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Hi Everyone,
It is October and I finally heard her—the Phoebe bird that is! The phoebe bird arrives here in October, I do not know when it leaves, but I sure enough get excited when I hear her announce her arrival every October. I was first introduced to the name Phoebe in my late teens or early twenties when I read Rose in Bloom by Louisa May Alcott. She was the servant girl who was always singing like a songbird. Then a friend of mine used the name Lark for her daughter’s middle name and I loved it—so much that I always said that when I have a little girl I am going to call her Phoebe Lark. Then we moved to our current farm and I had the privilege of being introduced to the Meadowlark—sixty-five acres of mostly open grasslands is a great habitat for “Meadow” larks. Most of the time I can only hear their cheerful, flutelike melodies—but once heard, I cannot help but to put on my eagle eyes and look for a glimpse of the black tied, yellow breasted songbird. Sometimes they are hiding in the tall grasses, but once in a while you can find them singing away on the top of a fence post. They usually arrive late winter to early spring. We had lived on our farm for many years before I had the chance to meet the Phoebe bird. I was working in the garden one day and I heard someone calling “Phoebe” and I went searching for the culprit. I finally found the bird on the fence calling its name over and over. I will be turning 50 in about six weeks, and I will never have the chance to name a little girl Phoebe Lark—but I can still welcome the first Phoebe bird to the farm every October and keep an eye open for the melodious Meadowlark who hides out in our pastures.
Strawberries . . . a delicious berry that tastes best warmed by the sun and a little over ripe. I guess that is why I attempt to grow strawberries over and over. The first year we grew strawberries we planted 100 in our then new raised bed garden. O what fun it was to take people on a tour of our Cottage Garden and let them pick a juicy red strawberry and enjoy its fresh sweetness. We didn’t get enough to put up—just enough to enjoy. We had to go through extra trouble every time it was going to freeze in order to cover the strawberries with a protective plastic—which we then had to raise up to keep them from overheating in the daytime. Then we got the caterpillar garden tunnels and we moved the strawberries in there. We thought that the field rats were eating them so we made cages to cover the plants—and they still got eaten. We finally realized that bugs (roaches and worms) were consuming them. I dreamed of growing strawberries hanging in the air, and was going to figure out how to plant them in PVC pipes—and then we heard about the GreenStalk planters and we bought two of them. We grew strawberries in them for the last four or five years. The first few years worked out pretty good—we still didn’t get enough to freeze, but we got enough to enjoy and to have strawberries on Angel Food cakes for birthday parties. Then one year I took too long to transplant them and they never grew. The next year I had horrible potting soil—you could never get it wet. Then I found good soil, but keeping all seven layers of the tower properly water was becoming a hassle. Hand watering for a long time is not my cup of tea—if it cannot be done quickly my patience and attention span is in trouble. I decided to unstack the tower and spread the tower flat to make for easier watering. I spent hours breaking my back Monday afternoon trying to revive last year’s soil—my shipment of new soil hadn’t come in and I needed to plant the strawberries “NOW”. When the growing season was ended last year I quit watering the strawberry towers—and the plants died (I did not care for they had not produced very well) and the soil shrunk and became rock hard (like a desert). I dug out the dead plants first, and then I dumped the dried soil block in a large wheelbarrow and added water and began the long process of crumbling it all up. In the end I had some beautifully revived soil to which I added some blood meal, organic berry fertilizer, a bucket of chicken compost, wood ashes, and extra peat moss. I then filled up seven of the tower trays and placed them on the top racks in the greenhouse. I then set out the strawberry plugs where they belonged so that I could plant them—but then Papa told me that Mama said it was time to clean up and come in and cook dinner. It was after 5:00 and I had really worked too long outside in order to get dinner done in a timely manner. I put all the strawberry plugs back in the tray they came in and headed inside. Later I began to realize that I really didn’t have enough space in the greenhouse to start flowers, herbs, and vegetables and grow strawberries horizontally. I didn’t get another chance to work with the strawberries until Thursday. I had decided to go back to my PVC pipe idea. Years ago Papa made some hanging feeders for the chickens out of split PVC pipes. We are now using five gallon bucket feeders and the old PVC pipe feeders were collecting dust in the barn. I pulled down seven of them and cleaned them up and was going to hang them in my greenhouse—but I was not sure if the cattle panel frame could handle the weight of the pipes when once they were filled with soil. At lunch Mama came up with the idea of building a rack to attach the PCV pipe trays to. Papa and I headed out to gather the supplies and after we got started Micah joined us and a little bit later Mama joined us. In the end I have a rack with four trays on the front brace and three on the back brace. My greenhouse walls and ceiling are rounded so I lose some space because the ceiling is lower on the sides than in the middle. I have dreamed of a glass greenhouse for years—we even bought 18 glass doors to build one many years ago. I told Mama the other day that a person only turns 50 once in their life time, and that I would love to have a new greenhouse for my birthday (round sides are not the only problem, space is too). By the end of the day I had 56 strawberry plants planted in the new planters. Planting in the back row was a little bit of a hassle—but being small enabled me to be able to squeeze into the two foot gap in order to fill the trays with soil and plant the strawberry plugs. Watering was easy peasy! Now if they will just produce the way they do on the video I watched.
Beauty is as beauty does is what my Great-grandmother always told my Grandmother when she was growing up—because she was the prettiest of all the girls in the family and she knew it. The other day I came up with another saying after traveling down a country road with my Grandpa—and that is “Beauty is based on where you are from”. Here in the south we take great pride in our majestic oak tree, and we find romantic beauty in the grey Spanish moss hanging from the branches. Our truck had died in the pasture as Micah was gathering eggs last Saturday and we had to take it down the road to the mechanic on Monday. It was ready to be picked up on Wednesday, so that afternoon Mama, Grandpa and I headed down the road in Grandpa’s car to pick up the truck. The whole way there Grandpa complained about the large oaks alongside the road—they were too big and dangerous (he knew right away that they would take down the power lines if the fell over). Then he saw the moss and deemed it ugly. The section of the road where the trees made a canopy over the road fell under Grandpa’s scrutiny also. Up north in Illinois and Missouri where Grandpa is from they have no Spanish moss, and the oak trees are not that big around—and since most of the acreage is open crop lands they don’t have a lot of trees on the sides of the road. Yes, there are trees, but there are more croplands. Just that morning we were outside packing the Jacksonville orders at 6:30 in the morning. It was still dark when we started, but we got to watch the dawning of a new day. It was gorgeous outside: a slight fog, clear skies, the moon, a few stars and planets, the songbirds were starting to sing, the temperature was perfect—and I couldn’t help but to go sit in the rocking chair on the front porch of our Cracker Shed and just take in the beauty and thank the Lord for the chance to enjoy this part of His creation. How terrible it must be to live someplace where you never see the sun, moon or stars; you never hear a bird sing or the loud rhythmic call of a katydid; you never feel the gentle breeze of a fall morning or the dampness of the dew that makes your hair curl to perfection. I just couldn’t help but to give thanks to my Creator.
When morning gilds the skies my heart awaking cries: may Jesus Christ be praised!
Alike at work and prayer, to Jesus I repair: may Jesus Christ be praised!
When you begin the day, O never fail to say, may Jesus Christ be praised!
And at your work rejoice, to sing with heart and voice, may Jesus Christ be praised!
Sing, suns and stars of space, sing, ye that see his face, sing, Jesus Christ be praised!
God's whole creation o'er, for aye and evermore shall Jesus Christ be praised!
In heaven's eternal bliss the loveliest strain is this, may Jesus Christ be praised!
Let earth, and sea and sky from depth to height reply, may Jesus Christ be praised!
Friday Papa and I took a trip to purchase some honey from a local bee keeper and then we headed on up into Georgia to get some salt for the cows. Mama stayed home to keep an eye on Grandpa and to plant more strawberries. She planted some in the ground in the front courtyard, and then she planted some in the GreenStalk planter—but only three tiers high and put it to the front porch. The goal will be to remember that they are there and need to be watered.
Saturday morning started out way behind schedule—because I slept in until 7:30. Oops! Then when Papa stepped outside to feed the cats he heard rushing water and realized that the bulls had busted the water spigot in their field. Our worker had decided to work five days a week instead of 6—so Papa had extra chores once he finally got the water fixed. We are usually done milking by 10:30, but that day we were just beginning around 9:45 and didn’t finish until close to noon. A friend of ours was in town and stopped by to visit while we milked the cows and they had no manners for they kept pooing and pooing and pooing. Ugh! They thankfully minded there manners when my Grandpa joined us at the milking parlor so they know how to behave when company is around, but they wanted to just add to the excitement of the day. You never know what a day will bring forth—but you can always guarantee it will bring forth something. It will not always be good, nor will it always be bad. So whether the sun shines or the wind blows—remember to take time to thank the Lord.
Serving you with Gladness,
Tiare