Holidays!

Wow, it's been a while since I was able to post. We've had a few interesting things go wrong here at the farm, and I had some more reconstructive surgery.

But I'm still in the holiday mood! Oh wow!

One of the forums I read had a question about sending holiday cards. So I thought I'd share my take on that, since for me, this is a wonderful part of the season.

I only send about a dozen cards each year to surviving parents, siblings, and very special friends. But the dozen that I send are special!

I keep my eyes open all the time for Yule cards -- and they may not be exactly "Christmas" or "Yule" cards; one year I found a box of gorgeous blank cards with a painting of a cardinal in the snow on them. (To me, cardinals and snow symbolise this season better than any other image!) One year I found some with Pooh and Eeyore and Piglet and Tigger on them, and so on. And, I don't necessarily find 12 of the *same* card. I just find a dozen cards I like.

On the afternoon of 25th of November, every year, I get out Enya's Oiche Chiun album (that's Silent Night, for non-Gaelic speakers) sit down with a slice of cranberry bread, a cup of coffee, and the cards. I sit down on the couch in the living room, so that I can look out the windows at the woods or the yard depending on whether I look out the south side or the north side.

Sometime during the year I will have taken a cute, funny, or sweet photo of the animals or a pretty one of the farm or woods, so I print out a dozen small full colour copies. I also make sure to have bought a dozen really lovely Yuletide stamps. I have a dozen "gold foil" monogram seals, too, and my favourite pen.

I write a little note inside each card. I let the music and the view and the snack tell me what to write for each family, if that makes sense. Then I sign each card and tuck it into the envelope with a photo.

When all the cards are done and in the envelopes, by then the Oiche Chiun is over. So I clean a very old vinyl record of "various artists" including the Beach Boys when they *were* boys, Elvis, Bing Crosby, and so on, singing Yule and Christmas music, refill the coffee cup, and address all the envelopes, then stick the flaps down. I put a fancy gold initial seal on each envelope flap, and then the pretty stamp on the front.

By now, the old record is finished, so I put it away again. I rinse out the coffee cup, let the dog lick the cranberry bread plate, and then put on my boots and coat and mittens, and the dog and I walk the mile to the mailbox. Sometimes it's cold and clear, sometimes it's cold and windy, sometimes it's snowing or raining.

As we walk, I sing a very old Yule song called "The Holly".("Oh, the Holly she bears a berry, as white as milk. And the Mother she bore the Son, all wrapped up in silk"... there is also a Christian version of this carol, I think.)

We post the cards, the dog and I, and then we walk back to the house, still singing. By now the sun is setting, and the trees make black lace against the dim grey of the sky. Beside the branches of oak and maple and elm, are the dusky-green brushes of cedar, like embroidery between the lace. All around is the scent of winter, the cold, the odour of woodsmoke, the smell of the cedars, and often, the scent of "wet dog".

And then we're back home, in the light and laughter of the house, and it's nearly suppertime!

I make this into my own special part of the holiday thing. Because the family is fairly spread out, we generally don't exchange gifts. That's why the cards are so very special. Because the cards are special, I make the whole process of sending them special too. This is one holiday thing that I do alone, and if I am not in the holiday spirit because of illness or worries or whatever, then by the time I am done with the cards, and the cranberry bread, and the coffee, and the music, and the walk to the mailbox -- well, by then, I *am* in the spirit and have my equilibrium back.

Roofs aren't the only thing that leak!

Wow, what's that saying? It never rains, but it pours? It's surely pouring here.

Just when we thought we were ahead of the game financially, or at least caught up! things started going haywire here. We've had to replace the range, the freezer, half the plumbing... and now suddenly the propane lines all leak! Good grief, enough already!

Today the yard looks as if it's been attacked by gophers.... The men from the gas company had to dig up everything and start over. Then, after they fixed the lines and the tank, they discovered there are leaks in the actual house lines now, so I've had to call in a heating and cooling specialist too.

Needless to say, no way to cook today, or bake, or do any of the other things I needed to get done, and needless to say, my budget just died a horrible death.

Ah well. It could be worse, so I spose I'll just smile and keep my chin up and play with the dogs!

Pumpkins!

It's pumpkin time! Finally!

Pumpkins rock. They're my favourite veggie, no joke. I like 'em even better than carrots or radishes for eating, or as the kids say for "nomming". (I'm told that comes from the programme Sesame Street -- it was the noise the Cookie Monster made as he ate.)

What pumpkin should you choose?

Well, what are you going to do with it?

It doesn't matter what variety the pumpkin is, nor what colour. What matters is the size. A bigger pumpkin will have less flavour to it, and may be tougher.

How you deal with the pumpkin depends on what you're doing with the pumpkin. For instance, most of the pumpkins people in the US buy are carved for jack-o-lanterns. The white pumpkins were developed to mimic the turnip and tater lanterns carved by people like my grandmothers years ago. The other varieties were hybridised to meet decorating needs, not eating needs. Go figure, huh?

What pumpkins aren't sold for decorating are processed into canned pumpkin, pre-made pumpkin pie "filling", commercially prepared pumpkin pies, and pumpkin seeds.
But guess what, you can do that stuff yourself!

If you are planning to carve the pumpkin for decoration, and are going to use the meat as animal food or compost, then it doesn't matter what size you get. Pumpkin skin, like any squash, is fairly tough. You may find it easier to use small saws, punches, and drills to do your pumpkin, instead of kitchen implements. If you want the pumpkin for eating, then buy pumpkins no bigger than your own head.

When you get your pumpkins home, hose them off outdoors. Let them dry a while. Then decide what you plan to do.

If you will be using the punkin for decorating, then you will probably cut off the BOTTOM. If you are using it as a bowl, you will probably cut off the TOP, leaving the stem intact if you can. If you are just going to use the pumpkin for eating, you will want to cut the pumpkin in half, watermelon-style.

Do this carefully. Pumpkin skin is VERY tough.

Once you have the punkin "open", then you need to get out all the seeds. Pull them out, sqoosh off any pumpkin "string", and put them in a pan of water. We'll get to them later.

Carefully, using a sturdy big spoon -- NOT a knife, and not some silly "pumpkin scraper" from a kit, scoop out the pumpkin guts.

*If you are not going to use the pumpkin, but only the insides, then you would cut the pumpkin into slices, again melon-style, and with a sharp knife, going slowly, you would peel the pumpkin.

Next, rinse off the guts. Make sure you have gotten all the seeds out, and gotten out any of the "slimy" bits. Slimy bits aren't bad or rotten, they're just the parts where the seeds were attached.
Put the guts into a pan and barely cover with water. Turn on the heat to the absolute lowest setting, and leave it alone for a while. You will want to check it every now and then, to be sure there's still water in there. Eventually, the guts will change to a deep rich golden orange (about an hour or two, depending on how much you've got.) At that point, turn off the heat.

Meantime, you have your hollowed out punkin now!

If you're using it as a serving bowl, then go around the inside again and scrape carefully. Remember to leave the BOTTOM fairly thick and unscraped. Slide the pumpkin onto a baking pan; later, half an hour before serving, you'll put it into a 300 degree oven and bake it for 20 minutes to soften it -- but be careful, you don't want it so soft that it won't hold the soup you're ladling into it!

If you're using it as a jack-o-lantern, then go over the inside again, scraping very carefully. You want the pumpkin to be fairly thin, because this makes it much easier to carve your designs.
Once you're finished with the inside, rinse the punkin and dry it again.

Set it on a sturdy work surface, and with a marker, trace your design. Or, take a printed design and lay it on your punkin, taping it in place. With a toothpick or a large sewing needle (like a darning needle) go over the design, punching in carefully -- like making a "connect the dots" in reverse. Take the pattern off, and very lightly dust over the punkin with flour. This will make the dots stand out so you can see them.

Now, using a sharp knife, small saw, punch, and heck I've seen people use their craft drills like Dremel tools -- now cut out your design. Be very careful, and supervise small children. Please!

It's traditional to use candles stuck into a pool of their own melted wax to light your lantern. But I find it more practical to use votive candles in glass holders, or little tiny lights sold for this purpose. I mean, come on, look at the size of my dog, and calculate the average windspeed of her tail wag.... Little lights are safer than candles sometimes!

Punkin Seeds
Now... remember your punkin seeds? Clean 'em good, get all the slimies off them, and rinse them. Bring about 2 cups of water to a boil, stir in about 4 tablespoons of kosher salt and maybe a sprinkle of seasoning salt. Put the seeds in that. Leave them alone for 2 hours. After two hours, pour the water off, spread the seeds on a baking sheet, and roast in a very slow oven for four hours.
OR
After you pour off the water, heat a heavy pan on the range, pour in about two tablespoons of your favourite oil -- barely enough to cover the bottom of the pan -- and drop in your seeds. Stir! Stir, stir, stir! When the seeds begin to sort of "puff" and "pop", you are done. Turn off the heat, cool the seeds, and seal them up in a jar or bag for snacks.

Note -- if you are doing this to make birdseed or small animal seed, don't use the seasoning salt, and cut the kosher salt back to two TEASPOONS.

Preserving Punkin
After you cooked up all your punkin (see above) and cooled it, you'll need to strain it. If you have a fine seive or colandar, use that. If yours isn't so fine, just lay a piece of muslin, or cheesecloth, in the bottom of the colandar and drain that way. Save what you drain to water the houseplants with. It makes them happy.

Once your punkin is drained, you can have some fun, mooshing it up with your hands. Or you can use your blender or food processor. Hands is more funs, as my Nana used to say.

Once it's drained, can it as you would jam or jelly. Or, you can put it into zip-top bags to freeze.
But what are you going to "do" with your punkin? Well....

Pumpkin Soup

Pumpkin Bread

Pumpkin Cookies

More rain??

For goodness sake.... I'm starting to feel as if I live in a rain forest or something!

But at least today it's just cloudy... no rain *yet*.

I've been playing with a worm farm a little, and doing indoor chores like washing and rehanging curtains and stuff, and getting my gear ready for deer hunting in November.

I must say, I'm sort of half-looking forward to that, and half-not. I mean, I love the taste of venison, but oh my, we'll have to butcher and pack the meat. I love the cool crisp smell of November in Missouri, but oh my, I'll have to be out there awfully early in the cold! I want to make Cat and Lynk some mittens out of the deer hide, but oh, my, I'll have to tan and work the hide first...

Talk about ambivalence! But... In the end, it'll be worth it and it'll be nice to look at packages of jerky in the pantry, and packs of yummy steaks and ribs and roasts in the freezer.

Now if the deer will just co-operate. You know, some years I am totally convinced that Mizzourah Whitetail Deer have digital calendar watches. They know the exact date that firearms season starts, and they know to the second what shooting hours are. I sometimes think they synchronise their watches so that from opening day onward, they can be sure to hide for the duration of the season!

I bet they sit around playing cards in the caves or the deep woods, and laughing about hunters. You know, sort of like that cliche' black velvet painting of the dogs playing poker?

But I am determined to outsmart them again this year and if not bring home the bacon, at least bring home the venison!

More rain and more and more....

I like rain as much as the next girl, but I'm beginning to feel like the old lady from Scotland:

Tourist: How long has it been raining here anyway?!

Old Lady: Weeel, this week 'tas only rained since Sunda. An' last week 't only rained from Sunda to Saturda.

I know how she felt! That's about how long it's been raining here. I haven't been able to work on getting my garden beds ready for next spring, and I haven't been able to start putting together my banty coop yet, partly because I'm too scared to run the saw when the ground is wet, and let's face it, I can't exactly cut parts in the kitchen, can I?

So I've been doing other things.

When I posted the story of Jack o' Lantern, my family reminded me there are a bunch of traditional things that people never do or teach their kids anymore. That includes the little songs and fingerplays that I taught all of them as they grew, and that they now teach their kids or the kids they babysit.

What happened to all the magic that used to permeate childhood? What happened to fairies and dragons and magical coins and little creatures who hid in the sand and granted wishes? What happened to little old women who swallowed flies or spiders who climbed water spouts?

The emphasis lately seems to be on killing things or blowing up things or otherwise destroying things. But it wasn't always that way, and it doesn't have to be. I wouldn't presume to go into the psycho-social implications of today's images on today's children, but I will say this: Gentleness, laughter, and love, are never out of place or out of fashion.

Some people may blame the loss of these old-fashioned images on the advent of television and computers and video games, but that's nonsense... we have all those things at our house, and we never forgot the magical things of childhood. Perhaps these things may bring back some of the wonder of your own young times. Perhaps you can use these things to amuse younger brothers and sisters or the children you babysit for. And perhaps if you have children of your own, you will pass these little things along to them, so that the magic and the wonder will not be forgotten.

Here are words and titles, and if you don't know the play that goes with some of them, you can always look them up online and chances are, you'll find a video for them to teach you, so you can teach others.

The Old Woman Who Swallowed a Fly
There was an old woman who swallowed a fly – but I don't know why she swallowed the fly. I guess she'll die!
There was an old woman who swallowed a spider – it wiggled and jiggled and tickled inside her.
She swallowed the spider to catch the fly.... but I don't know why she swallowed the fly. I guess she'll die!
There was an old woman who swallowed a bird – Absurd! She swallowed a bird!
She swallowed the bird to catch the spider that wiggled and jiggled and tickled inside her.
She swallowed the spider to catch the fly.... but I don't know why she swallowed the fly. I guess she'll die!
There was an old woman who swallowed a cat – Think of that! She swallowed a cat!
She swallowed the cat to catch the bird,
She swallowed the bird to catch the spider that wiggled and jiggled and tickled inside her.
She swallowed the spider to catch the fly.... but I don't know why she swallowed the fly. I guess she'll die!
There was an old woman who swallowed a dog – What a hog! She swallowed a dog!
She swallowed the dog to catch the cat,
She swallowed the cat to catch the bird,
She swallowed the bird to catch the spider that wiggled and jiggled and tickled inside her.
She swallowed the spider to catch the fly.... but I don't know why she swallowed the fly. I guess she'll die!
There was an old woman who swallowed a horse... She's dead, of course!

~~~~~

The House That Jack Built
This is the house that Jack built.
This is the malt that lay in the house that Jack built.
This is the rat that ate the malt that lay in the house that Jack built.
This is the cat that chased the rat that ate the malt that lay in the house that Jack built.
This is the dog that worried the cat that chased the rat that ate the malt that lay in the house that Jack built.
This is the cow with the crumpled horn that tossed the dog that worried the cat that chased the rat that ate the malt that lay in the house that Jack built.
This is the maiden all forlorn who milked the cow with the crumpled horn that tossed the dog that worried the cat that chased the rat that ate the malt that lay in the house that Jack built.
This is the man all tattered and torn who kissed the maiden all forlorn who milked the cow with the crumpled horn that tossed the dog that worried the cat that chased the rat that ate the malt that lay in the house that Jack built.
This is the priest all shaven and shorn who married the man all tattered and torn who kissed the maiden all forlorn who milked the cow with the crumpled horn that tossed the dog that worried the cat that chased the rat that ate the malt that lay in the house that Jack built.
This is the cock that crowed in the morn that waked the priest all shaven and shorn who married the man all tattered and torn who kissed the maiden all forlorn who milked the cow with the crumpled horn that tossed the dog that worried the cat that chased the rat that ate the malt that lay in the house that Jack built.
This is the farmer who grew the corn that fed the cock that crowed in the morn that waked the priest all shaven and shorn who married the man all tattered and torn who kissed the maiden all forlorn who milked the cow with the crumpled horn that tossed the dog that worried the cat that chased the rat that ate the malt that lay in the house that Jack built.
And this.... Is Jack!

~~~~

Soldier, Soldier, Will You Marry Me?
Verse One:
Oh, Soldier, Soldier, will you marry me, with your musket, fife and drum?
Oh, no, fair maid, I cannot marry you, for I have no shirt to put on.
So up she ran to her grandfather's chest
And found him a shirt of the very best.
She found him a shirt of the very, very best
And the soldier put it on.
Verse Two:
Oh, Soldier, Soldier, will you marry me, with your musket, fife, and drum?
Oh, no, fair maid, I cannot marry you, for I have no pants to put on.
(Continue as above)
Verse Three: The soldier needs stockings
Verse Four: The soldier needs boots
Verse Five: The soldier needs a tie
Verse Six: The soldier needs gloves
Verse Seven: The soldier needs a hat
Verse Eight:
Oh, Soldier, Soldier, will you marry me, with your musket, fife and drum?
Oh, no, fair maid, I cannot marry you –
For I have a wife at home!

Here is a second version of the Soldier Song:
Oh, Soldier, Soldier, will you marry me now, with a hey, with a ho, with the sound of the drum?
Oh, no, fair maid, I canna marry you, because I have no pants to put on!
So she ran to the shops as quick as she could run, with a hey, with a ho, with the sound of the drum.
She bought him a shirt of the very, very best – "Now here, my small man, put this on!"
The song continues the same way; this is just another version that I learned from my granny.

~~~

Skinna Marinki Dinki Dink
Skinna marinki dinki dink, Skinna marinki doo (pretend to strum a banjo)
I love you, I love you (hug yourself)
I love you in the morning (Make a big sun-shape above your head)
And in the afternoon (make a round shape in front of you)
I love you in the evening (make the shape at tummy-level)
And underneath the moon! (Swing the round shape up over your head)
Ooooh, skinna marinki dinki dink, Skinna marinki doo!
I love YOU, I DO!


Something in My Pocket
I've got something in my pocket (reach into a pocket)
It belongs across my face (pull one finger across your cheeks)
I keep it very close at hand (pat the pocket)
In a most convenient place.
I'm sure you couldn't guess it (shake your head)
If you guess a long, long while (reach to your pocket again)
So I'll take it out (take "something" out of your pocket)
And I'll put it on (make a smiley shape over your own face)
It's a great big happy smile!

~~~

I hope these give you ideas for things to do with your younglings.

Goodbye, Milo

I haven't a lot to say today, nor am I really in the mood to say anything at all. Milo, our Basenji, went to the vet for the last time today. He was a good dog, and lived a good long life, and he will be missed.

Autumn's Chill and Jack-o-Lanterns

Everyone knows that pumpkins and other squashes come from the new world. But did you know that there were Jack O’Lanterns long before the Americas were discovered? There were!

There are all kinds of stories about Jack O’Lanterns. Some of them mix various religious teachings into the story, and some of them are frankly, dark and frightening and not fit for children. But some of them teach their lesson with laughter, and that’s the way my great grandmother taught, so here is the story she gave us.

Long ago when the world was younger and so were we, there was a young man named Jock. Tall and strong he was, and with a face as fair as a summer morning, with long brown hair like an otter’s pelt, and big green eyes like the leaves of an oak.

But Jock for all his beauty was a lazy man and given to daydreaming and playing tricks, and he spent his time roaming and wandering and drinking in the pub of an evening or making whisky up on the mountain, playing his pipes or his harp in the meadow -- anything except helping his mother around the croft and the farm. He would not cut her peat for her, nor plough her fields, nor shock her grain or milk her cow. He would not even tie the thatch on the roof, or nail up the shutters when the wind blew them loose.

“Ah me,” his mother would say, “Someday, Jock, you'll learn a hard lesson!”

Now, Jock knew that every year at Samhaine when the harvests were over and the apples and the grain were in, that the Sidhe, that the English call the Faerie Folk, would come to feast and dance and celebrate the end of the year’s toil. And he knew that the Sidhe still had friends among the children of men, and that often times they’d invite such friends to share the feasting and the music and the telling of tales. Jock wanted to join the Sidhe some night. He knew they’d put on a feast better nor like, and knew their music was the sweetest ever heard, and that all round, any way you chose, their harvest festival was something to see!

So even though his mother laid out pig with applesauce, and bannocks, and a good smooth whisky, Jock never sat down at her table, but instead he hollowed out a turnip and put his candle in it to protect it from the wind, and he went out to look for the Sidhe. And people saw his little turnip-lantern as it bobbed along the roads, and the fields and up the mountain, and shook their heads.

“I’ll look for them by the big oak in the forest,” Jock said to himself, and he took his turnip-lantern and went to the big oak. Sure enough, he heard the sounds of singing and of laughter, and smelled the feast, but just as he got close enough to see the flicker of light and hear the stories, the Sidhe vanished!

“Well,” said Jock, “I know where a rowan grows, surely there will be a feast there.” So he took his turnip lantern and went to the rowan tree. Sure enough, he heard the sounds of singing and of laughter, and smelled the feast, but just as he got close enough to see the flicker of light and hear the stories, the Sidhe vanished!

“Well,” said Jock, “I know where a thorn grows, surely there will be a feast there.” So he took his turnip lantern and went to the thorn tree. Sure enough, he heard the sounds of singing and of laughter, and smelled the feast, but just as he got close enough to see the flicker of light and hear the stories, the Sidhe vanished!

But this time just as Jock went to turn away and hunt again, a hand grasped his arm. And fight and struggle as he would, Jock could not free himself.

“Who are you?” he gasped.

“I am Aengus Og,” the man replied sternly. “Who are you and why do you disturb my people and their friends at their feasting?”

“I’m Jock and I wanted to join you,” Jock said.

“Join us, will you?” said Aengus Og, that the English call Fair Angus. “Then join us you shall, but you must first find us a place to feast! Take up your turnip-lantern, and lead us, and mind you choose a place that’s bonny!”

Trembling, Jock lit his candle again, and led the way to a beautiful riverbank. “Too wet!” cried the Sidhe. “Find a better place!

Jock took them up the side of the ben, to a beautiful place he knew. “Too windy!” cried the Sidhe. “Find a better place!”

Jock took them to a cave he knew, deep and secret. “Too dark!” cried the Sidhe. “Find a better place!”

All night long, with his turnip-lantern lighting the way, Jock led the Sidhe over all the lands of his clan and chief. But each place the Sidhe found fault with and they cried, “Find a better place!”

At last, in desperation, nearly fainting from cold and weariness, the candle in his turnip almost burned away, Jock led the Sidhe to his mother’s cottage.

“This is the last place I know!” he shouted, before they could find fault.

“Then here is where we will feast,” said Aengus Og. “Here in the house of your mother, that she has made with her hands, amid the fields she has worked alone, with no help from you.”

And Jock trembled again, because however bonny Aengus was when he smiled, now that he frowned he was terrible indeed.

“All you see here your mother has made, and you have not helped her with any of it! You do not plough the field, you do not cut the peat. You do not hunt for the table, you do not milk the cow. You do not even thatch the roof or fasten up the shutters against the cold! What makes you think you should share the feast she made, or the feast we brought at all?

“I’m sorry! I didn’t think!” Jock answered, and Aengus Og’s face softened.

“Well, begin thinking then,” he counselled. “And every year, if you have not helped her, then we will make you take up your lantern and lead us the length and breadth of Scotland, until you find us a house where the lad has been good and has worked like a man! But if you have been good and helped your mother, so that she doesnae have to work so hard, then we will bring you a golden coin for every cycle of the moon.”

“Aye,” cried Jock. “Aye, that I will do!” he promised.
And every year after the last harvest, if you look out your window, you may see the Jock with his Lantern, leading the Sidhe to his mother’s house for feasting and fun.