Pantries I Saw on My Summer Vacation

An old Hoosier-esque cupboard in the shed at Green's Heritage Museum
 in Orient, Ohio. [I particularly like the vines growing around it.]

We took several trips to Ohio this summer and, of course, I brought my camera along. I'm always on the lookout for unusual spaces and pantry places along the way. What's fun about visiting Ohio is that even though I have spent much time there––as a child and adult––there is always something new to see or find. [For more about "What I Learned on My Summer Vacation," please see my Farmwife at Midlife blog.] We don't go far together now that we have a cattle farm and much responsibility here in Kentucky, so we do try to pack as much time as we can into our short trips.

The butler's pantry at the James A. Garfield Historic Site in Mentor, Ohio.

The interior of the small field worker's wagon at Green's Heritage Museum.
It was used by migrant workers from Kentucky who came up to Ohio each summer.
There is a small bedroom and an open area for cooking and living space––like a Gypsy caravan.

The cupboard and counter in the field worker's wagon.

A former tourist cabin.

The cupboard and kitchen area of the tiny tourist cabin
 at Green's Heritage Museum. What little girl, or grown woman,
would not want this as a playhouse of their  own?

Two views of the kitchen and pantry area that was in the old store at Green's Heritage Museum. 

A row of old oatmeal boxes in the old store.

A "Portable Pantry," made in Ohio in the latter part of the 19th century. I'd heard about them but had never seen one before. I found this in an antique shop in Berlin, Ohio (but did not buy it!).

A flower arranging volunteer in the room made for the same purpose at
Stan Hywet Hall and Gardens in Akron, Ohio. Above this space,
on the second story, is a commodious linen closet with cupboards and drawers.

Last but not least, my friend Linda spotted a copy of my book on the upper shelf
of the gift shop of Stan Hywet Hall and Gardens. I was glad to see it and they ordered more copies.

Happy Trails To You, Until We Meet Again!

Dear Friends,

Just a note to say that I'm packing to head on up to the New England for two weeks and I may, or may not, post here during that time. Like Mary Poppins, I'm watching for the right weather window to depart–and yes, we gladly support our Interstate Highway System–and also tying up loose ends so that I can hit the road for two weeks!

Like the crazed mother that I am, yesterday I spent the afternoon making 16 pans of meatloaf, several meals of "Poor Man's Steak" (I will post both recipes "one day"), and Swedish meatballs with my Old Order Mennonite friend Anna. This weekend I might add some casseroles and some more soup, just for kicks. [Let me just say that this was the most fun I've had in the kitchen in a long time and there is something to be said for "once a month cooking" or "freezer cooking" and the food clubs that people have to make a lot of food in advance. It was so easy with Anna's help and in three hours we had enough meals for three weeks and the kitchen cleaned, floor washed and food on the table for everyone's dinner. The last time I did this was when I was pregnant with our second child–part of a nesting instinct, I'm certain.] Now our husbands, and my children, will be well-fed while we're away and good food goes far when Momma's out of town. I suspect it will also make up, hopefully a lot, for my two-week absence.

Anna is coming with me, as far as Pennsylvania, where she will spend two glorious weeks visiting with her sisters, a son and some grandchildren, while I head up, after a visit with friends in Wyeth country, to the Woodstock Writer's Festival and on into New England. There I will spend some time with our daughter, my mother, and some very dear old friends, including the Cupcakes! Can you say "I am so excited that I'm completely freaking out!"?

Of course, the hardest part of any journey for me is the packing and the organizational frenzy that proceeds it. I hate packing but once I'm packed and away I feel this tremendous unburdening. [Knowing my husband is home tending the fires and our children is also a huge thing, too: and I know they are excited to have Mom away for a bit so they can do "Dad stuff".] Driving one's own car is always good in terms of "stuff factor" and ease of mobility–and control of itinerary–but whether you fly, drive or sail, you still have to pack! I am the kind of person who invariably has another "to do" list added to the one already on her desk before any trip: in other words, more stuff seems to happen just before I plan to leave. But "good stuff," writing stuff, job-related things. So I'm tending to those, too.

In the meantime, I am watching the skies and hoping for smooth sailing when I depart mid-week. I still haven't finished my archives project here–and even made a major gaff on old Flickr photos where I deleted some that had fed to older blog posts so there are huge visual gaps here and there–but I invite your perusal of old blogs from the past four, almost five, years now.

Thank you, as always, for reading and I hope you'll come back, hear?

My very best wishes,

Catherine

Old Order Health Care

Last night, over in Crab Orchard, we attended a benefit turkey dinner for Mervin Miller, a thirtysomething Amishman who has leukemia and mounting health bills. The tack shop where the event was held at a large hillside farm was transformed into a mobile kitchen of a hundred women with pressure cookers and pie racks and loaves of bread and roast turkeys in foil-covered roasters. All week they had been preparing different parts of the meal from their home kitchens. "Everybody does their part," said one woman. For us it was like attending a big communal Thanksgiving dinner a few weeks early. "HOPE SPRINGS ETERNAL"–An old abandoned schoolhouse near Holmes County, Ohio–home of world's largest Amish community • Spring 2006

People lined up to get in the door and once inside, the buffet line went like a well-oiled system. [Judging from the crowd at the auction and dinner there must have been over five hundred people.] We were handed a divided plate on a tray and paid our "donation." No specific fee was charged and those who do this at benefits tell me they end up receiving more donations than they might have anyway. There is something about paying what you can that is a very powerful gesture: it taps into one's primal good nature.

Then, bonnet-clad women piled turkey, mashed potatoes, stuffing, gravy, corn and beans on our plates. A helpful Amish man pointed to the dessert table where there were several kinds of pie and cranberry relish (I chose the date pudding and relish and later had a taste of peanut butter pie from my friend Anna's tray). Everything was homemade and there were huge decanters of fresh-brewed coffee and chests of soda "pop" and bottled water. On the tables were sliced loaves of homemade bread, butter and a potentially addictive peanut butter-Fluffer Nutter® mix. PHOTO: Hoosier cabinet at the Yoder Amish Farmhouse bakery, Holmes County, Ohio • Spring 2006

Pies at my friend Anna's sister's house in Missouri • May 2009

After the meal we were glad to catch up with some friends in both communities–many had traveled by van from Casey County and a busload came all the way from Christian County. At 6:30 the auction began. On the way in I had made the mistake of looking the Jersey steer in his big dreamy doe eyes, knowing my husband would bid on him for our freezer. The deal was that whomever bid on the four quarters (we got the whole cow in the end) would also have butchering included by Joe Yoder at J&V Slaughterhouse (which is how we had heard about the benefit supper in the first place: please see my previous blog entry, "Crab Orchard").

I should explain because, silly me (and this is just how my odd mind works), I thought that you literally got a quarter of a cow ("I choose front right flank!") but no, they said that the processed meat would be divided four ways. [I should also add here that we've been going great guns with cattle fencing on at least part of our farm so that we can proceed with raising our own cattle: this strikes many chords of both carnivore and animal-loving hypocrisy in me, but more about that another time. Let's just say this winter I look forward to reading both Jonathan Safran Foer's Eating Animals as well as the soon to be released Cleaving by Julie Powell–here is her post-Julie and Julia blog. I should also continue onward through Michael Pollan's brilliant writing on the food we eat (and other topics).]

The idea of having grass-fed healthy beef (not certified organic but for all intents and purposes that way) in our freezer this winter for about $2.50 a pound average (and that includes all of the good cuts and ground beef–not the extra organs and bits) was too good to pass up, as was the chance to help someone in need. Of course, now we will have to buy another freezer but we were planning on doing that anyway. [Our cow will be dressed out at likely about 350 pounds–we have to work out the particulars with the butcher but in the meantime, the cow is on a Crab Orchard pasture at the farm where he was raised and will be delivered to the butcher in another month. Right now I'm thinking of delicious roast beef with suet reserved for the Yorkshire Pudding at our traditional Christmas dinner: and lots of suet for bird feeders this winter, too. But I'm also thinking of that Jersey steer. I do love animals so how can I care for them and also eat them without issue?]


Amish buggies at an Adair County Kentucky benefit sale • Spring 2008

So here is Old Order Amish and Mennonite health care in a nutshell: most pay into a larger fund that assists people with aid for basic procedures or needs. When more costly or prolonged health care is required for a person or family (say if their house or barn is destroyed: as they don't believe in property insurance, either), the individual communities pull together to organize benefits like these. "God will provide," seems to be the unwritten motto, but so will the community. I should also point out that Old Order Amish and Mennonite groups do not pay into, or take away, from Social Security or Medicare, either, and farm subsidies are also refused. It goes without saying that they never accept welfare because the community will provide for those in need (and I have yet to not meet a hardworking man or woman from these groups–my Mennonite women friends spin circles around me!).

As for their health, they believe in personal accountability and practicing a healthy lifestyle: chiropractors and different treatments of naturopathy and herbal medicine are often used and they mostly eat what they raise, grow or bake from scratch and there is something in that notion. Clean living. Hard work. Good eating. It's the way that most of us used to live, or subsist, before we became couch potatoes and computer junkies. Their strong sense of community, and keeping the modern world at bay (or at least tuning out aspects of it), is exactly what has kept their culture, language and strong faith going on into the 21st century. I'm not saying it's a perfect or Utopian society by any stretch–whatever is?–but there are so many aspects of it from which I think we "English" can always learn. PHOTO: Caps "for sale"! Well, not really. Photo of Mennonite hats and a coat taken at our shop "frolic" back in February–also on a Friday the 13th now that I check this blog entry!

The men ran the auction, gathered and organized items for sale, and there were many amusing volunteer auctioneers from within the community and also outside of it. The offerings included many donated items liked baked and canned goods (I bid on some of that homemade white bread to take home), tools, a few quilts, hay, split cord wood, porch swings, tack, and other items. I had wanted to bid on a case of homemade ketchup but we decided not to stay into the wee hours as we had an hour's drive home.


Corn shocks along South Fork Creek in Casey County • Fall 2009

So with full bellies and the prospect of a full freezer, we drove a few of our Mennonite friends home, back to our part of Kentucky. They sang a special "Happy Birthday" song to our son Henry, who will be 12 in a few days. [I need to write down the words and it is also a lovely tune: a few weeks ago my friends also sang it to me when they surprised me with a gorgeous cake, at a quilting my daughter and I attended–more on that soon as it is, for now, a "secret"...] Then we all sang some hymns. Ammon even yodeled. It was a thankful and contented carload as we drove on winding country roads to our homes in the balmy November night, a whole big sky of stars twinkling.

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.

The Highway 127 Yard Sale: A Photo Essay

Eli snaps a pic of Momma with a vintage Rockingham-style English teapot found at a large yard sale gathering between Russell Springs and Jamestown, Kentucky along Highway 127. A $5 bargain that I was glad to make.

This is our third year of enjoying the fruits of the Highway 127 Yard Sale and the most fun and rewarding yet. I wanted to share some of my recent finds here with you and this is certainly my longest blog ever in terms of photo content–with accompanying text–so keep scrolling down so you don't miss anything! Two years ago Temple came down for a quick visit with our son Eli to look at the Kentucky ridge farm property that would become ours a mere a few weeks later, complete with comfortable doublewide (albeit "temporary"–my idea, as it was clean and well-kept–emphasis on was clean–and I knew it would serve us well for a few years before building our dream farmhouse). PHOTO: My husband holds a scythe wrench that he was delighted to find in a pile of old tools for a few dollars–he's been looking for one forever.

They drove up and down Highway 127 from Danville to Russell Springs, Kentucky, finding a few treasures along the way. They happened to be here over the first weekend of August, the annual time for the world's longest yard sale that spans the 654 miles from West Unity, Ohio to Gadsden, Alabama. Many people set up earlier in advance of the weekend for the inevitable early birds along the way. PHOTO: An old 7Up® sign on a store in Dunnville, Kentucky. You could buy it if you wanted to take it off the front of the building.

Last summer we had just moved here permanently, and having just packed up a houseful of stuff, I wasn't as keen but I did hit a few of them with our visiting friend Linda and my new friend Anna (who has the largest collection of salt & pepper shakers that I've seen to date). As most readers and friends know by now, I break for antique malls and used bookshops. I will also break for yard sales if they meet the following criteria from a cursory glance from the car window (whether driving or as a passenger):

• If a yard sale has even five feet of clothes hanging up or lots of plastic bins stacked up, I won't stop. The only place I'll browse for used clothing is in clean, used clothing shops, unless I find vintage items.
  
• I avoid colorful plastic crap (or CPCs) at all costs. This usually means someone is trying to sell a lot of cheap, plastic junk from their kids' bedrooms or play rooms. Thankfully, we no longer have need for all of that stuff you have to schlep around for years like car seats and play gyms and portable cribs. Even when we did, we wanted to make sure it worked and that it was clean–not to mention that it met safety standards–so we generally bought new or were grateful to get good hand-me-downs. [That said, if our boys are along for yard sale "grabs" we do allow the occasional bag of Star Wars® action figures just to keep the peace.] So I try to stick with wood and glass and paper and crockery and (vintage) fabric as much as possible–and after all, aren't we trying to make this a PCB-free world?
  
• I will stop for anything rusted, metal, utilitarian or funky-looking (excepting metal tools or tractor or car parts, although my husband will break for the tools and tractor bits). Seeing a yard full of metal porch chairs or old tin ware or anything remotely familiar out of an old barn or shed usually means that someone just cleaned out their old barn or shed. Those buildings usually have the best stuff in them (apart from kitchens and pantries, of course!).
• I will stop if I see a lot of old-ish crockery, vintage kitchen items, old baskets or woodenware and clear glass Pyrex-type stuff (this is often harder to determine from the road). You just never know and these things have to be more carefully examined.
• Hanging vintage tablecloths and linens also a plus as are funky old signs, and vintage garden and laundry stuff.
  

Perhaps that sounds like elitist yard sale snobbery, but there it is. Besides, you can't stop at them all and with the many offerings along Highway 127–and I can't even imagine driving along the entire 654 miles of it–you have to be somewhat choosy given time constraints. I'm sure I've missed some gems by this mode of scouting but it is mostly foolproof.


I love old rusty porch furniture that's never been painted and was surely tempted by these offerings...but you should see our storage shed right now. So I took a photo instead. And it's funny to think that people buy "primitive" stuff now that is made in China or Taiwan and sprayed with a faux "rust" paint. One day all of my funky old mismatched porch chairs will be lined up on a wrap-around farmhouse porch. One day...

Some LOSERS, WEEPERS:


Don't you think every home needs a pair of Hawaiian-style "Kon-Tiki" wooden salad servers hanging on their wall–yes, all three feet of them!? Don't worry, even for $1 for the set, I was happy to let them stay there–another friend of mine wasn't so lucky. She received a set from another friend for a gift a few years back (and yes, they are both Cupcakes). I was tempted to snag these to send to the cheeky giver but wasn't sure how I'd mail them. They also would have made a great wedding gift prank: "Oh, my...um, they're just what we've always wanted!"


Mushroom canister sets, in wild colors, were really big in the early 1970s (you know, to accent all of those "Harvest Gold" and "Avocado" kitchen appliances). Something tells me that they might not ever be popular again as you see way too many at yard sales these days–and this is coming from a woman who collects gnomes!



Speaking of gnomes, I left this little guy right where he was and now feel tremendously guilty about it, especially because he was the only gnome I saw (well, no, only one of two) at any yard sales last week. Maybe it was his price which I've now forgotten. [Do you think he is supposed to be cleaning up after that turkey?]

Some FINDERS, KEEPERS:


Some tin kitchen purchases: the famed Leaning Tower of Cake Tins (4 for a buck) and below a "Paul's Pies" pie tin (5 bucks) from back when you used to put down a deposit on a "boughten pie" (as my husband would say–yup, he's kind of an antique himself).



A gathering of vintage green kitchen things from the 1930s: each item for $6 or even less. There was no neeed to haggle as I was the one getting the bargain right off the top.


Did I need this mug trio, three for $1? The short answer would be "No." They are of the "Northern Fruit" pattern, still being made in Maine at Monroe Salt Works–a pottery company from where I might collect if I didn't have so many other older patterns I go for (well, and maybe if they had a chicken/rooster pattern–oops, they do...I also really love their "Chair" and "Crow" patterns...well, can't possibly do it! Maybe there will be a vintage and discontinued pottery shop in Heaven as well as old bookshops–do you think yard sales, too?). They're also really big and "muggy." Priced new they are now $24 each (OK, I just checked–that's not why I bought them, although good to know!). The woman who sold them said that her mother-in-law had given them to her. I just hope, for daughter-in-law's sake, that M-I-L doesn't read my blog. [But come to think of it, my own mother would love them...]

FABRIC!! She's gotta have it! Why? In case she ever learns to sew. In the meantime "she" can't resist a good bargain like 6 yards of the pretty floral pattern, below, for several dollars and, above, a whole mess of vintage 1950s garden-themed fabric for $2. Both will make great aprons and after that I'll give the extra floral fabric to my friend Anna for her quilting. And yes, I do hope to learn to sew...one day. [In the meantime I know some excellent Mennonite seamstresses-for-hire.]


I truly believe in my heart that every home needs a Shrine to Mrs. Butterworth–yes, I bought the graduated trio of glass syrup Mrs. Butterworth's® jars for $10 billed as "Aunt Jemima" (Hey, some day they'll be worth as much as those green glass prune juice jars from the 1950s or old brown glass Clorox® bottles!). This was one of those silly sentimental purchases. I have very fond memories of having waffles with Mrs. Butterworth's® syrup at one of my mother's dear friend's–Mrs. Emily Wirth–house down the street in Akron. She made the best scones EVER (I've tried to replicate her recipe for years as our copy was accidently thrown out and sadly, Mrs. Wirth died of cancer in the late 1970s) and many other goodies. She was also one of the kindest and most authentically Christian women I have ever met (and she and her family helped my mother, and all of us, through a few hard years)–a true strong, but loving, matriarch. Anyway, whenever I've seen a Mrs. Butterworth® syrup bottle in the past 35 years it has always reminded me of Emily Wirth. She used to fill her empty jars with sand, dress them in handmade aprons and bonnets, and use them for door stops. (Not a bad idea for future gift-giving or a pantry door stop.) You could also use them for syrup decanters (and sorry High Fructose Corn Syrup Monster–we've been using real New Hampshire maple syrup now for decades and we are even importing it to Kentucky). I also picked up that vintage appliqued "Mammy" tea towel earlier in the week for $1.

Meanwhile, the painted Mrs. Butterworth was only $2 (it might be a stretch, but I see it as "authentic 20th century American kitchen folk art"). And who knows? Maybe the little Mrs. Butterworth ladies will start cleaning my house one evening while we're asleep. Oh, Mrs. Butterworth! I love your plump, apron-clad, warm and gooey, amber-glassy, syrupy self! For shame that you've been shape-shifted into a plastic vision of your former kitchen goddess-ness (or that some poor dealer mistook you for "Aunt Jemima")! Their loss, our gain.


This trio of bowls is one of many popular styles from the early years of Robinson Ranbsottom Pottery, an old pottery company that sadly closed a few years ago. It was located in Roseville, Ohio, just south of Zanesville, and also has ties to some of my clay pipe-selling ancestors (no, not the Native American kind, but the kind used in sewers), The Robinson Clay Products Company in Akron, Ohio (that merged with Ransbottom in 1920). They also made lovely utilitarian stoneware. A few years ago we had the opportunity to visit Zanesville and environs for an annual pottery gathering there and we were able to visit the then-operational Robinson Ransbottom Pottery. Sometimes the spark for certain collections is a family association or just pure old-fashioned "remember when?" nostalgia.

Utilitarian kitchen pottery, especially Ohio in origin from the 19th and the first part of the 20th centuries, is my passion and I've been collecting it since the early 1990s. I was beyond delighted to find a perfect set of nesting bowls just south of Liberty, KY. I checked the three graduated bowls over and not a crack or craze or chip on any of them. I asked the vendor, with whom I'd struck up an enjoyable conversation (another great part of yard sales), why he was asking only $30 for the trio? "It's their color," he said. "That pumpkin color isn't popular now but if they were green or blue or red..." Of course, I'd never seen a set of red bowls of this vintage before and I personally love that pumpkin color, as do many other collectors, so why argue? Also to note that many popular collectibles can easily be forged, such as "vintage" cookie jars. However rare a thing it is to find a set in pristine condition and for this price, these bowls are not forgeries. PHOTO: Bowls marked "USA" with a specific pattern number and slash are most likely early Robinson Ransbottom (c. 1920s-30s and even into the 1940s) before they imprinted R.R.P.Co. and/or "Roseville, OH" on them. Because the pottery bought out Zanesville Pottery and was located in Roseville, pieces are often inaccurately confused with "Zanesville" or "Roseville" collectibles. The company was making and selling pottery like bird baths, flower pots, vases and spongeware bowls up until they closed a few years ago and is sometimes still available here and there.

It was also kind of him to throw in a little blue McCoy bowl, a bit crazed, for $5 (and a free "George Wallace" button–"I can't give them away," he said. "One woman from Alabama said she'd take them away just to crush them into the pavement back home!"). And yup, "it's the real McCoy," as they say.

As I was lingering over this nubby aqua glass and pitcher set at a booth outside of Pikeville, Tennessee, the vendor said "Those glasses just want you to buy them and take them home." I answered, "You know, I think you're right." Not only do they remind me of an icy cold Fresca-in-a-glass in our suburban summers back in Akron in the early 1970s, but I knew they would match my Zanesville aqua/brown Country Fare pottery. I know little about glassware but they seem even more retro than the 1960s but I'm guessing are from that era or even the early 1970s. For $20 for a pitcher and five glasses, it was easy to envision them for lots of iced tea and lemonade-sipping on our porch. The yard sale was just getting started when I found the set so I was even more delighted to find such a bargain. [A week later I found two more glasses like these for .50 cents each at a yard sale in Kentucky.]


If I see a booth at a flea market with neatly pressed and hanging linens, various forms of Ohio pottery from the first part of the 20th century–flower pots and bowls, for example–various tinware and small items, like children's chairs with character, I know I've hit yard sale Nirvana. At our last stop on Sunday at the Boyle County Fairgrounds outside of Danville, KY–just as the sale was winding down and cranky, overheated vendors–many who had camped right by their booths all week–uck–were putting things away to take home, we found just the booth. It was a delight and the couple, from Findlay, Ohio, were the kind of friendly quality dealers that know their stuff, their prices and what their bottom line is. PHOTO: Finds from Findlay: two runs of vintage roller towelling yardage and an old tablecloth. These, along with a graniteware baking dish, totaled $50 but I was happy to pay it as I've been wanting old towel yardage.

None of this overpriced garage junk just heaped onto tables–those are the "dealers" most likely not to take a reasonable offer or even gripe about one. I've tried. "Oh no, that book is rare. You won't find it anywhere else. I have to have $5 for it." You want to say, "No it's actually not that rare, but its jacket is in decent shape, and I really just wanted an extra copy to give to a friend." But why argue? Sometimes you just have to meet their price or be willing to walk away. [My husband actually overheard two "dealers" scoff at a person's reasonable offer of $200 for one of those old Colonial Revival-ish (1960s) hutches that were so common and once ubiquitious in American dining rooms. "You don't know what you're talking about and that offer is just insulting," they said and then continued to throw epithets at the serious buyer. So the woman just turned around and left the booth, as did my husband. And I'm sure the couple will have that hutch for a long time to come.]

So imagine my delight when at the Central-Kentucky Ag Center in Liberty, KY, where there was a mix of excellent booths and some trashier ones, that I came upon four Gladys Taber books for $3 for the set. It was the last day of the sale, before we ended up near Danville–and my second time there in a few days–and I didn't even haggle. I thought it was an excellent price, even if the price stickers had fused to the spines of the lovely book jackets. I already have a few of these books so those duplicates will become gifts (or hey, maybe "In the Pantry" give-aways...). When I grow up I actually aspire to be a combination of Gladys Taber and my alter ego, Della T. Lutes, and maybe a bit of Janice Holt Giles and Betty MacDonald , with a hearty smidge of Shirley Jackson and Anne Lamott thrown in for good measure. [Of the five, only Anne is a very much alive writer whom I thoroughly recommend for all of her wholehearted, and sometimes irreverent, embracing of her own path, motherhood, politics, spirituality and her own Christian faith.]

At that same location, a few days earlier, I had been able to scoff up a pile of vintage tea cloths in excellent condition, as well as a c. 1970s (yup, my mother had one) Tupperware celery holder (which I'll used for cut up veggies). When I went to pay, the woman, a vendor from Indiana, said, "That's $5 for the Tupperware and would $6 be alright for that pile of six linens?" Well, she didn't have to ask me twice.
I clucked at the irony of paying almost as much for a plastic refrigerator container as I was for a pile of exquisite vintage linens in excellent condition. But that's the way of a yard sale.

It is hard, if not impossible, to jury these larger venues–some dealers we spoke with in Tennessee were trying to buy a field together where they could all congregate each year without the "$5 designer clothes" booths and outpourings of cellar junk. [Yes, OK, I am a yard sale snob–there, I've said it!] It is true that the antique and funky-junk hunters like me are drawn to those larger quality groupings and there is greatness in numbers–and even better odds of finding the odd thing that you don't really need, either.


Eli on the prowl. Our boys, and daughter before them, have been raised in antique malls and shops and spent their early years in an old New England home (our daughter in several others before that). I'm glad at least one of them, so far, has developed a passion for collecting and the love of the hunt–for those who are so afflicted you know it is both a blessing and a curse.

The absolute best part of our yard sale escapades over the course of different days last week was spending time with family (and my friend Anna and Eli on one day), seeing what came of the day in other ways (like our day trip altogether to Tennessee), talking with vendors and bumping into friends, and spending an entire day last Friday just with my son Eli (when Temple went back to Tennessee with Henry to pick up some blacksmith equipment). He was such a joy and had certain things in mind to look for, like a particular wrench his Dad had discovered after looking for years, and other things he knows I collect. I owed Eli $20 from a few weeks ago when I was strapped and 45 minutes from the bank (we don't have an ATM card). He emerged from a table with an old children's tool set: "for your grandchildren," he said, "I got it for $20." And he hasn't even touched it even though it is his to do with what he wants. My "little old man" is a man after my own heart. So we had fun looking around together and enjoying the day. He can yard sale with me any time.


PHOTO, right: Henry pauses to refresh on the porch at the "Shady Rest" at a Tennessee yard sale [wasn't that the hotel in Petticoat Junction on TV years ago?] Their classic Southern supper-with-sides menu was also tempting: BBQ ribs, mashed potatoes with gravy ("homemade"), macaroni and cheese, green beans, pinto beans, turnip greens, and cornbread or cheesy bread. We tried some sweet tea and lemonade.


PHOTO, above: Three usable outhouses adjacent to a great yard sale congregation outside of Pikeville, Tennessee. RIGHT: An outhouse postcard that I found amidst a number of other large old souvenir placard-style postcards for .50 cents each near Russell Springs, Kentucky. I collect kitschy outhouse stuff, too, on occasion, for our actual outhouse over at my husband's shop/tractor garage. One day I'll gather it altogether and put it over there to surprise him. BELOW: More touristy postcard placards–bathroom humor is always a hit in my family (with two boys and a husband, what else do you expect?).













An old porch near Pikeville, Tennessee.

Another fun part of yard sale hunting for our family are the backdrops. This was our favorite: an old "homeplace" north of Pikeville, Tennessee. I went inside and photographed the house as best I could–and there was a lot of not-so-great junk inside. (Well not all of it, but it was hard to get around the rooms sometimes.) The house had all of its original wood detailing inside and out and the remnants of its kitchen and summer kitchen in the ell. Old green paint, original to the 1930s most likely, was still on the kitchen walls, framed in horizontal matchboard. The late-19th century woodwork–like the doors, door surrounds and mantels–was top notch.



This old store in Dunnville, KY is seldom open but filled with amazing things. The storekeeper and their family used to live in the part of the building marked by the screen door at right. The owner was selling a lot of the old advertising signage, including this "Drink Coca-Cola" sign for $50. I just had to pass on it, as hard as it was, in all of its rusted, original painted, never touched magnificence. And yes, it was "the Real Thing™" (and the only Coke-related memorabilia–of which there are scads at these sales–that I was actually tempted to buy).

Another favorite find, almost in our own back yard, was an unusual store that Eli and I stumbled upon on our day together. We'd been by it many times before but didn't realize it was still operating. Peggy Tarter has owned and operated this old store in Dunnville, just a few miles into Casey County and in its southern-most settlement, in the classic style of old rural Kentucky general stores, for 51 years. She said her in-laws owned it before that and when she bought it they got it lock, stock and barrel. Peggy reminded me of our friend Hazel Wesley who runs the small store on route 837 in Mintonville, on the eastern side of Casey County over near our ridge (and for sale–believe me, I've been tempted). The shelving and many details in this store are original–and some of the canned goods are decades old, I'm sure. These stores are the real deal and not some manufactured cutsey olde time "General Store." [Casey County is also home to Penn's Store, up in Gravel Switch, America's longest continuously operated historic store in the same family, since 1850.]


One day, perhaps, my husband and I will sell antiques and parts of various collections to support our habit, maybe not along yard sale corridors but in a small shop or other venue. We've been told by most dealers that this is how they got started (and yes, the parallels are many.) In the meantime, I've decided in future years to make a game of it. I will save my antique mall and yard sale fixes for one week only, for the splendor of the Highway 127 yard sale in early August, at the end of our summer before our boys return to school, and I will allow myself so much to spend (given what I spent this year, I'll say $200 tops–hey, it will be part of Ma's future egg money!). PHOTO: Another old souvenir shop postcard placard–chickens are always a hit with me.

I prefer buying old to new with most things and I have many friends who do, too. In this "Great Recession," and with the need to recycle rather than consume more resources, I'd rather buy old and used most any day (or use it up or prepare it myself), but for us it has often been a matter of course. PHOTO: Many people had tables of produce and homemade jams and jellies, like these at the corner of 127 and 910 south of Liberty.

So next year I will take the opportunity to yard sale again, a gift to myself, while mostly just spending some of my "egg money" on holiday or birthday gifts for friends–and even immediate family–who are also fellow antique kitchenish, lineny, cookbooky, rusty old junk, and gnomish collector folks like me. PHOTO: YARD SALE FEET! Desperately Seeking Pedicure! (And note the yard sale "sandal tan.")