What this life is about.

One month of Winter is under our belts, with two more on the horizon. This is when the true cold of the Tennessee Valley is born. It starts of staggering about in fits and starts like a newborn calf. A little snow here, a heavy rain there. That calf grows quickly and by February, you get an idea that you might have the meteorological equivalent of Bodacious the Carbray Bull. We don't (usually) get storms as large as our neighbors in the northeast; Lord and Lady watch over all your farms as you weather the white north, my homestead brethren.

Homesteaders...we seem to be a wide and varied fraternity, a Clan like a quilt of many colors. Whether you are raising organic chickens and eggs, non-GMO grains, angora wool or fresh, hormone free milk, you are helping the Earth. Our lives were never meant to be lived in slave service to companies such as Monsanto or JBS. To each individual or couple, clan or community willing to break good, rich earth and bring back green life to our planet, I tip my hat.

Finding my homestead is more than just securing a house for my family where I will have the space to raise animals that please me. It is more than filling my freezer with goat, mutton, pork and chicken though that is certainly part of it. It's about freeing myself from the chains of a society that has dictated my life lived like food in a TV dinner. All prearranged in the proper order: Birth, School, Work, Marriage, Children, Death. Freeze dried corn, high fructose corn syrup sweetened GMO apples, something shaped like a chicken breast which is really factory feedlot chicken parts, hydrogenated vegetable solids and soy.

It is about finding the life that nourishes me with its sustainable bounty but also with its generous work. To nurture my spirituality with the tending of goats, bringing forth life and understanding death. My church is in the good, rich earth and I pray with dirty hands for gentle rain, bountiful harvest, good stock and a healthy Clan.

And I am grateful for the time I have been given.

Reduce, Reuse, Recycle

Reduce, Reuse, Recycle...it was a mantra that I learned while siting cross legged on the floor of my first grade class room. It is a daily physical activity that lends itself to the spiritual notion that we are the caretakers of the earth. Every day I get out of the company vehicle I take out my plastic water bottles, my aluminum soda cans and my glass juice bottles, placing them in our recycling bin.

Reusing is a practice I cherish. Every small trashcan in my house is lined with a grocery bag, the yarn I found discarded places in my yarn bag and awaiting the day I use it to crochet something lovely. I constantly reuse water bottles to carry water with me where ever I roam.

Reducing is hard in a family of seven folks but we do our part by feeding all the cat and dog the same protein rich, corn, soy and wheat free food. We wear our shoes until they fall apart on us; loathe is this Clan to buy something new unless absolutely needful. Clothing that my daughter grows out of is given to family members with younger children or donated the local shelter. Left overs are always eaten in this house, what humans can not eat goes to the dog or cat, what they cannot eat goes into our compost heap.

We do what we can to ensure we have a planet to give to our children. I think of my children's children and the children to come after them. I want them to know a world rich in trees, animals and humans that actually care. Little things make the start to a change big enough to affect our entire world. Next time you are in the park and see a piece of paper on the ground, place it in a near by recycling bin or if nothing else, a trash can. Take your plastic bags with you the next time you go to Aldi's or reuse those empty Aldi's boxes you brought your groceries home with as a handy place to put your cook books. That is what I did with one of those giant Taco Bell promotion boxes!

Do what you can, when you can and be grateful for the time you have been given.

Through December

I've been to the mountain left my tracks in the snow
Where souls have been lost and the walking wounded go
I've taken the pain no girl should endure
But faith can move mountains
Faith can move mountains of that I am sure.
Just get me through December
A promise I'll remember
Get me through December
So I can start again.

- "Get me through December" Allison Krauss
I have taken so much away from this song during these cold, wet and shadow drenched days. I have the love and light of home; even so the soul wanders down the sheer passes of my mountain mind. I think of the losses of the Dying Time, bidding goodbye to some the fiercest joys of the flesh and giving farewell to soft orange kittens with white feet. From this song I have taken peace, I have touched the face of serenity and laid down in comforting arms, knowing no pain and slipping into the softest of lavender kissed sleep.

"Get me through December" is from Allison Krauss' album "A Hundred Miles or More."

It is a wonderful song to sit and sip cold pressed Red Jacket apple juice watch the night waltz in like a beautiful woman in a black ball gown. This post isn't really about homesteading but about the homesteader, a piece of her joy shown to make her human. We will return to the want of the farm and thoughts of goats and fresh eggs, to the pyment steadily dropping out yeast and of the sourdough starter in the baking cabinet.

Until then, listen to this song and know sweet joy.

Pyment on my mind, miles on my heart

My pyment continues to settle out yeast and is maintaining a good temperature even after last night when the outside dipped to a frosty 8F. The moon was just a drop down from full and the night was clear and sharp. If not for the 19 mph wind, I might have been tempted to build a fire in the pit and watch the stars come out. As it was I brought Durellen inside, made myself a mug of pipping hot orange tea, dolloped honey and settled in for a few episodes of United States of Tara.

The 2015 Murray McMurray Hatchery catalog came in the other day; I want chickens so badly. Winter brings a waiting time for all the promises of spring. For sure and in fact, we are getting our Italian honeybees when the weather turns warm. It means honey for the summer if we are lucky, mean in the autumn and winter.

I am also considering attending a writing class to sharpen up my ideas on how to write a novel and get it published. Eventually I hope to write about my life on my homestead, how I give back to the community surrounding Knoxville. In the current time, this is the function of this blog but the makings of a book surrounding my year with honeybees can almost be heard buzzing in my head. The course would be held at UT here in town, so I will look into the possibilities of enrolling.

My mind keeps wondering "I can see it but how I am going to get there." My homestead, something that seems to be soaking into my now life like wine into a carpet but only just so. I long for the day I can work for me, all day and into the night if I want to or must. I continue to clean houses in the mean time to put food on the table and pay the rent. Sometimes I worry that this is all my left will ever be, that I will put everything into this and not put for foundation to my dreams.

Negative thinking...it comes with the head cold. Cold sunshine in the morning will shake off those doubts and tomorrow is Friday and then the weekend. I will tuck in early tonight with a bowl of soup on my belly, under my unicorn blanket and next to my heater. I will remember to be thankful it is not -12 degrees F and say a prayer for Cold Antler Farm. Winter is a strict master in the white north.

I carry around a card in my pocket that says "One day I will sit on my homestead and I will not remember how this life left me hurting."

One day, I will sit there in my rocking chair and make it true.

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.