Strawberry Rocket Science

 

It was a lovely day for picking strawberries...Ellen and her husband, Jim, joined Mert and me at the strawberry patch.

 

 

                               

We all gathered baskets and baskets full of plump, ripe berries...

                

The next day, once we'd washed and topped them all, it was time to make jam.

Ellen graciously agreed to shepherd Mert and me through making our first batch of jam. I made the mistake of telling the social workers at the nursing home that I was leaving early to go learn this new skill.

They looked at me with blank, disbelieving stares which I took to mean "What kind of dummy can't make jam?"  They're good ole country gals, so I mistakenly assumed they knew how to make jelly in their sleep. (Talk about stereotyping!)

"Well, I know," I said. "It's not rocket science but..."

"Oh no," one said, heading me off. "I can't do it. It's not as easy as you think."

"No it isn't," agreed the other. "I don't even try."

I left thinking, hmmm...really?  Making preserves is hard? I mean, don't you just add some stuff that makes it gel and do something with boiling water so you don't kill people? (Not killing people is the tricky part, I figured.)

Then I mulled over a few things Ellen had said to me the day before-

"Don't wash them til the day of," she'd said. "They'll get soft. We don't want them too soft."

"The jars and the lids need to be hot." Actually, she probably said just the lids but we did everything.

We sanitized the counter.  In fact, we removed everything from my kitchen counter just in case making jelly involved needing an area as large as a surgical suite and just as clean.

Ellen arrived, inspected everything and said, "Boil water."

Just like when you're birthin' babies.

"Not that much!" she said, when I pulled out a stock pot. "Just enough for the lids."

She felt the lids, seemed to confirm something to herself and then said, "Go on and boil it anyway."

We mashed berries until our arms were about to fall off only to have Ellen peer into the bowl with a troubled expression. "Hmm," she murmured. "I don't know about that juice. There sure is a lot of it." 

We measured exactly. We timed things. We scurried around like the anxious virgins we were, hurrying to do her bidding  and worrying about "the juice factor," until Ellen finally had to laugh at us and calm us down.

And then, suddenly, like magic, it was all over. 

Nine little jars sat on the counter, slowly "popping" as their little tops sucked in and sealed.

 

Last night's supper- biscuits, butter and strawberry preserves.

 

Thank you, Ellen!

 

Technorati Tags: country life,strawberries

Where is my Weekend?

 

Where did the weekend go? Up, up and away it seems.

Oh well. Time marches on and the garden sure shows it.  The snow peas have a few tiny pods.

And one of the tomato plants is an "early bloomer."

And I still have no idea what this four-petaled flower is...

Or whose poop this is...

Ah, the sweet mysteries of country life.

 

Technorati Tags: country life

The Ranchette Reunion

The Ranchettes arrived bearing gifts...

How could we go wrong with new "Doublicious" Butterscotch Krimpets?

And while I had great, far-flung aspirations for our weekend, there just wasn't enough time to cover everything. Besides, home was far too full of unexplored mysteries.

After the musket ball discovery in the garden

we began the Big Explore in the woods.

Rattlesnake Flower

Lady Slipper

Pointed Blue-eyed Grass

And a couple of flowers we just couldn't identify, even with the book and Google.

But I learned the bird nesting over the back door is a Phoebe.

And we did see some of the local scenery.

Including the view from Joe's deck...

We reminisced with the Ranchettes' standard drink of choice, daiquiris, the first night but moved on to Mojitos for Saturday.

It was a lovely, lovely afternoon- We planted seedlings in the garden, sipped our drinks and...unlike our former, much younger, selves...

I'm ashamed to report...

We were in bed and asleep by 10 p.m.

Sigh.

And we'd only had 2 Mojitos a piece.

All too soon, it was over and they were on their way back north.

 

Technorati Tags: country life

Great Musket Balls O Fire!

 

Look what I found in the garden!

It's a musket ball, isn't it? I Googled musket ball images and they look just like it.

It was in the garden bed by the old walnut tree that had to be cut down.

 

 

That's the other side.

I was planting flowers and waiting for the Ranchettes to arrive for our big Reunion weekend.  I hope they're not lost...

In the meantime, out of the ashes of the old fire pit come the lilies and the gardenia.  It's amazing.

 

It's fun turning the Uglies into Greeners.

The pond is full of Peeps- future "Knee Deeps" the local nickname for Bull Frogs because of the sound they make. "Knee deep, knee deep."

 

 

Technorati Tags: country life

What to Do, What to Do...

 

Tomorrow's the big day.  The Ranchette Reunion begins tomorrow around dark-thirty...Too late to make the scene at in Floyd. They'll be sick of riding in a car anyway...That gives me Saturday and Saturday night to give them a good taste of Franklin and Floyd Counties.

Help! Where to go, What to do?

I know we'll have to go see Joe's puppies.  Betsy One is already talking about how she really shouldn't get another dog but...

 

puppies are just sooo cute!  Half Blue Tick Hound, half Yellow Lab...and the sweetest dog in the known Universe to boot.

Maybe we'll drop by the White Lightnin' Museum.

Maybe we'll wander around Floyd.

But surely I'm overlooking something unusual and wonderful...any ideas?

A Day Without Music is Like...

I realized something a few weeks ago. I'd somehow managed to almost banish music from my day-to-day world.  Music- once the most important connection I had to my inner self. I sang. I wrote songs. I always had a song in my head, if not on my stereo.

If I needed to know what I was really worrying about, or celebrating, or needing, I had only to stop and focus in on the tune I'd been humming mindlessly. It was always the key to my unconscious.

Somehow I'd let it go and quit listening.

I couldn't figure out why my creativity wasn't flowing. I use music as a way to relax my mind. If I'm filling my head with worries and to-do lists, how can I expect to invent new stories?

Lucky Pennies sent me a thank you for wishing her a happy birthday. In her note she said she'd read my profile and thought I had good taste in music. That was my big wake up call.

It was time to update and plug in the new i-Pod.

 

Here's a bit of what I've been listening to-

 

Steve Earle and Allison Moorer- Days Aren't Long Enough

Foy Vance- Be With Me

Jesus Jackson- Running on Sunshine

Front Porch String Band- Hearts Against the Wind

Crowded House-Better Be Home Soon

Kasey Chambers- On a Bad Day

Patty Griffin- Heavenly Day

Brandi Carlisle- Josephine

Kelly Willis- Don't Come the Cowboy With Me

Grey Eye Glances- One Day Soon

 

Technorati Tags: creating your own happiness,writing life

The Ranchettes Ride Again

Back in the day we were wild things...The Girls of the Rubber Rose Ranch. Betsy, the blonde on the left, was my bff before the phrase was even coined. We met when we were 5 and were best friends through thick and thin.

Later, in college, we all moved into a huge apartment above a print shop and became the Ranchettes. Betsy and The Other Betsy (second from the right) trained horses and I sang country music in bars and VFWs, so the ranch theme seemed appropriate.

We made frozen daiquiris for all our important celebrations and drank champagne whenever someone broke our hearts.

Then, after college, we scattered to follow our separate paths.

The picture above was taken at one of our early reunions.

It was right after Betsy's baby was born. The rest of us were single and amazed that one of the Ranchettes could produce a living human being. It meant one of us at least had grown up.

I was clearly in awe.

And Betsy seemed so...different and yet...the same...

Over the years we have grown up...But this weekend, up at the cabin, the two Betsys are coming for another reunion. This will be the first time in years we've all been together without kids and families and other interferences.

The world is our oyster.

We could cause serious trouble.

We might go into Floyd Saturday night and dance. We might ride horses again with one of my neighbors. We might even meet the moonshiner. You just never know with us.

The last time I saw Betsy we went to South Philly to see The Night Watchman (Okay, so The Youngest Unnamed One wanted to go and we were along for the ride. But it must be said, we had listened to his music and we did like him...especially without Rage Against the Machine)

Anyway, we were not having a tame evening. In fact- let's just say it took a lot of physical therapy and other medical rehab before Betsy was able to walk again without a bad limp.

A broken kneecap is nothing to sneeze at.

But then, we were in South Philly. Around there, a busted leg is just the price of doing business.

(Still, I promised her this time I'd do whatever it took to make sure nothing bad happened.)

So see, we Ranchettes take our reunions seriously. We're not lightweights.

We're women. We're probably low on estrogen. And we're still dangerous.

Southwest Virginians, consider yourselves warned...