Busy Hands Homestead

September is flying past.   I am trying to soak up the last few days of summer and the first of fall.  This involves pulling things out of the garden, into my kitchen and preserving food in jars.  I pulled the largest of my second and third planting of beets, (they were so small, sigh, in spite of the watering), scrubbed them, boiled them and pickled them.  I am trying out a few new canning recipes and using a few of my old standbys.    Really, this process should not have taken more than a few hours, but some how it took me all day.  By nighttime four ruby red pint jars stood on my kitchen table. This new recipe only contains half a cup of honey..  although, I will admit, that I am going to make a second batch of pickled beets using my old sugar laden recipe because I don't think the kids will be chowing these down with quite as much enthusiasm.  I picked arm fulls of my blue curly leaf kale.  Running back and fort...

Pretty, right?   This is what we had for dinner.   A wonderfully golden, perfectly crusted tomato quiche.   A pretty picture.   There are so many pictures of beautiful, well organized, pristine homes and meals, idilic children's activities, not to mention the many lists of how to make your home run smoother, your budget stretch farther, your kids act better that I often just sit and wonder what it is I am doing wrong.. or right for that matter. (As I am typing this, I have gotten up five, ten, I really don't know how many times to lay Sylvan back down on his mattress: "Hug. Kiss. Stay laying down.  Good night.  Bye, bye."  As soon as I sit back down his little face is peeking around the corner. And again.) So, dinner was pretty, but what the picture does not show is that the rest of my house is a mess.    A MESS.   Our upstairs is consolidated into one bedroom, while the walls and floors of the other bedroom ...

I have to admit that one of the most frustrating aspects of having purchased a house that requires an immense amount of work, is that while I am capable of performing the tasks, I am most often in the company of two little children and that negates my skills entirely. So, I have to admit that Adam has almost single handedly been transforming our bedrooms from this: to this: I have been keeping kids busy and at times out of the house with trips to the library and the park. This weekend, while the sander whirred away upstairs.  Sylvan and Ivory ran around the yard while I tackled the pile of onions I had pulled out of the ground to cure a few days earlier.  This is the first time I have grown this many onions and I am excited to have at least a few to store for later use! I made onion braids! so, this is what you need to make onion braids: Cotton Yarn  onions with dried leaves I three pieces of cotton str...

It is 10:30 at night and this little guy is still going strong. He is helping me with complete enthusiasm.  I, on the other hand, am tired and trying tie up the loose ends on the days projects.  The chilled dough ready for a thick layer of cream cheese filling and the last of the fresh peaches.   Peaches - off of which I have been slipping fuzzy skins, cutting them into wedges, ladling them into hot jars and of which I have been sneaking little bites and passing bigger bites to the kids. Peaches in a light syrup.  Peach cobbler.  Frozen Peaches. Old Fashioned Peach Jam.  Peach infused Apple Spread. I have been leaving the kitchen, but not wandering much farther than the garden. Along the edge of our porch, the seeds Ivory gingerly poked into the ground, now tower as plants above me.   The strawberries are finally turning red.  The Morning Glories I planted much too late are sparse but, well, gl...

When I was twelve, a recent transplant to this country (I am a citizen, but spent my child hood across the ocean in Germany), I was required to write a paper on the Clinton Dole presidential race.   That assignment resulted in a letter detailing all the reasons why I thought Clinton was the better candidate which I was actually was brave enough to put in the mail box and send to the White House.  (I really wish I had kept a copy of that letter.  I have no idea what it said, but I do know, that somewhere, in some box, I do have the letter I got back a few weeks later.  It was just a form letter with a pretty little signature but that was alright with me.  Twelve year old me got a letter from the White House!!) When I was twenty I met my future husband on the way to a debate at which nine of the twelve candidates competing for the democratic nomination for president were present.  I was going to see Dennis Kucinich.  I had recently declared a ...

The evenings have been hazy. "Smokey", Adam never fails to correct me. The sun, glows orange in the afternoon, deepening in color as it moves closer to the horizon.  The mornings are just brisk enough that I have pulled out all the little light weight jackets and we all wore our layers to the last of this summer's Camp Deep Creek Fridays. A small group met us there - some children already back to their school routines.  We spent one last camp day paddling around the pond, lounging on quilts, snacking and chatting, interrupted only by the distant putt putt of - what are they? airplanes or helicopters? Hours later I wrestled two tired children into the car to drive home. Looking out across the river and the town, from my high vantage point on Big Flat Road, I could see nothing of the mountains.  Nothing.  I couldn't help feeling like someone just took a giant big bowl and flipped it down on top of us. Ther...