One Woman Homestead Continues

Oh my, the pages have turned from days to weeks into over a month since I’ve posted. Been busy AND lazy on the One Woman Homestead (OWH).

The most exciting thing that’s happened on top of this mountain is the return of Mae, running like a little filly, and purring like a tomcat. When she pulled up, I didn’t know whether to kiss the mechanic or the truck. I kissed neither, but danced and whooped.

That to-do list from the May 5^th posting has dwindled, but of course, there’s another. I’ll not bore you but suffice it to say, there are things still from a year ago.

                                    There Are Things

2006 (so fitting in 2012)

There are things

Zippers hanging

Buttons missing

Things unseen in clear view

Weeds overgrown on fences

That must be tended

Fences, slacked and holed

Out of sight but not forgotten

Things that must be tended

Or they will explode

Rusted, crusted pennies

Between cushions

Bury us beneath the mass

Of enormous triviality

Suffocate the tiny

Cobwebs in the corner

There are things

However, there are accomplishments. I stood behind a massive tiller, rumbling in my weak-but-strong-now hands, and turned a weed and dirt yard into a flourishing garden. Watermelon, cantaloupe, pumpkin, corn, runner beans and bush beans, peas, radishes, mustard and turnips, lettuce, tomatoes, peppers-green, yellow, and hot, cucumbers, and okra, surrounded by marigolds. The herb garden isn’t all that I’d hoped but dill, basil, Japanese basil, chamomile, oregano, rosemary, garlic, and Echinacea is all aromatic and delicious.

The chickens are huge; alas, I’ve been informed they will not lay until 9 or 10 months. So be it, the coop is complete, with flower boxes and plaque. Nesting boxes built and mounted and ready whenever the little girls are. It’s difficult to name them since most look exactly alike, however the rooster is Foghorn, the two black girls are Dottie and Dottie Brown, I have a Tiny, and a Blacktail. That leaves four look-a-likes for the grandsons to figure out.

I decided to lay pine shavings on the floor of the coop to keep down the odor and the flies because the plastic bags of water hanging on the back porch are no match for coop-poop flies. Yuck! It makes the cleaning process a lot simpler also, just rake and scatter more shavings. The chickens scratch and turn it all into marvelous fertilizer.

In between the “mans” work, I managed to go strawberry and peach picking at Mercier Orchards. DEEE-licious. As you can see, jars of strawberry and peach preserves. Strawberries in the freezer waiting for the kids, and blueberries this weekend.

Busy also with planning for the Fannin County Democrats float in the Old Timer’s Parade on June 30th, social media and grant writing for Feed Fannin, political campaigns for Fannin County Post 1 Commissioner and the 9th District, GA US Congressional seat. Hope the kids are here for the parade. Lucky that Mae’s all refreshed because she may be pulling the float.

Finances still suck, altho there is 'stuff' on the horizon, but depression kind of slithers away when surrounded by mountain laurel, honeysuckle, lots of growing life, good new friends, and hopes to see some of the old. No complaining here down here on OWH. Least none in this post. 

Did I Mention I Love Bluegrass?

Did I mention I love Bluegrass? I think I did and am probably repeating myself, but at my age, I can do that.

On my second day in my new home, I left off unpacking and arranging to attend a Cajun Cookout at the Blue Ridge Pavilion. The Demijohn Varmints provided the entertainment, and while one young man looked as though he’d been in a  losing battle with rabid varmint, their music was exciting—stimulating enough to get these feet and legs moving, tapping, and dancing. My second time in two months on a dance floor. This move south has really energized me.

The cookout was sponsored by the Democratic Party of Fannin County, GA, but there was no political message other than we can all play together—and we did. Not sure if there were any Republicans there, but one man did don a Confederate flag shirt for the occasion. He was fairly quiet, kept to himself, and leered over his plate, as if those damn Dems would steal it. We let him enjoy it though.

Everyone enjoyed the food and there was a lot of it. Cajun okra and tomatoes, Cajun carrot salad, Jambalaya, Cajun cornbread with a spicy kick, Cajun peas and onion with peach and blueberry cobblers for dessert. Oh, there were burgers and hot dogs for those who didn’t particularly care for a hot Cajun boost to the metabolism, but most took the plunge and blotted their brow while doing so.

I took my second drive in the dark on the mountain roads back to my country home, and it felt terrific. I have to remember to turn on the porch light though, because when the sun sets, it’s blackness all around. Thank goodness I’m a smoker because I had to use the lighter to fit the key in the door lock. I haven’t taken to leaving my door unlocked yet. That city habit is gonna die hard.

Since neither paper showed up to cover the event, I wrote up a little blurb for both accompanied with the pictures. Who knows, maybe I can pick up a little gig writing on spec for events such as these—Democratic events—that no one seems to care about. If not, that’s okay also. The goal is to write as much as possible be it poetry, fiction, or articles, and at some point to be so fitted in the groove that I will return to that novel. Right now, I’m frolicking in the inspiration sparked by Cajun food and Bluegrass. Did I mention I love Bluegrass? Good, ‘coz tonight is Pickin’ in the Park down around the corner, and I’ll be there.