How many of you have heard the term “Locavore?” How many of you know what “Locavore” means?

I am a Locavore. It is not something that happened instantaneously, but was a slow transformation that has affected almost every facet of my life. It has changed my thought processes, my ideology, my lifestyle and it has altered the choices I make every day down to the smallest details, concerning what I eat, what I buy, how I spend my time and money.

It has sometimes caused me great distress in decision-making, which I will illustrate later.

As many of you know, I am an avid gardener with a strong desire to be self-sufficient. It permeates my very being. I don’t know why I have always had such an independent streak. Being a first-born might have something to do with it. I have always loved gardening, and I have experienced great satisfaction in planting, growing, harvesting, and preserving the fruits of my labor. So I was very interested in the book, Animal, Vegetable, Miracle by Barbara Kingsolver when I discovered it a year or two ago.

Part memoir, part journalistic investigation, this book (released May 2007) tells the story of how Barbara’s family was changed by one year of deliberately eating food produced in the place where they live.

With great gusto, I devoured this book, ruminating on all the ideas the author and her family shared. I read with great interest her family’s journey documenting their year of the great and arduous task of eating locally (within a 100 mile radius of their residence), thereby also learning to eat seasonally, and sticking to their ideology and the promise they had made to themselves as a family.

The author spelled out the many reasons why her family made the decision to become Locavores, and she went on to explain how they did it. This book profoundly affected me. At times, I have thought it was a mistake to read it as I have struggled with my conscience on several occasions. Shortly after reading the book, I went to the store one day in the dead of winter. I walked into the produce isle, saw some English cucumbers for sale, and I broke into a cold sweat, agonizing over whether or not to buy those cucumbers, knowing they had to have been shipped from hundreds or thousands of miles away, consuming great quantities of fossil fuel, and leaving a huge impact on our environment in the process. I stood there in unbearable indecision as my conscience tormented me for at least 5 minutes before I finally gave in to my selfish desire for those tasty, crisp, raw cucumbers. However, when I later served them in a side dish for dinner, I was unable to enjoy them because of the guilt I felt over buying non-local food. In my mind,  I had committed the sin of perpetuating the demand for out-of-season produce, thereby feeding the demon of commerce that is sucking up our natural resources, destroying our land through the use of unsound and wasteful agricultural practices, contaminating our environment with pesticides, herbicides, synthetic fertilizers, all polluting our land, air, water, and ruining our planet.

So I had slowly evolved into a locavore. As I read this book and pondered the strong case Barbara made for eating locally and seasonally, the importance of being ecologically and environmentally responsible became paramount to me. Now it is more important than ever before that my garden produce as much as possible, and that I preserve as much as possible to avoid having to buy food out of season.

I believe we as a society have lost touch with our food. We no longer know where our food comes from, and if, God forbid, a catastrophic event happened to disrupt our food supply, most Americans would not know how to survive. For that reason, I have taken the opportunity to learn all I can—not just about gardening, but about raising animals for food and processing the meat as well.

Who would have thought that feeding one’s child a green smoothie made with fresh, California spinach would cause that child’s death, which was the case last year when spinach may have been contaminated by ecoli in California fields by migrant workers who didn’t wash their hands. The contaminated spinach caused several deaths and many more became ill, causing a nationwide recall on California spinach. We have since had many more food recalls, beef products – peanut butter processed with contaminated and dirty equipment in the southern United States, salsas made with peppers grown in contaminated soil in Mexico. The list goes on and on. Our food supply is unsafe. Case after case shows that the farther away our food is grown, the greater the chance it will become contaminated at some point in the growing, harvesting, processing, transporting, delivering of that food product.

Committing to eating locally grown foods as much as possible is a great thing to do. It is not an all-or-nothing venture. Any small step you take helps the environment, protects your family’s health, and supports our local farmers and our local economy.

The first step to becoming a locavore is to determine what local means to you. This is an individual decision that should feel comfortable for you and your family. Many locavores start by trying to eat within a 100 or 200-mile radius from their homes. The important thing is that by creating an imaginary boundary, no matter how large, you are becoming conscious of your food’s origin. Do it for your health, your family’s health and for the health of our planet.

When my husband called the park to reserve a spot, the park employee said the campground was only a few minutes from the Yellowstone Park entrance. It is actually 15 miles from Yellowstone. If you don’t mind driving an extra 30 miles a day just to get to and from the park each day, then this would be okay, but it wasn’t okay with us.

There are no trees, and no shade. The restrooms and showers were clean, and they have WIFI, but it is spotty and poor reception where we were parked. We reserved a spot for five days and paid for half of it up front. I was extremely disappointed in the campground when we first arrived. However, we got there after the office closed, so we were unable to talk with staff until the next morning.

The RV park is right next to a state highway. Our camp spot was only 50 feet from the highway, which is traveled by large trucks at all hours of the night. Across the highway is a residential neighborhood. Our first night there, someone in that neighborhood decided to have a party all night. We woke up at 2:00am to blaring, booming music. When we called the office to complain, we got voicemail. Spent the rest of the night wide awake.

We decided to stay one more night rather than the 5 nights we originally reserved in order to find another campground either closer to the park or inside the park. When I went to ask for a refund, I was confronted by a very rude, confrontational manager who told me we could leave early if we wanted, but there would be no refund for early departure. He further stated that if we didn’t like it, we could sue the park and the owner. I replied that I would do more than that–I would tell about my bad experience on the internet and the various social media websites, as well. That obviously hit a sore spot, because the employee blew a gasket. It bothered him a great deal that I was going to complain “online.” He accused me of extortion.

When I tried to reason with him, he spoke over top of me and he got louder and louder until he was literally yelling at me. I knew then that there was no reasoning with this angry man, so I turned and walked out. As I walked away, he screamed at me to “get out of this park right now. You’re not staying here another minute!” His face was bright red and he looked like he was about to have a seizure. There were other customers in the store – everyone’s mouth was agape.

My husband happened to walk in while this was all taking place, and the employee yelled again, “Are you with her? Get out of here, both of you! Get her out of here!” My husband told the man that he was not hard of hearing, and that his hearing was perfectly fine without being shouted at. Eventually, my husband being the peacemaker he is, was able to calm the man down. However, the manager then insisted that I owed HIM an apology! I was flabbergasted! I asked for a refund and was screamed at because I refused to be bullied by this abusive man, and he had the gall to tell my husband I owed him and apology! The man obviously has a god complex, and feels that it is a mortal sin to challenge his authority, which proves my point – there was no reasoning with this self-inflated, egotistical man.

I later found out he told my husband that he was “former law enforcement,” like what does that have to do with the price of tea in China! My guess is that it was a veiled threat; he was trying to intimidate us into not saying anything – to throw a scare into us because he used to be with law enforcement and could still pull some strings.

He is obviously used to being in a position of authority, used to calling the shots and ordering people around as a law officer, but he’s retired now, and he should understand that one doesn’t treat people that way in the real world in a business if one expects to build a good reputation with customers.

That was the worst experience I have ever had with a place of business. I have never been screamed at in my life by anyone who claims to be a professional. You don’t build a business by treating paying customers like dirt under your feet. I will never go back there. If one of my employees ever treated one of my customers like that, I would fire him on the spot.

A word of advice to anyone traveling to Yellowstone not knowing the layout of the park, if you have a long way to go, reserve only one or two nights in an RV camp outside of the park. There are plenty of camping spots available in the park if you drive in early in the day. They do, however, fill up quickly. You will save yourself a lot of drive time and mileage by camping inside the park.

“Yellowstone Holiday RV Campground”  will not refund any money if you pay for a week and leave early. I personally think the manager at “Yellowstone Holiday RV Camp” needs to attend some anger management classes. But perhaps “you just can’t teach an old dog new tricks.” It probably wouldn’t help him in the least, because he would never admit he is ever in the wrong.

This experience really ruined our day, and it put a damper on the whole rest of our trip. I hope the man responsible can come to terms with what he did to us that day. If he ever calls to offer me a sincere apology, I will gladly erase this blog forever.

My German grandmother taught me how to make sauerkraut and fermented dill pickles when I was a young girl, so I had an interest at an early age. But about 5 years ago, after learning of the health benefits of fermented foods and drinks, I began to pursue this hobby with great earnest.

I began fermenting foods with a passion. One can ferment anything – fruit, vegetables, dairy, meat, grains, and legumes. Fermented fruit produces alcohol and vinegar. Fermented vegetables are known as pickled or cultured vegetables. Fermented dairy produces a variety of cheeses, yogurt, and kefir. Fermented grains can be used to produce sourdough bread, beer, and a variety of hard alcoholic drinks such as whiskey or rye. Fermented legumes can produce miso and tempeh usually made of soybeans. I currently have two crocks of miso fermenting in crocks at home. Depending on the type of miso one makes (sweet white or red), it can take anywhere from 6 months to 2 years before it’s ready. Tempeh is a tasty fermented food made of any type of legume and mycelium growth (think of mushrooms) that have fused the beans together. It takes about 2 days to produce a loaf of tempeh.

Some examples of fermented meat are the old world sausages, and in Norway and Iceland, they ferment shark meat by burying it in the ground for many months until it is completely rotten, then it is hung to air dry for more months. This shark is lethally poisonous if eaten without fermenting first, but after it has been fermented, the poison is consumed during the preservation process. The stench of the shark meat during fermentation is so horrendous, that it has to be done in very rural areas with little or no population because the stench is almost unbearable, and it carries for miles. When Andrew Zimmern was given a taste of the shark meat, he said the odor was that of very strong ammonia, but when he tasted it, the meat had the taste and texture of a fine cheese.

No one should ever try to ferment meat unless one really knows what one is doing. Meat that is fermented incorrectly can kill you. It is the one food group you have to be very careful with when it comes to preserving through fermentation. I have not tried to ferment meat, nor will I unless I find someone who really knows what they are doing who can teach me.

My favorite fermented foods are made from vegetables, specifically Kimchi, a spicy Korean vegetable pickle usually made with Chinese cabbage or Daikon radish, onions, garlic, ginger and Korean red pepper. I still make it regularly, and I have some Kimchi fermenting on my kitchen counter at home today as I speak.

Most of my fermentation projects have been successful, however, I have had a few failures, as well. I will share two of my most memorable disasters.

My husband and I were sharing a quiet late evening at home. It was almost midnight, and I had just retired to bed and was reading for a few minutes before turning out the light. Skip was across the hall sitting at the computer. Without warning, we heard a thunderous KABOOM followed by the sound of breaking glass. It scared us both half to death, and it was especially alarming in that it came from our bedroom closet. I jumped out of bed, Skip ran into our room and together we opened the closet door to a closet full of red wine and glass covering the clothes, the shoes, the walls, and the white carpet on the floor.

The wine that I thought was done fermenting, was not. After fermenting wine in my kitchen for several months to make sure it was truly done, I stored my wine in gallon jugs in the bedroom closet for lack of storage space. After reading the Book, Wild Fermentation, by Sandor Katz, I decided not to put Camden tablets into my wine after the fermentation process was done. Always before, I dropped a Camden tablet into the finished wine to kill any remaining yeasts or bacteria that might cause the wine to go into a secondary fermentation. But the book explained that sulfates are harmful to health, and also unnecessary if the wine is allowed to completely ferment before sealing. Obviously, my wine wasn’t done fermenting, so since that disaster in the closet, I now either store my finished wine in the refrigerator without sulfates, or if I have several gallons, I go ahead and use the sulfate tablets to end the process.

The second failure occurred two years ago on the day we were to sign loan papers to purchase an RV we wanted to buy. I was in my office shortly before our appointment with the RV dealer when I received a phone call from Skip asking me how busy I was. I told him I was very busy, and he said, “Well, something just exploded in the kitchen, and you need to come clean it up.” So I dropped everything to run home and see what it was. I knew it couldn’t be a bottle of wine, because I had learned my lesson in that regard. But when I arrived home, the kitchen counter which had been covered with my various ferments (my kids call them my “science projects”) was completely bare of everything except purple liquid. All my “science projects” were on the floor lying in broken glass and this strange purple liquid. My jars of Kombucha Tea, Kimchi, Kefir and various other ferments were all destroyed. I looked around, and everything in the kitchen and the adjoining dining room was covered in purple. The counters, cupboards, walls, stove, refrigerator, floor, ceiling – everything – dripping PURPLE. After looking around to find out what the purple liquid was, I found the source of the explosion. I had decided to make some homemade grape soda with the grape juice I preserved from our concord grapes. The recipe called for a 2-liter plastic pop bottle to be used. The recipe for the naturally fermented soda pop said that after 24 hours on the kitchen counter, place in the fridge. Well, I forgot to put it in the fridge that morning before I left for work, and it was summer, the morning sun had heated up the kitchen, and BOOM! Purple grape juice soda everywhere. So I got busy and began cleaning it up. Skip had to call the RV dealer and postpone our meeting by a couple of hours. Skip was not happy. He helped me clean up the mess, but he was livid with barely concealed rage, and his face was almost the color of the grape juice we cleaned up. For some reason, as we were cleaning up the mess, it struck me funny. It was all I could do to not laugh. I thought I would strangle as the chortles and chuckles welled up within me. But I choked them down. I dared not laugh, because I had this man next to me who was going to be the next bomb going off if I dared to see humor in this.

It took us months to clean up the purple. Every time I turned around, there were more grape juice stains to clean up. Again, I would laugh. And we didn’t get the last of it cleaned up until just a few months ago, when Skip finally painted the ceiling. For two years, we have been living with purple stains all over our ceiling. Many visitors questioned us about our purple spots on the ceiling. Now, finally, the last tell-tale sign of that mighty grape explosion is gone – except for a couple of my beloved cookbooks, which have grape stains on them – a lasting reminder of the day of the “great purple explosion.”

My Tribute To Grandma

I had the pleasure and distinct honor to grow up with an awesome, powerful and beautiful woman. She helped shape my life into what it is today. Her name was Martha, and I am her first-born grandchild. Because of that, I believe we possessed a special bond that formed from the first moment we met.

From my earliest memories, I remember my deep adoration and love for Grandma and hers for me. All her life, she planted a garden, but she also planted countless happy memories into my childhood, my teenage years, and young adulthood.

Grandma taught me how to quilt. She taught me how to fish, and she taught me how to grow a garden. She taught me how to make pickles and sauerkraut, how to make Beerocks, how to make homemade noodles, how to skin a catfish, and how to laugh so hard and so long, that the tears flowed, and the stomach muscles ached for days afterwards. But most importantly, she taught me to be strong, and to not be ashamed of my strength as a woman.

While I was a young woman growing up trying to find my way, I thought there was something wrong with me because I was strong, assertive, and always taking the lead—never wanting to be a follower. I tried hard to change—to be the meek, mild mannered woman I believed to be my position in life as taught to me by religious leaders, but to no avail. I saw my strength as a flaw, and I felt like such a failure. I often ranted at God, asking why he didn’t make me a man instead. My life would have been so much easier—especially in the arena of Christian ministry because so many men are threatened by strong women, and they refuse to acknowledge we have a place in any ministry or even in business that places us in a position of authority over men.

I finally realized one day about 10 years ago that God made me exactly the way He intended. It was a comment made in passing by my Aunt Marge who probably doesn’t even remember saying it, but she made a remark that burned into my soul—that I am the way I am because “it’s in the wood.” In other words, there is no getting rid of who I am or my tendency to want to be in charge, to lead and not to follow, to achieve and not just wander along in mediocrity. I was handcrafted by God, and he used the power of my lineage—my mother, my grandmother, my great grandmother, and generations of a long line of strong women. My grandmother was one of the most influential in my life because she was never ashamed of her strength, whether it was her own towering stature, her humongous hands and feet, her hearty and braying laughter, or her prevailing personality. She was at ease and completely comfortable in her own skin. Since I realized that, I have learned to relax and at the same time revel in my strength and my uniqueness.

A few days before Grandma went to be with the Lord, she was still able to maintain her incredible sense of humor in the face of death. She knew she was dying and it was only a matter of days. Each day she grew increasingly weaker to the point that she could barely speak above a whisper or even open her eyes. But she loved me so much, she had the strength to whisper the words, “I love you, Dill Pickle Eater”, and then she smiled. She was making reference to a private joke between us in remembering my visits as a teenager. I often would spend several days or a weekend with her and sleep in the basement next to the room where she stored her home canned fruits and vegetables. I loved her dill pickles so much, I often took a jar to bed with me and would consume the entire jar of pickles while reading before turning out the light. Afterwards, I would look in fear and guilt at the empty jar, and would hide it under the bed. Grandma found the pickle jars, and laughed about it for years afterwards.

I was asked to single out one of my most vivid memories of Grandma, and up until the day Grandma transformed to glory, I had many to choose from. But now I have only one. I will never forget the day of April 23^rd at 12:28pm when I had the honor of being present when Grandma left her earthly shell and entered into the arms of Jesus.

In her last hours on earth, Grandma was surrounded by all her children. At the very end, I told her if she wanted to go be with Jesus, it was okay, because we were all going to be just fine. I think she just needed to hear that we would do okay without her. She suddenly stopped struggling for breath, and as she rested, I read her the Twenty-Third Psalm that promised her the Shepherd (Jesus) would be with her through the valley of the shadow of death as she walked through that corridor into eternal life.

Grandma then peacefully took her last breath and passed the baton to us. That baton I speak of is her legacy of strength and the determination to survive and, yes, even to conquer. For the Bible says, “we are more than conquerors through Christ Jesus who loved us.”

I thank God for my grandmother and for that legacy of strength. I will continue on and fight the good fight of faith just as she demonstrated, and I will carry that torch for my children and my children’s children so that if it is in their nature, they will learn that not only is it okay to be strong, but it is also by God’s design. What a revelation!

I love you Grandma, and I miss you. I will see you on the other side.

Michael Pollan says it very eloquently: “The omnivore’s dilemma has returned with a vengeance, as the cornucopia of the modern American supermarket and fast-food outlet confronts us with a bewildering and treacherous food landscape. What’s at stake in our eating choices is not only our own and our children’s health, but the health of the environment that sustains life on earth.”

It has turned every shopping trip into a moral dilemma for me. Why? Because after reading these books (and even prior to them), I had made a personal decision to begin “buying local” and “eating seasonally” as much as possible. But after reading them, I crossed the threshold. Now, rather than just casually going about it, I am forced to live what I have learned. I am not a hard core “locavore” by any means, and I don’t presume to force my opinion and lifestyle on anyone else, but my shopping habits have now become a nightmare of the morality of my choices.

Let me give you a “for instance”. Yesterday, I went grocery shopping at my local “Costco.” It is the middle of winter (January 2008), and I made the stupid mistake of walking into the fresh produce area where I was tempted with beautiful produce shipped thousands of miles from where I live.

Do you know what it is like to break out into a cold sweat and get heart palpitations because of agonizing over whether or not to buy a 3-pack of English cucumbers (wrapped in plastic at $3.39 each)? That is over a buck each per cucumber, not to mention the fact that these cucumbers had to be shipped from somewhere in Zone 8 (a subtropical growing area). I finally gave in to that “lust” for those “out of season” cukes, and quietly purchased them. However, the guilt I feel for buying them out of season has probably ruined any enjoyment I will have from eating them.

But I will continue my endeavor to buy and eat locally grown foods. This little slip will not become a way of life. Never again will I be able to go into a grocery store and just indiscriminately buy whatever I want. My conscience has been awakened, and it is a now a mine field of moral choices I have to make on each and every purchase.

It’s a good thing I’m a gardener. Not only do I grow most of our vegetables, I also preserve them for winter eating. We are now consuming foods that I put up last summer and fall. My pantry is well-stocked, and we have plenty to get us through until the next growing season. Most of our fresh vegetables are potatoes, winter squash, and cabbage. I have plenty of home canned vegetables and frozen vegetables, such as corn, beans, Swiss chard, and tomatoes. My dehydrator went full blast most of the summer and fall, as well, so I have a good stock of dried vegetables, too. I also have frozen and home-canned fruit. Our fresh fruit is mostly locally grown apples.

Even if I weren’t a gardener, I would purchase most of my produce from the local vegetable and fruit stands around here in the summer rather than the huge grocery stores that purchase produce which has been transported across many energy guzzling miles. I have also found a local source for meat. I found a farmer in our area who grows pork and beef and sells it by the half and quarter. It is cut and packaged per my instructions by a local butcher, and it tastes fantastic. There is no comparison to it between that which is purchased from the grocery store. The only drawback is buying this way requires having a freezer to store it, and the initial capital outlay is higher than buying a couple of pounds of meat at a time. So I have to plan ahead and set aside grocery money for these types of purchases. But after tasting this local meat, I will always try to purchase it this way from now on.

Furthermore, I know that the animals were treated humanely, grew up on a farm and did not have to endure life in a feedlot. I like to think their happy life transferred into the wonderful flavor of their meat we now enjoy. Now I only have to find local sources for my poultry consumption. I am working on it, but thus far have not found it. I yearn for my own chickens–to grow my own, have my own home-grown eggs, our own chickens to butcher and eat, but we live on a tiny little lot in town. No chance of that for now. The best we can do is to continue growing our rabbits. We have had a reasonably successful rabbit year, and I know our rabbits are happy and well-fed right up until the time I dispatch them. I feed them from my garden, and in turn, they give me the gift of their lean white meat we enjoy, and the bunny poo they produce while still living to put back in the garden to feed and grow our organic vegetables.

So, if you and yours are interested in living lighter on the earth, reducing your fossil fuel consumption by the choices you make, and preserving our environment for our children and our children’s children, then by all means read these books. Just beware—depending on the volume of your conscience (mine is quite loud), you may end up like me—green.

So I dry my tears and move on because it’s not all about me. I know my daughter must live her own life. She and my son-in-law are both adults and have many choices to make daily. They are moving in the direction they feel God has led them, and I am thankful that they are both Christians, wanting to live and be directed by Him. God bless them and keep each of them safe.

I miss my grandchildren. I had so many dreams of watching them grow up, being so much a part of their early years. Just stuff I have looked forward to ever since my own children were born–looking forward to those grandbabies. Never anticipated that they wouldn’t be around after they were born–it never even occurred to me. But they are gone. Along with them, my dreams and my joy.

Grief continues to torment me. Still feeling that ache in the center of my chest–with every breath, it hurts. When will it stop? It hasn’t even begun to dissipate. I have always believed that time heals all, but so far–no relief.

When I think of the uncle who suddenly took the place of their grandpa, and the aunt who took my place, the anger wells up all over again. I want it to go away, I have prayed for it to be gone, confessed with my mouth that I forgive them, but still I deal with the pain, and the pain still brings anger. I want to escape, but I can’t.

I want my joy back. I have lost it and can’t find it again. Must continue working to regain it.

Later after graduation, I got married and began raising a family. It wasn’t until about 10 years later that I again experienced another life event that later nudged me toward senior care. I saw and experienced in my own family what happens to seniors when they are moved against their will into assisted living.

My grandparents were getting up in age, and Grandma began accidentally leaving the stove on. Both Grandma and Grandpa were having trouble remembering to take medications. They were slowing down; the children began worrying about them because they were becoming a bit frail due to perhaps not eating right. It was decided that Grandma and Grandpa should be moved to a retirement center where meals would be served and they would be around others their own age.

Many seniors decide to make this move on their own, and retirement centers and assisted living facilities are a blessing for that very reason. They meet the needs of those who make the choice, and seniors who choose to move to these facilities are, by and large, very happy with the choice they make. However, for those who do not wish to move, but are coerced into it by worried grown children and extended family members, the results are often devastatingly the opposite.

My Grandpa, when introduced to the new apartment in the facility chosen for them, walked around admiring it. Their belongings had been downsized and the remainder had been moved in to the tiny apartment to help give it that “home” feeling. However, after a short while, he said, “Well, this is nice, but I’d like to go home now.” My Grandpa was a “putterer” in the purest sense of the word. He loved being busy, working on various projects, being outside and taking care of his property. Moving him into a place with nowhere to putter was like taking a fish out of water. He began to quickly deteriorate – mentally and physically. He started experiencing mini-strokes, sometimes barely noticeable. His health declined to the point where both he and Grandma were moved to a nursing home to live out the rest of their days.

In my childhood memories, Grandpa was a vibrant, happy and personable man. He transformed almost overnight from walking, talking and laughing, to a wheelchair, then became bedridden, and finally lost his ability to communicate. He no longer recognized anyone or knew where he was.

I remember the last time I ever saw him. He was a skeleton of his former self. Grandpa was very hard of hearing, so during my last visit, I got very close to his face, and I spoke to him, telling him who I was. Suddenly, recognition flooded his face. It was as if the lights went on inside. His recognition of me caused a profusion of tears to roll down his face. I, too, began to cry. We had made that one last connection close to the end of his life. It is a precious memory I will carry with me forever.

That was a pivotal point in my life. At the time my grandparents needed help, in-home care was almost unheard of. It wasn’t even a consideration. Now, however, in-home care is a popular alternative in assisted living options. Seniors now have the choice of “aging in place” if they so choose. Children of aging parents owe it to their folks to investigate the option of in-home senior care if seniors don’t want to move. Seniors must be given the respect and courtesy of making their own decisions, and not be pressured into making an unwanted move. Grown children don’t always know what is best for mom and dad. Of paramount importance is respecting the senior’s choice. The time may come when there is no alternative other than a 24-hour skilled nursing facility. Until that time comes, seniors must be treated with dignity, and their wishes should be respected. Their happiness and quality of life may depend on it.

Moreover, the children and animals that disappear at this time of year are more likely to be sacrificed in witch covens. There are people out there that for whatever reason, think that worshipping satan and sacrificing the innocents is their ticket to power and wealth. They believe, and because they believe, they are doing murder on this “fun” holiday. People! when are you going to wake up!

I never allowed my kids to go trick-or-treating or dress in scary costumes on this day, but I did take them to church harvest parties where they dressed up as Bible characters. They played games and got their bag of candy, so they didn’t feel left out of all the festivities. But it just bugs me to no end that Christians have to come up with some kind of alternative to this evil celebration to placate their kids. I regret that I allowed myself to participate in these “alternative” activities in order to avoid being the bad guy with my kids.

When driving around the neighborhoods, I see the Halloween decorations in people’s yards. I am amazed at the amount of money spent on this holiday trash. What are people thinking?! Why do they throw their money away on this crap? I read recently that Americans now spend more on Halloween decorations and candy than any other holiday other than Christmas.

It makes me sick. I think possibly that this is one of the reasons I dislike autumn. The holidays begin with Halloween and culminate with Christmas, and it is all about commercialism, spending money, pressure from all sides to give gifts we can’t afford to give, buy stuff we don’t need, and to be put inside a pressure cooker of deadlines. It’s not about remembering Christ. It’s about consumption and spending money on stuff we don’t need.

I usually end up sick every year after the holidays, and I know it’s because of the stress and because of the overdose of rich, sugary foods. It just takes a toll on my immune system.

How does one extricate oneself from this cycle that sucks us down into the mire of consumption and gluttony that invades every area of our lives at this time of year? I grasp for ways to combat this every year, but I feel like I fail each year, as well.

As the days get shorter in late autumn and early winter, I feel that I am being sucked down into a dark well. I am a child of the light, and I hate the darkness that surrounds me at this time of year. I truly dread this season which culminates in the shortest day of the year. December and January are dark and cold. I long for Spring.

The garden is just about done. Our weather has cooled considerably in the last two weeks. Even though we haven’t yet had a frost (one is due any day), the plants are looking old, worn and bedraggled. I tried growing sweet potatoes for the first time this year, and I am going to harvest them today before the first frost, as I have heard that the frost will damage them and keep them from storing long-term. I don’t think they were in the ground the required 120 days since I planted them as an after-thought in late spring. So they will probably only be fingerling size.

I had no clue that sweet potato vines would completely take over my garden. I only planted 3 or 4 slips, but they went crazy and crawled all over everything—even going between the crack of my wood fence and creeping into the front yard flowerbed and yard grass.

Also, this year I planted a honeysuckle on that same fence and a Chinese Wisteria. They should both go completely bonkers next summer. I hope the fence is strong enough to contain them. I understand that Wisteria can become very unruly and requires extensive trimming to keep it from taking over. I may change my mind about the Wisteria and dig it out if it becomes too aggressive.

I have been preserving food daily—making pickles, dehydrating summer squash and eggplant. I even harvested my first crop of hops this year. Hops is another vine plant that completely takes over if you let it. I was amazed by its tremendous growth this summer. I received a tiny little transplant from a friend last year. It did nothing last year, but, holy cow, did it ever grow this year. I harvested a gallon of hops, and there are tons more. I don’t know if I will use the hops I harvested, but I dried them and vac-sealed them in quart jars. I have good intentions of home-brewing some beer, but am always stymied by a multitude of other irons in the fire (job, family, garden, various other projects, etc.). I also don’t like the idea of buying malt extract and other prepared ingredients for beer-making. I want to make and grow my own ingredients. I don’t know why I have to do everything the hard way (totally from scratch), but I just have this urge to know how to do things without the modern conveniences we all enjoy. When I make my first batch of beer, I will report on its success or failure.

My mother told me yesterday that she asked my grandmother what they used to use as a yeast for leavening bread when she was young, as store-bought yeast did not yet exist at that time. (Grandma is 92-years-old.) Grandma told mom that they used to use hops. They would go out and pick the hops, dry them, and then use some by boiling them in water and let it set overnight before using the “hop water” to add to the bread to make it rise. Is that amazing or what? I had never heard that. I had heard of making sourdough starter with the use of microbial yeasts found in the air around us. I have even tried this method myself and have succeeded, but had never heard about using hops as a leavening agent. I will have to research this and try it.

As most of you know, I have a fermentation fetish. I love to experiment in the kitchen, fermenting various foods and drinks. This summer, I decided to try a new method of making “natural grape soda” by using a recipe that requires leaving a 2-liter bottle of grape juice on the counter for 2 days after mixing with sugar and yeast until “the bottle is hard to the touch and can no longer be squeezed.” Thereafter, you are supposed to put it in the fridge where the fermentation will slow dramatically, but not completely stop. I made the mistake of starting this recipe in the heat of summer during those 100+ degree temperatures of July and August. This heat turns my kitchen into an oven by late morning—especially since we are usually gone during the day and cut back on the air conditioning when no one is home. Suffice it to say that my natural grape soda fermented much too rapidly, and at the end of the second day on the counter, it EXPLODED.

I was at the office, but my dear husband was in the bedroom when he heard the bomb go off (mingled with breaking glass). He came running out to see “The Color Purple” from the ceiling to the floor—everything looking about as apoplectic in color as his face. The counter which had earlier been the temporary storage place of my jars of various dried herbs, vinegars, fermenting pickles, kefir, kombucha and homemade grape soda, was now strangely emptied of all but one or two heavy appliances, such as my breadmaker (now colored purple, as well). Everything which had been on the counter was now in fragments on the floor—mixing with the strange purple concoction that covered virtually everything.

I received a “courtesy call” at the office from dear hubby asking if I was busy. I indicated I was, and he calmly and matter-of-factly stated that one of my bottles of wine blew up in the kitchen, and that “I” had a huge mess to clean up, so could I kindly get home as quickly as possible. I dropped everything and came home immediately to find it was not concord grape wine that blew up; rather, it was my new batch of concord grape soda that had exploded. The soda is worse than wine when it comes to stains, as the juice is pure juice—not diluted by water, as is the case with wine.

In the short amount of time it took me to get home, DH had worked himself up into a lather of quiet fury. I arrived to find him angrily mopping up the kitchen floor, and not seeming to make any head way at all in the insurmountable task of cleaning up the mess. He was royally TICKED OFF, and could not see the humor in it at all. However, I did, but I knew the danger of laughing at this point. So I struggled to quiet the giggles within and quietly began picking up broken glass, then moved on to help mop and begin scrubbing walls, windows, appliances, ceiling, etc. The whole time, I was strangling on my secret amusement—struggling valiantly to suppress the bubbles of laughter that wanted so badly to escape from inside me. I knew this was not the time to laugh, however funny it struck me, as Skip was NOT amused at ALL!

Today, now 2 months since the “purple explosion” I still have purple spots on my ceiling that I intend to cover with paint. The gallon of paint and a paint brush is in a corner of the kitchen to remind me to take care of this duty, however, I haven’t found the time to do it yet. Two months later, I am still scrubbing sticky purple drips off of various items and walls in the kitchen, the blinds, and other surprising areas I just discovered. Every time I find a new spot to clean up, I get that strange bubble of laughter tickling the insides of my chest until I just literally burst out laughing again. Why is it that such dumb things strike me funny?! Sometimes I think I have the most warped sense of humor.

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My daughter, her husband, and our grandsons moved to Spokane this week. They left 2 days ago, so DH and I have hauled all the toys, baby furniture, car seats, etc., up to the attic. I had to get them out of my sight immediately, as the reminders of the babies are just too fresh and painful right now. I thought about selling or giving away everything, but have decided to keep them in the hope that maybe DD or DS will decide to get married and start a family one day soon. But for now, I just had to get everything out of sight. It’s amazing how much room all that stuff took up. Our small home became exceedingly cramped and cluttered with all the baby paraphernalia we accumulated. It’s a relief to get it cleaned up and out of here.

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My business is still growing. I have hired a part-time office assistant and have begun training my Client Care Coordinator as a manager. I would like her to be able to run the business if and when I am not there. If I were to die tomorrow, my goal is to have that business up and running to the point that it won’t collapse without me. I want my clients to be provided with continuous care in my absence, my employees to still have jobs if I am not there. I just wish I had more knowledge in how to accomplish this. Wisdom and knowledge are the two things I pray for continuously, as I know I am seriously lacking in this area. It is true what the Bible says—that people perish because of a lack of knowledge. I must study to show myself approved, and a worker worthy of my hire. The job that God has given me, I must do diligently. My prayer is that He will supply me with the right people around me to help build the business, and give me the wisdom to make the right decisions in growing it according to His will. I have a strong desire to get business affairs in order–legal and financial. I know from past experience not to ignore those strong inclinations. I don’t think I’m going to die soon, and I am not being morbid. I just think it is wise to prepare, because no one knows what the future holds. It is important that I get my head out of the sand and get these things taken care of. I am taking steps accordingly.

Right now, I think it is time to hire a marketing assistant. Ideas about bonus structure and how to pay someone on a commission basis are running through my head and being jotted down on paper. Ideas are beginning to gel, so I will hire a marketing person very soon. If anyone out there is familiar with bonus structures and commission-based pay, please let me know. I am looking at any and all ideas.

I am also looking at better and more cost effective recruiting ideas and marketing ideas. Any and all ideas, please feel free to pass on to me.

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Vacation, AH!!!! DH and I just got back last week from a trip to the Oregon Coast. Just what the doctor ordered! By the time we left for vacation, I was so stressed out from everything that was going on around me, I wasn’t sleeping. I was a walking bundle of nerves. Poor DH was forced to sleep alone for about a month because I was up prowling around all night every night. I was exhausted, but couldn’t sleep. When I did fall asleep, I didn’t stay asleep longer than 2 or 3 hours. Then I was up the rest of the night. I really feared that I would not be able to sleep while we were on vacation with our friends, but I was so relieved to find that all I had to do was get away from the stressors (the job, the computer, bad news of all kinds) and just relax and have fun, laugh and visit with friends, forget about everything going on at home, go sight-seeing, sit on the deck and watch and listen to the ocean going in and out…. Well, I slept like a baby every night! I couldn’t believe the difference. It was just what I needed. I learned a couple of valuable lessons from this trip. A) My business will not fall apart without me there every minute; and B) I need to take a vacation more often. My mental and physical health desperately need it.

One of the things DH and I decided to do to facilitate that need for more vacations was to buy a new used RV. We signed the papers on our new trailer on the same day we had the grape explosion. In fact, we had to postpone the meeting so we could clean up our mess in the kitchen first. We’ve used it once so far. But we have many plans for its future use.