Crab Orchard

From left to right, bushels of Golden Delicious, Arkansas Black, Rome Beauty, and Winesap Apples at Brummett's Orchard in Crab Orchard, Kentucky.

Kentucky place names continue to fascinate me. In Pulaski County, the county where we live, we have Bee Lick, Acorn, Blue John, Elrod, Piney Grove and Sinking Valley. Adjacent Casey County (where we spend a lot of time) has Beech Bottom, Butchertown, Honey Acre, Pumpkin Chapel, Phil and Teddy. There is also Flippin and Bugtussle down in Monroe County [for more on unusual Kentucky place names, check out my "Flippin Towards Bugtussle" blog entry from April 2008.] But how about Blue Lick, Chicken Bristle, Dog Walk, Jumbo, Miracle or Turkey Town up in Lincoln County? Among those Lincoln County places there is also the town of Crab Orchard at the intersection of historic Highway 150 and 39.

I love crab apples and have wondered about the name of this town since I first saw it in The Kentucky Atlas & Gazetteer [also published by DeLorme]. Did it once have acres of crab apple trees? We know from looking at the historic images on the wall in the local café that it used to be a spa town in the nineteenth century and billed as "the coolest place in Kentucky" because of its knobby hills and 1,000 foot altitude. [No, they weren't talking hip or funky, folks.]

We went to Crab Orchard today, about an hour's drive from our home, because we had 23 Cornish X chickens, nine weeks old, more than ready to be butchered. We didn't want to do the deed ourselves, after all, for many reasons but mostly because of time (and "time is money") and not having enough of it this week. We brought our other batch up there in July [see "Chicken Houses I Have Known" blog entry from July 2009] when we were delighted to discover Amishman Joe Yoder at J&V's Slaughterhouse on Hwy 39 north of Crab Orchard.

Before we left–and after we heard about a benefit auction on Friday and also picked out our Thanksgiving turkey from the coop (and a few more for our freezer)–we mentioned that Crab Orchard seemed to need a restaurant. Joe told us about the Past Time Café [306 Stanford Street, Crab Orchard, 606-355-0046]. So we stopped there for a late lunch and were not disappointed. Temple had the double-cheeseburger "box" (which included fab coleslaw and fries, but oddly enough didn't come in a box) and I had the chili and grilled cheese sandwich special...with sides of cole slaw and corn nuggets (fried balls of sweet corn and just a bit of batter–much different than hush puppies).

Temple despaired that they were out of the meat loaf special but I reminded him that "meatloaf and mashed potatoes" was what we were having for supper, at home (besides, he would have just said, no matter who's meatloaf he was eating, "yours is better"). We tried the pies and should have known better (not homemade and not like even the worst pie I could conjure up). OK, I know, all this talk of food and you're saying, but she just posted on her ongoing weight loss–clearly we do not lose weight when we eat like this! But I do still need to talk about the food we love and love to eat once in a while, too...and it is once-in-a-while...well, maybe not so much recently but like I said, smaller portions, and we don't beat ourselves up when we do indulge.



Probably the people to answer my "crab apple" question would have been Francis and Rowena Brummett who have operated Brummett's Orchard and Apple House since the 1960s when they planted their trees [5060 Hwy 39 South, Crab Orchard, 606-355-7526]. We've driven by their sign along Route 39 many times but didn't realize they were still in business. Today we happened to see an "Apples for Sale" sign and as I needed some more for applesauce and apple butter, we stopped on the way home. We were delighted by the warm welcome of this couple and enjoyed talking with them. Francis was just bringing in some cord wood to stoke their wood stove in the cold apple "house."



The Brummetts have been married 64 years and are still going strong. Rowena told me about her apple butter recipe that she'd printed up (but in our haste to get back to pick up our boys by 3:30, I forgot to ask for it). She also said at the holidays that she takes an apple, like a Rome Beauty, and cores it out, puts a tablespoon or so of red hot cinnamon candies in it and then presses some around the cored-out hole ("so they dribble over when baking") and bakes them in a pan of water. [They also have several varieties of peaches in July and various kinds of pears available in September.]

Temple asked his usual apple question at an orchard: "Do you have Wolf Rivers?" They did, but not for sale that day [the Wolf River is a very old and hearty heirloom apple and often a pound or more in size].

On Friday we will return to get our 23 chickens and the four turkeys from Joe Yoder because we discovered that there will be a benefit turkey dinner and auction at 5pm in Crab Orchard for an Amishman who has contracted leukemia. So we're bringing along some of our Mennonite friends, picking our boys up early from school, stopping at the orchard and some of the Amish-run shops, and then getting our meat. It will be a fun outing for all and a good cause...and a chance to get another turkey dinner in the month of November. And I'll be certain to ask about that Crab Orchard question (and hopefully I can get some crab apples or Lady apples from the Brummetts, too–for jelly, jams and decorations).


Charlie (right) and Hazel, the draft horses at our friends, Melvin and Anna's farm. Today they were pulling a load of shucked corn. Schnoofler, their dog, is a brother and litter-mate to our John and Tom (and poor little Patch whom I will always miss and wonder about).


On the way home after getting our boys we stopped at our friends to check-in about tomorrow (we are dropping off their 25 chickens for them to process between themselves and another family). They wanted to do our chickens for us but we didn't want them to do our dirty work if we couldn't also be there to help–as we have fencing going on here and several other things. PHOTO–Our son Henry tosses a shucked ear of corn into the wagon. Legend has it that when you found a red ear of corn in the patch you were supposed to bring it to your sweetheart for a kiss, as described by Miss Spindle in the play, The Drunkard; or, the Fallen Saved [1850: Adapted by W.H. Smith] My husband told us about this custom, and a bit about corn husking dances, so I Googled it.

So I was delighted that my husband suggested we bring the chickens all the way to Crab Orchard again (as it turns out, this week is the last week that two local slaughterhouses are processing poultry before kicking it in for deer season for the next two months). Also, we were able to select some fresh local turkey, also to be butchered tomorrow, for our freezer–and the "big event" in a few weeks. The drive to Crab Orchard was well worth the $2 a chicken to butcher, the extra gas, and time (well, mess really) that was saved (sort of) in butchering ourselves, but it was also fun to enjoy the scenery and to have had a nice daytime date with my husband.

And on the way home, after visiting our friends, we watched a glorious pageant of sunset in Casey County:



Now the day is over,
Night is drawing nigh;
Shadows of the evening
Steal across the sky.



Now the darkness gathers,
Stars begin to peep,
Birds and beasts and flowers
Soon will be asleep.



NOTE: Words from a beloved hymn "Now the Day is Over" by Sabine Baring-Gould (lyrics, in 1865–he also wrote "Onward Christian Soldiers") and set to the tune "Merrial," composed by Sir Joseph Barnby in 1868. [It was apparently also among those hymns sung on the ill-fated Titanic.]

One Foot In Front of the Other

On my birthday a few weeks ago, from part way up our knob hill overlooking part of our farm, I greeted the dawn (which before Daylight Savings was around 8am here, believe it or not).

There is always a reason not to do something, isn't there? Like walking. I would rather stay in my head, in a book, in the kitchen, even doing laundry, than exercising. I expect most people feel that way (although I do think there is a natural "chip" some of us have that makes us want to just get up and go run for five miles without thinking about it...I lack that chip!). To me, thinking and writing has always been great mental exercise, but, the body needs a workout, too.

Since mid-May I have lost 40 pounds. This is huge for me (excuse the pun) because for a long time food has been my drug of choice and I just ignored the scale, so much so that I didn't even know what I weighed. In my family, that's not a good idea: while I come from some sturdy, often heavy, German stock with longevity genes on one hand, there is a high rate of cancer on the other (from "good" living but poor lifestyle choices, most often). My mother's Anglo side of the family is smaller and thinner but prone to things like high cholesterol, high blood pressure and heart attacks. So I decided, even though my blood work was fine in all ways, even the sugar, that I had no more excuses not to be as healthy physically as I possibly can. I want to turn 50 in three years with a whole new established way of living and eating–and a stronger, healthier me. There is still so much that I want to do in my life, children to raise, friends and family to love and to bother, books to write. I thank God for my many blessings, and for friends and immediate family that love me unconditionally (no matter what I look like), but I am learning to "give myself oxygen first" after many years of not bothering.

So far it has been surprisingly easy taking the first chunk of weight off because I haven't deprived myself too much but just limited portions and played games with myself ("OK you can have that piece of cake today if you don't have any sweets for the rest of the week..."). I also have good friends and a husband who have been losing, too, and there is nothing more supportive or helpful. Like with everything else, I am learning to say "no"–both to myself and to others who might want to feed me. "No thank you." Inner voices can be important in this process. I've also learned that the food will always be there again–that I don't have to eat like there's no tomorrow! In the summer months with so much fresh produce it was easy but now, with winter ahead and the inclination to make heavier meals or casseroles or to just want to carbo-load, I must take renewed action.

I've been in a bit of a plateau for a few months and basically eating whatever I want, but again, in moderation. I'm kind of in maintenance when I really should still be in kick-butt mode. Now that it is cooler and the chiggers are dormant (those things are nasty and I still have wart-like welts on my legs from where they bit this summer), I have no more excuses not to take walks around our beautiful part of the world. I'd contemplated Zumba classes and signing up at our local YMCA, but that means 20 minutes each way by car, and at a busy time of the day (evenings). We have a treadmill, and weights, but they are all "in storage" and there is no point in setting those back up until they have a final resting spot.

Walking is always so connective–with ourselves, with the landscape, with each other. So to is writing, blogging, and reading. [Over at Cupcake Chronicles we've reinvigorated our little virtual book group by reading together this month, The Help by Kathryn Stockett. Feel free to read along with us and to join the conversation.] Inner core and outer core work–that's what I need.


The puppies–John and Tom–came along, too. After all, they have free-range of the place and what dog doesn't love to walk alongside you?

So, because we now are so blessed to live on this beautiful farm near a hardly traveled ridge road and virtually our own lane that divides much of our property, there is no excuse not to be out there enjoying it as much as possible. We have glorious fields to walk in and woods roads around the farm. With the assurance that we will likely have a snow-less winter most of the time here in balmier Kentucky–yet still with the semblance of four seasons that I love–there is no reason I can't be out walking almost every day, even on our surrounding roads if necessary. Besides, it will help those winter time "blues" around less sunlight and this will help to reinvigorate our mutual family diet plan (we all like to eat and I like to cook!). Walking along altogether–with the puppies along, too–on a glorious autumn Sunday afternoon: well, it doesn't get much better than that!

Except, maybe, for the pork tenderloin dinner with summer corn, oven roasted potatoes and stir-fried green apples that we just ate...but at least we all had a nice long walk together, first. And Sundays are going to be our "cheat day"–not a complete pig out but a nice dinner, with a "sensible dessert" (is there such a thing?) and maybe a heartier breakfast, too. The rest of the week we will eat quite sensibly and minimally. And lots of walks. I think it will work.

Chasing Down the Moon: Part 4

Go expressly to enjoy the moon and it turns to tinsel,

but discover it on a necessary journey

and its beauty bathes the soul.

-Ralph Waldo Emerson

Tonight, no moon, but feeling moon-y...or is that moody? The full moon energy has waned into a bit of monthly weariness but then again, it's been that kind of few days. But tonight–as we drove off to a church benefit supper at twilight when the purple, advancing wall approached us from the east and to the west it was orange and luminous–I thought about a favorite book of each of our children, but especially Henry. For a year or so of each of their childhoods it became a bedtime ritual. If you do not know the book, I highly recommend it for your own children or grandchildren or even to tuck away one day "in hopes"... I have three hardbacks tucked away myself, one to give each child one day when they have families of their own, or "just because."

It is Grandfather Twilight, written and illustrated by Barbara Berger [originally published by Philomel Books in 1984 and still in print]. It is a quiet and comforting book as Grandfather pulls the night along with him through the forest until he lights his candle and goes to sleep. But first he assembles "an endless strand of pearls" and one grows bigger and bigger as he walks:

"Gently he gives the pearl to the silence above the sea..."

The moon, of course!

If I had the book handy I would photograph some of Berger's exquisite images. [We also have her The Donkey's Dream in our Christmas library.] Grandfather also looks exactly like my husband's father, who the children called "Badda," who passed away in 2001, so it seems all the more poignant as we do miss him and carry him with us always.

Henry used to call this book "Grandfather Toolight" and as I write this I realize he is a week shy of being 12–yes, that was many moons ago now when we read this story together each night. Where do all of those moons go?

When Your Eggs Crack, Make Baked Custard!

I love lemonade. I could drink it all day, all year round. Not the powdered kind but the real lemony, pulpy kind that you splash over ice or serve in a frosted glass with mint and more lemon (one reason I love Cracker Barrel™ is because they serve this kind of lemonade–they also use real maple syrup when you order their breakfasts). In fact, I'm craving some lemonade right now. Sometimes I drink our tap water (one day we will tap into our own abundant springs on the farm here...one day) with a twist of lemon or just a bit of fruit juice. It helps me to consume more water.

So, OK, this is about eggs but the point is that I've always liked that "when life gives you lemons, you make lemonade" sentiment. Sort of like "the glass is always half full" credo that I try to live by, because otherwise, what's the point? [And yeah, I've been known to play the Pollyanna "Glad Game," too. Call me sentimental.]

This afternoon when my husband brought up the basket of 18 or so eggs from our 26 hens (this seems to be their daily average) he bemoaned that he had cracked one, but just slightly so maybe I could use it in something "right away." I rolled my eyes, an art form I've perfected (just ask my husband), not really wanting to bake today. "Why don't you make baked custard?" he said, longingly, for that good old-fashioned mother-infused comfort food.

"Why not?" I thought. [You have to make what they want sometimes!]

My mother always made it in small Pyrex custard cups and when you think about it, a dessert portion back in my childhood (1962-1980, more or less, for those who are wondering)–and something we didn't have every night–was only about 1/2 cup of pudding or ice cream, maybe topped with a bit of whipped cream, if you were lucky.



I remembered a recipe in a fun little cookbook I have called The Little Big Book of Comfort Food published by Welcome Books, a division of Stewart, Tabori and Chang, as part of their series of well-crafted gift-sized books illustrated with vintage images. It's called "Baked Vanilla Pudding" and it's actually a baked custard that is creamy and doesn't separate (I believe the trick to that is the addition of extra egg yolk, as well as using scalded half-and-half vs. regular milk). PHOTO: Eli holds some of the larger eggs–two and three yolkers–that we've found since the hens began to lay in early August. One nice thing about cooking with your own eggs, from free-range hens, is that apart from their freshness, you will find the yolks to be especially large and quite yellow.

Custard is often associated with comfort food because it is basically egg, milk and a bit of sugar and was baked up as food for invalids or young children. If you like it a bit sweeter, add a bit more sugar to the recipe. Also, it is well worth using real–not imitation–vanilla, and grating a bit of nutmeg on top before baking, and serving with a dollop or squirt of whipped cream. [I use fresh grated nutmeg on and in so many things.] PHOTO: The little tiny egg is the smallest we've found in our hen house. A definite dud, more like a songbird's egg in size, so we're keeping it as is. The blue egg is from one of our Araucana hens and the brown egg could be from any of the other four varieties.



Baked Vanilla Pudding

• 3 eggs, slightly beaten
• 1 egg yolk
• 1/4 cup sugar
• 1/4 teaspoon salt
• 1 teaspoon vanilla extract
• 2 cups half-and-half, whole milk or skim milk, scalded
• freshly ground nutmeg to garnish

1. Put a teakettle of water on the stove to boil and preheat the oven to 325 degrees.
2. In a medium bowl, whisk together the eggs, egg yolk, sugar, salt and vanilla.
3. Gradually add the scalded (eg. just under boiling–do not boil) half-and-half or milk. Pour into six (6-ounce) custard cups (Pyrex or stoneware will do). Sprinkle with freshly grated nutmeg.
4. Place the custard cups in a large baking pan; pour boiling water into the pan to a depth of 1 inch.
5. Bake for 40-45 minutes or until a knife inserted halfway between the center and the edge of a cup comes out clean. Remove the cups from the water and cool. May be eaten warm or chilled.

Enjoy some easy baked comfort-in-a-cup!

Chasing Down the Moon: Part 3

This is one concert tour I've always regretted missing as I had a chance to see Kate Bush, who I had never heard of until the spring of 1979, at the New Theater in Oxford, England while living there for a month as an exchange student in high school. [I did nab tickets to Elton John's "A Single Man" tour which was brilliant and just he and the piano and a few back-up players, in a small theater setting.] If you know Kate Bush and her brilliant music, it was her one and only tour, ever. Imagine that in this age of stadium sell-outs?

Last night's third and final "moon chase" turned out to be another bust, well at least photographically. I saw the moon rise, at 6:54 (I checked in advance this time), and it was indeed a giant orange pumpkin cookie low on the horizon for a bit and then veiled in strange black clouds. Of course, all attempts to photograph it were futile but I was reminded in these images of Kate Bush's performance art-style rendition of "Kite" on this clip from a Hammersmith Odeon concert in 1979 (of which I've watched many clips over the years).





"Come up and be a kite,
On a diamond flight!
A diamond kite, a diamond kite.
Ooh, what a diamond!
A diamond kite
On a diamond flight.
Over the lights, under the moon.
Over the lights, under the moon.
Over the moon, over the moon!"

~ Kate Bush, Kite