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Hi Everyone,
It is November and you ask me how I know: the clouds are flat and ripple with different shades of gray, the leaves are falling off the trees, the mornings are chilly, the frost has turned the grass all brown, I hear the calls of the Sandhill cranes as they fly south for the winter and I strain my eyes to find their V formation in the sky. It is the month that sneaks up on you, and when it is over it leaves your world looking different than it began—and it leaves me a whole year older. Today I turn 46, and I have to say that it is just a number without a definition. What do 46 year old’s look like? How do 46 year old’s behave? What do 46 year old’s do? I think that the answer to all those questions lies within the life of each individual person—circumstances, health, likes and dislikes make each 46 year old totally different. I know that I am thankful to God for the years that He has blessed me with, and I can rest assured that HE shall continue to lead me every step of the way.
He leadeth me: O blessed thought!
O words with heavenly comfort fraught!
Whate'er I do, where'er I be,
still 'tis God's hand that leadeth me.
Sometimes mid scenes of deepest gloom,
sometimes where Eden's flowers bloom,
by waters calm, o'er troubled sea,
still 'tis God's hand that leadeth me.
Lord, I would clasp thy hand in mine,
nor ever murmur nor repine;
content, whatever lot I see,
since 'tis my God that leadeth me.
And when my task on earth is done,
when, by thy grace, the victory's won,
e'en death's cold wave I will not flee,
since God through Jordan leadeth me.
Chorus:
He leadeth me, he leadeth me;
by his own hand he leadeth me:
his faithful follower I would be,
for by his hand he leadeth me.
By: Joseph H. Gilmore 1862
Flexibility was the key word for last week—and without it we would have never survived. Some of our plans came to pass, and some of our plans were changed. I think that we had people on the farm every single day—some were customers picking up their Thanksgiving turkeys, some came for a farm tour, and some were here to help us accomplish the things that we needed to do.
On Monday we milked the cows and then while Mom and Steve worked on building the end wall for the garden (greenhouse) tunnel, I answered emails, made yogurt and took care of customers. Papa did his chores and then he spread some more winter grass seed. One of the customers that came over to pick up their turkey was a family that had just finished building a home 20 minutes from us—but the Grandma currently lives in Miami, and the son and his family live in Chicago. They had lots of “farm” questions and if they could have they would have taken home one of the Jersey calves—they are just too cute and adorable. The daughter-in-law said that I was living her dream life, but living in Chicago has not kept her from experiencing as much farm life as she possibly can. I learned that 20 chickens can be housed in a suburban backyard, and that a lamb can even be raised in a Chicago flat. There are those who just dream—and there are those who do their best to live their dreams to the best of their ability. A serious farmer will farm however they can wherever they are—even if it is a lamb in a Chicago flat, or a garden on the balcony of an apartment complex. It was around 4:00 when I finally got the chance to head to our garden. I was supposed to plant onion starts—but I didn’t have the row marked or weeded. I managed to get the row marked, and then I broadforked the row, but I didn’t have time to begin weeding.
Tuesday was the last day that we had to get the wall on the tunnel finished so that we could get the plastic covering pulled over the top to make the roof—for a heavy frost was predicted for that night. Mom and Steve worked on it all morning and afternoon while Papa ran some errands and I participated in the egg packaging party. I also worked on attaching chicken wire to the side panels of the tunnels to keep the pesky rabbits out. The kale, cabbage and lettuce are finally starting to grow now that the rabbit cannot keep them mowed down. It was going on 4:30 when we were all finally ready to pull the plastic over the garden tunnel. The wind was not in our favor, and pulling a 55 foot long 30 foot wide piece of plastic over a 16 foot wide and 10 foot tall tunnel is a very heavy job. One year the wind was in our favor and it just lifted it up and over for us—but last Tuesday was not one of those days. We heaved and pulled, and heaved and pulled, and finally got it over. Then we had to hold it in place until Papa and Mom got it secured. As soon as my hands were no longer needed I ran back to the chicken wire and then back to the house to finish putting together the orders so that I knew how many vegetables to pick and how many lemon trees to pack. It was dark before we finished everything—which is becoming the new norm.
I think that Wednesday was our biggest order ever, to our dismay the cows let us down and did not give us enough milk to fill all the orders. Everyone was preparing for company and the big Thanksgiving dinner and they needed milk, eggs, chicken, beef and of course the masterpiece of the whole table—the turkey! Two weeks before Thanksgiving the emails and phone calls were coming in left and right as people were desperately looking for a turkey. The grocery stores were selling out, and some of the other farms had sold out too—thankfully we were not sold out. With everything there was to pack we were thankful for—One little, two little, three little helpers; four little, five little, six little helpers; seven little, eight little, nine little people helping us pack the order! Two of those helpers were customers who showed up to pick up their turkey—but their timing was right in the midst of the packing chaos and we were pushing the limit to get Papa out on time. They didn’t mind one bit—and actually they just rolled up their sleeves and helped move heavy ice chests and pack the van. What a blessing! Two of the other helpers were the young ladies who have been coming over off and on to help us on Wednesdays to milk the cows and pack the orders. I love to see young people who can look around and see what needs to be done—and do it. At one point Steve was in the middle of bottling the milk when Mom needed Steve to help her. Brenna, the 14 year old, was looking around to see what she could do when she spotted the bucket of milk and the empty milk jugs. She had never filtered the milk before, but she grabbed the bucket and the filter and started bottling the milk like a pro. Her 10 year old sister was hunting turkey—Mom would call out a weight, and Abrielle would find the turkey and take it to her so that it could be packed. The grand challenge came when we had to find room in the van for the 8 Ponderosa lemon trees I had sold. Papa said that my timing was terrible—I could have waited another week to put the lemon trees on the Larder list for people to buy since the van was going to be over packed with all the turkeys going to Jacksonville. I just assured him that the trees would fit—but as the ice chests began to be packed into the van and it got fuller and fuller I began to fear that he was right. To my delight though—everything managed to be packed safe and secure.
Proverbs 16:9 “A man's heart deviseth his way: but the LORD directeth his steps.” When our customers would ask me how to cook the turkey I had to smile and say that I didn’t cook a turkey every year. I knew that long and slow was the key, but time and temp I had no idea because for many years we have gone to different friend’s houses for Thanksgiving—and we always give them the turkey to cook and all we have to do is show up. Once again we had the same plans this year, but on Tuesday night we got a call from our friend saying that she was very sick and it would not be wise for us to come to her house for Thanksgiving. We didn’t have a Plan B, but it was time to create one. To start with instead of being company, we would have company. My brother Charles has been in town for the last two months, but is leaving on Monday to head to north Georgia to the beginning of the Appalachian Mountain Trail which he plans on spending the next year hiking—from Georgia to Maine. It wasn’t hard to get company, now we had to plan the menu. We had plenty of fresh turkeys in the cooler to choose from, but I decided to keep it simple and just cook pieces instead of a whole turkey. A few turkeys got their skins all torn in the plucker causing us not to be able to sell them, so Thanksgiving morning Mom and I cut those birds up and froze the breasts for sausage, the wings and backs for stock, and brought the thighs and drumsticks in to slow cook for our Thanksgiving meal. I would have loved to do 250 degrees for 4 hours, but I knew that Mom would want to eat before 4:00, so I set the oven at 300 degrees and aimed to have it done by 3:00. While the turkey cooked I made a peach cobbler and a cherry cobbler—because cobblers are easier than pies, while Mom made a salad. The night before I had made some Roselle (Florida Cranberry) jello, and then we made sure to serve some of our homemade Maple Syrup bread and butter pickles. I put some sweet potatoes in the Instant Pot, and cooked up some onions and zucchini. We sat down to eat around 3:00, and it didn’t take long to get stuffed. Papa remembered how Mom’s Mom and family would have done the cooking: sweet potato casserole, mashed potatoes and gravy, turkey and ham, corn casserole, green bean casserole, multiple salads: especially ambrosia, pickles, rolls, and lots of pies. I was content with our simple menu—and the time spent cooking wasn’t too long, which meant the cleanup didn’t take long either. Once our plates were cleaned off I suggested that we shoot the bow and arrows—but Papa said that we would spend most of our time looking for the arrows in the grass. He had another idea though—we could target practice with his guns. We were all on board so we ladies emptied the table and put away the food while Papa got his guns (a rifle and a handgun). I wanted to have an old-fashioned “Turkey Shoot,” so I took two big pieces of paper and drew a big turkey on each page, and then we headed down to the lowest spot on our property and Papa set up the target. We spent the next hour taking turns seeing who could shoot the target. We practiced a little with a bullseye target page, and then I hung up the first paper turkey and we shot at it with the handgun, and then I hung up the other paper turkey and we shot at it with the rifle. We had a lot of fun. When we got back to the house I did the dishes and my brother kept me company while Mom and Papa headed down to separate the calves. When they got back we ate dessert and then it was time to gather the eggs and Mom and I took Charles home. When we got home and Papa got back inside, we spent the rest of our evening watching a documentary called “The Pilgrims.”
Friday found another change of plans—my dear friend Lydia was supposed to come up and spend two days with me for my birthday, but her car was in the shop and she couldn’t come. It ended up being a good thing because my breathing started acting up on Wednesday night and I have struggled with it every day since. Hopefully I will be well enough to cash in on the “rain check” and Lydia can come up this Thursday. We all just kind of floated around on Friday. The Crane Crew was here to frame in the heifer hay barn so that they can concrete the floor this week (it is hard to muck out a barn that has no solid foundation), and then they also framed a sidewalk leaving from the milking parlor because the cows are making a trench and digging a hole right off the edge of the concrete pad. When it rains the cows have to step into the mud and or a large puddle of water—so a sidewalk will prevent this from happening. In the afternoon Papa worked on pressure washing the walls of the old building we just moved to the yard. Then one of our customers showed up with some of their friends and we spent the afternoon with them—talking and giving them a farm tour. It was almost dark when they were leaving and we had to rush down and separate the calves so that we would have milk for sale.
Saturday we milked the cows, packed the Gainesville orders and harvested the greens for the order. Then I worked on some paperwork before I set up the ironing board and listened to a book being read on the radio. Mom worked outside in the courtyard weeding the edges of the flower beds. Two hours later I rejoice that for once I finally had all the clothes ironed! It was then time to cook dinner—and I couldn’t think of a better thing to do with our leftover turkey than to make my Papa’s favorite dish—a pot pie.
I hope that you had a very Thankful Thanksgiving! I know that we are thankful for each and every one of you: friends who are there through thick and thin, family whom we love dearly, and customers who make every day special as we spend our days:
Serving you with Gladness,
Tiare