A Single-File Memory

     Once upon a time, many long years ago, we owned a few acres in the country.  We considered these few acres our paradise an' enjoyed every minute we spent there.  Well, except for when the sow ate several of the babies.

     One day, we bought a Great Pyrenees puppy an' she quickly became an important member of our family.  Lightning was a beautiful dog; white, with long, curly hair an' a long, curled tail.  When one of the cows died, giving birth to a little calf, Lightning decided that the calf needed a mama.  Just as soon as she had made the decision that the calf needed a mama, she also filled the position.  If you've never seen the dedication that a Great Pyrenees can show in mothering a young calf, you have missed out on a beautiful experience.

     My son used to take Thank You, the calf, for long walks on the dirt road that ran in front of our land.  Naturally, Lightning wasn't about to let her baby go out alone, so she followed them on their walk.  We had another dog, Stranger, who didn't let our son go anywhere without taggin' along.  So, there you would see them; our son, Thank You, Lightning, Stranger, cats, ducks, chickens, geese, lambs, turkeys, cows, piglets and an occasional stray animal who just joined in to see what was goin'-on, all walking single-file down the long dirt road.

     We moved away from there, eventually.  Whenever I long to revisit the ol' place, my thoughts return to the image of all those animals, following along behind my young son an' I'm thankful that we are, once again, trying to find a home in the country.  I know some peopole enjoy livin' in the city.  In truth, I have also enjoyed livin' in the city, at times.  Given the choice, though, I'd choose country life over any other kind.  Country Life; a place where a person can sit an' enjoy a long procession of animals, following one boy who loves 'em all.

     Until the next time, keep a hug on.

 ~ Yaya

A Girl An' Her Jelly

     Have you ever made jelly at home?  When I was first married, I had never known anyone who grew a garden, did any of their own canning or Put-Up their own jelly.  See, I moved around... a LOT.

     Shortly after marrying, I began to learn something about my good hubby-buddy; he was practically a Pioneer.  When he said he was gonna' grow a garden, that is exactly what he set out to do; grow a real, live garden.  In an earlier post, I told all about the first garden we ever had.  If you read that post, this one prob'ly won't surprise you.  On the other hand, if you haven't read that post and you are in the habit of making your own jelly, you might wanna' sit down to read the rest of this post...

     We'd been married a couple of years and our first baby was only a month old.  Having moved into the country to live, we (I) fully expected life to come to me, filled with romantic embellishments; sewing all our clothes, growing a garden, chopping wood... by now, you are pro'lly gettin' a pretty good picture of my distorted image of country living.

     One day, shortly after my good hubby-buddy had left for work... 84 miles away... to work the graveyard shift, I was puttering around in the house and tending to the baby.  Since I was a new mama and we had only been in the country about a week, I was feeling very Wifely and Mama-ish.  I hadn't yet had a chance to learn the truth about country living; that there's just as much work, if not more, than anywhere else.

     When the phone rang, I was quite surprised because very few people knew us in our new High-Desert community.  Come to think of it, there weren't very many people TO know because neighbors were few and far-between.  But that's a story for another day.

     Anyway, as I was saying, the phone rang an' I jumped.  I answered it, wondering if someone from my previous neighborhood was missing me; not likely, since I didn't know many people there, either.  Much to my surprise, someone was about to give me my first hands-on lesson in how to survive away from the city and the suburbs.

     "Would you like some jelly to put-up?"  I had just met this lady the day before and those were the first words she spoke; no greetings or prelude to conversation.

     I recall blinking a few times, before answering, "Put-up?  You want me to store some jelly for you?"

     "No, no!  Haven't you ever made your own jelly?"  She must have thought I was a total dunce.

     I answered with as much dignity an' intelligence as I could muster, "Uuuuuuuuhhhhh... "

     It seemed to me that her next words were spoken very slowly, as though she were explaining to a small child... or a simpleton.  "Sweetie.  All - you - hafta' - do - is - pour - it - in - a - jar - an' - pour - some - paraffin-wax - over - it.  I've already mixed it up."

     "Oh, is that all?  I could do that."  I was so blindly Naïve as to think I could actually accomplish what I perceived as child's play.

     "Why, sure you can," she replied.  Her confidence in me was contagious.

     Soon, I was happily Putting-Up my own jelly.  Thoughts of how proud my good hubby-buddy would be kept me from asking any further questions.  After all, I didn't wanna' seem dumb... again.

     Fast-forward six months:  Again, we had moved (someday, I'll tell you 'bout the horror of living in that last place; it was not pretty).  As we sat down to the dinner table, I decided that jelly would go very nicely with whatever other food we were having, so I naturally reached for the jelly I had personally Put-Up.

     Imagine my shock when that homemade jelly didn't taste anything like ANY jelly I had ever tasted.  Why, that woman was a terrible cook, I concluded.  Turned out that my good hubby-buddy was a much better judge of where the problem lay.  He started laughing.  And kept laughing, until tears were running down his cheeks.  I. Was. Not. Impressed.

     "This isn't jelly," he finally stated.  "This is wine!"

     I wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry.  That woman had Tricked me!  "Why would she DO that," I demanded.  "I Trusted her!  She said all I hadda' do was pour it in jars an' pour paraffin-wax on top an' let it set an' I would have jelly."  I was irate.

     Suddenly, the laughing stopped and... did I detect a tone of PATIENCE when he spoke?  "It's not her fault.  She told you to use jars; NOT plastic drinking glasses!  The plastic allowed the jelly to turn to wine."  Although a grin tugged at the corners of his lips, I must give him credit for not laughing again.

     I was devastated.  I had made wine from perfectly good jelly-juice.  I'm sure that summa' my descriptions aren't technically correct, so I hope you'll forgive me if you know the proper terms.  Since I hardly ever cook, much less grow, Can or put-up anything for future consumption, that was my one and only effort at Putting-Up jelly.  The stress level was jus' too much for me.

     By the way, I jus' found this on University of Minnesota/Extension website ~ Note: Jelly jars and paraffin are no longer recommended. An incomplete seal with paraffin and the absence of a heat treatment may result in mold growth and toxin production in the jelly. Persons continuing to use the paraffin/no water bath method should be aware of the potential health risk.

     Until the next time, keep a hug on.

 ~ Yaya

Do You Have A Dream?

     Have you ever been so wrapped up in a dream that you could think of almost nuthin' else?  Has hope and anticipation ever eaten at you in such a way as to become a complete distraction in all other areas of your life?  Well, I have and to tell you the truth, its not that much fun.

     Since I was very small, I have wanted to live in the country and experience those things that most people pro'lly don't even think about.  Or maybe they do and I'm just so wrapped up in my own dream that I don't notice how intently others are wishing for the same thing.  I recall once when I was about five years old, I was crying over some deep desire to live in the country.  My dad laughed at me 'cause I wanted the log cabin, the horses, cows, chickens and a garden.  In short, I wanted it all.

     Curiously, up until that time in my life, I had only lived in the country for about one year and that was when I was only three.  Naturally, that particular taste of country livin' had absolutely none of the qualities that I have come to recognize as true country livin'.  In the first place, we were living in Pensacola, Florida and although I am sure there are farmers and ranchers in every state, somehow my vision of farm living has never centered itself anywhere in Florida.  I've lived in that state several times, actually, but country living is certainly not the first, second or even, third image that comes to mind when I think of Florida.

     In the second place, in my mind anyway, sand, sand and more sand do not a farm make.  Thus, the Stuck-Out-In-The-Middle-Of-Nowhere place called country where we lived could hardly be called country livin'.  So, where did I acquire this deep desire to live on a farm and taste country livin'?  I'm not sure.  P'rhaps its some deep-seeded carry-over from before I was born; I dunno.  At any rate, even though I have on two different occasions experienced the joy of true country livin', it is not out of my system.  I still want it.

     Do you have a dream you've been harboring for many years; one that just won't let you go?  I sincerely hope you are blessed with the fulfillment of your dream.  It seems that dreams are the basis for extreme joy or endless heartache; sometimes, both at the same time.  But don't give up on your dream.  I certainly haven't given up on mine.  Someday, maybe we'll meet and we can share how happy we were when we woke up and discovered our dreams were fulfilled.

     Until the next time, keep a hug on.

 ~ Yaya