Guest Post by Hardscrabble Farmer
When it snows up here I plow a route for a friend. There’s a dozen or so places at various points around the lake, most of them tricky with steep, winding driveways, and difficult approaches. it may be why he’s given them to me instead of the other, younger drivers who plow the big parking lots and the commercial properties around the lake. He knows that I take my time with each one, that I am by nature a cautious man who likes to leave things just so and he knows that no one will call in to complain about the narrow paths shoveled to the door or some bed of flowers that’s been accidentally driven over.
I mark out the route in the Fall before the ground freezes by driving wooden stakes into the edges of the driveway that let me know where I can pass safely and I write my notes about things like fuel tanks and access to the generators that all the big places have these days. I drop off five gallon pails of granite dust and sand to spread along the sidewalks, concrete aprons and porches. I rarely speak to the homeowners, most of them live somewhere else during the Winter months, but if I do happen to see one I make it a point to ask their preferences and make sure to jot it down.
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People can be particular and once the first snow falls it’s too late to try and figure out where things are under a blanket of white. I have been fortunate this year to have my oldest son back with us and he rides along with me in the truck, jumping out to shovel while I make the passes over and over again to push all the snow back and clean up the drives and parking areas. One of the things we’ve made a point to do before each storm is to carefully check out the truck and the things we carry with us the night before; fluid levels and hoses are examined and topped off and made tight, we test the blade and the hydraulic connections and we load extra pails of sand into the bed along with a flat shovel, two snow shovels, a roof rake, chains and bars.
I keep a couple of 2×12’s for emergencies and make sure the tires and lights are good. Inside the cab there’s always a couple of tow straps, a first aid kit, extra gloves, a blanket and a box of flares. I learned a few years back that an extra set of wiper blades is nice to carry along as well so there’s always one tucked behind the seat. We take along a thermos of hot coffee and a bag of sandwiches and jerky and my wife almost always packs a few snacks extra to carry us through if it’s an especially long night.
I had never driven a plow truck before we moved up here and so I learned it on my own by taking care of our own driveway and the farm roads. I made all of my mistakes on our own property over the course a several years before I tried my hand at someone else’s, but as with all skills I became better with each passing year, learning tricks that not only cut time off of the effort, but which prepared each property for the snows to come.
Plowing is a lot more like sculpture than anything else I have ever done. You remove material in order to leave a finished work and so you must see what is hidden beneath waiting to be revealed. Each pass of the blade pushes the snow ahead of you and depending upon the depth and the quality of the snow you must have a plan for where to deposit the material, how to angle the plow as you drive so that it falls away to either side in a controlled manner. Once you’ve left a berm of plowed snow there’s little chance of moving it again absent a melt-off or a visit with a loader to clean it away at a later date.
You have to always be thinking about how much snow will bank up over the course of the Winter and just how much space you must leave to be able to get in and out and never let yourself get boxed in. In most cases you visit the property for two or more passes and if the wind gets up and the snow is light and the temperatures cold enough there can be more snow in the plow path than fell originally, drifts that run like dunes across the drives and parking yards. To do the job properly you often have to come to within inches of garages or other structures, there are lamp posts and hedges, walkways and benches and after a good blizzard all of it just disappears beneath a blanket of snow and looks like nothing more than a plow pile or drift.
If you know the property you can avoid them, but if you haven’t paid close attention you can do serious damage to both property and plow. Some conditions are more challenging than others; heavy winds can buffet the truck and push you across the road, a wet snow and temperatures below freezing can load up the wiper blades with ice so that every ten minutes or so you’ve got to stop to clean them off by hand just to be able to see through the windshield. Smaller flakes are optimal but sometimes it spirals down in fluffy clots the size of gumdrops and when you’re driving into that kind of snow, even thirty miles an hour, all you can see is a never ending vortex of falling snow, turning in a cyclonic rotation as you move through it, hypnotizing, mesmerizing.
The strain on your eyes is one of the hardest parts of the job, always looking ahead into the white glow during the daylight hours, the shallow depth of a hundred feet or less in the pitch black night. When you pass another plow truck there is almost always a friendly wave between drivers, in perfect alignment of purpose and risk. I prefer the bigger snows, the Nor’easters that come in on a weekend that keeps the other drivers home-bound and leaves the roads empty but for us. There have been days when I have driven for an hour without catching sight of another human being, the only sign of life coming from the soft glow of orange light that trembles in each window of the houses along the way.
My son and I listen to the radio off and on- he likes sports talk and I prefer oldies or classical and so we compromise, but more often than not we drive in a silence or exchange a few bits of information as we go, concentrating on the task at hand. There is an unwritten law that applies to plow trucks, like ships at sea, that requires you to stop and offer assistance to anyone who is stuck or in need of help along the route. You can count on at least one of these rescue missions every time you plow. Someone in a Subaru stuck half in a snow bank and half out into the road. You turn on the flashers and quickly glove up and try to sum up the problem and solution before you exit the cab.
Usually it’s a little bit of shoveling, a couple of handfuls of sand and a quick scoot up under the front or rear end of the car to fasten the tow strap to the shackle or cross member and then cinch it off to the ball mount on the back of the truck and give it a tug. Sometimes it takes only a minute or two, sometimes it can take an hour but you work at it until you get them out and then you go back about your business. In virtually every case the drivers will offer money but you never take it because that’s not why you stopped in the first place, but they always leave with a smile and sincere thank-you and it lifts you up for the rest of the route and pays back in a way that money can’t buy.
I always make a little small talk when I’m helping out so that no one feels uncomfortable and one of the questions I always ask is “What brings you out on the road in this kind of weather?” It’s funny that in all this time I have always heard the same answer from every single person I have asked- “I’m going home.” they’ll say.
All of us, I suppose are seeking shelter from the storm.
I like to be useful, it gives me a sense of purpose in this world. I don’t get paid for plowing but my friend always let me use his excavating equipment if I need it on the farm or comes right over whenever I need a hand with something that I can’t handle alone and he has never said no. I know he is paid well for the plow jobs and I am happy to help out with his bottom line in the small way I can and he appreciates my work and that he can depend on me. So the payback, when it comes, is always equally appreciated and just as dependable. You can’t pay for that kind of thing anymore but it has a value nonetheless.
It’s an old trope to be sure, but one that rings true the closer I get to the finish; it’s the journey, not the destination.
Life has always been about survival and sustenance and it hasn’t changed because people depend on others to provide it. But life is much more than that, it’s about the connections you make between like minded folks and the way you build yourself up to deal with whatever comes along, not just physically but mentally and morally. When we first moved up here we thought along the lines of some cataclysm that was coming down the pike and how we’d need enough to feed ourselves and a way to defend against people coming for our stuff. It was, I am ashamed to say, selfish and self-centered.
As time went on we found out that the most important things that we’d gained were the relationships we’d built up with our neighbors and in our community. The way you woke up in the morning and went out into the world and how you came back in with your family at the close of each day to reflect on what you did right and could be proud of and what you failed at and needed to improve was all the motivation we needed. That went for not only skills and responsibilities, but how you communicated and dealt with adversity and loss.
Year by year we’ve become better people for what we’d given up rather than what we had in the past chosen to accumulate. The trip from consumer to producer may have been our intent at the beginning, but it was our transformation into giving rather than taking that really made us complete. A part of that is age, I assume. You gather things together, then the time comes to cast those things away.
For us there was no single greater reward than the trip we’ve taken together, the way we love and rely upon each other and how we are able to take the bounty it provides and spread it around, which in turn comes back to you a hundredfold.
Yesterday a friend of mine drove over a load of big bales. He cuts hay in the Summer and is always sitting on a stockpile as his reserve currency. He doesn’t raise livestock and he lives alone so we always make sure he’s got an extra set of hands or two at his disposal when he asks- which is rarely- and we pass him some chickens, sausage and beef when we go up to visit. He’d needed to clean out some space because of all the snow and so he was bringing me the bales that were in his way at no charge.
It had been warm for a day or two with melting snow and then back to bitter cold and our driveway is steep and long. It had iced over and I hadn’t gotten a chance to sand it, though it was on my short list. He didn’t think about the conditions before he came up the drive and when he was almost at the top he started to slide back with a hay trailer behind him. It could have gone bad, he could have gone the wrong direction and he could have dropped over the steep embankment to the south side of the eskar and suffered a catastrophic loss, but he managed to halt it’s slide into a snowbank before it jackknifed.
He kept his head, and my oldest son and I came out and fired up the tractor. We sorted things out and when we were done we all shared a nice glass of bourbon in the barnyard as a reward and smiled about it. If that kind of thing had happened ten years earlier I don’t think we would have handled it in the same way. Now I was able to just go about things in a manner that provided a solution, with family and friends regardless of the difficulty and the challenge and to find a to way profit that didn’t involve someone else’s loss. We were in balance and in tune with each other and that made everything that much easier to bear.
The weather tells me that we should probably start tapping maples this week, that the big snow is probably done for the year unless we get a freak storm in March. I don’t need a weatherman to tell me what’s coming because I know the cycles of life fairly well by now. I’m not unaware that there are other storms out there that aren’t related to our climate but are caused by humans going through their own seasons of change.
Clearly there’s no way of telling how things will play out anymore than I know how many inches will fall in any given blizzard, but I trust that we’re as prepared as we can be, that no matter how severe this man-made tempest may seem, even as it is unfolding, there will be a light at the end of it and all though it there will be people out there doing what they’ve chosen to do to help clear the paths for other people huddled up in their homes and the ones just trying to get back to them. In the meantime we’ll keep doing the things we’ve picked up along the way, looking for the sweet life in the midst of the cold and darkness and do our level best to share it with everyone we can.
IT’S THAT TIME OF YEAR AGAIN. MAPLE SUGARING SEASON. WE WILL START TAPPING THIS WEEK AND START PRODUCTION NOT LONG AFTER. DUE TO THE DEMAND LAST YEAR WE’VE ADDED ANOTHER MAINLINE AND HOPE TO PRODUCE AN ADDITIONAL 10% OVER LAST YEAR. WE PUT EVERY DOLLAR WE EARN FROM SALES TO CONTINUE THIS ENDEAVOR AND IT IS NOT ONE WE WOULD EVER WANT TO GIVE UP SO WE DEPEND ON OUR READERS TO HELP US MAKE THIS YEAR WORTH THE EFFORT. IF YOU’VE EVER TRIED OUR PRODUCT YOU KNOW THAT IT A UNIQUE AND HIGH QUALITY NATURAL PRODUCT MADE BY HAND IN LIMITED AMOUNTS.
YOU KNOW WE TAKE A GREAT DEAL OF PRIDE IN TURNING OUT SOMETHING SPECIAL AND WE LOVE TO SHARE IT WITH AS MANY CUSTOMERS AS POSSIBLE. IF YOU ARE INTERESTED PLEASE PUT IN YOUR ORDER AS SOON AS POSSIBLE. THIS YEAR WE ARE ALSO OFFERING A UNIQUE SELECTION OF CURED BEEF AND PORK; BRESAOLA, PROSCIUTTO, PANCETTA AND CAPICOLA. IF YOU’D LIKE TO SAMPLE ONE OF THESE DELICIOUS AND INDIVIDUALLY CRAFTED PRODUCTS PLEASE LET US KNOW.
FEEL FREE TO EMAIL YOUR REQUEST @ [email protected] OR GIVE ME A CALL @ 603-748-6917
” When we first moved up here we thought along the lines of some cataclysm that was coming down the pike and how we’d need enough to feed ourselves and a way to defend against people coming for our stuff. It was, I am ashamed to say, selfish and self-centered.”
Not at all. If you fall who will defend, assist and requite those who are aged, infirm and yet still worthwhile? You have to be here to help others, and you have to survive all obstacles (whether nature or other primates) that come your way.
It’s only selfish if your own survival is ALL you are working on; once more than one are in the picture then it’s just life as usual, as you experience above. But building something worth having and defending it against hostility, entropy and neglect is part of what MAKES us human.
As opposed to those who only know how to take.
You’re a good man Charlie Brown. Wish we had more of you.
Thanks for sharing.
Wolverine – you are most correct.
HSF – Good on you. Neighbor means most literally “the one who is close” – and the folk in a ditch that you come upon are as close to a neighbor as one could get. The Lord nods approvingly.
Pax
We had an ice and snow storm here at Christmas this year. It came in from the south off the Cascades hard and fast and shut a lot of things down. Anyways, earlier this year my son and three of his friends formed a quartet – they play what I would call modern folk music. The young woman that does the singing has a beautiful voice that takes me away to another time and place.
They normally play at one of the local coffee houses on a weekly basis and have built up a small following but during the storm, the coffee house shut down and canceled their performance. So we had it in our living room instead. The children’s families, some friends, and neighbors came by to listen as the storm howled outside. We drank wine and cognac with HSF syrup as the kids strummed and sang.
It was the highlight of my Christmas this year. To be able to share our home with people we loved while our children filled the living room with their music all while a storm raged outside is something I won’t forget.
I’ve thought about it a lot since and have come to realize that we can’t stop the storms from happening but we can be mindful of what’s important when they do – we can find comfort in the simple things even during the worst of them.
Thank you. There is nothing else to say. If all ads in this world came with this amount of thought and wisdom this country would be a better place.
As to HSF’s syrup, I have found none better. It is worth whatever he is asking so do yourself a favor and get some. If you are close enough to get some of the other products I can safely assume that they are every bit as good as the syrup.
“Now I was able to just go about things in a manner that provided a solution, with family and friends regardless of the difficulty and the challenge and to find a to way profit that didn’t involve someone else’s loss.” Man I am going to keep that one close. This is why we pay you the big bucks…
Absolutely beautifully written, HF.
Can you just list the prices rather than have us all email? The cured beef and pork sounds magnificent.
I really enjoyed this. Reading it, specifically regarding your relations with your friends, corresponded exactly with what I have been mulling over for many moons now.
Like a jingle, or a cadence, an idea came to mind while I was perusing this piece; an idea that often resonates in my head like a wind chime.
The idea was coined into a phrase by former commodities trader, Ann Barnhardt, who went Galt around the same time I did in 2011.
It was from a piece she wrote in 2012. The name of the article, the idea, and the phrase, are one and the same.
It is this: WE ARE THE GOLD:
From Part 3 of the series:
Barnhardt identifed this concept as the exact reason why America will (and must) slide into historical oblivion.
But – I keep wondering if that idea could, in fact, engender the scarification process to quicken the germination of seeds for new growth following the winter of this Fourth Turning.
I’m thinking positive. Thank you, Hardscrabble.
Ann can boil down economics to a level that a 6th grader can understand, she is just that good her presentation. Just don’t get into her religious presentations unless you are hardcore Catholic.
Nature’s first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf’s a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay. ~ Robert Frost
The chattel-collateral, ‘We’, doesn’t constitute the currency issuing body\nation, any more than convicts constitute the orange togs issuing body\nation. By such reality inversions does day’s end come, or is hastened along, or is narrated upwards after the fact germinates & grows to the green(is gold)house glass ceiling (or microscope slide top).
Heat domes over Phoenix, cold ones over Denver – does anything put the pheasantry under glass like ‘we?’ That’s gotta’ be near the head of the line of mesmerizing, magical words. We is saaaaaafety.
Green market-backed by gold, else cartel-backed by the toxic slurry of gassbag that hangs atop Phoenix\Denver, er, ‘the character & integrity of men.’
That Frost poem featured prominently in the us-we against the they-we (& vice versa) “The Outsiders.” Greasers & Socs. (In Oklahoma. Some pretty country, those parts. People same as elsewhere, of course.) War, what’s it good for? Nuthin’. But good for nuthin’ is good enough for we. Hedges sez it’s a force that gives meaning. With one hand, maybe. To narrate a better story for what the other hand does. First rule of fight club is….
I have always believed that the true unit of currency is the labor of an honest man for 1 hour.
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Robert (QSLV)
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Obviously, labor applied to resources.
Wolverine and JB your sentiments crossed my mind before I read your comments. HSF impresses me as being a “good man” a rare commodity. To bad I’ll probably never meet him. Don’t always agree but never doubt his character.
Keep writing, man.
A rare commodity. Like gold.
We are building a house in rural central Missouri. We are are our own general contractors. Some of the exterior and nearly all of the interior labor is being done by my husband. The electrician we hired is local and seems to know everyone in the eastern part of the county. He has become our connection to meeting all of the locals.
Clay was needed to level out the area for the concrete pad (no basement). So they dug a huge pit to get the clay. One day the county was cleaning ditches and they were driving several miles to haul the dirt away. Our electrician called his friend who worked with the county and they filled our pit for free. Is that priceless or what?
No, It is called, Community and ain’t it wonderful.
Welcome Home.
Yes it’s wonderful, absolutely priceless.
The kind of thing that can bring tears to your eyes.
Nice story . Good to be a true friend and to have a true friend.I read stories like this and wish I would have done better in my life . Hardfarmer , I read your posts and sometimes feel like I have missed something . Like I had my chance but now ” it” is gone forever . Anyway keep writing . BB
Bb,
You are a good man, don’t feel like it is too late. It is not gone forever
When you write things like that BB, you prove my point. Community is wherever there are people like you.
HSF – I love your writing style. Your stories also confirm to me that I made the right choice in leaving the dirty city behind. I need to find the time and visit one of these days and sample your wares (except for the syrup – I will be tapping next Saturday). Thanks.
Doc (20 miles from ya)
If you are that close I expect you to stop by for a visit when you get the chance.
Your right as rain Marc. I hereby increase my request from last year from one gallon to two and would love a sampling of your other wares as well.
PS the first boil is the best IMHO.
PPS you know that some freshly roasted coffee will coming your way as well.
Beautifully written as always. Makes me miss the rural community I left where we shared hay and snow plowing and the constant complaints about the Canadian government.
I am sure my syrup wasn’t as good as yours but I certainly had fun making it, working up a sweat in the crisp March sunshine hauling 5 gallon pails of sap back to the boiler.
I doubt it makes sense to order syrup for delivery to Nicaragua but I would love your recipe for bresaola!
Here you go and good luck.
I use the round cuts- top and eye rounds have the best shape for it. Trim off as much of the fat and silver skin as possible without cutting into the meat and cut it into roughly block shaped pieces around 3-4 pounds each. I’m fanatical about the trimming process, but that’s because I love working with sharp knives. You don’t have to go overboard.
Place the pieces into a 5 gallon bucket- you’ll need a lid as well- and add 10-12 bay leaves, a couple of tablespoons of juniper berries, and peppercorns, 6 cloves of garlic as well as a couple of sprigs of rosemary. I add about 100 grams of maple sugar (brown sugar will work too) and 100 grams of sea salt for every ten pounds of meat and 5 grams of Prague powder or curing salt. Be specific with it, the rest of the herbs is up to your taste. Cover it all with red wine, making sure that the meat is completely submerged. You can weigh it down with a brick or a plate for a few days until the meat becomes saturated with the liquid and then it will stay submerged. I make sure to move the pieces around once a day during the curing process, 10-14 days. During this time it should be kept cool- 40-45 degrees. The salt and the alcohol will prevent spoilage, but if it gets too warm it will not turn out well.
Remove meat, discard the liquids and pat the beef dry. I lightly sprinkle the pieces all over with sea salt and then wrap them in cheesecloth until completely covered, then tie it with string to keep its form- not too tight, but not too lose either. Then you can hang it to dry in a dark, cool place. We have a milk house where the cellar is always in the mid 40’s and there’s a decent amount of humidity. I keep a fan running during the process but you can do it in your fridge as long as you rotate it daily.
You can enjoy it after a couple of weeks- it should get firm, not have any softness to it before you cut. It may develop a whitish mold- this is okay and perfectly healthy. If you see green mold you cured it too warm but it won’t ruin it, just cut it away. I’ve never seen that happen but I have read about it.
It’s best sliced paper thin and served with arugula, fresh squeezed lemon juice, a little olive oil drizzled over it and fresh ground black pepper. The flavor is somewhere between the best piece of roast beef you’ve ever eaten and your first kiss. It’s intoxicating. You would be hard pressed to do any better with a piece of beef.
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As an aside, I will record that as usage # 427 for a 5-gallon bucket.
Thanks HSF, my next project will be bresaola.
I will hit you up for the pancetta & prosciutto recipes when the pigs (Mohammed and Fatima) start giving me piglets.
These recipes are all over the internet, I know, but I figure best to get them from somebody as fastidious as yourself.
Thanks again from all your devoted readers.
You said you like to be useful. I like to be productive. Different words, same meaning. Thanks for the post.
HSF, extraordinary piece, even for you, and you write some good ones. There’s a lot going on in your head as you approach even simple tasks. I wish more people thought that way
I’ve been shoveling and sweeping sunshine off my back patio all winter, out here in the East Phoenix Valley. Will pick oranges on Wednesday. Not as much fun as freezing my ass off waiting for sap to run.
I worked at a comedy club in Phoenix in July. I got second degree burns on the bottom of my feet crossing the parking lot to get to the pool.
People were all like “why you walk barefoot?”
So there’s that.
You ever make candied orange peels? I bet they’re awesome made from fresh oranges.
Thank you. I so look forward to your essays.
I grew up in a small town, surrounded by farmland. The sign on the edge of town that carried the name said the population was 369. Two grocery stores, two hardware stores, one lumberyard, two grain elevators and three gas stations, two of the stations with mechanics. Oh, almost forgot, two restaurants and two 3.2 beer serving pool halls to compete with the two churches. The town slowly died over time, as family size decreased and small farms got sold by the old and retiring owner with children who wanted other things. I left in the late sixties, but returned when the opportunity presented itself. We stayed twelve years and raised our children there. It may be the best decision we ever made. My children understand community. They have experienced what it’s like to know everyone, if not by name, then by family or association. Living is easier when nearly everyone gives you a wave or a head nod as you drive out of town. Even dogs had a good life there, since there were no leash laws. Dogs wandered by, if they showed interest in the garbage cans they were scolded and sent home as if they were your neighbor’s children. If dogs got in a fight, it’s because that’s what dogs do. Even dogs were saner then and the boys carried their nuts where they were meant to be carried and the bitches were whole and didn’t need to be fixed. It was only a brief moment in time and I am grateful that my children experience small town America before the small towns became the bedroom communities for larger neighboring towns and cities. Things change, shit happens, time marches on and still I will always consider myself a lucky man for growing up where everyone showed a quiet pride for their effort in raising the local children. “He turned out ok” they would say, as if it was by chance, and they had nothing to do with it.
Thank you, HSF…for all that you do…writing, pure maple syrup, living a life worth living. I tear up often reading your sketches. For an old soul that’s happy when he’s sad, that’s saying something. Echoing a previous post, the syrup you produce is the best I have had. Order to follow.
As a light-hearted aside, Dylan’s “Shelter From The Storm” is prominent in a jewel of a Bill Murray movie called “Saint Vincent”. I highly recommend seeing it. If you do, make sure to watch all the way through the credits.
Murray is pure gold. It’s as if the director said to him “Alright, Bill, we don’t have anything planned for the credits. Just do something”.
Way off topic HSF. Are you aware of the book: Feeds and Feeding, abridged by Morrison. 9th edition from 1961. If not, it’s a fine reference book for anyone with livestock. Inside the cover it says: The essentials of the feeding, care, and management of farm animal, including poultry. Sorry, Maggie, no rabbit chapters. The first edition was dated 1917, the last 1961. Good, read by the wood stove book.
HSF, what a great post. You, Robert, and Jim do fantastic work. Yours are especially touching and real. You live your life in an almost fairy tale fashion and I mean that in a good way. My wife and I have been on a journey to move to the country for almost three years. We bought a two acre plot in March 2015 and would come out on the weekends to work it. First, we built a 12×16 shed on wood pilings and put solar panels on it for electricity so I could run power tools without the generator when we came out. Needed it to house our riding mower, chainsaws, weed eaters, and other tools. We kept a small dorm fridge out there for refreshments as it’s plenty hot here in South Texas about eight months of the year. We had to do a lot of clearing so we could have a view of the water at the back of the property and we put up over a thousand feet of horse fence so we could let our two labs run around while we were working. We got a water meter and I installed one of those freeze proof garden faucets so we had water. Next we built a 24×48 garage, had septic and electric installed, bought a fifth wheel trailer and moved out to the property. I retired in September 2016 and worked at all the above plus designing of our house full time. We really wanted to build the house ourselves but didn’t have all the money required to do so. And in Texas the bank will not allow you to be your own contractor under a construction loan. So we wrote a contract that would leave a lot unfinished for us to complete. Anyway long story short we just moved in after passing all the county inspections. Still have a lot of work to do but it’s been a heck of a journey for me and my wife. We’re both in our late fifties and the body don’t recover like they used to. So on to my reason for posting this comment. Seems like much of our focus has been on “us”. Although my wife is very active in her Church and volunteers a lot so there’s that. But your story has inspired me and really made me think about the next chapter in our journey. Our circumstances are a bit different based on climate. The area we live in there are a lot of orange and grapefruit orchards. We’ll be planting a small grove on our property along with a robust garden and perhaps a small greenhouse. There are others in the area that already have the same and even raise chickens and goats. I’d like to become more acquainted with them and get that same sense of connectedness and community that you obviously feel and live on a daily basis. Thanks for the story and inspiration… Chip
It’s never too late to start living. Sounds like you’ve found a great spot to set down roots. I’m jealous of your citrus, we have to depend on grocery stores for that, but last week a reader sent me a box of oranges and last night we made candied orange peels after we’d eaten all the fruit. They were a major hit with the kids, I’m not as much of a sweet tooth but I made sure to hoard a few for later.
Around here I met most of the folks either at the post office, library or at the town dump. People are always willing to share what they know if you ask and I always find some way to throw them something in return. Community is built one exchange at a time.
Best of luck and thanks for the comment.
Wow HSF, a lot of golden nuggets in that prose.
I am learning how to plow this year, albeit in a large diesel tractor with a plow on the front and a sander on the back. It definitely takes some practice. I live about a half mile down a class 6 non-town maintained road and have a long steep curved drive. The winter has been tough with rains then hard freezes making the road and drive into thick sheets of ice. My wife did a 360 into the snowbank a few weeks back.
And I hear you about community. There are 6 homes on this road and I think we would be at much disadvantage if we did not help each other out. The neighbor at the end of the mile long dead end, an older military intel vet, plows out the road every storm like clockwork and asks nothing in return, although we pitch in for his gas and time. Another neighbor came over while I was at work and my wife got stuck at the bottom of the drive, and brought his pickup full of sand and he and she sanded the whole thing by hand. He had run out of oil a few weeks ago and I had brought him over some wood for his stove. Another neighbor and his wife were snowmobiling above the notches last month and his wife went off the trail and is now paralyzed. We bring him meals 3 or 4 times a week. You could probably go it alone out here, but it would be a lot more difficult and a hell of a lot less fulfilling.
Now I’ve got to go peer into the freezer and pick out a good 4 pound roast to have a go at bresaola. Damn that looks good!
It’s amazing, really. If I hadn’t been so intimidated by the snootiness of the Italians with their “it can only be produced in this one brick cellar in Abruzzio under the full Moon” BS I probably would have started earlier. Once we tried the first one we were hooked and now it’s hard to keep us in them, never mind sell the extras.
Foundry even has us on the menu now.
http://www.foundrynh.com/
That’s in my neck of the woods. Never been there. If you go there to try it give me a buzz.
Hardscrambled,
I ain’t got last year’s syrup so why in gawds good gravy are yer trying ter sell me this year’s syrup. Yer uh gawd dammed tree sappin con man as fer as I’m concerned. I appreciate yer sentiments, but I remember uh little caveat from Strunk and White’s about startin too many gawd dammed sentences with ‘I – passive verb’, cuz that shit pisses people off, and makes it ter where yer put up uh sign that says PLEASE BUY MAH SHIT and yer end up with only 43 comments after 3 days. I’m sure El Coyote cerd explain it better cuz he does the same thing with his bung hole ever weekend but who the hell am I ter jerdge.
Admenstruater, yes I’m talking directly ter yer ass, like uh gawd dammed prayer cuz yer ass controls the thermometer and all the porn ads that power TBP and Hardscrmabled’s syrup biz, it’s time ter knock Hardscrmabled down ter grade C commentater cuz his shit has gotten super boring and self servin. On that subject I have about uh 8000 werd essay ready ter submit that I guarantee will git yer ass minimum $20 in pledges and 300+ comments. Contact me at [email protected] fer more info. No hard feelins Hardscrambled but you done screwed me once, shame on yer anus.
8000 words? Please God, no.
And yet you’re here, I said.
6.5 words.
100!!!
How do you like them apples?
Yummy..
[img]https://tse1.mm.bing.net/th?id=OIP.G7HolvVmykqJtxjKGHsuaQHaHa&pid=15.1&P=0&w=300&h=300[/img]
How long did it take you to draw and color that? Bet you’ve been saving it for weeks too! 🙂
Your comments about having to mark out your route prior to the season reminded me of my having to do kind of the same thing back when I was a traveling salesman up in the frozen north.
I was based in Buffalo, NY for a dozen years (that’s pronounced Buff-lo to the natives) and I covered most of NY State, all of Canada above it, and the western half of Pennsylvania.
I had to almost memorize my routes before winter hit because after the snow started falling the street signs, and many times even the route signs, would be covered with snow.
It all looks different with the snow cover too. Streets would be like white canals with a huge berm on the sides. If you didn’t have a good feel for where and when to make your turns you would end up lost.
The hotels often had electric outlets in the parking lots where you could plug in the engine block heater of your car (if you remembered to bring an extension cord).
I have been down here in the Houston swamp for over thirty years now and although I have many fond memories of my time up in the frozen tundra, I can’t say that I miss it. Any time that I start to, I just think about the blizzard of `85. Digging out of that one sent me to the chiropractor for three years. It makes my back hurt just to think about it.
Anyway, I enjoyed the post. I especially like your stories about working with your boys. Those memories will be theirs for their life.
I will have to try some of your syrup. Maybe even some cured beef and pork.
Also enjoyed the video – especially his using the guitar to tap out the tune. Tommy Emmanuel would be proud.
Oh gawd uh mighty. When Steve C shows you know it’s time ter flush. Sorry hardscrambled, but looks like yer goner have ter sell yer sizzurp at uh deep discount this year cuz 54 comments is uh terrible indicatater.