tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-44992679632638681632024-03-05T03:22:36.035-05:00Memoirs of a Mattamuskeet MommaLearning to Live a Sustainable Life in Hyde County, North CarolinaAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03612319842439211873noreply@blogger.comBlogger18125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4499267963263868163.post-34385850619769020592017-03-10T18:25:00.001-05:002017-03-10T18:25:13.232-05:00Mattamuskeet Lake House for Sale - A New Chapter for Mattamuskeet Momma<div style="text-align: justify;">
A new chapter in our lives has begun, but I would be remiss if I didn't share the labor of love that was the restoration of our 200 year-old house on Lake Mattamuskeet. Our home is currently for sale by owner, and detailed information can be found at <a href="http://www.mattamuskeetlakehouse.com/" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">www.mattamuskeetlakehouse.com </a><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> But for now, settle back and I'll tell you a story...</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">The restoration of the Lake House was no small
undertaking. Before embarking on the
year-long adventure, we had a building inspector from Edenton, North Carolina,
who specialized in historic homes, evaluate the house. He confirmed that “her bones were in great
shape – she just needed a little TLC.”
With his report fueling our confidence, and with the vision of Jeffery
A. Lees, an architect with great experience in historic home restoration, we
took the plunge. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><u><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Step
1:<o:p></o:p></span></u></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">The
first step involved the dismantling of the kitchen addition that was
unsalvageable. We were able to save
heart pine floor joists that would later become timberframe accents in the
house and would also be used to construct the top of our handmade kitchen
island, constructed with stunning craftsmanship by our homebuilder, Louis
Chestnutt. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Step 1 also involved the removal of the original brick
chimneys on either side of the home, which were in such disrepair at the time
to be non-functional. Every single one
of those original bricks was sorted and stacked by yours truly and used later to
construct the beautiful herringbone walkway that surrounds the house today.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">To comply with current flood zone regulations, the
house would then need to be raised to a higher elevation and a new foundation
would be constructed. Worth Hare &
Son House Movers of Edenton carefully secured the house and ever-so slowly,
raised it to its existing elevation.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">To our surprise, when the house was raised we
discovered that the original foundation was composed of massive hand-hewn
cypress blocks. Two of the original
foundation blocks can be found on our front porch today as re-purposed tables.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">The
work of building the new foundation and chimneys began, complete with
decorative flourishes modeled after historic homes from the comparable time
period.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">At
the same time, I was busy hunting down the mysterious “ship picture” that the
original family members had told us stories about. Ms. Sandra Carawan, whom I will always be
indebted to for her great friendship and precious memories, shared with us her
childhood recollections of a picture of a ship located on the wall of the
original staircase. I am a sucker for a
good mystery, and though heavily pregnant with my second son, I carefully made
my way through two layers of paint and two layers of plaster to discover a line
drawing of a ship on the original horsehair plaster. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<u><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Step 2:<o:p></o:p></span></u></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">New discoveries continued to abound as the work of
restoration continued. Upon removing the
badly deteriorated plaster, we discovered that the home had been constructed
primarily with hand-hewn pegs.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Hand-hewn ax marks could also be clearly seen on the
back-side of the second floor heart pine flooring where the joists were
fitted. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWMhiSVOneKSv7R9r5PPTKqLn2HAxo1hpobPwtI5LB91cNg8XV-RpwYBzGP0E3NX49MbCRg7p3ULww95uUhxDfTMIR4nda1exFJ1KMJPr_eILKe9ve2BDmXiyligqSy_W7lNJ3n-1-HvY/s1600/%25238.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWMhiSVOneKSv7R9r5PPTKqLn2HAxo1hpobPwtI5LB91cNg8XV-RpwYBzGP0E3NX49MbCRg7p3ULww95uUhxDfTMIR4nda1exFJ1KMJPr_eILKe9ve2BDmXiyligqSy_W7lNJ3n-1-HvY/s400/%25238.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">We were loath to cover up the evidence of this 200
year-old handiwork and made the decision then and there to leave as much of the
original woodwork exposed as possible.
All of these features are in plain view within the house today, and tell
the story of its creation better than we ever could. </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Some slight cleaning and sanding brought out the
beauty of the beams, and we left the old lath and plaster marks for their
character.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdxDBIWciNX_hGtHM0OTMd-wVj2bKf8AnoprmoO0lyLnqx8ufbD4A-rBf8cgj9LoKm_EB-JMMxRcdntjVUstLD5NPg6WHItzQrKpgmRG60WTg6gQ1cchtuCR5tTuPLFcTRjLWJY7jDLC0/s1600/%25239.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdxDBIWciNX_hGtHM0OTMd-wVj2bKf8AnoprmoO0lyLnqx8ufbD4A-rBf8cgj9LoKm_EB-JMMxRcdntjVUstLD5NPg6WHItzQrKpgmRG60WTg6gQ1cchtuCR5tTuPLFcTRjLWJY7jDLC0/s400/%25239.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">The work was completed on the fireplaces and
foundation, and the beautiful brickwork resulted in the renewed functionality
of four working, wood-burning fireplaces in the home.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnSXrjFmDtRGKEGx1YTviVJH0HbrZJYV4dnKmz4HqLfHSp9jI-443CsBZ3fuOFqLYDtY4L69fRtki2Q-k5eBtZxsjJS-Wx_2PvhSEaJ63hLl_ZvTjw3rj9EgTJOOH7NIa7hyphenhyphenVxFiNfTzc/s1600/%252310.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnSXrjFmDtRGKEGx1YTviVJH0HbrZJYV4dnKmz4HqLfHSp9jI-443CsBZ3fuOFqLYDtY4L69fRtki2Q-k5eBtZxsjJS-Wx_2PvhSEaJ63hLl_ZvTjw3rj9EgTJOOH7NIa7hyphenhyphenVxFiNfTzc/s400/%252310.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<u><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Step 3:<o:p></o:p></span></u></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">While restoration continued in the original main
house, the new addition was being completed.
The addition would house a large mudroom, full bathroom, half-bath,
walk-in pantry, dining room, and kitchen on the lower floor, including a second
staircase to access the upstairs. On the
second floor, the addition would house an additional bedroom with full
bathroom, as well as a new bathroom for the bedroom being used as the master, with
accompanying closet spaces. The addition
blends seamlessly with the original home and visitors are hard-pressed to
identify where the old ends and the new begins.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3QeYDKHMYrGBxWMgem1aKMu7nrNP1V1-ughjXvOJrsA_nNm8rpQ3iv_n7gHdQRQOlonMafbzSlfgQIRhC4ylxvZG97zeLAaDxqRlkua7Q6WHaOeNSzqZkaMgxXBY2eHVgMVgAhI38uE8/s1600/%252311.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3QeYDKHMYrGBxWMgem1aKMu7nrNP1V1-ughjXvOJrsA_nNm8rpQ3iv_n7gHdQRQOlonMafbzSlfgQIRhC4ylxvZG97zeLAaDxqRlkua7Q6WHaOeNSzqZkaMgxXBY2eHVgMVgAhI38uE8/s400/%252311.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">The
addition was sided with Hardi-plank for sustainability and low maintenance
requirements.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8fxK3A16ximC-EkJSvkdzVe5Y7eGkd08wXBYC5DjHpN_afjq_9M5g1vMSSkEgVwq3PRBYegNX11Fk9_Anez00_JHQZTWM_CpFWbOJGezdq29fsGHrLTEM0ANuzORHR630SjDleD1l7EQ/s1600/%252312.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8fxK3A16ximC-EkJSvkdzVe5Y7eGkd08wXBYC5DjHpN_afjq_9M5g1vMSSkEgVwq3PRBYegNX11Fk9_Anez00_JHQZTWM_CpFWbOJGezdq29fsGHrLTEM0ANuzORHR630SjDleD1l7EQ/s400/%252312.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">The original part of the home had been sided with
cypress planks, that were, for the most part, in pristine condition. We replaced the few that needed replacement
with cypress boards custom-milled in Gates County, North Carolina, to match the
existing siding boards.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEil-P9tDnpMriyoMpjb75yqJ3uuEZToP3nVLWWL_cYZkE0oeO6n7yq2LUVEl0UFkOXXMMicqAkP3FsKVXXHJDjmGEFHYBCrNL1u0X7TgzqtOHZG9rPiG7tlkEtPwknihMV5F7ffmpKS478/s1600/%252313.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEil-P9tDnpMriyoMpjb75yqJ3uuEZToP3nVLWWL_cYZkE0oeO6n7yq2LUVEl0UFkOXXMMicqAkP3FsKVXXHJDjmGEFHYBCrNL1u0X7TgzqtOHZG9rPiG7tlkEtPwknihMV5F7ffmpKS478/s400/%252313.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">It
was incredibly important to us to save and re-use everything in the original
house that we could. Unfortunately,
through previous owners, the original windows in the living room had been
removed. We decided to take advantage of
the situation by installing French doors to extend the living space out into
expansive 400 square foot front porch that overlooks the lake.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiod07BUoy7Nei55jP1ZLRxJY2Gt0yThUbRGftxg5mrhbFQXqL2S36ot9dwPHvQ9K3-AsdYwgQAde30zvoseEuyVsq8zi0t6bgz50-MSHuLkx9_jBIqpnFpODj1tjj_za1-CD47lJ6sZ-c/s1600/%252314.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiod07BUoy7Nei55jP1ZLRxJY2Gt0yThUbRGftxg5mrhbFQXqL2S36ot9dwPHvQ9K3-AsdYwgQAde30zvoseEuyVsq8zi0t6bgz50-MSHuLkx9_jBIqpnFpODj1tjj_za1-CD47lJ6sZ-c/s400/%252314.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-no-proof: yes;">The original windows throughout the house were all replaced
incredibly energy-efficient Simonton windows, designed to withstand any type of
weather that coastal North Carolina can bring.
Each replacement window was constructed true to size of the original
window frames, down to including replicating nine-over-six window grids in the
downstairs windows. She was shaping up
to be quite the beauty!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAwHthARaEkebIvkRbJG2xjraud2Vehx1JeMf-N0pjtvv2kJO0WzFbqgEe0iQVVfW8eZf00relYXuCD4VpoBQwQJf8QWf-CoiabgfpP_DEfLUGZyCV788x158b2RZRDuIGjE_jaI04YKg/s1600/%252315.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAwHthARaEkebIvkRbJG2xjraud2Vehx1JeMf-N0pjtvv2kJO0WzFbqgEe0iQVVfW8eZf00relYXuCD4VpoBQwQJf8QWf-CoiabgfpP_DEfLUGZyCV788x158b2RZRDuIGjE_jaI04YKg/s400/%252315.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<u><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-no-proof: yes;">Step 4:<o:p></o:p></span></u></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-no-proof: yes;">The
house became a constant place of wonder as the final finishing touches
began. Cypress beadboard, milled at
Gates Custom Milling in Gatesville, North Carolina, was used throughout the
home to complete the ceilings.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYYWzWh66EUi57E3xFFes9e63rbUFYrT3Ib5Ym3czcPJ12eecoDYfFdCwrnREDLbKcj_KemrwK-nSfE-GEN1a0mTTCsdTJTNfjuSwumnXAbvBI-UnjMAw0UAJeYEr2P1a2MxtWcC6EFrY/s1600/%252316.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYYWzWh66EUi57E3xFFes9e63rbUFYrT3Ib5Ym3czcPJ12eecoDYfFdCwrnREDLbKcj_KemrwK-nSfE-GEN1a0mTTCsdTJTNfjuSwumnXAbvBI-UnjMAw0UAJeYEr2P1a2MxtWcC6EFrY/s400/%252316.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; text-align: center;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; text-align: center;">The
construction of the custom cabinets and island in the kitchen were completed,
along with the aforementioned island top constructed from the original heart
pine floor joists from the old kitchen.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKdH3wiRitMSleSKtORCzitk4xM1MTzlQigXEyv-4N8w5RNFcK7Inn3N3ZJOSaIEdOgczGPLpliZhyE-01ENjStftLlymJLRiVxPK40AcGmgvqzh4vW4MXva2jXiEUqSitCpSyHbkRRUM/s1600/%252317.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKdH3wiRitMSleSKtORCzitk4xM1MTzlQigXEyv-4N8w5RNFcK7Inn3N3ZJOSaIEdOgczGPLpliZhyE-01ENjStftLlymJLRiVxPK40AcGmgvqzh4vW4MXva2jXiEUqSitCpSyHbkRRUM/s400/%252317.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">All
of the home’s original fireplace mantels and trim work were replaced with care,
and any new trim work that was needed was custom crafted by Louis Chesnutt, of
whom we could never praise enough in his care and attention to detail throughout
the entire process.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjo8h5kHeXptTL25lCGImMgc0pDERBUIBEZVpiADVIujl_AM4rD2h4QeJsmVoYkDyrr7zFDMTojChk4fU-7P9wljsQX8c0fVwNCS6PAeip8N_BV8H1zwjS17eGNHNsH7a5rqHJf-r5YPRE/s1600/%252318.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjo8h5kHeXptTL25lCGImMgc0pDERBUIBEZVpiADVIujl_AM4rD2h4QeJsmVoYkDyrr7zFDMTojChk4fU-7P9wljsQX8c0fVwNCS6PAeip8N_BV8H1zwjS17eGNHNsH7a5rqHJf-r5YPRE/s400/%252318.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">The
original heart pine floors were carefully sanded and refinished, while the
floors in the new addition were outfitted with reclaimed tobacco-barn heart
pine boards throughout. Each bathroom
was outfitted with a custom-made vanity using antique furniture pieces and, in
some instances, fitted with countertops made from heart pine salvaged from the
original kitchen.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
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</div>
<div style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlASjGp5tOZ3aTNnof7d2mmy5fEJDBmY-_Q8nD5g6gunFYwCLHF6VuWVfdL3408gki4Ys98UwY7iTmgCiV-Vr9krUjU4FSauacg-BYWwqvUJijr9Pf3NiCY8M8dW85KKkgMoCquYsnVz8/s1600/%252320.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlASjGp5tOZ3aTNnof7d2mmy5fEJDBmY-_Q8nD5g6gunFYwCLHF6VuWVfdL3408gki4Ys98UwY7iTmgCiV-Vr9krUjU4FSauacg-BYWwqvUJijr9Pf3NiCY8M8dW85KKkgMoCquYsnVz8/s1600/%252320.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlASjGp5tOZ3aTNnof7d2mmy5fEJDBmY-_Q8nD5g6gunFYwCLHF6VuWVfdL3408gki4Ys98UwY7iTmgCiV-Vr9krUjU4FSauacg-BYWwqvUJijr9Pf3NiCY8M8dW85KKkgMoCquYsnVz8/s400/%252320.jpg" width="247" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-XgnTPLsZLaRJ8oHFsnikffGPI2_bwYTWMIgi4dTBOwM7O-FeNPocO2bwK-pRi1HX0QivfIo7UjWDsXEQAXjjhT8dOn0Q6pz2wXQ9jsVDtz9N-80jXN6dGkoL8efhC8pKOVnW5VrddPc/s1600/%252319.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-XgnTPLsZLaRJ8oHFsnikffGPI2_bwYTWMIgi4dTBOwM7O-FeNPocO2bwK-pRi1HX0QivfIo7UjWDsXEQAXjjhT8dOn0Q6pz2wXQ9jsVDtz9N-80jXN6dGkoL8efhC8pKOVnW5VrddPc/s1600/%252319.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-XgnTPLsZLaRJ8oHFsnikffGPI2_bwYTWMIgi4dTBOwM7O-FeNPocO2bwK-pRi1HX0QivfIo7UjWDsXEQAXjjhT8dOn0Q6pz2wXQ9jsVDtz9N-80jXN6dGkoL8efhC8pKOVnW5VrddPc/s400/%252319.jpg" width="298" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">And
then, a year after we had begun, it was complete.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"> From this….<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigdGidDGIBhKdWespoRuq5Oc60jVmEjYrFLVaCQ2CuJvcoV1N2bJ2OqUItiCUCRiajX0TmAazA1kNB0ZPMy-XzRjTESeq5nRdAG9gbXJTxMwvuBImtPBnrf4AJuyUW_cY8raX0ZTklfvU/s1600/%252321.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigdGidDGIBhKdWespoRuq5Oc60jVmEjYrFLVaCQ2CuJvcoV1N2bJ2OqUItiCUCRiajX0TmAazA1kNB0ZPMy-XzRjTESeq5nRdAG9gbXJTxMwvuBImtPBnrf4AJuyUW_cY8raX0ZTklfvU/s400/%252321.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRByYg0yUFX1lxbqFelw6Pljg7HeFF5aZBHgv-Cy6KCj16YkFypJv734HO4DSuwxiqNZL0EgiDG1xQt8LYcMgClhrPs-wczwvGIaluVXQaNlP4JWSNazXOzpDx3PmZxIR7YI5_d_DdxyM/s1600/%252322.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRByYg0yUFX1lxbqFelw6Pljg7HeFF5aZBHgv-Cy6KCj16YkFypJv734HO4DSuwxiqNZL0EgiDG1xQt8LYcMgClhrPs-wczwvGIaluVXQaNlP4JWSNazXOzpDx3PmZxIR7YI5_d_DdxyM/s400/%252322.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifCuc8fTTHXdv02_TE1nIa398VqzKYGe_4SKCnKUNH5ifQd6NdTKdv9KcvbL7JcKohIj9J1gk64sgXPHM2jfqWB9YimsbmhxYEvwp4QoiljTcOryVmgtRkg6ZiJS-rIKki2PBOlO-EvrQ/s1600/%252323.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifCuc8fTTHXdv02_TE1nIa398VqzKYGe_4SKCnKUNH5ifQd6NdTKdv9KcvbL7JcKohIj9J1gk64sgXPHM2jfqWB9YimsbmhxYEvwp4QoiljTcOryVmgtRkg6ZiJS-rIKki2PBOlO-EvrQ/s400/%252323.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-no-proof: yes;">It was an amazing transition to be involved in, and we will
always be grateful to this house that let us be a part of its history for a
short time. The pages are now awaiting for
new story to unfold. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03612319842439211873noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4499267963263868163.post-77504559541488856022012-12-05T14:45:00.001-05:002012-12-05T15:20:31.697-05:00I had to show off our Christmas Card - simple and true, we are blessed!<div class="sflyProductPreviewWidget" style="height: 494px; width: 425px;">
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Blessed Tidings Religious Christmas Card</div>
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Find unique and <a href="http://www.shutterfly.com/cards-stationery/christmas-cards" style="color: #6666cc;">Personalized Christmas cards</a> at Shutterfly.com.</div>
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View the entire <a href="http://www.shutterfly.com/cards-stationery" style="color: #6666cc;">collection</a> of cards.</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03612319842439211873noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4499267963263868163.post-42191662867187201122012-11-22T09:28:00.002-05:002012-11-22T09:28:57.107-05:00Thankful . . .<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: large;">Thanksgiving is the time for realizing our blessings, and the Mattamuskeet Momma home is no exception. </span>I can't begin to list all of the things that I am thankful for - I think that I would go on for ever this morning, much to the dismay and tummy-growling of my boys. But there are a few things that come to mind that I haven't been able to share since my long-ago last post.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYfb2rSMy0P6UAJss3UfzfLzQ-tQn6_Zv5nobFvOJygFlJQafvfLO94qgDBL2qPoSlIPnjy01ZaYRZkWH_gPxypmu0LxMhuEzSKd4-XSpPbgP4506y569vw-XJ-5-mk-feX38r-GNb6Kw/s1600/DSCN0758.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYfb2rSMy0P6UAJss3UfzfLzQ-tQn6_Zv5nobFvOJygFlJQafvfLO94qgDBL2qPoSlIPnjy01ZaYRZkWH_gPxypmu0LxMhuEzSKd4-XSpPbgP4506y569vw-XJ-5-mk-feX38r-GNb6Kw/s400/DSCN0758.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
I am thankful for my family - my three beautiful boys, my wonderful husband, our parents, our sisters, aunts, uncles, cousins, and all of those that touch our lives and make it better for the love that they share with us. In this picture, my dad and my sister came to visit and we all worked together on the "family apple pie" made with fresh, organic apples picked from my mom and dad's trees. <br />
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It is, while in moments like these, that I stop and take a look around at every tiny detail - the crisp smell of ripe apples, the tangy sweetness of the endless apple peel snakes, the excited chatter of the boys, my dad's rough hands carefully enclosing Eli's little ones as he helps him turn the apple peeler . . . I try to burn these images into my memory forever, in the hopes of keeping them shiny and new and always within easy grasp, like a warm blanket to wrap around my shoulders on a chilly fall day. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-FRGh3wtHO10uqq2PbHnF3JaMdSWQMg3U5UFD7PmblKeuKvrVmjmTHBOQOsn7RSzJfl83W9Kyq-OTk_Vq7mCLJkA4F82CLzdWe0x-2rjQO7AAzVoFglPhQNVJQZActS3zUkTfSZtpNME/s1600/DSCN0763.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-FRGh3wtHO10uqq2PbHnF3JaMdSWQMg3U5UFD7PmblKeuKvrVmjmTHBOQOsn7RSzJfl83W9Kyq-OTk_Vq7mCLJkA4F82CLzdWe0x-2rjQO7AAzVoFglPhQNVJQZActS3zUkTfSZtpNME/s640/DSCN0763.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqyy6gE5nZz-t8HSOz79NRwzqAWUf4nt3HtU7xbwZWmrb48bWKJs0LynHpM6DzNKZy1v_44VYtBdOZJEfHyzTH2y0WNakXgCkT-mZ48KRJHRL665BnQTQn_6Q_EqsiBrP6E-fWtQmaPdg/s1600/DSCN0716.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqyy6gE5nZz-t8HSOz79NRwzqAWUf4nt3HtU7xbwZWmrb48bWKJs0LynHpM6DzNKZy1v_44VYtBdOZJEfHyzTH2y0WNakXgCkT-mZ48KRJHRL665BnQTQn_6Q_EqsiBrP6E-fWtQmaPdg/s640/DSCN0716.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
I am, of course, thankful for the bounty that our garden brings us. I love the boys' shrieks of delight when they find "giant" vegetables nestled within leafy confines. Cole had to have his picture taken with the asparagus beans that were "as big as him!"<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNCdXvlIdW9zXqHXxt23eVgLtGNxYfGixkf-ZXaUCOedSZ-R_QM0jyBxomL4Uv3aSgK8k71a3tkMkrBtK5MBR4wMOlA8k-8F7SPiFCnvhkeGiG1poIcUmj1vkaeuCNTZ92u1sWnojT7cE/s1600/DSCN0720.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNCdXvlIdW9zXqHXxt23eVgLtGNxYfGixkf-ZXaUCOedSZ-R_QM0jyBxomL4Uv3aSgK8k71a3tkMkrBtK5MBR4wMOlA8k-8F7SPiFCnvhkeGiG1poIcUmj1vkaeuCNTZ92u1sWnojT7cE/s640/DSCN0720.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
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I am thankful for beauty, wherever we may find it. My sunflowers, waving tall over my garden in the late summer never fail to put a smile on my face.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSXs8WGObSluzNoXfEYA0AW0xHYs-5pMGaEzs6gJfvo9L1dArjNczXAkSPzKw3SFDctI92jdGtGYQmCuRLEv7NdQpChpy5mC1iLOmGYplJdQlFgZa2Ci3LCuo_Libd_cBNC-jgg_QBKKQ/s1600/IMG00465-20120825-1210+00000.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSXs8WGObSluzNoXfEYA0AW0xHYs-5pMGaEzs6gJfvo9L1dArjNczXAkSPzKw3SFDctI92jdGtGYQmCuRLEv7NdQpChpy5mC1iLOmGYplJdQlFgZa2Ci3LCuo_Libd_cBNC-jgg_QBKKQ/s400/IMG00465-20120825-1210+00000.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
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I am thankful for long, lazy days, where there is nothing better to do than just breathe in the goodness around you.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSlLNrnQOhrV5rDROc2yx4KmGAKegJ_BJ4ffqobm6570dQ584S_z_iKFyOZEMEO6KjA5cU1mC1va_Ku7C1Q3xJ4IddAckGSIxzlIDOLqzlwIE-B0iMax8lwb6l_aIQJe9HJBl2uqbKU5Y/s1600/DSCN0793.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSlLNrnQOhrV5rDROc2yx4KmGAKegJ_BJ4ffqobm6570dQ584S_z_iKFyOZEMEO6KjA5cU1mC1va_Ku7C1Q3xJ4IddAckGSIxzlIDOLqzlwIE-B0iMax8lwb6l_aIQJe9HJBl2uqbKU5Y/s640/DSCN0793.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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I am thankful for laughter, of which my boys provide me an abundance. This is my three in their Halloween Costumes this year. They were a hit as "The Duck Commanders," and their buckets were overflowing with candy by the end of the night.</div>
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And I am thankful for the little things in life, like long naps in the car with a belly full of hot doughnuts.</div>
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Take a look around you. What are the things that you are thankful for? Even on our worst days, there are always things to be found that make our lives worth living. Blessings come in all shapes and sizes - make sure you count yours today and every day. Happy Thanksgiving.</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03612319842439211873noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4499267963263868163.post-4262275208856701262012-08-09T19:08:00.001-04:002012-08-10T07:52:36.708-04:00Walking the Walk<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Having a backyard chicken flock has become extremely popular in recent years, and our backyard is no exception. </span>Every spring during our visit to the local Tractor Supply Store, my boys would beg me to bring home chicks. Of course, I put them off for a few years with the "well, we have to build a chicken coop first" excuse. But this spring, I decided to finally give in. After all, we were committing to a sustainable lifestyle, and having our own fresh eggs, along with a troop of fertilizing, bug-picking machines was a textbook requirement. So before the Chick Days kicked off for 2012, I got to work collecting pieces of leftover building materials around our place. I looked at coop designs, constructed coops, and countless internet sites. I found chicken tractors, chicken mansions, and strange homemade converted chicken coop contraptions. Taking stock of what I had, and the time allotted to me with power tools and a toddler, I decided to convert a cold frame that my dad had helped me build a few years back. Three afternoons with constant interruptions later, my chicken coop was complete. We were ready to go get our chickens. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our all-recycled coop!</td></tr>
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So, we headed out to Tractor Supply, the boys bouncing with excitement in the back of the minivan. This is when I learned Chicken Lesson 1 - <i>Never tell your children that you are going to get chicks if you are not 100% positive that there are chickens at the store.</i> The boys were devastated that there had been a run on chickens and there were no more chicks at that particular store. They told us that there would be another shipment in a couple of days. So I called another Tractor Supply about an hour and a half away. "Do you have chickens?" "Yes, plenty of them!" was the reply, so the Temples loaded back into the van and set off on our epic chicken adventure. This is where I learned Chicken Lesson 2 - <i>Never doubt that within an hour and a half there can be a run on chicks at the Tractor Supply Store. </i>We emerged stiff legged and rump sore at the store, rushed to the chicken section, only to find - you guessed it - no chicks. "What happened? I just called!" I asked the sales associate. She shrugged and said that a bunch of people had come in and bought chickens. All of the chickens. So, we headed back to Hyde County, the boys sniffling in the back seat the whole way.</div>
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After the weekend I called our local store again and found out that an order of assorted chicks was arriving mid-day. We quietly loaded Eli and Greyson into the van, picked Cole up after school, and nonchalantly made our way to the store. "Where are we going?" Cole asked. "Umm, errands. We have to run some errands," I said, a veteran of Lesson 1 and living in fear of Lesson 2. We showed up at the store and found a feed trough full of black and yellow chicks. They were Black Australorps, the chickens I wanted, but they were straight run and not the pullets I was hoping for. Do you think I was going to leave that store without chicks based on the possibility of picking all roosters? Lesson 3 - <i>The possibility of going home with all roosters is preferable to going home for the third time with a car full of crying children.</i></div>
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So we picked out eight chicks, hoping they were all hens, and made our way home with a heat lamp, chick starter, more cedar shavings, a feeder and a waterer. We got the little balls of fluff settled in the garden shed under the heat lamp and gathered around the box to stare at them. For hours. People joke about watching "chicken TV." They aren't kidding. Chickens are just about the coolest little things to watch, especially with kids. The boys asked me all sorts of questions about how they eat, how they sleep, how they move, why they peep, and on and on. We had more in-depth biology discussions over the course of a couple of hours than we have had over the last year. </div>
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So the chickens grew and grew. We kept them fed, watered, clean, dry, and tucked under their heat lamp when the nights got chilly. Soon they moved into the coop we had worked so hard on. We kept them shut in the coop for a couple of days, so they would know where to "come home to roost." We let them pick bugs in the square run we had fenced in for them for a week. Then, came the Big Day, when our little chickens became free ranging, and our yard became theirs. We worried and watched over them all that day, and sure enough, as soon as the sun went down, all eight chickens were cuddled up in their coop. We shut them up for the night, and so began our routine. June and much of July passed with the dawning realization that we had five roosters and only three hens. I knew that the day of reckoning was soon approaching, but I kept putting it off, even as the gangly young roosters began to harass our poor, out-numbered hens. Then came the day when Eli was wandering outside and I noticed one of the roosters, we called him White Tail for the patchy white feathers that circled his tail, pranced a little aggressively his way. As Eli is the same height as the roosters, this raised some concern. As in, Holy-heck-are-the-chickens-going-to-peck-out-my-son's-eye concerns. I got on Backyard Chickens and asked the incredibly helpful community what I should do with my chicken situation. The resounding answer was to send my roosters to "freezer camp", at least four of them, if not all five, for the safety of my toddler.</div>
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Before I offend anyone who would cry "Why not give the roosters away to someone who needs them?" please understand that where I live, no one needs roosters! The people who already have chickens have too many roosters, so relocation was not a factor. But, still, I dragged my feet. I kept a close eye on Eli every time I was outside with the chickens, which is almost impossible as he cruises around the yard like the RoadRunner, his little feet a blur. Then came the evening when I was working in the garden and I asked Ed and the boys, who were picking figs for me, to keep an eye on Eli. Of course he started to wander away as they were picking on the other side of the tree. The mother's sixth sense kicked in, as a faint "chick, chick" carried to me across the late evening air. My head jerked up from the weeding and, hoe in hand, I ran out of the garden. Eli was standing a few steps from the fig tree, and White Tail was speeding across the yard - straight to him. Screaming "No! Eli!" I bolted across the yard. Cole and Ed heard me, and Cole ran straight to him from the other direction. We both reached Eli just as White Tail, with puffed up chest, came toe to toe with my toddler. Of course, when he saw a crazed mother with a hoe and a yelling six year old bearing down on him, he promptly took off. Cole and I chased him until we were out of breath and he was far from Eli. Honestly, if I could have gotten in a swing with my hoe, White Tail would have been history. Regardless, I knew time was up. Something had to be done.</div>
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My mom and dad were due for a visit that week. Dad gets on the phone with me and says "I hear you need to kill some chickens. I can help with that." There is something, no matter how old you are, supremely comforting in the thought that your Dad will take care of whatever unpleasantness you need him to take care of. Of course, Ed and Cole had said that they were going to kill the roosters for me. Their method was going to be death by firing squad - Cole with his BB gun and Ed with number 6's. But, when Dad said he was going to "take care of it" I knew that the roosters' days were indeed numbered. </div>
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My parents arrived, and the next morning I was ready to go. I was up at 6:30 and collectived all manner of utensils that I thought might come in handy. When Dad came down the stairs, he found a pile of knives, rubber gloves, bowls, and cutting boards. He took one knife from the pile and shook his head at the rest. I was outside trying to determine which roosters were going to go. There was one especially pretty rooster with a long, fancy tail that Ed and I said we should keep. We figured if they were going to breed, then we should have the prettiest rooster. The problem was that I was especially fond of Short Tail, a rooster that followed me around like a puppy looking for treats. The whole rooster killing experience was hard enough without actually throwing in a chicken that I was genuinely fond of. So, I decided that I would keep a spare rooster, in case something happened to one of them, and if they harassed the hens or started to fight, one of them would be dinner at a later date. That said, I had to figure out which one was Short Tail, and not mix him up with another rooster who looked just like him. Out in the pen that morning, I held out some bread and Short Tail came running up as usual. As he cocked his head to look at me, I noticed that someone had pooped on his head that night, and a long streak of white marred his iridescent feathers. It is amazing how providence works - who knew getting pooped on would lead to saving your life?</div>
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Dad was ready and told me to hand the roosters to him over the fence and he would take care of the rest. Cole was hanging around and I told him to go inside. He said no, but a look of panic began to overtake him as he saw me hand my dad the first rooster. I told him again to go in the house, and he ran to the other side of the yard, where I assumed he would go into the house. Dad stretched the rooster out on the almost horizontal trunk of our old pear tree, and I crouched in the chicken pen with my hands over my eyes. I looked up after hearing the whack of the butcher knife, just in time to see the chicken leap from the pear tree and engage in its macabre death dance in the yard. "It's still alive!" I shrieked, but Dad said no, that's just what they do. Regardless, the first sight of that was a little horrifying, even more so when Cole came running around the corner of the house to witness the hurky-jerky chicken dance. Fortunately, I did not have to tell him to go into the house again. My mom told me later that he blew into the house like a shot, took a deep breath and said "I'm fine, Ma. I think I'm just going to stay inside."</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My Dad and the results of his expert butchering.</td></tr>
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After the first, it was easier, and soon we had three roosters killed cleanly. Dad started to clean them, but I told him that this was where I stopped being a wimp. As I didn't have a big outside burner for boiling water, we opted for skinning and cleaning the birds. It was surprisingly quick and easy, and when we were done, we had some of the most beautiful chicken meat that I had ever seen. We washed it off, put it in a container of salt water, and let them sit in the refrigerator to soak. Just like that. </div>
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We cooked it for dinner a couple of nights later, and it was the most amazing chicken that I had ever eaten. Tender, juicy, and almost sweet. And what made it taste even better was that I knew there were no chemicals in my chickens, there were no strange hands butchering and processing my chicken, there were no trucks and packaging and long hours of refrigeration. They were my chickens - fat on garden scraps, bugs, and long, warm days grazing the green grass. </div>
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To me, watching my children munching chicken legs and then going outside to water the five left in our little flock, it was an important moment. It is well and good to talk about sustainability, and to garden and bake and preserve. But, as a meat eater, raising my own meat and humanely harvesting it is one of the most important things that I have ever done. That's when it finally felt real to me. I wanted the chickens for the eggs and for the experiences, but I also had to do what a responsible flock owner needs to do. It's not all cute coops and chicken pictures, it is indeed a responsibility to the health of my chickens and to my family. And though it was not my hand wielding the knife, the next time it will be. And I will be ok with that because, in this sustainable life, you must be prepared to walk the walk, even if you start with baby steps. Chicken legs, anyone?</div>
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<br /></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03612319842439211873noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4499267963263868163.post-63186237899750832862012-08-03T20:08:00.001-04:002012-08-03T20:08:38.823-04:00Getting Ready for Market DayI am so sorry that I have not had a chance to write lately, and I have been trying to get a spare minute all week long to no avail! But today is Friday, which has become the busiest day of the week - the day before the Farmer's Market. Between my work with my non-profit, chasing after the boys, keeping up with chores, and baking and preserving up a storm, I'm ready to collapse into a heap on Friday nights now! Just take a look at the preparations:<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our welcome sign for our customers.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Beautiful Candied Fig and Orange Preserves - they taste divine if I do say so myself. There is something about the marriage between orange and fig that is a match made in heaven!</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Baking, baking and more baking.! I have twelve loaves wrapped and ready to go. The Momma's Garden Herb Bread is my favorite, made with my organic garden herbs (basil, oregano, dill, parsley and my crushed garlic). Ed loves the Roasted Sweet Pepper, which is chocked full of roasted Mattamuskeet Sweet Onions and my organic bell and sweet banana peppers. And the Cinnamon Swirl, what can I say? I actually hope that I don't sell it all because I make sinful French toast with any leftovers on Sunday mornings!</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My mom and dad just came to visit this week and brought me loads of juicy white and yellow peaches. I blended this together with pure cane sugar and a little lemon juice and let it simmer to golden nectar. There is something to be said for letting the flavor of pure, fresh ingredients take the lead, and this is an example of uncomplicated glory.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ok, so you know me, I had to experiment just a bit! I had beautiful lavender growing in my herb garden, and I couldn't resist blending it with my peach preserves just to see what happened. I made a test batch of Old Fashioned Peach, and steeped sprigs of English lavender in at the finish. I removed the sprigs and stirred in some lavender flower buds to generate a random taste explosion throughout. What resulted was a smooth rich peach flavor with a lingering floral essence reminiscent of an English garden a high tea. I love it when an experiment works out!<br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">
So, dear readers, I will be back this weekend to fill you in on all of the happenings - the tomato horn worms, the chicken killings (long story!), and all of the rest of the homestead news. See you soon!</div>
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03612319842439211873noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4499267963263868163.post-31319274298849617922012-07-16T16:38:00.001-04:002012-07-16T16:38:49.272-04:00Natural Born Salesmen<span style="font-size: large;">I had no idea that the boys were natural born salesmen. </span>I thought that I would have to coax them into talking to any customers who might come our way, that they might be too shy or nervous to speak with adults that they didn't know. Boy, was I wrong!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQnS_bUzxrrarKpZs9kdN9GYBUDKCxWv3gtrEkpyZfl6e_95lwxgiDxf02boe6UOhyphenhyphenpViPtBU-rSwfMLuWsG6Ep6q741x6SJam7h-Y0b36nLe63CWjH8E940qCBpHXAesuT0Von6-SuOo/s1600/IMG00425-20120713-1709.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQnS_bUzxrrarKpZs9kdN9GYBUDKCxWv3gtrEkpyZfl6e_95lwxgiDxf02boe6UOhyphenhyphenpViPtBU-rSwfMLuWsG6Ep6q741x6SJam7h-Y0b36nLe63CWjH8E940qCBpHXAesuT0Von6-SuOo/s640/IMG00425-20120713-1709.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD4KKcDW23JMjjjxYBUJCr1yA4DW49tR9YRGXokDtharj9IZAxdZ3dW8udPG3akZm7pFOtTrZveTb8oDZ4kVHoVxSUK2wcYLW8AZLBgxuoFr4Sq2vW_umP4bG7AkAnAlntAgVjhrggIjE/s1600/IMG00426-20120713-1709.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD4KKcDW23JMjjjxYBUJCr1yA4DW49tR9YRGXokDtharj9IZAxdZ3dW8udPG3akZm7pFOtTrZveTb8oDZ4kVHoVxSUK2wcYLW8AZLBgxuoFr4Sq2vW_umP4bG7AkAnAlntAgVjhrggIjE/s400/IMG00426-20120713-1709.jpg" width="400" /></a>There they are, my two little entrepreneurs behind our first ever Mattamuskeet Momma table at the Belhaven Farmers' Market. We had decided earlier in the week that we would make our debut at the Market this weekend, so we worked diligently, putting the finishing touches on our preserves. We made twelve half-pint jars of beautiful, rich Blueberry Citrus Preserves that taste just like the warm center of fresh blueberry pie with soft notes of orange and lemon zest, and twelve half-pint jars of Seedless Blackberry Preserves, a deep purple spread with just a hint of lemon zest to complement its sweet-tart goodness. We used what ribbon we could find around the house to dress up the jars a little bit, and we packed them carefully in boxes for the trip into town. The boys whole-heartedly agreed that I should bake up some fluffy loaves of Cinnamon Swirl Bread because "that was their favorite and people would want to buy it from us", so I stirred, kneaded, and baked 6 rolls of soft bread swirled throughout with melted butter, sugar, and cinnamon. We wrapped it fresh from the oven late Friday afternoon, placed our labels and ingredients stickers on top, and we were ready to go. <br />
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The Belhaven Farmers' Market is open on Fridays and Saturdays, and of course the boys wanted to go both days. Thunderstorms had plagued us off and on all day Friday, but by 4:00, the sun finally started to peek out. We decided to chance it. We were the only ones at the Market when we arrived at 5:00, but, buoyed by the excitement of our new enterprise, we quickly set up shop and waited. And waited. And waited. Every time someone drove by slowly and looked our way, the boys screeched "Look, it's a customer!" only to say "Oh. Nevermind," as the car continued on. Eli kept himself entertained by building small mountains in the gravel that covered the ground. Finally, a car turned into the market, and a nice man walked up. To us. Our first customer! Mr. Julian Goff was a wonderfully sweet man who decided to try our bread and preserves. He couldn't have come at a better time, as the boys who had earlier been flying high on enthusiasm, began to wilt with the evening humidity and lack of excitement. We thanked him for coming to see us, and then we went back to waiting. And waiting. And waiting. At about 6:30 I decided to throw in the towel, my decision aided by lack of traffic and the tired grumpiness that was beginning to over take the boys. Though we only had one customer, I still felt that the evening was a success just because <i>we actually did it</i>. It is one thing to talk about making things and selling them at the Farmers' Market, but it is an entirely different thing to load up three little boys, our inventory, and all of the other necessities for a long wait on a warm summer's evening and <i>actually go out there</i>! The evening was made even more of a success when I returned home and found that Mr. Goff had visited this blog and left an incredibly warm comment about our food and my boys, and I will always be thankful for his thoughtfulness.</div>
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The boys begged to try it again on Saturday morning, and 8 o'clock found us back in the parking lot of the Farmers' Market, this time greeted by a whole different scene. There was a hustle and bustle of set-up at the front stalls, and Cole, Greyson, Eli and I grabbed our things and headed for an empty table. We heard a lady ask us if we were setting up, and we said "Yes!" in all of our goofy excitedness. She gave us a searching look, and began to explain the market to us. All I can say is, thank goodness for Elizabeth Gurganus! In my eagerness to begin our Market experience, and not being able to find a thing on the Town of Belhaven's website about the Market, I just assumed you showed up, grabbed a table and sold stuff. No, no, no. The tables all belonged to vendors, the stalls were rented by vendors by the day or by the month, and we needed to go visit the Market manager and register. Seeing the deflated faces of my boys, Elizabeth took care of us and pulled an extra table from the back of her van. She helped us set up, and introduced us to everyone. She makes beautiful hand-made jewelry, purses, aprons, and all manner of pretty and useful items - from wallets, to bibs, and so many other items is a gorgeous array of fabrics. Heike, in the next stall down, sold a lovely array of art, from bird houses to pillows to stepping stones. Beverly was the main attraction of the morning, however, with her fresh blueberries and mouth-watering baked goods and preserves. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Archie and some of his beautiful local produce.</td></tr>
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With the added vendors on this Saturday morning, there was much more traffic coming in and out of the market, and the boys were soon caught up with the buzz of activity. So many people to talk to and see, and yes, customers even came to visit our little borrowed table! The boys were ready this morning, and when the first person showed interest in our goods, Cole asked, "Would you like to buy our bread or our jam? It's really good." Greyson piped in "Yes, and if you buy one thing its $5, and if you buy two things, then it's $10. Don't you want to buy two things?" I had to put my hand over my mouth so I didn't laugh at loud at their earnest sales pitch. And this was no fluke, but instead, was repeated over and over again during the morning with no coaching from me. It was nice to see how seriously the boys were taking our venture, and the responsibility that they felt for selling the things that we made. Or maybe it was just the visions of the Legos they wanted to buy with their share of the profits that had them so fired up. I wasn't looking the gift horse in the mouth.</div>
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We stayed until about 10 o'clock, and then we packed up and headed off on a supply-buying trip to Greenville. I had a table to buy, among other things! We had a great first weekend at the Market. We met some amazingly nice people, vendors and customers alike. Everyone was warm and kind, and made us feel welcome right from the start. At the Market, even if it was for a brief couple of hours, I felt like the four of us were a part of something that we could be proud of. It was a great feeling. </div>
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I want to thank any of our customers who might be reading this for supporting us in our fledgling efforts at local food commerce, and please tell me what you think of our preserves and bread in the comments section. The boys and I are already hard at work for the coming weekend, where we will have some new bread and preserves varieties. We spent last evening picking figs from our monstrous ancient fig trees, and we will be making half-pint after half-pint of glorious golden jam. See you on Saturday!</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03612319842439211873noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4499267963263868163.post-52207729420533849862012-07-12T16:51:00.000-04:002012-07-12T17:24:15.425-04:00Just Off the Boat<div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Summertime in Hyde County means an abundance of food of all sorts.</span> Beautiful vegetables and fruits flourish in our dark soil, and my boys and I have been enjoying a steady stream from our gardens and local farms. My favorite local summertime food doesn't plant its roots in our fertile earth, however, but can be instead found in the rich waters of the Pamlico Sound that hug our coastline. That's right, I'm talking about shrimp!<br />
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The Pamlico Sound stretches over an area of 1700 square miles, and due to a maze of shifting shoals, its depth averages about 15 feet. Receiving freshwater from the Neuse and Pamlico Rivers and the Albemarle Sound, as well as saltwater from the ocean through multiple inlets, the Pamlico Sound offers a mix of habitats that supports a wide array of aquatic species. About one-half of the entire state's shrimp production comes from the Sound and its tributaries. The two most commonly harvested shrimp species in our area are the brown shrimp and the white shrimp, with the brown shrimp moving through the Sound in July and August, and the white shrimp following in September and October. </div>
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So a hankering for steamed shrimp made me round up the boys and head on down to Engelhard. A short 20 minute drive had us at the docks of Williams Seafood, the place we go every summer for mounds and mounds of beautiful fresh shrimp just off the boat, and today was no exception.<br />
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You have to feel great when you pull up somewhere for fresh seafood and this is the first thing that you see. It can't get any better than this, unless you were actually eating them on the boats fresh out of the nets! An assembly line efficiently hauled the precious cargo onto the dock, where they were placed into buckets of fresh, icy water, rinsed and drained.<br />
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From there, they were transferred to the sorting tables, where a quick-fingered crew de-headed and sorted the icy shrimp. Cole and Greyson watched the entire operation with rapt attention, and when I asked them what they thought of what they were seeing, Greyson said that he "bet everyone sure had some cold fingers." I would have to agree with him there!</div>
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We left Williams Seafood with 10 pounds of beautiful shrimp and great big smiles on our faces. As I loaded up the boys for the ride home, I told them that I had "fun, fun, FUN!" and Cole said, "Mom, why do you sound excited like a little kid?" I told him that it was because I knew how good those shrimp were going to taste for dinner tonight, but that was only half of the truth. The whole truth is that I love this! I love driving around Hyde County and discovering all of these wonderful places to buy fresh, local foods. To me, there is nothing better than knowing exactly where my food comes from, and if I can't grow it or raise it on my own, then the next best thing is buying it from my neighbors and their local farms and businesses. Doing this not only gives me the peace of mind of knowing that I am feeding my family the freshest, best food I possibly can, but it also helps support the place that I now call home and those that have made their living off of this land and these waters for generations. I am doing the right thing for the environment, for my family, and for my community, and that is what what brings the smile to my face and makes me "excited like a little kid!" </div>
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I remember when we told some of our friends and acquaintances that we were moving to Hyde County. "Just for the weekends, right?" was the general response. No, we would say, for good. "Really?" would always come their incredulous response. "Well, what's there?" No, we had no family there, and we didn't know many people, but none of that mattered to us. This place spoke to us - this flat land of verdant fields, wet woods, cypress fringes, and waving golden marshlands. This place where I see more black bears walking edges of the roads than I see passing cars. This place where the Tundra swans sing you to sleep on late November nights. This place where my boys roam wild and free, faces sporting sticky brown Lake mud, warm blackberry juice, and careless smiles. Just like the Robert Frost poem from which Hyde County adopted its slogan, we too took the road less traveled by, and that has made all the difference.</div>
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I want to thank those of you who spend your precious time reading my thoughts and ramblings, and please feel free to drop me a line in the comments section. I would love to hear from you!Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03612319842439211873noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4499267963263868163.post-41007001348959569382012-07-05T17:16:00.001-04:002012-07-05T17:16:17.518-04:00Mattamuskeet Momma is Open for Business<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Today was a big day for the Mattamuskeet Momma venture</span>. We were visited by Sherry Batot, a Food Regulatory Specialist with the North Carolina Department of Agriculture and Consumer Services. Ms. Batot performed a thorough Home Processor Inspection, which consisted of checking my kitchen and pantry for many things, including cleanliness, dedicated business spaces for processing equipment and finished products, water supply, proper refrigeration, adequate and safe lighting, and proper facilities in the adjacent bathrooms. She also approved my product labels, and was a great source of information, help, and advice. The boys and I had spent the last two days organizing, re-organizing, and cleaning the kitchen. Not that the kitchen wasn't clean, mind you, but we wanted to make sure it was extra sparkling clean for the inspector's visit! I have never seen the boys so dedicated to helping me clean something. When Ms. Batot took a look at my Lazy Susan Tupperware cabinet, Greyson proudly exclaimed that he had organized it all by himself, which is no mean feat, as this is the cabinet that Eli hits on a daily basis. In about one minute, Eli can turn a perfectly organized cabinet into a landslide of plastic containers, strewing lids hither and yon from one end of the house to the other. After so many episodes of this, I must admit that I had taken to tossing the containers back into the cabinet in undignified heaps and shoving it closed with my foot. Greyson definitely earned his chocolate ice cream reward this afternoon!</div>
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What all of this means is that Mattamuskeet Momma is a North Carolina approved home processor for breads, preserves, jams and jellies, and that we can now sell our products. The boys were so excited, they wanted to jump in the car and go to the Farmer's Market<i> right now</i>! I had to tell them that the Belhaven market wasn't open today, and more importantly, we didn't have any preserves to sell yet! So Cole declared that tomorrow morning first thing we would venture into town and get our supplies, go back home, and get busy making jam. What kind of mother would I be to not agree with such enthusiasm from a six year entrepreneur? Speaking of enterprises, the boys' pumpkin patch is coming along beautifully, the plants already almost to Cole's waist. The sturdy vines are already sending out runners and are studded with male blossoms that have yet to open. A few female blossoms are starting to emerge, their bases already swollen with the promise of new pumpkins. A recent severe thunderstorm took its toll on two of our young plants, snapping them off cleanly at the base, while the rest remained, luckily, unscathed.</div>
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Our first order of business tomorrow upon returning home will be to transform some beautiful Hyde County blueberries into blueberry jam. Stumbling across Carawan's Blueberries in Swan Quarter was an unexpected delight. All last year, off and on, I had asked anyone and everyone if they could tell me where the nearest place to pick blueberries were. I got a few recommendations to try Grassy Ridge, the predominantly Mennonite area of Hyde County that I visited for some amazing strawberries about two years ago. I loaded up the boys in the van and we ventured out that way, hoping to come across a sign along our journey. As we passed peaceful farms and neat homesteads, along with the Rose Acre Egg Farm, we were hopeful that we would spot a homemade sign offering you-pick blueberries. Unfortunately neither the boys, with their faces smashed intently against the windows, nor I happened upon a blueberry farm, so I continued on to Plymouth to pick up some things at the local Piggly Wiggly. As we pulled out of the parking lot on our way home, I happened to see a little sign at the stoplight declaring "Carawan's Blueberries - We Pick, U Pick" with a phone number. I pulled into the nearest parking lot and dialed the number, only to find out that Carawan's was about fifteen minutes from my house on the other side of the lake. Only in my world do you have to drive an hour in the opposite direction to find out that what you were looking for was right down the street from home! </div>
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We crossed the Lake Road and went east along 264 until we passed Mattamuskeet Seafood. That's when we spotted the small, hand-lettered sign proclaiming simply "Blueberries" and pointing towards a dirt path skirting a corn field. We drove down the path and entered a clearing that the boys breathlessly declared as "heaven." Row after row of head and shoulder high blueberry bushes loaded with their deep indigo bounty greeted us. A small farm shed sported an old-fashioned basket scale, with the instructions to weigh our berries and place our money in the tin. We wasted no time, an armed with old plastic ice cream buckets, we commenced to picking. </div>
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This was my first time picking blueberries at a farm. I was used to picking my own berries at home from my knee-high spindly plants, and was usually ecstatic when I came away with a handful (which was then promptly eaten by one of the boys before I could make it into the house). We arrived at the field at 7;15, and I told the boys that the goal was to pick 10 pounds before the sun went down. We picked and picked some more, the boys surreptitiously shoving berries into their mouths whenever they thought I wasn't looking, though their moans of delight gave them away every time. Eli had no such qualms about hiding his berry eating from me, and promptly discarded the bucket in favor of the two-handed pick and shove-into-his-mouth method.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVD6tDXOI5HDAAke5r7f9e1x6qoyrtXkghy6CRIPqnEO2Kmzwf6F3wyGluGTBPMgBrvBU8Op3Vp0rQA6YLoKckyJkaGtohrq4KfST5EmciYmsJ73BOV690qnE0oqOugqFaGr4Hb9_Zp3E/s1600/IMG00400-20120621-2024.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="296" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVD6tDXOI5HDAAke5r7f9e1x6qoyrtXkghy6CRIPqnEO2Kmzwf6F3wyGluGTBPMgBrvBU8Op3Vp0rQA6YLoKckyJkaGtohrq4KfST5EmciYmsJ73BOV690qnE0oqOugqFaGr4Hb9_Zp3E/s400/IMG00400-20120621-2024.jpg" width="400" /></a>After the sun went down, we began to get nervous about achieving our 10 pound goal before dark. The boys asked if we were going to stay out here picking blueberries all night, and I urged them into double-time. Finally, we thought we might have enough and made our way to the scale. Our three buckets, and my estimation of what was residing in Eli's belly, came up to ten pounds, and we put our twenty dollars into the tin and headed for home. Cole asked "how come we didn't know about that place before," and I told him all that mattered was that we did now! I know that it sounds silly to say that our evening picking blueberries was one of the best ones that we have had since moving to Hyde County, but it's true. We laughed, made up blueberry picking songs, and had a contest to see who could pick the most. The boys couldn't stop talking - no one fought, no one cried, and Eli was content to roam, pick, and eat, settling down in the soft grass between bushes to rest in between blueberry binges. The boys said it must be Heaven the minute they stepped out of the van, and in a way, I think maybe they were right. </div>
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<br /></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03612319842439211873noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4499267963263868163.post-66393960321458833022012-06-21T15:27:00.001-04:002012-06-21T16:46:36.624-04:00Beautiful, Bountiful Beans<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqRjx7ESYkMaNlD-ANPT3AYP3z0d6vSstupO0WJ9r47EB5zOuoe373W7l5W_uKgOWUZSqXX482J8Jm_q6nNsq5PNELgDGYILUXaUGiMU6TfpfYqU7hGk9gJ7XvsaBkCnsSMhQtxmFnraI/s1600/047.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="236" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqRjx7ESYkMaNlD-ANPT3AYP3z0d6vSstupO0WJ9r47EB5zOuoe373W7l5W_uKgOWUZSqXX482J8Jm_q6nNsq5PNELgDGYILUXaUGiMU6TfpfYqU7hGk9gJ7XvsaBkCnsSMhQtxmFnraI/s320/047.JPG" width="320" /></a><span style="font-size: large;">The warmth of mid-June marks the beginning of the time of plenty within gardens and fields, and Hyde County is no exception.</span> Over the last two weeks, I have harvested pickling cucumbers, bell peppers, banana peppers, red potatoes, yellow summer squash, zucchini, strawberries, and peaches. The first blush has colored my Roma tomatoes, and cherry tomatoes are ripening by the juicy handful. The blackberries are slowly working their way from red to deep purple, tempting and jewel-like among gently bending branches. The Mattamuskeet Momma house has been a busy one, with cooking, eating, and preserving our bounty to last us the year long, and according to the boys, nothing is more fun than snap beans. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEith0mUIoNnIJGveKRa5Tu9C48ahtDA-hwbOPYacJScU05xlRz4gkl76bFPP4Loyh362lubC_Cwn_tcxArXv2iySznS0KGNogg6coRPCrV0Ufw_UlH1sFuHNRFcQVPso5b7SYBXF77RM4Y/s1600/071.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="background-color: white; clear: right; display: inline !important; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="148" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEith0mUIoNnIJGveKRa5Tu9C48ahtDA-hwbOPYacJScU05xlRz4gkl76bFPP4Loyh362lubC_Cwn_tcxArXv2iySznS0KGNogg6coRPCrV0Ufw_UlH1sFuHNRFcQVPso5b7SYBXF77RM4Y/s200/071.JPG" width="200" /></a>I do not plant snap beans in my garden for a couple of reasons. One is that to produce the amount of beans that my family can go through in one year will take more garden space than I am willing to dedicate to it at this point. Believe me, I tried with my first garden. I thought that I had planted more than enough green beans for dinners and the freezer and ended up scavenging through my bush beans to find enough for the pot that night! The main reason, however, is that Hyde County farmers do a splendid job of growing acres and acres of beautiful green beans just a few miles from my house. The arrival of the yellow bean-picker machines signify the time is at hand, and the rumble of eighteen-wheelers down the road, open trailers piled high with tender pods rallies me to load up the boys and head to Mattamuskeet Fresh Produce. A packer and shipper of Hyde County local produce, Mattamuskeet Fresh Produce handles a variety of vegetables, including cabbages, cucumbers, sweet corn, zucchini, squash, and of course, beans. My first year here, my Fairfield ladies in-the-know sent me down the road to purchase my first crate of snap beans, and I have been hooked ever since. The quality is always superb, the sorting is almost amazingly perfect, and the beans are delicious. This year, armed with my camera, my brood and I descended upon the packing plant. The owners welcomed us warmly and showed us the process from bean truck to bean crate.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The proud owners of Mattamuskeet Fresh Produce!</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The beans leave the trucks and enter the tumbler.</td></tr>
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The trucks pull around back, where the trailers loaded to the brim with just-picked beans are dumped into the tumbler. From the tumbler, the beans are then sent along conveyor belts to the sorters, a group of diligent workers that remove any beans that aren't up to quality standards. From there, the beans are ferried by additional belts into icy water for "hydro-cooling". This removes the heat from the fields, and ensures the beans stay fresh, plump, and perfectly delicious. The beans are then packed in crates and placed into waiting trucks. The process is a short one, extremely efficient, and is a great way to buy local beans, most of which are harvested from fields only a few miles in each direction from the plant. The boys love coming here to "see the machines" and I love coming home with top quality produce that had been picked from the fields maybe a half and hour before I arrived. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The beans are sorted by hand to ensure the best quality.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The beans are cooled, packed, and sent on their way!</td></tr>
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These beans came home with me, and for the bargain price of $30, I took home two crates which equals about 60 pounds of beans. At a cost of only 50 cents a pound, I will have a freezer full of beans for countless side dishes, soups, stews, and casseroles until June comes around once more. Of course, produce prices change frequently, so you can always call ahead to find out the prices that day, but I would pay a higher price with no hesitation for these plump pods of crunchy goodness. The best part of all of this is that I am helping to support local Hyde County farmers and businesses, something that I believe is key to learning how to live sustainably. It if doesn't come from our own gardens, then the next best thing that we can do is purchase produce from our local farms or businesses. With a little research, anyone can find great local food options without having to resort to purchasing supermarket produce that has traveled across the country, has spent days (if not longer) in transport from field to table, and contributes negatively to the health of our environment. Now that the boys and the beans are all loaded up in the mini-van, a short mile and a half drive sees us at home and ready to begin the fun!</div>
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The boys and I start an assembly line to get our beans ready for the freezer. Of course the question arises of "why freeze instead of can?" , and my answer to that boils down to personal preference and canning abilities. Beans, being a vegetable and low acid, require a pressure canner for safe home preservation, something that I do not have any experience with to date. Some of my older lady friends tell me that they have processed beans in boiling water canners for years with no negative side effects, but in my way of thinking, botulism only takes one mistake. To start on the assembly line, we decide who will be "snippers" and who will be "snappers". I remember my mom's hands flying through a bowl of beans - snap off the ends, snap in the middle, and done. I like to use a pair of kitchen shears to snip off the ends as the "snipper" and I then toss the whole bean in a pile in front of my "snapper" who breaks the bean in half and puts them in the bowl. The snapper is the best job for the youngest child, as directing them to break off the ends can result in too little or way too much being broken off the beans. Because the snipping takes longer than the snapping, it works best to have two on snipping. Cole volunteered for snip duty with me this year, and we quickly loaded up a pile of beans in front of Greyson. <br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNdWMI6KlJCFxgZmArOO1IZN0Ndh_Gt_28GGwqHOnM90Ly1PhnsRd9NRvntbt1HZo0RL_cbuxieubED9_8uuCpR8z7guIpIsTA8fYp5k-9xGywjrPZNknKarWYfn1Rk4D9ZaKVXQ1-BEg/s1600/052.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNdWMI6KlJCFxgZmArOO1IZN0Ndh_Gt_28GGwqHOnM90Ly1PhnsRd9NRvntbt1HZo0RL_cbuxieubED9_8uuCpR8z7guIpIsTA8fYp5k-9xGywjrPZNknKarWYfn1Rk4D9ZaKVXQ1-BEg/s320/052.JPG" width="238" /></a><br />
Eli did a little of everything - snapping, eating, throwing beans all over the porch, loading up the beans on the back of his toy trucks . . . In this day and age, people tend to reminisce about sitting on their grandmother's porch and snapping beans or shelling peas. There is something about a warm early summer day spent on a shady porch with your family all together working towards common purpose of putting fresh food aside for the winter. It is timeless, and I suppose if you ask 9 out of 10 mothers today if their children would help them snap a bushel or two of beans, the answer would be a resounding no. But I think, in a lot of cases, we sell our children short. If we, acting as parents, take the initiative to turn off the television and video games and say, "this is what we are going to do today, because I love you and I want to make sure that you eat healthy food," then we can start a critical dialogue with our children. I love my boys, and they are no different than other boys their age in terms of interests and energy. The difference is that we constantly talk about food - what is good for you and what isn't, where our food comes from, and why it is better for us and the world around us to grow our own food and eat locally and seasonally. At six and four, Cole and Greyson understand this and make observations and decisions of their own. At 20 months, Eli knows that fresh food looks better and tastes better. He will often be too full for dinner, as he frequently roams my gardens in the late afternoon, cheeks full as a squirrel with ripe berries or crunchy sweet peppers. It is up to us to take our role as parents seriously and lay the groundwork for our children to develop responsibility for their health, as well as for the health of the world in which they live.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Even Daddy gets into the act!<br />
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After the beans are all snipped and snapped, I get them ready for the freezer. The beans need to be blanched in boiling water for three minutes and then place in an ice bath to stop the cooking process, in order to ensure crisp, flavorful beans all winter. I use my huge canning pot, and shuttle beans bake and forth from pot to the ice bath set up in my big farmhouse sink. When the beans are blanched just right, they will turn an impossibly brilliant shade of green, glowing with the light that nature bestows upon fresh young grass or new leaves. <br />
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I let the beans drain in a large colander and then I place them into freezer bags. When all was said and done, I had 12 gallon bags of snaps for the freezer, a large pot simmering on the stove for dinner, and some great memories to share for years to come. Not bad for a day's worth of work. For as long as I can remember, my mom always made a big pot of snap beans for us to feed off of for a few days, and this is the same recipe that I prepare for my family. In the bottom of a large pot, I sautee about 6 strips of turkey bacon, diced into small pieces, until it is crisp and fragrant (in my mom's recipe it was ham, or country ham, or some type of smoked pork). I add the beans to the pot and put in enough water to cover them. I add salt, pepper, 3-4 cloves of fresh crushed garlic (yes, that's <i>my</i> garlic), five or six diced chopped new potatoes (yes, those are<i> my</i> potatoes - I know, I know, I am <i>way</i> too excited about my garden this year!), and let simmer all together until your desired firmness of beans is obtained (anywhere from half and hour on up). It is simple, delicious, filling, and so good for you!<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My mom's famous snaps and new potatoes - yum!</td></tr>
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Of course, some members in the family may prefer their snap beans raw, but who I am to argue with taste?</div>
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03612319842439211873noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4499267963263868163.post-15905103935799532282012-06-14T15:03:00.000-04:002012-06-19T17:40:34.766-04:00The Love Found in Gardens<div style="text-align: justify;">
A few days ago, I paid a visit to Betty Carawan, my neighbor and friend. Her husband, Bill, had recently passed away. Betty and Bill were among the first people to welcome us wholeheartedly to Hyde County, and I treasure every visit with them. Bill was a kind and gentle man, and always ready to talk gardening with me. He and Betty would stop by and admire my rookie gardening, and he would swear that I had the greenest thumb in the world. I loved to keep them supplied with my harvest, especially the cantaloupes and watermelons, just for the pleasure of hearing Bill tell me they were the best he had ever eaten. They would generously share their plums and apples with me, and I would see the two of them working in their own expansive garden companionably side by side, whenever I would pass their way. As Bill's health began to decline, the garden got smaller and I would see him outside less and less, though I always felt blessed to catch a glimpse of him seated on his walker, looking out almost reverently over grass, garden, orchard, and field. Betty told me that this spring he still talked about the garden, so she went out and planted a handful of tomatoes, peppers,cucumbers, and okra. His health became so bad that he never got a chance to go outside and see it, but it brought him comfort to know it was there. As I passed the little garden on my way home, I thought of the love she had put into that garden, and no elaborate memorial or headstone in the world could rival the perfect beautiful simplicity of those neat little rows. I can imagine that no tomatoes anywhere will taste as sweet as those that Betty planted for Bill.</div>
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Last night, I was among hundreds saying goodbye to my husband's cousin, John Lane, Jr. John was a Gates County farmer, by trade, heart, and soul. He was also one of gentlest and kindest men that I had ever had the pleasure of knowing, and he had the unique ability to make everyone feel good just for his presence. He welcomed me into the large and tightly knit Lane family with open arms. I had never experienced the love and closeness of an expanded family such as theirs, and he would never fail to put me at ease at gatherings with his quiet smile, kind blue eyes, and wonderful stories. When Cole was just learning how to walk, he would gaze upon John with his head tilted all the way back and in danger of tipping over on unsure toddler legs. His eyes would grow round when John scooped him up and carried him around, as if he were at the top of the world. John was 45, and there are no words to explain the unfairness of his being taken away so young and leaving behind this beautiful family who must now figure out where to go from here. As we drove up the lane to John and Kellie's house, I saw the corn standing tall in the fields that he had planted, along with thousands of other acres of crops across Gates County. I looked around at these wonderful people as they cried, hugged, and grieved together, and the love for this wonderful man was something so strong that you could almost touch it, breathe it in, and wrap it around you. He touched so many people in such an intricate, expansive network akin to the roots of the crops that he so carefully tended. John is there, and will always be - from the sandy soil, to green leaves of the young peanuts stretching out in endless rows, and to the sun, sky, and rain that watch over and nourish us all. </div>
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A few weeks ago, I took a handful of peanuts that had been a gift from the Lane's last Thanksgiving. The bulk had been used to feed my boys, from snacks to homemade peanut butter, but there were a few left over. I thought I would experiment to see if my Hyde County soil could grow peanuts, so I carefully planted two rows and waited. This morning I walked along my rows and saw the strong, young plants recently emerged, brilliant green leaflets waving in the wind. These plants come from the peanuts that John had harvested, grown from the peanut seeds that he had planted. With a little luck, I will harvest these peanuts this Fall. My boys will grow, nourished on homemade peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, and I will save some of those peanuts for the next year. Even in Hyde County, John's touch will be here, and I will tell my oldest son that our peanuts come from another oldest of three brothers, one who loved the land and one who loved his family, and one we were all lucky enough to have known.</div>
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I can't help but wonder, as I walk between my rows this gray morning, when it is that my last garden will be planted. None of us can ever know when our time here is done, but, if I had a choice, it would be some late June day well after the season's planting is done and the jars of the spring's strawberry preserves fill the cupboard. When all that is left is for the plants to grow healthy and strong, I will ask for the rains and gentle sun to fall upon my garden so that my family can pick basket upon basket. With each slice of tomato or crisp bite of pepper, I will be there, grown vibrant and alive from the love that I planted for them along with each precious seed. The immortality bestowed upon us by love is, indeed, a miraculous thing.</div>
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</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03612319842439211873noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4499267963263868163.post-76939674223784874212012-06-12T13:42:00.000-04:002012-06-12T19:38:54.553-04:00Lessons from the Garden<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: large;">Gardening with my boys is a constant learning experience,</span> and even as a former science teacher, I am in awe of the constant and varied lessons you can glean from the garden. On any given day you can teach a biology lesson, perform an agricultural science demonstration, or execute a chemistry experiment. The garden as a whole is a constant inspiration for environmental science and sustainability curricula, instilling an Aldo Leopold land ethic in even the youngest children. Sharing our bounty with our neighbors and those less fortunate in our community imparts compassion, generosity, and social responsibility. And now, in a small way, the garden and our hard work will become a lesson in entrepreneurism and financial management. After a long talk with Cole and Greyson, we have decided to lay the groundwork to sell some of the fruits of our labor at the local farmers market, and maybe even our own roadside stand. That's right, Mattamuskeet Momma is on its way to becoming a reality!</div>
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With a long summer stretching out ahead of us, and faced with the inevitable outcome of the boys getting on each others' nerves and then escalating into an all-out brawl, we discussed the need to have a focused "job" for the summer. They have just come to understand the value of money, and furiously stash away any dollars they earn like industrious squirrels. As it was a little late in the planting season to plant enough excess vegetables for regular trips to the Farmer's Markets, we decided this year we would start with pumpkins. We studied the seed catalogs and decided upon Connecticut Field Pumpkins, Lumina White Pumpkins, and Rouge Vif d'Etampes French Heirloom Pumpkins for our budding venture. I told the boys that these were their pumpkins, and as such, they had full responsibility for their production (with me as the on-call consultant, of course). We would have to prepare the beds, plant the seeds, weed and water as necessary, and if we were lucky enough, harvest and sell our pumpkins in the Fall. If they hold up their end of the bargain, all of the profits will be theirs. Cole and Greyson solemnly agreed to this venture, and we began clearing the new pumpkin beds. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoBRcYKUyiij-TawXnEOk1JUIPCeEEdvgQFDRiRWc8abpbWpBDGvRPjcSOJse2fmhIt4viUX97gnMddWxsae02Mt22LC9I-ho_rEY3yar7CnFr36Qu7_VSv6KEOOUcKKl8YlokQtUtMSk/s1600/IMG00365-20120607-1648.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; display: inline !important; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoBRcYKUyiij-TawXnEOk1JUIPCeEEdvgQFDRiRWc8abpbWpBDGvRPjcSOJse2fmhIt4viUX97gnMddWxsae02Mt22LC9I-ho_rEY3yar7CnFr36Qu7_VSv6KEOOUcKKl8YlokQtUtMSk/s400/IMG00365-20120607-1648.jpg" width="400" /></a>For those of you who may doubt if your children are old enough to help you with serious efforts in the garden, you will be amazed at what they want to do after a little time spent watching and instructing. Cole begged me to run the tiller, and after explaining all of its working parts to him and walking behind him with my hands on the throttle for a few passes, he was more than ready to finish the rest of the pumpkin bed. Though he is barely taller than the tiller itself, he did an amazing job, and the ground was fluffy, soft, and ready for our pumpkin seeds. The old tiller in the picture is my Dad's old Craftsman, the one that I wrote about in a previous post that I thought had moved on to the big garden in the sky. A friend of ours offered to work on the old gal, and he brought her back to me the next day, all smiles. One pull of the start cord had the tiller purring like I had never witnessed before, and I stood dumbfounded at its resurrection. He said the carburetor was beyond repair, but she still had some life left in her and to take advantage of it while it lasted. It was a great moment for me to teach my oldest son how to till up the earth to plant a garden on the same machine that my father taught me. Life, growth, death, and the birth of new generations - there is no better teacher than the garden on the cycles, continuity, and wonder of life.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSUQESdW-EH3v86fA_A1scLna6yxbNeYL6NnfN7gHHyV_AgOEQ5cezyknpKz76O5WlDGPonAnwDvMuycyYF6Zgi2_jxITKZ9rfECQylrwQQOYdpCyw-QptNGaUkAw_KoCTJmeJdtvG4JQ/s1600/IMG00369-20120611-1022.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSUQESdW-EH3v86fA_A1scLna6yxbNeYL6NnfN7gHHyV_AgOEQ5cezyknpKz76O5WlDGPonAnwDvMuycyYF6Zgi2_jxITKZ9rfECQylrwQQOYdpCyw-QptNGaUkAw_KoCTJmeJdtvG4JQ/s320/IMG00369-20120611-1022.jpg" width="320" /></a>So, the boys have tilled, hilled, and planted their pumpkin patch, and now await the imminent rains to awaken our seeds. We have a long summer of weeding ahead of us, and I am sure at times their enthusiasm will wax and wane. But this garden, and this life, is all one continuous experiment in which we constantly make our observations, analyze our outputs, and try, try again. The garden also shows me the nature of my boys' personalities in the little ways that they go about their work. Cole could till the garden all day without tiring, but threw the seeds in their hills haphazardly, with a unconcerned pat or two. Greyson placed each seed in its individual spot with the precision of surgeon, and covered them up just as carefully. Eli ran to each hill and patted the dirt on top of each one saying "There. There." and clapped his hands after he was done. Will our pumpkins make it through the summer? We will have any to harvest? Will anyone even want to buy our pumpkins? Who knows. But we are together, with our hands in the soil and working towards a common purpose. That is the profit that I get to collect from our pumpkin patch.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiY-DDAPM07etqd88rWNCFKNECbMOASOEEOaChCsftK1owxJucaX9IWMdcUA-RprzForLk0zpoReYcH5y1AtqDi-uqvDCPs66PIpLv8wLq_jeBSj-qmB2AwdnSApD3UKHMTp-WD1NCJgYM/s1600/IMG00373-20120611-1034.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiY-DDAPM07etqd88rWNCFKNECbMOASOEEOaChCsftK1owxJucaX9IWMdcUA-RprzForLk0zpoReYcH5y1AtqDi-uqvDCPs66PIpLv8wLq_jeBSj-qmB2AwdnSApD3UKHMTp-WD1NCJgYM/s320/IMG00373-20120611-1034.jpg" width="320" /></a>And as for me, I have worked to develop our Mattamuskeet Momma Preserves and Natural Products business plan, and have submitted it, with my application, labels, and recipes to the North Carolina Department of Agriculture and Consumer Services. We will have a home kitchen inspection soon, and if all goes well, Mattamuskeet Momma preserves and breads will be available along side of our pumpkins! The idea behind Mattamuskeet Momma products is that the food that we feed our children and ourselves should be pure, local, and grown through sustainable practices that preserve our local ecosystems. Again, who knows where this venture will take me, but if anything, the garden has taught me that you never know unless you try.</div>
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<br /></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03612319842439211873noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4499267963263868163.post-11914514608044661322012-06-11T14:18:00.001-04:002012-06-11T14:24:48.573-04:00Of Garlic, Garden Pests, and Companion Plantings<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjouatha5hwy7_iWyYeGT2ZP7TwuDp-mVGj_vXGNHau1XL_xM3UbPUy20cpLSIho75pl0ub0jFQFtq0924YEzg2kDjzFvXvXA8MhMUVKB4L7t1Bd8cMSHcyarS3dngsbyPAqhDKbQBpBh4/s1600/IMG00346-20120529-1630.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjouatha5hwy7_iWyYeGT2ZP7TwuDp-mVGj_vXGNHau1XL_xM3UbPUy20cpLSIho75pl0ub0jFQFtq0924YEzg2kDjzFvXvXA8MhMUVKB4L7t1Bd8cMSHcyarS3dngsbyPAqhDKbQBpBh4/s400/IMG00346-20120529-1630.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">This year was my first attempt at growing garlic. </span>I use my fair share of garlic, don't get me wrong, but for me, I really just liked the idea of growing garlic. Maybe it was the vision of beautiful garlic braids hanging in my pantry (Oh, yes, lovely isn't it? That's<i> my garlic</i>, you know . . .), but, regardless the motivation, in November I broke a spare garlic head into 13 cloves and planted them, pointy side up, into my raised beds. I wasn't sure what the outcome was going to be, but I was rewarded in February with green shoots coming up in the garden. Last week, the majority of the leaves had started to turn brown, so I deemed it time to dig the garlic. Thirteen beautiful heads of garlic were the reward of my very little efforts. I have them spread out in the garden shed now, drying and curing where the air circulation is good, and when they are dry I will attempt my very first garlic braid. Stay tuned! I plan to expand my efforts this Fall and try some different varieties, like Elephant Garlic, but as far as experiments go, you can't beat paying 50 cents at the grocery store for one head of garlic and having it produce 13 more!</div>
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I was also interested in incorporating garlic as a natural pest repellant in the garden. I had been doing some research on companion plantings, where certain combinations of vegetables, herbs, and flowers are grown together to provide natural insect and disease resistance. (A great older article on this idea can be found <a href="http://www.motherearthnews.com/organic-gardening/carrots-love-tomatoes-companion-planting-for-a-healthy-garden-zb0z11zbug.aspx">here</a> from the <i>Mother Earth News</i> archives) Garlic is cited over and over again concerning its effectiveness against mosquitoes and other insects. Another article stated that the smell of growing garlic would even deter garden pests of the mammalian persuasion away from garden beds. Unfortunately the squirrels and opossums in my yard missed that particular article, and as such, scampered frequently through my garlic bed and into the neighboring strawberries. However, I still the believe that the idea is an incredibly beneficial one to incorporate into gardening plans, if even just for the idea of separating your plantings to reduce the impact of pests of a particular crop. </div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVOLx7HMfHCo3twGPCHd0M4O62M1LthHIsSpEZywBAiS4OrXWn6Tlz-QifLXwtwK3BpQatYrsKQM-C_HSXka3KrI5qjFsQ1CfUqoKfMI2BS_PJgFx_hE3KFqV0fGZKv3BEYIcPttph7QM/s1600/IMG00331-20120520-1327.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVOLx7HMfHCo3twGPCHd0M4O62M1LthHIsSpEZywBAiS4OrXWn6Tlz-QifLXwtwK3BpQatYrsKQM-C_HSXka3KrI5qjFsQ1CfUqoKfMI2BS_PJgFx_hE3KFqV0fGZKv3BEYIcPttph7QM/s320/IMG00331-20120520-1327.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
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This idea can be very important when dealing with pests such as the squash vine borer. Anyone who has ever grown squash knows the heartbreak of seeing your plants wither and die seemingly out of nowhere. A little investigation yields the grainy entrance wounds along the base of the plant stems, the sure-fire indicator that the vine borer larva is hungrily at work. Attempts to cut into the stems, kill the borers and save the plants are a crapshoot at best, and there is no greater frustration than losing an entire pumpkin plant well before its time because of an invasion. The vine borer adults are a type of seslid moth, though they resemble wasps with their scarlet legs and buzzy movements. They are easy to spot in the garden, and a little regular patrolling will let you know when they have arrived. Because the adults are attracted to the color yellow, yellow bowls filled with water work as borer traps and will help alert you to their presence, though by no means will it catch them all before eggs are laid and the damage is done. Instead of the big blocks of summer squash that I usually grow in the garden, this year I interspersed my plantings with rows of carrots and butternut squash, a naturally borer-resistant squash due to its solid stem. This made it much easier to spot the adults, which I promptly smashed on every leaf that I caught them lolling about on. Not only is the method effective for reducing populations, but it is extremely personally satisfying for anyone with a vine borer vendetta. It is the second week of June and all of my plants are healthy and borer-free to date, though I am still vigilant. I'm not sure what effect the carrots may have had on my healthy squash so far, but I am enjoying my harvest. An old article that I recently came across recommends borage, marigold, nasturtium, and oregano as allies to deter squash bugs, which is something that I will try next year. </div>
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I will also be incorporating the idea of companion planting if I decide to plant another spring crop of broccoli next year. If you read my earlier post, you remember my cabbage worm encounters. I have read that mint, thyme, and tansy deter cabbage worms and moths, so I will experiment with those combinations to see if they bear fruit (and not worms). Now if anyone has any suggestions for <i>effective</i> companion plantings to ward off opossums, I am all ears . . .</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8I6uKVj2pulC3hWGtSthe0oNVUpuYXMVC9-5NV1HMzBPY4_BX1UQWlkhjom-e3xZFNshdXShPFujljqGkA8KIQUG7vm9s10EYTtE1ljuMOZAizWqy9GEMC_YS7hzA2sOVoPMfZNGCicE/s1600/IMG00323-20120517-1058.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8I6uKVj2pulC3hWGtSthe0oNVUpuYXMVC9-5NV1HMzBPY4_BX1UQWlkhjom-e3xZFNshdXShPFujljqGkA8KIQUG7vm9s10EYTtE1ljuMOZAizWqy9GEMC_YS7hzA2sOVoPMfZNGCicE/s400/IMG00323-20120517-1058.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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Worry not, animal lovers, this guy and four of his friends (so far) were humanely relocated to a big block of swampy woods a few miles away where they can roam to their hearts content and leave my strawberries in peace! I know that some of you out there may not agree with my methods, but when it comes to choosing between that little guy and this little one on who gets the strawberries . . .</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5CLC1JJvm84nkZSV0dmgOUOd11ZcSKnaZPbBDaU15abPJxYq1OWDDpRRoBT-vT_v9PsARqC4S9_MygA9DSouZdau8f2WnnPeGKjCz9dC9Y2cTtUDLgO2nvN3vzZ8LPQqOy-cpyucpBEY/s1600/IMG00362-20120607-0908.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5CLC1JJvm84nkZSV0dmgOUOd11ZcSKnaZPbBDaU15abPJxYq1OWDDpRRoBT-vT_v9PsARqC4S9_MygA9DSouZdau8f2WnnPeGKjCz9dC9Y2cTtUDLgO2nvN3vzZ8LPQqOy-cpyucpBEY/s400/IMG00362-20120607-0908.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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Eli will win every time!</div>
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03612319842439211873noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4499267963263868163.post-77572479254647580082012-06-01T10:24:00.002-04:002012-06-01T13:15:56.711-04:00A Fruitful Morning<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTKleKLwL7mXoteXPv1EeSPzdbvl_VX2c6J80PaBPgXdAUfJ6NAfHBazHG4MtxRW4RteUZ3LAbfDd6kkMKBR6C-FMj5ds4pIUgq6bSQzyqoqWTyu-_fE2QjSSLazPcMkPmIsPXQT00ftE/s1600/DSCN0593.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTKleKLwL7mXoteXPv1EeSPzdbvl_VX2c6J80PaBPgXdAUfJ6NAfHBazHG4MtxRW4RteUZ3LAbfDd6kkMKBR6C-FMj5ds4pIUgq6bSQzyqoqWTyu-_fE2QjSSLazPcMkPmIsPXQT00ftE/s400/DSCN0593.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Eli and I were busy picking strawberries from our little patch this morning.</span> Well, I was busy picking and Eli was busy eating! After getting only a handful or two last year, the strawberries have outdone themselves this season. I had an early harvest at the end of April, and after shortcakes, pies, fruit salads, and 6 half-pint jars of preserves, I thought I had a pretty good spring. Then three weeks ago, the strawberry plants were once again filled with drifts of white blossoms, cheery yellow centers echoing the late spring sunshine. Each of these blossoms transformed into hard, green fruits which, with sun, plentiful rain, and non-stop squirrel patrol, became this morning's lush, ruby-bright bounty.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmPMtpJtwPTy1truGPL8YaKrQecOaoSr-DP8-do_2zELDDvGsUNO4EO4UsqGnOGMz-6vb2Y7NydONmXM-ygstf8sLNfMTr6dNc9plU9UluDboLAHWs5WKfdBVtZeETm7NMtsyKwu4LJmo/s1600/DSCN0598.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmPMtpJtwPTy1truGPL8YaKrQecOaoSr-DP8-do_2zELDDvGsUNO4EO4UsqGnOGMz-6vb2Y7NydONmXM-ygstf8sLNfMTr6dNc9plU9UluDboLAHWs5WKfdBVtZeETm7NMtsyKwu4LJmo/s400/DSCN0598.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>
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Nothing says happiness quite like a baby with a strawberry in each hand and juice dribbling down his chin! I planted a mixture of ever-bearing and June-bearing strawberries, hoping to get a heavy crop for preserves in the early spring and handfuls to munch on through out the summer. Quinault and Ozark Beauty are my two ever-bearing varieties, and All-Star and Festival are the June-bearers, though I picked strawberries from every single one of my plants this morning. The bulk of my plants are bedded on black plastic, and I have found that this is the best way to keep weeds down, keep the berries relatively dirt and bug-free, and keep the shallow root systems of the plants moist and warm. Strawberries are members of the Rosaceae, or Rose, Farmily, and the Genus <i>Fragaria, </i>derived from the Latin word for "fragrant." After an hour spent among the plants, enclosed in the heady aroma of sun-warmed berries so ripe that the merest touch stains fingers red with juicy syrup, I can think of no more fitting a name.</div>
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The strawberry is a unique plant, in that the parent plant sends out "daughter" plants on runners. The runners feed the daughter plants until the roots come in contact with the soil and the new plant is established. You can allow the daughter plants to establish on their own if your strawberries are bedded in the soil without plastic. Last year I snipped off the daughter plants that branched out in all directions across my plastic and relocated them to a raised bed, where I now have an additional two row of plants which all contributed to this morning's harvest. Strawberries are among the easiest and most-rewarding plants to grow, and I recommend even the novice gardener to try a few plants. Great information for growing strawberries can be found at <a href="http://strawberryplants.org/">http://strawberryplants.org</a> and many other gardening sites. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieS1CqMRIqgsVQ8266R5-rad4eHULhQBrGZzTvZaZVqKO2MPHIWe1PELRcqdK-u7z28QMvaj5Jmg1rNJ2eA_zB_xU37arFb01cuDjSnQK2Ws2GWhuJwxx6n0zRB30RNbWDnr68XDLvHc4/s1600/DSCN0533.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieS1CqMRIqgsVQ8266R5-rad4eHULhQBrGZzTvZaZVqKO2MPHIWe1PELRcqdK-u7z28QMvaj5Jmg1rNJ2eA_zB_xU37arFb01cuDjSnQK2Ws2GWhuJwxx6n0zRB30RNbWDnr68XDLvHc4/s320/DSCN0533.JPG" width="320" /></a>For me, I am now off to make more strawberry preserves! The boys (including my husband) have reduced my 6 half-pints to 2, so thank goodness the strawberries saw fit to produce again! Making strawberry preserves is simple, and all you have to remember is the"rule of 2" - 2 cups of strawberries, 2 cups of sugar, and 2 teaspoons of lemon juice. Cook the mixture slowly, stirring frequently over medium to low heat until it begins to coat the spoon. The preserves take on an impossibly deep garnet shine when they are just ready. You can then process your preserves in a hot water bath for 10 minutes and you're done. Done, that is, until the boys raid the cupboard again!</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVMv5y35NZCmvv8tH_5gnr2N1fEoCUOLYorPKWvrXnTkfXGTIZVpKw48yNAWd8MCN5a71beXJurFhK8eDtJfIS118SiqKPiXZAsR3VA4fmmJqYhgv1-Ze5acmcJluRzv_2KfNh2XLW99k/s1600/DSCN0591.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVMv5y35NZCmvv8tH_5gnr2N1fEoCUOLYorPKWvrXnTkfXGTIZVpKw48yNAWd8MCN5a71beXJurFhK8eDtJfIS118SiqKPiXZAsR3VA4fmmJqYhgv1-Ze5acmcJluRzv_2KfNh2XLW99k/s400/DSCN0591.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03612319842439211873noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4499267963263868163.post-8028213212262394292012-05-29T11:46:00.002-04:002012-05-29T14:03:22.918-04:00Making bread should not be this difficult . . .<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Of all the skills necessary to learn along the path to self-sustainability, I thought that learning how to bake your own bread was one of the most critical ones. </span> Humans had been making bread in some shape or form since early on in our existence, so why in the world should I pay $3.00 in the grocery store for a spongy loaf filled with preservatives? Of course, as with all things, bread making is easier said than done until you learn the method that works for you. Over the years I had tried unsuccessfully to make bread (without the assistance of a bread machine) and ended up with disaster after disaster. The yeast didn't activate, the dough didn't rise,the dough rose too much, fell out of the pan and oozed all over the oven . . . After removing yet another rock hard, flat, and extremely yeasty-smelling loaf out of the oven, this basic life skill was becoming a sore point with me. What was it that every frontierswoman knew that I, for the life of me, could not figure out? About to throw in the towel and resign my family to a life of over-priced, under-flavored store-bought bread, I stumbled across yet another bread recipe on AllRecipes.com for Simple Whole Wheat Bread. The only reason that motivated me to try again were the especially tempting photos attached of golden loaves shiny with butter, the scent of warm bread almost rising from my laptop. That, and the comments of about 1,000 people who had successfully made bread with the recipe. Come on, a thousand people had made bread with this recipe! If I could not pull this one off, then it was time to accept my shortcomings and deal with my grocery store-dependency.</div>
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On a whim, when loading up with supplies at the store, I grabbed a bag of Gold Medal Better for Bread Flour, and a jar of Fleischmann's Bread Machine Yeast. Back at home, I followed the recipe to the letter, and to my family's amazement, produced three beautiful, crusty, perfect loaves of bread from my oven. I could have wept with joy(and I actually might have a little, though I hid it so no one would make fun of me crying over bread for heaven's sake). I know that there are those of you out there like me, who have attempted something that you feel is so basic over and over again, just to meet with terrible results time and again! The part of me that is the over-achiever could not handle this total inability to transform a handful of ingredients into something edible for my family. So, for those kindred souls, print out the recipe below and never lose it!</div>
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Simple Whole Wheat Bread</h3>
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Ingredients</h3>
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<li class="plaincharacterwrap ingredient" style="border: 0px; line-height: 16px; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; overflow: hidden; padding: 0px; text-align: center; word-wrap: break-word;">3 cups warm water (110 degrees F/45 degrees C)</li>
<li class="plaincharacterwrap ingredient" style="border: 0px; line-height: 16px; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; overflow: hidden; padding: 0px; text-align: center; word-wrap: break-word;">2 (.25 ounce) packages active dry yeast</li>
<li class="plaincharacterwrap ingredient" style="border: 0px; line-height: 16px; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; overflow: hidden; padding: 0px; text-align: center; word-wrap: break-word;">1/3 cup honey</li>
<li class="plaincharacterwrap ingredient" style="border: 0px; line-height: 16px; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; overflow: hidden; padding: 0px; text-align: center; word-wrap: break-word;">5 cups bread flour</li>
<li class="plaincharacterwrap ingredient" style="border: 0px; line-height: 16px; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; overflow: hidden; padding: 0px; text-align: center; word-wrap: break-word;">3 tablespoons butter, melted</li>
<li class="plaincharacterwrap ingredient" style="border: 0px; line-height: 16px; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; overflow: hidden; padding: 0px; text-align: center; word-wrap: break-word;">1/3 cup honey</li>
<li class="plaincharacterwrap ingredient" style="border: 0px; line-height: 16px; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; overflow: hidden; padding: 0px; text-align: center; word-wrap: break-word;">1 tablespoon salt</li>
<li class="plaincharacterwrap ingredient" style="border: 0px; line-height: 16px; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; overflow: hidden; padding: 0px; text-align: center; word-wrap: break-word;">3 1/2 cups whole wheat flour</li>
<li class="plaincharacterwrap ingredient" style="border: 0px; line-height: 16px; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; overflow: hidden; padding: 0px; text-align: center; word-wrap: break-word;">2 tablespoons butter, melted</li>
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Directions</h3>
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<li style="border: 0px; line-height: 16px; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px;"><span class="plaincharacterwrap break" style="border: 0px; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; overflow: hidden; padding: 0px; word-wrap: break-word;">In a large bowl, mix warm water, yeast, and 1/3 cup honey. Add 5 cups white bread flour, and stir to combine. Let set for 30 minutes, or until big and bubbly.</span></li>
<li style="border: 0px; line-height: 16px; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px;"><span class="plaincharacterwrap break" style="border: 0px; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; overflow: hidden; padding: 0px; word-wrap: break-word;">Mix in 3 tablespoons melted butter, 1/3 cup honey, and salt. Stir in 2 cups whole wheat flour. Flour a flat surface and knead with whole wheat flour until not real sticky - just pulling away from the counter, but still sticky to touch. This may take an additional 2 to 4 cups of whole wheat flour. Place in a greased bowl, turning once to coat the surface of the dough. Cover with a dishtowel. Let rise in a warm place until doubled.</span></li>
<li style="border: 0px; line-height: 16px; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px;"><span class="plaincharacterwrap break" style="border: 0px; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; overflow: hidden; padding: 0px; word-wrap: break-word;">Punch down, and divide into 3 loaves. Place in greased 9 x 5 inch loaf pans, and allow to rise until dough has topped the pans by one inch.</span></li>
<li style="border: 0px; line-height: 16px; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px;"><span class="plaincharacterwrap break" style="border: 0px; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; overflow: hidden; padding: 0px; word-wrap: break-word;">Bake at 350 degrees F (175 degrees C) for 25 to 30 minutes; do not overbake. Lightly brush the tops of loaves with 2 tablespoons melted butter or margarine when done to prevent crust from getting hard. Cool completely.</span></li>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIBuixl10UnJl8X805j8G7vptfIvX7ff4aJd-72V6722fFBqe65ENOUwrdX0v2Tg-7rqt-XaLCtTCzt5yBtp7fztiR-WCEWpuaAO1-vvmRcvz3USyCYIqU3AlSfm17d6dbtcV7v0BflIw/s1600/DSCN0539.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIBuixl10UnJl8X805j8G7vptfIvX7ff4aJd-72V6722fFBqe65ENOUwrdX0v2Tg-7rqt-XaLCtTCzt5yBtp7fztiR-WCEWpuaAO1-vvmRcvz3USyCYIqU3AlSfm17d6dbtcV7v0BflIw/s320/DSCN0539.JPG" width="240" /></a>You can also go to allrecipes.com for this recipe at <a href="http://allrecipes.com/recipe/simple-whole-wheat-bread/detail.aspx">http://allrecipes.com/recipe/simple-whole-wheat-bread/detail.aspx</a> and tell Ms. Nita Crabb that she is a bread goddess and thank you, thank you, thank you! I will say that the Fleischmann's yeast and the Gold Medal Bread Flour are now an indispensable part of my bread routine and everything that I have made with those two products together has risen perfectly, so if you are still meeting with disaster, try these products! It also helps to have volunteers to help knead the bread. . .</div>
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Because of this small success, I have made the commitment to end my bread-dependence at the grocery store. It has been a few months so far, and I have yet to buy a loaf. The boys love it and say "Momma's bread is much better than store bread!" through mouths crammed with warm, fluffy goodness. Each recipe makes 3 loaves, so I put the other two into the refrigerator to keep fresh until we need them. I'm baking bread every 2-4 days, depending on how quickly it disappears!</div>
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There are three heavenly loaves just out of the oven! I know that some people might be wondering why I am driven to do this. Believe me, I am not a person with idle time on my hands that needs to be filled! Yes, it would be absolutely easier to go buy a loaf of bread at the store. Making your own bread saves money, as a bag of flour sells for about $3.30, and I can produce at least 9 loaves from that bag. However, economics alone is not the driving factor that makes me do this. My boys were eating their lunch the other day, which was the tried-and-true kid staple of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. It hit me that everything they were eating I had made - the peanut butter, the strawberry preserves, and yes, the bread. I knew exactly what was in the food they were eating. The only way it could have possibly been better is if I had grown my own wheat and milled my own flour (something I am reading about, but have yet to take on!) I can't begin to describe the feeling of pride that came from that simple realization. These boys are the reason why I do everything that I do - for their health, their safety, and their future. There is no greater purpose that I can imagine.</div>
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</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03612319842439211873noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4499267963263868163.post-483298306163080372012-05-22T14:33:00.001-04:002012-05-22T16:35:27.234-04:00The First Spring Broccoli Harvest<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="text-align: justify;">One of my first major acts as a person on the path to a sustainable lifestyle was to, of course, subscribe to </span><i style="text-align: justify;">Mother Earth News. </i><span style="text-align: justify;">This magazine is the do-it-yourselfers Bible, with articles on everything from gardening and preserving to building your own solar panels or wood-fired hot tub (no kidding!). I subscribed to their garden planning tool, entered my garden dimensions, and got to work moving around little icons for broccoli, squash,tomatoes, cucumbers, anything and everything. What resulted was a beautiful blueprint for my garden with correct plant spacings, estimated planting times, and ideas for crop rotations. Unfortunately, the incredibly helpful garden planner does not adjust itself for user error, including the inability to place rows and plants at appropriate distances from each other or thin seedlings whatsoever, because it was "a really healthy looking little plant, and you never know, one of the others might die . . ." This resulted in my first year of the big garden transforming into a riotous jungle by June, with squashes growing in the watermelons and watermelons growing around the cucumbers and pumpkins growing on top of everything. When Dad asked what exactly was the sort of plan that I was following for my garden layout, I emphatically pronounced that I had planned the garden exactly this way so that I would not have to weed so much and I attempted to huff away. In reality, I stumbled through the knee deep undergrowth, tripping frequently while attempting to keep my wounded dignity intact. This year, I tried to be a little sterner with the thinnings (something that I still find painful), and as of today I can actually walk through about 80% of the garden without being tripped up by sneaking sqaush vines among the broccoli. It is indeed a personal triumph.</span></div>
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Yesterday, the boys and I deemed the bulk of the broccoli ready to harvest. Greyson and 19-month old Eli backed their Gator up to the garden and loaded up for me. We carried armful by armful of heavy-headed broccoli into the kitchen. For the first time in my life I had harvested more broccoli at one time than we could eat at one sitting. The point of my Mattamuskeet Momma experiment is to grow, make and otherwise locate as much local food as possible, and hopefully the bulk would be as local as our backyard. In order to feed my family of 5 throughout the year, I needed to become a master at food preservation. My one stop source for all things food preservation can be found at <a href="http://nchfp.uga.edu/">http://nchfp.uga.edu/</a> The National Center for Home Food Preservation. Under "How do I freeze?" I chose broccoli and followed the instructions. Interestingly enough, one of the first steps was to immerse my broccoli in a brine of salt water to remove insects. I gave the broccoli a once over and did not see any obvious bugs, but I decided to follow directions.</div>
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I heated up the water for the blanching process while the broccoli enjoyed its brine bath. As I started shuttling the broccoli from the sink into the waiting pots, I began to see little green floating worms every so often. Now, I had just been congratulating myself on how bug-free my produce has been thus far this year without the use of any organic pest controls. I turned to trusty Google and found the wormy green villains in countless webpages - the caterpillar of the Cabbage White Butterfly. Nasty little things.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCiehAVChnY0bOtDabLOyqFfxpHaLzSP8f1Tben5z0LiBCo3-6hkQ883BWVz8GpxccmYfEfKP0c7b17mwML-eoME_l1EfDVYXaEbsV_8vIKUcAVV_m6Eyf4kcjK_0O79ruQ3tNLoNn6fs/s1600/20090609caterpillar.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: justify;"><img border="0" height="152" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCiehAVChnY0bOtDabLOyqFfxpHaLzSP8f1Tben5z0LiBCo3-6hkQ883BWVz8GpxccmYfEfKP0c7b17mwML-eoME_l1EfDVYXaEbsV_8vIKUcAVV_m6Eyf4kcjK_0O79ruQ3tNLoNn6fs/s200/20090609caterpillar.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
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Regardless, I carried on with the blanching (three minutes in boiling water) until my broccoli florets were a beautiful emerald green. Thankfully, any cabbage worms that made it through the brine bath were blanched a lovely pale shade of greenish-white, which made them quite easy to pick off. I am attempting to be very Earth Mother cavalier about this, but honestly, the little buggers did trigger my involuntary gag reflex from time to time. I was thankful that I did not have an epidemic of the monsters. From blanching, the broccoli headed into an ice bath to stop the cooking process. </div>
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Though I know this is a necessary step in getting the broccoli ready for the freezer, it also served as yet another soak to get rid of any potential blanched worm hangers-on. I feel a little unsettled that none of my home preservation handbooks prepared me for the possibility of being made slightly nauseous during the noble quest to provide healthy, home-grown food for my family. I will consider working on an article entitled "How to Freeze Broccoli, Not Worms" or "How to Freeze Broccoli and Still Want to Eat it Later." Finally, after careful soaking, rinsing, dipping, shaking, and intense floret-by-floret scrutiny (Here's a tip for my future article: "I find it helpful to shake the florets by the heads, not the stalks, so that any blanched cabbage worm corpses can fall freely into the ice bath, rather than getting hung up in the heads. This avoids the situation precipitating into your 6 year old son finding the worms among his broccoli and cheese at dinner and, after much shrieking, vowing never to eat vegetables again."). After all of this, the end result was four gallon freezer bags of beautiful worm-free broccoli (99% sure about that . . .) </div>
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This process was indeed a learning one! The conclusions of the Mattamuskeet Momma Spring Broccoli experiment were:</div>
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1) Do not eat a large breakfast before processing unsprayed broccoli heads.</div>
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2) Be prepared for the odor of cooked broccoli to permeate every corner of your home. (Febreeze may not be quite as effective in this instance as is normally the case, and I am left with the odiferous blend of Lavender Vanilla and Comfort and Broccoli, which is definitely not comforting . . .)<br />
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3) Look into organic broccoli pesticide options (I hear Neem oil may work. Row covers as well, but I am not yet into that stage of gardening)</div>
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3)Send your children into the garden early and often for a "Butterfly Hunt" armed with nets, tennis rackets, whiffleball bats, etc., in order to whack the white moths before they can lay their eggs. </div>
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4) PLANT BROCCOLI IN THE FALL!!!.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHYiW3H2Zala4RzyUQKyelJXxdrbM5ihEQzBmsVItXStOIj6lzfxvFKhuwNSzMX0E49HEVKUmpyLd7uy_upkIodFcEQ11j9xihHZnAjiM4pi8Tnj16CLujE80wXNJfFWzY68uqzA1StBI/s1600/cabbag10.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="224" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHYiW3H2Zala4RzyUQKyelJXxdrbM5ihEQzBmsVItXStOIj6lzfxvFKhuwNSzMX0E49HEVKUmpyLd7uy_upkIodFcEQ11j9xihHZnAjiM4pi8Tnj16CLujE80wXNJfFWzY68uqzA1StBI/s320/cabbag10.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
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<br /></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03612319842439211873noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4499267963263868163.post-77027388721236570732012-05-20T18:40:00.000-04:002012-05-22T16:17:59.662-04:00The "big garden" is born . . .<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: large;">It is amazing how many volunteers I have to help in the garden when a tractor is involved.</span> Armed with his recently acquired New Holland tractor and disc, my husband would probably have readily agreed to plow up the entire yard had I but asked. As it was, I marked off a small section of ground and set Ed to the task of breaking up a workable rectangle for me, all the while executing impossibly tight turns to avoid taking out a corner of the garden shed on one end and a telephone pole on the other. After countless passes, the stubborn wiregrass let loose its tenacious grip and I was left with my own 60' by 30' block of rich, black Hyde County earth. Ed and the boys made one more pass "just to smooth it out" before sending Ol' Blue back to the barn. One's luck, however, can only just go so far, and the last turn of the tractor and disc was met with the rending sound of metal as the pole holding our DirecTV dish went crashing to the ground. After much pushing, pulling, and kicking, my husband pronounced the dish "good as new," his words belied by the drunken swinging of the dish, streaked with dirt and festooned with streamers of grass. In my experience, customer service representatives in India have a great sense of humor, and the repair man was scheduled at no charge.</div>
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After relaying the status of my garden to my on-call garden expert, a.k.a Dad, he deemed that the garden could not progress without being gone over with a tiller and then neatly rowed up. He, of course, volunteered for this duty (see the trend here - men, volunteer, "power" gardening . . .) He and my mom made the trip from Knotts Island the next weekend with his battered old Craftsman tiller. He and I unloaded the beast from the back of truck and got to work. Well, Dad got to work. Remember that I had been more of an observer than gardener when it came to my Dad's type of gardening? After about 20 minutes of watching him man-handle the roaring machine of whirling teeth through my garden, I thought that didn't look so hard after all and gamely volunteered to finish my garden. In case you had ever wondered what exactly it might feel like to be inside one of those paint shakers that you see whirring away at your local home improvement store, grab a hold of an old front-tine tiller. An hour, two numb arms, four ground molars, and 50% temporary hearing loss later, I stood beside my Dad and gazed proudly upon the fluffy soil that was to become my "big" garden. I thought that I would go over one more spot, "just to smooth it out," and tried to restart the tiller. You would have thought I would have remembered the danger in this type of behavior (see above). The old machine gave a cough, belched a small puff of black smoke, and was quiet, never to start again. I like to think of the tiller in a better place now, where the soil is rich and the rows are endless.</div>
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A lesson in creating straight rows from Dad involved twine pulled between two sticks, held tight from beginning to the end of each row and piled with soil on either side. The lesson was peppered regularly with me asking obviously ridiculous questions to my father, "Why are we doing this again? Why do I need rows? Why do the rows have to be straight? Does it really matter if the rows are straight?" after the 5th time in the same spot of him resetting the twine and re-piling the dirt. After everything, we had 12 beautiful rows, plus room for tomatoes. I had also built a small walkway using some of our salvaged bricks from our house restoration so that the boys could run through the garden without trampling too much. In the next few weeks, I put in plants and seeds, built a cucumber trellis from old fencing I found under drifts of honeysuckle in the woods, and the "big garden" was born.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A look a the garden in all of it's messy, leafy glory.</td></tr>
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<br /></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03612319842439211873noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4499267963263868163.post-20904074678191141242012-05-18T17:38:00.000-04:002012-05-18T17:38:26.346-04:00So the gardens begin . . .<div style="text-align: justify;">
I was not a complete stranger to gardening when I started. My Dad always planted a garden, usually one that was entirely too large, even for a family of seven. With five girls, you would have thought that he would have had plenty of field hands to help out. Strangely enough, I don't remember my four older sisters and I actively taking part in any aspect of the garden besides occasional picking and frequent eating. Dad, driven by his inner farmer, just took care of everything. Our summertime meals would consist almost exclusively of sliced tomatoes, cucumbers floating in a golden pool of apple cider vinegar with an ice cube on top for extra chilly goodness, and fresh white perch fillets pulled almost daily from the surrounding waters of Back Bay. It is funny, looking back on things now, that eating locally and sustainably wasn't a choice, nor did it require special effort. If my father did not grow it, catch it, or shoot it, we usually didn't eat it. My mom bought other meats from Ansell's, the local country butcher, and eating out was usually reserved for special trips "to town" when we left "the county" and ventured into Virginia Beach proper. </div>
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So while I had a lot more experience with enjoying the fruits of the garden rather than the labor, upon our relocation to Hyde County I felt the best way to learn was to jump right in. We moved in to the house in May of 2008, and by the time we got settled it was late July. When visiting the local hardware store, my oldest son, then two years old, asked if we could grow pumpkins. So we bought a package of seeds, planted them in little cups, transplanted them in a small patch in the yard, and a few months later . . .</div>
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Cole and Greyson picked their first homegrown pumpkins. They weren't the prettiest or the biggest, and the plants had barely held on through an onslaught of squash vine borers, but there were ours. That was really all that mattered.</div>
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With the next year came the idea of raised beds. I had been reading up on gardening all winter, and after being enticed by the glossy pages of seed catalogs throughout the blustery winter, I was more than ready to try my hand at real gardening. The end result should only be attributed to beginner's luck and the unbelievable rich, black soil that makes Hyde one of the best counties in the state for agriculture.</div>
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Of course I planted way too much of everything, which grew into each other and out of the garden and into the yard. Summer squash, winter squash, cucumbers, tomatoes, peppers, watermelons and cantaloupes were all intertwined in leafy embraces, but it was green and mine, and I was proud! The garden became one of the boys' favorite spots, because you just never knew what you were going to find nestled among the leaves.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_YnLSrTIRokKvm_UpcZhFuICY34tNJmo77iNEpMiIkU3sBzw8Uv5sQo2jreUAodupJXq9O8-eUtqn7k9Jx-G7sSnFKDxkemL6R2r_gRecKd8B0JK0CJ3w7hPdG7uASdb2QZ8LerYcn6k/s1600/P1020504.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="474" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_YnLSrTIRokKvm_UpcZhFuICY34tNJmo77iNEpMiIkU3sBzw8Uv5sQo2jreUAodupJXq9O8-eUtqn7k9Jx-G7sSnFKDxkemL6R2r_gRecKd8B0JK0CJ3w7hPdG7uASdb2QZ8LerYcn6k/s640/P1020504.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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Greyson and Cole never got tired of watching the swallowtail butterfly caterpillars make short work of my parsley, and I was more than willing to donate my fresh herbs in exchange for the opportunity afforded to my boys as witnesses to their metamorphoses. The raised gardens worked beautifully for two seasons, but inevitably, I heard my father's voice emerging from my mouth - <span style="font-size: large;">"The garden needs to be bigger!"</span></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03612319842439211873noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4499267963263868163.post-66994002200995524432012-05-17T11:20:00.000-04:002012-06-01T13:16:54.376-04:00Welcome to Hyde County<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"><span style="color: blue;">Hyde County, North Carolina</span>.</span> It is probably one of the most beautiful places that you have never heard of, duck hunters and nature enthusiasts aside. The county slogan is "The Road Less Traveled," which is as honest, and poetically appropriate, as any I have ever come across. You might think that being home to the largest natural lake in North Carolina, Lake Mattamuskeet, that we would be a bustling resort area filled with tourists, vacation homes, and all the trappings that go along with serving the masses. That may be the case on Ocracoke Island, an almost completely different world that happens to have found its way within our legal boundaries, but the mainland is a mix of farm fields, woods, and marsh, interspersed here and there with small hubs of civilization. Hyde County has a population of 5,810 spread over 612 square miles, and about 1000 of those people live on Ocracoke Island. That makes us the second least populated county in all of North Carolina, only being beat out for top honors by a few hundred people in our neighboring county of Tyrell. We have no stoplights, no fast food restaurants, no Wal-marts, and that, in my humble opinion, made it one of the most perfect places in eastern North Carolina for my husband and I to pack up our (then) two little boys and put down roots.</div>
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In 2007, we fell in love with an 1800's farmhouse on the shores of Lake Mattamuskeet. Our first architect said we were crazy, but we found another who could feel the heart of the house of much as we could. After a year of watching the magic performed by craftsman Louis Chesnutt and his crew, the neglected hunting camp was transformed to her former glory - a gentile, welcoming lady, cloaked with warm memories that hung about as thick and sweet as the perfume of gardenias. </div>
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There is something to be said for believing in your own vision. Now, five years and another little boy later, I have found that just raising my boys in the quiet of this peaceful place is not quite enough. I want them to grow up with a sense of the land around them, to understand how these fragile ecosystems work together, and what our place is within them. I want them to understand what it means to live sustainably - to nourish our environment as it nourishes us. I want my boys to have their hands in the rich, black earth every spring and learn how to coax from it the food that sustains us throughout the rest of the year. There are so many lessons to be learned, and I want to learn right there beside them. My fondest wish is, as they build a bean trellis or thump on a ripe watermelon with their grandchildren, that they remember our days spent together, fingers black with soil. That will be my legacy. And thus, the Mattamuskeet Momma experiment was born. </div>
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03612319842439211873noreply@blogger.com0