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.