What didn't work

So here's a hard look at the some of my less than productive efforts:

1. The goats- Despite my lofty declarations of a future filled with goat cheese and goat's milk soap, I produced nothing. The problem? As they say in the real estate world, Location..Location...Location. As I live in the city(no backyard goats allowed), driving several miles a day to milk a goat ain't gonna happen.

2. Growing eggplant didn't produce more than 2 small fruits. The miniature pomegranate died, and the mini blueberry plant has yet to do much of anything.

3. Home made bath soaps- Lots of fun, but too time consuming for me to do very often.

4. Our rabbits- We certainly aren't going to eat them, but we don't really have time to play with them. They just sit there creating fertilizer all day. Which I suppose isn't entirely a bad thing.......

Live and learn what works for you. Lackluster results give us valuable information that we can use to our advantage.

Never give up, always try something new. And don't forget to have fun!
love,
-EJ

Scratch-n-sniff Oregon

Mushroom season is just beginning. We comb wooded areas in search of Chanterelles. The forest floor smells of pine needles, decaying plant matter, and moist earth. Undergrowth is minimal, the perfect environment for little mushrooms.

I pick an apricot-colored chanterelle from its spongy moss bed. The light fruit aroma of it matches its color. Into the bag it goes.

Several paces away, clustered around a rotted tree stump, I see more of them. I'm like a child again, hunting Easter eggs. No dress this time. No basket, gloves, or shiny patent shoes. But the excitement of discovery is just the same as I remember it.

Days later I'm at the stables picking blackberries. As Dante' rides her horse and Maxwell plays, I stand before the prickly vines filling a small bucket. It is hot and the sun brings the odor of the berries to my nose. Hot, sticky, and sweet, they smell of late summer and fresh pies.

I shuffle my feet trying to angle my way to a better picking position without getting scratched by the vines. This crushes the wild mint under my feet. Inhaling deeply brings the cool refreshing scent deep into my lungs. Combined with the jammy sweetness of the berries, it is a gratifying moment.

Not all the smells here are wonderful. Low tide in the bay makes us look suspiciously at each other, wondering which of us was the 'offender'. " I swear I didn't!", vows the accused. "It's low tide!"

There is the pungency in spring of the skunk cabbage, the pervasive odor of 'cow' at the dairy farm, and the fishiness of the oyster processing plant.

Having said that, however, I wouldn't change any of it. After all these years, it all just smells like home.

-E

At War With Time

I am now the age my mother was when I first thought she was getting old. hmm, that's kinda funny. Now that it's my turn, 40 doesn't seem so old. But I notice things changing. Little things here and there that aren't much their own, but add up to a lot when I think about them.

My oldest son is nearly 18, graduating , and already working. My daughter is 14 and looking more like a woman every day. She used to be the baby.

Max, the baby of the family, isn't really a baby anymore. He will turn 4 next month. Realizing he is the last child is both exhilarating and agonizing.

Looking in the mirror is an interesting experience. Who is that person? I am quite sure it isn't me. After all, I've never had grey hair, two chins and wrinkles. It must be someone else.

Just to make sure I went to my closet and pulled out photographs from 1992. Guess what? No wrinkles, only one chin, no grey hair, and lovely skin. Whew! For a moment there I thought I was getting old. *grin*

When I was younger I never paid any thought or attention to old people. They all looked the same to me. White hair and skin, yellow teeth, outdated clothing. Why didn't they care, I wondered? Didn't they know that polyester was out of style? Didn't they know that hairstyle went out of fashion 20 years ago? And why did they smell funny all the time?

Now I know better. The elderly are wise. Too wise to bow to the dictates of fashion magazines. Too wise to spend an hour in the bathroom fussing over a hairdo.

I feel nostalgic every so often when contemplating an elderly person. I wonder about their life. I wonder if they think about the days when they could run and play. Or if they miss looking in the mirror and seeing a smoother, less wrinkled face. Or maybe they miss their mom, dad, or spouse. Do they long for that feeling of excitement you can only get when you fall in love for the fist time?

Now I've said all this to say that we should respect our elderly a lot better in this country. And remember that every one of them used to possess youth and vitality. In trade, they have gained knowledge . If we will only stop and listen, we could learn a lot.

I still don't know why there is an old lady in my bathroom mirror. But she seems nice. I think I'll let her stay a while.
-E

Winter Blues

Poor February, it has always been my most hated month. (August comes second.) My prejudice comes with good reason. The holidays are over, the cold weather is no longer novel and on the Oregon coast it's all about the rain.

There are no more mushrooms to pick, it's too cold to go fishing and crabbing. Ordering seeds and garden planning for spring brings just a little satisfaction.

And boy, does cold weather up the crazy quotient at my house! Max, in lieu of constructive outdoor time, cruises the upstairs looking for ways to make me scream "knock it off", "put that down!" or "Be quiet".

Every time the UPS truck rounds our corner, Dante' and I are pressed against the living room window like hungry homeless children. When the package turns out to be for the lady across the street, we turn ugly.

Even the dog hates February. Rex is so disgusted with only being allowed outside to pee, he has taken to running away. The next door neighbor keeps a fabulous smorgasbord of cat food on her front porch. Whenever I can't find Rex, he's there.

Only my 16 yr. old, William seems to handle this weather well. He sleeps. When he's not in school, he sleeps.

I'm going to bed. Wake me up when the temp rises above 65.
-EJ

LIfe in the Fishbowl

When Phil and I first got married, we talked about wanting to honor God with our lives and our marriage. We had no idea at the time what that would ultimately look like, but we were open to whatever the Lord set before us.

At the time, Phil was selling advertising, teaching guitar, and serving as worship leader at our church. God soon led him back into full-time ministry and I suddenly found myself to be a pastor's wife.

It was scary. Really scary. We were basically jumping off a cliff trusting the Lord to catch us. Phil had schooling in the ministry, was well versed in his bible and was ready to step into the role of Pastor. I was still a relatively new christian and had a lot of spiritual "Growing up" to do. So I worried.

What if folks didn't like the way I dressed or spoke? Normally I wouldn't care , but when your profession reflects on the Heavenly Father, you tend to take the little stuff seriously. What if I couldn't fulfill the duties of Pastor's Wife properly, and what are the duties of a Pastor's Wife anyway?????

So the first three years have gone by, and it has been a wonderful experience. Our church is like family. The people are great. But there are downsides. And today, for some reason, I am really feeling down.

For starters, your always being watched. How you walk, act, talk, dress-everything. Your children are always being watched. Yeesh, this one is a hard one. Phil and I have a large, blended family of 5 kids. My two, especially the oldest, responded to having a pastor for a step-dad the only way teenagers can: Sheer Rebellion. Sometimes I felt we came to church to provide the "Don't let your kids turn out like ours" example.

Then there is the pressure to be whatever your expected to be. I've been told many times that I don't have to feel that way and that no one has expectations. Not True. Deep down inside people want a neat, pretty, dressed-up representation. It's easier to deal with. I understand that. But I can't do it. The husband and kids come first and there are only so many hours in a day.

Next, the blunt appraisals. My husband and I have fielded complaints about what bible we use to teach from, what materials we use to teach youth group, what kind of music we play in church, whether or not I show up for every single service, even where the children and I sit during services. And how loud we do or don't sing, and whether or not we sing emphatically enough. And that is the short list.

Also difficult is learning how much of myself to share with church friends. Again, most people like a certain image of their leadership. Too much information spoils things. I've made the mistake of telling church girlfriends too much about my personal life. Then later on it becomes the subject of gossip. Or a church friend may make a big point of befriending you, making you a fixture in their life and working to gain your trust, and then they just blow out of your life without so much as a backward glance.

Not surprisingly, ministry has a high burn-out rate. Nevertheless, God has been so good. Every Sunday I get to go and fellowship with a fantastic group of people. And I love them all. I realized that I just can't imagine not doing what we do. I don't want to do anything else. At least not until God finds something else for us to do.

And I still have a lot of growing up to do. God has a history of picking unlikely people to do His work. But he also helps them to accomplish all tasks for His Glory and His Honor. Praise the Lord for that.

Time for bed. Tomorrow I get to go praise God with a roomful of His people. How cool is that?

-EJ

George Maxwell Jeffery

Maxwell has three older brothers and one older sister at home. All of them teenagers. This has afforded him a decided edge in language development. Paxson and I have always loved the fine art of "word-smithing", and it appears Max will be no exception. Even still, this little boy has the ability to completely stun me. Not with his big, multi-syllable words. Not with his intellectual concepts. But with the beautiful , simple expression of a three year old.

Last week, Max brought me to near tears by proclaiming "I'm really enjoying growing up." Wow. That is the first time I have ever been told that. It was the nicest thing I've ever heard.

Just this evening, as we walked from the van to the house, Maxwell's little voice from behind me offered "This is a nice place to grow up." Stunned again.

I am generously told "I love you" and even "your beautiful" by my little one on a regular basis. Then he directs me to keep quiet about it. "It's just our little secret" he tells me. Fine with me.

So, if you wouldn't mind, please don't tell anyone. Its just our little secret.
grins,
-EJ

Why I love my pets as explained by way of sleepless verbal meandering.

I'm not sleeping lately and it's my own fault. A few months ago I ran out of my medicine. It was always on my mind to get it refilled, but life takes the front seat and everything else falls behind. Big mistake. The result: sleep disturbance. The scary part is how subtly it builds at first, and then erupts into a major problem. I am so exhausted my body aches, my head hurts, my eyes burn and I can't think clearly. I have no energy and feel like bursting into tears over every little thing.

I get my meds in the next day or so, and should feeling better just in time for Christmas. 'Til then, just bear with me.

So I dragged Max to the stables today to deliver hay and was met by the usual loving 'hysteria' of the goats. I was instantly happy, even in spite of the insomniac fog surrounding my brain. It was nice to take a moment to scratch their fuzzy heads and watch them greedily chunk down a flake of hay.

Back at home,Max and I fed the bunnies. I was astonished when our large, mixed-breed Jack nearly fell out of the cage trying to get to us. We thought he just wanted food so we loaded him up on goodies. Nope, he wanted lovin'. So we brought Jack indoors, fed him treats and pet him copiously.

Jack was happily munching away at a celery when a few inches away, Aphrodite's fuzzy black face popped up from under a pile of laundry. She sleepily regarded the rabbit, then lay her silly head back down. It was cute enough to pull a laugh from the depths of my lethargy-induced apathy.

As I write this, Grrr is sleeping on my bed. Keeping in mind that he is Dante's cat, that's BIG. They say animals can sense when you don't feel good so I'm taking his presence as a gesture of good will. Either that or he's waiting for me to die so he can eat my face off and get his picture on MSN news.

Dante' teases me that I must have a tumor and her cat knows it. Ha-ha. So funny. If your sleeping at night, don't take it for granted. Hopefully I've learned my lesson.

peace,
-EJ

mounds of mint

It's been said that in case of nuclear holocaust , only cockroaches and Hostess Twinkies would survive. Or maybe George Hamilton. That man has more preservatives in him than an embalmed cadaver. But I digress...
Allow me to add the lowly mint plant to the "post-armagedon party" guest list. This stuff grows anywhere. With a little encouragement, mint could grow in the Le Brea tar pits. I swear it has the half-life of Mc Donald's french fries. (anyone seen "supersize me"?) Have I made my point?

That said, be careful where you plant mint, as it is a notorious garden bully. Thus we come to the crux of today's post. My friend Coral has a mutinous patch of mint threatening to dominate the entire back yard. Mowing has only made it stronger and more determined. She was more than happy to let me take some home. After my verbal assault on mint, why would I want to take some home? Answer: Mint tea and mint jelly.

My kids love mint tea. They drink it like water. And I , like a dork, have been buying it at the grocery store. So today, as I lugged home a trashbag full of mint, I gleefully added up cash savings in my head. As I write this, the first batch of mint is drying in the dehydrator.

Tomorrow,if time allows, I would love to conjure up a batch of mint jelly. Yummy. Thank you Coral!

old and new

Paxson informed me today he will be gone in less than a year. By 'gone' he means off to college. Nevertheless, hearing it made my heart squeeze just a little. For Paxson it's exciting, uncharted territory. I've no doubt he can almost taste the freedom. For me it's not real yet. I'm still wrapped in a warm, comforting blankie of denial. It feels good so I think I'll stay there awhile.

Yesterday Max and I ruthlessly yanked squash plants. It just wasn't worth it anymore to water them daily yet throw most of them out due to rot. Dante' and I are eager to start several different kinds of lettuce this fall. They will occupy the space left empty after the beans and squash were pulled.

At the community garden things are well. The tomatoes continue to ripen, the celery are quite large, and the beets are beginning to look like they might actually be growing. The carrots are long since uprooted and eaten. That space will probably grow radishes if I can lay my hands on some seeds. Sheesh! Buying seeds in town this time of year is near to impossible. The only viable source at this point is most likely the internet.

Max is loving preschool. Everyday he says the Pledge Of Allegiance to our neighbor's flag,(I wonder if they notice?) and then prays for a good school day. He is learning his letters and shapes and gets a serious kick out of singing "Grey squirrel". The "shake your bushy tail" line is simply irresistible. We've made our own playdough and this morning Max learned to string pasta onto a shoestring. It really got his attention. Max felt so important to have mastered the skill he exulted "This is so much fun, Mommy!". You know, life would grand if we could all just take a time out and push macaroni onto a shoelace. Stress levels would drop dramatically. I strung some pasta with Max and it was astoundingly therapeutic.

William, Richard, and Paxson have been just wonderful. They are all doing well in school and are a great help at home. Dante' is never very happy with school but she excels in her work. Simply put, time away from her horse is not time well spent, in her opinion.

Again, Fall is weaving it's magic. Something in the air makes me nostalgic to the point of writing these sentimental posts. Pumpkin pies are begging to be baked. The cool air needs the waft of freshly baked gingerbread. Dinners become more substantial, have fewer greens and more grains. I light good-smelling candles around the house and long to sleep under heavy blankets. Max is precious with his cherubic face beaming from under his hooded sweatshirt.

All good things.

-EJ

It is what you make it

I was pondering how I'd answer if someone asked what it is that I do. Homemaker, housekeeper,and 'domestic goddess' flashed through my mind before I settled on Urban Homesteader. Hey, neat title, I thought to myself. Well, it turns out to be hardly an original thought, after all.

Just google it. For years, many folks have long been 'roughing' it on city property for the betterment of their families, their health, and the environment. Great stuff! Hubby was slightly embarrassed when I moved two hens into a cage in the back yard. Well guess what? I just found an article on chicken keeping in the city. Hot dang.

Today Max and I bought liquid rennet and local milk. We are good-to-go on the mozzarella cheese-making front. Comments and pics to posted later, after our experiment.

The garden is amazing. This is my first year, rememember, so you'll be barraged with pics of every fruit and vegetable. I have the fervor of a mother with a newborn. The garden is my baby and you're about to be shown the pics.
Please note(and ogle) our first cauliflower picked yesterday. It is stunning! In just a few days we should be able to pick some greenbeans as well. Little squashes have begun, the spinach is up(previously known as the mystery vegetable)and I will continue to rhapsodize until the season is over.

Blackberries have begun to ripen.More on that later. Dante, the household pie-whisperer,served us our first blackberry pie of the season. mmmmmmmmmmmmm.

Back to the subject of homesteading. Not everyone can live in the country. My husband and I would love to. Emphasis on love But we simply can't afford a home with adequate acreage for gardening, Dante's horse and all the other animals I would love to someday own. So I do what I can on my own little lot. Like anything else in life, you make the best of what you have. Truthfully, we currently have a wonderful house in a quiet, safe neighborhood.

And now it's time to make cheese. Wish me luck. -EJ

ramblings

A teenage girl informed me today that teen pregnancy is "not that big of a deal". She's told me that before. Not a big deal to who, I wonder? To the mom, who will shoulder that responsibility thus bringing her youth to a premature and abrupt end? To the child who will most likely grow up with Medicare and welfare but without a father? Or the Grandparents who often are left with the care of the child and the financial responsibilities as well? Tell me, can anyone really make that statement and mean it in their heart?

Last week a friend passed away unexpectedly. Marshall was not young, but the suddenness of his death is a shock. It's hard to accept that he's not here.
Marshall had a lifelong love of people. He never met a stranger. He gave his whole being into everything he did. His wife Maria reports a standing-room-only memorial in his honor. Good. God bless you, Marshall. Be at peace.

Today I saw Mama Mia with a friend. I expected it to be silly fluff, but it really moved me. Not so much the plot or the music, but the vibrancy of the female characters. They simply radiated life, love, passion, and strength. It just welled up in me a sort of longing to be in touch with that part of myself. Old pop-psychology buzzwords from the 80's came to mind: 'feminine mystique', 'divine feminine'. These words are best not defined. They encompass an intangible, indefinable freedom of expression in every woman. The mysterious 'something' that God wove into our hearts that makes us unique.
Before you gag on all the contemplative sentiment I'm lavishly serving, just watch it. Bear with me.

Today is a worry day. Worry about friends, finances, obligations, lists, life,children, etc.
Too much thinking, too little actual cohesive thought. It's okay. God is in control and He is good.
walking by faith,not by sight,
-EJ

entertaining royalty

Apparently I'm not the only one eating Oregon. According the local newspaper,  The king of Jordan was in the area motorcyling highway 101. He stopped to eat at a small cafe' nearby.  It was highly entertaining to hear that his personal security entourage' arrived a day early to scope out the tiny eatery at which the king intended to dine. 

What were they looking for, I wonder? The "dangerous" types around here run more along the lines of part-time  drunks , bored housewives,  and lonely old people. Anyone caught with their pants down  might just be forced to listen to Aunt Edna recount her gallbladder surgery.  shudder.

So what did the King of Jordan eat, since I know your DYING to find out? A hamburger and onion rings. If its good enough for a king, its good enough for me. 

-EJ

virgin effort

7/9/08

My husband and I just got  back from dinner at Lyle and Annie's. Excellent food, great company. I created this account in January only to let it sit idle for months.  Annie was actually my inspiration to get this thing off the ground. Most likely I will be the only one reading it. That could be a blessing in disguise. 

Paxson's birthday party is Friday. Dante' and I will attempt a 3 layered square cake, frosted and decorated with seashells.  I love the Oregon coast and work that theme as much as possible. In March,  William had to suffer his 16th birthday with a lavendar cake covered in sugared violets. Really it's his fault for having been born during violet season. 

yes, I know this blog is called Eating Oregon. I love the food network and I figure if Mario can eat Italy,and looks as though he may have, I can eat Oregon. Okay, not literally but you get my point.  Berry season is coming on. Soon we will picking salmonberries, thimbleberries, blueberries, and blackberries. Fall will bring rain and millions of lovely little edible mushrooms. Anytime is great to go crabbing. The best things in life are free right here on the Oregon coast and I intend to make the most of it.