Turkey hunting

All I want for Christmas is a turkey dinner, and I may not get it. There isn't a decent turkey in this town. The local grocery had a huge one for $42 and change, but that's ridiculous. I'm not paying that much for a turkey. I have two steaks in the freezer and they are my fallback plan. Anyway, I'm going to cross the state line and go turkey hunting this morning. 

We had our first snow of the season a couple of days ago. It barely covered the ground and didn't last long, but I was glad to get to see it. Apparently, it was done for the early riser because it was gone by eight o'clock. 

This year, 2023, is winding down. It wasn't my best year ever, but it was close. I was happy with my garden, and I'm pleased with the amount of firewood my cousin and I have on hand. I did better with my writing in 2023, but I still have unanswered questions. That is to say, I have decisions to make. I blogged about it at Between the Keys. One of those decisions is whether or not to keep Between the Keys and Holly Tree Manor/The Hideaway separate or to go back to posting only at Between the Keys. When I was working, I viewed my writing life as separate, but now that I'm retired it's a case of my worlds integrating. 

Between now and the first few weeks of January is typically the time I rest and make plans. This year is no different. It's time to make choices and choose a road to travel. I know that if I choose the wrong one, I can always backtrack. That's one of the gifts of growing older. 

The Lady of Holly Tree Manor/The Hideaway

Holly Tree Manor, The Hideaway, life choices, country lifestyle, rural living, first snow, Between the Keys, a writer's life, gardening, retirement, romance fiction, turkey, Christmas

Parting with treasures

My family's Christmas gathering happened this past Saturday night, hosted by my young cousin who lives on the other side of the road. She's part of what I generally refer to as Gen 4.

Gen 1 was my grandparents, Gen 2 my parents, I and my first cousins Gen 3, the children of my first cousins comprise Gen 4, their children are Gen 5, and now we have reached Gen 6. It amazes me to see how once again my family has grown. 

I say "my family" but I am the outlier. The one with no offspring of my own. Was this by choice, design, or fate? It's a difficult question to answer. At the appropriate time in my life, I did nothing to prevent the possibility, and yet here I am. 

It's time to part with some of my grandmother's treasures. Forty years ago she gave me the set pictured. I remember the three-tiered dish laden with cookies and sitting just inside her front door every Christmas season. Everyone, even my father, walked through the door and snatched a cookie before even taking off their coat. The candy dish made an appearance around Easter, filled with jelly beans. I'm not sure I realized the two pieces were a set until she gave them to me. I don't remember seeing them side-by-side until then. 

My young cousin enjoys hosting get-togethers and was therefore the logical choice for the party pieces. I signed up to take cheesecake to the party so I purchased little individually wrapped cheesecake bites and arranged them on the tiers. I made sure to arrive a wee bit early so I could more privately tell her  the set was now hers. I got a big hug from her, too. 

Parting with this treasure from my hoard was easier than I imagined it would be. I suppose that means it's the timing was correct. Back in the days when we hosted parties, I used my grandmother's set and I got a lot of enjoyment from doing so. 

I'll continue to enjoy my grandmother's set, only now it will be on her great-granddaughter's table, not mine. I think that's the way it was always meant to be. 

The Lady of Holly Tree Manor (The Hideaway)

Holly Tree Manor, The Hideaway, Christmas, family, heirlooms, simple country pleasures, rural living, country lifestyle, generations, party pieces, a writer's life

Elder and Crone

Of Christmas snow, I would wish

for it to kiss the ground

Pristine and white falling down, 

to the earth forever bound

Silent night gives way to day, 

quiet stirrings under brightest rays

The fire warms, the cat sleeps on, 

wrapped in quiet, steeped in peace

The elder and the crone, as we have now become

Sip coffee and smile, hidden behind our walls

Tasks fulfilled, our legacy fading (as it should)

Indulgent to our past, memories notwithstanding

The Lady of Holly Tree Manor (The Hideaway)

Hooter the Owl - A Christmas Tale

The fictional Waltons have nothing on my family. 

Approaching Christmas brings to mind years of family tales. My family is good for a lot of laughs - please don't tell them I said that. One of my favorite stories is about Hooter the Owl. 

We live in a rural community. When I was young, it was a VERY rural community. I'm serious when I say I'm only a generation removed from a moonshiner. 

My grandfather was a unique individual. Yes, he made Apple Jack. He was a beekeeper, a truck farmer, a hunter, a skilled woodworker, and a lover of all the wild things that came into his yard. It was Pop who planted the first two holly trees that seeded my property and a portion of the mountain hillside. 

One autumn day Pop put on his boots and went out to do a walk-about. I swear he knew every tree and rock on his property. He came home with an injured owl. 

My grandmother was not pleased, but she had a soft heart for the wild ones, too. They both knew for Hooter to have a chance to survive, he needed a little help. Pop made a rough frame and wrapped it in chicken wire and Hooter had temporary digs. His wing would heal and they'd set him free, or..... let's not go there.

Pop had a way with critters. It wasn't long before Hooter knew the human was the source of chicken livers. Now what self-respecting owl would refuse that meal? Hooter made friends with Pop. The days passed and the Christmas season rolled around.

Back in those days, the late 1960's, everyone had a cut tree for Christmas. Pop got a tree and put it up. My grandmother called me to come help decorate it. All was well until Pop let Hooter out of his cage. 

Hooter couldn't yet fly again, but he sure could hop and run. He made a beeline for the tree and up he went! Not even chicken livers could coax him out of the tree. So my grandparents let him alone. They turned the lights on in the evenings and it was Christmas business as usual except for the owl in the tree. 

Hooter eventually came down and out - and in spectacular fashion. He hopped out of the tree into the middle of the Christmas day dinner table, right in front of my Dad's plate. It was fucking funny. Every Christmas dinner at my grandparent's house thereafter, my father made a big show of searching the Christmas tree for surprises. And Dad and Pop would laugh the way men do when they have an inside joke with each other. 

Those were the days. The Waltons have nothing on my family. 

The Lady of Holly Tree Manor