Archive for May, 2014

Memories from Log Cabin Kitchens

 

 

I could smell the fragrance of the thick molasses all the way in the upstairs room my brother and I shared. My grandpa’s molasses making trays and tools were still tucked under the shed, waiting to be washed today before the bugs went crazy.

The lightning storm that had crept up suddenly the night before had almost ruined this years molasses run, be together, our neighbors, my father and brother finished the load.

I don’t think any one who has never gone through the grinding of cane stalks, the shuttling of the sugary fluid through the zig-zag trays, or stood sweating in the August heat should be allowed to savor the incomparable taste of warm biscuits slathered in molasses!

When we were young, our family had a joke. If you asked for ‘lasses, that meant that you were asking for your first serving. If you anted a second service you asked for “molasses!”.

Not many people get to see the metal trays set up for molasses making these days They didn’t see horses turning the machine that grinds the stalks of sugar cane, they don’t watch the paddle moving the molasses along the divided trays above the flames. Indeed the love of molasses has nearly disappeared in some areas.

Oh, go on to thee store, buy a bottle and try to imagine the making of molasses I have described, use the little honey stirring devise to drizzle the molasses on your canned biscuits. I guarantee, you will get a glimpse of the way grandpa make then as you close your eyes and savor the first bite!

 

 

 

 

 

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Cooking from the Grain to the Table

 

Mo’lasses!

I could smell the fragrance of the thick molasses all the way in the upstairs room my brother and I shared. My grandpa’s molasses making trays and tools were still tucked under the shed, waiting to be washed today before the bugs went crazy

The lightning storm that had crept up suddenly the night before had almost ruined this years molasses run, be together, our neighbors, my father and brother finished the load.

I don’t think any one who has never gone through the grinding of cane stalks, the shuttling of the sugary fluid through the zig-zag trays, or stood sweating in the August heat should be allowed to savor the incomparable taste of warm biscuits slathered in molasses!

When we were young, our family had a joke. If you asked for ‘lasses, that meant that you were asking for your first serving. If you wanted a second service you asked for “molasses!”.

Not many people get to see the metal trays set up for molasses making these days They done see horses turning the machine that grinds the stalks of sugar cane, they don’t watch the paddle moving the molasses along the divided trays above the flames. Indeed the love of molasses has nearly disappeared in some areas.

Oh, go on to the store, buy a bottle and try to imagine the making of molasses I have described, use the little honey stirring device to drizzle the molasses on your canned biscuits. I guarantee, you will get a glimpse of the way grandpa make then as you close your eyes and savor the first bite!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I could smell the fragrance of the thick molasses all the way in the upstairs room my brother and I shared. My grandpa’s molasses making trays and tools were still tucked under the shed, waiting to be washed today before the bugs went crazy

 

The lightning storm that had crept up suddenly the night before had almost ruined this years molasses run, be together, our neighbors, my father and brother finished the load.

 

I don’t think any one who has never gone through the grinding of cane stalks, the shuttling of the sugary fluid through the zig-zag trays, or stood sweating in the August heat should be allowed to savor the incomparable taste of warm biscuits slathered in molasses!

 

When we were young, our family had a joke. If you asked for ‘lasses, that meant that you were asking for your first serving. If you anted a second service you asked for “molasses!”.

 

Not many people get to see the metal trays set up for molasses making these days They done see horses turning the machine that grinds the stalks of sugar cane, they don’t watch the paddle moving the molasses along the divided trays above the flames. Indeed the love of molasses has nearly disappeared in some areas.

 

Oh, go on to thee store, buy a bottle and try to imagine the making of molasses I have described, use the little honey stirring devise to drizzle the molasses on your canned biscuits. I guarantee, you will get a glimpse of the way grandpa make then as you close your eyes and savor the first bite!

 

 

 

 

 

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Hard Times in Blackberry Winter

07500012In the Southern Appalachians , we almost always have a cold spell in mid-May. We have all sorts of what we call “winters” after the real winter has passed. The two that are most talked about are “dogwood Winter” in April, when the dogwood trees are in bloom and “Blackberry Winter” in Mid to late May when blackberries are blooming.

My hard times have very little to do with the cold spell right now. My father, who is 87 is having serious health problems and I am his primary health care. I am not well my self, with back and hip issues, scoliosis and the remains of what Cushings Disease did to me when my body and soul could not bear the sudden loss of my 15-year-old son several years ago. I am exhausted. I often come home from my morning trip to dads and just collapse into sleep. The same thing happens after my mid-day visit and picking up my grandchild and son from bus stops. One day last week,I was so deeply asleep that my dad gave up on me and went to bed without supper.

He doesn’t eat much and says he wasn’t hungry or at least more tires than hungry, but I felt like crap. I did go, and he was still awake , but in bed. I won’t go into the issues that I have to go through to help him, but they are not peasant for either of us In the morning, I have to rush over after bus stop time just to help him out of bed.

He has spent most of his life dealing with the pain of a misdiagnosed “inverted appendix rupture’ when I was a kid, almost dying a year later when benign tumors had invaded his intestines and attached to his back area. I guess he is proof that pain won’t kill you because he has not slowed down until the past few years after the death of my mom.

I believe I have written his life story in an article called “In Praise of Fathers” or something similar, so I won’t repeat it, please look it up if you’d like, it was written may 2 years ago around Fathers Day.

I have managed to work in my flowers a little. I have had to give up my big garden because of my own health. Until my father’s health worsened a few weeks ago, I was spending the tie I wasn’t on my feet in bed because my back and hip pain aren’t as bad then.

The reason I am writing this blog is to beg the patience of my loyal readers, read some of my old articles, there are a lot that I think are worth a re-read, and think of me and my dad as I try to get him to a place of better health.

Meanwhile, I will watch (while laughing) as the turkeys fight for dominance over our neighborhood, look out for bears, listen to stories about the bob cats neighbors and even my son have seen and try to get some rest. Best wishes to all my wordpress friends. I will be writing as often as I can.

 

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CSI Lesson-Clean Your Shoes

CSI Lesson- Clean Your Shoes

 

 

 

 

It was a beautiful cabin. Carrie had dreamed of owning a cabin like this one in the Ozarks since she was a child. Nearby, a stream danced along among trees laced in Autumn’s finest colors, aster swayed in the breeze

 

She had seen the business card of a moving company pinned to the bulletin board inside a Quick Shop, and asked the store owner if he knew anything about the company. “ Yep, said the owner, know them well. They are good guys, so far as I know.”

 

The phone was answered by a man named Jeff Morris, He told Carrie that he and his brother, Marcus had a small moving van and could do the job for her in two days. Their price seemed reasonable, and though she was disappointed to have to wait two days for the move, it wasn’t unexpected.

 

Carrie walked up to the cabin, unlocked the door and inhaled the fragrant scent of new pine. She sat rocker and watched the trees dance outside the window. Sipping a glass of tea, her cat, Freckles jumped in her lap.

 

She had brought a few things with her while the house was being working on and decided to spend the night at the cabin with Freckles curled up beside her, cuddled on the blow-up mattress and navy blue sleeping bag.

……………………………………..

When Carrie didn’t answer her cell phone the next day, Jeff and Marcus decided to stop by and be sure Carrie still wanted the furniture moved the next day. Carries car was there, but the door locked was when they arrived. They could hear Freckles meowing pitifully. The brothers walked down to the creek, thinking she may be nearby.

 

Carrie!” Marcus called, waited and called again. No answer.

 

“Marcus, come here!” Jeff cried out suddenly. His brother found him standing over Carries silent body It looked as though she had been struck from behind. Shaking, Marcus called 911 to report what they had found.

 

The brothers were immediately considered suspects. Terrified, they swore their innocence.

 

One of the detectives who had investigated the cabin ran down to where Marcus and Jeff were being interrogated. “Take of your shoes.” he demanded of the brothers.

 

Confused, they took off their shoes and handed the to the detective. He turned them over and looked at the treads, flashed on the picture app of his cell phone, and after looking at a photo, sighed and said. Take their phone number and let them go.”

 

“What?” said one of the other officers.

 

“Saw it on CSI last week,” the detective smiled. “The murdered left his shoe prints on the newly finished floor and they didn’t match those of the suspects apprehended at the scene.”

 

Marcus and Jeff took a sad look at Carrie’s beautiful, still body and breathed a sigh of relief. Hopefully the shoe prints would lead them to her killer.

 

“Maybe we should watch more TV,” Jeff smiled. “We might actually learn something!”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Tales of the Lost

 

 

Image courtesy of Unsplash.

At last the tiny ship saw land ahead. Lost for two days on the shores of the Black Sea, Tony was beginning to panic. His food was running short, he was heading into hostile territory and his communications gear was not picking up the “Mayday” signals he was blasting over his communications system.

 

As Tony got closer to the land, his heart sank. There was not a sign of human life in sight. The banks were steep and rocky, small bays fooling him every few miles, he decided to stay in sight of land until he came upon some sign of life.

 

Where was he? Would the place he finally found be friendly, or some random terrorist camp, far away from those hunting them? As nightfall came, he began to worry again. Still, no civilization, still no good harbor site close to shore. He decided to keep on until the sun set and the light had faded from thee sky and then put down his anchor for the night.

 

Up ahead, Tony thought he saw a flash of light. Though his first emotion was excitement, it quickly turned to fear. He turned on a small light on his starboard to gauge the reaction of the light on shore. Relieved, the light flashed back at him-three times, he took this as a friendly sign and started toward the light.

 

As he neared the beach, he could see a campfire glowing on the shore. He packed up what gear he could carry on the life boat-gun ammo, water, a little food, dry clothes and a blanket ,anchored the little ship and hopped in. As he approached the sandy inlet, he yelled out, “Hello, there! Anyone home?”

 

Feeling rather silly at his lack of a better greeting, he heard a voice come back towards him. “Please, come on up!” said a voice that sounded rather feminine. He wondered what a woman would be doing out here? Who was she with-was it a trap? He could see in the moonlights shadows the figures of three people.

 

As he drug the life boat up the bank, past the tide line, the three figures raced down towards him.

 

“Oh, my God!” shouted one of the figures, definitely a woman. “We thought they had given up on us!”

 

“Who?” Tony asked, puzzled.

 

“We were on our way to an island for research, said the third woman.” The ship was called the Morning Dawn. It went down in a storm after taking on water We fought the storm for maybe a day, and realized we were the only survivors.”

 

Well, now there are four lost explorers, sighed Tony as he sat down on the edge of a rock.

 

 

 

 

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The Sound of Murder

The Supervisor of London’s Detective Force could not help but laugh as he shut the door after Mrs. Ford’s interview. “She tell enough white lies to ice a wedding cake.” he laughed to his finest officer.

“Yes,” replied Detective Trent. “We have dealt with her vivid imagination before, I’m afraid.”

As Supervisor Johnston leaned back in his chair, he recalled the reason for his talk with Detective Trent- a gruesome murder behind stage at a musical concert the night before.

“It was an F string from a violin that had choked Mr. Hampton.” She had sworn.

How could she have known?

 

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