Tiny houses

I've always wanted a greenhouse. My grandfather used cold frames, but I prefer not to kneel, bend over, or sit on the wet ground to tend seedlings. Pop did it but he was a tough old guy. I'm a wimp. I'd rather stand.

There are so many things I've wanted to do over the years, but working full time, and then my partner's health, precluded them. Until I can simply hop in my car and go, travel is out. To travel with a person who has mobility issues is a lot of work - let me repeat that: A LOT OF WORK. They travel. You're a pack mule. 

Having a greenhouse is a lot of work, too, to fully utilize its potential so I've gone small. I've purchased a tiny house, about five feet by five feet square and about six feet high in the center. It has four shelves for seedling trays and should be all I really need for the scale of gardening I'm about to undertake.

Like what Pop did with the cold frames, I'll be able to start seeds about six to eight weeks before our "official" last chance of frost date, which is May 10 to May 15 depending on who is doing the talking. I always picked the weekend between the two to plant, the weekend being when I was home. If you're in tune with the season, you know if the chance of frost is past. It's in the air. 

This past Sunday, we unboxed and erected my tiny greenhouse. The instructions were cryptic, but we laid everything out to study the parts and it suddenly made sense. The frame went together with no missing parts, but getting the covering on? That was a bit of work. I had to go inside the greenhouse to line the cover up with the frame and it was hot in there! 

Yep. It will make little seedlings very happy. I used to have a good number of large pots around the patio that I planted with annuals. It's been a few years since I've set them out due to the price of annuals. I'm not paying fifty-cents per plant. Now, for around a dollar, I can start my own from seeds and fill the pots again. Red salvia, zinnias, impatiens, coleus, dianthus, portulaca, marigolds, lobelia, ageratum, alyssum, dusty miller, lantana, and a lot more have all graced my patio. By next spring I'll have to decide on perhaps four and set the color scheme of the year. 

In with the flowers will also be some veggies. I discovered something called Cowboy Candy this year and high on my list are jalapeno peppers, along with tomato and a smattering of other things, all container grown. Starting the veggies from seed will be a boon. A pack of 30 seeds costs less than one single plant at the nurseries around here. The tiny greenhouse will pay for itself in one season. 

Another good thing about the tiny greenhouse is that it is mobile. If I find it needs to be in a better location, I can literally pull up stakes and move it. It can be disassembled and stored each winter. And what if I decide I want a permanent structure? I'll cross that bridge when I get to it. 

The Lady of Holly Tree Manor

 

The old pond

It's good to have a few years under my belt. I remember things the youngsters around me don't. They never had the chance. The other side of that coin is they'll learn things I never will as their lives progress and I'm gone. 

That seems sad to me. We are our experiences, knowledge, and skills, and we take all of that with us when we leave this earthly realm. All our uniqueness is gone. Perhaps that's why I started this blog - to chronicle a lifestyle I see fading. Fewer and fewer people seem able to embrace life in a rural setting.  

One of the things my younger cousins don't know about is the old pond. Back in the winter of 1990, it still had water in it. Since then, it developed a leak and the water drains away. It's spring-fed and by no means dry, it just won't hold water now. Being the curious sort, I've learned the basin is very soft mud. 

At one time, the old pond was home to the usual denizens you'd find in a pond. It even had nesting ducks in the summer. The pond was a favorite destination when I fancied a long walk in the woods. Even in winter, or especially in winter, it was easy to spot a wide variety of animal footprints around the pond. 

And so it's gone now, but the memory of that magical spot remains. At least for me. 

The Lady of Holly Tree Manor

 

The Strawberry Jar

It's nothing extraordinary to admit we like strawberries. Unlike a lot of people in the country, I have to admit I can't grow them. Or rather, I've not been able to grow them up to this point in my life. I'm not done with trying. There's always next year, and the year after, and the year after...

At some point in my life, my grandmother gave me her strawberry jar. My grandfather gave me seven strawberry sets of an "ever-bearing" variety, and I planted them in the jar. Nothing. The plants died just to spite me.

In subsequent years we tried again. We tried strawberries in a raised bed, which worked but did nothing to discourage the birds from eating the harvest. We tried making a tiered planter and covering it with a thin cloth. It stopped the birds but not the bugs. 

The bottom line is we've not given up. We acknowledged that strawberries are something that needed to wait until we were both home all day, i.e., retired. That time is just around the corner. I think our decision is to try the tiered bed again. If it still doesn't work, the tiers will look good planted in annuals. 

But what did I do with my grandmother's strawberry jar? 

My grandmother's favorite color was red. She was the first person to tell me to always wear red. (I've since learned my coloring is "winter," meaning reds, pure white, blackest blacks, and cool tones rather than pastels look best on me.) Mam loved red flowers, in particular red begonias (wax plants). And that has been my solution for many years.

Every year, the strawberry jar is planted with six red begonias with parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme in the top. I do this as a remembrance of a woman who loved me well and taught me so much. The strawberry jar sits beside the walk, and so at least twice a day I'm reminded of her. 

I think it's a good thing. 

The Lady of Holly Tree Manor

"A treasured memory is the gift of time"

 

I saw a quote on Twitter that immediately took me back to a halcyon summer day when I was around ten or twelve. Isn't it strange that the phrase, "treasured memory" took me to that singular day? No, it's not. That's what treasured memories are - singular moments in time. 

I remember the day so well. My cousin Linda was staying at my house for a few days (we traded back and forth between our homes all summer long). My mother had taken a few vacation days and we three "girls" needed an adventure. We decided to take a drive to Cunningham Falls State Park and walk back to the falls.

The falls at Cunningham Falls State Park isn't anything spectacular, but they are very picturesque. Catoctin Creek meanders its way through the park, a shallow stream beloved by fishermen. Like many creeks, it's rarely deep but it is rocky and wide. It feeds the falls with its clear icy water. 

Once we were at the falls, one of us and I think it was me, thought it would be fun to climb to the top of the falls. Now, this is only about twenty feet and it's a shallow climb on the right side. So up we went and we sat in the sun for a while. Then one of us and I know it was not me, suggested we mosey upstream, rock-hopping. So we did. 

We played in the woods for a couple of hours and then took the paved road back down to the car. That one day stands out in my memory. A perfect day spent with the two people who were most important in my life at that time. 

My cousin Linda and I still talk about that day. Our lazy days are long behind us. We have spouses and responsibilities, but we also have treasured memories. 

The Lady of Holly Tree Manor

Autumnal equinox

The word equinox comes from two Latin words  - "aequus" which is "equal," and "nox" which is "night." Obviously, equal hours of night and day, light and dark, occur at the autumnal equinox. But it's more than that. 

The autumnal equinox is not an all day event. It occurs at the specific time the sun crosses the celestial equator. In the year 2020, that occurred at 9:31 AM, Eastern Daylight Time. The fall equinox brings the promise of the new season at the end of summer, the loss of humidity (thank heavens!), and cool evenings spent on the porch watching the leaves fall. 

Being it is the year 2020, I've heard plenty of quips that this fall is actually the fall of civilization, but no. It's autumn - the best time of the year. 

Did you know the actual date of the fall equinox can vary? It's usually on September 22, but due to the earth's orbit and the Gregorian calendar, it can change. It actually takes the earth 365.25 days to orbit, so the equinox is generally six hours later than the prior year. Then leap year happens and sets it back a day. A September 21 equinox hasn't occurred for several millennia, but it will happen in the year 2092. I think a lot of us will miss that one. A September 24 equinox hasn't happened since 1931, and won't happen again until 2303. So we're stuck with bouncing back and forth from September 22 and 23. 

This year on the manor, the maple leaves are turning right on time. Yesterday, I was walking out the lane and looked up to find the top leaves in one of the big maples had turned yellow and orange. Small beginnings herald what will become a storm of leaves. 

Already the evenings are too short. I got busy and did a last minute task, that being painting the ramp to the front porch. The sun had dipped when I started and it was actually chilly working without it. Thankfully, it was a quick job and I'm glad it's finished. I never run out of things to paint.

Even chilly, it was good to be outside in the fresh autumn air. It allowed me to bend over and dip the brush in the paint without sweating into the open paint can. Some things are simple pleasures even as they're annoying chores. 

It's a downward slide to winter from here, but it's a journey we'll savor. Autumn truly is a blessed season. 

The Lady of Holly Tree Manor

Apple snitz

dried apple rings

My great-grandparents had very little material wealth. They were well into their seventies when I was born so I have no memory or knowledge of what Grandpap did for a living as a younger man if indeed he did anything. My mother and grandmother did not hold him in much esteem, I do know that. 

 

Grandma was a worker. She had a large garden, raised chickens and rabbits, and she made quilts that were very much in demand. I can't remember how many of the older women in our community would see me out walking the dog and come to the road to chat, and part of that talk was to say they had a quilt Mary made for them. Come Saturday morning, my grandparents would be up early to take Grandma to the City Market where she had a booth. If my mother's help was needed, I had to go along. I confess I still do not like to rise at five in the morning. In the fall, one of the items Grandma sold was apple snitz.

Grandma had an old Heatrola heater in her house. She'd lay a couple of clean feed sacks on the top of the Heatrola and turn it on to its lowest setting.

vintage Heatrola

Then she'd spread apple slices on the feed sacks to dry them. She was rather stingy with them when I asked for one. They were a product for sale, you see. I remember my mother shaming her by buying a bag of them for me at the market. Giving a six-year-old two snits would hardly have affected the bottom line and Mom told her that. Come to think of it, Mom didn't let me spend as much time at Grandma's house after that, and she lived next door. I was soon staying with a neighbor who had kids around my age while Mom was at work. 

These days, food dehydrators have replaced the Heatrola - and that's a good thing. It's a wonder Grandma didn't burn the house down. It's apple harvest time so my thoughts returned to apple snitz and so I made my own. I didn't slice the apples into thins; I cored them and used a mandolin to slice them into rounds. I put them in the dehydrator for forty-eight hours and stored them in a clean Mason jar. They'll last quite a long time stored this way. 

A quick little snack, a taste of childhood, on a chilly autumn evening. 

The Lady of Holly Tree Manor

Gratitude in a September walk

Last Sunday I went for a walk in the woods across the road from my house. I'm grateful it's parkland and no houses can be built there. The manor is in a conservation district which means there isn't room for any houses on my side of the road, either. I'm grateful for that, too. 

I walk in those woods frequently, but every walk brings something different. On this walk I saw a little wildflower growing out of a stump, bright orange toadstool/mushroom fungus growing at the base of a tree, and an old tree limb with white mold or whatever growing on it. None of it is new to me, but I was grateful I got to see and photograph all of it. 

I also spotted a few red leaves on the tips of a maple tree branch. Autumn is coming and I'm ready to embrace cooler days. With my life-long dream of spending my days on the manor about to come 

true, autumn is the very best time for new beginnings. 

Now it's time to work on the dream of turning an unused bedroom in my house into a butler's pantry. I can't wait to see all my stockpots, baking dishes, and small appliances on a shelf we can both easily access as we get older. No more climbing onto a step stool or going up and down the basement stairs. 

Life at Holly Tree Manor has always been good, and now it will be better. 

The Lady of Holly Tree Manor (The Hideaway)

A short video of our babbling brook:

The many colors of 2020

Many of us will remember the year 2020 not for our many blessings but for the COVID-19 pandemic caused by the severe acute respiratory syndrome coronavirus 2 (SARS-CoV-2). It became known as COVID-19 after being identified in China in December of 2019. 

In our current political climate, specifically, the leftist push to erase centuries of the United States' history and replace it with rhetoric more favorable to their views, I wonder how long it will take for the truth about COVID-19 to be bastardized. 

The media pushes the idea that this virus is more deadly to anyone who is not Caucasian. They insist white people are somehow to blame for ALL the misfortunes of others. That may have been true in the 1400 to 1600 hundreds, but is it still true today? It fits their agenda to say so.

How will we look back and remember 2020? How will we remember 2021? COVID-19 isn't going away at the stroke of midnight on December 31, 2020. 

Here at Holly Tree Manor, we recognize how very fortunate we are to live in a very rural location. We are buffered from casual contact with others by our woods. The Liberals would probably accuse us of using our "white privilege" to stay safe. What bullshit. 

We used our "white privilege" to work hard for fifty years, pay our debts, put money aside for retirement, and pay our taxes so those less fortunate could receive tax money for food and other necessities. Ceasar taking our money to pass to the poor. Is that not a manner of tithe? 

That was our privilege, that we worked to keep our American society strong. That those our money was supposed to help squandered the opportunities provided is not our doing. 

It's not a surprise that those who cry they are still in slavery feel that way. Debt is the modern-day slavery. If you've created debt, you've put yourself there. Being debt-free is being free. The color of my skin did not teach me that. Working hard did. 

These days I peer at the world from behind a facemask. Never would I have expected to do so. To be safe in the United States, I must hide from others. This is not a future ever envisioned. 

Nor was a future where all my years of hard work has been thrown back in my face, and I have, in fact, been criticized for that hard work which gave money (opportunity) to those less fortunate. 

The year 2020 has not unfolded well. 

The Lady of Holly Tree Manor

The Peeping Tom

The manor is host to many forest dwellers, including insects. Moving with deadly quiet among them is the secretive praying mantis. 

As a child, I was frightened of them. With their prehistoric appearance, I suppose I feared being bitten after my grandfather warned me a mantis will bite. I still won't handle one, much preferring to get a broom to move them when necessary. The females don't seem to fly well and the males don't want to budge, so a ride on a broom to a safer location is sometimes necessary. We don't kill them as they are very beneficial to have in and around any sort of garden.

This fellow, or lady, has been hanging around, literally, on the patio screens all summer. Smart little bug that it is, it must know the screens provide easy meals. Flying insects hit the screens and get stuck. All he needs to do is amble over and grab his snack. 

This morning I was treated to the praying mantis doing his peeping tom impression on the kitchen window screen. It was a helluva sight to behold before my morning coffee.

The Lady of Holly Tree Manor

A Blue Ribbon result

Here on the manor, we have what we refer to as breakfast adventures. We love to try new recipes that sometimes even work! We've watched cooking shows for years on networks, and now we watch a lot of cooking channels on YouTube. 

We like YouTube better. Fewer, shorter ads, and you can back up to rewatch if necessary.

Back in the day, we used to watch Paula Deen, and then her sons, Jamie and Bobby. Both had their own shows, but we feel Paula was always better. But Jamie had a couple of recipes we tried and kept, one being a sausage breakfast casserole. 

The casserole is a basic sausage, milk, onion, pepper, cheese, and egg liquid concoction poured over bread, and baked. We changed a few things, such as we don't use an entire onion (it would send both of us running for an antacid) and instead of using whole slices of bread, I use bread cubes.

Here's the thing. We hate to waste anything. You know how you get down to the last two slices of bread in the loaf and no one will eat them? Here's what you do. 

Save the loaf wrapper. Cut the bread into cubes, drop back into the wrapper, and freeze. Keep adding to the wrapper every time you get down to those last slices and pretty soon you will have a loaf of bread cubes. When that happens, it's time to make breakfast casserole or a French toast bread pudding. When we do that, it means three breakfasts go to into the freezer for the future. Cook once, eat four times. What's not to love about that? 

This morning's casserole came out perfect! I was both surprised and pleased with how well it baked and even more pleased with how it tasted. Will it turn out that way the next time? Probably not, but that's okay. Life on the manor isn't measured by achieving perfection. It's measured by the appreciation of both success and failure. 

That's why country living is the only way for me to live. 

The Lady of Holly Tree Manor