Sundays and Sleeping In

Oh boy, did I. I can't remember the last time I slept until a quarter until noon but I did this day. A combination of a full belly and heavy rain outside lulled me to a sweet, dream filled sleep. It wasn't until Colin woke me that I realized I had been out so long. Luckily, my daughter was still in her diaper and that diaper had not exploded. Colin threw brunch together from last nights left over components; ham and cheese quesodillas with orange sofrito. Do I need to tell you they were absolutely delicious?

Sitting on the couch after brunch, we watch Lilo and Stitch and then sit down to enjoy some Led Zeppelin. My daughter makes up her own dance to the sound of Ramble On; it brings a smile to my still sleepy face. Then in the middle of dancing my dear girl slips and falls, tears springing to those little blue eyes.

The tears don't last long but it is good thing to give comfort.

One of my presents at Yule was Ree Drummond's The Pioneer Woman Cooks: Food From My Frontier. Today, I will me making a take on her Steakhouse pizza. I'll post pictures and the recipes, both original and my adaptation later today. Her opening words about this recipe really caught my eye.


"Warning: If you make this for a dude, he will love you forever. So make sure the dude is someone you don't mind loving you forever. Otherwise it could be a little inconvenient ."

-Ree Drummond, The Pioneer Woman Cooks: Food From My Frontier pg. 142

Ordinary Miracle

"The sky knows when it's time to snow
Don't need to teach a seed to grow
It's just another ordinary miracle today"



-Sarah McLachlan "Ordinary Miracle" 






Colin is in the kitchen making queso fresco, I have just finished making the sofrito and having a good, store bought cider. My daughter is watching Charlotte's Web as we three settle in for a relaxing evening. The simple pleasure of the night embraces me and I cannot help but smile. My new shoes fit good, my body is comfortable and comforted. Life is very good, without doubt.

Sometimes life hands us a raw deal, sometimes life is tragic without reason or explanation. Sometimes life is so full of want, need, loneliness and pain that we lose sight of what is beautiful about what we have here on Earth. Everyday, ordinary miracles surround us. A man I love made a wonder and delicious cheese. I made a beautiful and clever little girl. A brave and charming woman gave birth to me and a strong, good man raised me into the woman of conviction I am today. Three months ago I saw a double rainbow over the house.

I have a job that is hard but it is mine, makes money that feeds my family. I have a cat who seems to always know when I need his comfort and a faith that is steadfast and rich.

Our lives are ordinary miracles, if we dare to see them.
One day I will sit on my homestead in the fading light of dusk. The milk will be in, the eggs collected and my body will sing a epic of pain, satisfaction and joy. My children will make me smile and make me cry, my Clan will hold me, educated me, stress and sustain me. People who are part of my urban sphere will pass out of my reach if not my memory, new friends and clan mates will comes as the years spend themselves.

An authentic life well lived in good, hard work and joy. It is all I search for and it is all I want.

Help me.



If you share my blog on Facebook or any other social media, you will be entered for a chance to win a hand crocheted set of two washcloths. Please just comment on the blog post with where you shared the Heart of Home blog and I will select a winner at random. Good luck and thank you!

Today, it begins!

An apple a day...

I spoke of Cyser but in truth it is Pyment. Apple, grape and honey come together to make a sister to the cyser so popular in the cold season. Last night we racked the apple wine and bottled the metheglin. Metheglin is spiced mead; ours is spiced with cinnamon bark, cloves, all spice, and nutmeg.

And in the midst of all that we found the last bottle of the Blueberry Beer! Thought to have been all drunk up a few months ago, we were delighting and instantly thirsty upon its discovery. The kitchen is awash in the scent of apple, grape juice and sweet baked ham. With most of the Clan gone down to Texas for the last days of Christmas Vacation and other members visiting friends in Kentucky, it leaves the Clan Home empty except for my daughter, Colin and I. Thus giving us the time and space to attend to many projects, namely the brewing. 

May a cyser a day keep your troubles away. :)

Christmas Eve Rain

The rain comes down cold, chilling the air and soaking into the dark earth. One of the many reasons I love the Tennessee Valley is the cool, wet wind that come off the mountains. It kisses my skin like a lover, that moist air and makes me smile. I don't enjoy the crushing cold but cool wind and the sense of water on it fills me with joy. Tonight is Christmas Eve and my daughter watches A Muppet Christmas Carol on the TV. Pai is curled on the couch beside me, our she wolf in the skin of an Australian Shepard. Durellen, whose name means 'Dark Star', is curled on a chair and purring, content to spend his Christmas Eve inside for once. Colin is out
with Rhiannon, another driving lesson to sharpen her young skill. Kieran is downstairs, likely in the library and on her laptop. Angela is upstairs in her own room, likely packing for the trip to Texas. Seamus is at work, but only for another hour now become he comes home. The house is quiet but for the movie and my typing. My daughter's happy face does much to blunt the sharp edges of my pain; losing Anders still hurts. I still accept, the wheels still turn but I miss my little flame furred one.

As we descend into winter and I start the first day of my five day vacation, I breath a sigh. It is of equal parts relief and weariness. There is much done, some rest to be had and much else to do in the coming months. Rhi will be leaving for the Navy come Spring, the honey bees will be coming in at the same time. It will be time to put seed to plant and grow new things. It will be time to grow in new directions.

It makes me very quiet and thoughtful.

A very merry Christmas Eve to those who celebrate. Safe travels and good feasting to all of you.

She dreams in Scrumpy

Scrumpy. Cyser. Apple Wine. A song to drench the mind. Christmas is just around the corner but the weekend, a blessed four day weekend, means that I will have the time to learn to make apple cyser. A stronger version of the apple cider we enjoy warm during October, one that can easily put you on your butt if not careful. I'm alight with joy at the prospect; brewing is a dearly loved tradition in the clan. As is cheese making, baking, canning and leather working. Now I turn my hand to brewing and I am as happy as a school girl. 

The Dying Time

Dawn on a grey day

The second day of winter sees a death in the clan home. This morning I found our orange tabby, Anders, unresponsive and with no pulse. He was still warm, so I imagine he died barely an hour or so before I prepared to walk out the door. My hands still hold the tang of the red earth, my shoulders ache from the shoveling to prepare a proper place. I light candles and place them in the lanterns hanging from the branches of the tree. The tree stands like a silent guardian over the grave, were I give of green grass and leaves, the color of the Goddess of Cats. I say a pray, ask the Green Eyed One to open her paws to her flame furred child. The earth is the color of old blood as I smooth it back into place, patting it down until my palms are caked with dirt. Its my element, so to have it smeared from nails to wrist is no cause for concern. I place stones and bricks atop the grave, pressing them hard into the soft, cool ground.

I found Anders in a parking lot, alone and very small. I took him to clan home, to feed and care for this little orange orphan who needed me. My only comfort is that his life would have been cut short much sooner and uglier had I not acted.

It is only a small comfort, as I watch the fire dance in the lanterns and my eyes fill with tears.

Death is a part of the cycle, another turn of a wheel to give way to yet another. May his next story and mine, hold sweeter tales to tell.

Merry Yule; Bring the winter down

A bronze and pearl glass star. A cascade of rainbow lights, silver bows and ruby beads. Don't forget a opalescent unicorn with a wreath around his neck and a regal star with horns of moonstone, albeit the color and less the gem.  Throw it all a top of Frasier Fir and plug it in. Our prettiest clan tree yet, to celebrate both this very day of Yule and Christmas later on in this week. Traditionally, we would have a Yule log burning long into the night to bring fortune to our home. Today marks the first day of Winter marked by the Roman calender. For some of us clansmen the winter began at Samhain. This is a sweet moment, celebrated with much love and warmth. My day began early and in the gathering dawn I mentally ran down my lists of things to do. I rose, dressed and the first thing I do is go downstairs and vacuum. Picking up all those stray nettles, watering the tree and turning on the fireplace. I make sure the candles are lit and the room is already smelling good; pine and cider.

Then I run upstairs to get the ham ready. Into the big steel pan goes a shank ham, studded with cloves and drizzles in clover honey. Wine and whiskey get poured over the meat, a little sea salt and pepper. Add a little fresh basil, a generous handful of organic herb mix from our summer garden stores and a little more honey. I put the ham in at 260F for 4 hours; the tempting smell fills every corner of the house. Now I pull on my great house, emblazoned with my silver unicorn on the right shoulder, and drive to the store to get the last makings for my fancy hot chocolate. I make it every year around this time and at the end of this post, I will include the recipe for it. One by one, the clansmen and women slip out of there blankets. I throw sausage links on a hot, cast iron skillet and watch the smiles. Brown eyes, blue, hazel and green all sparkle with the pleasure of knowing breakfast is close at hand. The organic milk goes in the stockpot, the cream and the cocoa powder. Vanilla follows and then cinnamon. I add a generous tablespoon of honey to sweet the pot, literally! What I get is a seasonal favorite and everyone gathers close to have a cup.

Whether you celebrate Yule, Christmas or any other winter holiday, this is the time to let your family come close. Set aside the troubles and smile, dance, and give presents. Make good food and enjoy it with those you love. Remember that the winter is a hard time, a dying time and that these holy days are the time to create joy. Go forth and shine, though the cold wind blows.

Clan Hot Chocolate

6 cups of organic whole milk
2 cups of half and half
1/2 cup of hot cocoa mix (I use Kroger Brand)
3 TBSP of Hersey's Special Dark Cocoa Powder
1 TBSP of clover Honey
1/2 TSP of cinnamon *Optional*
1 TSP of vanilla extract

Pour milk and half n half into stockpot and warm.
Then add cocoa mix, cocoa powder, and honey.
Stir well.
When warmed to a shimmer, take off heat and add cinnamon.
Stir continuously to avoid a skin forming on the milk mixture.
Pour and enjoy.

Hearth Bread; Hearth Magic

Sometimes it is the most basic of things that build the foundation for something grand. There is a ritual to be found in baking, something that has a rhythm like the sway of woman's hips. Kneading is done in a rocking, turning motion and in it I find the steps of a slow, romantic dance. With warm water, salt, sugar, yeast and flour I can make dough. With heat and time it rises. I knead before the rising process and after, form the loaves and slash them with the Gebo, the Futhark rune for the Gift. Bread is food but this food is also gift. From my hand and from the Gods, from my good work and the money from that work. It was my pleasure to place this on my baking counter this morning, the warm smell of wheat and butter filling the kitchen and sneaking into the nooks and crannies of the house. I wrapped them in tin foil to keep them warm and seal in their flavor. In the spring, I purchased chives still on the blossom and diced the stalks. The green and purple interplay was lovely; the very breath of a living season. 

Hearth bread to me is the simplest of Hearth magic, the spirit and power found in the bounds of our homesteads and long halls. Little prayers and rituals that strengthen the bones of our homes and gives as much warmth as a fire to our hearts. The year spends itself down to Winter, the dying season is near at hand. My clansfolk hold true to the warmth and the old way, finding love in the fate we weave together like a cloth. As I slice this fine loaf and spread sweet butter across it, I watch my daughter and my chosen niece chase each other around the kitchen while my chosen sister and younger chosen niece doze on the loveseat. There is strong magic laced in the bones of this place. It's name is love, honor and knowledge. Would that all people were as blessed as I am.

Happy Thanksgiving from the Heart

Happy Thanksgiving

From the Clansfolk at the Heart of Home. Please enjoy this Heart of Home recipe, posted for you pleasure during this Holiday season. 

Jalapeño Cornbread

2 TBSP. Salted Sweet Cream Butter (softened)
2 TSP. Baking Powder
1 TSP. of salt

1  Egg

2 Cups of Hodgson Mill Yellow Corn Meal

1 TSP. Baking Soda
2 TBSP. fresh diced jalapeño peppers

1 3/4 cups buttermilk (or enough to moisten well)

Put butter in cast iron skillet in 400 F. Mix corn meal, baking powder, baking soda, salt, and peppers together; add egg and buttermilk.
Batter should be thick. Add heatened butter to batter and put batter into heated skillet and bake in 400 F oven 25-35 minutes or until brown.

You may also make corn sticks and muffins with this recipe.

Beloved Last Market of the Season

November 22nd 2014 at Market Square in Knoxville, Tennessee will be the place to be to catch the last Market Square Farmer's Market of this year. Over the summer I have enjoyed ice cream cones from Cruz Farms, rosemary lotion from Wild Hare and blue lotus scented goat's milk soap from a gentlemen who still hasn't given me his lovely name. I will find it out this weekend, so help me. The cold ushers in my desire to start my Christmas shopping, thinking about the gifts I have squirreled away and the cards I will be mailing out. I have already purchased my Thanksgiving cards and they will be mailed out soon.

If you want more information about MSFM, please go to http://marketsquarefarmersmarket.org/

Come down and celebrate the last market of the Season with me! This Saturday, November 22nd at Market Square, Knoxville, TN. The market opens at 9:00am and goes until 2:00pm. Thank you and have a great weekend!

Remembering October

Sitting by the campfire with friends, One Woman Farm in my hands. This picture was taken at the beginning of October this year, at a camp side shindig that was held in my good friends back yard to celebrate her 30th birthday. Snug inside my flannel shirt and embroidered jacket, I was well pleased after a night of drinking and warm music among friends.


Right now the temperature is dipping into the teens, my niece is making dinner and I am trying to push out this post before I cave and go take a shower. I am really enjoying Cold Antler Farm but I am far from the end. I really want to buy Barnheart soon; I'm am happily and unabashedly hooked on Jenna Woginrich's writing and admit readily she is my role model. Her words give me hope that is an attainable dream, that one may slip the film of urban living and truly merged into an authentic, sustainable life in agriculture. The hives getting here early this week have really filled me with tender hope that after the cold, harsh grip of winter this one acre of mine will have honeybees. That in summer there will be honey, candles and soap.

My husband asks me what I want for Christmas and my mind can't think of anything but "the homestead". We are a long way off from where we want to be. Patience is a virtue I need to cultivate as we work but Gods above and below how I want to be milking my goats and tending my bees. There is one other thing that comes to mind. My husband used to play the violin when he was younger and still has the one he used as a child. I think I will ask him to have it stringed so that I may learn to play the violin. I ache to play Carolan's Welcome for my family.

I leave you this cold, autumn night with a picture of another autumn, a dawning over stormy skies and black walnuts trees. This little shack used to be the safe haven of a family of feral cats that I would bring food and clean water. In turn this lovely creatures would keep the mice and rats near the creek at bay.

"With humble bargains struck, each end holding true to the other, we find grace and honor."
 
-A Heart of Home Proverb

Sunday Morning Pie Baking and other Treasures

The sweet perfume of cinnamon and organic cane sugar curls around the warm air of the kitchen here at home. The living room, the dinning area and the kitchen make up the mid level in the house, a path making a happy circle. There are two recessed, sliding doors that lead to the kitchen; in days gone past perhaps these doors were actually connected to their tracks and did just that to allow the mother or father cooking to relax while doing so. Now they sit always open; the kitchen is a hub of Clan activity and there is almost always someone in it doing something. This morning, I slipped downstairs to gaze across the one acre of our back yard. It is too chilly to go walking in the dew and dim. The kitchen is awash in gold light as Colin inspects our erring dishwasher.


Maybe a cup of coffee is in order. Soon, when the coffee maker is done brewing its lovely elixir. Less than a minute now until the pie is done and Colin playfully lectures me about some aside I have made to the background conversation gathered around the television. The house is growing toward warmer on a physical level but emotionally the warmth is complete and permeates every square inch of the home.

The good news I might have mentioned is that come spring we shall be getting our first bees. One hive complete without frames, with queen excluder and a full size top feeder will be arriving any day now. The frames will come in the weeks later and when the weather warms, bees!

Carolans's Welcome by Orla Fallon is one of my favorite instrumental pieces when the air turns cold and the nights become full of velvet shadows and diamond stars. In the crisp, mountain air the stars burn icy shades of pewter and cyan when the sun sets. My mind turns back to the pie as the timer goes off and I wander over to turn off the heating elements and let it linger in the oven. I turn on the light and the clan gathers near to admire its height and the shinning, deep orange filling in the center. I wish I had heavy cream for whip cream but the pie itself is a blessing. To have my husband safe and asleep upstairs is a miracle giving last night's car accident that put the final nail in my Malibu's coffin. While turning onto Westland avenue, a car blind sided him and dug a trench I could have laid down in down the driver's side from headlight to back wheel well. Today one of the things on the to do list is to push the old Geo out of the garage and give her a full make over. After which the three working adults will still be able to go to work, a constant that is the life's blood of this household.

I will not ask for money or assistance from people. Only that you remember the Heart of Home Clan in the days to come when families and clans alike gather to comfort and give thanks at having each other close. These are holy days, these pewter grey morning's where the sky is as fluffy thick with clouds as a clean kitten. These are blessing, this velvet black nights with burning icy stars...to have our family whole and safe under the eyes of our Gods and the love in our hearts.

I am half way through Cold Antler Farm. I will have a lovely review for you all when I am done with it. Be safe and vigilant as you travel to your hearth sites and clan halls this season

Two proverbs from the Heart of Home.

Not the ones we know from the Holy Bible or any documented religious text. These proverbs come from the stitches in a patchwork quilt, the warm glow of a beeswax candle, the clean break in fresh cheese and the summer sweet perfume of homemade raspberry preserves. The first and best loved proverb of the Heart of Home is the very first words written on the top of the blog...

I bend my head and shoulders into the yoke of work, for I have miles to go and miles on my heart. These words are a promise, an oath and a hope as bright as a wildfire burning in my heart with the smell of woodsmoke, cinnamon and truth. The truth of a heart full of a love for something, someone that is just around the corner. We have another proverb, one I have used time and time again when faced with the unpleasant but necessary task of a hard lesson to be learned.

A hard telling for a hard truth.

Sometimes we cannot couch our words and sugar must be left off the meal of hard truth. We are kind when we can be, hard when we must be. It has always been the way of my Clan.



And so I have shared some of our words with you. There will be more as they spin themselves into being, dancing in my head like so many leaves on the wind.

Finally! Kiko Fest and Bees!

Firstly and foremost, I apologize for how long it has taken me to get this post out. Life has bounded away from me like the cagy buck and I have been dodging, running through fog, fen and bills to close the distance. So without any more adieu, I give you the IKGA 11th  Kiko Fest 2014.  

There were not many bucks at Kiko Fest but this one took the cake. Hoss, as he was named on the docket, was a beautiful 100% New Zealand buck with horns a foot and a half long easy. His hair was cream chased in dark chocolate, dark stout with just the right amount of foam. From a romantic view, he was like some fell and dark unicorn and he had a magnificent beard.  I wish I had taken a picture of his docket, for it held a good story of his fine breeding. Alas, there was so much to cover at Kiko fest and I only had a handful of hours to get it done. Below I took pictures of two more 100% New Zealand bucks and one buck whom I believe was  50% NZ Kiko and 50% Saanen. He is the one who is nearly cream white throughout his body.

Above- The buck on the left was my favorite out of the entire lot. He was very personable and his cinnamon and cream coloring was beautiful.

Right- 50% NZ Kiko and 50% Saanen. Lovely.







Then we get to the heart of the matter...Does.  Its all about the ladies.

 Does, be they meat or milk breeds, are the driving force behind the practice of raising goats. Their blood lines, if excellent, and performance, if fertile, are remarked upon with great fervor among the breeders that I spoke with . It was amazing to be there among those people, all very nearly cut from the same cloth I have been searching for. I wish I could say my research was a little more scientific but I went there with a great love in my heart and on the wings of my dreams. Thank the gods that I did not go with money in my pocket. I would have easily come back with two does and if I had cash, a buck service, for kids in the spring. My Clan would have been a little overwhelm.

 Later this week I will have my interview with the president of the International Kiko Goat Association typed up and will share that with you all. More pictures will be posted on request.

This morning finds the Clan warm, well shielded from the cold that has settled in the Valley. The wind has picked up and while the mountains got much in the way of snow...not so much us. The chill was bone deep and yesterday proved a valuable lesson in doing things early. Putting up the greenhouse in the cold rain, high wind and near darkness was more than the three of us every want to relive.  The Clan was happy this morning to know that we shall be getting bees in the springs. Honey, candles and soap know are more than just dreams. They are well on their way to being parts of our living, breathing life. I fill my heart with plans for lemon and orange water soap and beeswax candles.

Here's looking at you, Crossville.

I am headed out to Crossville, Tn today in hopes of getting in on the last day of seminars and the auction at Kikofest 2014. One of my best friends will be joining me today on this adventure, which makes me very excited. I meant to allow myself one more hour of rest but as if the goats were calling me from all the way in Crossville, I got up at my normal, workweek time. I allowed myself the luxury that is a hot shower without feeling rushed. Let my black hair wind dry by the cool breeze in the window, accentuated by the fast moving fan. Now to get ready and get out the door why the day is still young.

Out of the Farm and Into the Frolic

Saturday, September 27th, I ventured with a portion of my Clan to Dragonshire to see S.J Tucker preform at Fall Frolic. A long time lover of Sooj's music since being introduced to her in 2009 by my dear friend April Montgomery, I had seen her in Nashville and was delighted at the opportunity to see her again so close to home. So we journeyed to Crossville and found our way to a place called Valley of the Dragon. Upon our arrival my Clan sister was surrounded by friends but I pealed off with Colin to survey our new surrounds. The first marvel we encountered was a swing bed.

This amazing thing had Colin and I enchanted and we fawned on it quite a bit. Many pictures were taken in hopes we could recreate the thing for the homestead one day. It was strong and comfortable; in fact it was many moments before we could be coaxed to move from it once allowed to curl up on its softness and warmth.




But the paths twisting into the forest caught my attention and my longing. Soon I was off wandering the rope light guided trails into the wood, a bubbling brook flowing under a couple of bridges. I could not resist finding a log near the water to sit and cool my feet. I snapped a shot of the creek around me as I did so. I tarried far long than I meant to in that place but I have a love and adoration for fresh water ways. So cold and clear was the water, I sat for nearly two hours watching the people going back and forth over the bridge. I felt like some mermaid or undine sitting on the log near the rocks; some ancient water guardian greeted by travels so that they might have a blessing in the passing.

There were many merchants at Fall Frolic but one caught my eye in particular. Sock Zen, purveyor of knee and thigh high socks. Colin purchased as a gift for me a pair of over the knee black and red striped ones. As a UGA fan and as UGA was playing UT that weekend, I was delighted to be wearing these colors. Even more so when I heart that Uga beat Old Smokey. I asked the owner if I could take pictures for my blog and generally make happy about her socks. She was happy for me to do so. Check her out at http://www.sockzen.com/ and get a pair of your own. They even have Organic Socks! Here is a few pictures...

 I wanted to get the rainbow thigh highs but I was luck to get the black and red pair that you can just see above the rainbow pair. These socks kept me warm through the chilly September mountain air but as they are made of 80% recycled cotton, they breath like a dream. They even come in a variety of college football colors, vertical stripes and diamond patterns.

I love the Organic Spa collection, for Organic products please me. I am very invested in products that are made with the use of pesticides and artificial ingredients. I grow my herbs here

on my acre with poisons, relying on sun, water,
and the occasional buttermilk tincture to urge my
plants to grow to their magnificent bounty. I wait in eager anticipation to get a pair of Organic Spa socks in a pattern called "Cake Sprinkles". They are currently out of such a lovely pattern but I will keep checking back in hopes I may have these lovelies soon.

Pirates and Pixies was the theme of Fall Frolic this year and so they hoist a great ship atop the bonfire. I apologize for not yet having the videos of the fire. I had only my phone with me and no video camera. Still, I caught an essence of our dancers that stirred my soul. Check out Dragonshire and Sock Zen on Facebook, buy some socks or come down to the Gather. These are good people, many of which make their live by the skill of their hands. Of S.J herself I did not take any pictures but I will be sharing some of her songs here.

http://music.sjtucker.com/album/mischief

In the arms of Autumn

"One last kiss, for my darling Summer. Soon now, I fall into the arms of my true love, Autumn. My heart gathers in the Fall and dreams begin."  -A.N King

 Those were the words I posted to Facebook on the Autumnal Equinox, which just so happen to also be my husband's 30th birthday. We are nearing October at a break neck pace, a time of the year Jenna Woginrich calls her Holy Days. My mind turns to the transplanting of the spear and chocolate mint, thyme, savory, rosemary, lemon balm, oregano and basil growing in our raised bed garden. The Brown Turk fig trees in their pots behind the workshop. To the raspberry preserves, raspberry vinegar, tomato basil jam and garlic pickles in the kitchen, knowing that I have to make more of that Amish Friendship Bread because everyone adored the sourdough starter I tended for twelve days. I started half of the starter, so it will be easy to make more tonight if I have the energy after our travels.

Baking is a cornerstone of my life and in the kitchen, I feel I am my most powerful. Some of my urban friends laugh and ask me if I need be barefoot and with child as well. I smile ruefully and glance down at my bare feet. My eyes flick to my daughter and I laugh. I never did have the energy to bake while pregnant much so I smirk at them.

"Only if you need be hungry." I reply and we laugh. I adore their cheek, they adore me for my rustic eccentricities. What I am search for is not a life they would want to live but to look, to walk the path awhile beside me as the guide, suits them.

Hearth Bread is something I make in the fall time, a delicious yeast white bread that I flavor with

only a drop of orange blossom honey in the starter. I saved a picture of my very first Hearth Bread Loaves from about two years ago to share with you. I slashed one pretty deeply in my excitement but they came out tasting delicious.

It's hard to see the slashes in the still raw, risen loaves. I find that King Arthur Bread Flour is the best for this kind of bread work and tends to be the flour I lean to. The exception to that is using Swans Down Cake flour for cakes. Later this week I will include pictures and a recipe for my Chocolate Raspberry Cake, in which I use Swans Down Cake Flour.

And now, a recipe.

Hearth Bread



1 tablespoon (1 packet) active dry yeast
1 tablespoon sugar
1 teaspoon of honey (any flavor)
1 tablespoon salt
2 cups warm water (not over 110°F)
5 1/2 to 6 cups King Arthur Unbleached All-Purpose Flour
cornmeal
boiling waterTo mix: Mix together the first four ingredients. Let this stand until the yeast, sugar and salt are dissolved. Gradually add the flour to the liquid and mix thoroughly until the dough pulls away from the sides of the bowl. Turn the dough out onto a floured surface to knead. (This may be a little messy, but don't give up!)

Knead It: Fold the far edge of the dough back over on itself towards you. Press into the dough with the heels of your hands and push away. After each push, rotate the dough 90°. Repeat this process in a rhythmic, rocking motion for 5 minutes, sprinkling only enough flour on your kneading surface to prevent sticking. Let the dough rest while you scrape out and grease the mixing bowl. Knead the dough again for 2 to 3 minutes.

Let It Rise: Return the dough to the bowl and turn it over once to grease the top. Cover with a damp towel and keep warm until the dough doubles in bulk, about 1 to 2 hours.

Shape it: Punch down the dough with your fist and briefly knead out any air bubbles. Cut the dough in half and shape into two Italian- or French-style loaves. Place the loaves on a cookie sheet generously sprinkled with cornmeal. Let the loaves rest for 5 minutes.

Bake it: Lightly slash the tops of the loaves 3 or more times diagonally and brush them with cold water. Place on rack in a cold oven with a roasting pan full of boiling water on the oven bottom. Bake at 400°F for 35 to 45 minutes, until the crust is golden brown and sounds hollow to the touch.

For a lighter, crustier bread, let your shaped loaves rise for 45 minutes. Preheat the oven and roasting pan with water to 500°F for 15 minutes. Brush the loaves with cold water, place in the oven and bake for 10 minutes. Lower the temperature to 400°F and bake for 10 more minutes. Remove from the oven, let cool and devour!

For a heartier, more nutritious bread, substitute 2 cups of King Arthur Traditional Whole Wheat Flour for 2 cups of King Arthur Unbleached All-Purpose Flour.


This is based on a King Arthur Flour Recipe. The original recipe does not include honey. Enjoy!

Strait to the Heart

He was born May 18th 1952 and was celebrating his thirty second birthday the day I was born. I first heard George Strait's "Amarillo by Morning" when I was five years old; he was my Grandmother Leavoda's favorite artist and we grew up with that song. "Ocean Front Property" and "Fool Hearted Memory" were and still are dear favorites of mine. Fun fact, not only was I born on his birthday but so were my twin sisters. They graced this earth on May 18th 1988. I bring him up because George Strait's music is what helps me keep hope alive that I will find my homestead. Sometimes, its hard to believe I will ever have my farm. That I may free myself from the grind of commercial cleaning and turn my efforts back to home and hearth, all that I want. Necessity has dictated that I work full time, outside the home, to provide the needed money to continue to pay for energy, water, house, food and medicine.

I bend my shoulders to the yoke of work, for I have miles to go and miles on my heart.

Those words of my own crafting are my mantra, my humble prayer to the Gods all around us. I know I must sweat and hurt for my dream, that my dream will cause me to sweat and hurt more but in more comforting setting. Volunteering for six months at Horse Haven here in Knoxville helped shaped my suburban body to the frame of barn work. Hauling hay and shoveling manure, well that takes stubborn will and a strong body. It takes a spirit of one who wishes to give, especially if you aren't getting any money to get up in freezing temperatures to make sure the horses get turned out. Having to work full time has left me no time for volunteering at that great rescue but I remember it well and miss it terribly.

Tomorrow is a rare treat. We travel down for Fall Frolic and get a chance to see one of our most beloved artists, S.J Tucker. In preparation, I have been listening to two of her albums which I count among my favorites. "Mischief" and "Wonders". That music leaves me feeling romantic, so after dinner I light a fall smelling candle and pop P.S I Love You into the Xbox.

Romance...to me it lies in well made beds adored with hand crocheted afghans. Hand sanded staffs by the front door, puff-stitch poncho shawls and scarves hanging from pegs. Our own stock in the meadow, Kiko goats bleating in the cool, evening air.  Black Australorps and Buff Orpingtons scratching in the yard, picking out tasty bugs and wild seeds. Hummingbird vine burning bright scarlet in the morning dawn, like cherry colored stars. Have you ever seen the beauty that is a Hummingbird Vine? Sometimes called a star glory by the locals, they are drop dead gorgeous flowers.

I love morning glories of all varieties and I have been blessed with a green thumb. Purple is one of my favorite colors, so I was overjoyed when I first moved to Tennessee and saw that some kind soul had planted both Hummingbird Vine and Morning Glories in the front yard.

One day, dawn will rise like it did that morning in Oak Ridge, when I looked out upon East Fork Valley and felt the restless stirring that is desire surround me. I was going to have a beautiful, pastoral life one day and the Volunteer State would be the one to give it to me. "That's why I hang my hat in Tennessee." to quote Mr. Strait.

The Goat said to the Tooth, you are "Baaaaad"

An exposed nerve, a sore mouth, with mounting pressure and pain. Such things have kept me from writing and I am sorry for my readers. On last Friday, said tooth began to pain me at every bite of hot or cold food, worse for drink. A long story short, the tooth has been pulled; antibiotics and pain kills dispensed. Now numbed up beyond belief, I know something of relief.

Its good timing too because in little less than fifteen days is the International Kiko Goat Association 11th annual KikoFest 2014. I am making big plans to head out Friday morning with notebook in hand to learn all that I can. When it comes to our homestead, we of the Clan believe that preparation is one of the best tools you can give to yourself. We are a forged family of scholars, each with a passion for books and learning. When I learned about Kikofest from Goat Rancher magazine, September 2014 edition, I was excited.

"Hey," I exclaimed while in Tractor Supply Company, picking out a flannel shirt and a fifteen pound bag of Taste of the Wild for the cats.

"Kikofest. I have that Friday off! Crossville is only an hour or so from here. Want to go?!"

We agreed and we purchased the magazine, along with shirt, cat food and a few other things. I am very much looking forward to it. I think Kiko goats are amazing creatures, with their beautiful horns and silky beards. It is easy to look at them and see where we get unicorns but it is not the resemblance to that mythical creature that draws me to them. It is their robust nature, their ability to rest parasites and forage on a wild variety of natural terrain. Goats that put on weight quickly and are reportedly easy to work with. I could see them on my future farm and they fit into the picture of the Heart of Home perfectly. Creamy white bucks or sable chased does, kids bounding with their ears flying in the pasture.

Its what I want.

Today I put in an order for two Jenna Woginrich novels,

*One Woman Farm: My life shared with Sheep, Pigs, Chickens, Goats and a Fine Fiddle 

And

*Cold Antler Farm: A memoir of growing food and celebrating life on a scrappy six-acre homestead.

The first novel I mentioned, One Woman Farm, I checked out while at the Blount County Library some months ago. After happening upon it again, I decided it was time to own it.  One Woman Farm tells the story of Jenna, unhappy in her cubicle enclosed office job, strikes out to find her homestead after discussing the matter with a fellow employee. She weaves a delightful tapestry of color and experience in her story, of her joys and challenges finding her own Heart of Home. As she searches for a more authentic life, so to does her writing through fuel upon my own fire for a homestead. The lovely way the hardback novel is illustrated also adds a rustic warmth to the entire work, making it near and dear to my heart.

I will be taking pictures at Kikofest 2014 and will be looking forward to posting them. Until then, I must thank my readers for continuing to follow me down this game trail of hope to find what my heart longs for.

Coming Home

I mentioned my blog at work today, after which I wondered if anyone thought I was serious. I get that a lot, whenever I start talking about the D.I.Y raccoon skin cap tutorial in my newest issue of American Frontiersmen or the ethereal pleasure that is locally sourced sweet corn. Also when I talk about the difference in the lung structure of elk and white tail deer but less so when I talk about home made ice cream or bring organic peaches with a two day soak of Benchmark Brown Sugar on them. In a jar, of course, with an attractive block of rustic paisley on the lip. Secured with a matching rubber band because I was running late and couldn't find a red ribbon. Sorry about that, Angie.

That said, I'm proud of this little corner of web I have staked my claim to. Would that it was land. I suspect that, outside the Clan, not a lot of people understand what it is I mean when I say I am looking for my homestead. It more than just saving the money to find and afford a suitable property with house, acreage and barn. Though those things certainly have a part to play, it is also finding that place that the moment I walk onto the land I feel home. Were I can raise my animals and children in green grass and towering trees; where there is a pile of oak and hickory walking staves by the door, leaning against a rack full of crochet hats, scarves and mittens. Its a place where I hear my horse nicker to me for a treat, where my Clan is close, fed and safe. Something I have here in my current home but worked in truth by my own hand and sweat of brow; a drop of blood in the very making of it.

"Its a four letter word, a place you go to heal your hurts.
Its an alter, its a shelter, a place you're always welcome."  -Excerpt from "Coming Home" Gweneth Paltrow, Country Strong

Its a haven and its a heaven, made manifest by our mortal hands on earth. I'll know it when I see it, the way the heart knows love and the loins know wanting.

Between the Buff, the Black, and the promise of honey.

Chickens...

We are talking about chickens here, particularly Buff Orpingtons and Black Australorps. Murray-McMurray Hatchery sent me a color catalog that was not content to be informative but also had to be beautiful. To turn the chicken into a beast of amazing loveliness and endless usefulness. Chickens who would grow to be wonderful mothers and amazing layers, chickens who would grow to be lovely Sunday suppers, pest controllers and beloved livestock. I sit at the kitchen table, nursing a Jack-O Shandy and looking over at Storey's Guide to Raising Chickens. Bought for $10.00, it is an invaluable addition to our How-To library. I love Storey Guides; I purchased the Storey's Guide to Raising Ducks two years ago and instantly appreciated the clean lay out and informative chapters that have added so much desire to a life of homesteading. Some days ago I entered a few contests, one to win a chicken coup and the other to win actual chickens. Just ten, to the great relief of my Clan. All who exhibited expression of concern ranging from worried to panicked at the idea I might just win anywhere from five to fifty chickens. That and not necessarily the chicken coup in which to house them.


The Wisdom of the Radish by Lynda Browning brought my mind to the problems, joys, bounty and blunders that can occur when one falls in love iwth the idea of having in the flesh, pecking seed chickens. She is the author who made me want....no...NEED a hatchery catalog.




The Murray-McMurray catalog was not the only such printing I received but I also ordered a Betterbee catalog. The promise of honey is on the mind of all Clansmen; it is likely we will have bees soon on this little acre I call my farm. It isn't what it should be, maybe it never will be, but someday it will be a lot closer than it is not. The bees are a good step in that direction.

Turks and Treasures

The rising of the Saturday sun found me already awake and buzzing around the house like a worker bee. Combed and clothed, I stirred my family to wakefulness and then it was off to the Farragut Farmer's Market at Renaissance Park on Kingston Pike. The Farragut Market is a beautiful slice of rural elegance in the midst of urban sprawl. It was my pleasure not three weeks ago to purchase a most beautiful set of earrings from Set Free Design (Find them on Facebook!); braided horse hair hoops surrounding light teal roses. $15.00 and that treasure was mine to wear, framed against my dark hair. I also purchased beautiful tomatoes and Japanese winter squash, whom I mistook for the seasons first pie pumpkins at first. Yesterday's sack of purchases took the form of Lemon Boy and Pink Tomatoes, as well as the first Cherokee Purples I have ever clapped my eyes on. Then my eldest niece spots a treasure that for a moment transports us both to our childhoods in Georgia.

"Look, that's a fig tree." she exclaims and gestures to a woman carrying just such a plant in the crook of her arm. I ask her were she chanced by that lovely tree and she points me in the right direction. I won't lie, excited coated me from head to toe like a fine, clean sweat. I took off at a jog across the parking lot, hair flying and green eyes searching for the man with the fig trees.I found him and slid to a stop with a look that I bet was a lot like a hungry mountain lion.

"One of your patrons told me I could get a fig tree from you." I said. "What kind of figs do you have."

"Brown Turks." he told me and in my mind I was once again seven, climbing the old fig tree outside my grandmother's house in Smyrna, Georgia. I grinned broadly at him.

"How much?" I ask.

"Ten dollars." he tells me.

I look over my shoulder to beckon to my niece. "They're ten bucks!" I shout from where I am standing. I waste no time and reach into my bag, handing over ten dollars. Two minutes later, the Heart of Home has gained two juvinile Brown Turk fig trees that will bear us treasures for the tongue. The week before, I was pleased to see that my October Bean sprout is now over a foot long, quickly outgrowing his 38oz plastic container. That, the herb garden, and now the fig trees means that we will definably get good use out of the greenhouse we purchased that same weekend from Harbor Freight.

It is Tuesday night and I began writing this Sunday night. As I mentioned before, I am a full time maid and cleaning houses all day takes its toll on the body. I consider good conditioning for the work ahead, the work on the great green earth. I dream of a homestead, were every bed has a quilt or afghan from my hands, were our preserves, pickles, cheese, yogurt and bread are packed in the kitchen and were cold water runs deep. If you ever have a chance, read Sylvia's Farm by Sylvia Jorrin. Her book was like a door to me, opening up a realm of possibilities that sported creamy fleece, flashing black feathers and golden mead. Her words poured into me like hot mulled wine, spicy and subtle, fragrant and rich.

"Sometimes the most concrete of realities are built from the most ephemeral of dreams." -Sylvia Jorrin

In my dreams there are goats and wild grapes, children, cider and cheese. I rest now, so I can work to build them into reality.

Dreams of Bees and Better Days

It's dusk in the Tennessee Valley and I had the pleasure of coming home to our one, precious acre with a double rainbow painted across the storm stained sky. Under those gorgeous colors is our raised bed garden, waving green and fragrant in the summer air. From left to right stand Spearmint, Chocolate Mint, Basil, Savory, Thyme, Oregano, Purple Sage, Rosemary, and Lemon Balm. Carefully tended and organically grown, they perfume the warm air with a scent that makes me think of warm beds and homemade candles. 

'Ah, candles!' my mind whispers seductively and a grin for a moment like a happy idiot. Between the full time job cleaning houses, the full time job of being the blessed mother of a beautiful, two year old girl, and growing herbs, beans, canning, pickling and crochet.....well you would think I had enough projects. In my house, the talk of the Clan is bees, rabbits and even chickens. I have the nervous delight of knowing that last night, after a lovely night cap of apple cider and sweet whiskey, I entered into no less than twelve homestead related contests found through Mother Earth News. Every week when I get my cleaning check, I set aside no less than $20.00 dollars toward our homestead fund. This last week was full of overtime, so I make it $40.00 and I get online to tease myself with available properties in east Tennessee and west North Carolina. I and everyone in the Clan agree it is too early in the plan to look at properties but I cannot help myself. I scan through pictures and look at blue prints, square footage and fresh water proximity; my green eyes joyfully eat up the words like candy.

Out beyond that smokey horizon, there is a land full of eastern hawthorns and hickory, old oak and cold water running through it. There is a meadow ankle-high in sweet clover, my future hive, and good clean grass for the horse of my dreams. I know it because I must know it; a dream fire such as this must be fed with the wood of belief. I play some Heather Alexander, singing out loud to "Creature of the Wood" and think to the days ahead. I have a saying that is as dear as a prayer, which brings me most swift comfort.

"I bend my shoulders and head into the yoke of work, for I have miles to go and miles on my heart."

And so I begin my work and set my feet upon trail to find my homestead; a journey to the heart of home.