June Days

I can’t believe that it’s already June. Springtime is over, and summertime is here. All, or most, of the seeds we planted in our garden have sprouted and are now growing like crazy. We are still harvesting lettuce, the strawberries are about done, and we’ll have crookneck squash within a week. Every time I go out to look at the progress, I see new pole bean runners, cantaloupe and tomato blooms, and corn that is looking less and less like grass, and more like what it is supposed to be.

Phil has been cutting down trees to allow more sunlight for future gardens. If all goes as planned, we’ll be completely self-sufficient in the vegetable food group by next year. He is also setting up a bartering system with friends and neighbors for beef, eggs and chicken. I made a deal last week with a friend who has an asparagus bed. He loves butternut squash, which we are growing, and I love asparagus. We’re going to swap produce with each other! What fun this is!

Apart from our garden, I am keeping a close eye on the wild plums and wild blackberries. I’ll begin picking fruit and making jelly sometime this month. I am also eagerly awaiting news that the blueberry farm is open for the season. I can hardly wait to lose myself among the blueberry trees while I fill up my buckets with these luscious superfoods. I imagine that I’ll see the blueberry sign at the four-way-stop sign within the next couple of weeks. I can’t wait!

Yes, summertime is here, and with it some hot weather. I get out early in the morning to work in the garden, and then do indoor things such as baking bread, reading or crocheting during the heat of the day, and watch the sky for an afternoon or evening shower. While I don’t have anything near a farm (at least, not yet!), I am reminded of my childhood summer visits to my Uncle John and Aunt Bernice’s farm in North Florida. I became intimately acquainted with early morning when I was at their farm, and learned to savor the cool morning breezes while we collected eggs, fed the animals, and worked in the fields. To this day, I love the beginning of each new day, especially summer days.

Now, all we have to do is keep the deer out of the garden. I could soon become acquainted with summer nights, because I refuse to let the deer harvest from my garden before I do! I may be sleeping under the stars some nights to protect my investment! But, I‘ve done that before, too, and I am ready to do it again!

What Goes Around Comes Around

This phrase usually carries a negative connotation to suggest that our past sins will come back to haunt us or sneak up to pounce on us from behind. In light of recent happenings in my life, a new meaning is making me revise my understanding of this saying.

Last week-end, I was reunited with a classmate from my adolescent past, thanks to the magic of Facebook. Actually, this friend was looking for Phil, hoping that my last name meant I was now married to his old friend. As we corresponded through Facebook, and I looked up his photograph in the high school yearbook that I keep next to my computer, I remembered this guy, although rather fuzzily. I recalled that he had dated my best friend, who was very popular and outgoing, and maybe that was the association. It couldn’t have been through Phil, because during those days we were church youth group buddies and not even attending the same school, and we spent more time picking at each other at church activities than anything else. Besides, after moving from Decatur, I didn’t see or hear from Phil for over twenty years.

When I mentioned this guy’s name to Phil, his face lit up, and he immediately began telling me stories about his youth and young adult days and how this new person, now my Facebook Friend, and he had become fast friends. I was so curious, I could hardly stand it. The two of them met for breakfast within the week, and then we invited him over to our house for dinner on Sunday.

This is not the only old friend I have caught up with through Facebook, but this is one who had a connection with both Phil and me, although separately. After a delightful dinner on Sunday evening sitting at our kitchen table, we three knew that several decades had evaporated before our eyes as memories of high school and beyond bubbled to the surface and the links became stronger.

As I look back at my teen-age years, I see myself as a shy girl, who was often considered a snob. It wasn’t that I wasn’t friendly, but that I was very unsure of myself, and as a result I was wrapped up in how I looked, what I wore, and what activities I was involved in. Sometimes I think that I missed out on a lot, just because I was so very self-absorbed. I never knew that this particular person, now back in my life, remembered me or knew who I was. Then yesterday, I got a huge surprise. He called me on the phone and asked me if the town of Safety Harbor meant anything to me. It had popped into his mind after our dinner together. Of course it did - that was the town we moved to when we left Decatur. He said that he remembered writing letters to me after I moved. Searching my memory, I vaguely remember this, as well. There were a few Decatur people who kept up with me for a short time, with whom I corresponded for awhile, and it had meant a lot to me in those lonely days in a new place.

It makes me pause to think. Maybe I wasn’t such a snob after all, if a teen-age boy thought enough of me to write letters to me after I moved from the town that was home to me. It also brings to mind “what goes around comes around.” Those connections we made as kids are still out there, just waiting for the opportunity to jump up and surprise us.

But it’s in a good way.

Wedding Rings and Old Men

Now that I am baking bread on a regular basis – about three times a week- I’ve made a new discovery about myself. The only relation this has with bread is that I take off my wedding band to knead my bread.

Not that this is a big Ah-haa moment in itself. I tuck my ring into a safe place in my kitchen (one of my three logical places) while I am making my bread. What I find fascinating are the interesting encounters I make along my way if I don’t remember to put the ring back on before going out somewhere.

Old men are flirting with me. At first, I couldn’t figure out what was going on. But then it dawned on me. Old men look for wedding bands. When they don’t see one, it’s open season for them to flirt. The discovery I’ve made is that these old men aren’t necessarily looking for beautiful young women, but for women in their own age group. Interesting, now that I know what’s going on.

Yesterday at the grocery store when I was checking out, a gray-haired (maybe a few years older than me) gentleman was bagging my groceries. He struck up a conversation with me about the beautiful day and what a nice Spring we are having. Then he took the dive – he asked me if I lived nearby. At first, I didn’t realize what was going on. But as I was talking to him, I noticed that he kept looking at my left hand. No ring- I had just finished baking two loaves of bread before going to the store. He proceeded to tell me that he was a widower and was working at the store part-time now that he was retired. Since it was mid-morning, I'm sure that he assumed I was retired, too, and single. When he offered to wheel my buggy to my car for me, I politely refused, causing a stricken look to appear on his face. Rejection! Oh my, I should have put my wedding band back on before going to the store.

Something similar to this has happened three times in the past week. What is revealing to me now as I look back at these men is that I see that they could have been my high school classmates. Of course, I haven’t aged in forty years, but they sure have. Or maybe I have. Which is why they are flirting with me. Second Oh My!! And second Ah-haa!

I think I’ll start making a point to put my ring back on as soon as the bread comes out of the oven.

Four-Leaf Clovers

Today while Diamond and I were out walking down one of our country roads, I glanced down at the ground to see a four-leaf clover smiling up at us. As I leaned down to pick it, my eyes spotted five more right there in the same clover patch.

This is nothing new for me. Diamond is used to pausing in our walks whenever we pass a clover patch, so that I can check to see if there are any four-leaf ones. Usually, I spot at least one while on our walks; today was a windfall.

I don’t know if they bring me good luck or not. The three I found yesterday didn’t help me any in the Powerball game last night. My lucky numbers weren’t lucky at all. I also haven’t found a job yet, although I have to admit I don’t consider this a lack of luck at this point in time. But there is something about finding a four-leaf clover that makes me feel happy, and as I felt the cool breeze on my neck and the sun on my face today and looked up at the crystal blue sky, I knew that I was much more than lucky.

Four-leaf clovers have been a part of my life for as long as I can remember. Here is an excerpt from my book about a day in a little girl’s life watching over her clover patch. As I remember this day from my childhood, I think about yesterday’s walk when I watched the county mower making its way down the shoulder of one of our roads. I had the same feeling as I did as a child, grieving over all the four-leaf clovers that were being chopped up!

Clovers and Dandelions

Our front yard on Winnona Drive was not a landscaper’s dream. While my mother had beautiful flower gardens adorning the front of the house, the lawn would probably rank in the “desperately needs improvement” category. Our lawn did have grass, but not the smooth carpet as some or our neighbors’ yards. I don’t know if this was due to my dad’s seemingly lack of concern over its appearance, whether he was simply too busy to devote much time to cultivating a beautiful lawn, or if perhaps there was another reason.

I didn’t help matters much in the way our yard looked. What was my involvement in this wonderful world that was our front yard? I loved flowers, not only those that my mother so painstakingly planted and cared for, but clovers and dandelions were my all-time favorites. I could sit for hours in a clover patch searching for four leaf clovers and making clover blossom chains, which would become my jewelry of necklaces, bracelets, anklets, and belts. These items of jewelry were also special gifts for my mother to wear, and they accented beautifully her housedress and apron she always wore while doing her housework. After the blossoms withered and dried out and were no longer lovely pieces of art, I would carefully pluck the brown blossom remnants and broadcast clover seeds across the lawn in hopes of enlarging my beloved clover patch.

I also encouraged the growth of dandelions. I would watch the yellow dandelion blossoms and guard them until they transformed to white beards of fluff. Many wishes were made as I picked the dandelions to blow on them, sending their seeds on the wind of my breath across the yard. I can even remember picking dandelions from other yards and taking them home with me to make my wish!

I sat on the front steps of my house, crying my heart out while watching my father walking behind the old push mower, pushing and pulling it across my clover patch, chopping all the four leaf clovers I hadn’t found yet, and crushing all the little white flowers and yellow dandelion blossoms.

Now, so many years later, as I view this picture from the album of my memories, I wonder if our front yard was indeed the victim of a man who didn’t seem to be concerned with its appearance. I choose to believe that it was instead a world of wonder for a little girl, and if there was a victim, it was a father who couldn’t bear the tears of his child who was sitting on the steps watching the destruction of her beloved clovers and dandelions.

My Bike and Me

The fall of 1991 found me living in yet another parsonage, this time in Hampton, Virginia. I was not working, and hadn’t had any luck over the summer finding employment. Needless to say, I was getting bored and in need of some kind of stimulation in my life. It was during this time that my husband, David, decided that we didn’t need two cars any more. Since I wasn’t working, a second car was an added expense, and so he decided to sell our second car, the one I drove. To placate me, he told me that he’d buy a bicycle for me. With a bicycle, he reasoned, I could ride to the store, visit church members, and to go anywhere that I needed to go. I wouldn’t be stuck at home all of the time, but then I couldn’t go too far away!

Enter my Schwinn Crossfit bicycle. I went with David to select a bike for myself, and picked it out. It wasn’t the cheapest one in the shop – in fact, it was one of the higher priced ones. It had fifteen speeds and tires that could roll easily on both pavement and bare ground. David kept looking at the cheaper bikes, but I was convinced that this was the bicycle I wanted and since he had sold my car, he gave in and bought it. With my new bike and helmet, I was ready to ride!
I rode my Schwinn all autumn and into the winter and the next spring. The geography of Hampton was flat, meaning I didn’t have to deal with hills, and seldom used all the gears on my bike. I explored the town, pedaled to the grocery store and post office, rode it to visit some of our church shut-ins, generally having a wonderful time.

It came time the following fall for me to go to Greensboro, NC, to enter graduate school, and my bike went with me. By this time, I also had a car, thanks to my dad who had given me an old one to drive, but the bike had become part of who I was, and I wasn’t going to leave it in the parsonage garage. My litttle apartment was only a few blocks from campus, and I soon found that it was easier to walk to classes than to ride my bike. However, one of my apartment neighbors was a legally blind man, John, who soon became my friend. He loved bike riding, but couldn’t see well enough to go out alone on his bike. My Crossfit and I became his seeing eye bicycle, and together we began checking out the Greensboro streets on our bikes. Side by side, we rode our bikes up and down the neighborhood streets surrounding the campus, enjoying getting out into the fresh air and feeling the wind in our faces. I served as John’s eyes, and while he could see me as a shadowy blur, I alerted him to obstacles on our way and described to him sights I could see that he couldn’t.

Almost two years later, I finished graduate school, now divorced from David, and newly engaged to Phil. When it came time for me to move to Atlanta to begin a new job, both Phil and the bicycle accompanied me. My new apartment was on a busy street, and there wasn’t a good place for me to ride. I didn’t want the bicycle to sit unused on my apartment porch, so I offered it to my nephew, Mark, for his daughters, Haley and Paige, to ride. I bid farewell to my Crossfit as Mark loaded it into his car, but knew that it would be ridden and enjoyed.

Twelve years and three moves later, I was now living here in Walton County on a dirt road out in the country. I hadn’t thought about my bicycle in years. One day Mark called me and asked me if I’d like to have my bike back. Both Haley and Paige had outgrown bike riding days, and it wasn’t being used anymore. YES! I’d love to have it back. Mark delivered my bicycle, and except for two flat tires, it looked exactly as it had when I passed it along to my great-nieces. I was delighted to have it back, and when asked by Phil what I’d like for Mother’s Day that spring, I told him I wanted my bicycle fixed.

Another two years passed – two Mother’s Days went by without my bicycle leaving the basement. This March, when Phil mentioned my upcoming birthday, I told him that I really wanted to be able to ride my bicycle again. With this request, he finally made it to the bike shop, bought two new tires, new handle grips, and had the bicycle given the once-over. Declared safe and sound, it was now ready to hit the streets, and I was delighted!

I am now back on wheels – the kind I have to pedal. I look forward to my bike rides and am enjoying riding up and down our country roads. I am also discovering what all the gears are for, as we have lots of hills around here. I am amazed that I can shift from gear to gear and keep on pedaling. I don’t even have to get off to walk as I did as a child riding my one-speed bike. I am working my way up to being able to ride it into town to pick up the mail and to ride over to Hard Labor Creek State Park. Even though I am a walker and can walk miles without tiring, I find that riding a bicycle is different, and I need to work up my endurance.

I am very happy to have my Crossfit back in my life, and once again, I’m ready to ride!

Baking Bread

For much of my adult life, baking bread has played an integral role in my collection of days. Bread-baking got me through the last dying days of my first marriage, as I made bread several times a week, selling it to friends and neighbors, and stashing the cash for the rainy day I sensed was looming on the horizon. My bread has also been given away as gifts, often as a way for me to tell someone “thank you” or to introduce myself to someone new. But more than anything, baking bread has been a connection to my mother who taught me how to bake bread, and a form of therapy for me. There is nothing like the aroma of a house where fresh loaves of bread are cooling on racks in the kitchen! And the rhythm of kneading bread is calming and soothing when I need something to center me.

Since we moved into our barn home six years ago, I have struggled with my bread baking. I had a sour dough starter that I brought with me from our former home, and began feeding it in anticipation of baking bread in my new treehouse kitchen. The starter bubbled and had the lovely sour smell as it was supposed to have, but when I baked my first batch of bread, it didn’t rise. I didn’t lose hope, and tried again. The second batch was just as flat. Undaunted, I tossed out the starter and began again. After a few more tries with the same results, I gave up and didn’t bake sourdough bread for the next five years. Instead, I concentrated on my jelly making during the spring and summer, and in between made loaves of banana bread and blueberry bread, with moderate success.

Last month I decided to try my hand at sourdough again. I started my starter, and nursed it for a couple of weeks to make sure it was doing what it was supposed to do. But, with my first batch of bread, I had the same results as I had before- flat bread- very tasty, but too dense for my liking. As the researcher that I am, I went to the internet and began reading about sourdough. I learned that some geographic regions have better indigenous yeasts than others, and that growing the yeast that makes the best sourdough bread is related to the yeasts that are in the air in a particular place. I concluded that my five acres of land is lacking in yeast! I also read that patience is a key, and it sometimes takes more time for the yeast in the sourdough starter to become active enough for making good bread. It was now up to me to supply the air with yeast spores to make up for my yeast-deprived acreage!

As I was reading, I found a recipe for a different kind of sourdough starter than the one I was using. I printed out the recipe, headed into my kitchen, and mixed up a batch. I also got out an old heating pad, and placed it on my kitchen counter to supply needed warmth (but not too hot!) for the starter to draw in the yeast it needed. In the meantime, I found a recipe for a good basic white yeast bread, which I mixed up and was delighted to see rising as it was supposed to do! I felt that maybe the yeast spores from this bread might help my sourdough starter.

The day finally arrived last week for me to take a deep breath and try making sourdough bread again, this time from the new starter. It worked! The bread rose once, and then again, and baked into a lovely round loaf. My next loaf didn’t rise as much as the first (I blame it on the cold snap and all the rain we've had), but I feel like I am on my way again. I can't wait to try it again in a few days to see how it works!

I am hopeful that my days will once again include baking and sharing my bread.

April Fool’s and Rainy Days

I woke up early this morning to the sound of rain again on our metal roof. I’m not sure if our drought is officially over, but the recent rains have certainly helped the dry conditions in Georgia. It seems that we’ve had more clouds than sunshine for the past several days. I am ready for a few sunny days! The childhood rhyme “April showers bring May flowers” is running over and over in my mind, but I’d like to see some April flowers smiling up at a bright blue sky. My tomato and pepper seedlings would also appreciate some sun. They are drowning from sitting in puddles, and their poor little stems are straining to stay upright. They need some dry weather and sunshine to get stronger and take off growing.

It is also April Fool’s Day. I don’t have any plans to play any tricks on anyone – namely, Phil, since he is the closest one to me on this day. Over the course of my life, as a very gullible and highly impressionable individual, I have been the recipient of many April Fool’s tricks. I have also been the successful instigator of some pretty good ones, because nobody ever suspects me of doing something of a devious nature. I’m just not in the mood for all this today, and it’s not in my heart to try to trick someone. I am happy that March and winter is over, and that spring is hiding behind the clouds. I want to see some sunshine!

Maybe this morning is nature’s April Fool’s joke on me- waking me up at 5:00 am to more rain.