Gathering

I shut off the engine, and braced myself. Abigail grabbed a bag from the backseat in case we were given the green-light, and we made our way up the sidewalk to the front of the house and I rang the bell. We looked at each other expectantly, and waited. Soon enough, a fragile face appeared behind the glass. She fumbled with the door, and then mumbled something. I stepped back, not wanting to alarm her. I understood that she was afraid to open the door, but she didn't want us to leave, either.

Soon, she was joined by an elderly gentleman. He slowly opened the door to greet us, and she made her way into the shadows behind him- not wanting to take her leave, but not wanting to be seen. I introduced myself, and Abigail, and explained where we lived- in fact, quite close!, and stated that I had a strange request. Was that indeed a persimmon tree on the corner of their yard, and if they weren't going to be used, may we have a few?

Friends are sometimes quickly made, and we were invited in to view the kitchen. He thought we would enjoy it. We entered the home, and were greeted by yet another woman, the man's wife. The first woman had been his sister-in-law. Before long we were talking of yesterday's election, my husband's employment, and the man's retirement from the Air Force. After 30 minutes or so had passed, we were given leave to freely take of the persimmons, and were told to come back to gather the pine cones that rained freely over the backyard. We promised to return another day.

The previous day we met friends to gather walnuts that were scattered over a yard. Collin has been busy removing the hulls. We'll then allow the shells to dry a bit before cracking them to remove the meats. It's understood that I can use as many of the walnuts as I desire, but if any are sold, the profits will go to Collin because he worked hard on them.

God's provision certainly doesn't end when summer does.

Luncheon on Main Street

With the autumn weather comes the end of the farmer's market. The past two times I went, I didn't make enough money to make it worth my time, and decided to call it quits for the year. Truthfully, I'm ready for a slower pace, but I will miss the extra money.

And then, very late Monday night, Tuesday morning really, I received an e-mail from a woman who frequents the farmer's market, and is also in charge of our local Slow Food group. She wondered if I might be able to make desserts for Thursday's luncheon. She requested that I use as many local ingredients as possible. My wheels started turning.

What's in season locally? The apples are gone, but there are still pumpkins. I promised to call the apple guy, and I did.

I just can't tell you how much I've enjoyed the market this summer. When I called Ronnie and explained what I needed, he told me to come on down. Abigail and I drove through the country Tuesday evening to pick up a few apples for Bavarian Apple Torte (pictured above). We were not only given enough apples to make my dessert, but he gave us an entire bag from his personal stash, as he quit selling several weeks ago. He threw in a bag of pears, too. And to top it all off, he wouldn't accept a dime.

Back to the luncheon. Another e-mail asked me to also please provide the bread for the meal. Variety is always good, so along with the torte I made a pumpkin cheesecake, and a blueberry-swirl cheesecake. No, blueberries aren't in season, but part of Slow Food and eating locally means preparing for winter. I was able to go to the freezer and pull out blueberries from July. ( I ate a handful frozen just for good measure, too!) Just in case someone doesn't like cheesecake, I added Blackberry Almond Shortbread Thumbprint cookies, made with my own jam.

God provides, that's for sure. The market may be over, but I got an order to take it's place, and then some! Now, where is that slower pace?

Pear-Raspberry Galette with Almond Frangipane

For the family's dessert, I threw some frozen raspberries in with the pears to add color, and some tartness.  Though it isn't pictured, our galette was served with homemade whipped cream, too. 

For the farmer's market, I made the same galettes, minus the raspberries, and sized them to fit in your hand. Personal galettes. And they were well received. 

Successful Saturday

The girls went in my stead to the farmers' market while I accompanied Collin to the State 4-H Shooting Sports competition. Turns out it was a good day all around. The girls had a successful day of sales, even making some money of their own, and we've heard that Collin placed third in his age group for BB guns.

Tools

Another vendor and I traded goods at the farmers' market today. He was offering apples and pears, while I had my usual baked goods and jams. A half bushel of pears and a half bushel of apples for one loaf of my whole wheat bread and a half dozen cookies? DEAL!

My husband asked me if I was going to use my new apple corer on the pears as well as the apples, and Collin chimed in. "I think a melon baller would work well to take the seeds out of the pear." The more I thought about it, the better I thought his idea was.

WOW! Was he ever right! That boy is a genius!

Little Man at the Market

We arrived just before 7 when the market opened, and clumsily set up our table. My eager helpers were none too eager, though they didn't complain. It was a slow morning. No one stopped by to grab a pastry, a loaf of bread, or a jar of jam for over two hours. The rain steadily pelted the metal roof, making the 74 degrees feel much cooler than they were. My helpers retreated to the car for a little more shut-eye.

I chatted with a few other vendors, praising God for the much needed rain, them nodding in agreement. Rain is good for growing, but not for selling outdoors, even when there is a roof covering the tables. People trickled in like the rain, slowly, cool. Not much conversation was taking place as most were in a hurry to get what they needed and head back to their warm, dry homes.

I sat down to pick up a novel. There's not much time for reading these days with the gardening, canning, baking, and selling. And then I saw him.

I looked up from my page to see a small boy standing in front of my table. I stood. He wore a Scooby-Doo

t-shirt, black shorts, and sandals.

He wasn't a full head taller than the table, but he looked intently at what I was offering. He wasn't with a parent, and I didn't speak to him, but offered a warm smile. I wasn't sure if he was lost, or wanting a treat. I waited. He stood, about a foot away, and pushed to the very tip of his toes, surveying the cake plates, and the breads.

"I have money," he boasted, rocking back to rest on his heels.

"You do? Are you going to buy yourself something good here at the Farmers' Market?"

"Maybe." He pushed forward to his tip-toes again.

He carefully pointed to a half- dozen dinner rolls. "These are three dollars?"

Little as he was, he knew his numbers and how to read price tags, which made him all the more endearing to me.

"Yes."

"And, these are two dollars," he asked, pointing to the cake plate that held Chocolate Zucchini Spice Muffins.

"No. They are actually two muffins for one dollar." I smiled.

"COOL!" and he started digging into his pocket producing three dollar bills. He carefully unfolded them, and handed me one.

I tried not to laugh too hard, but the older woman beside me wasn't so successful, and let out a big belly laugh.

I handed him his muffins, and he ran down the aisle to meet his mom.

Sometimes slow mornings are the best kind. The kind of mornings when mothers can watch their children from afar, and little boys learn how to make choices on their own. It was a morning I won't soon forget.

This Weekend, I...

* got stung by a hornet 6 times

* made loads of peach jam

* baked three pies

* sold at the farmers' market

* collected eggs from my chickens

* spent time with my children

* watched fireworks both Saturday and Sunday evenings

* worshipped

* spent time with great friends

* made friends with little girls because I had my dog with me

*neglected the laundry

And you?

Adding to the Flock

It's been a busy week, and that's an understatement. Canning green beans (which took all night), canning jams, and baking for the farmers' market has left with me not a minute to spare. God has given me the strength to get through, but I'm finding myself feeling grouchy and irritable. Not good, so I took a long nap this afternoon.

When we ordered our chickens in the spring, I chose the varieties for their friendliness with people, how docile they were toward other chickens and the amount and size of eggs they laid. I also wanted to get them all at the same time, which limited what I could buy. We ended up with Rhode Island Reds, Buff Orpingtons, and Easter Eggers. I would have loved to have bought a few Silver Laced Wyandottes, but they weren't going to be available until later, and so I didn't.

I recently mentioned to a friend at the farmers' market that I would like to have a few of the Wyandottes and he said a friend had just called him the day before and told him that he had some to sell. Arrangements were made, and I bought four new hens this week. These ladies are already laying, and it has been such a thrill for all of us to head to the coop a few times a day to find eggs. They're such pretty ladies, too. Their names? Sylvia, Lacy, Wynnie, and Dotty.

The farmers' market has been such a blessing to me. We've lived in this town for six years now and I'm finally beginning to feel more like a part of the community. At nearly 40, I'm the youngest regular vendor to set up, and the old-timers have been so kind, taking me under their proverbial wings and showing me the ropes.

I'm baking more than I ever have, and enjoying every minute of it.

This Weekend, I...

■ stayed up way too late baking cinnamon rolls and loaves of bread

■ canned the first green beans from the garden

■ woke up way too early to sell at the farmers market

■ welcomed a son home from camp, if only for 20 hours

■ cooked a pork roast with homemade sauerkraut and potatoes from the garden

■ made a blackberry cobbler with berries picked by my children

■ got lots of hugs and kisses, some of them from children not even my own

■ worshipped the one, true and living God

■ took over 500 photos, and deleted the majority of them

■ canned apples in cinnamon red hot syrup

■ took two naps

And you?

Lavender Bread

I'll be up bright and early tomorrow morning, heading to the Farmers' Market for the second time this week. I'll be offering this scrumptious Lavender Tea Bread, a Three Herb White Bread, and turnips. And maybe, just maybe, some Strawberry-Jalapeno Jam.

Looking Forward to a New Week

Sometimes things are rolling along smoothly and you feel nearly invincible. Tasks aren't too daunting, deadlines are met. And then there are the other times.

This week? This week was one of the other times.

Rain showers greeted the dawn early Wednesday morning. I was going about my normal routine, taking care, first of the dog, and then the chickens. As I crossed the wet deck in flip-flops, my feet went out from under me, and I fell down a step.

It hurt. Badly.

I picked myself up, grabbed my umbrella and my flip flops, and crossed the lawn in my bare feet. No matter the pain in my backside, the chickens needed fresh food and water. I placed my flip flops on the top step leading to the coop as I didn't want to enter in bare feet. I unlocked the coop and made my way in.

I grabbed the waterer, opened the door to step outside, and down I went again. If I wasn't sore already, this sealed the deal.

I admit, I cried a moment before picking myself up for the second time in less than 5 minutes, and crossed the yard to the hose. I couldn't have cared less about entering the coop in bare feet by now, and so I did. I gingerly climbed back down the steps and into the house.

By this time, my right elbow was starting to swell, my forearm was bruising, and my left pointer finger was throbbing. And my backside? Let's just say that it looks like I sat in blackberry jam from the bruising.

I had been asked to make a cake for a 16th birthday. A three tier, fondant covered cake. I hate fondant. With a passion. Pictures in cake books show off satiny smooth cakes draped in the sugar coating, and they look so elegant. Let me just say that I never feel elegant while covering a cake with fondant. The cake decorator has to become something of an acrobat and a muscle builder turned pastry chef. It isn't pretty.

I started my baking on Thursday. For starters, I had to sift 21 cups of flour. That may not sound difficult, but after my episodes the day before, it nearly did me in. I completed the baking, mixing buttercream frosting, and icing the cakes in 12 hours.

Friday morning I woke, still sore from falling, and began making marshmallow fondant. 9 recipes, at that. I stirred, and kneaded and rolled. My shoulders ached. One by one I covered the layers with the sweet confection, cleaning up as best as I could while I went along. I was thankful for my youngest daughter who was eager to help in any way possible. My adrenaline kicked in and I was in a groove. Everything was going swimmingly, and then it happened.

The cake was to be plaid on the top and bottom tiers, with polka dots on the middle tier. The top tier was covered in fondant and I cut strips for the plaid design. It looked adorable.

I wondered, 'What if I placed a band going around the center of the tier instead of the plaid being mainly on the top?'

I discussed the possibility with my eager helper, and she agreed it would be cute. The minute I touched the chocolate brown ribbon to the aqua blue side I knew it was a mistake. The band wasn't level, and made the entire cake look crooked.

I ignored it for as long as I could, but couldn't stand it, and so I ripped all of the fondant back off of the top tier only to start the entire process over. This time though, the fondant ripped.

I was exhausted, and I cried. I ended up finishing the cake an hour late, and not nearly as prettily as I envisioned. Thankfully, the recipients were graceful and seemed to be happy. After a full 24 hours of working, I couldn't give anymore.

This morning I woke to bake cupcakes for a friend's husband's birthday. I told myself, "It's a new day!" Still tired and sore from the falls/kneading/rolling, I set out to make a new recipe.

Why I thought it would be okay to try a new recipe on the morning something was to be picked up I'll never know. I guess I was feeling optimistic.

The cupcakes were to be vegan, but the recipe I was using called for eggs. I tried substituting flax seeds for the eggs, and the recipe flopped. I don't know- I'm not vegan, and didn't know what to expect, but these cupcakes didn't look birthday celebration worthy. ( Actually, they tasted fine after they cooled.) In a panic, I googled another recipe that was similar to the first and gave it a go. Thankfully, they were a success.

My poor husband. I don't know who feels worse, me or him. I can tell you though, he's a wonderful encouragement to me, and loves me unconditionally. For that, I am really thankful!

Praline Pecan Cheesecake

We're each blessed with different gifts. We all have strengths, and we all have weaknesses. It's taken me a very long time to realize that I'm not worth less than anyone else just because I can't sing a lick, or play an instrument, or whatever I lamented over at the moment. One gift isn't better than another. It would be an awfully boring world if we all did things exactly the same as someone else.

From time to time I make a little extra money with the gifts that I have been given. Baking. Now that I can do!