The ominous gray clouds are beginning to cover the sky above me. The wind's velocity is picking up. Every so often the sun moves the cloak out of the way, in a teasing way.
Will the rain play games when it says what it has to say?
I, of all people don't like to tangle with the restless or the angry, but, let the voice of the gods be heard.
Lord we need rain. Maybe you could send down a slow gentle earth soaking type. We are thirsting.
The earth can reluctantly accept a zillion discarded plastic water bottles, but it isn't capable of drinking from them like us. We keep ourselves hydrated, but the earth cannot replenish its body fluids without rain.
A garden hose can be a temporary fix to drought woes, but we all know that a hose only stretches so far. That method of watering things down can be compared to using a leaf blower in the woods. It does not solve the problem. Besides, the water bill can inflate in a hurry.
I do not like the inconvenience of a burn ban, but that ordinance is in the right place and at the right time.
If it is smoke we are missing, fact is, just a few more days and the pungent stuff will twisting and turning out of the chimneys, seasonal debris heaps, trash pits, etc.
There is one good thing that came out of this dry spell. When we dug the potatoes from the parched hills, the soil on the starchy vegetable was simply a dusty coating; not a speck of mud could be found.
The down side of the harvest was easy to recognize. The Irish potato seed cuts/plants suffered from too much moisture in early springtime and lack of it during the growing season. Therefore, we see a far fewer amount of well developed spuds.
Small potatoes need not be culled out of the bounty. They are excellent in soups and stews. Scrub their tender skins and bake or boil them.
I strip my gardens of all that is there for us. If it is fit for our eats - I will have it! If not the chickens wealth.
In this shaky economy, I lean toward that old dated phrase (1772) that my father adhered to. He lived through the Great Depression and he knew "Willful waste makes woeful want."
Dad taught us to be resourceful and we continue to practice his teachings, thankfully.
Many times he would look proof the gardens that added blessing beyond compare to his tiny family year around. He would say, "Grab the little ones, 'Marzie,' the cuts and deformed. It looks like you missed one beneath that clod of dirt. Oops, a big one tumbled out of the side of the hill. Do you think you can handle it?"
Imagine that, me; a born garden patch pack rat.
I have known about the worth of the tiny tater, ever since I was a tot picking bugs off the vines and later, while dodging the fork's tines, gathering up the eyed marvels In an five gallon water bucket.
And, that onion standing all forlorn in this nearly barren garden, gee, I grabbed that little fellow up an hour ago and add it to the basket alongside the tiny potatoes, the pod of okra and twin peppers that I found earlier today.
I don't know if I can eat those pepper kids. They are growing on me.
One is less than uniform in shape and as green as a gourd and the other is angry at those gods, so much that, the little stunted sweet thing is red in the face.
We screwballs have to stick together awhile longer. We are wanting rain soon!
The barred rocks sure did enjoy the lingering juice in the leaves of the bell pepper I wondered if my pretties could handle a couple green plants that still pack heat on board. I shot down that thought.
My sister, Sandra Gallardo and her husband, Gilbert visited me yesterday.
I sent a box of potatoes home with them. She listened to our framer too. Sandra will know how to juggle those tiny tasty tubers.
I was anxious to gift her with a loaf of my spicy, fruity and nutty persimmon bread made with the berries I harvested from the floor of the place known to us, forever, as "the pasture."
The stand of persimmon trees were only seedlings in Dad's dreams when we lived, the homestead. Now his little grove of mature trees bears the fruit of his labors and I "waste not-want not!"
Yesterday, my sister tasted a sweet treat for the first time. When she ate a slice of my persimmon bread, she found all that she had ever heard negative about the astringent fruit was born and passed to her out of ignorance. There is a science to the timing of the harvest of the fruit.
We plan to create our own fruit cakes this holiday season. A few additions and deletions to this recipe and with a little help from the Drummer Boy we will be well on or way to happy holidays.
My daughter, Starla sent me an early birthday surprise. The greeting inside reads, "Happy Bird Day."
The contents of the package followed the bird theme. I love the thread.
The package included, a Nature metal art bookmark, glittery note cards showcasing bluebirds, "National Geographic Field Guide to the Birds of North America," "Bright Wings," an illustrated anthology of poems about birds and last, but certainly not least, a pictorial book titled, "Extraordinary Chickens" about some breeds that once walked and wormed their way into our hearts on these grounds, including the aristocrats and the game players, big and little.
This gift to honor my 71st birthday will keep on giving.
I give the tokens of her love, my seal of good bird works. I give her my love.
Congratulations to Jason and Merry, the proud and deserving parents of James David Moon. God is good!
I can be reached by phone at 446-4852 or by email at firstname.lastname@example.org.