Support your local farmer

Saturday morning I woke up, ignoring the beginning signs of what has come to be known as the plague, and suddenly remember something important.

I had heard a rumor that our local Farmers Market had changed locations. A mere mile or so away from my house in a church parking lot. Antioch is right next to the Faulkner Co. Natural Resource Center who organizes the market so it seems like a great fit. And it's closer to me so that makes me very happy. Anyway I popped out of bed destined to find out if this was true. 

And low and behold it was. 

I took Barbara Kingsolver's approach and was determined to spread out my selection among as many farmers as I could. Well I knew I couldn't bank roll everyone. And I wasn't in the market for the crafts available (although all very nice, especially the lady selling the sweet little handmade Barbie dresses. Phoebe are you sure you're not too old?)

I bought a lovely bunch of onions. So white and shiny with crisp green tops. This was a farmer who took pride in his wares. One farmer lady had beautiful bouquets of zinnias on her table. I was strongly avoiding the strawberries (see why) that populated her table but those flowers!! My sister and her family were in for the weekend and they would make such a lovely display on the table. She hadn't planned on selling them but she did have do many and I was very persistent. 

"Here" I said dumping the onions from their plastic bag into my shopping bag "I can put them in here". And I had a lovely bouquet for $4!!  I also bought plants to finish out my garden. Cucumber. Dill. Cilantro. 

I'm glad the farmer's market is back. I'm glad it's closer to me. And I'm really excite about supporting local farmers. 

I'll be supporting them here at the Southern Roots Fundraiser for the Arkansas Local Food Network this Friday. 

The summer spread

A work in progress for the past two years.

This large granny square afghan was always destined to be the perfect summer spread. 

The ever expanding size (covering a queen size here) quickly made it inconvenient to stuff into my crochet bag and lug around. And because you literally have to wear it as you crochet it the warmer months make it less that cool to work on for very long. So a lot of progress was made this winter due mainly to the fact that I was tired of trying to hide it in the crochet basket.

I like my bedtime covers to have a bit of weight to them. To feel that you are snuggled under something. But during the summer you run the risk of sweltering or forking over your life savings for the electric bill. Crocheted blankets this size tend to be rather heavy but the openness of a granny stitch allows for air to circulate through the sheet underneath.

And when you're sick in bed with the plague (as Liz calls it) all weekend, you have time to finish the edges. All weekend I fought with horrible cold symptoms and a general stuffiness in my ears that I really haven't been able the shake. (I'm blaming the strawberries) So I'm resorting the plans B & C.

Beer & Chocolate

Garden grooves

Does this scream victory garden pin up or what?

A Gardener's French Tip Manicure. 

Roma Romama Roma Tomatoes. A little Lady Gaga garden humor. 

I'm very excited about my garden this year. With the help of the fantastic SmartGardener.com website I have hopefully avoided my biggest gardening sin of over planting. Everything pre planned and spaced appropriately with our household and garden size taken into account. I didn't follow my plan exactly to the T but it did help me get a good visual before I broke ground. And if i want to be VERY picky about it I'll go back and make the plan match. And I love the journal and email reminders. 

So many people ask me questions about gardening and what to do all the time. Truthfully it's all just been blind luck. And trial and error. Everything that I know about gardening right now came from the fact that i either learned from a victory or a failure the first or even second year I had a garden. Farming has always been risky. 

I started my first big garden in 2010. Dad had just been diagnosed with cancer and was going to be home now so he wanted to start a garden like his family used to keep when he was growing up and what I remember him having when I was very young. My neighbor had extra space in his large plot he had tilled in the field at the bottom of our house. I remember going to get seeds with dad and planting the rows. This is stuck in my mind very vividly because it was one of the last projects we worked on together. If not the last one. I remember him getting tired. I remember not knowing what I was supposed to do but doing it anyway. Hence the reason I accidentally planted two loooooong rows of okra. There was so much okra that year.

But moral of the story, if you don't know the answer. Find out. Ask someone. Google it. Go to the library. Pinterest is full of tips. And if all else fails just do it anyway and learn from the results. 

This is my 3rd garden. I want to be purposeful and diligent that what I grow is used either by me or someone else. I want to freeze or can what we don't readily consume. I really want to remember I shouldn't be afraid of pruning and that when okra gets 7ft tall it's hard to pick. I really want to ready my beds for winter when the time comes and plant some winter crops. 

It's the growing season. I need to be reading Barbara Kingsolver's Animal Vegetable Miracle. Jerusalem, you need to get that back ;)

Are there strawberries in that?

Strawberries.

(source)

They are everywhere this time of year. Dotting the roadsides fruit stands. Pyramids of packages at the grocery stores. Shortcakes on every menu. Recipe pins galore on Pinterest linking you to every gardening and cooking site around.

(source)

Strawberries they tell you summer has arrived. 

(source)

Well that's what they tell you. They tell me don't eat that salad and better carry a chocolate bar cause you won't be having the pie for dessert. I am allergic to strawberries. 

It wasn't always so. I ate them all the time as a kid. We'd journey every summer to a pick your own farm to stock up for the year. Mom would freeze bags and bags of the bright red jewels. 

(source)

But in high school there was one episode that turned the tide for me. I threw up violently. In public. Couldn't stop. And if that wasn't embarrassment enough they had to wheel me out to my friends car. Mind you all before the advent or at least the readied availability of cell phones. Upon arrival my face was ashen, my body covered in large red whelps and mom in near panic mode. A neighbor, a nurse, came over and ordered Benedryl stat! I'd had an allergic reaction. And since a large bowl of strawberries was all I'd had she said that it was a good bet I was allergic. But I've eaten them my whole life. Sometimes these things just develop.

So great I just don't eat strawberries. Not really a problem. There are lots of other options. Raspberries and blueberries are great! I'll gladly abstain from the king of berries to not have to have what happened that day happen again. 

Fast forward 20 years. An innocence plate of quick breads leftover from the weekend's service. Just what I needed to bolster my rushed no time for breakfast morning. Unfortunately what looked like maybe a plum spice bread was really strawberry bread in disguise.  In my defense, it wasn't red or pink in anyway and neither smelled or tasted like strawberries.  I had many people test this for me.  I've been very careful for these past few years to avoid them.  There was the thought that maybe I wouldn't have a reaction.  Maybe that had just been a fluke all those years ago.  But a tingling tongue and tightening throat kind of made me nervous.

An ER trip, steroid shot and antihistamine latter and I'm back at the office.  At least Ben doesn't roll his eyes anymore when I grill our hosts or waiters.

"Are there strawberries in that?"

Coffee with the roses

And an orchestra of song birds. 

All sales final

It's amazing what you can find when you clean. Unearthing things you never knew you had.

The situation starts out easy enough. Ben states that he would really like for us to go in and basically clean up our bathroom. I'm not going to go into the layers of filth that are in there. I think I have mentioned before that cleaning isn't really my life calling and if it isn't a public area and it gets a good swiping every year or so then were doing great. 

So in the attempt to clean the vanity, first I must remove everything. Jewelry box, hair products, doodads, hairpins, and various and sundry other little things that always seem to get scattered about. I'm moving decorative boxes and tossing clothing tags and storing those extra buttons that always come on your clothes when I grab a yellow piece of paper. It's the back copy of some receipt I'm guessing when I notice the word "pawn" on it. Pawn?! We haven't been to a pawn shop in ages. I'm thinking oh great, I bet he got another hunting rifle, like he needs another one of those.  Or worse yet another guitar!

I open in up and see its from a pawn shop in Arkadelphia where we attended college. That's odd because the last time we spent any lengthy time in Arkadoo, besides the obligatory gas and bathroom stop on the way to Texas, had been well over a year ago. Well within our last bathroom cleaning mind you.

On further inspection I see the word  "jewelry" after the word "pawn". My thoughts race to the fact that my birthday is coming soon; could he have found some awesome antique piece he knew I would love or even for our anniversary in a couple of weeks? That's not usually his style but I can give him the benefit of the doubt.

Then all of a sudden things started to click. I noticed the date. May 11, 1998. A mere 12 days before our wedding. I looked at the price. Then I knew for sure what I was holding. 

Back in May of '98, we were two kids finishing college, scraping together a wedding, and expecting a baby that fall. We had never been big on spending a lot of money and were really excited that we happened upon a Mother's Day jewelry sale at the local pawn shop. 50% off. You can't beat that.

Now I have always prided myself in telling people how much we didn't spend. He got my engagement ring at a sale on a sale at Penney's. It was what I wanted and, when the sales lady found out it was to be my engagement ring, she said to come back  a few days later and she would make sure it was there for him on the sale day.  But we still needed to get our bands so the happy Mother's Day half off sale was the ticket. He got mine for a steal at $12 but because his was bigger I had to pay twice as much. A big whopping $26.66 with tax. There may not be a lot of monetary value in them but the story more than makes up for that.

And to think that I found this two days past 15 years from when I purchased his ring. We have no idea how the receipt was buried under piles of junk on our vanity. I can only guess it was in one of the old small hatboxes I had sitting out. They still have mementos in them I've had for years and they are the only things old enough.

Yet it amazes me that through all these years. All our houses (we've moved a lot). That it's been with us. And even though it's really just a scrap of paper something that should have been thrown out years ago, I like what it says at the bottom. 

"ALL SALES FINAL" 

And that's what we are. We're final. There's no going back or exchanging for something else. I like that. 

Inspire me

One of my favorite boards on Pinterest is my I want to paint that board. Some people are inspired to clean or exercise or decorate. For me it was a wealth of images I wanted to recreate. Brush and paint. Pen and ink. Paper and pencil. 

And for so long I would pin these photos thinking "This is the one I will bust out my supplies for. That blank canvas in my laundry room? I'll paint this farm scene on it."

All of those ideas seemed fleeting until a short time ago. Now I have my space and there's very little stopping me. Except for where to start. 

One of my biggest problems as an artist was inspiration. Tell me what you want painted and with what colors and I'm hot to trot. If I rely on myself I start to worry that it's not the right canvas for the picture or that I don't have the exact color of paint (I hate mixing colors). Or the idea that I wouldn't get it finished, have to clean up, then never get back to it, so why even start. So sometimes I would just sit there and nothing would happen. 

But over the last few weeks I'm tearing down those phobias. My creation station is nicely stocked and waiting. I've got friends feeding me ideas as well as a focus. 

Misty guided me to these books when I became so enamored and inspired by her new resolution. Making something every day. Misty and I came out of the same art rooms in college. She found herself in much the same situation that I did. Yeah I'm an artist but I don't practice it. So am I really one? My kids like to tell everyone that I am but this past January when an acquaintance I knew from a local art group asked if I was still painting I just said no. No excuse, no lying. Just no. 

But now the answer can be YES! And I plan to use these books to direct my focus. Misty started at the new year but I figure I'll start at my birthday.  Year 38 will start the rebirth of my creative spirit. That gives me little over a month to gather supplies and try to work my self into the routine. Here's  hoping I don't forget too much.