Category: Journaling

thoughts on writing and recording life

Satterfield’s Farewell

We bid farewell to a good friend today.  A favorite restaurant is closing this week, so we ate one last lunch there.  There are other restaurants in town where boiled peanuts are served as an appetizer, where waitresses are friendly, and where the food is good.  But we will miss Satterfield’s.

This is a place where we’ve taken several out-of-town visitors to experience good southern food and atmosphere.  It’s a spot where we’ve happily bumped into friends and enjoyed an impromptu reunion.  We treasure the memories of conversations on the porch, meals in the sunken dining area, and the delight on the waitress’s face when our grandson ate everything he had ordered – and it was a lot!  We even had our favorite parking spot.

Many final experiences are enjoyed without knowing it’s the last time you’ll be there doing that.  In this case, the owner announced a few weeks ago that the restaurant will be closing.  Happily, he’s just slowing down, not stopping.  So some recipes and menu items will live on at another restaurant in town, but we will miss Satterfield’s.

One of my first thoughts when I read about the plans was, “where will that guy eat?”  ‘That guy’ being a regular customer.  He’s been there every time we’ve been for lunch, sitting at the same table.  I wrote about him here.  So, today I asked our waitress about him.  She said he was wondering the same thing.

We are certainly not the only ones feeling the melancholy today.  One waitress said, “it’s hitting me now.  I’ve been in denial for three weeks, but today it seems real.”  Other customers were ordering everything on the menu, to taste it all one last time.  Some were taking selfies with their favorite waitress.  One woman was there alone, her husband’s poor health having kept her away in recent months.  But she had made special arrangements today to come have lunch.  The staff pampered her with extra attention. 

That’s the biggest thing we will miss.  The love that was served with the food.

Farmer Jess

There weren’t any chickens wandering the yard, but there were cows and goats and sheep, even a pony.  And a mule!  I can’t remember when I’ve been close to a mule!  


On the land I saw, there wasn’t a farmhouse, but there was a barn.  With a refrigerator filled with fresh milk.  Customers buy the milk on the honor system, leaving the money in a box on top of the refrigerator.  Isn’t that a refreshing idea?

 

 

 

I was visiting this bucolic place with my friend Carol.  Carol taught me that cheddar can be a verb.  She makes her own cheese.  I was impressed by the stories of her process and begged to see the farm where she buys her milk.

Carol opened the refrigerator door and selected the gallon of milk with the deepest layer of fat, knowing more fat makes a richer cheese.  Regulated milk has a minimum of 3.25% fat to be called whole, but this was clearly richer; I’d estimate close to 20%.  Carol takes the milk home, pasteurizes it, adds enzymes and time – lots of time, to make cheese.  I know there are other considerations, including wax or cheesecloth wrapping, but my knowledge is limited to taste testing.


I don’t need another hobby, but I can see the fascination with this process.  The simple act of making homemade yogurt is a regular routine at my house, so the cheese making process is enticing.

But the farm.  The farm is entrancing.  A cool morning, hills in the distance, not another human soul to be seen or heard.  I know there are times when things are busy, but not the morning we visited.  Even the farmer, Jess,  was away.  He’s away every day – at work.  That’s right.  Getting up at 4:00 a.m. to milk the cows; maintaining his pastures, fences, buildings; providing care and keeping his animals healthy, working until near midnight each night (including another milking session) is not enough.  He has to have a regular full time job to make ends meet.  

My extended family was filled with farmers.  Aunts and uncles and cousins grew peanuts, cotton, watermelons, vegetables, and livestock.  Sometimes they had supplemental jobs to help with cash flow, but not full-time, eight-hours-a-day jobs year round.  

It’s sad that today’s food is grown primarily by industrialized farms.  Our nation’s health status reflects that, too.  There’s just something so much healthier about fresh-from-the-earth produce, milk, and eggs.  As a society and as individuals, we are recognizing that.  

I’m so glad that there are still Farmer Jesses in the world.  And I’m even happier that Carol took me to see his heaven on earth.  

photo notes:  the cows and sheep were in the distance, except the bull who came to encourage us to leave.  The goats were close enough to be subjects of many, many photos.  As always, click on any image to enlarge.

A Sewist Died


While touring a favorite antique mall of ours, I saw a booth with a new basket of sewing goodies.  Patterns, thread, buttons, were all gathered together for my plunder.  There were handmade wooden buttons and needlebooks distributed as advertising media, too.

This booth’s owner must have gone to an estate sale where the remains of a sewing stash were discarded.  The old wooden spools with their richly colored threads are still beautiful and the vendor must have enjoyed corralling them artfully in jars and vases.  As I studied the bits of an unknown woman’s history, I thought of the line I’ve recently seen, “our children don’t want our stuff.”  That headline advises us to clean out, get rid of that stuff (the jars and vases included), so our children won’t have to.

Now, I don’t want my children to have a burden to clean out my stuff, but I don’t want to get rid of it now!  I’m loving my stuff, just as Ester, or Mildred, or whatever this woman’s name was, loved hers.  She bought those patterns and planned clothes for her and her children and grandchildren.  She selected the threads and buttons to make those dreams a reality.  And the leftover pieces are now there for me and others to cherish, repurpose, or just see and remember her pleasure.

I still have bits of my mother’s and my mother-in-law’s sewing treasures.  I use some of them every day.  Others, I just enjoy their presence as I sew.  And, though I didn’t buy all of Mildred’s stuff today, someone will.  And, Mildred’s selections will become part of another stitched work of love.

Often when I buy these fabric treasures, the clerk at the counter will ask what I’m going to do with them.  It seems everyone loves them but, “no one knows what to do with them.”  When I explain about my art, sometimes showing them a photo, I get mixed reactions.  Some say, “oh, no, you’re going to cut it up?!!”  Others say, “That’s good.  It will continue to live on.”  That’s my hope.

Note:  I know “sewist” looks awkward in print.  The first image that comes to mind when you read “sewer” is not of a person pulling needle and thread through fabric, now is it?  Right.  So, I embrace the word sewist.

Lakewood Treasures

It started outside…I was inspired from the get-go by someone else’s embroidery and button designs in white frames on canvas.  Napkin rings were made from silver-plate forks bent into an oval shape.  There’s an idea!

And, color!  The display of Fiestaware shown above is an eyecather by anyone’s definition.  I don’t collect this dinnerware, but I certainly admire the pure saturated colors.  This palette could be mimicked with solid Kona cottons in any modern quilt project.

This was the same day at Lakewood that I met Kristine, the Button Lady I wrote about recently.  I promised to share more of the treasures and stories from that adventure.

So… I was gathering inspiration before I even got in the building.  And, I bought things outside, too.

My first purchase was a couple of vintage cross-stitched pieces and a small black embroidered pillow from a vendor named Kathleen.  As I gave her my $15, she said, “Thank you.  You just bought two bags of feed for my horses.”  She further explained.  “I have retired race horses at my home in TN.  My husband said, ‘If you want to keep them, you have to find a way to support them.’  So doing these markets is how I keep my horses.”

Inside, I found a lovely old tablecloth with lots of blue cross-stitch.  The proprietor wasn’t there, so I hid it inside a cabinet so no one else would buy it before I got back.  “It is damaged,” she said, when I returned to retrieve it and make my purchase.  Yes, it’s damaged.  I still love it.

Then in the ribbon emporium, I found sari silk, hand-dyed french silk ribbons in all widths, sparkly threads, glorious new printed ribbons with feathers and swallows, and some irresistible rayon.

Other booths inspired me with ladders laden with vintage cotton tablecloths, lots of blue and white displays of china, blue and white linens,   If there was a color combination for the day, it was blue-and-white.  That could be true of any day for me, because I gravitate toward that pairing whenever I see it.  But there really was an abundance in sight this day.

I photographed Laurie’s booth filled with baby delights.  Soft colors and fabrics in blankets, toys, and clothing for tender skin of babes and toddlers.  As we chatted, I told this entrepreneur about the imaginary granddaughter that I conjure up when I want to sew with girly-girl colors. I learned that Laurie doesn’t have grandchildren yet, but she has a “Grandma’s hope chest.”  “Maybe that’s what I should call my booth,” she exclaimed!

I visited with Ginnie and bought napkins and towels to use in the kitchen (or use in sewing projects). I bought a runner made from salvageable bits of an old indigo and white quilt and a length of blue lace with bunnies in the design.  She had lots of tatting and trims, as well.   Ginnie doesn’t have granddaughters, either.  She has sons and grandsons (and three daughters-in-law that she loves).  She feeds her love of feminine delights by buying and selling linens, old quilts, and trims.

Believe it or not, there are things I see and like but don’t buy. I passed on a $14 barkcloth bag – colors not in may comfort zone.  Later I bought this piece of barkcloth ample to make several bags.  A bargain at $15 and in colors I like to use!

There was a lovely linen tablecloth with purple morning glories.  If only they had been blue!

I wasn’t the only one having fun looking and visiting with old and new friends – I took Missy’s photo in front of the Minnie Pearl booth!  That’s what she called it, anyway.  I think the expression on her face tells the story of what fun is to be had junking with the experts!

The conversations I have on days like this with strangers who are friends are unique.  Some of these vendors are people I will see time after time, others whose paths won’t cross mine again.  But for a few moments, we shared bits of our stories with each other. We share a love of things with a history behind them.  And we relish the display of simply beautiful objects dancing with each other.  I will remember these bits of conversation after we go our separate ways.  Their ideas and wares will impact my thinking, my fiber art, and my own story as life goes on.  I guess a part of me may go with them, too.

 

The Button Lady

On a recent trip to Lakewood 400 Antique Market, I met Kristine.  Kristine has buttons.  She collects buttons, she plays with buttons, she sells buttons.

Kristine knows buttons.  I spent $24 at her booth, but the knowledge I gained is worth much more than that.

 

 

 

I’ve seen collections of buttons before, but Kristine ‘s display tops the list.

Kristine had bone buttons, china buttons, wooden buttons, bakelite buttons, glass buttons, beaded buttons.  There were buttons on cards, buttons in jars, even buttons made into decorative floral arrangements.

In the past, Kristine sold at the Brimfield market.  When other dealers found out that she loved and sold buttons, they would sell her their button finds. The years have grown her collection, and her knowledge base.  Kristine encouraged my questions.  When I asked about horn buttons, she showed me what to look for, talked about romper buttons and the use of those buttons by Civil War re-enactors.

There were other sewing accoutrements, too.  Belt buckles, rickrack, snaps and hooks and eyes.  Fascinating, intriguing, mind-boggling; all words that fall short of describing the sense of enchantment with such a simple notion as a button.

I frequently include buttons in my quilts, so I must regularly add to my collection.  What a pleasure to do this with Kristine’s treasures.

Kristine was one of several women whose wares and stories intrigued me on this Lakewood trip.  You don’t want to read it all now…more posts will follow.  Suffice it to say that two hours at Lakewood inspired many days of creating.  The colors, the textiles, the combinations, and the people, all inform my sense of appreciation of the world.  What fun!

A Snail’s Place
Did you know that terrestrial snails love portobello mushrooms?  It does make sense.  I love portobello mushrooms and they have an earthy flavor that I think snails would love.  But, until recently, I had never thought about what these creatures eat.

I love snail shells.  We have a small collection on our kitchen windowsill.  Some we’ve found (empty) in our yard, some we’ve brought home from the beach.  We have a friend who’s focused much of his career on research of olive snails.  These tiny snails comprise much of the diet of wading birds.

But until I discovered a treasure of a little book a few days ago, I had never thought about things I didn’t know about snails.  I knew their shells possessed geometric qualities related to logarithmic spirals.  But now I now that though most of those spirals are counterclockwise, some are clockwise.  And, only if the spirals spin the same way can a pair of snails mate.  And when they eat, the hole (such as in a leaf) is a square shape.  Snails and their geometry – oh, my!

I learned all this by reading The Sound of a Wild Snail Eating by Elisabeth Tova Bailey. I found this little book at our local used book sale a couple of weeks ago.  The Friends of the Library hosts an annual sale with more than 100,000 books.  The prices are bargain basement level and we usually come home with some treasures.

This delightful book charmed me instantly.  There’s something especially appealing about a small book.  And the simple drawings of the snails intrigued me, too.  The description in the overleaf reminded me of another charming little book that’s been part of our library for several decades, That Quail Robert.

The wild snail in this book doesn’t get named, but provided  companionship when Ms. Bailey most needed it, and delivered lessons in observation and philosophy that we can all heed.  Reading this snail’s story makes me slow down and appreciate the little things.

I’ve already been motivated to pull out the watercolors and play with them.  A stitched snail in wool has a new level of respect now.

As I often do after reading a delightful book, I searched for podcasts with the author.  I found a delightful conversation with Bailey and her “snail scientist” advisor Timothy Pearce.  His research has included affixing thread to the back of a snail in order to track the snail’s travels.  What a delightful image!

Notes:

The book is readily available in print, as an ebook or audio book.  The charm of the paper, the size of the book, and the illustrations make me recommend the paper version.

The podcast I found was a broadcast from October 9, 2014 on NWP Radio.

Swan Songs

“Have we told you about the time a swan came to our front door?”

That’s a question we’ve asked birding friends recently.

There’s been a lot of chatter about rare birds, trumpeter swans, in our area.  These birds normally live in western Canada and Alaska.  They don’t like the South.  In fact, the pair now visiting Piedmont National Wildlife Refuge near Juliette, GA, are believed to be the first ones to ever visit GA.

Our Minnesota friends recently posted photos of a huge flock of swans near them.  I was enthralled and obtained permission to use their images in art quilts, thinking I’d not be likely to see any of these birds.   Then, we heard there were some swans near us!  (More of Mary Ellen’s Minnesota stories are here.) This photo by Bruce Lundstrom.

On Saturday, Jim and I drove to Piedmont and were fortunate to find the pair close to shore at a pond.  We quietly approached the group watching, visited with old friends and made a couple of new friends.  Then everyone else left and we slowly walked out on the deck and got even closer to the beauties.

We had heard that the two stayed on the far side of another pond, so Jim took his big lens.  The birds were so close to us that he couldn’t get the whole bird in a shot.  I had carried my camera thinking, “this is a waste, I can’t see them well enough to photograph.”  Wrong.  I could, I did.  Jim went back to the truck (walking ever so slowly and quietly) to get a smaller lens.

I was thrilled to capture a few images, but I was so mesmerized by the glassy surface of the water, by the reflections of the trees and the birds, and by what I saw as parallel behavior of the swans, that I would forget to put down the binoculars and pick up the camera.

But snap the shutter, we did.  Jim got great detailed shots of the birds, I got some surprisingly nice images, too.  I love the two birds with the loose feather floating on the water!

 

 

I was thrilled when I realized I had captured a heart in one shot!

 

 

Their balancing acts as they preen, stretching that long graceful neck into Mobieus-like positions, that one big black foot in the air, the thrill of them when they unfurl those huge, huge wings – all formed   indelible moments in my mind.

I knew standing on the dock on Saturday that   this elegant swan would be the subject of my next drawing in Mark Ballard’s class..  From the moment I snapped the shutter, I said, “that’s the pose.”

Oh, and the earlier encounter with a swan was on Mother’s Day, 2004.   Our Welsh Corgi, Dixie, greeted a mute swan at our front door.  We lived a couple of blocks from the nearest lake, so our photos of her are not surrounded by reflections or ripples of water.  But the visit was memorable.

That swan twisted her long neck into crazy positions, too.

 

Next project:  stitching some swans!

Soup and Cornbread

Today was a snow day, a sew day, followed by a cold, cold night.  Our supper was one we have frequently in this weather – vegetable soup and bread.  Sometimes the bread is a crusty loaf we can dip in olive oil, sometimes it’s soft yeast rolls with butter.  This night it was a southern favorite, cornbread.

 

Cornbread baked in my mother’s  cast iron skillet.  That skillet holds more memories than grease molecules.  My mother baked cornbread in it every single weekday of my memory.  No matter what the menu, no matter how hot the kitchen would be in the summertime, the oven and pan were preheated to 400?.  Meanwhile, a simple mixture of self-rising cornmeal, egg, and whole milk was stirred together.  When the pan was hot, bacon drippings were poured in, then the batter, then it cooked until done.

The round pone was always inverted on a plate, cut into eight wedges, and set on the corner of the table next to Daddy’s plate.  I don’t recall Mama ever eating any, but Daddy ate it at lunchtime, and again sometimes at supper.  Sometimes his supper was simply a wedge of cornbread (room temperature, never reheated) and a glass of milk.

Aunt Nellie, my mother’s maternal aunt, preferred hoecakes; thin cornmeal cakes cooked on top of the stove. From her comments, I inferred that Mama’s recipe was one from Daddy’s family and that she adopted it for our meals.

We ate plenty of leftovers at our house, but never leftover cornbread.  Even if only one wedge was eaten at lunchtime, the remainder was discarded and a new pone cooked the next day.  I don’t know why.

In my adult life, I’ve tried many cornbread recipes, many pans, and many other options.  The alternatives are all good; we enjoy jalapeño cheddar cornbread occasionally, hoecakes are served at our favorite local restaurant, and once I discovered Tasha Tudor’s cornbread recipe, that complex sweet concoction sometimes finds its way to our table.  Tasha advised that hot cornbread is better with a bit of butter and honey or blackberry jam on it.  I agree!

I’ve baked cornbread in square pans, long pans, muffin pans; some glass, some stainless steel, some cast iron.  But nothing gives the crust like Mama’s old cast iron skillet.  But the cornbread will stick to that pan if I use any lubricant other than bacon grease.  So I’ve learned to cook bacon for breakfast if I’m planning to cook cornbread later in the day.

A nice rubdown afterwards with a paper towel is the only cleaning my skillet gets.  No water, no soap.  A childhood memory more than 50 years ago is of Mama and Aunt Nellie building a fire outside and “burning off” their cast iron cookware.  Then they seasoned them with grease of some kind and put them in the oven.  This skillet was one of those.

Mama’s Cornbread Recipe was: 1 cup self-rising cornmeal, 1 egg, 2/3 cup whole milk.  Mix ingredients.  Preheat oven to 400? with iron skillet inside.  Pour 1 tablespoon bacon drippings into pan, swirl around bottom and sides of pan, then pour in batter.  Bake 20 minutes. (All quantities are my approximations, she didn’t measure anything.)

As for the vegetable soup recipe, it varies depending on what’s on hand.  Tonight’s version started with a leftover rump roast, potatoes, carrots, onions, portobello mushrooms, corn, some frozen butterbeans, diced tomatoes.  Cooked slowly, tasted, seasoned, simmered some more…

A Step Back Christmas


Even the outhouse was decorated for Christmas.

It was a cold bleak morning as we set out on a time travel adventure.  We headed to a settlement called Step Back – a Victorian village –  was open to the public to celebrate Christmas old style.

On 200 acres, a man with a vision has created a historic settlement.  Roger Pierce has a general store, a schoolhouse, a church, and many farm sheds and buildings.  Often the acreage is quiet, sometimes populated by school groups or scouts who have made plans to visit for a day.  But yesterday was its annual opening to the public for Christmas.

Family members, friends, and local community members dressed in period clothing were on hand to educate and entertain.  There was a corn sheller operating, grinding corn using energy from the waterwheel.  A schoolmarm was on hand to answer questions and lead children in the construction of paper chains to decorate the tree.  In the church, live piano music provided the perfect backdrop of Christmas carols and hymns.

Oh, and there were women, who for this day, donned their Victorian best dresses to pose as floozies.  They layered the clothing to ward off the cold, fortified themselves with a bit of antifreeze (medicinal, they said).  As they raised a toast, I heard “May we be floozed the rest of our lives!”

While walking about, we ran into old friends and made new friends.  In a picturesque setting, we were enchanted with simple decorations of the past.  As the day progressed, the sun came out from behind the clouds, and more people came out, too.

 

The people of this community recognize this treasure and come to show their appreciation.  The owner was a local businessman with a love of history.  After he retired, he began to create this haven.  In some cases, he found old buildings and dismantled them and rebuilt them on his property.  Other buildings are made from trees growing on his property.  Likewise, the furniture and contents of the buildings are assembled from a wide range of sources.  All of it comes together in a bucolic settlement which serves to trigger memories in older folks and educate the young.

Mr. Pierce charges no admission at Christmas or any other time.  Those who choose to make a donation know that it will be used to buy toys for children whose Christmas would be less abundant without it.

 

And, did I say that “Mayor Pierce”  wears overalls?  Well, of course he does.  Yesterday, many of the men working there, and some of the visitors, were wearing overalls.  Yes, I got lots of photos.  Yes, there will be some art quilts depicting this place!

 

Lace Day

Yesterday was Lace Day.  It’s not on your calendar as an official holiday, but I’m proclaiming it.

 

 

 

 

Sometimes when I’m out shopping buttons call to me, other times it’s tattered linens who beg to be cut up and sewn back together.  Yesterday it was lace.  Everywhere I looked I saw lace.

There was white tatting, crocheted edging in white, black, and beige.  Technically, these may not be lace, but they are lacy and perform the function of lace in some of my projects.  All in today’s hunt were bargains.  Most were handmade.

If it’s stained, I will dye it.  If it’s not stained, I may dye it.  But I love giving a home to someone’s pieces with a memory.  I keep it out of the landfill and get to add more history to a  photo on cloth, or just a collage of vintage remnants.

I love walking through antique malls.  I’ve said this before, but it bears repeating.  It soothes my soul to see old things.  Memories surface at the sight of roller skates like I once owned, a towel in a stripe like my Mother had, even a can that held a ham.  The can may still hold a ham.  I didn’t want to know.  But when have I thought of those Sunday menus?  Ham from a can and orange macaroni and cheese from a box.  My Mother grew up wringing the chicken’s neck for lunch, so she embraced all the convenience foods available to her once they moved to town.

Inspiration comes in many forms.  The color palette here suggests a touch of black with some neutrals and that green.  Wow – that green.  If you subscribe to Julia Cameron’s advice in The Artist’s Way, to take your artist self on a date each week, this is the kind of thing she’s talking about.

I didn’t buy all you see in the photos.  Displays in the antique malls are inspiring, even if I don’t always make a purchase.  The way the pieces are displayed in a drawer, or old suitcase, or in a basket make me smile.

 

I bought some home with me.  Here is the pile of treasures.  I love the vintage bias tape and seam binding in the original package.  100% cotton, unstained.  At 25? each, I didn’t buy them all, but I did add to my supply.  And even the basket came home with me.  I love the double-handled  baskets for storing and carrying projects in progress.  The Longabergers are so sturdy.  I never bought them when people were having parties; I missed that boat.  But when I find them for a song (this one was $14), I grab them!

I don’t know what these finds will become.  But I know they will find their way to a project filled with memories.  Memories that include the fun time shopping for them and memories unknown to me but stored in the fibers of these pieces with a past.