Barefoot Beginnings

One of the highlights of summer for me is being barefoot , except when shopping or attending services at church. Since I can even slip my shoes off at work, I am exaggerating only slightly.  My grandmother says I'm the only person who visits and then drives home shoeless without even realizing it.  It has happened more than once that I have forgotten to put the shoes back on when leaving, that I slipped off upon arrival on her back porch.

This trait is something I inherited from my mom.  She was a public school teacher, and she always said that it felt so good each afternoon when she got in her car to drive home to drop her shoes in the floorboard first. I can remember as a young child, watching her slip her shoes off in the car, even as she drove 55 miles an hour down the highway.  My father always liked to say about her, "You can take the girl out of the country, but you can't take the country out of the girl", in reference to the fact that she had been raised on a tobacco farm outside a small town but now lived in a suburban neighborhood just outside Greensboro, NC.  At the time,  I couldn't understand exactly what "country" was in her that needed to be removed, but since both my parents would grin when dad would make that comment, I would smile, too.

As a young child, I can remember pleading with my mother to allow my brother and me to go barefooted on the first day we deemed warm enough in the spring.  Although she wasn't a woman of many rules, she always demanded that we not go without shoes until the first day of May.  "If it's 85 degrees today", I would ask, "what is so magical about the first day of May?" Her explanations would only increase my frustration because she would respond that her mother had always made her wait until May to go barefooted so we should wait as well, and then, just for good measure, she'd throw in something about the likelihood that we would "catch cold".  (Wasn't that the reason mothers gave for not getting to enjoy atleast 90% of what makes childhood so enjoyable?  Maybe I should tell my own children that they should abstain from all contact with the opposite sex so as not to catch cold.)

When that first Saturday morning in May finally did roll around, my brother and I would be outside by 8am anyway, running around our yard to feel how interesting all of the different available textures felt on our feet.  We'd rub our feet over the scratchy concrete of our sidewalk, through the softest patch of green grass in our yard, and over the cool, smooth tiles of our front porch.  We'd later run barefoot to our neighbor's home just a couple of houses away to announce, as if she couldn't see with her own eyes,  "WE get to go barefooted today!"  We'd then implore her to ask her mom if she could forego shoes as well, joining us next in her sandbox to bury our feet and  to wiggle our toes.  (We didn't have a sandbox.) 

Despite the lifelong joys of being shoeless, one  place where I will never go barefooted is my blackberry patch.  Last week, while picking in my old shorts and flip-flops, I almost stepped on what appeared to be atleasst a 6 foot long black snake.  (In reality, it was only about 3-feet long.)  In 9 years, it's only the second black snake I've encountered while living in the country, the first being one that made its way a few years ago into my grandma's fireplace, presumedly through the chimney.  When she couldn't get in touch with her son, she called my husband , who quickly made his way to her home. Enroute, I asked him how he was going to remove the snake from grandma's house, and he just responded that he wasn't sure.  Well, that not knowing turned into just picking the snake up right behind its head with his bare hands , Crocodile Hunter fashion, (at the time, he had watched some of Steve Irwin's animal videos with our young sons) and calmly carrying it across my grandma's kitchen and outside.  Us girls stayed in the house, and as Scott returned, my grandma immediately asked him what he'd  used to kill the snake.  "Kill it?"  Scott said,  "I didn't kill it .  I just threw it in the pasture behind the house."  He went on to explain the virtues of the blacksnake, how it isn't poisonous and how they eat mice and moles and other small varmints, but it all fell on deaf ears.  Grandma let Scott know in no uncertain terms that she didn't want that snake anywhere near her home and that she had expected a beheading.  Scott was expecting his own after that tirade.

A few days after my own encounter with a blackberry-loving blacksnake, I suited up like a HAZMAT employee (minus the breathing apparatus), despite the 97degree temps, just to pick blackberries.  I tried to be as noisy as possible during my expedition, so as to possibly prevent us from surprising one another.  Even though a black snake isn't poisonous, Scott had assurred me that a snake bite of any type would hurt.  I must admit , this experience and the ensuing blackberry-picking "uniform" have taken some of the pleasure out of blackberry picking for me, and it won't be the chore that I assign the boys anymore either.  (They may be too much like their daddy and just decide to carry the snake barehanded to the woods!)

After this experience, the berry cobbler that I eventually share with my uncle and grandma (See "What Happened to the Blackberries?" blog) may contain frozen vs. fresh berries....when I tell her about the snake, though, Granny will definately understand!

A Long Line of Love

My grandmother's close friend Daff called my home one night recently while we were away.  She thought she was phoning my grandmother and left the dearest message (intended for her) on our answering machine.  Daff said, "Chris (short for Christine), this is Daff.  Just checking on you, sweetheart, to see how you are doing. I don't know where you are, but I'll call you back later. I love you...."

Daff and my grandmother met when they began the fourth grade at Helena School in Helena, NC.  They were the best of friends all through their years of schooling, but sort of lost touch with one another as they were both raising their children.  My grandmother shared that she thinks that happens to alot of female friendships during that stage of life because there is so much for a mom to do when her children are at home.  I met Daff at a Christmas luncheon my grandmother hosted about 7 years ago and so enjoyed hearing the stories that Grandma and the couple of her classmates who were there shared.  They laughed heartily many times until my Grandma's eyes teared.  Just recently my 89-year old Grandma attended her school friend Daff's 90th birthday party, enjoying herself immensely.

In a day and age when neighbors ,cars, and houses change yearly sometimes, and even marriages don't often last, my grandmother's stick-to-it-ness when it comes to love is refreshing.  It applies to many relationships in her life.  Since her husband died quickly and unexpectedly of a heart attack when my grandma was only 48 years old, she has been faithfully caring for her mentally handicapped daughter, who is totally dependent on her  for everything.  Even when her daughter's behaviors towards her are unkind and selfish, grandma continues to patiently persevere and show her daughter unselfish love and concern.  Grandma understands that love isn't a rush of butterflies in the stomach...instead it's caring for others when they don't deserve it, in spite of who they are, being quick to forgive and move on.....love that doesn't depend on the endearing characteristics or accolades of the recipient or even on being loved in return.

I am the beneficiary of my grandma's stick-to-it-ness with love in a direct way, but even more so indirectly.  Because my mother was blessed with her own mother's unconditional love and care,  she parented well.  My grandmother's legacy of loving long and hard impacts the way I love my own children.  As corny as many find many country music lyrics, I can't help but think of the chorus from one of my favorite old country songs:

"You see, I come from a long line of love. 

When times get hard....we don't give up.

Forever's in our heart and in our blood.

You see, I come from a long line of love."

Us moms have to remember that when we care well for our own children , we are ultimately loving our great,great grandchildren.  Yes, our mothering is just that important.  Our children need to know that they are a priority in our lives, and that nothing they do can ever make us stop loving them.  Children spell "love"

 T-I-M-E whether us busy parents like it or not.  No matter what you give lip service to, your children will decide how much you value them in accordance with how you spend your time.  Ultimately, our children would rather have" face time" with us than the toys or sports camps or dance lessons our paychecks afford them.  Our children need less "car time" as we hurriedly rush them from activity to activity and more " face time".....not with their peers at after-school , but with us.  The parenting phase of life is brief, and we won't get a shot at a re-do , no matter how badly we might want it.  Make sure your kids know that being at home with them is your favorite place to be!  Your great, great grandchildren will thank you one day! 

Thank you, Grandma!

What Happened to the Blackberries?

My family took a 10-day vacation this year for the first time ever.  It was wonderful, except that it was planned during the last couple of weeks in June, when our garden was full of yummy vegetables and our blackberry bushes were full of yummy........ blackberries.  I had planted three blackberry bushes that I received in the mail from Stark Brothers Nursery the second spring that we lived in our home.  We all had visions of endless blackberry cobblers by that next summer atleast........that was about seven years ago.  At the time, we had no idea of the wait we had in store.

 My husband accidentally mowed over one of the bushes  that very summer, because they were in fact more blackberry "sprig" than "bush".  After replacing that one, those three sprigs did in fact turn into three bushes which multiplied into a plethora of bushes that have even required some pruning and thinning this past year.  We actually gathered fallen cedar logs in the woods around our home and on my uncle's nearby farm to build a support structure for them so that we would have something on which to drape the heavily-laden limbs.  (It also turned out to be a great way to hide our less-than-attractive cement well cover.)

Well, just before our trip, it was apparent that all the beautiful red berries would be turning black and would be screaming to be picked while we were hundreds of miles away in Utah. Alas, because of poor timing, it appeared that we would have to wait yet another year to cash in on the fruits of our labor all these previous years, because even though we have harvested blackberries in the past, our hoard had never been enough to make a true blackberry cobbler.  I casually mentioned to several friends that they could feel free to pick the blackberries while we were away, and even shared with my sister-in-law next door why the timing of our trip was so unfortunate.  It was my grandmother, though, who mentioned on the day we were leaving, that my uncle loved blackberries.  I told her to tell him to come and get all he wanted while we were away.

When we returned from our trip and checked the blackberry bushes , their once heavily- laden branches were almost bare.  I asked my grandmother if she and Uncle Rick had enjoyed the berries and she explained,   " No , we didn't get to eat any.  When Rick was picking your garden one night, he noticed how full and ripe the berries were, and told me he was going to pick them the next evening after work, but when he returned , the bushes were empty. He was really disappointed because he loves blackberries." 

My sister-in-law later mentioned to me that she had frozen one bag of berries for us, but that when she went to pick them , there were hardly any there.  Mmmm, I wondered....had the birds eaten them all?  I wasn't sure but really had no way to find out.

A few days later, the most wonderful neighbors in the world (mine!) casually mentioned that while we were away, mom and third-grade son had had so much fun together picking our blackberries.  She also mentioned that she had made the most wonderful cobbler in the world with them - in her crockpot!  ( I love crockpots, because you just basically dump in your ingredients, turn it on, and go about your merry way!  Even I can cook like that!) 

Well, I was so happy to have solved the mystery, and happier still that our dear neighbors had been the recipients of the bounty.  With the blackberries my sister-in law froze for us and the late-bloomers that ripened after our return,  I made the cobbler myself for friends and family.  My 14-year old son said, "That's gotta be our new summer dessert - I LOVE IT!"  (I just need to make another cobbler soon to share with my grandmother and especially my uncle!)

Here's the recipe my neighbor shared with me....frozen berries work just as well as fresh ones!

Crockpot Cobbler

10-ounce bag frozen strawberries

10-ounce bag frozen blueberries

10-ounce bag frozen blackberries

Spray crock pot with cooking spray.  In large bowl, toss all frozen fruit, 1/3-2/3 cup sugar, and 1/2 cup baking mix.  Move to crockpot.  Stir together 2 1/4 cups baking mix, 1/4 cup sugar, 4 tablespoons of melted butter, and 1/2 cup milk with wooden spoon.  With your hands, drop bits of dough on top of the fruit in crockpot.  In a small mixing bowl, stir together 1/4 cup sugar and 2 teaspoons ground cinnamon.  Sprinkle cinnamon suger on top of dough and put lid on crockpot.  Cook on high for 3-4 hours (while you tend to your blackberry bushes!)

 (My neighbor found 2 blackberry "sprigs" on her front porch the next week.....in pots that she had used to share her perennial cornflowers with me a few months before.  Having friends that garden is a double blessing!  Give it a try - just take turns passing the pots back and forth filled with whatever's blooming at your house.)

More Summer Reflections

Summer is the time to consider those new traditions that might be worth starting in the coming year....the slightly slower pace and longer days seem to allow time for atleast some reflection.  Before August brings the start of school and all the "to do list" items that entails, make plans now for next summer's "Founders' Day Celebration", one of our favorite traditions in Caldwell.
Five-six families with grandparents thrown in here and there gather at my brother's home next door around 4:00 in the afternoon each year on July 4th.   Each family brings a plate of sandwiches to share, any equipment necessary for the race/contest they have planned, and a handful of prizes for the winners of such.  Past highlights have included the watermelon roll, for those three years old and under ( the seeds of which are used in the later seed-spitting contest), the mile run in and around the cornfield, and the "hollerin' contest".  The yard is always festively decorated (thanks to my sister-in-law) with traditional patriotic ballads playing in the background (thanks to my brother, and yes, he knows the words to all the songs!)
After devouring  the sandwiches and the repurposed watermelons, the climax of the evening for all those with an insatiable sweet tooth like myself, is the judging of the pies in the pie baking contest (because after the winner is announced by the guest judges, we get to eat all the pies!)  I have won the pie baking contest 3 out of the 4 years that I have entered a pie.  This is quite funny , and even baffling to my sister-in-law I think, because I am quite possibly the worst cook in the county.  (I think I remember asking my college roommate how to heat a can of soup.  I guess I could blame my mom for that lack of training by the time I entered college, but I don't, because my growing up years were near perfect due in large part to her mothering, and I do just fine with soup prep these days!)  Mom would be proud!

Well, here's the very simple winning recipe for the 2011 Caldwell Founders' Day Pie Bakeoff...start picking out a place to hang your First Place ribbon now!

Double Chocolate Pie (how could you go wrong with a name like that?)

1/2 cup unsalted butter

1/3 cup instant cocoa mix
4 ounces semisweet chocolate, chopped
2 large eggs, separated
1 9-inch pie shell, baked

Melt butter and cocoa mix over low heat, stirring until mix is dissolved.  Stir in chocolate until melted and well mixed.  Remove from heat; cool slightly. Beat in egg yolks, one at a time, beating well after each addition.  Beat egg whites to stiff peaks; fold into chocolate mixture.  Spoon filling into pie shell.  Refrigerate 4 hours or overnight.  Serve with whipped cream.  Makes 8 servings - I doubled everything!

The highlight of winning was how proud my 12-year old son was of me....middle schoolers don't often confer praise on their parents, or atleast the two that I live with don't! (Being that he's male, it figures that that praise would be the result of his stomach being full of something he had liked the taste of!)  My son immediately asked me when we returned home on the eve of Founders Day if I had remembered my ribbon.  I think I'll go gaze at it now, hanging in the exact spot where he placed it on our fridge!