I'm thinking, I'm thinking...

This house
is listed on Craig's List. It is free and only 57 miles from me.

Let me think, how can I do this...

Smiles from the farm,
Lisa

Have you seen four goats being chased by a dump truck?

I have no pictures. There wasn't time to grab my camera. So I will tell this story as succinctly as I am able.

I am outside, enjoying the day. Sun is shining, slight breeze, chickens are pecking, goats are grazing.

Horn honks. Again. Are the goats grazing?

No. They have broken down the fence down at the corner of the field.

Horn honking persistantly.

I am running, my flip flop breaks. I get to the end of the driveway and only see the back of a drump truck. I throw off my flip flops (or just flops, having lost the flip at this point) and when I look up the truck is gone.

I run to the barn, grab a can of grain. Did I mention I am barefoot? I jump in the van, start down the road. A young lady is walking her dog. I pull over and roll down the window. Before the words come out of my mouth, I see them but I can't stop them.

"Have you seen four goats being chased by a dump truck?"
It sounds like the start of a bad joke.

Long pause, "Uhhh, what?"

Nevermind, obviously she hasn't.

There is a T in the road. Do I go left or right? Suddenly they all appear from the right. I pull over to the side of the road, open the back of the van. Shake the grain and all but Stella jump into the back of my van. I chase Stella around the van, catch her and throw her in the passenger seat and we all head back home.

Goats. Really?

Smiles from the farm,
Lisa

Why I am not allowed at the dump...

What would you do with a pile of old shutters...


A broken head board...


and some old hinges?


Well I don't know about you, but I made a display cupboard for my booth at the antique shop, of course.


Smiles from the farm,
Lisa

Who am I?

In a contemplative mood today, I have been thinking about who I am and what defines me.

You know those women who love pretty clothes and shiny shoes...


Those women who get weekly manicures...



The kind whose husband's have Blue Tooth and play golf in their spare time...


The kind of women who appreciate gourmet food...




The ones who have cutesy little dogs named Schmoopsy...


Whose kids are impeccably behaved and don't have Kool-Aid stains on their coats...(it's actually Hawaiian Punch)



The women who love it when their husbands send them flowers...


The kind who recognize the more refined things in life...



The women who love to hang out with their girlfriends...



The ones who get expensive gifts every day...


Well, I don't think I'm any of those...


Smiles from the farm,
Lisa

Salome's Spoons

Salome Logan was given a set of silver on the day of her marriage to Richard Everhart, August 19, 1915. For the first year of her marriage she washed, polished and dried the silver after each use.

After the first of six children, the silver was put up for only special occasions.

In 1926 a flu epidemic swept the valley and the two youngest Everhart children were taken. Salome sold the cake server and knife and all of the desert forks to pay for the funeral.

In 1930 a draught nearly destroyed the farm and no living could be made. She sacrificed the place settings to feed her children.

Over the next five years, piece by piece the setting dwindled down to one small ladle. Refusing to part with this last piece of a happiness she was sure she would never find again, she tucked it inside the satin folds of her wedding dress, which she then placed into a wooden fruit box and tucked deep within the dormered eves of the farm house.

In 1936 when her youngest living son was 14, he carved for her a long handled spoon from the branch of her favorite oak tree. With this simple spoon she cooked the family's meal every day.


In 1943 all of the children had left the farm. The years had been good for Salome and Richard and they sold off all but 20 acres of their farm. Salome got a job in town at the only diner. For 25 years she spooned chili and chop suey and stirred chowder and soup with a big stainless steel industrial spoon. During these years Richard passed and several grandchildren were born.

Finally her children talked her into retiring and Salome Everhart left the diner at the age of 73. The owner, handed her the big steel spoon at the retirement party.

Cancer took her in the fall of 1970. Her son, the one that had carved the wooden spoon, moved into the farm and worked it until his death in 2009.

On the day of the auction, all of the old pine furniture, rusty tools and iron beds were paraded across the front lawn and each sold piece by piece. A bid was placed on an old wooden apricot box in which contained a dusty, moth eaten wedding gown. For $5.00 it was passed to a woman who gently touched the fragile satin.

Tonight she carefully unfolded the gown, and within the folds she found three spoons, a tarnished silver ladle engraved with an E, a warped wooden spoon and a worn steel spoon.

She polished the silver, oiled the wood and scrubbed the rust from the steel. As she completed her chore, the story she saw reflected was more vivid then had it been printed between leather-bound covers. And wonderfully, the woman had hurt enough, loved enough and lived enough to read it joyfully.


I spent the night polishing silver bought at auction to put in my booth at the antique shop. My imagination may have ran away with me! These five spoons were gifts on each subsequent 14th birthday of five beautiful sisters, who never marry and live all their days in a rambling Victorian mansion set high on a cliff overlooking Cobscook Bay and...ok Lisa go to bed.

And these knives, well let me tell you the story about these knives...

Smiles from the farm,
Lisa

Shmooish....

Do you remember the Shmoo?

I don't remember him from the original Lil' Abner comic, but I remember the '70's Shmoo from the Flintstones. In our house being a Shmoo means you're cute or naughty, ie: "Awww, you're such a Shmoo." or "Arggggh, you're SUCH a Shmoo." We make things like this up all the time.

It was determined today that if there is a particular food that cannot for whatever dietary reason be eaten, it is because the day is Monday and the said non-eater has taken a vow of Shmoo-deism, and everyone knows that the Shmooish do not eat left over corn on the cob on Mondays.

Honestly, how do I argue with that?

Smiles from the farm,
Lisa

I'm still here!

So where have I been for the last week? Well let me tell ya...

First of all I have decided to start a business. Remember the cupboard from my last post? Well I sold it right out of my driveway! So I have decided to take that as a sign that I can sell other things. So I need to dive into my shop and start sanding and painting. What? You want a peek at my shop? Oh lord, ok, here it is...



Now I won't be selling out of here, well because there is only a small path to get through this VERY organized collection of JUNK fine antiques. I will be selling at the Old General Store on the Hampden/Bangor town line. I have goals for my own shop though. I'm hoping next spring. We'll see!


I also went blueberry picking and need to get to jamming and pie baking and muffin makin'.


And of course I've been auctioning. I got this very old print at the auction. I saw it across the barn. I didn't look at it closely (big auction no-no), but for some reason I HAD to have it. It even broke my $5.00 bid cap at $11.00.

She's got goats! And a weird llama, but I love it. This one's a keeper.



Also did you realize that there was some huge mistake in the space/time continuum. I'm not quite sure exactly how it happened, but this little muffin butt turned 15. I have written a firmly worded letter to the time people, but as of yet I haven't heard back. I'm sure they are feverishly working on remedying this atrocity.

So what have you been up to?

Smiles from the farm,
Lisa