I Am Not a Country Music Singer

Posted on October 9, 2012 by Julie-Ann Baumer

I made a little faux pas after dinner on Friday night.  I won’t go into elaborate detail, but I turned the figurative conversational steering wheel into a precarious twist; a little bit of schoolgirl stupid-ness slipped out as the car jostled into a pot hole.

There was an uncomfortable moment of silence.

Then it passed and the evening was over.  Ever vigilant to repair damaged things, I sent a brief note the next morning, apologizing for my faux pas.  Here’s a piece of my note:

“These things always sound like a good idea in a country music song, but they never seem to work out well in real life.”

Country music is an easy target and I’m not being completely fair to the genre.  There are many bad ideas in jazz songs, opera arias, Broadway show tunes, and rock and roll anthems.  I’m going to step out on a limb, though, and say that none of the various musical themes provide an idea as singularly horrible as Conway Twitty’s “Tight Fittin’ Jeans,” especially for a pear-shaped woman like me.

“Walkin’ After Midnight” might not be such a good idea, either.  I’ve done it a few times and am thankful it always worked out well.

I’d suggest you avoid the “Hard Candy Christmas.”  It might lead to a sudden visit to the dentist and I know not everyone has a dentist like mine.

I sure wouldn’t want Hank Williams’ accusation of “Your Cheatin’ Heart” thrown at me, nor would I walk into The Big Corporation and tell my boss to “Take This Job and Shove It.”

In case anyone thought it was just older country music songs that inspire bad decisions, what about the “Red Solo Cup?”  Can anything good come from it?  I’ve seen some of the pictures my friends post on Facebook with these drinking vessels.

Musical suggestion might be the loudest and most ubiquitous force in my life, for good or bad.  Although I’m still fighting my sports talk radio addiction, when I occasionally hit music pre-set buttons, one is set for country music.  I am a product of cheap oil, long car trips, and the myth of eternal youth; throw in some bad country music lyrics and see what happens.

Take my advice, though.  Keep those country music fantasies inside the hillbilly mental membrane.

The problem with taking inspiration from a song (or a television show or a celebrity) is that life just doesn’t always work out in scripted and choreographed ways.  Sometimes, a bad decision can’t be undone in three verses with a twice-repeating chorus.  I’ve made quite a few mistakes from following country music philosophies.

I caught some live local bluegrass Monday afternoon at Applecrest Farm.  It was a group called White Mountain Bluegrass and they put on quite a show.  Their seasoned faces told me a lot about the less-glamorous aspects of life and music.  Towards the end of their last set, they sang an old Hank Williams song, “I Saw The Light.”

It was a fitting conclusion to the day.  Bluegrass…it’s different than country, right?

That’s another story for another day, maybe a long snowy one.

See the light today!

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Two Pounds of Inspiration

Posted on October 8, 2012 by Julie-Ann Baumer

The Mount Washington Observatory reported a light dusting of snow late Sunday night.  The altitude at The Observatory is significantly higher than the altitude of my gardens; I think I have some time to finish cleaning up before the snow flies.

I like snow; it covers and protects the gardens like a warm, cozy blanket.  I need to put my garlic to bed before nature’s blanket of New England torment is pulled out the attic, but I think I’ve been in denial about the coming winter.  I haven’t cleaned up my Hampton Victory Garden spot and I still have a full row of kale in my home garden.  I’m in slow motion this fall and I might even be a little discouraged with my seeming lack of progress towards a different life.

Manufacturing 500 words or so of blog content has been hard lately, too.

What’s wrong with me?

Trying to shake the listless fog, I headed north Sunday afternoon, to visit my friends at Hopewell Farms.  Unfazed by a tragic barn fire in January, the Morans have rebuilt and made decisions about some of the things they lost.  They’re not going to get back into the tilapia business and they’re expanding their pastured meats.  They’re growing more corn and grain so they can feed their livestock without bagged product from “the store.”

This little pig looks healthy living on pasture.

Marc and Meredith Moran keep moving forward with their vision of a different life in the country, in spite of difficult times.  They reminded me of the little ways I was making progress, too, even if I couldn’t see it myself.

They had a lot of garlic, so I bought two pounds of it and decided to plant three or four rows this year.  I’ll have enough to eat and enough to plant.  I’ll be garlic-ally self-sufficient!

For first time garlic planters, it’s not too late for you to become garlic-ally self-sufficient!  Garlic was one of the first things I planted in a serious fashion; seeing it through from planting to harvest (ten months) helped make the fantasy of food production more of a reality.  Even if a person had just a small sunny spot, say two feet by two feet, they could plant a few garlic cloves and take a little step towards growing a bit of their own food.  I’m thinking of my friend, SK; she tells me she has a grand garden plan in her mind, but she gets discouraged by the work it will take to get from her mind to the dirt.  I’m going to save two inspirational bulbs of my garlic for SK.

Another inspirational farmer, Herrick Kimball, wrote a detailed treatise on planting garlic.  My planting won’t be quite so elaborate this year, but maybe someday.

Be inspired by garlic today!

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Lumbering Around

Posted on October 7, 2012 by Julie-Ann Baumer

I had a “Class Reunion” meeting on Friday night and then something else suddenly came up, so I had no choice but to call The Motel and find out if my mother could open for a last minute reservation.  She was accommodating and my father picked up one of the extension phones and said “you can help us take down a couple of trees over at Jim’s on Saturday morning.”

Once or twice in high school, I helped the Baumer lumberjacks saw wood, but my brother was generally the one who would be called on for this duty.  My experiences have mostly consisted of helping my father throw in the winter fuel and stack it in the basement.

There is something magical about watching Herman the German and Uncle Bob size up a tree for its demise; there is a lot of looking up with sun-shielded eyes and walking around.  Not much is said.  Uncle Bob chews on a piece of grass.

A decision is made.  The saw starts.

The tree is dangerously close to the power line.  Uncle Bob shouts “hold it.”  The saw stops.  Tense moments follow and Uncle Bob uses a wedge to correct a slip of the silent saw.

“There she goes.”

Whoosh.  The tree falls.

The saws start up again and limbs are cut; I’m called to the less glamorous work of clearing the brush.  My father and Uncle Bob cut the tree into stove lengths and make saw splits in the logs.  Between dragging brush, I practice splitting the logs with a wedge and a maul.  I swing the maul like a girl, but I get it done.

Today, I’m tired.  I’m a little embarrassed, too, at how these old gentlemen can wield heavy chainsaws around like fly swatters.  They act like it’s nothing.

Maybe it’s no coincidence that the German translation for “tree” is “baum.”

I’m grateful to be a branch of that Baum.

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Off With His Head

Posted on October 5, 2012 by Julie-Ann Baumer

If you’re a regular reader of this blog, you know I have a slight addiction to sports talk radio.  I’ve tried “radio fasts” and “mental dental floss,” but at the end of the day, I’ve only managed to cobble together a grand total of twenty-four hours without tuning in to Boston’s sports horn, WEEI.

It’s kind of sad.

Given all this, it seems unbelievable to me that I wasn’t listening to WEEI at approximately 1:00 p.m. on Thursday, October 4, 2012 when the news broke that the Red Sox had fired Bobby Valentine.

This is the best picture I have of Bobby.

On the day Bobby Valentine was fired, I was sitting at the hair salon.  Cherie Ripperton texted me at 1:07 p.m.

“He’s gone.”

My response was,

“Hope they dump Dice K too.”

I don’t have a conclusion about Bobby Valentine’s demise yet.  I’ve been thinking about it all season.  In the big scheme of the world and its problems, my opinions of this man don’t matter one bit.  I don’t think one hungry person will be fed because I have an opinion about Bobby’s good fortune or misfortune.

Like everything else in the “Valentine Era” it’s just been good theatre, full of sound and fury, and signifying nothing.

Where were you when the Red Sox fired Bobby Valentine?

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Support Your Local Pumpkin

Posted on October 4, 2012 by Julie-Ann Baumer

One of our neighbors near The Farm grew a bunch of pumpkins this year.  I bought one.

Support your local pumpkin!

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Into The October

Posted on October 3, 2012 by Julie-Ann Baumer

When I was in college in the early 1980’s, I kept a journal.  There was always something about October at the University of Maine at Orono that made me both sad and happy; I wrote the phrase “into the October” more than once in the margins of my journal.  The football games, parties, grilled cheese sandwiches in the cafeteria, studying (well, not really), and music were big parts of every day.  The music and lyrics of bands like U2, Dire Straits, and the Psychedelic Furs seemed profound.  I had a Walkman portable cassette player and I used to run around the indoor track at the Memorial Field House, listening to such songs as “Love My Way,” “Sunday, Bloody Sunday,” and “Twisting by the Pool.”

We had an “October Break” in those days; I must have spent some time sitting on the porch with Nana and O’Pa over one of these breaks because on October 7, 1983, I wrote the following anecdote in my journal:

“There were times when Pa didn’t work.  But we always had a garden,” said Nana, “and cows.”

My grandfather uttered something that sounded like “hands.”  I thought that maybe my grandfather was getting philosophical, stating that by being able to work with his hands he had enough to get by. 

“Yes, we had hens,” remembered Nana.

“Und butter,” said O’Pa vehemently.

Oh well, so much for my grandfather as the speaker of profound thoughts. 

As I look back on this today, I wonder where I thought I was going that October day.  What particular fashion magazine make-believe scheme seemed more attractive than vegetables, milk, the profundity of hens, und butter?  It seems ironic that all the things that defined my grandparents’ security 90 years ago are the same things that could define food security today.

I think I’ll brew a strong cup of October today, let it steep a bit, and think about it.

You think about it too.

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Brassica Oleracea

Posted on October 2, 2012 by Julie-Ann Baumer

One of the new things I grew this year was Cabbage (Brassica Oleracea, for Latin-speaking gardeners).  As with most things I’ve tried in the garden, I didn’t really know what I was doing; but I learn best through trial and error and sometimes by trial and success.

I started my seeds indoors, like the package suggested.  They germinated and grew to a healthy, outside-planting size of about six inches.  I brought some of the seedlings to my brother’s garden and planted a whole row for him; we schemed and discussed how these seedlings would be the beginning of our sauerkraut empire.

They grew well for a few weeks; then, in a blink of an eye, they were gone, mowed down by my brother’s resident woodchuck.

I planted the rest of the seedlings (about 10) in my Hampton Victory Garden plot and on the suggestion of our wisest gardener, put cardboard collars around them.  There were a few things I didn’t know about cabbage:

  • There are many cabbage varieties, sizes, and maturities.  Some yield their bounty early, some mid-season, and some mature late in the season.  I didn’t pay much attention to this when I selected my cabbage seeds, so ended up planting some “Premium Late Flat Dutch.”
  • Cabbage takes up a lot of space.  I planted my cabbage too close and ended up having to pull out some of the heads that didn’t thrive due to crowding.  Cabbage gives you a lot of food for the space, though; imagine a big dish of coleslaw for every 2 feet of garden.
  • Slugs like cabbage.  They ate holes in almost all my cabbage plants and although I was able to cut the damaged sections out, I’m going to take a few preventive measures next year.  The most popular slug bait, from a little search-engine research, is Budweiser beer.  Slugs, apparently, have a penchant for the King of Beers.

2012 was not the year my brother and I became the Sauerkraut Barons of Lisbon Falls.  We’re not going to give up, though.  Cabbage is easy to grow and in spite of a few problems along the way, it’s possible we could grow enough next year to fill a few crocks with ‘kraut.

Did you grow cabbage this year? 

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Silencio

Posted on October 1, 2012 by Julie-Ann Baumer

On a few occasions, I’ve mentioned the fact that I do not have a Tee Vee.  It’s been a long time; maybe since 1999.  In the beginning, it was a financial choice.  Over time, it became a personal choice. Many hours have passed, now, and when I watch television at someone else’s house, it is “other worldly” to me.  I notice how unnatural and bizarre the commercials are and how artificial and enhanced the news puppets look.

Do you notice it too?  Or have you been desensitized to it?

It would be phony of me, though, to say I don’t have any “media” in my life because I have had a home computer since the 1990’s.  I’ve waxed and waned with mobile communication devices; I recently got a “smart” phone and admit to being just a little addicted to constant communication.

I also listen to hours of sports and sports talk on the radio.  The chipmunk-like chatter is background noise for me, as much as I hate to admit it.  Radio commercials are equally offensive and stupefying; some woman is always telling her boyfriend that she just posted a mustard-covered picture of him to the internet with blazing fast speed.  Or Dustin tells us how much he loves coconut water.

In Ben Hewitt’s book, “The Town That Food Saved” the author outlines how Americans watch more than 5 hours of Tee Vee per day; add digital media to that hour count and it seems like we have made full-time jobs of watching Tee Vee, texting, and updating Facebook.

Today, I’m going to conduct an experiment.  Once I post this blog entry and make my daily comment on my Class Reunion Facebook page, I’m going to shut my computer.  I haven’t turned the radio on yet to hear The Chipmunks parse the Patriots’ game and I’ll leave it off.

I wonder if I can go a whole day in silence?

Silencio!

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Turkeys in our Midst

Posted on September 30, 2012 by Julie-Ann Baumer

Some people raise chickens and some people raise turkeys.  Some people raise both.

Turkeys contain Tryptophan, an ingredient that promotes drowsiness and rest.

Turkeys were made for rainy Sundays.

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The Sea Gull (A Dream about Garbage)

Posted on September 28, 2012 by Julie-Ann Baumer

In a never-ending conversation about recycling, my nephew reminded me “recycling is hardly the answer.  It’s a part of the answer, but consuming less is the ultimate goal.”

**********

Last night I had a dream I was at The Dump in my father’s Plymouth Gran Fury.

A long, long time ago, there used to be a “dump” on the road to The Farm.  The big-ticket items, like washers and lawn chairs were on the peripheral and piles of smoldering garbage sat in big piles, teetering on the edge of a small hill.  We’d load our paper garbage bags into the car and drive out to The Dump; we’d throw the bags over the hill or on to a smoking pile.  Circling ceaselessly above the piles were sea gulls, swooping down occasionally to grab a loose heel of bread or an old potato.

Back in those days, we didn’t think about whether we were “green” but we also didn’t throw out much either.  We tried to take good care of everything we were given; shoes were re-soled, shirts were mended, and even lawn chairs were repaired until they snapped in two.

In my dump dream, the details were fuzzy, but I was responsible for disposing the leftovers from my co-workers’ take-out food.  They had (once again) ordered soup, salad, and sandwiches from the big box store of artisan breads.  The Plymouth Fury was packed full of shopping bags loaded with Styrofoam dishes, plastic utensils, and big black plastic salad bowls coated with oily dressing.  Slices of bread in wax paper lined the floor of the car and little plastic butter packets were stuck to the dashboard.  It was messy, smelly, and crowded in the Plymouth on that dream ride.

One lone sea gull followed me as I drove down the road.  When I began unloading my bags of Styrofoam and plastic, the sea gull distastefully flew away and perched on the carcass of an old Frigidaire.  Even though there were plenty of food scraps in my garbage, that sea gull would have nothing to do with the plastic.  The crazy sky rat just sat there.  Then it opened its beak and said “I can’t digest it.”

My alarm went off and the dream ended.

**********

Ben Hewitt, in his book The Town That Food Saved says “’Sustainable,’ like ‘green’ and ‘organic,’ is an easily corruptible concept that, not surprisingly, has been willfully corrupted by people who would very much like to sell you a hybrid SUV or an Energy Star-rated flat-screen TV with no money down and zero percent interest for 60 months.”

All of these things have prompted me to think about my own garbage.  I’ve tried to observe my trash patterns to see what I’m bringing to The Coop dumpster every week.  Since I recycle my food waste in my garden compost pile, the majority of my garbage is primarily plastic and glass bottles with a smattering of paper.  I notice the biggest increase in my garbage production when I’m running low on time and I purchase take-out food.

What is your biggest source of garbage?

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