Lately, I've been giving some serious leeway to my inner farm girl. Planting mounds of bulbs, filling the pantry with dry goods and painting roosts of chickens. Its my grandpa who is responsible. He who always smelled like half and half pipe tobacco and could be found in his woodshop or tending his sprawling garden. If I prodded, he'd tell me stories of life on Lakeview Farm in Munsonville. Tapping maple trees for syrup, then boiling what had dripped into the tins in vast kettles on the cast iron stove. Gathering blueberries, which his mother put to use by making a few pies before breakfast on a New Hampshire morning, before the family set their hands to the milking.
Here are a few unwritten codes to being a farmie. 1. Homemade jam on your toast, yellow flowers in the house, and very strong tea. I let mine steep until the spoon stands right up in the cup.
2. Chickens are treasures and the backbone of the farm. They even have names; Hannah, Billy, Maude. And Goliath for the rooster.
3. No turning your nose down at cracked dishes. "There's life in the old girl yet" is the farmer's refrain.
There's the man himself. After working the farm all day, him and his brother would creep down the stairs with their ice skates , join their friends and jump barrels on Granite Lake. Grandpa held the record, thirteen barrels. Just takes momentum, moonlight and New Hampshire grit.
By the way, I don't care if I'm pushing it, I've decked out the house for spring. Can you get any more farmy that this? I guess you could, if there were some live chickens in this shot.
I might not be able to watch as grandpa digs around his potato vines, or listen while he helps with the washing up while Burl Ives croons on the Hi Fi, but every time I plant a bulb, roll out pie dough or even paint a chicken, I sometimes smile to myself. I'm a farmie at heart, just like him.
2. Chickens are treasures and the backbone of the farm. They even have names; Hannah, Billy, Maude. And Goliath for the rooster.
3. No turning your nose down at cracked dishes. "There's life in the old girl yet" is the farmer's refrain.There's the man himself. After working the farm all day, him and his brother would creep down the stairs with their ice skates , join their friends and jump barrels on Granite Lake. Grandpa held the record, thirteen barrels. Just takes momentum, moonlight and New Hampshire grit.
By the way, I don't care if I'm pushing it, I've decked out the house for spring. Can you get any more farmy that this? I guess you could, if there were some live chickens in this shot.
I might not be able to watch as grandpa digs around his potato vines, or listen while he helps with the washing up while Burl Ives croons on the Hi Fi, but every time I plant a bulb, roll out pie dough or even paint a chicken, I sometimes smile to myself. I'm a farmie at heart, just like him.Happy early spring
xx
julie
juliewhitmorepottery.etsy.com
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