Another sign, we are losing our children thru abuse and neglect.
ON Friday, police officers found a six year old girl in a cage.So starved and covered with feces caked on her.She is removed from the home. But, it doesn't
] stop there.Her one old brother was found in a bedroom and removed. Still is doesn't stop here.The body of a three year old is found under a shed and Gloucester, VA police are looking for more bodies.
Nancy,
I would love for you to come to this town and get the true story and justice for these children.This is horrible.The Daddy has been released on fifteen hundred pound bond.
Thanks and best regards,
LaVerne Lesznik
Gloucester, VA
804-694-4612
Saturday, April 30, 2011
Sunday, January 30, 2011
Friday, April 30, 2010
Just Ask LaVerne
Hello, from Cottage Hill Farm!
Tonight,I did my first interview for Foodie Fridays hosted by Lonely Gourmet and sponsored by Savalots. We had a few audio problems. I am assured the problems will be fixed.
Just wanted to talk to you about our conversation. Talking about Cottage Hill Farm is easy for me to do,since I love this place and all its' history.
Cottage Hill Farm has always been a working farm, uninterripted since 1795. Growing everything from sheep to hops and now barley and corn for dairy cows.
My Grandmothers recipes were scaled up for production and thus began Cottage Hill Farms Certified Organic Breakfast and Dessert Mixes.
I wanted to make a difference and give consumers a quality, good tasting product. When I tried other mixes that touted they were organic, I found that alot were not what they said they were.I decided mine would be different. First,I would only use the best products available and secondly, make Cottage Hill Farm products in a size that could feed a family and still have some left for a snack. Third, use packaging that was environmentally responsible.
I did my due dilegence and found using the best certified organic raw products were very expensive,but shopping around and making the right decisions allowed me to do this. Next, experimenting with recipes, (this was a scientific experiment,I should have listen in chemistry in college) But, with trial and error I got it right and was able to make mixes that could feed a family of four to five. Next,finding the right supplier for packaging and labels was a little tougher. Vegetable dyes were just coming on the market again, expensive. But, I knew this was important to me and more so to the environment. So, wanting to do this right, I bit the bullet and ordered my first shipment.
I quickly ran out of room in my first production facility and was lucky to find a facility closer to the farm. We were off and running.We did well right off the starting gate and I feel blessed.
I have learned alot, met wonderful people along the way and hope to help others like me who would like to take their recipes from "Kitchen to Market". I was blessed and need to "pay it forward". So, if there is a dreamer out there who would like to get started with their ideas, I would love to help you. No question is too big or too small. Just Ask LaVerne
Tonight,I did my first interview for Foodie Fridays hosted by Lonely Gourmet and sponsored by Savalots. We had a few audio problems. I am assured the problems will be fixed.
Just wanted to talk to you about our conversation. Talking about Cottage Hill Farm is easy for me to do,since I love this place and all its' history.
Cottage Hill Farm has always been a working farm, uninterripted since 1795. Growing everything from sheep to hops and now barley and corn for dairy cows.
My Grandmothers recipes were scaled up for production and thus began Cottage Hill Farms Certified Organic Breakfast and Dessert Mixes.
I wanted to make a difference and give consumers a quality, good tasting product. When I tried other mixes that touted they were organic, I found that alot were not what they said they were.I decided mine would be different. First,I would only use the best products available and secondly, make Cottage Hill Farm products in a size that could feed a family and still have some left for a snack. Third, use packaging that was environmentally responsible.
I did my due dilegence and found using the best certified organic raw products were very expensive,but shopping around and making the right decisions allowed me to do this. Next, experimenting with recipes, (this was a scientific experiment,I should have listen in chemistry in college) But, with trial and error I got it right and was able to make mixes that could feed a family of four to five. Next,finding the right supplier for packaging and labels was a little tougher. Vegetable dyes were just coming on the market again, expensive. But, I knew this was important to me and more so to the environment. So, wanting to do this right, I bit the bullet and ordered my first shipment.
I quickly ran out of room in my first production facility and was lucky to find a facility closer to the farm. We were off and running.We did well right off the starting gate and I feel blessed.
I have learned alot, met wonderful people along the way and hope to help others like me who would like to take their recipes from "Kitchen to Market". I was blessed and need to "pay it forward". So, if there is a dreamer out there who would like to get started with their ideas, I would love to help you. No question is too big or too small. Just Ask LaVerne
Monday, January 25, 2010
Notes from Cottage Hill Farm
April 2006..........
What was that noise? Laying in bed. It is 3:35am, I am very sleepy, but hear a familiar sound that I haven't heard for six or seven months. Tree frogs. Spring is here! It is official. When you hear the frogs, the water in the streams and rivers have risen to a temperature that allows the little froggies to start to their harmonious song. Within a few days, we should start seeing the red wing blackbirds return. Winter is over.
Later that morning, I walk out to the compost pile to turn it over. I want to be ready to feed the garden when it is time. I remember during the fall I saw a fox running back and forth to the upper barn. This fox was always carrying something in her mouth. Now I now what that was all about. Sitting outside the chicken coup are three baby foxes. Mom is laying beside them while the little kits are tumbling and playing with each other. Just like human children. All Gods' children act the same when they are babies. Undisturbed, Mama fox, (I think I will name her Peaches') watches me, but doesn't really seem bothered by my appearance. I kneel down and watch Peaches with her babies. I can't tell how many boys or girls we have, but just by their actions, I think there is two females and one male. The male seems to be tormenting the two smaller ones. We will have to wait until they are a little older.
Turning back to my chores, I decide today I will hang my sheets on the clothes lines. It is warm enough and If I get them out soon, they will dry. Getting the line back up was a small challenge and finding the clothes pins, well I found a handful. The sheets hung on the over stretched line is allowing the sheets to brush the grass. Not overly concerned I decide to go back into the house and take the curtains down to get them ready to wash. About thirty minutes into sorting the curtains, I notice a breeze and decide to check on the sheets. First I looked out the kitchen window. Funny, I swore I hung three flat sheets and six pillow cases. I only see two sheets and six pillow cases. Drying my hands, I open the screen door and notice one sheet is on the ground, but, it is moving. Two of the three little foxes are under the sheet. Peaches is standing nervously, over the sheet. I can tell she doesn't know what to do. Humm......... now what do I do? Well, I need my sheet, so I start down the lawn towards the clothes line. Peaches bolts down the hill and lays in the dried grass, left over from last year. She is panting and watches me approach the sheet and her babies. Gingerly, I lift the sheet. The cutest little foxes with the blue eyes reserved for infants of any species ,greet me. They are completely tame and trusting. For now anyway. They roll over, untangling themselves from the sheet, I see there is one female and one male. Jack and Jill quickly regain their footing and jet to join Peaches. I see the other kit sticking its' nose out from under the chicken coup. I decided the fox family have had enough excitement for the day and gather my sheets and head for the house.
Frogs and Foxes. What a wonderful day. With freshly ironed sheets on the bed, my head sinks contently into the soft down of my pillow. The frogs have started their evening serenade and a slight breeze ruffles the bottom edges of the bedroom curtains. George turns off his reading lamp and kisses me on the cheek goodnight. I missed it. I am already asleep......
What was that noise? Laying in bed. It is 3:35am, I am very sleepy, but hear a familiar sound that I haven't heard for six or seven months. Tree frogs. Spring is here! It is official. When you hear the frogs, the water in the streams and rivers have risen to a temperature that allows the little froggies to start to their harmonious song. Within a few days, we should start seeing the red wing blackbirds return. Winter is over.
Later that morning, I walk out to the compost pile to turn it over. I want to be ready to feed the garden when it is time. I remember during the fall I saw a fox running back and forth to the upper barn. This fox was always carrying something in her mouth. Now I now what that was all about. Sitting outside the chicken coup are three baby foxes. Mom is laying beside them while the little kits are tumbling and playing with each other. Just like human children. All Gods' children act the same when they are babies. Undisturbed, Mama fox, (I think I will name her Peaches') watches me, but doesn't really seem bothered by my appearance. I kneel down and watch Peaches with her babies. I can't tell how many boys or girls we have, but just by their actions, I think there is two females and one male. The male seems to be tormenting the two smaller ones. We will have to wait until they are a little older.
Turning back to my chores, I decide today I will hang my sheets on the clothes lines. It is warm enough and If I get them out soon, they will dry. Getting the line back up was a small challenge and finding the clothes pins, well I found a handful. The sheets hung on the over stretched line is allowing the sheets to brush the grass. Not overly concerned I decide to go back into the house and take the curtains down to get them ready to wash. About thirty minutes into sorting the curtains, I notice a breeze and decide to check on the sheets. First I looked out the kitchen window. Funny, I swore I hung three flat sheets and six pillow cases. I only see two sheets and six pillow cases. Drying my hands, I open the screen door and notice one sheet is on the ground, but, it is moving. Two of the three little foxes are under the sheet. Peaches is standing nervously, over the sheet. I can tell she doesn't know what to do. Humm......... now what do I do? Well, I need my sheet, so I start down the lawn towards the clothes line. Peaches bolts down the hill and lays in the dried grass, left over from last year. She is panting and watches me approach the sheet and her babies. Gingerly, I lift the sheet. The cutest little foxes with the blue eyes reserved for infants of any species ,greet me. They are completely tame and trusting. For now anyway. They roll over, untangling themselves from the sheet, I see there is one female and one male. Jack and Jill quickly regain their footing and jet to join Peaches. I see the other kit sticking its' nose out from under the chicken coup. I decided the fox family have had enough excitement for the day and gather my sheets and head for the house.
Frogs and Foxes. What a wonderful day. With freshly ironed sheets on the bed, my head sinks contently into the soft down of my pillow. The frogs have started their evening serenade and a slight breeze ruffles the bottom edges of the bedroom curtains. George turns off his reading lamp and kisses me on the cheek goodnight. I missed it. I am already asleep......
Sunday, January 17, 2010
Notes from Cottage Hill Farm
March 2006........continues
It is official. The "Great Renovation" has begun. It has started with a low rumble. I hear the trucks coming. First the dumpster is driven in. Of course, the pre-arrangement to have it gently place outside the flower border, fails dramatically. I should have taken this as a sign. How naive' one can be. In one crushing blow, they are smashed, GEORGE!! What are they doing? becomes a common theme. We are suppose to live here?
"Oh, Mrs. L, Paul says, " You won't have any problem living here. The work is going to done in such a way, You will hardly notice we are here". That is of course, if you don't mind not breathing! The dust incredible. So,against my better judgement, we decide to move to the tenant farmers house. One bedroom, one bath, and the smallest kitchen known to man. I have so many boxes, we can't move. I brought too many pots and pans and kitchen paraphernalia. I can put on a five course meal, but I can't find a clean blouse.
It is freezing. I thought spring was just around the corner. Duped again. Paul, the general contractor is here. Why, do you asked. I am not sure, this is unusual. He usually calls. I open the front door: "Mrs. L", we have a problem. Can you come over to the house? "Sure". Puzzled, I slipped on my coat and Sorrel's, and follow him across the road. The first thing I see, is the crew standing around in a circle, looking intently at something. Dave is scratching his head. They all look up and let me within the circle. Seven or eight marble slabs, that used to be my walk way, are turned over. My heart stops! "Here lies Ethan Post b. 1838 d. 1859". YOU HAVE GOT TO BE KIDDING ME!!!!! All the slabs have names on them. I look at Paul and ask:"Do we have a bunch of dead people under my house?!" Well, Ma'am..... it wouldn't be THAT unusual. This is a farm and people would bury their loved ones where they lived. Ya,know, to keep them close!" I am dumb founded. This can't be happening.
After calling Constable Wharfelle, the Clerk of the County, and the Historic Society,and delay of a week, (Mrs. L, we can just keep digging' and see what we come up with). We discovered, the tomb stones, were rejects from the Proctor Marble Company.Broken or misspelled names, the tomb stones were salvaged and used for walkways and foundations,etc. Thank God! I have not slept for a week. Visions, horrible visions. You can imagine. All of them are carted off to the upper barn. We may want to reuse them. Maybe we can "freak out" the next generation.
Well, back to work. The crew is off for the weekend, so George is over at the house in full winter dress, painting clapboards inside of the house. I am so glad. I needed some peace and quiet. I am laying on the couch, watching my favorite, HGTV. After an hour or so, I hear George coming across the frozen front yard. I rise to meet him and unlock the front door. Now remember, George is a very educated man. Twelve years of college and a wonderful physician, but he is not the handiest man around. Love him to death. He was using a Salamander for heat. It is a heater that is low to the ground and uses gasoline to heat our very open house. Well, George is standing at the front door and I notice smoke rising in two columns from behind him. A strange burning smell like that of fur being "put to the flame", is also apparent. George! your boots are on fire!!!!! Apparently, George had the Salamander behind him while he is on the floor painting and he didn't notice, he had gotten a little too close. Since his boots are laced up, I grabbed a pot full on not so cold water, (it was on the stove), and poured it over his boots. Needless to say, we finally got the fire out. No harm to George. Just maybe his pride. Again, love him death.
That night, we are snug in our bed. George, is "purring quietly". I sneak out of the tenant house and make a quick dash to the farms' side door. Slipping inside,the fresh smell of paint fills the room. I decide to have a chat with Mr. Hall:"If you are around when George is over hear working, can you check on him occasionally? I would really appreciate it". I am freezing, so I tighten my collar and start to walk across the road. Stopping for a minute, I look over my shoulder. Mr. Hall waves at me from an upstairs window. Smiling and reassured, I slip back in the tenant farmers house and back into my warm bed. George is still "purring" and before you know it, so am I..........
It is official. The "Great Renovation" has begun. It has started with a low rumble. I hear the trucks coming. First the dumpster is driven in. Of course, the pre-arrangement to have it gently place outside the flower border, fails dramatically. I should have taken this as a sign. How naive' one can be. In one crushing blow, they are smashed, GEORGE!! What are they doing? becomes a common theme. We are suppose to live here?
"Oh, Mrs. L, Paul says, " You won't have any problem living here. The work is going to done in such a way, You will hardly notice we are here". That is of course, if you don't mind not breathing! The dust incredible. So,against my better judgement, we decide to move to the tenant farmers house. One bedroom, one bath, and the smallest kitchen known to man. I have so many boxes, we can't move. I brought too many pots and pans and kitchen paraphernalia. I can put on a five course meal, but I can't find a clean blouse.
It is freezing. I thought spring was just around the corner. Duped again. Paul, the general contractor is here. Why, do you asked. I am not sure, this is unusual. He usually calls. I open the front door: "Mrs. L", we have a problem. Can you come over to the house? "Sure". Puzzled, I slipped on my coat and Sorrel's, and follow him across the road. The first thing I see, is the crew standing around in a circle, looking intently at something. Dave is scratching his head. They all look up and let me within the circle. Seven or eight marble slabs, that used to be my walk way, are turned over. My heart stops! "Here lies Ethan Post b. 1838 d. 1859". YOU HAVE GOT TO BE KIDDING ME!!!!! All the slabs have names on them. I look at Paul and ask:"Do we have a bunch of dead people under my house?!" Well, Ma'am..... it wouldn't be THAT unusual. This is a farm and people would bury their loved ones where they lived. Ya,know, to keep them close!" I am dumb founded. This can't be happening.
After calling Constable Wharfelle, the Clerk of the County, and the Historic Society,and delay of a week, (Mrs. L, we can just keep digging' and see what we come up with). We discovered, the tomb stones, were rejects from the Proctor Marble Company.Broken or misspelled names, the tomb stones were salvaged and used for walkways and foundations,etc. Thank God! I have not slept for a week. Visions, horrible visions. You can imagine. All of them are carted off to the upper barn. We may want to reuse them. Maybe we can "freak out" the next generation.
Well, back to work. The crew is off for the weekend, so George is over at the house in full winter dress, painting clapboards inside of the house. I am so glad. I needed some peace and quiet. I am laying on the couch, watching my favorite, HGTV. After an hour or so, I hear George coming across the frozen front yard. I rise to meet him and unlock the front door. Now remember, George is a very educated man. Twelve years of college and a wonderful physician, but he is not the handiest man around. Love him to death. He was using a Salamander for heat. It is a heater that is low to the ground and uses gasoline to heat our very open house. Well, George is standing at the front door and I notice smoke rising in two columns from behind him. A strange burning smell like that of fur being "put to the flame", is also apparent. George! your boots are on fire!!!!! Apparently, George had the Salamander behind him while he is on the floor painting and he didn't notice, he had gotten a little too close. Since his boots are laced up, I grabbed a pot full on not so cold water, (it was on the stove), and poured it over his boots. Needless to say, we finally got the fire out. No harm to George. Just maybe his pride. Again, love him death.
That night, we are snug in our bed. George, is "purring quietly". I sneak out of the tenant house and make a quick dash to the farms' side door. Slipping inside,the fresh smell of paint fills the room. I decide to have a chat with Mr. Hall:"If you are around when George is over hear working, can you check on him occasionally? I would really appreciate it". I am freezing, so I tighten my collar and start to walk across the road. Stopping for a minute, I look over my shoulder. Mr. Hall waves at me from an upstairs window. Smiling and reassured, I slip back in the tenant farmers house and back into my warm bed. George is still "purring" and before you know it, so am I..........
Thursday, January 14, 2010
April 2006 ..........
It is lovely today! In the mid forties, life is starting to return to Cottage Hill Farm. You can actually smell the earth warming and thawing.You can feel the heat and steam (Well, maybe not steam) rising in the areas exposed to the sun. In a couple of weeks we will enter the "mud season". Truly, in Vermont we have a mud season. Thick and sticky, Sorta like a chocolate mousse. It is the best planting medium. Vermonts' growing season is short, but vigorous. You can also almost "hear" plants growing. "Stretch......!the little leaves are unfolding, opening to lift their little young faces to the "Sun God". New plants are replacing old ones. Unknown species are peeking through the old standards: Hollyhock, blackeyed susans, columbine. They are not really visible yet, But, I know they're there, just waiting to spring back to life. Right now they're covered in last years dressing. Like a snake shedding its' skin, or an old dress being replace with the latest fashion, my day lillies are starting the race first.
Spring is not here until you see the red wing black birds. They travel in "packs" and arrive in the hundreds! Noisy little buggers, they are a welcome site and thus, it is "official". Spring is here!
I am itching to get my hands dirty. A six month winter, does that to you. Getting started cleaning up last years spent leaves is first. Gathering up the "loppers", rakes and hand sheers I am now armed and poised for battle. Let the battle begin.
As I begin I notice a small red squirrel. She is now has a "handle". I will call her Delihla. Red squirrels can be a bothersome creature, but now she seems harmless. She regards my work. I regard her. She darts back and forth. Up and down the elm tree. The only one left of this road. Dutch elm disease leveled them all decades ago. I will monitor her behavior. If she remains "lady like" I will leave her alone.
Mrs. Hall is here. She is supervising me. Her hair is piled on top of her head, whisps of silver have replaced the gold. Her skin is tanned and wrinkled from years in the sun and work in the fields. Her friendly disposition hides the pain of her loss. Beth was "taken to God" during the winter of 1846. The influenza outbreak took many during that year. Beth was three. It was quick. Too quick. There was no time say good bye. Within two days it was over. But not for Mrs. Hall. She took to her bed for a week. The other farmers wives brought food and held her when she cried. They washed and brushed her waist length hair that was then gold. It reflected her european heritage. Sometime there was no need to talk. They had lost love ones, too. They were part of a sorority. A very sad sorority. One you didn't want to belong to.
Mrs. Hall points to the purple "balloon" plants that she planted years ago. She tells me: "I carried the seeds in my carpet bag. It tooks us three months to get here from Britain. I was pregnant with my first son then. The morning sickness wasn't as bad as the sea sickness. The ship rolled constantly and it took me a good two weeks to get my "land legs" back. Her eyes cleared, returning her to the present.I had hopes these seeds would sprout. I had my doubts, but they're tough, like me. She gives me a "wink".
Returning to my reality, I work until the sun starts to go behind "Mr.Big", the pine tree. Delihla, the red squirrel, darts up his trunk and rolls into a little fur ball. Leaving one eye open, she says, "Good Night".
Going in the house, I say goodnight to Mrs.Hall and promise to join her in the morning. Time for a bath......
It is lovely today! In the mid forties, life is starting to return to Cottage Hill Farm. You can actually smell the earth warming and thawing.You can feel the heat and steam (Well, maybe not steam) rising in the areas exposed to the sun. In a couple of weeks we will enter the "mud season". Truly, in Vermont we have a mud season. Thick and sticky, Sorta like a chocolate mousse. It is the best planting medium. Vermonts' growing season is short, but vigorous. You can also almost "hear" plants growing. "Stretch......!the little leaves are unfolding, opening to lift their little young faces to the "Sun God". New plants are replacing old ones. Unknown species are peeking through the old standards: Hollyhock, blackeyed susans, columbine. They are not really visible yet, But, I know they're there, just waiting to spring back to life. Right now they're covered in last years dressing. Like a snake shedding its' skin, or an old dress being replace with the latest fashion, my day lillies are starting the race first.
Spring is not here until you see the red wing black birds. They travel in "packs" and arrive in the hundreds! Noisy little buggers, they are a welcome site and thus, it is "official". Spring is here!
I am itching to get my hands dirty. A six month winter, does that to you. Getting started cleaning up last years spent leaves is first. Gathering up the "loppers", rakes and hand sheers I am now armed and poised for battle. Let the battle begin.
As I begin I notice a small red squirrel. She is now has a "handle". I will call her Delihla. Red squirrels can be a bothersome creature, but now she seems harmless. She regards my work. I regard her. She darts back and forth. Up and down the elm tree. The only one left of this road. Dutch elm disease leveled them all decades ago. I will monitor her behavior. If she remains "lady like" I will leave her alone.
Mrs. Hall is here. She is supervising me. Her hair is piled on top of her head, whisps of silver have replaced the gold. Her skin is tanned and wrinkled from years in the sun and work in the fields. Her friendly disposition hides the pain of her loss. Beth was "taken to God" during the winter of 1846. The influenza outbreak took many during that year. Beth was three. It was quick. Too quick. There was no time say good bye. Within two days it was over. But not for Mrs. Hall. She took to her bed for a week. The other farmers wives brought food and held her when she cried. They washed and brushed her waist length hair that was then gold. It reflected her european heritage. Sometime there was no need to talk. They had lost love ones, too. They were part of a sorority. A very sad sorority. One you didn't want to belong to.
Mrs. Hall points to the purple "balloon" plants that she planted years ago. She tells me: "I carried the seeds in my carpet bag. It tooks us three months to get here from Britain. I was pregnant with my first son then. The morning sickness wasn't as bad as the sea sickness. The ship rolled constantly and it took me a good two weeks to get my "land legs" back. Her eyes cleared, returning her to the present.I had hopes these seeds would sprout. I had my doubts, but they're tough, like me. She gives me a "wink".
Returning to my reality, I work until the sun starts to go behind "Mr.Big", the pine tree. Delihla, the red squirrel, darts up his trunk and rolls into a little fur ball. Leaving one eye open, she says, "Good Night".
Going in the house, I say goodnight to Mrs.Hall and promise to join her in the morning. Time for a bath......
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
Notes from Cottage Hill Farm
March 2006 continues....
It is the end of March. Whew! I am getting a little ahead of myself. We can't plant until after Mothers Day. Heck, the ground will probably still be frozen.
We are having light flurries today. The snowflakes are like little fairies being carried off by the updrafts from the wind. The "snow fairies" like to perch on your eyelashes. They are only there for a brief moment. One gentle kiss and there gone.
I decided to head to the upper barn today and go through the loose barn boards we plan on using for the new kitchen floor. Opening the hay door, a tiny field mouse is startled and skurries to her nest. A flat stone serves as her home for her and her young. You can see her numerous feet prints around the front entrance to her home. Her coloring is that of a doe. Little pink hands were stuffing her cheeks with feed grain from the silo just seconds before I opened the door.
I imagine, "Imogene" in her little white apron, running into her cave, instructing her three "little ones", to be still. The farmers' wife is here! After a while, she realizes that no one is going to disturb their peace. She instructs Lilly, Rose, and Jake to make quick work in setting the table for dinner. The sun is dropping below the roof line, which means "soon to bed".
Buzz, the brown bat is hanging overhead from the ridgebeam. He yawns broadly and is slightly confused with all the commotion on the barn floor. He quickly regains his composure and yells down to Imogene to "keep it down, we're sleeping up here". Non-plused, Imogene rattles off "cousin, we go through this every evening". Give us another thirty minutes, and my family will be asleep.
I turn my attention back to the barn boards. Some of the boards are 24 inches wide or more. Dark, dusty and covered in remnants of hay, I scratched their surface to reveal their species. Soft pine. Their fragrance betrays them. The largest board would have been perfect, but reveals not so subtle waves. I am sure there is a slight knowing smile from the board. Betrayed, I lay him back down and continue looking.
Dusting off my clothes, I decide to change my direction. Bored with boards, (ha,ha) I pick up an old scythe. How many hands have held this over the years? Too many to count. The sun is brutal. The humidity equals the heat. Dust. Blisters and sweat, not perspiration, sweat stings the eyes. His wife brings his lunch wrapped in a gingham napkin. Just bread and a large chunk of cheese accompanied by a radish or two. The mason jar is filled with half tea and half lemonaide. The jar is quart size and instantly drained by the man with the scythe in his hand.
Cutting hay by hand. The space between the rubble stone foundation that holds up the barn needs to be short. Very short. A brush fire would take the barns life in minutes. Mr. Hall sits and rests. Laying against the cool stone, he wipes his brow with the gingham cloth his wife had wrapped his lunch in. Closing his eyes, he doesn't even notice Imogene and her babies stealing the crumbs left just northeast of his scythe.
Coming to my senses, I hear my wonderful husband, George, pull in the drive. Time for our dinner....
It is the end of March. Whew! I am getting a little ahead of myself. We can't plant until after Mothers Day. Heck, the ground will probably still be frozen.
We are having light flurries today. The snowflakes are like little fairies being carried off by the updrafts from the wind. The "snow fairies" like to perch on your eyelashes. They are only there for a brief moment. One gentle kiss and there gone.
I decided to head to the upper barn today and go through the loose barn boards we plan on using for the new kitchen floor. Opening the hay door, a tiny field mouse is startled and skurries to her nest. A flat stone serves as her home for her and her young. You can see her numerous feet prints around the front entrance to her home. Her coloring is that of a doe. Little pink hands were stuffing her cheeks with feed grain from the silo just seconds before I opened the door.
I imagine, "Imogene" in her little white apron, running into her cave, instructing her three "little ones", to be still. The farmers' wife is here! After a while, she realizes that no one is going to disturb their peace. She instructs Lilly, Rose, and Jake to make quick work in setting the table for dinner. The sun is dropping below the roof line, which means "soon to bed".
Buzz, the brown bat is hanging overhead from the ridgebeam. He yawns broadly and is slightly confused with all the commotion on the barn floor. He quickly regains his composure and yells down to Imogene to "keep it down, we're sleeping up here". Non-plused, Imogene rattles off "cousin, we go through this every evening". Give us another thirty minutes, and my family will be asleep.
I turn my attention back to the barn boards. Some of the boards are 24 inches wide or more. Dark, dusty and covered in remnants of hay, I scratched their surface to reveal their species. Soft pine. Their fragrance betrays them. The largest board would have been perfect, but reveals not so subtle waves. I am sure there is a slight knowing smile from the board. Betrayed, I lay him back down and continue looking.
Dusting off my clothes, I decide to change my direction. Bored with boards, (ha,ha) I pick up an old scythe. How many hands have held this over the years? Too many to count. The sun is brutal. The humidity equals the heat. Dust. Blisters and sweat, not perspiration, sweat stings the eyes. His wife brings his lunch wrapped in a gingham napkin. Just bread and a large chunk of cheese accompanied by a radish or two. The mason jar is filled with half tea and half lemonaide. The jar is quart size and instantly drained by the man with the scythe in his hand.
Cutting hay by hand. The space between the rubble stone foundation that holds up the barn needs to be short. Very short. A brush fire would take the barns life in minutes. Mr. Hall sits and rests. Laying against the cool stone, he wipes his brow with the gingham cloth his wife had wrapped his lunch in. Closing his eyes, he doesn't even notice Imogene and her babies stealing the crumbs left just northeast of his scythe.
Coming to my senses, I hear my wonderful husband, George, pull in the drive. Time for our dinner....
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