With the arrival of the cooler weather, my hands have been a little busier tending the fall garden, and more recently, joining my husband in the world of pecan farming. Perhaps I should have been aware of it sooner, but my Andrew loves pecans. We're talking huge fan. He likes them so much that he's gone to what some might consider extremes to ward off the pecan's most vicious predator, the Sciurus Carolinensis...better known as the Eastern Grey Squirrel.
I will not soon forget the day that Andrew climbed our pecan tree to remove a squirrel's nest, and came face to face with the feisty critter. Mrs. Squirrel was rather livid that Andrew was attempting to evict her from her home and threw all sorts of chattering insults from the limbs above. At one point it appeared she was ready to go to the mattresses with him. Yikes! Watching from below, I began mentally preparing my speech for the nurses at the ER.
"Well you see, my husband was just attacked by a squirrel. No, it didn't appear to be rabid. He was kind of up in the tree...where it lived...tearing it's house down...with the squirrel watching. Have I mentioned he likes pecans?"
While Andrew's survival skills allowed him to narrowly escape a squirrel attack, he did not evade the notice of the neighbor living behind us. We were yet to meet her, and he said she gave him a pretty strange look. Under the circumstances, I probably would have done the same had I seen a grown man climbing a tree, exchanging words with a squirrel. That is unless that man is my husband. In which case I admire him all the more for protecting our family and our pecan tree from the nut hoarding critters.
It's been a team effort to protect our pecans over the last few months. Andrew did a great job of giving the tree the water and minerals it needed to survive this summer's drought. As harvest time has drawn near, we've been on red-alert for the "fuzzy tailed nut smugglers". Yes, that is what we call them. My watch during the day has at times involved abandoning projects or housework to run hot-footed outside, pellet gun in hand, to try and snipe the little beasts. They truly are masters of sneakiness, so one has to act quickly once they've been spotted.
Being limited with a pellet gun, I've felt like our squirrels have mocked my attempts to scare them off. I've wondered if I might have more success throwing rocks. Or dare I admit that with such a puny gun, my aim isn't as true as it might be with say...a shotgun?! As fun and effective as that might be, I'm sticking to legal weapons like bb's, rocks, and perhaps the occasional house slipper. I figure the whole jail scene might put a damper on my homemaking image.
In attempt to gather as many precious nuts before our nemesis can, we've taken to picking green pecans. This is the stage just before the outer shell dries out and opens to drop the fully developed pecan. My beloved engineer set up a drying station for the green "Kaans" to finish ripening. Picking, sorting, and shelling pecans has become part of Olivia's and my daily routine. She enjoys the hunt and organization of it so much that it's been fun for me, too. One of the only downsides to shelling green pecans is that the moisture from the outer shell oxidizes on your fingers and is next to impossible to scrub off. My brown thumbs won't win me any "Beautiful Homemaker Hands" awards, but heck, the pecans are worth it. And I wasn't planning to enter that contest anyway.
Many a recent evening has been spent before the fireplace, Olivia in Andrew's lap, cracking and enjoying our pecans. After tasting the fruit (or should I say nuts?) of our labor, I can definitely say our war with the squirrels has been worth it. We're enjoying our harvest and Olivia has become a pecan fan like her Papa. Observing our cracking methods, she will grab two pecans, bring them to one of us and ask (and at times, demand) that we "Crack em?". Who can resist such cuteness?! Alas, after all of our efforts to save our pecans from the squirrels, I do believe we've created a squirrel of our own.
Oh, and as an aside, in case you run into any pecan farmers in the near future, please don't judge them by the appearance of their hands. They may have just returned from battle with the Eastern Squirrel and deserve some respect. ;)
October 31, 2012
October 15, 2012
Tea for Two
I am of the belief that one can never have too much tea, too many tea pots, or cups, mugs, and saucers on hand. I grew up a bit of an Anglophile (*ahem* I still am), so over the years I've kept my eye out for tea-related items. I have been fortunate to find a number of things, which can be evidenced by looking around my home and in my cupboards. At one point Andrew nearly had an intervention when he realized that at that point, we had about 7 tea pots. I should say "we" as in "I", because he certainly wasn't the one amassing kettles in a hope chest before we'd met!
I know, I know...seven teapots sounds a bit horder-esk, but in my defense, a few were for decor/display, one was on the stove to boil water, and another one or two were to brew loose leaves. That doesn't sound so unreasonable. Does it? Regardless, while I have greatly pared down on the "collection", my love of the beverage and it's accoutrements lives on.
Today, at one of my newly discoveredtreasure chests thrift stores, I found this beauty:
A friend of mine has one nearly identical and I've always admired it. It holds a good deal of water; more than enough for two people. As I confessed above, I already have a teapot that holds loose leaves, but it's very small, holds only enough water for 1 person, and isn't very well insulated. Who wants luke-warm tea? Not I, said the Tea-tress.
Yes, I just made up that word, but I rather like it. I can just see it in the dictionary... "Tea-tress: A woman who enjoys tea, and it's related articles." Has a nice ring to it, don'tcha think?
Anyway...for a teapot, it was adorable and I just couldn't pass up it up for a mere $3. Imagine my delight when Ilooked up the retail value on my phone while driving got home to the safety of my computer and discovered the retail value to be $30. Thrifting win, tea-lovers! It's a nice feeling. A deceptive one that makes you feel like you were given the item for free, but in reality still forked over some dough. My consolation is that as I've been on a house de-cluttering rampage (a post on that to come soon), I figure on using it for a while and if it begins to collect dust, then out it goes. The perk with thrifting is that when you buy something on the cheap, you can usually get your money back out of it, and or it's no great loss if it ends up at your garage sale.
As I previously blogged, I am determined that this season will include sipping tea. This lovely ceramic find certainly helps me on my way, and in style, too. Now to wash the little gem, assess it's ability to retain heat, steep leaves, and make friends with the other tea pots.
Feel free to confront me if you think I have crossed the line and am digressing into hoarderdom. You can come to my house. We will talk, and have tea while you try to confront me. You will be so overtaken by the scent of freshly brewed mint and chamomile from my garden, that you'll forget what it was you had to say.
I know, I know...seven teapots sounds a bit horder-esk, but in my defense, a few were for decor/display, one was on the stove to boil water, and another one or two were to brew loose leaves. That doesn't sound so unreasonable. Does it? Regardless, while I have greatly pared down on the "collection", my love of the beverage and it's accoutrements lives on.
Today, at one of my newly discovered
A friend of mine has one nearly identical and I've always admired it. It holds a good deal of water; more than enough for two people. As I confessed above, I already have a teapot that holds loose leaves, but it's very small, holds only enough water for 1 person, and isn't very well insulated. Who wants luke-warm tea? Not I, said the Tea-tress.
Yes, I just made up that word, but I rather like it. I can just see it in the dictionary... "Tea-tress: A woman who enjoys tea, and it's related articles." Has a nice ring to it, don'tcha think?
Anyway...for a teapot, it was adorable and I just couldn't pass up it up for a mere $3. Imagine my delight when I
As I previously blogged, I am determined that this season will include sipping tea. This lovely ceramic find certainly helps me on my way, and in style, too. Now to wash the little gem, assess it's ability to retain heat, steep leaves, and make friends with the other tea pots.
Feel free to confront me if you think I have crossed the line and am digressing into hoarderdom. You can come to my house. We will talk, and have tea while you try to confront me. You will be so overtaken by the scent of freshly brewed mint and chamomile from my garden, that you'll forget what it was you had to say.
October 8, 2012
Where there are No Oxen...
I've noticed that during certain seasons of my life, different scriptures will stand out and hold new meaning depending on what I'm going through. This summer, a verse from Proverbs was constantly floating around in my head, and being repeated on my lips. For ye curious, here it is:
"Where there are no oxen, the manger is clean,
but abundant crops come by the strength of the ox." Proverbs 14:4
Our pastor preached on this verse a few years ago and shed light on what I'd see as an otherwise "odd" passage. He explained that oxen are excellent farming animals, able to plow fields and move dirt with greater ease than a farmer would ever have with a shovel. The only thing is that oxen are big animals, and they consume a lot of feed. And as we all know, what goes in, must come out. Oxen poop. A lot. Therefore, the manger is gonna get dirty. It just comes with the territory. Our pastor reminded us that too often we get caught up with the "poo" and forget to be grateful that we even have an oxen to plow our fields.
This past summer, I was tempted to be ungrateful for the oxen in my life. All I was seeing was the poo. And I mean literally. Lemme esplain'.
Since record hot temperatures had settled into our area, we naturally dressed to stay cool. Shorts and t-shirt were the order of the day, as were onesies for my munchkin. On one particularly hot day, I had laid Olivia down for a nap and gone about my routine to "get stuff done" while she was asleep. About 30 minutes after laying her down, I passed by her room and noticed that things were quiet. Too quiet. Carefully opening the door, I planned to peek in and check on my sleeping beauty.
As I cracked the door and stuck my head in, I was struck in the face with an unbelievably horrendous odor. It was enough to daze me for a second. When I dared to open my eyes, I did NOT find my peacefully sleeping child, but a creature clinging to the rail of the crib. This thing had dark brown eyebrows and muddy hands. It saw me, and to my horror, I realized that the thing was my child...covered in poo.
Despite the constraint of her onesie, Olivia had managed to fill her diaper and pull it's contents out through the gussets underneath her legs. Being alone and the creative sort, she decided to finger-paint. Her eyebrows were perfectly outlined, her feet looked mid-way through a mud mask, and her sheets were littered with tiny brown doodles. I was aghast. When our eyes met, she saw the look of dismay on my face, knitted her brown eyebrows, looked at me and said: "No???" I repeated her "No.", and she burst into tears. She'd been caught, and knew this wasn't the right kind of finger-painting project I normally encourage.
For a while I stood surveying the mess. Where does one begin? Call 911? Recruit a Hazmat team? I finally settled on running a warm and very soapy bath while I collected all contaminated articles of clothing and fabric. It took a while to get everything in hand, but Olivia had her bath, the sheets were washed, and she was once again put to bed...this time in cotton footie pajamas. I wasn't going to risk it.
I'd like to tell you that this episode was the last I experienced, but I can't. I'm an optimist and hoped that such a thing would never happen again, but it did. Forgetting to be faithful with footie pajamas at every nap, I entered Olivia's room to see brown eyebrows two more times that week. My first reaction wasn't always the best, but after more laundry and more scrubby-bubble baths, I was able to laugh.
At the time, I may not have been thankful for the poo, but was mindful of how great it is to have a little one. Not everything about motherhood is pretty, but whoever said it has to be? Where ever you are in life, you'll have to deal with some form of poo. Just remember that having an oxen is not without it's benefits (not that everything in our lives is supposed to incur a return). I'm blessed to be able to clean up the messes...because I have a daughter.
Perspective (and gratefulness) is everything my friends. For all the poopy diapers I may have to change, there are still giggles, silly songs sung in a high-pitched voice, tight hugs from little arms wrapped around my neck, and an ocean of joy from having Olivia as my daughter. Yes, there may be days a littler messier than others, but I'll take them, poo and all. Just preferably safely contained in her diaper.
"Where there are no oxen, the manger is clean,
but abundant crops come by the strength of the ox." Proverbs 14:4
Our pastor preached on this verse a few years ago and shed light on what I'd see as an otherwise "odd" passage. He explained that oxen are excellent farming animals, able to plow fields and move dirt with greater ease than a farmer would ever have with a shovel. The only thing is that oxen are big animals, and they consume a lot of feed. And as we all know, what goes in, must come out. Oxen poop. A lot. Therefore, the manger is gonna get dirty. It just comes with the territory. Our pastor reminded us that too often we get caught up with the "poo" and forget to be grateful that we even have an oxen to plow our fields.
This past summer, I was tempted to be ungrateful for the oxen in my life. All I was seeing was the poo. And I mean literally. Lemme esplain'.
Since record hot temperatures had settled into our area, we naturally dressed to stay cool. Shorts and t-shirt were the order of the day, as were onesies for my munchkin. On one particularly hot day, I had laid Olivia down for a nap and gone about my routine to "get stuff done" while she was asleep. About 30 minutes after laying her down, I passed by her room and noticed that things were quiet. Too quiet. Carefully opening the door, I planned to peek in and check on my sleeping beauty.
As I cracked the door and stuck my head in, I was struck in the face with an unbelievably horrendous odor. It was enough to daze me for a second. When I dared to open my eyes, I did NOT find my peacefully sleeping child, but a creature clinging to the rail of the crib. This thing had dark brown eyebrows and muddy hands. It saw me, and to my horror, I realized that the thing was my child...covered in poo.
Despite the constraint of her onesie, Olivia had managed to fill her diaper and pull it's contents out through the gussets underneath her legs. Being alone and the creative sort, she decided to finger-paint. Her eyebrows were perfectly outlined, her feet looked mid-way through a mud mask, and her sheets were littered with tiny brown doodles. I was aghast. When our eyes met, she saw the look of dismay on my face, knitted her brown eyebrows, looked at me and said: "No???" I repeated her "No.", and she burst into tears. She'd been caught, and knew this wasn't the right kind of finger-painting project I normally encourage.
For a while I stood surveying the mess. Where does one begin? Call 911? Recruit a Hazmat team? I finally settled on running a warm and very soapy bath while I collected all contaminated articles of clothing and fabric. It took a while to get everything in hand, but Olivia had her bath, the sheets were washed, and she was once again put to bed...this time in cotton footie pajamas. I wasn't going to risk it.
I'd like to tell you that this episode was the last I experienced, but I can't. I'm an optimist and hoped that such a thing would never happen again, but it did. Forgetting to be faithful with footie pajamas at every nap, I entered Olivia's room to see brown eyebrows two more times that week. My first reaction wasn't always the best, but after more laundry and more scrubby-bubble baths, I was able to laugh.
At the time, I may not have been thankful for the poo, but was mindful of how great it is to have a little one. Not everything about motherhood is pretty, but whoever said it has to be? Where ever you are in life, you'll have to deal with some form of poo. Just remember that having an oxen is not without it's benefits (not that everything in our lives is supposed to incur a return). I'm blessed to be able to clean up the messes...because I have a daughter.
Perspective (and gratefulness) is everything my friends. For all the poopy diapers I may have to change, there are still giggles, silly songs sung in a high-pitched voice, tight hugs from little arms wrapped around my neck, and an ocean of joy from having Olivia as my daughter. Yes, there may be days a littler messier than others, but I'll take them, poo and all. Just preferably safely contained in her diaper.
October 4, 2012
The Summer
Seeing as how summer is officially over, I figured it's safe to come out of hiding. Yes, a cold front has blown through our urban homestead. The windows and doors are open to catch the breeze, and I'm comfortably in my favorite jeans and long sleeves. Life is good. It could be a little better if I were sipping a cup of hot tea, but that would mean I'd have to leave you all. The risk of being distracted by a household something-or-another might mean the end of this blog as we know it. So for now, no tea for me.
To fill y'all in on where I've been the past few months, let me begin by saying that this summer was FAR busier than I'd imagined. It was filled to the brim with wonderful things, but until recently (okay, like 5 minutes ago), it's felt like I'd never catch up. Our summer included many hours splashing around in a small blow-up pool, and travels to NW Washington State and God's country. For those of you in doubt of the location of God's Country, that would be the great state of Texas. Glad to clear things up.
While in WA, we enjoyed a break from the heat and got to hang out with our family. It's such a neat thing when God relates you to people you'd have chosen as friends anyway. Olivia loved running around with her cousins while we grown ups discussed everything from football to the making of kombucha. We had adventures that included picnics, evening fires, wild blackberry brambles, the salty sea and Dungeoness crabs. It was a delightful time and if you can ever escape that far north, do so!
On one of our days in the Puget Sound, we were able to go crabbing. Since I went along for the last crab-pot-pick-up of the season, Andrew designated me as the muscle to reel the pots onto the boat. (Thanks, babe. **cough**) The water was cold, and the crabs weren't very happy that we'd robbed them of their chicken dinner in order to make them ours. They snapped at us with their claws, and made clicking noises once measured and wedged together in large plastic buckets. When we got back onto the dock, I planned to watch Andrew and our brother-in-law clean the crabs. Again, I was wrong about being a spectator.
To clean a crab, one must gather all four wriggling legs and wildly swinging claw in one hand, and grasp firmly under their shell with the other. After that, you forcibly rip their shell off, break them in half, then rinse their innards into the water. It's quite violent. I was petrified and exhilarated all in the same moment when Andrew told me it was my turn to clean a crab. After a few tries, I managed to grip the legs and the evasive claw in my left hand, and secured the shell in my right. I gave a mighty heave, and....nothing. No shell flying off into the water. Just a REALLY ANGRY crab grappling with the dock, desperate to pinch me or get away. I regained my grip, gave it a little more *umph*, and hooray! I had successfully decapitated a crab! I was so excited that once that sucker was cleaned, I went for another one. Ripping crab heads off is a rather gratifying thing; especially since they've tried to take your fingers off. **That'll be one to add to, and check off my bucket list.**
Our visits to Texas were sprinkled with seeing dear friends and family, shooting guns, gathering our favorite Texas food and beverages, and on one day, even stopping into a tattoo parlor. Yes, you heard that right! After a lengthy discussion about legalism and freedom in Christ, my dear friend Rachel and I put aside our apprehensions, and got our noses pierced! It certainly wasn't on the trip's agenda, but is such a fun memory, with a rather cute result.
The past few months have developed a lot of changes in Olivia. We are seeing more teeth poke through her gums, hair that needs to be pulled back, and several pairs of shoes that no longer fit. More importantly, each day reveals such a happy and interactive toddler emerging from what's left of her baby-ness. I never quite understood the phrase "They grow up so quickly", but believe I'm getting the idea in a hurry.
A few weeks ago our family picked up colds and sneezes and "Bless you's" were flying all over the place. Now that we are well, if anyone so much as wiggles their nose near a napkin, Olivia is quick to offer a "Bess you!". She may be an independent little soul, but she's still quite a peach.
Recently, as I was weeding the garden, I found an earthworm and brought Olivia over for an introduction. At first she acted disgusted that Mommy would ever touch such a dirt-covered, squirmy creature, but she eventually decided she wanted to "Touch?" the worm. Not too long after that, she was okay to hold one in her hand to observe up-close. She's seen us give worms to the hens, so I shouldn't have been too surprised when one day she found a wiggler and headed straight for the coop. The ladies certainly loved her for it, and my heart was glad to see her wanting to care for them.
There are so many other stories that I will have to catch you up on (including a few rather hilarious ones), but will end here for now. It may have been a record-hot summer, but not so hot that it kept us from having our adventures. The changing of the weather is always a good reminder to me that there are seasons in the year, and in life as well. Here's to hoping this next season finds us living life a little slower, and perhaps consuming a good quantity of hot tea.
To fill y'all in on where I've been the past few months, let me begin by saying that this summer was FAR busier than I'd imagined. It was filled to the brim with wonderful things, but until recently (okay, like 5 minutes ago), it's felt like I'd never catch up. Our summer included many hours splashing around in a small blow-up pool, and travels to NW Washington State and God's country. For those of you in doubt of the location of God's Country, that would be the great state of Texas. Glad to clear things up.
While in WA, we enjoyed a break from the heat and got to hang out with our family. It's such a neat thing when God relates you to people you'd have chosen as friends anyway. Olivia loved running around with her cousins while we grown ups discussed everything from football to the making of kombucha. We had adventures that included picnics, evening fires, wild blackberry brambles, the salty sea and Dungeoness crabs. It was a delightful time and if you can ever escape that far north, do so!
On one of our days in the Puget Sound, we were able to go crabbing. Since I went along for the last crab-pot-pick-up of the season, Andrew designated me as the muscle to reel the pots onto the boat. (Thanks, babe. **cough**) The water was cold, and the crabs weren't very happy that we'd robbed them of their chicken dinner in order to make them ours. They snapped at us with their claws, and made clicking noises once measured and wedged together in large plastic buckets. When we got back onto the dock, I planned to watch Andrew and our brother-in-law clean the crabs. Again, I was wrong about being a spectator.
To clean a crab, one must gather all four wriggling legs and wildly swinging claw in one hand, and grasp firmly under their shell with the other. After that, you forcibly rip their shell off, break them in half, then rinse their innards into the water. It's quite violent. I was petrified and exhilarated all in the same moment when Andrew told me it was my turn to clean a crab. After a few tries, I managed to grip the legs and the evasive claw in my left hand, and secured the shell in my right. I gave a mighty heave, and....nothing. No shell flying off into the water. Just a REALLY ANGRY crab grappling with the dock, desperate to pinch me or get away. I regained my grip, gave it a little more *umph*, and hooray! I had successfully decapitated a crab! I was so excited that once that sucker was cleaned, I went for another one. Ripping crab heads off is a rather gratifying thing; especially since they've tried to take your fingers off. **That'll be one to add to, and check off my bucket list.**
Our visits to Texas were sprinkled with seeing dear friends and family, shooting guns, gathering our favorite Texas food and beverages, and on one day, even stopping into a tattoo parlor. Yes, you heard that right! After a lengthy discussion about legalism and freedom in Christ, my dear friend Rachel and I put aside our apprehensions, and got our noses pierced! It certainly wasn't on the trip's agenda, but is such a fun memory, with a rather cute result.
The past few months have developed a lot of changes in Olivia. We are seeing more teeth poke through her gums, hair that needs to be pulled back, and several pairs of shoes that no longer fit. More importantly, each day reveals such a happy and interactive toddler emerging from what's left of her baby-ness. I never quite understood the phrase "They grow up so quickly", but believe I'm getting the idea in a hurry.
A few weeks ago our family picked up colds and sneezes and "Bless you's" were flying all over the place. Now that we are well, if anyone so much as wiggles their nose near a napkin, Olivia is quick to offer a "Bess you!". She may be an independent little soul, but she's still quite a peach.
Recently, as I was weeding the garden, I found an earthworm and brought Olivia over for an introduction. At first she acted disgusted that Mommy would ever touch such a dirt-covered, squirmy creature, but she eventually decided she wanted to "Touch?" the worm. Not too long after that, she was okay to hold one in her hand to observe up-close. She's seen us give worms to the hens, so I shouldn't have been too surprised when one day she found a wiggler and headed straight for the coop. The ladies certainly loved her for it, and my heart was glad to see her wanting to care for them.
There are so many other stories that I will have to catch you up on (including a few rather hilarious ones), but will end here for now. It may have been a record-hot summer, but not so hot that it kept us from having our adventures. The changing of the weather is always a good reminder to me that there are seasons in the year, and in life as well. Here's to hoping this next season finds us living life a little slower, and perhaps consuming a good quantity of hot tea.
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