prosperity is a hog scalding pot

What you see is a picture of a hog scalding pot, taken at the Foxfire Museum grounds.

Anyone who had any kind of money got one of these pots. I've also seen a larger version of this at the Traveler's Rest historic site.

Depending on your economic status, some would consider this a necessity for farm life and some would consider it a luxury. Set into an outdoor fireplace, you can fill it with water, set a fire burning underneath, and use it for all kinds of chores. The biggest thing is, as the name implies, to use during hog killing time in the fall.

First the hog would be killed, which would need to be done with the onset of cooler weather, so the meat would not go bad. When killed, the carcass would be hung, usually with a rope and pulley system, and drained. The same pulley system would be used to move the hog, suspend it over the pot, where they would dip the hog to clean the body and loosen the hair for scraping.

This may be the stuff of vegetarian's nightmare. Following this violence, the carcass would be butchered and prepared -- meat for smoking, meat for salting into salt pork or fatback.

But as they say in the commercials: BUT THERE'S MORE.

Because no farm implement has one use only. The pot could also be used to make lye soap, for large quantities of food during community events, and for dying wool. In fact, different types of pots made from different metals would cast a different color to the dye. For example, an iron hog pot such as this would impart iron into an existing color and "sadden" it. So if they made a dye with marigolds, it would be one color in a tin pot, and a "saddened" color in an iron pot.

Today, they artificially create that effect by adding iron. They didn't have to back then.

Hog scalding pot equals invaluable farm tool. Pretty amazing. And thanks to Foxfire for all the information.

--Laura

a visit to foxfire

The Savannah House, originally uploaded by lalapapawawa.

I think childhood memories are interesting when you shine the light of adulthood on them. When I was growing up, I remember a set of books my parents had, hardbacked volumes called Foxfire. They looked like Reader's Digest Condensed books, which my parents also had all over the house. But they were different.

I admit - I did not read them closely. First, they weren't exactly stories, more like mini documentaries, and at that age, they did not rate higher than my music. But my opinion of the books was that they contained fascinating stuff I wanted to know LATER, when I was old and intellectually engaged.

What's Foxfire? First, Foxfire is a fungus, growing on rotted fallen wood in warmer months. I can only assume it grows in other places as well, but I don't know. Better yet, it glows. Who can beat that? In 1966, a group of English class students chose the name for a magazine they wanted to publish, containing interviews of elderly folks in their community.

What you should know is that these kids were growing up where the conception of Appalachian people was that they were irrelevant hillbillies. Irrelevant. Hillbillies. Hi kids. You come from nothing. Welcome to your life. Well, they rejected that concept. Or maybe they didn't reject it. Maybe they were truly worried that the press was right. Either way, as they interviewed the elders of their community, they discovered something altogether different. They found people with a stubborn self-sufficiency, and quite honestly, the skills and craftsmanship that built lives from raw materials. Can you say that? Can you say you built your house, made your clothes, and not only that, can you say you raised the sheep which were shorn, then spun the wool, then weaved it into cloth to make your clothes? No, you can't, so maybe WE are the rather useless and irrelevant generation, have you considered that before? So, that magazine turned into a book. Well, books... with volumes... And moreover, the book money was used to buy property, in the northeast Georgia town of Mountain City.

In other words, the students found exactly what they were looking for, legacy included. Because what happened in the mountains wasn't just a school project, but a redisocvery, and a connection to people who shouldn't be forgotten. And it became a land trust, a mind trust, even a teaching method, which connects students to their local community, showing how the community is a resource in your learning, suggesting even that where you live, where you come from has SIGNIFICANCE, should be ACKNOWLEDGED, should be REMEMBERED. I know, how old-fashioned is that?

So here's the funny part. I visited Foxfire for the first time last month. I've lived in Georgia since I graduated from university. I lived in Rabun County, where it's located, for five years before moving to metro Atlanta. So, in late March, after I spent the week training at one of my company's Center's, I decided it was time to correct that.

The grounds are very discreetly tucked away up the side of a steep hill. Advertised, but not well advertised. The poor car is used to gravel roads by now, but that doesn't mean she likes them. You may never visit this place. I may never visit them again. But they are doing their part to preserve important things. If you have a chance to visit the website I linked to above, you might consider making a donation to the cause. They need your help. I did. Because 30 years after I gave those books a first glance, I'm finally there - I'm old, and intellectually engaged.

Right now, it's time to interact with the real world. I'll share some pictures from Foxfire later.

--Laura

room for a shade garden

A week ago, I buried Petey the dog in the corner of my property, resting on his pet bed.

It's a funny thing about stuff like this. You never get everything you wanted. For instance, I will always be nagged by the fact that Petey needed me and I wasn't there. The last night of his life, he was with a stranger. But the gift in that situation was that he was wearing a collar. The tag on the collar was used to track him to me. When I got the call, my mom grabbed a towel and came with me. That was a gift. And when I walked into the room where he was resting, the look on his face said he was relieved for our reunion. That was a gift. As mom sat in the backseat holding Petey still, and I took the drive to the vet, whenever I spoke, he struggled to get into the front seat with me. Mom asked if I could reach behind me and calm him. I could. And touching him DID calm him. That was a gift. He loved me and he was reassured that I was there. When the vet told me his back was broken and dogs don't recover from that, I had no long tortured struggle about how to proceed. There was no decision to make, and that was a gift. While she prepared the shot to put him down, I had time to peacefully talk to him, stroke his fur and calm him. I put my head next to his and kissed his ear as she listened to his heartbeat. He had my full attention right to his last breath, and that was a gift too. It was my fault that he was hurt, but at least I could spare him some suffering.

And the final gift was having friends who'd drop what they were doing to meet me at the vet's office, to load my dead dog into my car, follow me home, and help me dig the hole to put him in. Do you have a friend who'd do that? I do.

Anyway, after the hole was dug, after I opened the box to let Mollie see him, after I'd tucked him into his bed and taped the top shut again, after the dirt had covered him back up, after a few women stood in the yard and cried like teenage girls, my mom suggested that on her return visit, we should plant a shade garden around him. It's a good idea. So, what goes in a shade garden in zone 7? I decided to research it, like I always do. Here are some I like.

Shade plants I like for zone 7:

Arc En Ciel Cinquefoil
Potentilla 'Arc En Ciel'

Brilliance Autumn Fern
Dryopteris erythrosora 'Brilliance'

Winterglow Bergenia
Bergenia cordifolia 'Winterglut'

Cameo Series Blue & White Columbine
Aquilegia flabellata 'Cameo Series Blue & White'

A week before Petey died, I found two shade plants in Alabama. They are helleborus called Silver Prince. I think that's fitting, given that Petey was getting old, like a silver haired old man. Petey won’t follow me when I move. He won’t ever have another yard to run in. This is it. This is the one. And I won't get to watch over him once I leave. So, I have decided that I’d like to leave it better than I found it. See, he never asked for much. In return, he was a great companion. He loved me alot, which made me feel like the most amazing person ever. I didn't want him to leave like this, or this soon.

So we're going to make room for a shade garden around my little buddy. And that's where I hope to find the gift in it.

--Laura

one less

My parents are leaving today for the trip back to Alabama.
I still can't believe my parents live in Alabama, but that's another story.
I wish they didn't have to leave. I dread the prospect of being by myself. I say this, typing on my new laptop, with Mollie sitting on my shoulder. But I am missing the rest. Living at our house is one less.
I remember the day I met Petey. I had just moved to this house and had a big back yard. It made sense to get a dog who'd keep me company. I found him at a shelter event at a local PetSmart. When I found him, he was quietly cowering away from all the other dogs. Well treated, he just hated that atmosphere - stifling, sharing space and air with so many other dogs.
He was the poster child for Only Children. When I lifted him up and put him on top of a stack of feed bags for a closer examination, he hugged the ground like a soldier under fire.
So I picked him. Because he needed to be out of all that madness. He needed one special person to love him, not a house full of kids or chaos.
We got on immediately. And I had a big plus in my favor. I had a huge fenced in backyard, and it belonged to him, even more than it belonged to me. I would stand at the kitchen sink and laugh at him, because he looked like a royal black lion, stretched in the sun, staring out across his domain. He would spend hours there, munching on pinecones. Yes, pinecones. That image shares space in my mind with how much he just... LOVED... it there. When I opened the gate, he'd gallop into the backyard like a gazelle, his little butt bouncing through the grass. Years dropped away from him in that yard. Each time, it was like he was a spring chicken. Even when he wasn't.
I also have this flash of memory, the first time I brought a bucket of KFC in the house. I could tell he liked the smell, so I gave him a taste. That was all it took. I ignored this love affair with chicken, went to another room for something, and returned to find Petey, standing on the table, right in the center, with his face buried in the KFC box. He knew it was wrong. He knew he was going to be punished, and he was unreptentant.
It was worth it, his face told me.
He didn't do a lot of bad things, but when he was, that was usually the attitude he had.
And because of it, today our house is one less.
So Friday night, I have to say. The fine escape act he performed wasn't worth the cost. Not for me. I hope it was for him. I truly do.
It's healthy to say that he went doing exactly what he wanted to do. It's healthy to say that he's now buried exactly where he had his happiest days. It's comforting to know he's no longer scared or in pain from his accident. I feel so grateful that someone gave me the gift of returning him to me so his last minutes were with me, kissing his thick furry ears and talking to him calmly like we were on the couch at home.
And I'm mindful of all those things. And I'm still heartbroken.

--Laura

In Memoriam: Petey the dog

In Memoriam: Petey the dog, originally uploaded by lalapapawawa.

This wasn't taken today.
Today, Petey the dog had to be euthanized. He's been in my life over a decade. The real story took place yesterday, as he did what he has loved to do from the moment I met him - sneak between the feet of humans who wanted him to go in the backyard. He tasted the sweet air of freedom. Despite his age, he was feeling frisky. He was chased. He was offered treats. He was offered a ride in the car. None of it was as valuable to him as chasing sunshine, dodging laughing children and adults, bouncing across a running stream, visiting all the dogs in the neighbhorhood and streaking through the woods.
That's how I want to think of him. He had the very best last day he could have ever had.
In the dark, someone hit my dog and let him run off hurt. They didn't stop to see that they'd broken his back and paralyzed his back legs. Someone in the neighboor next to mine saw him and scooped him up and brought him into their house, where he spent a scary night on a soft sheepskin pillow, but could not be coaxed to eat or drink.
One ugly thought: I really hope he screwed up that person's car, and I hope it never drives the same, ever again.
The moment I saw him, and saw his back, I was sure it was broken. Mom held him in her arms as we drove down the street, but he'd struggle whenever I spoke, so as I drove, I reached my arm back to stroke his head.
The exam didn't take long. The shot didn't take long. It didn't take long for him to leave me. He's in a box, buried in the corner of my back yard. He is sleeping on his favorite pet bed. I couldn't have it in the house anymore.
I'm sorry Mollie. I love you. But Petey was my first, and my favorite. Mollie has never been without him.
Petey, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. You did it your way.
--Laura

new toy! shiny!

When my desktop crashed and died last month, I decided that I'd lose it completely in favor of a laptop built in this decade.
So I am retiring the IBM Thinkpad built on the cheap by a neighbor. I am now the owner of the HP G71t. It's enormous by comparison, with a 17inch screen. This allows the keyboard extra real estate also, so my numbered keypad is back. Right now I'm staring at it, sitting there so sweetly past my right pinkie finger. I can't wait for the opportunity to use it. I feel like doing some math or something, so I can run my fingers along the numberpad.
Yep. New toy. Shiny!

--Laura

spring

Pollen count, nearly 3000.
A hacking good morning to you all.
Welcome to spring.