Tag Archives: Scott H. Moore

Note to Self: If I Get Some Time Today

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If I get some time today, I could spread that ag lime on the two sheep paddocks. I’ve been meaning to buy some lime. I should do that. Which reminds me that I will need to replace that tire on the Ezee-Flow spreader that dry-rotted over winter. I’ll call over to the farmers co-op and see if they have a replacement. Maybe they have my tiller wheel ready. If they do, I can till in the potato patch that I forgot to mulch or weed and is now buried in lush non-potato growth. Then I’ll replant the area with beans.

Big and beefy 8-10 week old ram lamb, a Texel-Katahdin cross.

But first, if I’m going to plant beans, I’ll need to go cut some poles to use as a trellis. So today, if I have time, I should clean last winter’s gas out of the chainsaws and hope that the carburetors are not fouled with shellacked fuel. And the chains also need to be resharpened. Note: I really should keep that bow saw in better condition—it could be of use when the chainsaws are not working. I think I lent it to someone. Who did I lend it to? I know Tim still has that Orwell book. Maybe he also has the saw? I could go over today and check, maybe stop at the Kyles’ farm store and pick up a few sausages for dinner. Then I can check and see if they sold any copies of my book.

How many personal copies do I have left? I should check today, maybe before I go take a nap. After the nap, though, I really need to finish pruning the muscadines and the privet. That damn privet takes over everything. Wonder if grapevines can be used to smoke meat. If I had the sausages, I could smoke them over muscadine vines and serve them with some of my kraut. I think I’ll go check and see how my cabbages are coming along. If they are ready I can make some kraut today, and next weekend it could be ready. So, I’ll pass on the sausages and pruning today. The Kid can do the pruning in the vines next weekend.

It looks like rain, so I’d better get that feed out of the back of the truck. I’ll need to put the boom pole back on the tractor to lift the barrels. That yard box will need to come off. But first I’ll grade the drive—it is a mess since the last rain. So, first things first. I’ll go get some diesel for the big tractor, since it’s on empty.

Running on empty … who sang that? Oh, yeah, Jackson Browne. Which reminds me, before the trip to town, it might be good to change out the CDs in the truck. That John Denver CD is getting pretty stale. Maybe some Alan Jackson. I’ll need to remember to stop at Wil-Sav for my prescription. Except I remember now that I forgot to call it in. So I’ll call them and see if they can call my doctor for a refill. I’m betting it will be ready in a couple of days. I still need the diesel.

But I could use this time before the trip to get diesel to put up the kayaks. They’ve been laying out by the hay barn all winter and spring. Note to self: This would be a great time of the year to go out on the water and just enjoy floating around. I should do that before I store the boats. Now where are those boat cushions? I think they were being used as supports for the guest cot when my nephew stayed with us in February. I wonder how he is getting along this spring down in that Louisiana heat? I’ll call him if I get time today.

Well, the temperature is supposed to get up to 80 here tomorrow. I really should just go out now, while I have time, and roll up the sides on the hoop house and open the windows. Those cabbage moths will be out soon. If I put some diatomaceous earth out today to protect the cole crops I’ll be ahead of the pests. Better call Cindy and have her pick some up while she is in town. Pretty sure all of it was used last year.

DE is my default weapon against bugs, but I know there are other organic options. Note: Spend a little time later today flipping through some of those dozens of books on my shelf about pests in the garden.

Also, finish reading the book on solitude. Then write Moore a followup and let him know my thoughts. The first page has been really engaging. I just need to find some time to myself to focus. Why are the sheep out in the yard? Note: Check the electric current on the fence later today. There may be a branch down on the wire. Hopefully the pigs haven’t discovered it.

Note: Instead of buying that sausage, I could just make some. I have plenty of ground pork and the stuffer.

Note: Order more hog casings. If they come in next week, I can make the sausages when the kraut is done fermenting.

Note: If I get some time today….

Serving Gumbo to Picky Eaters

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Late winter has arrived on our East Tennessee farm with temps to match the season. And with cold weather my thoughts always turn to gumbo — of the chicken and sausage variety, sans okra, because only New Orleanians and Yankees would have it any other way. That I also have a nephew and niece who plop potato salad into their gumbo, as if they were Germans living in Roberts Cove, we will not mention further lest we get into the politics of excommunication.

Yesterday, one of Cindy’s nephews, his wife, and their three children (ages 8, 10, and 13) visited the farm. They had fled the home parishes around New Orleans in advance of the Mardi Gras invaders. Each year, the week of Fat Tuesday, a kind of reverse migration takes place. As tens of thousands head south to catch cheap beads and vomit Hurricanes in the gutters, thousands of natives head north to eat funnel cakes in the Smokies and revel in never-before-seen glimpses of rocks and snow.

After our NOLA crew had made their snow angels and taken in enough alien rock forms to sate even the most deprived swamp dweller, they turned their sights on our farm for an afternoon. Typically, kids on the farm drive me nuts. Five minutes into the visit, they’re already huddled back down in the car and staring at their e-devices. Not these kids.

We started the stopover, as is our wont, by serving food. Although we were warned in advance that the kids were picky eaters, we still fixed what we wanted: gumbo. It was with some relief and much pleasure that we watched each kid scrape the bowl clean and pronounce lunch “delicious.” They exhibited both good manners and, I must say, great judgment.

They then excused themselves and spent the rest of the afternoon tearing around the farm, playing with the three dogs, feeding weanling pigs, collecting eggs, holding lambs, and even helping Cindy feed the bees —behaving in general like kids should and so seldom do. It was all very encouraging.

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Reading this weekend: How to Burn a Goat (Moore), a delightful and funny memoir of short pieces on the farming life, interspersed with longer pieces on academics and agrarianism. I first read some of the essays when they showed up on the Front Porch Republic and was pleased when a review copy appeared in the mailbox.