Remembrances from long ago...

I can still close my eyes and see my Mamaw working in the huge flour bowl making lard biscuits in the morning. Lard may not be in your experience and if so I will pity you, since it made the most delicious biscuits. Since she had been born before the turn of the century and the world changed so much during her lifetime, you can understand that she held to some of the things familiar to her in her younger life. I suppose the use of lard was one of them. Crisco was the alternative by the time I was born but she didn't go there when it came to biscuits. She would work the dough with her hands and then flour a huge board, use a massive rolling pin that I could hardly lift as a child. I believe that my Papaw had made that rolling pin for her. 


But the most operable item in her kitchen was her big cast iron deep skillet. I loved it best when she made a vanilla pound cake in it! Believe me, the crispy crust of the cake was due to that iron skillet and much appreciated by us all. Some things come and go but cast iron is forever.

I remember in the early mornings when my father wrap me up in a quilt and take me with my sister to my grandparents house. My mother was one of the women who braved a new and changing world and went into factory work during WWII and it's aftermath. She met my father there. As they left for work each morning, we were taken to spend the days with my grandparents. So the result is that I have a childhood memories of life more like those of my mother's than that of most children of the 1950's.

Mamaw made eggs every morning and gravy for the biscuits. I assume there was sausage or bacon but they are less of the memory to me. Breakfast on a farm was no small event because it fueled the mornings work. Even though by the time I can recall these memories my grandparents were already older and doing less heavy farm work, breakfast did not change! The sights in my memory rise up from the recesses my brain like the morning fog rises off the dewy fields.

Wild blackberries grew on the mountain. Believe me there is no comparison in the taste of the wild ones to that of the tame variety. We picked a lot of them in the heat of summer days, filling large tin buckets. We had to wear long sleeves and long pants even on the hottest days but preparation for picking them meant kerosene soaked rag strips tied at your ankles and wrists to help deter chiggers. I won't pity you if you are not experienced with them! For some reason chiggers seemed to like me a lot. And then there were ticks... let's hurry back to the food. We ate lots of berries while picking them but I do remember reaching high for a huge one when you're little meant your feet got closer into the shade of the bottom of the bushes and copperhead snakes liked the shade of the bushes! But for every downside there is an upside and the Blackberry Cobbler she made in that cast iron skillet was a great upside! The aroma of blackberries cooking and the promise of cobblers and jelly. That sounds heavenly and tasted even better!

My Mamaw was a wonderful woman. Every single day she always wore an apron over her dress, and would wrap it over her arms if she were cold but it was good for carrying eggs in from the backyard as well. At a moment's notice it was a good catch all. One of my favorite memories is that she would take me on her lap and pull that apron up around me and snuggle me tight. Oh how loved, she and that apron, and all these memories make me feel!

Old Apple Trees and Twisted Wisteria Vines

I have always loved apples and applesauce but not as much as my Daddy did. I am sure that his love of them was the reason he learned to graft the apple trees for a better harvest, and created a small orchard on the family farm. According to my Mama some of the apple trees still standing were planted originally in the 1940's. Here is a photo of one gnarly old but thankfully quite persistent tree.

Someone once called an apple tree the "Matriarch" of a farm. If so, she is our aging, stately, arthritic Great grandmother. She is decked out once more in her blossoms and the bees buzz about appreciatively attending her. I was always afraid of the bees but my Daddy said to be thankful for them or there would be no fruit to enjoy. And enjoy them he did!

Old fashioned Apple Stack Cake was one of his favorite desserts. Most folks used dried apples for that old recipe. I don't remember ever drying apples but Daddy sulphured apples. His sulphured apples would stay in huge cloth covered crocks. They remained snow white, soft, and never discolored. It is amazing that a little sulphur smoke could preserve apple slices so beautifully.

 

I love the look of old twisted Wisteria vines. Mama's were beginning to bloom this year after a severe but needed pruning. Before long they will twist and trail down over the lattices once more, casting off their beautiful fragrance. Spring is too short for my way of thinking!

This farm held us all in it's arms. It was the lovely paradise of my childhood. So I will sum up this post with these thoughts...

The old apple tree once more has bloomed,

alive and hanging on with determination.

Her aging limbs stretch upward to the grey-blue heavens, 

a breeze plays at her delicate dressing.

Spring is the season of hope and sweetness,

 the promise of fruit in due season.

Again I am thankful to see her still standing,

 aware that passing time will remove her.

I stand remembering the farm as it was years ago,

 as the sun sinks low into the gap of the mountain.

The golden glow and low casted shadows fall

on this my home-place of peace and contentment.

Spring

Western North Carolina simply burst into an early Spring while I was there recently. This year's explosion of blooming may not have been just for me but I felt it was a literal voice speaking to my heart. I heard many things. One thing it said to me was that while we live we can look outward and upward with hope and joy. But to do that sometimes we have to look past some things right in front of us. Perhaps focusing beyond where we are at the moment helps us get through some difficult things.

The poet, William C. Bryant wrote: The little windflower whose just opened eye is as blue as the spring heaven it gazes at.

I want to live like this. I want to focus on what will be a reflection in me that gives hope and happiness. I say this in the middle of feeling such sadness because of the loss of my sister-in-law, but she lived her last days with incredible hope and dignity. She didn't focus on the cancer and modeled such peace to all of us. She was a gardener, and nothing made her happier than to garden. Just days before she passed she happily spoke of expecting the blooming of her pear trees in the back yard. By her front porch steps her lovely Bleeding Hearts spoke appropriately of our feelings at her leaving us far too soon. 

Her home looks up from a lovely fertile valley to the lofty Black Mountains. Just beyond them is the Blue Ridge Parkway. Mount Mitchell was her favorite place to visit. That mountain is as high as you can climb east of the Mississippi. Often the mountain is swathed at it's feet with a blanket of fog and has bright sunny winds at it's summit. If you were down in the valley would you be aware the sun is shining in a place beyond where you were? Now that is a thought! I feel that something of her presence will remain up there. And I won't ever go to visit after this without knowing the memory of her rides those winds.

Going to School

If I am calculating right, I started first grade in 1959. I have some very distinct memories of my first year of elementary school. Each room had a low wall unit of Cubby-holes where we placed our books, book bags, and belongings. I don't remember any stealing going on back then. We did misplace things like mittens or sweaters but no one really worried about stealing. We carried book bags. I wonder when back packs came along? Just so you know what a book bag looked like here is a photo of one from the early 1970's. Ours were not so cute. I remember carrying a similar one to this only it was a red plaid.

We had a Cloak Room where I hung my brown corduroy car coat with the barrel buttons. In that Cloak room I would remove my corduroy pants from under my dress. In winter we were allowed to wear pants on the bus but we had to remove them and be properly dressed little girls for the classroom. I remember the little wooden school desks that would give you splinters if you weren't careful. The reason? We were wearing dresses! So bare little legs would suffer if you slide the wrong way. That would get you a trip to the school nurse! Such were the everyday concerns of school life.

Oh! And our Dick and Jane Readers! Such lovely boring little books! "Come Dick. Come Jane. Come and Go! Let's find Spot."  Oh, but I thought they were great. But maybe the best thing about the 1950's was that it didn't take a lot to keep our attention. Obviously. What other explanation is there for Captain Kangaroo and later on Mr. Rogers. I think I looked alot like Jane here, but the hair color.

I still love the smell of Crayola crayons. There was nothing like a new box of pointy unused smelly crayons! I loved cutting out shapes from construction paper but I remember the blunt little scissors were impossible. Safe but impossible. I am glad that I got to be a part of the 1950's, because things didn't stay the way they were very long. I guess I still long for that kind of sweet and innocent simple living.

Chinkypins

By the time the song "Chestnuts Roasting On An Open Fire" was written in 1946 most of the American Chestnut trees were dead and chestnuts were hard to find. My grandmother told me of roasting them when she was young. However, we did had a cousin to the Chestnut who survived, the proper name is Chinquapin. Or as we called it Chinkypins. The nuts were very similar to the chestnut but smaller. When my first daughter was born and her eyes turned from newborn deep blue to dark brown my daddy called them her "chinkypin eyes". Little dark chestnut eyes. And her first child has the same eyes.

The Chestnut blight hit in 1904 and most died by the late 30's. Can you imagine 4 billion dying in the Eastern part of the U.S.? Anyway the remains of that dead one was a most beautiful weathered sliver grey. The rough bark was long gone and it was polished smooth by time's sandpaper. I loved it. At some point I remember seeing a red headed woodpecker nesting in a hollow high up near the broken top. I felt better knowing it was sheltering
her babies.
 

Anyway, because the chinkypin burrs were so prickly my daddy would watch for the burrs to open and do the honors and collect them for me. I can still see his mischievous grin when he would hold out his hand full of the little nuts for me. He is gone now too.

Can I just say that time changes all things, and old things pass away, and we have to look back with love at what we now can only remember. I would hate to find out that the old Chestnut tree is completely gone now. I had rather just remember it as it was.




Here is an amazing photo of HUGE chestnut trees while they were still growing and used for lumber in North Carolina. Ours was not this large!

As a child I was free to wander the woods, pastures, and the mountain top that my family owns. In memories now return to the mountain. I find escape in those mental images that I still hold so dear.

In My Mind's Eye 

I see summer's golden light descend
Sweet purest touch-- makes dark shadows bend

Amidst the trees and filtering leaves I see
Such lovely sights, sets my heart free

Climbing high in crunchy leaves and moist ground litter

Led by chattering squirrels and birds a' twitter

See! Jack-in-the-pulpit and False Solomon's Seal
Old Sliver Chestnut, though long dead, to time it won't kneel

Colors playing on stream's small glassy pond

Through each green leaf and frilly frond

Trees ornate with fungal fairy ledges
Damp spots thick with clumps of wild sedges

Long days spent in exploring with delight
Changing daylight angles predict the coming of night

And as evening light softens like downy feather
Lying down on the bounty of sweet summer weather

Shadows drawing peace out of my moody heart

Playing tunes of joy there, the Creator's part

What a loving gesture-- just for my joy 

He has designed such delights as an alluring ploy

Now cooling earth creates the foggy mist

Drinking drops from above - the ground is kissed

As shadows deepen, I will explore more later

My mind's green woodland home, nothing I cherish greater

Sweet Talk

When one door of happiness closes, another will open; but often stand and regretfully look so long at the closed door that we do not see the one which is opening behind us.

Cathedrals take many forms and the best are the ones that God Himself created.

No journey should be so demanding that there isn't time to take a break and cool your heels.

Pith Helmets and Kitchen Kisses

One of my favorite photos of my daddy is of him in his gardening clothes, in bib overalls with a short sleeved shirt and a french style pith helmet! The photo had to be taken in about 1951, before I was born, but he had my sister who looks about 5 years old in the garden with him and they are together holding a push plow. I wish I had a scanner to give you a peek.

My daddy was happy in the garden. Not that he wasn't happy in our home. He was always kissing my Mama in the kitchen. As a little girl I would wiggle between them because I was sure that the best place to be was in the middle of that kind of love, in the middle of kitchen kisses!

  

Now about that pith helmet: I have no idea where he and my uncle Max got them but we have photos of them gardening together both dressed similarly and in those exotic hats. Daddy's pith helmet was like this photo but a light sage green and made of a rather hard fiberboard like material. When I was quite tiny, a very fun thing to do was to sit in that hat and roll around till the button on top inverted. My little toddler tushy then was small enough to fit and it was a great fun! And I don't remember him ever rebuking me or stopping me. I guess that was just too cute for him to be mad at me but I imagine that pith helmet was usually placed in an out of my reach location. Every spring my uncle Max brought the fine Ford tractor he bought when he returned from WWII and turned the whole garden and then daddy did the laying out of rows with a push plow and he loved nothing better than to garden. Toward the end of his life I think he grew enough to fed 10 families every year and he was always sharing the produce with neighbors and friends.

One of my favorite garden memories was sneaking to the garden and eating Tommy Toes (cherry tomatoes) straight from the vine! I was so thrilled when a few years back tomatoes began to be sold attached to some of the vine because the scent of the vines is such a part of the overall experience to me. When I was older and could sneak a handful of sugar I would go to the rhubarb plants and break one off and it eat it raw, dipping it in sugar. I never liked it cooked rhubarb but I sure loved it that way as a child.

Every little girl's first love is her daddy. He had the sweetest smile and to me he looked like Clark Gable. He was a wonderful, good, and loving man. He was the best man I knew and then I met my husband who is so much like him in many ways!

I have a memory of a summer picnic under a grove of black walnut trees up on the mountain above our house and garden. Just a daddy and his girl picnic. I think I may have been between 7 to 9 years old. I made sandwiches but quartered them so they were small. The reasoning behind that was because our dessert was cakes made in my Easy Bake Oven. We sat on a blanket on the grass and drank sweet tea from a Mason Jar. Well... my precious daddy is in Heaven now, but I know him so well and I just can't help but think that someday he'll plan a picnic for us.

Profile Photos

There is nothing like sitting in a rocking chair!

Snow in Colorado

We just got a 20-24 inch snowfall here. The wind whipped up great drifts so measuring is not precise. Having lived for over 25 years in Colorado I should be used to the snow. This is nothing. For more than 15 years we lived at 8,500 feet in elevation in a very rural area although my husband commuted daily to the Denver Metro area. The first year in Conifer there were four different snows with 3 to 4 feet at a time! I thought there was no way we could survive there for long but I had the energy of youthfulness, and promise of the invincibility that comes with it as well. It was a great place to raise our children and so much better I believe for them than a city school. Maybe that is my own prejudice since I was raised in rural North Carolina.

The farmhouse my grandfather built in 1917 still stands although it is empty, moldy and crumbling. Back in Western North Carolina, no one dares tear down their old home places. They stand greying and crumbling, loved from a distance. And I love that about the culture back there. The best thing about my grandparent's farmhouse was the front porch. It's porch stood about 5 feet about the yard, tall enough to survey the whole of the valley before you when you were only 4 or 5. It was equipped with two great old oak porch rockers and an old fashioned swing that hung on chains. What child wouldn't love the adventure of all that! The swing could be an airplane or a speeding car at a moment's notice. The rockers were so sturdy and when you got them rocking fast and wildly they were the farm dogs greatest fear. No sleeping dog stayed on that porch with a combination of children and rocking chairs! Tails be gone!!!

As a child I don't remember much traffic on the road in front of the house. It is not that way today. I often wonder what a passerby thinks when they see the old house. Little do they know what treasured memories linger in my head. Deep from the recesses of it I hear the sound of the slamming  screen door even now. That is a comforting sound not heard with the ears but with the heart.

Well, I will close for now and sit for a while looking out at the snow and let those inner sights and sounds do their magic.

Hi there!
My name is Pam Kilpatrick.
Pamela was a popular name for baby girls in the 1950's and 1960's and it means... Sweet like Honey. So there you go! That tells you something about me. Thus name Sweet Honey Buzz.

I am presently sitting in my home office along the front range of Colorado as the snow falls like heavy goose feathers and my mind is flitting over some things I hope to accomplish in the days to come. I long for sun and flowers, what proper Pamela "honey girl" wouldn't?  But for now I'll be content with a mug of steaming honey laced spice tea. It warms my hands and my heart. That being said, here is my initial thoughts.

Words focused out from deep in the heart ~
Sharing and friendship, I hope you'll be a part!

Summer long gone into winter's blast~
Penning peaceful musings, here to last.

Moments of cyber rambling to you from me
What fun an exchange I hope to see!

Awaiting the spring and desiring the sunny,
Sky and blooms again, as sweet as honey!