The Real Housewives of Orange County (North Carolina)

I am very blessed to have a dear group of four friends with whom I meet a couple of times a month in order to encourage and pray for one another.  At our last get together, however, there was more clucking than praying going on, literally.  Upon arrival at my friend's home, we heard what can best be described as loud, agonizing chicken squawks, at which point I hurried to the window to peer into their backyard coop to see what  all the ruckus was about.  Her son was sent outside to check on the chickens, at which point she began to tell us of the previous day's events.

Weeks earlier, her entrepreneurial and hardworking 14-year old son had embarked on a money-making mission, involving building his own chicken coop in the garage of their home in order that he might purchase his own chickens and eventually sell his own eggs.  Diesel, the pit bull in the neighboring backyard had killed one of his first chickens, requiring that he re-think the size of his initial coop. He and his father and younger brother decided to build a second, larger coop that would allow the chickens more room to roam about without fearing the aforementioned pit bull predator.  Well, during construction of the second coop,  a second chicken went missing, but the mystery didn't take long to solve.  A good friend of the family and owner of Diesel, 12-year old Blake, stated somewhat excitedly as all the boys sat poolside," You ought to see the big black bird my dog killed yesterday," to which my friend's son replied, "That big black bird was my new chicken."  As we discussed the ins and outs of maintaining friendly relations with neighbors we love amidst the challenges that free-ranging chickens and dogs on large plots of land in the country create, the discussion took a slight turn.

Hibbard's Hen House  (for building plans contact Brian Hibbard)

Just a few months prior, another friend in the group, who is a city-girl transplant to the neighboring metropolis of Cedar Grove, had experienced her own chicken dilemma.  She and her husband had purchased what they thought were 26 hens from a new acquaintance who happened to be Hispanic. ( I share his ethnicity because those 26 hens turned out to be 25 roosters and one hen, and my friends are hoping that this dire misunderstanding was due to a language barrier and nothing else.)  Well, if you know anything about raising chickens, you know that you can't have 25 roosters in one chicken yard....in fact, I'm told that just one is ideal.  This overabundance of testosterone  resulted in gang wars scarier than anything LA has ever seen - the Southside Gang stayed near the pond, the East and Westside gangs near the garden and goat pen, and the tougher Northside Gang claimed the area near the coop.  The yard was becoming a warzone , and my Cedar Grove friends deemed action, as unappealing as it would be, was absolutely necessary.





Cody "the Godfather" Rooster

 I called this particular friend on a particular day this summer and asked her 3rd grade son Liam if I could speak with her.  When he shared that she wasn't at home, I asked if his dad Brian was too busy to speak with me briefly.  Liam immediately said, "No he's not real busy.  He's just in the backyard killing our 25 roosters, but he's got some help." (I wonder what busy looks like to Liam.)

 When I inquired about who might be helping with such a desirable task, he responded that 60-year old Miss Elaine from their church was there as the chicken- killing expert.  She had skillfully shown Brian a few various and asundry ways to do the deed, and following her demonstration, Brian chose the method that involved wielding an ax, only to regrettably learn that his ax needed sharpening.  As my friend Kayli thanked Elaine for her help and apologized for the despicableness of the task, Elaine wiped her dirty hands on her overalls as she stated, "Oh don't apologize.  I just love killing me some chickens.  Reminds me of special times with my sister, because that was a job we always did together as girls." (Don't make girls as tough as they used to, apparently. My own daughter thinks the dirty dishes in the sink are gross.)  Thankfully, Kayli has a huge, and now full, freezer - just hope she doesn't invite us over for chicken and dumplins anytime soon.

Liam's hen, Ruby



A former member of our prayer group, whose daughter, upon the occassion of her 16th birthday had wanted her own chickens, worked with her husband to build the necessary coop to accomodate this birthday wish.  Unfortunately, what had started out as an act of motherly love on a beautiful afternoon resulted in an unexpected visit to the emergency room when her husband shot a nail through his wife's hand with a nail gun....ouch!


The only poultry we've ever had on our property was a rooster, the end result of a second-grade incubation science project at my daughter's school,  the first year we moved in our home.  That rooster met an unfortunate end one day when we were away from home and my brother's dog, who lived next door , did what dogs naturally do.  I've often pondered building our own coop and purchasing some new fine-feathered friends; however, after this particular time of "prayer" at my good friend's home, I'm re-thinking that venture.

 Most recently, my neighbor across the street apologized for the pre-dawn

crowing of her new rooster .  I let her know that I had been sleeping with the windows open just so I could better hear the beautiful sound.  She immediately said I was the best neighbor in the world for not complaining, but I told her that I was being purely selfish.  The fact that the rooster lives at her house allows me to enjoy the blessing of his early morning wake-up calls without dealing with the inevitable when it comes to raising chickens - carcasses, axes, emergency room visits, and turf wars, both with roosters and dog-loving neighbors .

With four children at home, free fresh eggs would be wonderful, but not truly "free".....



As we left our fellowship time, we all laughed as we pondered the fact that we had been talking chickens for almost an hour.  Don't think they'll be producing a reality television show about us any time soon, but I don't care.  The Real Housewives of  Cable TV can have their botox treatments, divorce lawyers, and tarot card readers.....but the real housewives of Orange County will keep our good friends in the country, both feathered and not!





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.)