write, my father-in-law, Pappaw Jack to my children and just Pappaw to my grandchildren, toils alongside the wonderful son,dad, big brother,father-in-law,pappa he brought into the world. Jack has always been special to me; from day one he welcomed me, making me one of his own. After my own dad died he became even more of a treasure as I realized treasure can be lost. He is one of the most caring and giving men I have ever known, forever expending his abundant love and energy to those around him. One of his greatest pleasures in life is to help others. When he comes home to the mountains he usually brings a mental list of chores he want to help Harold accomplish before he returns to his less rural daily routine. Having grown up on the farm, this pruning of trees, repairing of outbuildings, vaccination of animals, refurbishing of equipment...are just fun to him, taking him back to past times when he made his life from the land. Today, by the sweat of their brows and the strength of their backs, Jack and Harold are building pasture fence, extending the pasture to the other side of the creek, not because we need more pasture, but because the other side of the creek needs to be groomed by the goats.
The image above is a digital collage containing images of Jack, Mamma and Pappa Williams (his parents), Grandma May Roberts (Mamma's mother), Uncle Weaver and Aunt Ruth (brother and sister to Jack). The background image is a closeup photo of rusty peeling paint of the fender on an old farm trailer he made from a pickup truck bed.

Latta House

This is the latest image from my grad school class. The substrate is some muslin fabric that I rust dyed. I began the image by doing solvent transfers of the crow and a photo of some bare tree tops. This phase of the image stood in my dining room for a couple of weeks trying to decide what it wanted to become. I downloaded a 1920 census document from my Ancestry.com account (the family featured are my husband's great grandparents; his grandmother is 11 months old at this time) and flipped it horizontally so it would read correctly when transferred. After printing I went to the photocopier and fiddled with the sizing and then did a solvent transfer of the copy. I love the name of the township--Tally Ho.
The house image is from a photo of one of the tenant farms (also in Granville Co) that my mother-in-law, daughter of the Annie in the census record, lived on when she was a child. At the time the photo was taken the house had been vacant for many years. The old oak tree was cropped in the original photo, so I reconstructed a top for it in Photoshop. I also eliminated some of the extraneous farm stuff around the house to simplify the image. This image was printed on my inkjet and transferred using the water method. After the transfers were done I again "lived with" the image for a couple of days mulling over where it wanted to go. I began to think about the similarities between roots and branches, both in real trees and in family trees (also explored in the Roots Cellar piece), and decided to manipulate the image to emphasize that connection. Acrylic paints, Pitt Pens, and gel pens were used to draw/paint into the trees, entwining the roots of the oak with the branches of the trees at the bottom and side of the piece and with the text of the document. The house at the top seemed too dominant making the piece feel out of balance so I used some transparency sheets to play around with drawn text on the right side of the image to give it better balance. Once I decided on the size, I drew the lettering on a sheet of paper and used the lightbox to transfer it onto the fabric, adding color with my Pitt Pens. Below are details of the house and the bottom right corner of the image.




The finished piece is 11 x 14 in. I stretched the fabric over a canvas panel and taped it to the back so I could move it around and have a stable surface to work on.
The siennas of the rust are complemented nicely by the touches of blue. While the piece is pretty complex I don't think it is too busy. I really like the linear qualities added by the branches, roots, and document. I am pretty well satisfied with this piece.

Brrrrrr--Bolt the Door and Stoke the Fire

Brrrrrr...February is roaring loudly this evening; can anyone in the South and mid-Atlantic say EL NINO? We have been under a Winter Weather Advisory since last evening, but have had very little snow until the last hour or so. Late this afternoon the Weather Service issued a Blizzard Warning, forcasting 4-8 more inches of snow tonight across our area, with up to a foot in some places and deeper drifts at higher elevations (our house is at 3000 ft). The snow predictions are not so bad in and of themselves, but coupled with 60mph winds (with stronger gusts) and current 18 degree temperatures falling even lower into the night, this will be a good evening to stay close to the home fires. My husband will not fare so well; he will be out all night again this evening trying to keep the roads open and safe for those who need to travel, for whatever reason. May all reach their own home fires safe and sound, according to His will.

This winter reminds me of the ones we had when I was a kid; reallllly cold and snowy. For the past several years we haven't had winter as I remember it. When I was growing up we always had hams and bacon in the smokehouse curing under crusty layers of sugar and salt. The weather was cold enough so there was no worry about them spoiling; the only problem was wading through the snow to slice off a chunk of tender pink juicy melt-in-your-mouth ham for supper (in Appalachia we have supper in the evening and dinner at noon). In the barn loft in a nest of loose hay snuggled between walls of hefty bales were apples gathered in the fall from the Sheep Nose apple tree in the garden; covered with a thick layer of hay, they remained firm and juicy until late spring, by which time we had usually eaten every last one. Under the house, in a "tater hole" dug waist deep and lined with fresh hay, the previous seasons potatoes lay in their own bed of hay underneath a covering of worn quilts and blankets that had seen their better days. A few feet away jar after jar of fruits, vegetables, jams, jellies, juices, pickles and relishes stood six deep on the "can room" shelves ready to warm us from the inside out. The wood shed had been filled to the rafters with poplar "kindling" and heavy hardwood chunks of maple, oak and hickory; the corn crib had plenty of grain for the animals and the best ears of "Hickory Cane" had been dried ready to shell during cold winter evenings. I can still feel and hear the kernels sifting through my fingers. To break the monotony of the work Mom and Dad played a guessing game called "Hully Gull" with us; the person who was "it" held a few kernels of corn in their closed hands shaking them while asking "Hully Gull, a handful, how many?" The person who was closest to the right number of kernels became it. If we were really fortunate, Dad would wash some kernels and make "parched corn" by placing them in a pan of hot bacon grease and stirring them until they swelled up nice, round and toasty. They tasted about like half-popped popcorn (which we also grew sometimes). A room full of hands made short work of shelling a couple of sacks of hard white kernels which went to the mill to return a couple of days later, minus the miller's toll, as fresh-ground cornmeal. This meal, unlike the store bought variety, had to be sifted to remove the chaff and needed leavening added to it when it was time to bake a pone of cornbread (which NEVER contained sugar or egg, and was broken not cut). No matter how cold and snowy I remember it being outside, I never recall being cold. Between the wood heater and cookstove, and the stores of food "put up" from the summer; we were always warm and cozy inside.

Bartley Crisp: Farmer, Horse Trader & Uncle Extraordinaire

A while-back I asked my mother about old family photos, not really sure she would allow me to ever borrow any of them to scan for myself. Much to my surprise one day when I went by to drop off some prescriptions I had picked up for her, she had a box of old photos on the dining room table ready for me to look through. Many of them I had never seen before; I'm not sure where she had been hiding them, but their cracked and broken corners and aged patina beckoned for me to come hither. This is one of the treasures that was buried in the old shoe box that housed them; the original was very faint--almost ghostlike--and required quite a bit of dodging and burning in photoshop to coax it to life. The younger man astride the steer was Mammaw Laws' brother Bartley (husband of Virgie referenced in Washing With Virgie posted earlier). The gentleman on the left and owner of this fine bovine was the grandfather of my Aunt Hilda (wife of Dad's youngest brother, Frazier). His name was Gold (Goldman) Sawyer. Both Uncle Bart and Gold were "horse traders" and throughly enjoyed getting the best end of a deal. I am not sure if they ever did any trading amongst themselves; I am thinking probably not since they were close friends until the older man's death when I was in my early teens. As a child I spent a great deal of time with my Uncle Bart and Aunt Virgie and always enjoyed getting to know Uncle Bart's latest trading triumphs, be they ponies, mules, or horses. They were never graceful "riding" equines, but rather the sturdy working stock favored by the farmers whose eyes and pocketbooks Uncle Bart was always looking to open (be aware that as far as I know he was always fair and honest in his deals; I assume this to be true as he was very well loved by everyone who knew him and had no known enemies). Even though they were capital to be sold and traded, Uncle Bart always loved to sit me on the latest mount and lead me around the pasture and yard. Thinking back, it may have been a way to demonstrate the docility of the animal to prospective buyers, but as far as I was concerned, it was just plain fun. Sometimes he would keep an animal for an entire growing season, allowing me to get very attached to it. One of my favorites was a bay mare called Trixie. Trixie was broad across the chest and flanks with a barrel-shaped middle that stretched my short legs to their limits. She was slow-paced and sure-footed with a muzzle that compared to the finest velvet. The rattling of the pasture gate perked her ears, and if she found it was me climbing the rough sawn boards with a handful of plaintain leaves or an ear of corn she came at a gallop, whinnying and tossing her head. Trixie and I enjoyed a lot of slow rides and ear rubbing that summer, but not long after the tobacco and garden were in and the wood shed was filled with fuel for the winter, the trading bug bit Uncle Bart and I was forced to say good-bye to Trixie. With tears running down my cheeks I watched her disappear around the curve with her ears just poking over the wooden frame on the back of his pickup truck. A few hours later as the truck crunched the gravel of the drive way Uncle Bart jumped out calling for me to "come here Brenda and looky what I brought". This time it was a young mouse-colored mule with long erect ears--and a muzzle soft as the finest velvet that promptly nudged my shoulder and nibbled my curls. I couldn't keep from smiling.

Five days later...the snow is still laying about three inches deep in our lower pasture. The weather service is predicting rain/freezing rain for us this evening and tomorrow...but...the "old folks" say that if snow hangs around three days it's waiting for more... Also, smoke from everyone's chimneys is coming to the ground...and...it clouded up over a HUGE frost this morning. We'll just have to see about this weather prediction.



Roots Cellar--version 2: This is a second version of this piece with some of the changes suggested by Amber. I went out yesterday afternoon and shot some photos of roots hanging over the edge of the red clay road bank and payed around with the image again in Photoshop last night. I think it is getting there.



I also scanned the Alice piece, although the colors may be off a bit.



Eat Crow: This is the first experiment I did this semester with the water method for transfering inkjet prints to fabric. The garden are of the image is done with this technique. I use Goof-Of to transfer photocopies of a crow feather and some of my crow and tree drawings for the other parts of the image. Crayon and Pitt Pens add color and text to tie the image together. The text relates to myths and sayings about crows. This piece is small--about 5" x 7" on unbleached muslin.

An in-progess piece: I am calling this one Cousins; it is based on a vintage photo of my Grandpa Jenkins' cousins. I think the photo must have been taken at a wedding or something, as they all have flowers in their shirts/overalls : ) The images are water transfers on muslin. I am going to stitch/glue the parts down when I finally decide where this one is headed. Below is a detail:

I want to add some drawing/painting to the image to break the grid up and unit the parts more. The green background was not working very well for me in this direction, so here it is with a different ground.

I want to also add a larger image, maybe of one of the individuals. I am thinking about the banjo player. To check this out I did a gel transfer yesterday so I could put it on the piece and work with placement. There is a bit of glare from the "plastic" of the transfer in the photo below, but you can get an idea of what I am thinking anyway.

We are so blessed to live in such a beautiful location. This stream runs around two boundaries of our yard. Not only is it visually inspiring but it makes music transcending that of any symphony. When he visits, our oldest grandson likes to sleep in the upstairs window seat with the window ajar. He says he "likes the sounds". He isn't the only one; if it isn't bitterly cold the window in our bedroom next door is also ajar because we also like the sounds. Right now I am anticipating warmer weather and the arrival of the spring peeper frogs. Nothing lulls me to sleep like the sounds outside my own bedroom window, regardless of the season. Thank you Lord for allowing me the pleasures of living in this place.

All Good Things Must Come to an End

This is a pretty sad photo. Not the photo itself, but the subject: the very last bowl of fresh blueberries from our orchard. We have been blessed with a bumper crop of fruit this year; our blueberry bushes and apple trees have outdone themselves. Over 40 gallon of blueberries have gone into the freezer, jams, cobblers, pancakes, muffins and little boys mouths from this years crop. There are still berries scattered here and there on the branches, but not enough to bother with. Those that remain will be gleaned by the birds (and my husband). In addition to a bounty of berries we have gathered bushel after bushel of apples---Summer Treat, Empire, Cortland, Jonalicious, Red Delicious, Blushing Golden, Golden Delicious, Mutzu, and Adina---and there are still apples ripening on the trees---Winesap, Fuji, Granny Smith, Arkansas Black. Almost all of the trees have looked like this Winesap looks right now.





































Last year there was a very late freeze that wiped out most of the tree bloom here in Western NC; then, we had terrible drought conditions through the summer and fall. There was very little in the way of fruit and nut crops as most trees had to put out leaves/blooms twice. This year it is almost as if they have compensated. Every fruit and nut bearing tree in the area is loaded. Hedgerow apple trees that usually have only scattered fruit are bent with the weight of their crop. My husband and I have been discussing this and I have decided we will probably have a tough winter. All the signs our ancestors looked for are there: lots of fruit and mast, early frost (last Thursday, Sept. 25), bees nests on or near the ground, fall flowers blooming early, Katydids singing early... I hope I'm wrong. I guess we will find out.

Renewing Acquaintances

My front porch, the creek, peace and quiet and I have been renewing acquaintances the past while. I had almost forgotten how much I love solitude and just how thought provoking it can be. The hustle and bustle of finishing up the school year left me drained both mentally and physically, so home I came with not intent other than several days of doing absolutely nothing. My day begins at about the same time as during the working year, but commences at a much slower pace. My better half goes off to work and a nice steamy cup of Starbucks Breakfast Blend goes out with me for the awakening of the day.

Morning Symphony

Quiet time, a cup brewed just so,
Soft breezes rustling dew damp air.
Me and God watch the daybreak unfold;
A private show in my rocking chair.

Sparrows warm up for morning's melody,
Infant soft shadows gently born
Underneath an ancient maple tree.
Quickly, they grow and then transform;
A lacework reflection of my canopy.

Birdsong, in chorus creation compels
There's an audience today you know.
The babbling brook they rush to tell,
A command performance for God and me alone
As morning's sweet symphony slowly swells.

Crescendo followed by hushed respite
Day settles in warm soft and still.
Feathered falsettos begin to quiet
Wonder and awe my heart still fill
Me and God starting the day out right.

After a couple of cups, I usually do the bare minimum of necessary housework...dishes, couple loads of laundry, floors, general picking up...then back to the porch with my spinning wheel, knitting needles, or a bit of reading. The heat of the day builds and the clouds start to form for the usual Appalachian afternoon thunder storms.

Devil's Tater Wagon

Listen chil', it's the ol' man's tater wagon
Hear it a-rumblin' cross the sky
I declare but he's a-ragin'
As it goes a rollin' on by
That devil's layin' a beatin' on
His ol' haint of a wife
Gracious how that hag can moan
Look, fire's a-flyin' from his eye
Boys, you better head on home
She's a-cuttin' loose to cry
Lordy, let's hope ain't too long
Till this storm passes us by.

This is the life. I could really get used to this. Retirement is only, let's see...9 years away. Oh, well. I'll just have to enjoy summer while I can.

Shearly Interesting Field Trip

On Tuesday, my Appalachian Arts students and I traveled to visit my friend Martha's farm to watch her sheep being sheared. The shearers are from Australia and come to America each year and travel around to small herds. They stay with the farm owner and shear sheep daily for as many days as needed before moving on to another herd. One of the guys said he had probably sheared a million sheep, at up to 30,000 per year. He started shearing at the age of 16 because it was what he had always wanted to do, and he added that not many people his age could say that they had spent their entire life doing what they loved to do. My students had never seen this anywhere other than on TV. They really enjoyed talking with the shearers, and were amazed at how these guys manhandled the sheep "at their age". The shearers seemed to really enjoy talking to the kids and answering their questions. As we were leaving, the shearer thank me for bringing my students; he said he had really enjoyed talking to them and that it helped break up the "sameness" of the job at hand. This was a great experience for my kids ...and I bought a beautiful fleece from a sheep named Natalie. My daughter and I will have fun washing, carding and spinning.

Baby, Its Cold Out There

Although spring is officially here, we awoke this morning to winter. The thermometer on our porch registered a chilly 20 degrees. I don't have a problem with the cold, but all our plants surely will. Both our apples and blueberries have/had? a bumper crop of blooms this year, as did the plum, peach and apple trees in our courtyard at school. A couple of weeks ago when we drove through upstate SC the orchards were a sea of pink. I fear that there will be major damage to the fruit crops since temps ar due to drop into the lower teens this weekend. In addition to the fruit, the mast crop is in danger as well. A lot of the oak and hickory trees in our area are also in bloom and will probably not produce well as a result of this cold snap. That doesn't bid well for the squirrel, turkey and black bear who are highly dependent on mast crops. We have just had an immigration of squirrel in the last couple of years because mast was abundant. It had been several decades since our area had seen such a large squirrel population. We have lived in our house for 32 years and last year was the first year we had a squirrel in our yard. If the mast doesn't make it I'm afraid they will move out again. I just hope that the trees at the higher elevations can still produce enough to feed our wildlife, since they haven't started blooming yet.

Flying Flowers

They're back...the flying flowers, that is. I saw my first of the season

yesterday floating in the breeze over the creek by our house. Butterflies are one of the most amazing of God's creations. It is difficult to comprehend, even with my scientific background, how the lowly caterpillar can transform to become the beautiful ethereal creature that is a butterfly. Even more incomprehensible is that this fragile little thing whose paper-thin wings are coated with scales that come off at the slightest touch can survive long enough to keep the species intact. I have a rather large butterfly bush at the corner of my front porch that, when in bloom, is gilded with these tiger swallowtails as well as fritillaries, pipevine swallowtails, an occasional monarch, viceroys and hummingbird moths.