A Mid-Winter Scrapbook

The old Cook’s Mill, across from the farm, is clearly not much to look at. Until, that is, you begin examining how much skill went into the building and the old stone flume channel across the creek. Here was an appropriately scaled technology for a small self-sustaining valley.






File under: I know the feeling. The larger hogs in the woods are hard to rouse for breakfast, when the temperature is ten degrees.

A friend gifted us one of his few remaining North Georgia Candy Roasters (a winter squash) from the fall garden. Which we used as the foundation for a delicious sweet stew on a cold night.







The year-old ram lambs on a sunny six-degree morning, always hungry.

The sun just peaking over the eastern ridge, reveals beauty in unexpected places (the chicken coop and a maple tree).







And, even in a drab winter landscape, the cardinal is easy to spot and always welcome. The first of the new crop of lambs, confident and healthy.







And, finally, yesterday as the temps rose to 59 degrees, the girls took advantage of the warm weather to take a cleansing flight.


Reading this weekend: Grey Seas Under, by Farley Mowat. An exceptional book about ordinary heroism. It is the history of a salvage and rescue tug on the North Atlantic.

6 thoughts on “A Mid-Winter Scrapbook

  1. I wish I spoke ‘Mill’ – for I suspect The Cook’s has a story or two worth hearing. Well over a hundred years of age I’d guess. One wonders what other duties it was pressed to besides milling. And how much longer does it have? Who will recall it once it is gone?

    There is a certain meadow and ridge in south central Pennsylvania where a fairly serious conflict left many a young person dead or dying about 155 years ago. No mill there I know of, but plenty has been written about it – the field I mean. History. Some sites fantastic and transformative… others less so, at least on the surface. But even without hosting a three day battle the Mill site does offer some quiet reflection of life at a time long past. You might imagine a young person working along side a parent (or grandparent) grinding grain in the mill. Life lessons learned.

    Have we learned any lessons from the death and destruction at Gettysburg? And if yes, then why does racism pour across our land at such a high tide?

    The quiet serenity of Cook’s Mill might not offer a quick or ready answer. But then I don’t imagine that is its responsibility. Serving a smaller community was and remains its chief assignment, and it appears to have served well enough.

    • More than enough smaller skirmishes to mark this land.

      It is an odd place for the mill. The creek doesn’t drop in elevation dramatically. So, the stone flume on the other bank runs parallel to the creek, upstream, for a good two hundred yards. At that juncture it was level with the creek. And, there the water could be diverted to power the waterwheel. That was a lot of hard work digging out the channel and putting in the stonework.

  2. I love candy roaster and cushaw! Candy roaster or butternut squash make killer pie that beats pumpkin easily!

    I am amazed and admiring that the mill house is still standing. My mountain community had at least two mills but very little evidence remains.

Any thoughts or questions?