Making Molasses (Them shore is good)

I haven't seen Declan have more fun than he did on Saturday when he "helped" make molasses. His sister, Lily Grace, sat on the wagon and helped by sucking the sweetness from a short piece of cane. It was one of those rare brisk and sunny fall days that have become even rarer this autumn. Our three-year-old grandson was having the time of his life feeding cane into the mule-powered press.

The molasses making has become an annual October ritual at the farm of one of our neighbors. They both are getting well on in years, but with the help of their offspring, each year they plant a patch of cane in the spring. Then, on one weekend in the fall the hard work begins. They cut the cane with a knife, strip the leaves from the canes, and load it onto a wagon to be taken to the press and kiln.

Neighbors arrive mid-morning on Saturday with covered dishes for the noon meal. The mule is hitched to a long pole that powers the press as the mule circles. A hot fire is built under the long cooking pan that will reduce the thin cane juice to a thick golden molasses. There is dinner on the grounds, lots of visiting between neighbors, and the aromatic steam from the cooker scenting the fall air. The older kids sometimes get to ride the mule.

Sadly, last Saturday may have been the last time we will make molasses in our neighborhood. The hosts are getting older and even with lots of help, the responsiblity of the event tires them considerably. It will be a loss for all of us. Likely, this old-fashioned process will only seen only as an attraction at country fairs and festivals.

From the Hills, The Hired Man, Missus, and young folk

In An Autumn Rain

This happens every fall, the rains come amid the time of ripest color in the hills and pummels the leaves from the trees. Most years the autumn rain signals the end of the riot of pigment that spreads across the ridges. A breeze comes and pushes the sodden leaves from their branches. This fall I have hopes that the rains have come just a smidgen too early.

I am sitting here on our sun porch above the valley as evening light weakens in a drizzling rain that has lasted all day. Oh, the rain has taken its share of the golden leaves. This morning they swirled and eddied around the house as we, inside, begrudged each one making its way earfthward. But, this evening we still have color in the timber, leaves hanging on waiting for some more October sunshine and painted blue sky. Yes, the woods are less dense now; you can see further into the trees. But, without a strong wind tonight we will have more golden autumn days ahead.

Already we have marked off a few of our alloted golden fall days. Together with our daughter and grandchildren we have loaded a couple of ATVs with a picnic and headed into the countryside. We careened up dry creek beds, meandered down country roads known to only a few, and visited old house places back in the timber that are no longer connected to roads. It was truly wonderful, and left us wanting more.

But even rainy fall days have their compensations. With guests enscounsed in their cabins, I suspect they are on the porches listening to the patter of the rain on tin roofs. And, often this time of year sleep comes early, peaceful and long.

Home again, home again, jiggidy jig

We are home a week now and have almost caught up with our work getting ready for guests. (the place is full this weekend). After being gone for such a long time in a different environment it takes a little while get get back into the old system.

Kathy's favorite holiday (except it is not a holiday) is Halloween. She can't control herself. Right now there are skeletons hanging from the trees near the house. Bats also. She even wears a little hat that says, "Happy Holloween." I point out to her that folks are not supposed to be happy on Holloween. They are supposed to be scared s--tless.

The pumkins are set out, except these that we grew out in the pasture (see photo). I looks like the deer got into these excellent specimens and ruined them. K is heartbroken.

I sense a wonderful fall coming. Right now, twinges of color are seen on the hillsides. Cattle are in the pastures across the river. The walnuts have already lost their leaves, leaving the green balls hung among the limbs like ornaments. This is the time of year for hikes and long walks in the woods.

We think that we will concentrate on enjoying every single moment of lovely fall weather. Each year this magical part of the year seems too soon gone. We look back and shake our heads, wondering how we missed so much of it.

That's why I must get away from this computer. It's a beatiful, crisp day.

From the hills, Tom & Kathy http://www.rockeddy.com/

To paraphrase past wisdom, "You can measure how rich a person is by how little he needs" — i.e. the richest person isn't the person who has everything; it's the person who needs nothing.

Old houses out in the hills

While going through some files today, I happened upon these photos I am including. They show a two old houses, which, if they were currently occupied, would be some of our closest neighbors at Rock Eddy Bluff Farm.

As you can see from the photos, the first house is in bad condition and may not stand many more years. I can hardly believe that I remember the people who lived here. One of the girls who grew up in this house was a contemporary of my brothers and me. The family farmed the upper end of this creek bottom. Some years later, after I left for college to make my own way in the big world, the family dispersed leaving the house abandoned.

Over the years hunters and others have gone into the house and ransacked it. But even now there is strong evidence of the family that once lived there. The oddest thing is that it appears that the family just walked out of the house and took almost nothing with them. Clothes are still on hooks. The battered furniture in still in the house. There is perhaps more to that story.

Now, at my age I have a memory of other such house places not far from here. Most were not occupied when I was a child but they were then standing, along with a few outbuildings and hand-dug wells. Cabins (not houses as we think of them) were scattered along dirt roads and deep in the woods where the tracks leading to them are no longer even faint. You have to know where the remains of these places are located to find them. Some are now gone to rot with only a few foundation stones remaining to mark their location.

I have always been intrigued by these old house places. They each have a story. I know only a few of those stories. The last photo showing the old house that now has collapsed into the ground was called the Algerine Place. In that log cabin a son accidentally shot and killed his mother. He was preparing to shoot a hawk that was perhaps threatening their chickens. The shotgun somehow discharged in the house, killing his mother instantly.

Nearby is a house (not shown) where a wayward daughter killed several of her family members by poisoning the water pail. And, there are more such places where families once somehow scratched out an existence. Many are now only traces in the ground.

Well, I like these old pictures. I like to look at them even though they make me feel old. And somewhere among boxes of old photos that were taken on some medium they long ago called "film", I may even have photos of some of these old places when they were younger and in a better state of repair.

From the Hills, The Old Hired Man

Kids and the creek

Recent experience at Rock Eddy Bluff shows that there are two options for handling grandkids who claim to be bored: (1) Set them in front of a TV with an antimated movie, or (2) take them to the creek or river. Get them wet!

We prefer option two for a variety of reasons. The kids actually get excercise, they connect with nature, and when we bring them home they are tired and ready to rest. Splashing around in the water seems to have a wearying effect on kids. Can I get a halleluya?

The photo shows our grandkids: Declan, Lily, and David.

Chances are you will have to deal with assorted fauna that the children love to collect. Crawdads are a favorite, along with tadpoles and minnows. Here is where we need to be sneaky. Of course kids want to bring home the critters. They have named them and are envisioning a long relationship extending into their teen years. Older folks, if they plan well are able to somehow allow a merciful escape back into the wild before the party returns.

We have two wonderful places for kid splashing here: The excellent gravel bar at Rock Eddy below the bluff, and Clifty Creek, about a mile down the road. At either location the Hired Man and Missus plan ahead and take folking chairs. We are comfy while kids splash. An excellent refinement for hot days is to move the chairs into the water where you can recline partially submerged. On certain occassions it has been known that there was beer involved.

I am quite certain that kids will remember their river and creek time long after the images of the animated characters in movies have faded. Who could forget the first encounter with a Jesus bug? (They walk on water). And how about tadpoles changing into frogs, legs sprouting from their sides. Snake are alway facinating, and when encountered, are an excellent opportunitiy for teaching.

Then there are rocks! Many a throwing arm has seen early developement at the creek. With no shortage of rocks of all sizes, the act of heaving them into the creek may proceed for hours. At a certain stage of youthful maturation the refinement of skipping rocks can be added.

We have had quite a bit of kid time in the water this summer. We hope for more.

The Hired Man

Cadet Baloney arrives at the Bluff

It was 1964, I was fresh out of college and loaded for bear. President Kennedy had convinced me to sign up with the Peace Corps. I was accepted and headed for a two-year stint in Colombia .

Problem was, Kennedy (before he was killed), had warmed up a little war in far off Viet Nam that now looked like it would only get bigger. "Rats," I thought.

At my local Selective Service Office (the draft board) I was assured that I would be drafted into the Army the moment my commitment with the Peace Corps ended. That would extend my service to the country by at least two years. And I thought, "How could they take someone with my sensibilities into the infantry (known as 'Grunts')?"

So, I joined the Navy Flight program and was whisked off to Pensacola, Florida. Along with several other guys, I was slammed into a program called "Preflight". The Idea was to convert college kids, over a period of months, into Officers ready to become Naval Aviators. It was intense. It was memorable.

I am remembering all of this because my old roomie in Preflight, Denny Bolena (Cadet Boloney) has just visited us on the bluff. Hey, in case you are not counting, we last saw each other a mere 45 years ago. Denny was a kid from Queens, out of ethnic Albanian extraction. I was a kid from the Missouri hills. We hit it off wonderfully.

So, it was a blast to see him and his wife, Jan, when they drove in a couple of days ago. We caught up with each other. We discussed Navy friends and their adventures. We commented how we could still see some of those fresh-faced kids in the images of the older gentlemen we have become.

We remembered the time during a RLP (room, locker and personnel inspection) when he gave the one-finger salute to the Marine Drill Sargent while standing behing him. My eyes fickered and then I broke. So, I was the one with a substancial number of demerits added to my total.

There were many nearly forgotten recollections. Our memories complimented each other, so that in the end we both relived much of the decades-old experience.

Thanks Denny for coming. Here are some photos of us as we now appear. And just for practice, Cadet Bolena, I would like you to put yourself on report for flipping that bird.

Cadet Corey

Things turned old fashion this morning

We lost one hundred years in an instant this morning. Yes, we had another bit of bad weather and it changed things instantly.

It all started with another of our signature toad stranglers. That is one hell of a hard rain, for those who ain’t from the hills. That storm caused an unexplained loss of power. (We don’t know where the problem is but this happens with some frequency here.) So all morning things were dark and wet, and the rain came in buckets full.

Right now I have the generator running. We need that to provide power for our well pump so that we can get water. Otherwise we are pretty well prepared for power losses, but we can’t do without water for very long. So, while I have the generator on I flipped on another circuit and I have line power to this computer. We are sitting pretty except that there is another problem.

We are surrounded here by creeks with low water crossings and simple concrete fords. When the creeks are up we are stranded, and that is our condition this morning. We can stand a pretty fair rain before our final avenue of escape becomes closed to us. That is the low water bridge on highway E about two miles from the house. Here is a picture taken this morning.

Things have changed here in the country. We used to have hard rains but there was nothing like the frequency that now exists. These rains come so hard that they wash out roads, spill over ditches and play havoc with things in general.
What is the reason for the change in the weather. Perhaps it is a shift in weather patterns in general. I hesitate to mention global warming because that brings the ire of locals who hold that the whole thing is just another liberal plot to take over more of the world.

The theory held by weather scientists is that along with warmer average global temperatures events in local regions will become more erratic. They say that almost any weather event will be more dramatic. Erratic, emphatic and dramatic. Apparently there is good evidence for that since the vast majority of scientists hold this view.

You all have a good day, and think of us hillbillies living like we did before we got electric down here in the woods.

The Hired Man and Missus stuck at home in the dark.

Garden Food

Yesterday Kathy canned some food from the garden and I figured that this photo of a few jars of canned beets would make folks jealous. Well maybe! She has given away one jar to a guest who fancied it. I told her that I thought I fancied it more than they did, but that did not save it.

We have gotten back into canning this year and hope to have enough garden veggies to supply some of our winter needs. We have even taken a friend's advice and canned pinto beans. For that we simply put dry beans in the jar along with some ham or bacon and some salt. Fill the jar nearly full with water and process it in the canner. You can then have a ham and bean dinner at a moment's notice. Just open the jar and heat.

We have been overrun with strawberries this year and Kathy has made some wonderful freezer jam. Wish I had a picture.

The garden has been quite productive despite the wet spring. A chief factor, we think, is that most of it is planted in raised beds, which drain well. You can see what we have done with spare watering troughs. They make great raised beds. We are even considering converting an old leaky aluminum boat to a raised bed in our garden.

It just keeps raining here. The poor guests want to get out on the river but it seems to rain every afternoon and night. We had a toad strangler again last night and it washed out our road in several places. So fixing the road is back on the hired man's list of things to do.

From the Hills, The Hired Man & Missus