Hillbilly Life

It takes a good bit more than a beard and a pair of boots to make a mountain man.  Freeze dried stores and semi-automatic weapons do not define the survivalist.

We grow corn that we depend on to eat, and that act puts us in touch with the Tsalagi culture that passed through this land before Europeans came.

Today our family ate a late breakfast of our own eggs (and crap bread), did morning chores, fussed a bit, planned a bit, researched a bit, and then just did stuff.  One worked off the farm for cash.    One washed a plethora of dishes.  Two worked together (and then before the end, three) to boil, pickle, and devil some eggs.  Some bunny eyes were doctored, some gates of hell dried, some laundry washed, some floors swept. 

Different folks wandered to the garden, some multiple times.  Things were weeded.  Stakes were made, and then driven into place, to "string" the corn (thread as a deterrent to crows pulling the sprouted corn up), and the very last thing was that it actually got strung.  An area of the circle garden that had been neglected was rehabbed with an eye toward the sweet corn (for us, country gentleman).  Some things were weeded.  The blueberries were mowed around.  Strawberries were weeded.

And before the last crew departed, some radishes and poke was harvested, both to be consumed with the chicken and rice casserole that a friend recently made for us just cause she loves us.  How magnificent is that?