The Secret Tree

In those days secrets were well kept...

-Stuart Symington

Everyone should have a secret tree. This is mine. This is the tree I would sit under, from the time I was nine years old, whispering secrets and bearing my soul.

You can't tell by looking, but buried deep beneath the moss and bark, this weathered tree holds my inmost thoughts. For twenty years, it's absorbed and guarded the details of my life.

I visited the tree today. She knew me right away, I think. Just like old times, I sat beneath branches and told her things. And just like old times, she listened quietly, taking it all in.


Millie and I stayed until clouds rolled in, dark and heavy. Then we turned toward home, lighter for leaving our cares at the secret tree....

Belated Summer Reading List

I get nervous, usually, when I post my reading lists.

It's silly, but when I stop to consider how diverse the readership of this blog is: young, old... single, married... liberal, conservative... city folk, country folk... believers, doubters... it poses a few issues. I mean, every time I post a list I get a flood of email. Grandmas complain that my list is too "young", while twenty-somethings get freaked out by "heavy" subjects. Liberals object to Mike Huckabee books. Christians protest that I'm advocating the reading of books outside of Bible bookstore-lit, but all the folks who visit here everyday who have little to no interest in God, much less a personal relationship with Him, castigate me for offering titles they deem "preachy" and "indoctrinating".

Truth is, a girl can't win. Even on her own blog.

So here's what I decided this time: I'm going to post my summer reading list. Revolutionary, I know. But here on my personal blog, I'm going to ahead with posting a few of the titles of the books I'm attempting to read and enjoy this summer. Can I guarantee you'll heartily endorse every last one? No. But hopefully we'll both come away with a favorite new title or two. And isn't that the best thing about reading, anyhow? A journey of discovery turn familiarity?

THE BELATED SUMMER READING LIST:

Lulu Meets God and Doubts Him

Bride Island

The Fiction Class

He Has Made Me Glad

Adelaide Piper

Captured by Grace

What In the World Is Going On?

Happy reading and discovering! -Brin

Collage of Treasures

Turns out I want to do a little more with the Belated Summer Reading List than just shove a few titles at you through the computer screen and mutter, happy reading. So may I have another day to polish it? It will be worth it, I promise.

In the meantime, I'm drinking white peach tea from a cold, glass bottle while frantically uploading yet more Freeman House items to the eBay shop. (You can view all of them by clicking on the "Freeman House Sale" button on the top right of the blog.) I expect to be finished uploading all items by Thursday. There were several treasured items, you see, that I simply couldn't part with at the moving sale last week. For one, I knew folks wouldn't appreciate them as you might, and for two, I knew a few quarters wouldn't justify their sale or cover their sentimental value. Not in my sad little mind, anyway. So here they are, quietly bobbing their way down an eBay river of treasures, each looking for a new home with a new face to gaze quietly - adoringly - at them.

Back tomorrow with books. Good books. See you then. -Brin

Today - after books, sunflowers and a rousing game of Taboo (with the likes of folks such as the incomparable Starla Ray) - I'm headed bedward. The belated summer reading list tomorrow, eh?

Ends and Beginnings

Now this is not the end.

It is not even the beginning of the end.

But it is, perhaps, the end of the beginning.

-Winston Churchill

I love Churchill's quote. It resonates with me right now. This part of my life isn't the beginning of the end, it's simply the end of a beginning.

So here it is... the future homestead. You're looking at the spot where my little cottage and gated garden will soon sit. (If you follow the cottage link, check out "KC 936". That's it.) It's about four acres about eight miles out of a town about an hour from Freeman House. Out here you can see the stars. You can skip rocks on a pond. You can watch the deer and rabbits run. You can wander down the tree-lined county road for a mile and not pass a soul. This is my future home, and I'll build my cottage and its gardens with my own two hands.

I'm officially moved out of Freeman House. People came to the sale from all around - San Diego, Boston and Phoenix, even. Everything sold. I mean, almost everything. Couldn't believe it. I laughed and I cried and I hugged necks and patted backs. And when I drove away, I felt it: that it was the end of a beginning, but hardly the beginning of the end.

He hath made every thing beautiful in his time:

also he hath set the world in their heart,

so that no man can find out the work

that God maketh from the beginning to the end.

-Ecclesiastes 3:11

Rain.

Rain the past few days means relief from the searing Texas heat. That's a blessing all around, especially for plants.

Especially for plants I tugged out of the Freeman House garden, hoping to keep alive until they can be transplanted into a new garden. There are more to move, but so far, so good.

Even the bell peppers appear to flourish despite the sudden transition.

I'll be occupied for the remainder of the week with the large sale at Freeman House, slated for Thursday and Friday. If you're in the area and want to stop by, I'll be the brown-haired girl in the back, looking hopeful....

Let all that I am

wait quietly before God,

for my hope is in Him.

-Psalms 62:5

Saturday. A quiet day of waiting. After lunch, I pulled on worn-thin blue jeans and went outside for a stroll past the old apple tree.

The apples were just beginning to blush under the glare of the summer sun.

We left the apple tree and wandered into the field of tall, swaying grass. Millie likes this best.

Together we walk, pausing to look and listen and explore...

...and pick flowers. Zinnias and lantana grow from gardens past. I clutch them as I walk along, then say a prayer and throw the flowers after it, towards heaven.

My prayers may not be acknowledged, but I'm never sorry I said them.

After the walk, I climb on the trampoline. With a giant leap, I throw my bare feet to the sky and sail back toward earth.

Let all that I am wait quietly before God, for my hope is in Him.

The Charming, Happy Things Sale

I promise a return to normal blogging soon. Normal as in gardening, recipes, stories, pictures... the usual. The month of July, apparently, I've dedicated to moving and clearing out Freeman House. That is, as you might guess, a huge undertaking. Next week is my big 3-day sale in which I'll offer up furniture, dishes, linens, appliances, building material and tools from Freeman House. Yikes. This week I devoted to more packing and selling of a LOT of books, CDs, and movies.

But so you know, there's a final Freeman House Sale going on over at eBay. MaryJane Farm Magazines, a special cake platter, tea cups and saucers, a favorite lunch bag, and many, many other things are there (and will be added throughout the weekend!) for bidding. A final farewell to Freeman House and all her charming, happy things....

As soon as the old dear is empty and all my belongings fit into that 9' by 14' storage building, I'll be back. We'll talk books and cake and gardening and cottage plans (!) and summer recipes and sewing and Millie. Promise.

Wishing you a happy and carefree weekend. -Brin

(For those who asked, visit the postings on eBay by clicking here.)

Courage Is the Only Thing

Success is never found.

Failure is never fatal.

Courage is the only thing.

-Winston Churchill

I adore this quote. Success isn't arbitrary and failure isn't fatal. But courage - ah, courage. Courage is the key.

I'm not much of a reality TV watcher, but my Mom was glued to America's Got Talent last night so I joined in. I was taken by Mia Boostrom's performance. Apparently the 16-year old tried to land a contestant slot on the show last year and was turned away. But there she was again this year, proving that success isn't found, failure isn't fatal, and courage is the only thing. She played and sang again, and this time she triumphed. I loved her and I loved her voice.

Every now and again you just need someone to remind you....

Video Recaps | Full Episodes | Webisodes

Away We Go

Remember these charming stamps? They - and other favorites - are listed in my Etsy Shop, ready to find happy homes.


Amazingly enough, I'm about to fit all my belongings into a 9 by 14-foot storage building. Incredible. I am, of course, selling most everything: furniture, appliances, collections, the like. I'm also listing things on Amazon, eBay and Etsy. It's freeing, selling all your things except the essentials. This is freeing, I keep telling myself as I mail off another treasure, and don't you want to be free?

And so stuff goes... away to another home, another life, writing another chapter in its already-colorful story.

As do I. As do I....

(Quick Update: The stamps were snatched up quickly - thanks! - but there are still many items remaining and many to come throughout the week. For my autographed books - by Rachael Ray and by Mike Huckabee [blogged about on this site!] - see the Amazon shop by clicking here.)

Deep summer is when laziness finds respectability.

-Sam Keen

I gathered what was left of the Freeman House tomato garden and brought it here to ripen in a sunny window. Suppose I could have made Chow Chow, but to be honest, it's too hot and I'm too lethargic. With the temperature reading 106 degrees outside, I'm keeping out of the kitchen and near the air conditioner. Later, perhaps when the sun goes down, I'll make salsa or tomato sauce and can it for the colder months.

Ready for a laugh at my expense? This'll give you a good one. Remember how I explained awhile back that Millie was pregnant? Yeah. She's not. As a new dog owner, I became desperately concerned when my girl stopped eating, began bleeding, and demonstrated three other signs of dog pregnancy. Finally, I consulted the vet. Millie was just in heat, but I was too new at this to recognize the signs. I can't tell you the relief I felt at my own stupidity... and at the realization that Millie won't be having puppies!

(Insert your favorite dumb girl/dog joke here.)

.............................

I have one load of things remaining at Freeman House. After it's hauled away, I'll say goodbye to the house forever. As devastated as I am, I do have a deep satisfaction in knowing that the place has been saved from condemnation and the wrecking ball. I'm excited about the house's future and the new owner's renovation plans. Freeman House was my scourge and my salvation, and I'll always be grateful for my time there.

............................

The past two weeks have been anything but lazy, what with my Grandad's death and this monster-big move. But I'm sorry to say that my blogging, as well as my Etsy order getting-out, has been shamefully delayed. My apologies to each of you affected, and deepest thanks for your patience. -Brin

Most Precious Gifts

Bad things do happen; how I respond

defines my character and the quality of my life.

I can choose to sit in perpetual sadness,

immobilized by the gravity of my loss,

or I can choose to rise from the pain and treasure

the most precious gift I have - life itself.

-Walter Anderson

Freeman House is no longer mine. I handed the keys to the new owner Wednesday and left quietly through the kitchen door. I've never cried so hard in my life. My eyes are still puffy.

But it's only a house, right? Four walls, a roof and a floor. I can't take it with me. And how I respond to this does define my character and the quality of my life. So I'm choosing to rise above and treasure the precious gift I still possess: life. Possibility. Faith. The hope of things to come.

There's always the hope of things to come. That, to me, is one of the most precious gifts....

(Some great reading I've relied on when facing loss, sadness, or general down-and-out blues? Rising Above, Let the Journey Begin: God's Roadmap for New Beginnings, In a Pit with a Lion on a Snowy Day, and Soul Catcher: A Journal to Help You Become Who You Really Are. I hope, if you're working through something, that these books and journals help you as much as they've helped me.)

Muted Mornings

There are no great things,

only small things with great love.

Happy are those.

-Mother Teresa

A muted morning in my world.

My mother and I have been mindful to take better care of ourselves - and each other - since I've been here. Better than we had been. For some reason, this is involving lots of yogurt, almonds, cinnamon and wheat germ. I can't complain. The small things with great love mean everything right now. Happy are those.

Yesterday we drove over to Freeman House together and began packing. I won't pretend as if it was enjoyable. Having until August first to be out of the house so the new owner can move in, I don't have the luxury of calm, reflective packing. And maybe that's a good thing. I hastily shove things - books, yesterday - into boxes, wrestling the boxes closed and sealing them with a flourish of (twisted) tape. But not everything will be stored away. I spent several hours last night listing books on Amazon. (If anyone's curious to see the books I've begun selling off, they are here.) A plan is presenting itself to me and, as exciting as it is, it does involve massive downsizing.

More on the plan later. It is, I'll admit, delightful. Not my first choice, to be sure, but a beauty of an alternative nonetheless. We'll discuss it later this week.

I'm off to the store now to buy more yogurt. Looking forward to many muted mornings to come.

It's finally over: the visitation, the people, the service, the graveside. The week that wouldn't end. It was wonderful and it was wearisome. I'm unspeakably thankful it's behind us.

Sorry I've been absent. It appears I've moved into a period of strong wind. Instead of cursing it, I'm trying to embrace it. The stronger the wind, the stronger the tree. As I prepare for this week - the week I'll deed Freeman House away - I keep repeating the phrase to myself. That, and this: He is before all things, and in Him all things hold together. (Colossians 1:17) I can't tell you the comfort that verse brings, the thought that my loving, compassionate God goes ahead of me. That He's already in my tomorrow... has already okay'd everything that will come my way. He is before all my things, and in Him I will hold together. It has become my mantra.

Thank you for your patience and encouragement during all this wind. Hoping this week brings you comforting, held-together things. -Brin

From Time to Eternity

For death is no more than a turning of us over

from time to eternity.

-William Penn

My Grandfather passed around midnight. I cried as I kissed his cheek a final time and watched through puffy, water-logged eyes as the funeral home loaded him into the hearse.

I miss him already.

The thing about death... it's so simple yet so incomplete. It's like peering into a dark tunnel you can't see the end of. We think we have an idea of what's on the other end, but really, who can see for sure? Christians - those who profess faith in Jesus Christ as the Messiah - believe that "to be absent from the body is to be present with the Lord". You die, you fly, in other words. We stake our current situations and our very lives, even, on the blessed hope that another world awaits beyond the grave... a world that promises no pain, no tears.

I don't have all the answers, and I'll admit that sometimes it all sounds a bit far-fetched and idealistic to these human ears. Yet I believe it all the same. Where is my Grandfather right now? He's in heaven. Maybe it's even dinner time there. Maybe he's feasting on chicken and mashed potatoes and cornbread and lemon icebox pie. Maybe it's the best day he's ever known. Maybe exchanging time for eternity is the greatest and sweetest thing for which we can ever hope...

....................

I miss you, Grandad, and rejoice that you're no longer in pain. You were the best grandfather a girl could have asked for, and I'll always remember the laughs, life, and love we shared. If you run into Jesus up there, give Him a message, would you? Tell him I can't wait to see His face. And know that I can't wait to see yours again, too. All my love, BB.

Heavy Day... and A Sale!

The deed to relinquish ownership of Freeman House is drawn up. I just can't bring myself - yet - to sign it. How did it come to this? How can I bravely venture into new adventures knowing my beloved home won't be there to return to?

For now, I'm keeping my head down. I'm sitting at my Grandfather's bedside or home, knitting. As a result, you'll find the Freeman House HouseHelper Sets on sale this week - $5 off! If you've been wanting a piece of Freeman House, now's the time and here's your excuse. I truly hope these find happy homes....

You know how, when you get emotional, your throat feels thick and your eyes pound, heavy with tears? Guess that's how I feel right now. Good thing I know good things are coming, else I'd be despairing under a thick and heavy load...

Still holding out over here. You?

So. Okay. I skimmed my emails quickly just now and noticed several inquiring about the "Sponsor this blog" button that's just landed on the sidebar over there. Have you seen it? Here's the deal: beginning this week, I'm offering sponsorships of this blog. Huh? you say. Here's how it works: individuals wanting to support my little corner here while simultaneously promoting their shop, business, or cause can now do so by signing up for a sponsor space. Rates are super affordable and... well, they provide other small businesses with limited budgets an opportunity to meet and reach out to the Messy, Thrilling community. And it is an awfully great group of folks we have here, isn't it? *wink*

I won't bore everyone, but if you're interested in a sponsorship space, click on the information I've provided here.

Thanks in advance. For everything... -Brin

I'll never forget yesterday.

Father's Day. After waking up on the hard, hot floor at my parents' house, I trudged the hard, hot quarter mile to the octagon-shaped house on the hill. Easing the door open, I heard joking and laughter. Aunts, uncles, cousins and siblings were gathered around my Grandparents' large kitchen table. Beyond them, pushed against the large sliding glass door, was a hospital bed. The oxygen machine pumping breath into my Grandfather was still purring. He made it through the night, I thought, and shut the door behind me.

The stool next to his bed sighed as I lowered myself onto it. I reached for my Grandfather's hand. It's Brin, I said. Happy Father's Day.

He's on morphine, someone said from the table. He isn't responsive today.

But that didn't stop us from talking to him. Or singing to him. Or telling him jokes or reading to him. At one point I saw my mother draw the stool close and, speaking softly, read from a Father's Day card she pulled from her purse. I love you, Dad, I heard her whisper, and her tears made wet stains on his pillow. That's the last Father's Day card my Mom will ever buy, I thought. My eyes welled with hot tears.

We planned the funeral service, considering favorite songs and Scriptures. My Grandmother copied down the order of service, pausing to ask me to write my Grandfather's obituary. I'd be honored, I said. My mind skipped back through difficult writing assignments: papers for my law degree... stories I'd written as a reporter... my divorce paperwork. This will be the most difficult thing you've ever written, I thought.

Evening came, and stars shone through the sliding glass door behind my Grandfather's bed. My aunts twisted the floor-to-ceiling vertical blinds, shutting out the night. I still have towels to take off the clothesline, my Grandmother said. I volunteered.

The night was still warm, and from somewhere in the darkness, tree frogs sang to the stars. I walked the back porch, pausing at the glass that separated me from my Grandfather. Peering between the slats in the blind, I saw my own father sitting by the bed. He embraced Jack, murmuring something I couldn't make out, and began to cry. As I watched his back rock with sobs, I was surprised to hear another crying. It was me. For twenty minutes, I pressed my forehead to the glass and watched and cried as my father, and later my father and mother, said goodbye.

I'm sure I will never forget yesterday....

Still...

Still here. Still sewing. I brought the sewing machine along to my folks', so I'm busy stitching away as I'm caretaking. It works.

Coming from a deeply patriotic family, I usually start planning for July Fourth around this time... when it gets glaringly hot and fried pies and rootbeer floats start popping up in diners and stands around town. I came across some patriotic stash prints and have stitched those up, catching myself humming Yankee Doodle or Oh say does that Star Spangled Banner yet wave... as I sew along. So much comfort there. The aprons are up at the Shop as I type...

Wanted to tell you that my mother sat down with my laptop last night and read aloud each of the 70 or so comments you all left the other day. About halfway through, we were both crying. They touched me deeply and mean so much right now. I simply can't offer enough thanks. God bless you.

Hoping your summer weekend is full of hope. -Brin

Thanks for all the kindness and support you shined down on me yesterday. These are for you.

Although fall is my favorite season, summer's flowers and produce have a special place in my heart. My friend Shelley owns Faith Farms, a little place outside town that turns out astonishing flowers and vegetables. Her Zinnias are my favorite. Can't you just feel the summer sunshine when you gaze at these beauties?

Speaking of beauties, I have some cool summer Apron Toolbelts somersaulting into my Etsy Shop this week. I know I've blogged about them before, but they truly are a big help around the house. I wonder if I'll ever tire of making them?

................................

Off to sit with my Grandfather for awhile. I started reading a story to him last night and want to be sure to finish it....

I wish my life was as organized as my kitchen cabinet.

So much to say and respond to today, but the truth is, I have other things on my heart. My Grandpa is being released from ICU today. We're bringing him home so he can pass in the place he loves best. Funeral arrangements were made yesterday, so now we make him as comfortable as we can and wait.

Yes, there's that, and this: the bakery is closed and I'm losing Freeman House. Deciding where in this world to move and what in the world to do in the meantime is about all my brain can manage.

Yes, I wish my life was as easily ordered as my kitchen cabinet....

The Pup's Having Pups

There is no psychiatrist in the world

like a puppy licking your face.

-Bern Williams

Suppose I'm in for a lot of psychiatry soon, because Millie is pregnant. I happened upon this discovery Saturday while rolling around on the floor playing Getting Licked In the Face by My Dog. (What, you've never played that game? You should. I promise it lowers blood pressure faster than any bowl of oatmeal ever could.)

I think this is how it happened: while I was away at the bakery, Millie went to doggy daycare next door. Only... okay. Remember that fire on our street? Several weeks ago, an enormous oak tree, badly charred in that fire, came crashing down on the house next door. It took the doggy daycare fence with it. The dogs - Millie included - escaped and roamed the streets for the next six hours. It had to have happened then. Dang it.

Anyone going to be needing a chocolate lab/mix puppy in several weeks? I hear it's better than therapy....

Nutter Butter Banana Pudding

Nutter Butter Banana Pudding has been a big hit at henrybella's. Creamy, sweet and cold, it has all the ingredients of a summer hit: fruit, peanut butter and whipped cream.

I found a recipe - this one - in Southern Living a few months ago. The good news? Even folks who don't cook can make this luscious layer dessert. Using store bought pudding, Cool Whip, bananas and cookies, a sweet lover can make and take this in a hurry. You can even make it in advance and then stash it in the refrigerator and forget it.

I'm thinking of making this for the weekend. I'll use my homemade vanilla pudding, though, and vanilla beans to round out some sweetened whipped cream. Just like at henrybella's. I think my family can use some cold, comforting desserts this weekend....

Thanks for all your kindness this week. Wishing you a happy Friday. -Brin

For Now, We Wait

Let us then with confidence draw near

to the throne of grace,

that we may receive mercy and find grace

to help in time of need.

-Hebrews 4:16

I rushed away to my childhood home on Saturday, games and ventures and projects temporarily suspended. My Grandfather, the one I've written about often, has been in and out of ICU. Late Monday, the doctor signed an order that said, ominously, to "Allow Natural Death". I looked over the hospital bed to my Grandmother and Mom. They were crying.

I've been here for several days now, cooking meals. Washing clothes. Running errands. Making phone calls. Trying to help. The other evening, while walking my parents' place and snapping pictures, I realized I'm seeing it firsthand: that people who tie up their faith in Jesus... in His person and His sacrifice for us... don't mourn like others. Death is... different for us. Sure, it hurts. Yes, it presents the usual survivor symptoms: shock, grief, etc. But in the midst of the avalanche of emotion is a current of blessed hope. An assurance that reminds us that to be gone from this place is to be present in a far, far better one. So, sometimes with confidence - other times with simply all the faith we have - we draw near to get our fill of help in time of need.


The doctors can't say when Quarterback Jack will slip away. Could be hours, could be days. Sitting in the hospital, I imagine an angel beside his bed, waiting on a nod from the throne of grace.


For now, we wait, too....

Keeping...

The bakery has been dead since summer began. Or, you know, since school let out. I've been worried. Now I'm just exhausted. Yesterday I closed early and walked home and folded my legs under me on the couch and reached for the nearest book and read.

Have you ever tried to settle in with Housekeeping by Marilynne Robinson? It's rhythmic and quiet and reading it is akin to trying to run with a bloated, near-bursting water balloon - you simply have to slow down and give it your full attention. Any less and it wobbles and slips out of your grasp and you lose it all.

Most of all, I love how one of the characters, at the beginning of the book, is spelled out: She had always known a thousand ways to circle them all around with what must have seemed like grace. She knew a thousand songs. Her bread was tender and her jelly was tart, and on rainy days she made cookies and applesauce. In the summer she kept roses in a vase on the piano, huge, pungent roses, and when the blooms ripened and the petals fell, she put them in a tall jar, with cloves and thyme and sticks of cinnamon. Her children slept on starched sheets under layers of quilts, and in the morning her curtains filled with light the way sails fill with wind.

I adore it. I want to go there. I want to know her. But most of all, I think I'd want to be described something like this. Yesterday I put a vase of roses on the piano, and left several more to dry with cloves and cinnamon and thyme. Just to see what it felt like.


Still playing at my Garden Grocery Game. I think I'm winning. The past two days I've had baked potatoes for lunch. Dinners have been stir fried veggies with rice... the next day vegetable soup. Tonight is an herb pasta with the first two tomatoes picked from this year's garden. Nothing too inspiring there. Next week I'll do some Spinach Gnocchi and Onion Tarts and Creamed Squash. Or something. Next time I do this, I'm planting a row of cheeseburger and chicken fajita and cheese plants. That's right. If I had any hopes of becoming a strict vegetarian out of this craziness, I think it backfired.

(A row of pork tenderloin would be nice, too.)...

Wishing you a warm and lazy summer weekend from Freeman House, the home of warm and lazy summer weekends. -Brin

Garden Grocery Game, Day 2

This morning's garden fare: gangly green beans, lush lettuces, nutty broccoli and potatoes that will taste of butter. All organic. This is incredible. Most incredible. Instead of fearing for my health on this 84 cent-a-day diet, I'm excited. Come to Freeman House, I want to yell to people sitting in the drive-thru. The eating's great!

Today I'm thinking of some sort of Potato and Tarragon Cake. I saw this yesterday in Fran Ward's Food For Friends, one of my favorite cookbooks. (And seriously, they have it on Amazon right now for about a dollar. Go grab you one.) Trouble is, there's no recipe for this dish. Do you have one? No? Guess I'll have to make one up. Yep, I'm thinking a Potato and Tarragon Cake with a side of steamed broccoli. Or maybe a side of salad with raw, crunchy green beans. Maybe I'll wash it all down with sun tea with a sprig of mint. Yeah. That sounds perfect.

It looks as though this may be typical of the gardening offerings for this week, at least until the squash, zucchini, cucumbers, okra and tomatoes ripen up. Then I'll have so much I'll be sending food to your house, canned into jars and glowing back at you like colors from a stained glass window.

Wouldn't it be cool... yeah, I'm thinking it would be fun... if I journal my meals here and offer recipes to go along with the meals I dream up. Wouldn't it? That way if you have your own little garden plot or get to the farmer's market or grocery, you'll have even more ideas of what to do with all that beautiful produce. I'll try to get right on that.

Okay. Yesterday, June 2 - oatmeal with fresh plums and honey (I traded peppers for plums with my friend Shelley); and garden pizza (homemade crust, pizza sauce, spinach, garlic, onions and broccoli from the garden, and fresh mozzarella). It was superb:

I think I'm going to call this my little Garden Grocery Game, or 'How to Eat on 84 Cents a Day'. If you have a garden. And if, like me, you're broke, hungry and a smidge crazy....

Growing... and More Growing

This year's onions are in. Harvested. I pulled them up, dusted them off and looped them together with fistfuls of twine. Now they hang from the enormous pot rack in the kitchen, bunches of them. Garlic and shallots will soon follow. It's a good time to be a gardener.


Over the break, I found a box tucked underneath a bed in the back of Freeman House. In it were mementos from elementary school days, and at the bottom, a tattered copy of Little House on the Prairie. The cover was hanging from the book, exposing my name written in my childish hand. Underneath it, in crooked numbers, was a phone number: 796-9389. Our first number after we moved to Texas. I would have been nine. I flipped through the book, seeing familiar but forgotten pictures of Pa, Ma, Mary, Laura and baby Carrie. An hour later I looked up, realized the time, and put the book aside. I had laundry to hang and rows of beans to weed, for heaven's sake. I was a grown woman now, with a house and land of my own to tend to. Laura would be ashamed of me, hiding in the back of the house, reading like a nine year old again.

......................

In true Little House on the Prairie style, I've dreamed up a new mission for myself: to survive the entire month of June on brown rice, oats, corn meal and bread flours, and what I can dig out of the garden. Or what I can trade for what I dig out of the garden. Truly. I gave myself $25 to buy staples for the month. I bought brown rice, organic oats, corn meal, flours, and cheese. Extras like butter, yeast, honey, condiments, salt and spices, etc., I already had, so those didn't count toward my $25 grocery budget. Twenty-five dollars. Works out to about 84 cents a day. Can a girl live for 30 days on that? We're about to find out.

Here's the rundown so far:

June 1 - no breakfast (I rarely eat breakfast); roasted sweet potato fries with garlic for lunch; baby Yukon potatoes, green beans, and onions from the garden, along with a chunk of homemade bread for dinner. So far, so good.

Yes, there's a lot of growing going on over here. Growing outside and growing inside. Always pushing myself to do more, learn more, see more, live more. (Or in this case, a bit less.)

I wonder what Laura would think of it all...