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Hi Everyone,
Can you believe it—today is the last day of November? It is so hard to believe that tomorrow is December 1. I know that the last week of November was a week to remember, and it didn’t start off too grand. Micah was home sick all week, and Steve was on vacation all week. The three of us were left to hold the fort down all by ourselves last week. There was one blessing to not having very much milk—we didn’t have to use four milk tanks, just two and therefore there wasn’t as much to wash. I spent Monday morning milking cows with Mama, bottling the milk by myself, and washing the equipment with Papa. Then after lunch I headed to the Market Gardens and weeded them. I weeded the south tunnel first—and then I turned on the sprinklers. Then I weeded the north tunnel—and then I turned off the south sprinklers and turned on the north sprinklers and headed to the Poultry Kitchen to package eggs by myself. Then there was dinner and some relaxing time before bedtime—and at 11:00 at night I realized that I had never turned off the water to the north garden. I was frantic and majorly upset with myself. Watering a garden for eight hours can cause great damage—from being waterlogged or by a snail invasion which seems to happen after being waterlogged. I talked Mama into walking out to the garden with me—and I literally about gave her a heart attack from walking too fast. When I realized she was struggling to breathe and keep up I slowed way down—a few more minutes sure wasn’t going to make a difference. Thankfully I never did see any damage from the overwatering mistake.
Tuesday found us working together more as teams. Mama and I milked the cows and then we both bottled the milk. Then while Papa started washing up the equipment I bottled the kefir. Mama went inside to take care of Grandpa and to fix lunch—we hadn’t finished washing everything before Mama called us inside to eat. After lunch Mama and I headed back over to finish washing the equipment and then while I made yogurt Papa and Mama started packaging eggs. When the yogurt was done I joined the egg party—we did one more bucket before Papa and I headed to the Market Garden to harvest collards, mustard greens and lettuce. We also took the time to harvest all the lemons off of our three lemon trees. Due to last year’s hard freezes, and some major pruning we only got 2 five gallons buckets of lemons this year—instead of 15. By the time that was done—it was time to start dinner. Mama did the dinner dishes while I started the Tuesday night nightmare of figuring out who will get milk and who will not. Milk is so low right now—in order to fill everyone’s order we have to get at least 18 gallons of milk a day, and right now we are only getting 5 to 7 gallons of milk a day. It is not the best job around—and one that I jokingly say I have a job opening for. I may spend an hour or longer trying to reduce 57 half gallons down to 20, or 40 gallons down to 8. I am just glad that our customers understand the season—no green grass, not a lot of milk.
They say that turkeys look for creative ways to commit suicide—but lately we have found out the old people look for creative ways to fall down. They might not be able to tell you when it happened—how it happened, but give them a few hours, days or weeks and they will all of a sudden inform you what they were doing to cause their fall. Kind of like a child who waits until their twenties or older to tell their parents some of the crazy things they did as a child—like the time I broke my foot cartwheeling and had to wear a cast for six weeks. When I showed up at school my best friend was also on crutches for a sprained knee. It was great being “crutches” buddies—but I was supposed to get my cast off before hers, so I would bang my foot on the concrete floor in my bedroom. The doctors couldn’t understand why my foot was taking so long to heal. Stupidity, that is why. I was in my early twenties when I told my Grandma the story—and she laughingly made sure that my Mama heard the story too. A few weeks ago Grandpa fell in the bathroom and hurt his rib. We thought he lost his balance, but a few weeks later he told us he was trying to turn on the shower water and found the spigot further away than he thought—and he wasn’t supposed to be getting a shower by himself for it is too dangerous. Well, last Wednesday when Mama got up she entered the living room to check on Grandpa who sleeps in his recliner (because he says that the blankets and sheets on the bed are dangerous)—saw the bottom of the recliner instead of the top. Poor Grandpa had somehow managed to flip the recliner over upside down backwards. He was half on the chair and half thrown against a cabinet. He told us he thought he was a goner. Mama had to call Papa to help get him up and the chair righted back up—and that was the last day that Grandpa sat or slept in his recliner. He says that it was mean and he wants nothing to do with it. If we sit it in he is telling us to be careful. So now Grandpa has taken over the long sofa—and hopefully it will not roll him off on the floor, or Grandpa will run out of places to sleep and rest. The flip definitely shook Grandpa up and gave him some pain—so much that he couldn’t eat breakfast that day. He was feeling well enough to eat by lunch, and much better by dinner. We were glad that he recovered so quickly because he had a hearing aid appointment at 3:00 that afternoon. I went with Grandpa and Mama so that I could do some grocery shopping while they sat in the car. When we got home it was around 5:00 and since there were no calves to separate I started on my Thanksgiving dinner preparations. I harvested some parsley, sage and thyme so that I could cut them up and simmer them in butter before I rubbed the mixture all over our turkey. We only raised six turkeys this year—due to lack of help, and they all survived and grew out very nicely. They weighed from 19 to 22 pounds. We sold five of them and we cooked the one that was left—a 22 pound turkey. I also harvested some carrots, green onions and celery to stuff inside the turkey. I then made some roselle jello, hard boiled some eggs (for stuffed eggs), and put the turkey neck, liver, and gizzard in the Instant Pot with some herbs and water to make some broth for the gravy. It was after 6:00 and I was in the midst of preparations when Mama remembered that no workers had gathered eggs for us that day. Oops! I thought that all Papa would have to do when he got home was to feed the dogs and lock up the chickens—but he had to gather the eggs too because I couldn’t leave the kitchen.
The positive of having no help (workers) on Thanksgiving was that we didn’t have to get up at 5:00 in the morning in order to have the cows milked by 8:00 so that Steve (or Micah) could just come in and wash up the equipment and go home for the holiday. No help meant that we could have a more leisurely day. Mine started with a shower and then I set up the milking equipment and we ate breakfast. It was after 9:00 by the time I headed out to milk—I had to get the turkey in the oven first. I laugh when people ask me how to cook a turkey. I can raise and butcher them better that I can cook them. We do not cook a turkey every year, so it is not like I am a pro at it. I knew one thing—I wanted to cook it low and slow. I Googled and Googled, but to my dismay, no one really agreed on the timing. It was anywhere from 15 to 30 minutes per pound. They all did agree finally on the meat temperature—165 for the breast. So I put the turkey in the oven at 9:00 and set the temperature at 250. Then I inserted the meat thermometer that came with our oven and set that temp for 165. At 3:00 that afternoon the oven beeped and turned off saying that the turkey was done. We took the lid off and then we let it cook another 30 minutes at 350 in order for it to crisp up a little—and then we took the turkey out. It was perfect! Halfway through milking Grandpa decided that he wanted to come outside and watch us milk—so I picked him up in the truck and drove him over to the milking parlor so he could sit comfortably and watch. When we were done milking we took Grandpa into the Poultry Kitchen with us while we bottled the milk, washed the equipment and packaged some eggs. We lost our egg packaging help, and we have a schedule that enables us to package eggs Monday thru Friday and actually get the weeks supply of eggs package in a reasonable manor—but with all the holidays last week and the lack of Micah’s help we fell far behind. Micah will be back this week, so hopefully we shall be able to catch up. It was 1:00 by the time we finished with our morning chores and headed inside to start on our Thanksgiving Dinner—but first we took a little down time. Mama talked with my sister, and I sat in Grandpa’s recliner trying to stay awake while he told me stories. At 2:00 I insisted that we had best start cooking. I put sweet potatoes in the oven to bake so that I could make a Sweet potato casserole. Green beans where the easiest—open up a home canned jar and heat it up. I boiled some white sweet potatoes for mashed potatoes (Mama cannot eat Irish potatoes). Then I made the gravy and Mama made the stuffed eggs. We never did find the time to make a pumpkin, pecan or apple pie—but that was okay for cake was on the menu the next day. Later that evening Papa took Grandpa out with him to do the chores and when they came in they told us that one of the Jersey milk cows had just had a calf. I grabbed my phone camera and ran out to get a YouTube short so that I could share the “Thanksgiving Breaking News!” It wasn’t easy getting the video for dusk was fast closing in and my first recording flopped and then Merry started pushing me around, and then the bull came over and was getting a little protective of Ella and her new heifer. I finally hopped the fence and took the video from there.
A new heifer calf is the perfect introduction for the next part of my story—for 50 years ago on Thanksgiving evening around 7:00 my Mama as nine months pregnant and one week over due—and her cat escaped and she had to chase him all over the neighborhood. That brought on the labor, and the next morning, November 28, 1975 around 3:00 I was born. My parents wanted a different name, and my initials had to match Mama’s (any future boys would have Papa’s initials—but Mama never could get pregnant again, and the next boy that came along was my first dog—a cocker spaniel we named Theodore Preston Street, and we called him Teddy). So they named me Tiare Angela Street. I wasn’t the worst child, and I wasn’t the best child—and by the grace of God I am what I am today. My friend Lydia was supposed to spend the whole week with me for my birthday—but she was injured at work and couldn’t come. I honestly expected a very boring birthday—but Mama had other plans. She started to get very time oriented Friday morning and I began to sense that she was up to something. We milked the cows, washed up the equipment, and packaged some eggs before I was able to head to the kitchen to start baking my birthday cake. Mama was insistent that I be done by 3:30. I was making a Maple Walnut Pumpkin Cake. It was a three layered pumpkin cake, with sugared walnuts and icing between the layers and covered with a maple buttercream icing. I was so excited when I found an icing recipe that only called for egg whites, maple sugar and 4 sticks of butter! It was 3:15 when I heard a little voice say “Happy Birthday”—and I knew that voice belonged to my dear friend Lydia. I was so surprised and happy that she was able to come up for the afternoon—her parents had to bring her because she couldn’t drive that far (two hours) due to her injured back. My cake was not assembled—the three layers were cooled, the filing was mixed and the icing was made. I was not allowed to finish it though—Mama did, for I was whisked away to a shopping spree. With Lydia’s Dad as chauffer, and her Mom, Lydia and I as passengers I was told that we could go shopping wherever I wanted—like Hobby Lobby or Tractor Supply. I had another idea though. When Lydia was supposed to be spending the week with me I was hoping to go antique shopping with her on my birthday—I had told nobody my idea, and didn’t think I would get to go when I heard that Lydia couldn’t come up. So I shared my idea and everyone was more than happy to head to High Springs (just 20 minutes away) and do some antique shopping. I have been telling my parents that all I want for my birthday is a new glass walled greenhouse—we already have the glass panels. So in my mind I was shopping for greenhouse décor. I was really looking for some chunky scrolled corbels.—but I was told they were packed in storage to make room for the Christmas décor. I did manage to find a really nice chandelier for $22 and a stone wall planter. We made it home by 6:00 and when we drove past the new barn I noticed stringed lights inside. Lydia’s sister, Emily, and some of Emily’s children came over and helped Papa string lights and Mama decorate the tables and room. Emily also had a friend of hers come over and help decorate and stay to take pictures. Brett and Jenni our Kalacrow Pizza friends came also—and Brett baked some Chicken Pot Pies for dinner. Mama had packed two chickens and some white sweet potatoes in his truck on Wednesday when he delivered the bread and picked up his turkey. When I asked her what she as doing she just told me that it was Thanksgiving—so I thought that she was saying “Thank you for all your help this past year”. Instead she was giving him some of the ingredients for the pot pies. Ha! Ha! Months ago Brett had mentioned that he would love to cook for me for my birthday—but then nothing more was said (I mean nothing more was said around me). When Mama told me she was taking care of dinner, at first I thought she was cooking it for me. Then I began to think that we might be having company—and Mama does not cook for a crowd. I also noticed that she didn’t have any meat out for dinner—so I began to wonder if Brett was going to be cooking dinner after all. I kept all my musing to myself though. The whole evening was very beautiful and the food was delicious. Mama did a great job finishing my cake and I have to say it turned out scrumptiously. We had a wonderful evening of fellowship and laughter. When I started the day I didn’t expect anything special—but I was blessed beyond imagination.
We were so glad to see Steve Saturday morning—which meant we didn’t have to bottle the milk or wash the equipment. When our morning chores were done the day was spent cleaning up from the party and getting odds and ends done—like computer work and ironing.
Tomorrow starts a new month and a new week—and it looks like we just might be getting some much needed rain.
Serving you with Gladness,
Tiare