Genuine summer has arrived in force at Possum Cough. For the past few days, a front has been stalled over our region, bringing temperatures around 90F and some very high (for this area) humidity. The air is draped in a blue haze, and the drone of locusts and katydids is hypnotic and seductive. All of us - animals included - are behaving in the manner I remember from my childhood. As little movement as possible. When movement is necessary, it is as langorous as a sloth's sigh. Seek the shade. Seek the breeze. Talk little. Eat less than usual. Suck down fluids until your belly sloshes when you move. But try not to move much.
We've been harvesting some really nice yellow crookneck squash from the garden beds, along with our first (sadly premature) SugarBaby watermelon. The tomatoes are coming in with great beauty, and we even have some ears of corn ripening. Back when we thought we were going to have goats by this summer, we planted some mangle beets to supplement their feed. They are a nice, hardy beet. Here's what they look like:
They're too "woody" for human consumption, but goats and chickens are reported to love them. I washed one and cut it up and offered it to Shorty and Domino. They crunched it down like candy. They were uninterested in the beautiful leafy greens, though. Actually, the greens might be fit for human consumption. One never knows what MeeMaw may throw in the stewpot...
We spent all day yesterday with some friends of ours who live just a little north of us, Ro and Lee. They own a quirky farm of about 18 acres on top of a mountain in some truly gorgeous country. The area used to be rife with coal mines. Though the mines are largely played out, there is still a little bit of mining done in the area, and most people who live in those particular mountains have at least one stove or furnace that burns coals in the wintertime.
In addition to their house (a lovely old farmhouse with a great front porch), Ro and Lee's property contains a "grandpa house," which Ro built by hand so that Lee's father (now deceased) could live with them when he was elderly and unable to care for himself. There's also a barn, a smokehouse, several outbuildings, and an old store that the coal company used to run. Ro and Lee keep their deep freezers in the store, along with most of their tools and yard implements. When they were describing the old store, I kept hearing the Tennessee Ernie Ford classic "
Sixteen Tons" in my head. "
I owe my soul to the company store..."
They also have eight or nine of the prettiest highbush blueberry bushes we've ever seen in our lives. They built a timber frame around them and covered it with deer netting, which keeps out the birds and deer and coons and groundhogs and coyotes and, yes, the bears. Since the bushes are so well-protected, they produce prodigious amounts of blueberries. We spent almost an hour picking the beauties, at Ro's insistence. Here's MeeMaw with her bucket harness, goin' at it:
Speaking of "harness," when Ro and Lee brought the contraptions out, I thought I'd quote a bit of Shakespeare. So I dug down in my memory and came up with a nugget from
MacBeth: "
Come winds - blow, wrack! At least we'll die with harness on our back!"
The three of them stared at me. Somewhere off in the distance, a hawk shrieked. And then MeeMaw cocked her head and said, "Did you just make that up? Or did you get that outta some ol' book?" They all walked away from me, leaving me to smart in my shame.
While we were picking blueberries, Ro and Lee were preparing bread dough. They built a brick wood-fired oven outside the smokehouse a few months ago and have never used it. They had started a fire in it just before we arrived that morning, and by the time we were done berry picking, the loaves were ready to be put in. Ro raked the fire out, brushed the floor down, and it was time.
And no, that's not the world's largest beer in Ro's hand. It's a pitcher of very good iced tea that Lee makes. You can see the raw loaves on the board she's carrying.
Lee placed the loaves on this homemade table that Ro fashioned from a discarded restaurant table. It's very handily located, and he's used the table to dress out meat from his hogs and cows in the past. Easy to clean and sanitize. The bottoms of the loaves are coated with coarse cornmeal.
Here's Ro as he prepares to load the loaves into the oven. The large paddle he used is called a "peel."
We didn't have a thermometer for the oven, but from resting our hands on the bricks and thrusting our arms into the oven for just a second, we estimated that it was near 500F.
In about 30-40 minutes, the loaves were done. And they were exquisite. Light and flavorful, with a crunchy bottom crust. Lee sprayed them with water and sprinkled them heavily with coarse kosher salt just before they went into the oven, and this added greatly to their taste and texture.
After the loaves came out,we sat down outside under the shade of the porch on the grandpa house and enjoyed some tea. Ro also served some of his homemade wine to those who cared to imbibe, and he produced a most marvelous snack. I'll tell you about that in a few minutes.
Ro cut up some organic chicken and put it on the grill while Lee prepared a salad. While everything cooked, we sat and talked and sweated. The heat wasn't the worst thing. The worst thing was the lack of any breeze; it was absolutely and utterly
still. The moisture hung in the air and all over us, uncooled and unevaporated. It was brutal and miserable, but we sat out there and ate when everything was finished. The chicken was some of the best we've ever eaten, and the bread and salad were so fresh, they tasted unreal. As soon as we were finished eating, we gathered everything up and dashed inside and turned on the a/c. Here we are gathered around the dining room table:
We talked for a while, and then Lee brought out her Celtic harp (she taught herself to play when they lived in a cabin in Alaska) and played hymns and lullabies for us. The harp is living artwork, functional and beautiful. It's tone is warm and resonant, and watching Lee coax the notes from the strings with her delicate plucks was like watching poetry in action. She let me pluck at it when she was done. There is something very interesting about having the soundbox leaning back against one's chest, absorbing the vibration and color of the tones. No wonder King Saul sent for the young David and his harp when the black moods took him.
After she finished playing, we realized that we' d been there all dang day, so we said our goodbyes and left - heavy laden with gifts, as usual.
When we got home, MeeMaw washed the blueberries we picked. You can't really tell it from the angle of this picture, but that big stainless steel bowl holds about three gallons, and it's full to the brim. You've never tasted berries like these, and that's not hyperbole.
I mentioned a special snack earlier. Ro asked me, "Do you like sardines?" Well, this made me want to laugh because it reminded me of my favorite scene from the old movie "
The Burbs." But I kept a straight face and replied in the affirmative. Ro broke out a packet of King Oscar Mediterranean Style Sardines, soaked in olive oil, garlic, dill, pepper, and black olives. He broke out a box of Triscuits made with olive oil and rosemary, heaped a sardine on one, and took a bite, chewing with gusto. He bade me do the same. As I did, I made faces and loud noises for MeeMaw's benefit. She was also remembering that scene from
The Burbs and was trying not to laugh. But in truth, these were the most magnificent sardines I've ever eaten. Before we left their house, Ro handed me a packet of them and whispered conspiratorially, "Put those in your pocket." I felt as if I'd been handed some cigarettes or prophylactics. I will treasure them for a while, and then will eat them with praise and gratitude.
We were also the recipients of about four gallons of black walnuts from their trees in the back. After I get them shelled, MeeMaw will freeze them and will use them to make muffins, brownies, cookies, etc. I may just eat 'em by themselves. Like blueberries, black walnuts are a "superfood," full of antioxidants.
And before we left, I asked Ro if I could have a piece of coal from his coalpile outside the house. I explained that I wanted to coat it with polyurethane and use it as a paperweight or put it on a shelf as a knickknack. He helped me select several nice pieces, including some with dramatic strata showing. "
Bituminous" is one of those words I like to say just for the heck of saying it. It has a good mouth feel. Here is our possum examining the bituminous coal:
I also forgot to mention that I helped Ro dispose of a large hornet's nest. I say "helped" in the sense that I dropped it into a barrel and he poured hot embers from the brick oven all over it. I had nothing to do with the heroic part of the capture. Ro had gone out the night before in the dark and swooped a big plastic bag around the whole thing, tied it up, and put it in a garbage can into which he had previously sprayed a lot of hornet/wasp spray. When I think back on Joshi-O and me, with our flaming attempt to destroy the hornets at Possum Cough, I feel ashamed. As if I'd just quoted the Bard and been stared down into silence.
Rest well, loved ones.
