Farm Living

Every year about this time my built-in timer goes off and I find myself strangely motivated to prepare for the winter.

I need to get back to the kitchen -again. Beans are about half strung. This bunch I am going to cook and EAT!!! Next bushel will be for canning for the long winter months. How I long for the days on the farm when everything we ate came from our cellar. We had jars of jelly, apple butter, pickled beets, corn relish, dill pickles, sweet pickles, sweet relish, green beans, peas, corn, peaches, apples, rhubarb, blackberries, and pears. The bins were full of potatoes, carrots and sweet potatoes. In big crocks we had sauerkraut, pickled corn and pickled beans. There were jars of canned sausage balls. We made our own mincemeat for holiday pies. We made souse meat using the head of the hog that was butchered by the 'boss'. So good. We bought bacon by the slab and cut it our self. No packaged sliced bacon, just jowl bacon which was used for flavoring beans, both the green beans we canned and the dried beans we had shelled.

The grease from the bacon was used for making gravy for morning biscuits and for frying potatoes, corn or cabbage. It was a simple life but so much more peaceful than what people have today. We didn't worry about what the neighbors had. We didn't worry about keeping up with the times other than the news.

I am so thankful I grew up living on the farm. Today I wish I could spend time hoeing in the dusty rows of corn, beans and potatoes. Oh, if only we could have seen the future when we were young. We would not complain so of the work we had to do. Now I am too old to walk, let along stand in the heat of a dusty garden. I am glad I can sit in a chair as I prepare the produce others have planted. This way I still have the 'taste of home".

During the growing season our meals consisted of fresh green beans, corn, sometimes on the cob, wilted lettuce (leaf lettuce from the garden with added green onions then hot bacon grease poured over it. It was then tossed and seasoned with salt, pepper and vinegar.) Cucumbers were often sliced with onions and put in a mixture of vinegar, water, salt and pepper. Sliced tomatoes were placed in a big bowl on the table. Sometimes mother would take the peeling off, other times not.

To this day I don't have a need to eat meat. It is not that I don't like it, I just didn't grow up eating it, so it feels normal to have a meal without it. At times there was fried chicken, but not every week. I don't even remember eating bacon. I just remember using the grease for cooking. I feel secure in the fact the bacon was given to the hard-working farmer who sat at the head of the table. Of course he had eaten and was out working before the rest of the house was up. Getting in the fields before the heat of the day was important.

After hours of work as the sun was setting low in the field, dad would come home to a hot meal. I don't remember him ever complaining about what was on the table. Many times at night it was the same as for dinner, other times it would be brown soup beans, potatoes fried in an iron skillet, and cornbread with the fresh green onions on the side. He drank coffee. We all had water. No iced tea, no canned pop, no Koolaid. Just water from the pump outside the kitchen door. It was cooler if pumped fresh. And I never felt deprived. It was just the way I thought life was.

Eggs were not the normal breakfast fare either. They were used for baking and put in other things we ate. If the chickens were laying well there might be an egg. We did at times have a fried egg on biscuit to take to school for lunch. A biscuit with egg, wrapped in a newspaper tied together with string. That was our noon meal at school. I chuckle to myself as I think how my grandchildren would recoil at this idea. Why, they would be laughed right out of the room, or so they think. Oh if only they could see how blessed I am for being one of the 'didn't haves'. Someday in the future they will learn.

I know it is 90 degrees outside. My inward clock says it is time to make a big pot of vegetable soup. On the farm we had no meat to put in the pot. We used bacon grease for flavoring and added homegrown cabbage, carrots, celery, potatoes, green beans, corn, peas, onions and tomatoes. I can close my eyes and almost smell the aroma of that soup. Cornbread was baked with bacon grease as well. Mother covered the bottom of the 'bread pan' with grease before pouring the batter into the pan. It made the bottom crunchy and the top had a crust as well. Mercy, I am getting hungry.

The bread was never cut, it was broken off. I like the corner because of the crust. I would use a knife to split it and then homemade butter was added. After having satisfied my craving for cornbread and butter, the rest of the portion I broke off was crumbled into the vegetable soup. This was done as well when we had brown bean soup. It just isn't right without cornbread.

The day is getting on. It has taken me most of the day to get the corn prepared for the freezer, cut a head of cabbage and do half the bag of beans. I am slower now, but there is a joy in me that I cannot describe as I take myself back to the farm by the way of preparing green beans.

Getting Rich!!!

I am fixing to be a millionaire. And it is all legal. I know it is because the non-chain letter I just received in the mail says it is. I will tell you how it works.

Some dummy opens a letter that I send to them requesting they send me and some other people a dollar. When they get my letter they are SURE to send me those dollar bills as they don't know me from Eve. But the letter says it is legal, so why not try.

Once I get the dollar from each of these six dumb people, they will in turn send my letter to other people who don't know them from Adam or Eve and my name will then be on a list from all these folks and these complete dummies will then send my name to all on their list and I am raking in the dough by the handfuls. Yes, it is true! I am fixing to be a millionaire as soon as I make 200 hundred copies of the five-page letter I received and send it to only SIX people. Don't ask me why I would need 200 hundred copies of the letter if I only have to send to six to become wealthy. But the letter says do it, so I reckon that is what I should do. Now, I go buy envelopes and stamps (what does a letter cost to mail these days, anyhow?), replenish my supply of paper, because after 200 copies of a five-page letter I am out and head to the post office.

This is indeed a dream come true. I don't have to stick my head out the door to become filthy rich! Oh, after I get the six dollars, I need $45 to buy peel off address mailing labels which I can order from a place called Data Line. If I want more, I just pay more money. What a DEAL!!! The cost of the envelopes is around $11, paper $55, and $88 for postage. Does this sound like an amazing deal to you!!! That is supposed to be my entire investment before becoming so rich I would be too big for my britches and shun the lowly people around me. (I jest)

And, what is it that makes this NOT a pyramid scam? It is supposedly the way the letter reads. You simply ask the person to add you to their mailing list and all is well and good. And I bet that is going to make more dummies want to send money to me, WHY?

Also it has Oprah Winfrey's name on the letter. That must make it legal. After all, she is the guru of give. Highly respected TV and radio programs say it is legal. (that in itself is an oxymoron - TV X radio, respected??? I think I should call my local Christian station and ask why they are not on board with this.

My first question about this is: HOW did this man, George Cox from Spencerville, Ohio get my name and address!!!! I am on a no-junk mail list at the post office, a no call list on the phone and all my information on the Internet is set at HIGH security.

I do have a plan. I intend to spend a bit of money to mail only ONE letter. I will reuse the address label on the front of the envelope and mail it back to the one that sent it with proper instructions on what he is to do with it.

Yes, I am fixin' on being rich. Why don't each of you that read this just send me a dollar while you are at it and add me to your reading list! Does that make it legal?? I can save all the $205.00 initial investment and probably get about six dollars.

The Peanut Butter Tree

THE PEANUT BUTTER TREE
by
Hazel Williams-Jann

It had been one of those nights when sleep eluded me. I was finished with all my packing, the alarm was set, and I was ready to head out the door as soon as I was dressed, but throughout the night, I kept replaying all of this in my restless mind. Before the alarm sounded, I was already out of bed attending to last minute chores that needed completed. I made sure the windows were closed. I locked the doors, opened the door on the dishwasher, turned the water reservoir to the coffee pot to the off position and finished packing the van. My bags were packed, sitting by the door with my bedroll and other items I would need while on the island. I was about to embark on a memory trip.
The coming trip took me back to the old log cabin where I was born and the taste of peanut butter swiped between two soda crackers. I recall the days when my mother would drive the country roads in our old car selling Watkins and McConnon spices and flavorings to neighboring farm wives. In the late 1930's money was scarce, and there were items needed in our home that could not be grown. Being a farm-to-farm sales person was one way mother could help financially. This was not an easy task with four children in tow. We were not left with a babysitter, we traveled these roads as well.
The afternoon sun beating down on the car created four sweaty, squirming kids. Having anticipated such a problem mother would prepare a snack for us to break the monotony of just sitting in the car waiting for her to finish filling the orders from the farm wives. We all sat in the car while she was in the farm houses. We were enticed to behave ourselves with the promise of a coming treat. Mother always packed something for us to eat while out on the road. At an appropriate time the car was pulled off the gravel road under a nice shade tree. It did not take long for us to tumble out of the back seat of the old car and sit at the trunk of a tree under shady branches where we could enjoy a cooling breeze while we ate our peanut butter crackers washing them down with orange Kool-aid.
As the years passed we remained in the country on a farm. In the mid 1940's as tenant farmers we were dependent on a bountiful garden to supply our winter food. After the garden was plowed, along with my two brothers and one sister, I helped plant the seeds. When the vegetables started to grow it was our chore to keep the weeds from smothering the plants. Once school was out it seemed many of my days were spent with a hoe cutting down thistles, dandelions and other invasive, unwanted weeds. Work-day on the farm was long. Mother and dad were up by daybreak, and the day did not end until dark. With all the work to be done breakfast was very early. Dinner was always on time as dad was there to listen to the news while we ate. On occasion we kids would fill our plates and sit outside on the ground in the shade of the house to eat so as not to interfere with the news. I recall on occasion having to leave the table as I could no longer stifle my giggling. I wonder why it is that when it is necessary for a child to be quiet everything just seems to become more funny? The harder we tried to be quiet, the more we wanted to laugh. Usually that was just when something important was being repeated on the radio news. Supper time was at six or after, depending on the amount of work to be done, so an afternoon snack was still necessary.
On the back side of the acre of garden and a little to the right, a tree had been left to grow. Not too many vegetables could be planted near it but it did provide the perfect place to sit while cutting the dust from my throat with orange Kool- aid. Again the taste of peanut butter on crackers was welcomed, and this treat gave each of us energy to hoe more weeds before supper time. As a mother, I too prepared peanut butter and crackers with Kool-aid for my children for an afternoon snack.
When my children were old enough to go to summer camp I found a way to go with them on occasion. One summer, while living in Oklahoma I spent the entire summer in camp. I took the job of cook, and two of my girls were in camp all summer.
Falls Creek is a huge camp near Davis, Oklahoma where my local church had their own cabin. I was blessed to attend camp with the teens to help with cooking and counseling. In the same location, higher up the mountain is another camp for girls no yet in their teens and in third through sixth grade in school. This camp is called Camp Nunny-Cha-Ha, which is an Indian name meaning High Hills. It was as one of the cooks for this camp one summer that peanut butter became a big part of daily life.
There were three of us in the kitchen to prepare meals for the up to 250 young girls that came each week. We each had our own cooking station. Mine was salads and desserts. One of my chores was to see that all the tables in the dining hall had an ample jar of peanut butter on it during each meal. It had been noted that if a child will eat nothing else, peanut butter would sustain them. During this summer I was taught new and sundry ways to introduce different foods to unwilling girls. One camp counselor had a distaste for peas. She added peanut butter to her peas in order to show she could eat what was placed before her no matter if she liked it or not. Many of our snacks involved peanut butter. We sliced trays of apples and put peanut butter between them. We had peanut butter crispy squares. We had peanut butter cookies.
My day as a camp cook was busy. Between meals it was our custom to just put our feet up relax. I was not used to being on my feet. For the first few days I found myself craving the time for putting my feet up. After a couple weeks I was able to do more than hobble to the dinning hall and actually was pain free. We were isolated on the mountain. The big event of the week for these young girls was waiting for the garbage truck to come to haul away the refuse. You see, we had no radio, no telephone, no television and the worse possible for this age, no boys! I have to smile when I think how it seemed the building should have tilted as the girls all ran to one end to get a glimpse of the cute young man working during the summer as a garbage man. I am sure he was flattered by all this attention, but he was on a mission. His stay was limited.
A few weeks into the summer routine we decided to take a break from the isolation of Nunny-Cha-Ha to go down the mountain to Falls Creek Camp for a change of scenery and a cool treat while on our afternoon break. The teen camp had snack stations where the young people could choose their own snacks at their own expense. We cooks put a few coins in our pocket before driving down the mountain, because we were planning to purchase an ice cream cone while on the lower mountain. Any flavor would do, it would be different. What a laugh we had when we came upon the ice cream vendor. Of all the days for us to choose our descent we picked the day when the ‘flavor of the day’ was, you guessed it - peanut butter!!! I still chuckle when I think of the irony of that.
Many years have passed since I spent the summer up to my elbows in peanut butter. All of my children are grown, and I now have grandchildren old enough for summer camp. I have moved back East close to my roots, but I continued to have a longing for the days of summer camp. This year, I was able to relive a bit of that time as several of us spent the Memorial Day weekend at a summer camp.
New Life Island is a Christian camp located in the Delaware River near Frenchtown, New Jersey. It is said this island has only flooded once every fifty years, that is, until this past rainy season. It was flooded twice this year. With the summer camping season quickly approaching help was needed to get repairs completed. The Youth Pastor where I attend church spent time as a counselor on this island as a college student. When he heard help was needed he asked if anyone would be interested in helping. I was so thankful they needed a cook for this weekend trip. I was finally going to relive a happy time.
After an eleven hour road trip, we arrived at the camp. The first thing on my mind was the dinning hall. When I walked in I felt right at home. There was the mammoth cook stove, the walk in cooler, the preparation tables, the dishwasher that made the mountains of dishes easier to clean and on the shelf in the pantry I saw a jar of peanut butter. I smiled as I thought of the peanut butter crispy treats that would be enjoyed by this work crew.
There were no finicky eaters this time, only hard-working willing adults who consumed whatever was put in front of them when the dinner bell rung. The work was hard. The cabins all needed repairs. New drywall was applied, primer and then paint covered this. New trim was nailed where needed. The cabins were emptied of debris. The grounds had to be mowed, flowers were planted by the mother of the camp director. Everyone had a job to do, even the teens that lived on the island with their parents worked along side. My job again was being the camp cook.
Having spent many of my high school days working in one or another of my parents’ restaurants, I had acquired the ability to prepare meals and have everything hot as well as on time. I was in my element in that massive kitchen. I begged the regular cook to take a break so I could relive my dreams. She agreed and for two days I cooked. Of course I had to make the peanut butter crispy treats, and I left the recipe which I had gotten at Camp Nunny-Cha-Ha, for the campers that will be on the island this summer. The adult workers were more than pleased to have this protein treat as their afternoon snack, and not one morsel was left the following day.
It was a good time. Our rooms overlooked the Delaware River. In the evening we were treated to the site of a mother duck taking her nine babies on a swim. In the morning hours I saw two geese swimming together out into the river. It was such a peaceful time filled with many good memories. On the last evening there was a gentle falling rain. Before the evening meal was done we all sat on the front porch of the dinning hall talking. After supper was over, the kitchen cleaned and everyone taking time to relax before packing up for our trip home, we went into town for an ice cream treat. Yes, you guessed it. I had peanut butter ice cream.
Returning to my familiar bed, I had no trouble sleeping. The work trip is over, but I have stored wonderful memories which will linger yet for years. God was good to have given us memory to help relive the good times of life. Every time I see peanut butter I will think of extraordinary summer memories of my life

Soup Beans

A thought came to mind when a friend told me I needed more beans in my bean soup. I didn't agree with her and then wondered why she liked lots of beans and I preferred more soup than beans.

I grew up on a farm where we had very few luxuries, and food was at times rather hard to come by. There were six of us that had to be fed three meals a day. Our main foods were home made biscuits and gravy for breakfast, brown soup beans, fried potatoes and cornbread for dinner and then for a switch we had cornbread, fried potatoes and soup beans for supper. (a little humor there). Today soup beans are something I eat because of the memories. It is a comfort food for me.

With little money mother had to 'make do' with what she had to feed everyone. To make a pot of beans go further she added more water to the beans. Jowl bacon was used as flavoring and only salt and pepper were added. A large pone of hot cornbread accompanied the beans and fried potatoes at each meal. Each person would break off a piece of the bread. It was not cut in squares as one sees most of the time these days. We actually broke bread together. Everyone wanted the corner edges as they were crispy. The bread was crumbled up and put in my bowl of beans. This made the soup more filling as well as making sure everyone had a larger portion to eat.

Today I don't bother peeling the potatoes as there are nutrients in the skin of the potato that should not go to waste. It is not often I fry potatoes to go with the beans now as they go to the waist! On the farm we didn't have such problems as there was enough activity in the day to use up the stored energy of such foods. Back to the potatoes. Mother use a peeler to remove the skins. I remember the knife mother used to slice the potatoes. It was well worn. The blade was very thin from being sharpened after it was nicked with something. Mother had a big iron skillet in which she fried the potatoes to a golden brown. My favorite part of the fried potatoes was the crunch brown parts. I still have the big iron skillet for making the potatoes. I think that iron must have gained weight over the years as it is very hard for me to pick it up now.

Ah, memories. I am tempted to fry potatoes to go with that pot of beans I cooked yesterday. I have plenty of soup and a portion of cornbread left.

Point of View

I would like to clear up my feelings concerning those who are presently serving as our leaders in Washington. My number 1 issue is BIG government, not who is sitting in the Oval Office. If Tiny Tim were sitting there with his crookedy leg, I would still feel the same. I don't understand why any American citizen wants a leader to make up a set of rules for the common folk to live by. The 'rules' of our country were put into place long before any of us were born, long before socialism entered the USA. We became a free nation because people were tired of being told what to do. The Constitution was put there for a reason. Put there by men who had differing opinions but came together to do what was best for America. Of late I see the higher echelon trying to change things to favor only part of the people. It is not right. Again, let me say, Obama is not the problem. In my opinion he is a puppet being used by something much more sinister than many people want to acknowledge. This trend did not start with this administration. It has been building over many years. Years ago I heard it said of Russia - we will not have to fire a shot to destroy America, they will destroy themselves'. It is happening. There is an elite group of people who want to control everything and everyone. If you are not aware of these people you should become aware. Have you ever heard of the Builderburg Society? Did you know they are still in existence? Do you know they are still meeting with the intent on taking control of you? Some of the players have changed, but their ideals have not. Look it up, see just who some of those involved in this project have been and are now. They are all money people. Some have gotten their riches in less than honest dealings.

The present mind set of many elected officials seems to have a mother hen concept. Keep those little chicks under the wing, don't let them see the outside world. That is great for a biddy, but American voters are grown up now. I remember my kids as teenagers were a bit testy when I tried to micro-manage their lives. It was not about to happen. Rebellion was on the way. Why is it such a surprise that those of us who take the time to think would be more like a teenager than a biddy? Washington might as well get used to the idea it is not going to happen now either.

When we assert our rights we are labeled as idiots, yes that is right, I have been called an idiot, uneducated, and many other things because I choose to disagree with the fat cats in Washington. I have been called violent because I agree with a peaceful collection of people called Tea Party Patriots. I am selfish because I prefer to keep what I work to earn. IF I want to give it away, it should be MY choice to do so, not a mandate signed into law by someone who is a puppet of the bigger problem. I am a bigot because I oppose giving any rights to those who break the law. When I stated my opinion I was 'blocked' by one liberal because my opinion caused her 'stomach to knot up'. And you say liberals are open minded! That is not being open minded. What others think of me will not stop me from stating my opinion. That is like willingly giving up my right of freedom of speech. What I think is not put out there as hatred toward others. I state my opinions because someone, somewhere may just think of what I have to say and look a little deeper into what is happening to America.

Pushing your head down deeper into the sand will not stop the coming events. Either stand up and face the truth or learn to live in a socialist country. Health care run by the government is not the answer. Government is not the answer. More laws is not the answer. The change has to come from within each person. I still say if you don't like America, you should leave it, not try to change it to fit you. We are who we were, are and will be. True Americans will not change. We enjoy being a free people. I think some are trying to enslave the entire population to fit into a very controlled lifestyle. I think of a mother duck walking in front of her ducklings. How rigid she is, how straight is the line of little ones. I am not a duckling, never was and never want to be.

Now when you disagree with my point of view, you know where I stand. A couple of people have said I am an angry person. Wrong again. I am a very happy person with the freedom to say how I feel. I know how all of this ends because I have 'read the end of the book'. I know America is not a great power during the end times. She is not mentioned in the book of Revelation. It seems Russia was correct in that. I just hate to see it happening. The Bible tells us there will come a time when people are self-absorbed and far from God, each doing their own thing. It is happening. I also have a peace knowing I will not be here during the devastation to come. I belong to the Creator of all things and He will transport me to my new home before these things happen. You see, I have nothing to fear. I do, without a doubt know where I am going and how I will get there. My heart aches for those who stubbornly hang on to their own self destruction.