The Miracle and Mystery in Farming A Legacy

We signed the papers the week we got back from our honeymoon. The homeplace that has been in Matthew's family for the last three generations is now entrusted to us.

Wedged between main street and 150+ acres of abandoned ore mines, our little place is odd. It's in town but it feels rural. We see deer graze daily, yet we have neighbors. We deal with traffic noise, but we grow crops and keep chickens. It's strangely right for what we need and where we want to be.

Immediately after buying, we set about trying to put the house right and plant a garden. (I'll be sharing so much more about that in the coming days.) And one of the first things we planted?

Nannie peas.

You all have to hear this story. The story of Nannie peas.

At least that's what Matthew and his identical twin, Mark, grew up calling them. Their Nannie and Papa grew these peas in their garden for decades right here in Cass County. The family grew up with them on the table every family gathering and holiday meal. The tiny cream peas were a staple, and no one ever really considered what they were... they were just there. Papa bought them the first time from a long-gone feed store in the county seat, faithfully saved the seed each year, and grew and cooked them for decades. What were they actually called? No one knew. They were Nannie peas, they went alongside mashed potatoes and meat, and that's all anyone cared about.

In the 1990s, when Nannie and Papa died within months of each other, their children - Matthew's mother, included - found bags of peas from their last garden in the deep freezer. They divided them up and Matthew's mother carried a ziploc bag of the peas home. But cooking the last bag of her parents' peas? That would warrant a special occasion. And, as these things go, the peas waited in the freezer until, 25 years later, she came across them this summer. 

We all stood around and looked at the little battered bag of peas. The bag Nannie herself had shelled and packaged. Would they grow?, Matthew's mother asked. We were planting our garden and had space, but would these peas germinate after 25 years? Could they?

Miracle of all miracles, y'all, they did. The peas came back to life.

In July, we all gathered around the table as a family and had our first taste of Nannie peas in decades. The family said that the house even smelled like Nannie's. As I looked up and watched Matthew eat the fruit of his labor, I wondered how proud Nannie would be of her handsome grandson, all grown up now, growing her favorite heirloom crop and feeding her family once again.

All the feels.

After the cooler temperatures and the rain Hurricane Laura brought us this week, I expect the Nannie peas to set out one last good bloom before fall sets in. Tonight I plan to can about 10 pints of peas for the pantry, and shell several quarts more. It's a labor of love, and one I'm happy to help carry on.

It's a strange legacy, but one I'll gladly help pass down.

Hope you have a wonderful Friday and weekend, friend. If you need me, I'll be in the pea patch or the kitchen.

-Brin

P.S. We still haven't been able to identify Nannie's pea, and plan to send it off to the experts at Texas A&M this fall. 

True Love and Homegrown Tomatoes

Only two things money can't buy:
That's true love and homegrown tomatoes.
-Guy Clark

It's true love and homegrown tomato season over here, big time.

Agh. God is preposterously wild with both His plans and His goodness. For our good and His glory. I'll spend my life trying to understand it all....

Hey you! Hello again. If you missed it yesterday, I'm back. I'm so glad - truly, glad - you stopped by today. I have so much to tell and show you in these many many days (er... years) since we talked last.

First things first: I hope you'll find some grace in your heart to forgive me for my absence.

Second things second: I hope, in the days to come, we'll find we're like the oldest and best of friends in that we hardly miss a beat and take right back up where we left it.

In truth, though, I know we've been through some things in our gap time. Life. Pandemic. Heart things. Hard things. Hopeful things, too, maybe. And I want to hear about it all. 

Me? I've been working hard building a life and a home I love - utterly, bewilderingly love - about 10 minutes from Freeman House. Much more on that to come. Last May, I married Matthew (who someone in town dubbed #thehunkyfarmer which is now an Instagram thing). Matthew is an identical twin... an insanely gifted musician/actor... a licensed minister/seminary graduate... and a Behavioral Specialist for people with special needs - Autism, especially. And yes, a country boy who helps me farm... thus the overalls and tomatoes above. (And... heavens. Did you catch those eyes and how they're looking at me? Swooooon.) 

Annnyway. We can't wait to share our story with you. It starts way back in 1993 when we were both 14, so we have some ground to cover.

So. Other things coming at you:

-All things gardening

-All things HOME

-Monday Moments 

-RECIPES!!

-Frankie and Charlie

-Farm animals

-Honey bees

-... and just every day life. 

But most of all, just us. You and me. Friends through a LOT, right?

I missed you. Hello, friend. Thanks for being here. Hang on through the weekend and I'll see you Monday.

-Brin

Perseverance

Patience and perseverance have a magical effect before which difficulties disappear and obstacles vanish.
Read more at: http://www.brainyquote.com/search_results.html?q=perseverance

Patience and perseverance have a magical effect before which difficulties disappear and obstacles vanish.
Read more at: http://www.brainyquote.com/search_results.html?q=perseverance

Great works are performed not by strength but by perseverance.
Read more at: http://www.brainyquote.com/search_results.html?q=perseverance

Great works are performed not by strength

but by perseverance.

-Samuel Johnson

Oh my. You all should have seen the state of this third of an acre when we bought the place last May. Although there was evidence that someone once loved and doted on the old home and grounds-- i.e., the rose garden, the hidden path, the brick-encircled trees, the scalloped bed edgings-- that time was obviously long ago. Everything seemed choked with weeds and poison oak and invasive shrubs and murder vine.

But that is slowly changing. I'm making plans now to landscape the front and side of the house, as well as a (partially missing?) back brick patio. Such fun! A friend gave me a copy of an older edition of Texas Home Landscaping and I'm getting a LOT of good ideas from it. Highly recommend. Since my budget is limited, I'll be relying on plants I can start from seed, garage and junk sale finds, and plant cuttings from friends and folks about town. (And maybe a few roses from Antique Rose Emporium for my birthday. But that's just a wild thought I had. *cough*) Vicki mentioned over on Facebook that she could see ferns and geraniums on the porch. Absolutely. 

(Oh. And that reminds me! If you're on Facebook, don't miss the porch picture I posted last night. Such a relaxing and pretty spot to sit a moment...)

Won't this be a great project? 

For now, I start with a relatively clean slate. Check out the "Before" in the picture above and the "Now" right here:

Little by little!

Happy Spring, dear friend. Hope you are well and persevere today. -Brin 

This post contains an Amazon affiliate link for the purposes of sharing exact products I'm using and enjoying. You know the spill, right? If you click and buy, Amazon gives me a small kickback for the referral to their site, and that money helps me keep the blog going. It doesn't cost you or impact you in any way. Thanks!

My B.E.D Motto

So maybe, like me, you're dreaming of a place in the country where you can stretch out and have a flower garden, a mini milk cow, and some independence, but for now you must bloom where you're planted and such. Or maybe you're pleased as punch to be right where you find yourself but want to add a bit of the country life where you are. Either way, I think you might be interested in what I have coming up on the blog.

And what's coming up is this: putting a pretty, functional garden on a 1/3 acre lot in a busy city that makes you get a permit before you sneeze. We're going to have to be very creative while building this little urban homestead. We can't keep chickens here (although we've formed a coalition to overturn that ordinance) or keep bees here. Yet. I anticipate this changing soon. So we will prevail, and I will show you how as we go along.

I think I've spent several months being sort of let down and upset over this place, to be honest. (I've always been honest with you guys, I think. To a fault.) After all, I gave up my cute cabin to get married... with the understanding that a place in the country would be an option soon. But friends, as you probably know all too well, life usually doesn't work out as it does in our heads. A compromise means we bought an old house on this double lot in town. I must make the best of it!

Yeah. It was a difficult time during our 2015 house hunting days.

My first goal on this homeplace was to get a clothesline, stat. Not having to run the dryer all week saves me real dollars every month on my electric bill and, in turn, give me an excuse to slow down. Hanging laundry, for me, is therapeutic. Most days I even fold it straight off the line. For now I have this retractable clothesline running between the house and a nearby tree, and it's getting the job done until we can get a permanent one built. If you're renting or don't have a clothesline yet, I highly recommend going this route. Baby steps, friends. Baby steps.

The goal I'm tackling now is what you saw in the picture above: putting in a combo raised bed/in-ground bed vegetable garden. I'm making progress every day and can't wait to show you once I get it completed. I'm shooting for a completion date of my birthday, April 8. It's a big, big task, but I am determined. Today I'm preparing the second in-ground bed, Back to Eden style. I'm also getting some herbs in those well-used terra cotta pots you see in the picture above. Between the clearing out and the putting in and the garden bed making, I've come up with a motto for these challenging, early days. Better Every Day, is my recent motto. BED= Better.Every.Day. I ask myself each night as I get in bed, Did you do anything to make this place better today? Elementary, I know, but it helps. It really helps.

Do me a favor? Talk back to me: tell me what project you're working on or what you're doing around your homeplace. Help encourage or inspire me/us to keep going. I find it wildly heartening to see other women talk about their challenges, their projects, and their hopes for their homes. It sort of helps us chin-up and tackle our own mountains knowing that someone else out there is climbing hers at the same time, too.

Off to tackle that second garden bed before I ask myself my BED question at bed tonight. Have a good Wednesday! -Brin


This post contains an Amazon affiliate link for the purposes of sharing exact products I'm using and enjoying. You know the spill, right? If you click and buy, Amazon gives me a small kickback for the referral to their site, and that money helps me keep the blog going. It doesn't cost you or impact you in any way. Thanks!

Masters and Keepers (The Beauty and Necessity of Bud+Bee+You+Me)

Flowers are the sweetest things God ever made

and forgot to put a soul into.

-Henry Ward Beecher 

We had to chase the Master Gardeners out of my beekeeper's association meeting last night so we could begin on time. The Masters (as I call them)- revered, wise, and weathered- are a motley crew of wrinkled old ladies, sun-beaten old men, and the odd, fresh-faced hipster. I'm in awe of them. They know Latin names for everything and there's nothing they haven't seen.

The Masters line up their latest obsessions in our shared gardening/beekeeping room. (The Masters and the Keepers- as beekeepers are called- are graciously respectful of each other.) The Masters also keep wild-looking, experimental plants under sagging, beaming grow lights in the corner of our room. There are new specimens every month: in January and February there are yellow and white bulbs nodding in test tubes and expertly labeled. March through May ushers in seedlings of all kinds: tomatoes, peppers, squash, and melons. Along June until October, herbs and grasses and so.many.flowers and every vegetable God gave a seed sprawl into the room. November and December roll around and they've vased up Henbit or Camellias or Red Maples. I'm fascinated, always.

Even if you've never given a solitary thought to flowers and bees, both are necessary for your life as you know it. Truly. Buds and blooms provide carbohydrates (nectar) and protein (pollen) for the bees. With it, they make food (honey) to sustain their colony. In doing so, they pollinate roughly one out of every three foods you'll eat today... and many of the wild plants you'll never give a thought to today. The bud-bee-you-me relationship is beautifully symbiotic. God may not have put a soul in flowers or bees, but He did intersect them with ours.

It occurred to me last night, while looking carefully around the room of Masters and Keepers, that these people are the unsung heroes of life as we've come to know it. Forget the athletes and crooners and celebrities. These people, with their borage and bent backs and bee suits, these people are changing the world. While the Masters plant and prune and pull nourishing plants, the Keepers breed and box and bolster the languishing bee. Together, they are fighting a tidal wave of chemicals and disease and urbanization and every dreaded and terrible thing man is doing to kill-off nature and wellness.

God help and bless the Masters and Keepers....

-     -     -     -     -

Yesterday's bee meeting and this morning's Floret Flowers announcement prompted the writing of this intro to a manifesto. (Forgive me.) Want to support or join the Masters/Keepers? Start by planting some bee-friendly seeds this year- in a pot, in a bed or garden, or in a vacant lot. Floret's now selling their beautiful seeds, and, of course, I'm an occasional visitor and longtime fan of Wildseed Farms. Their regional wildflower mixes are perfection. I beg you: plant something, feed a bee, and do what you can this year to support our unsung heroes.

Life

Please accept my apologies for dropping off the face of the blog planet last week. My best laid plans were shoved aside when we got a call Tuesday that a friend's niece was in the hospital and the prognosis wasn't good. We drove to New Orleans on Wednesday and she died in the night Friday. I can't imagine what it would be to lose a teenage child... even if that child had been ill from birth. I'm sure the Baker family would appreciate a quick prayer if you could spare one.

So I wasn't able to get as much done on the house as I'd planned last week. Except one thing: the huge eyesores on the south side of the house: the dreaded flower bed.

Oh y'all. This thing was terrible. I searched (in vain) for a picture that captured the grown-up-edness of this side of the house and came up empty. About all I have is that circled area in the picture above. (Yeah. Not much.) But it was bad. Thorny vines, bushes, small oak trees, weeds and trash choked this long stretch of ground underneath the south side's sun porch. It took us weeks of dodged effort to get it all out; we would hack and pull and let the sun beat down on exposed roots/stems and wither them... then we'd pull them out. It would have gone much faster with equipment, I'm sure, but we managed with a shovel, a pick axe and a rake. Oooooof. But yesterday, finally, we got it all cleared.

Then came the fun part: moving the ancient concrete edgers from the four corners of the property back to where they sat originally. Then we laid (biodegradable) cardboard on top of the weeded ground... and piles of raked leaves over the cardboard. And then, finally, the wood chip mulch. We finished just as the sun was setting:

Finally. Finally, that bed is put back in order. We have to chain saw out that random bush and then I'm going to let it sit all fall and winter. In the spring, I'll get some landscaping and herb planting done. But progress! Progress makes my heart happy.

Speaking of progress, I think the old place finally has a name. Like Freeman House, it's the name everyone calls it, so it's obvious. But it's taken me awhile to warm up to it. It's just too simple and too... plain. I don't know. But it fits. Come back tomorrow and I'll introduce you two properly.

Monday! We are blessed to see you again. Thank you, God, for life... and please be with those who are mourning its loss today.... -Brin

The Stone Path

Still round the corner there may wait
A new road or a secret gate
And though I oft have passed them by
A day will come at last when I
Shall take the hidden paths that run
West of the Moon, East of the Sun.

-J. R. R. Tolkien

We have discovered a stone path.

It seems obvious now, being cleared and all. But two weeks ago it wasn't. I was headed back to the house from the little shop when suddenly, I saw them: the corners of two square stones, touching as if they meant to. I thought it was odd... why would there be two half-sunk stones in the middle of a yard?

Ah. But there weren't just two, there were hundreds. The path is cleared now. How long has it been, I wonder, since it last was?

My sister came for a visit yesterday and was astonished to see it. When did y'all have the time to lay this? she asked. I smiled. We walked it from the corner of the shop all the way to the steps of the long, glassed-in sun room and inside.

I have plans for three small gardens here: an ivy + rose garden with a gazebo on the north side, a vegetable garden on the east/south, and herbs and trailing things in beds and corners all around. This past weekend, some chives, mint, sage and homemade butter-colored lantanas went into the ground next to the steps off the path. They're flanked by butterfly bushes. I'll wait and see how they fill in and then edit from there.

As you may have heard, Tropical Storm Bill is lumbering through. It's raining now- hard- onto ground that was at saturation point weeks ago. This is stranger than any summer I remember. After the rain clears and the heat lets up, we will begin garden plans in earnest.

Until then, we wait.

I'm painting the library/study today and am so wishing it was already done so I could curl up in there and read until dozing off. For now, the lamp light is cozy and rain drums at the windows...

From my rain-soaked path to you, take care today.  -Brin

Beginning

The beginning is the most important part of the work.

-Plato

So I'm here. I'm here at the new house. It's surreal. I wander down the crooked hallway and through wavy-glass windowed rooms and can hardly believe it. I'm in the new house.

Thank you for your patience these past days as we moved and began the staggering task of... beginning. The most important part of the work. I appreciate you standing by and apologize for the time away.

We moved later than we anticipated, mostly due to the owner not getting herself moved in time. She called me at 1:30AM the night after she was supposed to be out and wailed about a leak in the kitchen and water everywhere. And so it began. We got here the first morning to a puddle standing in the kitchen floor, an air conditioning system that wouldn't work, and several other wonky things- a shattered glass door knob that sliced my hand open, a seeping toilet that soaked hardwood floors, a kitchen faucet that wouldn't give up any water. Needless to say, the first week I managed 5 separate repairmen- plumber, electrician, AC guy, handyman and a painting crew. Oh. And the yard man who goes by Yard Dawg. I think his name is Gene, but everyone calls him the Yard Dawg.

Oh yes. We'll get to all that later.

Since it was so warm and chaotic inside, I kept myself outside as much as possible. There are at least 100 projects out here to tackle anyway. The first thing I focused on was the tangled, listless front flower bed. I'll show you that soon. The second eyesore that begged my attention was the the little shop building at the back of the property.

Above is how the previous owner left it. Here's how it stood after being mostly cleared and ready for makeover:

I think it took me 5 hours, 7 contractor bags, and several wheelbarrow trips to remove all that mess. But look at her now! This little shop will be part my potting shed and part of the wood shop. (It's bigger than it looks- maybe 15' x 20'?) Now I just need some inspiration- what do you see on or along this broad wall? Please do share.

During the excavation of the shop grounds and after a visit from Yard Dawg, I also discovered a stone path. It leads from this west corner of the shop up to the door off the sun porch into the kitchen. I love it. Must show you that soon, as well. You can glimpse a peek in the corner of these photos.

Despite all the mini-emergencies of Dreaded Moving Week, I felt that old familiar feeling again: that house affection that plants itself in your soul and scatters its seed to every part of you. I'm in now, y'all. It's here. It's beginning.

Hope you're ready for this new adventure. 

Have a great weekend, and we'll talk much next week, Lord willing. -Brin

House Secrets and Purple Potatoes

My, but the kitchen ignited a fire storm.

I have read every comment and email. It's fun to hear from you- who you are, what you've remodeled (or are living with in hopes of remodeling), what you think about this little kitchen. I think the best advice has been to simply live in the house before changing her. Let the house tell you what it needs, someone said.

Agreed. Maybe it sounds crazy, but I think walls do talk. Have you heard of people who buy old houses and live there and one day decide: I think a doorway should go there, instead of here. And low and behold, the workers come in and discover that the doorway used to be there, after all, and the "new" remodel is actually an uncovering of what was meant for the house in the beginning. Houses are strange that way: if you listen closely, you'll sometimes overhear their secrets.

So we agree: live in the place and get a feel for what's going on. That's the plan. But please, continue voting in the poll if you haven't already. I'm wondering if, in the end, the Yeses will have it.

In the meantime, I'm waist-deep in moving boxes. I spent some time yesterday taking up the gravel fire pit we built in the place we're in now. 

Remember my How I'm Growing Months of Potatoes for $3.99? Yeah. Well, I have my months of potatoes now, and I'm trying to get them out of the ground before next weekend when we have to surrender the keys here. The purple potatoes have been especially fun to dig and discover. Have you ever eaten a purple potato? Delicious! Tonight's dinner will feature roasted purple potatoes with thyme and butter. I'll share the recipe and some photos sometime, promise.

Hope your week is going well. And please, keep those comments and emails coming! -Brin

Sweetness

But don't forget, in the meantime, 

that this is the season for strawberries. Yes.

-Clarice Lispector

The first strawberries of the season. They stained my hands with their sweetness.

We have a walk through of the house today at noon, and then a busy weekend ahead. I wanted to stop in, though, and wish you a happy Mother's Day. Even if you're a mother-in-waiting or a mother at heart. Have a sweet Sunday. We'll talk next week. Oh, will we ever talk! -Brin

House Hours, Planting Plants... and Pesto

I'm now counting the hours until we close on the house. Hours, instead of weeks and days. It's all so exciting I could hardly sleep last night.

All this moving talk got me thinking: I can finally, actually, really plant my plants soon. As in, free their root-bound selves from their terracotta cages and settle them into their permanent homes... the blueberries, strawberries, flowers and herbs. It's one of the things I'm looking forward to most, I think. Finally, the plants I've been lugging from place to place since Freeman House will have a forever home.

Including the basil. I love basil. I've been growing the same sweet basil from seed from my Freeman House crop every year since I left. It's acclimated now to the scorching, humid area that is northeast Texas, and it does well in pots. But how much better will it be to have as much as I want! Especially for pesto. 

Do you eat pesto? I make it from my own basil and love it spread between thick bread on griddle sandwiches and stirred into salted pasta hot from the pot. My recipe is almost exactly like this one. I'll make huge batches and freeze it in my Pampered Chef herb freezing trays and it's easy and there when I want it. If you haven't ever made your own pesto, I'd encourage you to give it a go this summer!

Okay. Crazy brain. Went from house hours to plants to basil recipes in a few sentences. Please forgive the nervous excitement. We close on the house in hours, y'all. Hours!! -Brin

Rocks and Roses

....It struck her that that perhaps everyone 

had the ability to see themselves in others. 

Even in the rocks. Even in the roses.

-Holly Lynn Payne, Damascena

 

I'm glad you're here. 

We're kind of like a family, you know... those of us who come here. You read me, I read your comments, and I think we see ourselves when we look at each other. Rocks, roses and all. Hi there, you.

The roses are blooming and so I picked some and brought them in. But really they're for you. Thanks for sharing my days, my quiet thoughts, my messy life.

Call it Earth Day or Wednesday or whatever you'd like. Today I'm grateful for... and looking at... you.

Let's be friends always, okay?  -Brin

Whippoorwills, Singing, Gardens and Houses

A feather from the Whippoorwill
That everlasting—sings!
Whose galleries—are Sunrise—
Whose Opera—the Springs....

-Emily Dickinson

Everything is alive here- sprouting and swaying and singing. It's all just so... alive. I'm not sure why, but this spring has brought so much reassurance for me. I've heard her opera of hope: we may be facing chaos, but God is on His throne and He has a plan. Just look at the roses and tell me He doesn't. The Everlasting still sings.

Is this not just the most beautiful, Secret Garden-like place you've ever seen? It's Whippoorwill Gardens in Cass County, Texas. I went not long ago, and we wandered around until it clouded up and threatened rain. I want something like this- these rooms of roses and fountains, I told him. I want something like this at the new place.

Speaking of, so far, still so good on the new house. We're on schedule to close May 9. I'm in this alternate world right now of gardens and paint colors and flea markets and list making. And how wonderful that it's all happening in spring, with all her galleries and operas and whippoorwills!

We're so blessed to be talking gardens and houses. The Everlasting... He still sings.

How I'm Growing Months of Potatoes for $3.99

I hope every American who possibly can 

will grow a victory garden this year. 

We found out last year that even the small gardens helped.

The total harvest from victory gardens was tremendous. 

It made the difference between scarcity and abundance. 

-Franklin D. Roosevelt, April 1, 1944

A few weeks ago, my local grocery store had 15 pounds of potatoes on sale for $3.99. You better believe a bag of those taters came home with me. But even after taking a meal to a couple who just had a baby and throwing potatoes in every soup pot I've made, the suckers were still sprouting faster than I could use them.

Perfect! I love it.

Did you know that when your potatoes- even normal ones, from the grocery store- begin to go wonky, you can thickly peel or slice them and use them as seed?

You can. You can grow months worth of potatoes from a $3.99 bag from the store. Really.

Let's be real: times are getting tough. And they're going to get tougher. This year I feel... I don't know... weighty conviction, almost, to plant all I can, put up all I can, and get ready to be generous. This would be loads easier if I had a farm, or even some land, but right now we're in a two bedroom house with an average size back yard and a landlord who doesn't want us to put in raised beds. In other words, we're resigned to using flower beds for now. Point? If I can do this, maybe you can, too. 

We can totally do this.

Okay. First, I'm going to take my sprouting potato and I'm going to cut it into chunks with at least two "eyes", or two buds that will start the growth of a new potato plant, on each piece. Some folks say not to do more than one or two, since the resulting vines could make a tangled mess and choke each other as they compete for nutrients. And then other people plant whole potatoes and are happy with that. I say at least two eyes is good, but I don't freak if there's more.

Some gardeners get really technical with this cutting and talk about invisible stems and tuber size and humidity and blah blah. Not me. I grab a knife and slice like a crazy person in a horror movie. My only rule? Cut big chunks about the size of my thumb, give or take. It's worked in the past.

Yesterday as I was cutting these, there were some potatoes that were mostly sprouting on one side. I simply peeled the other side and we ate them in soup last night. Once I was done slicing my sprouted taters, here's what I had:

Oh yeah. 

Since I was at the end of the sack of potatoes, I put my sprouting chunks- cut side up- on a paper lunch bag, and then put the paper bag on top of the original plastic potato sack. Then I moved it to an open, airy corner of the kitchen and let the chunks hang out for at least 24 hours. This process is called chitting- the cutting and hanging out period in a potato's life before it is planted and begins to produce.

I could draw so many parallels to that and real life but I won't today. Moving on...

(Again, depending on who you ask, there's a correct length of time to chit potatoes. The lady who runs our downtown community garden swears by cutting potatoes and planting them that instant. I watched in amazement last year as she cut a potato in half and then dropped each piece into the soil right then. And you know what? They got a decent potato crop! I like to err on the side of drying my potato pieces at least a day, though.)

After a day or two, my cut potato chunks have dried enough to plant. Yes, I know it's crazy early to be planting potatoes, but I live in Texas. It was 67 degrees yesterday. For the rest of the known world, you'll want to wait until it's dry and warm, about a week after the last frost.

And into the ground they go! You'll notice all the organic material in my soil there. I am a HUGE proponent of the Back to Eden style of gardening, and I have heavily mulched these beds the past two years. I can sink a spade about 10 inches down into the soil and it's rich and alive and gorgeous. In fact, let me show you. Here's a back bed that was NOT mulched Back to Eden style. (Note how sandy the soil is. I can barely dig into it with a shovel, it's such hard ground.)

And here's the "flower"bed with that gorgeous soil, now planted with potatoes, mulched in wood chips and spent tomato vines and Maggie's head:

World of difference!

Anyway. I'll continue planting potatoes through March, but I'm happy to have these in the ground now. Several months worth of potatoes from a $3.99 bag at the store that we also ate from? Yes please!

It's time for a victory garden revival.

The Canfest of 2014

I think I just picked my last tomatoes of the year. And my last strawberry. It is November. Thank ya, Texas.

Know what I've discovered in the last year? That we eat a LOT of tomatoes. It's astonishing. From raw in salads and on tacos and sandwiches, to stewed in chili and soups, to crushed in goulash, pasta sauce and salsa- we know how to massacre a tomato crop.

Which is all fine and good. Except by August, I was so sick of canning tomatoes that I started freezing them. Then our small freezer got so full that we went and bought a chest freezer. Now IT is so full that I'm giving frozen quarts of stewed tomatoes away and I've gone back to canning them.

What an incredible problem blessing to have, right?

I can remember writing Proverbs 14:23 as a handwriting exercise in second grade: All hard work brings a profit, but mere talk leads only to poverty. Today I would write: All hard work brings lots of tomatoes, but mere talk leads only to paying $2/can at the store so I guess it's worth it if you don't go crazy first.

Good thing I didn't write the Bible.

If you're interested, a how-to for the best stewed tomatoes on the planet is here. Heck yes.

Monday Moment: Hard Won, Not Bought

Stores have beautiful roses. Markets have gorgeous tomatoes. But I usually grow my own-- roses and tomatoes. I grow them because I like gardening, even if it is hard work. Year after year, there I am, planting, weeding, staking, pruning, and watering.

Some things are sweeter- better- when you've gone through something for them, I think. 

Maybe truths work the same way.

I read Streams in the Desert nearly every day. This morning there's a beautiful reflection on how truths, values and character come into our lives. They are not "blown randomly across our path by wayward winds", Mrs. Charles Cowman writes, "for great souls experience great sorrows:

Great truths are dearly bought, the common truths,

Such as we give and take from day to day,

Come in the common walk of easy life,

Blown by the careless wind across our way.

Great truths are greatly won, not found by chance,

Nor wafted on the breath of summer dream;

But grasped in the great struggle of our soul,

Hard buffeting with adverse wind and stream.

But in the day of conflict, fear and grief,

When the strong hand of God, put forth in might,

Plows up the subsoil of our stagnant heart,

And brings the imprisoned truth seed to the light.

Wrung from the troubled spirit in hard hours

Of weakness, solitude, and times of pain,

Truth springs like harvest from the well-plowed field,

And our soul feels it has not wept in vain."

My oft-plowed heart field has seen truth after truth spring up: that God is good, even when I doubt it the most. That we are perfectly loved, even when we feel it the least. That the places where we've lost hope are simply the places where we're believing a lie. And that we will see the goodness of the Lord in the land of living.

The common, "group think" in life comes easy. Let's be the people who live by truths.

Let's keep planting our tomatoes and fighting thorns for our roses.

Cool Cucumber Conundrum

It will not always be summer;

build barns.

-Hesiod

   

I'm here, under a pile of cucumbers. Hey there.

The cucs are going crazy this summer. Every day, I come in with my nightgown or shirt or basket (depending on the time of day) weighed down like too many kids on a saggy trampoline. My, do we have the Boston Pickling cucumbers. Cool cucumber conundrum, though, huh? So I did what any pioneering housewife would do: I made pickles...
 

 

...and I made pickles...

...and then I pickled more pickles. Spears and slices and whole cucumbers. If you even so much as looked my way this weekend, you got salted and pickled in vinegar and spices. 

 

Have I told you that I think war is coming? If one does, come to my house and we'll eat pickles and blow our pickle breath on anyone that gets too close. That's my strategy, anyway. We'll outlast everyone. You'll see.

Anyway. Have you ever made pickles before? I hadn't. I followed the super easy directions for Dill Spears in Put 'em Up! and was very pleased with the results. Quick and crunchy. If you like to can anything at all- or if you want to try- I can't recommend this book enough. It will help you turn your cool cucumber conundrums into... what-the-heck-do-I-do-with-all-these-pickles-would-you-like-a-jar-of-homemade-pickles-please-PLEASE? conundrums.

I'm here for you like that. ;) Happy pickling and canning this summer! -Brin

No. Just...No.

Sauerkraut is tolerant, for it seems to be a well of contradictions.

-Julien Freund

Let me tell you about a well of contradictions. Because I can. Oh, can I!

First of all, sauerkraut is not tolerant. At all. Does it look pretty in the garden? Yes. Is it fun when you cut it open? Uh-huh. But I tried to make sauerkraut, y'all. I narrowed my eyes and cracked my knuckles and sharpened my knife and I tried. After carefully picking, washing and slicing my home-grown heads, I salted and pounded and cheese-cloth'd and waited and ... ... and...

 

...no. Just...no. Sauerkraut does not naturally happen like all those online recipes say. My batch sat for two weeks and never so much as changed color. Still green. Still crisp-ish. Still... odd. I threw it in the back compost before anyone discovered it and mercilessly teased me. Or, heaven forbid, ate it.

You know those girls who make their own poptarts and tea blends and such? You girls ridiculously rock. For me, some things are just better from the store.

Well of contradictions. Harrumph....

Remembering Blueberry Hill

I'm growing blueberries in clay pots this year. As I search and pray for an old farm place to renovate, I find I'm impatient to start it all: berry patches, orchard, gardens- all of it. So blueberries in a pot will have to do. And you know what? They're doing just fine!

This is a Climax blueberry, which crosses with a Tiffblue blueberry, which is perfect for blazing, humid Texas summers. They're also perfect for muffins, cobblers, jam, ice cream sauce and salads. Heck yes.

Each day as I water them, I can't help thinking of Blueberries for Sal. Do you know this book? A teacher read it to me ages ago, and my older brain still projects images of the beautiful pictures of Blueberry Hill every time I glance at the blue-dotted bushes. In fact, I think I need to re-read it this week....

Wishing you a Blueberry Hill kind of day. Happy Tuesday!

Oh! My first job was on a blueberry farm. Read about it here. 

 And make my favorite Blueberry Breakfast Bars with this recipe.