Hillbilly Food #2: POKE GREENS AND CORNBREAD

(In response to my Facebook friends who were not favorable to my Creamed Tomato photo)

Don't be so quick to pull up those pesky "weeds" that tend to pop up in flower beds, gardens, along fence lines, underneath pine trees, or in other shady areas. You know them -- the ones that grow into TREES with purple stalks and purple berries, then dry up to look like cane poles.

Why, you ask?  Unbeknownst to most people outside of Appalachia, those Phytplacca Poke plants, poke weeds, poke salet are delicious edible greens!  As the temperatures start to rise and the growing season begins, I am on the look-out!  I am sure to be asked by my 90-year old mama and my 80-year cousin Rose, Is the poke coming up yet?  A good poke connoisseur can spot a plant along the road or in a field. I was quite thrilled to find a few nice poke plants growing in the shrubbery around my church this summer. (I have offered to bring a mess of Poke Greens to one of our Small Group Fellowships, but my northern Ohio friends don't seem very excited about them).

Hillbilly Food Factoid:  You can make a meal from weeds and corn bread. Some people like to fix them like wilted lettuce, but this is our family's method from as far back as I can remember.

POKE GREENS

Our property is bordered by a dairy farm.  Every year we walk the fence line to find an ample supply of Poke. It seems that the big, overgrown plants have populated the area behind our back forty with hundreds of young, tender poke plants!  NO WAY could I let those plants go to waste, so off I went with several plastic grocery bags and some scissors.

STAY AWAY FROM THE LARGE PLANTS!  THEY ARE BITTER AND CAN BE POISONOUS!!

 

Dump the poke greens into the sink and fill with water. All the undesirables will rise to the surface (In this batch, there were pine needles and a few lightning bugs). Be sure to remove any seed sprouts from the tops of the plants.

Pinch off any bad leaves and place in the other side of the sink. Once all the greens are "looked," fill the sink with water for a second bath. 

Place into a large colander and drain.

Now you're ready!  Place the greens into a large pot (or pots) and fill about half-way with water.  Cover and bring to a boil.  Keep a rolling boil for several minutes until the greens begin to cook down.

Once the greens start wilting, they will turn to a nice bright green color.  This is called blanching.

Pour your wilted greens back into the colander and drain.  You'll be asking yourself, "Where did they all GO?!!!"  (In this case, two plastic grocery bags that required two cookers to blanch filled half my colander).

(If you have more greens than you can eat, fill up some small freezer bags and save for later)

Next, get your skillet and add some bacon grease and apple cider vinegar. For this step, you will have to determine what tastes best for you.  For us, we like a little more vinegar with some sugar added.

Melt the bacon grease and add the blanched poke greens into the skillet.  Cover and cook down until all the greens are turned to a dark green color. 

Your POKE GREENS are now ready to eat! 

With some leftover Meatloaf, fresh cukes from the garden, a Honey rock cantaloupe from the local market, some baked corn bread and Sweet Tea, our Poke Green weeds made a fine supper tonight!



  

Please Note:  Although these edible greens are delicious, be careful not to eat too many at one sitting. 

They are Nature's Laxative!





RETIRED (Mostly)

It's been a LONG, LONG time since Yours Truly has updated our blog. I found myself at near 60 years old wondering how my little curtain-making hobby had turned into a full-fledged, growing business which was ultimately occupying the life that I should have been using to spend valuable time with my family.

So, . . . . I decided to retire. It was a process over a 6-month period which included the very busiest time and heaviest volume of our business.  I am still doing the curtain business part-time, but mostly from a management standpoint. I haven't gotten to the point where I WANT to sew again, so my faithful staff will carry on.

If you were a former customer of Home Sweet Homespuns, I thank you from the bottom of my heart for your patronage.  You can still find a limited number of our made-to-order styles and fabrics through Pine Cone Gift Shoppe in Uniontown, OH.  www.pineconegiftshoppe.net

The Darr Farms Project ~ Icing on the Cake



Tonight we were part of close to 20 privileged guests of George and Bev Darr, owner of Darr Farms in Newcomerstown, OH.  Bev Darr is a petite, energetic multi-talented farmer's wife/retired Kindergarten teacher/piano teacher/church choir director.  Her husband George is a round-bellied, good-natured man with a ready smile that makes you like him in an instant.  Nestled in the rolling hills of central Ohio, Darr Farms is a large, 2000-acre farm with sweet corn as its Number #1 commodity.  Other cash crops include soybeans, wheat, and various produce including tomatoes, peppers, watermelons and pumpkins.  An impressive operation to say the least.  But tonight was not about business but to show appreciation to those who had made a dream remodel of the Darr farmhouse a reality. 

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The day was steaming . . . mid to high 90's and getter hotter as we drove farther south down I-77.  Ohio is in the grip of a heat wave and semi drought with the 30% chance of rain being much more a slim possibility rather than reality.  Grass is brown, crops are thirsty for rain.  The plan was for a 6:30 pm cook-out, and we had just enough time to squeeze in a visit to my very close cousin who lives in a neighboring town.  As we drove down the interstate, we casually commented on the clouds that were darkening the sky, not thinking it would be anything more than a few rain showers or at worst, a scattered thunderstorm. 

The heat hit us like a blast furnace when we stepped out of the car at West Lafayette Point Rehab Center and Nursing Facility.  As we walked through the common area, the TV was tuned to The Weather Channel.  It was warning folks to have their IPads and technical devices fully charged as storms approached.  Not our area, as we dismissed any threat of storms and went on to surprise my cousin.

. . . Within 20 minutes, the building had lost power, the backup generator had flickered on and off three times as the torrential rains poured and the wind whipped the trees like whirlygigs.  Hoping for a lull in the downpour and needing to make our dinner on time, we said our good-byes and made our way through the maze of wheelchairs in the hallway.  The patients were all huddled  in the central part of the building as they waited for the all-clear, each with a blanket and pillow.
"Are you a fireman?"

"We're under a tornado warning. Maybe you should stay here for a bit."

No, we'll be fine.  We only have a few miles to go."

It didn't take a 1/2 mile to realize that we should have stayed put.  Debris was everywhere, trees were uprooted, branches were scattered and strewn on the road, power lines were down, strong winds were whipping the tree branches as we drove underneath them. 

"If we don't find this farm pretty soon, we're pulling off and taking cover." 

It sounded like a great idea, but we had no idea where that might be except at the home of our hosts.

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  So, what do you do with a house full of dinner guests in the midst of a severe storm and power outage?  You have the electrician re-start the generator!!!  Soon the power was on, faces of our new acquaintanes became clear, conversations mulled around who had trees down on their property, which roads were closed, which roof blew off, crops, and how badly we needed the rain.  Soon the rains had all but stopped.  We gathered around the  kitchen farm table.  Before our host gave thanks for the food, we each shared an introdution and the part we played in the rennovation project. The temperature had dropped over 20 degrees in one hour, and those of us who had dressed for 95-degree weather shivered as we gathered on the wrap-around porch to enjoy our feast.

"Donna, now that the lights are on, why don't you start upstairs and take the pictures of your curtains?"

I sure will, Bev.  You don't have to tell me twice.  You see, the reason we were there was because we were the icing on the cake.  In this stunning century farmhouse, there were fourteen windows dressed by Home Sweet Homespuns. 

"I fretted and stewed about these window treatments so much.  I just happened to find you on the internet." ~ Bev Darr


"Fretted and stewed is the LEAST understatement she could make!" ~ George Darr


"Well, okay, I AGONIZED over the window treatments." ~ Bev Darr



"We are honored that you chose us to help you." ~ me

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Enjoy the tour!

 Thanks to the generator, our hosts were able to carry on with their plans even after a severe storm and power outage. 

One door remained with the original oak framework from George Darr's childhood home.
  The pattern was reproduced through the entire house

Each window treatment was carefully selected from our 140+ fabric choices to match the room and decor

 All of the hardwood floors are original.  They were recently stripped and refinished by an Amish craftsman.

 Everyone of these furniture pieces, and the woodwork and doors, have been refinished by the energetic homeowner, a retired Kindergarten teacher. 

 Furnishings are family heirlooms.

The homeowner and I worked together as she chose the fabric patterns and colors for each window.  She chose the simple look of the Rod Pocket Panels with a unique 4" header for each window. 

 The chimney was uncovered under drywall.

 Check out the tin inserts in the cupboards!

 Collectibles

 The old clawfoot tub with a fresh coat of red paint.

 The Master Bath - a new addition

 The new master suite

Bev Darr and me

Tools of the Trade

I LOVE THIS TOOL!  Every craftsman or laborer has specific tools of the trade, and for a seamstress like me, the rotary cutter is invaluable. 

The Fiskars Rotary Cutter is a rolling razor blade cutter used to cut fabrics into shapes, strips, and pieces for sewing, quilting, and craft projects (I guess it could cut pizza as well?). Rotary cutters are designed for left and right handed use and can cut through multiple layers of fabric, paper, felt, vinyl, cardboard, mar board, cloth, leather, and fiberglass material. Great for someone who works with fabrics, or even roofers, or postal jobs. (Fiskars)

Now mind you, a rotary cutter can go for a pretty good while and still do the job.  (Just look at the description above lest you doubt its usage).  But eventually, it gets dull and needs replaced.  Sometimes that happens prematurely.  Much to my chagrin, my rotary cutter crashed on me this week.  Not because it went FAR past its life expectancy.  Rather, because it went somewhere it should not have gone.

Uhm, . . . razor sharp blades can cut through just about anything . . . . except STRAIGHT PINS.  Not once, but twice, and maybe thrice . . . because I am a goal-oriented person, and I had a mission to accomplish! (maybe I should also insert stubborn).  The damage was known immediately.  For several days, the tool that earlier had made life so simple became laborious and a time robber.  I literally had to saw through only two thin layers of fabric . . . with rough, jagged edges left in the wake.         

Okay, enough is enough.  There has to be another blade in this shop somewhere! 

Sure enough, I found a brand new replacement blade tucked safely in my storage cubby.  With new blade in hand, my first cut through EIGHT layers of fabric was like a hot knife cutting through butter!  I was amazed at the difference! 

Immediately, the cut of the fabric cut my heart in a different way.  Seeing the difference between the two tools was an AHA! moment.   The fact that "It went somewhere it should not have gone." resulted in . . .

INEFFECTIVENESS

First of all, I was reminded that the Scriptures tell us that there are vessels of honor and vessels of dishonour.  Like a physical tool of a trade, we who are Christ-followers are also tools and vessels. "Nevertheless the foundation of God standeth sure, having this seal, The Lord knoweth them that are his. And, let every one that nameth the name of Christ depart from iniquity. But in a great house there are not only vessels of gold and of silver, but also of wood and of earth; and some to honour, and some to dishonour. ~ II Timothy 2:19, 20 KJV.  (Lest I apprear preachy, what I am going to share are good fundamental truths no matter what religious views you hold, or none at all).

 What determines the difference?  In the case of my rotary cutter, it quickly went from being a tool of honor to a tool of dishonor.  Why?  Because it crossed a boundary.  It went somewhere it should not have gone. 


How many times do we cross boundaries that bring a change in our usefulness?  How many times have we passed on a juicy piece of gossip . . . . taken up a cause under half-truths, assumptions, and speculations . . . stirred the proverbial pot of discord to justify our own opinions, statements, or deeds. . . or simply ran to the safety of our foxhole rather than stand up to the enemy and defend what was precious to us?  How many times have we gone somewhere we should not have gone? 

"You don't need to attend every argument you're invited to." ~ borrowed from a Facebook friend

"He that passeth by, and meddleth with strife belonging not to him, is like one that taketh a dog by the ears." ~ Proverbs 26:17  KJV

"These . . .things doth the LORD hate: yea, . . . an abomination unto him:  . . . feet that be swift in running to mischief,  false witness that speaketh lies, and he that soweth discord among brethren."  ~ Proverbs 6:16, 18-19 KJV

The Result?

INEFFECTIVENESS

The rotary cutter needed a new blade to work the way it was intended to work.  Without the new blade, it was worthless. 

"Create in me a clean heart, O God; and renew a right spirit within me." ~ Psalm 51:10 KJV

"If a man therefore purge himself from these, he shall be a vessel unto honour, sanctified, and meet for the master's use, and prepared unto every good work. " ~ II Timothy 2:21 KJV

*  Lest I become ineffective or leave a wake of destruction in my path, I hope the little lesson I learned from a dull rotary cutter blade will stop me the next time I am tempted to cross a boundary and go somewhere I shouldn't go.

What I Learned From Ollie

(Originally written 1/31/2012.  Updated 1/31/2016)
Today marks the 99th year since my father, James Oliver Hughes, was born.  I'm not sure where his surname originated. Up until recent months, I knew nothing of my Hughes family past my paternal grandmother.  I do know that the middle name Oliver was given to my dad in honor of the country doctor who had travelled across the mountains and up a holler near Skyles, West Virginia on a cold wintry day in January, 1913 to deliver a baby boy to my Grandma Viola.  Dad was known as Jim to his co-workers, but to his family and friends, he always was and still is remembered as Ollie. (*1/13/2016 - After researching our family genealogy, I see that just about every family member I ever knew was known by his/her middle name). 

My dad was 41 years old when I was born.  Dad had had his eye on the yongest Davis girl, but he was ten years older than she was and had to wait for her to grow up.  By the time I was born in 1954, he had survived the greatest war of our nation's history, married Nell Davis and fathered a son, worked in the West Virginia coal mines, moved his family out of the mountains after experiencing a mine cave-in, and was building blimps for Goodyear Aerospace in Akron, Ohio. 

My dad holding my cousin, Glenn, and me.

 When I think of my life, . . the things I love, the way I am, . . I see pieces of both my parents in me.  As everyone does, we are molded by the example of others . . some by good example and some by bad.  More things are caught than taught, they say.   Dad could be harsh at times, but I don't think he wanted to be that way.  So, here I am, a product of my parents . . . my dad (whom I will get to in a minute, and my mom, who is like Sherri Easter's song, Handful of Weeds,  . . "She's the one who told me about Jesus.  She's the one who taught me to sing." (and SEW!).  I hope my children will do the same as I have, emulate the good and learn from the bad.

Being the baby of the family, I was not privy to all the family issues and goings on like my older brother was.  I knew our life was hard.  Dad had been laid off from Goodyear and worked out his remaining work years as a school custodian.  I didn't know it then, but we were dirt poor.  My grandma stayed with us off and on for years in our tiny little house.  When she wasn't with us, we were travelling to Pennsylvania sometimes every week-end or every other one when she was very ill.  When I was eleven years old, my world changed.  My big brother graduated and enlisted in the US Army. 

I'm not sure why, but I know my dad went into a dark place when Bob left for the Army.  Maybe it was fear of losing his only son during the Vietnam War, maybe it was a trigger of memories of the horrendous things he had experienced in war, maybe it was the huge weight and responsibilities that were on his shoulders during that time. . . probably a combination of all.  The next 7-8 years are not ones that I remember fondly, nor do I wish to write about.  What I can say is that my dad later came to a place where he accepted by faith the true gift of salvation and experienced forgiveness through his Savior.  He was a changed man.  Not perfect, but changed. 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Things I Learned From Ollie:

1.  He taught me to be a hard worker.  My dad could be found on top of a roof or in the top of a tree doing the Ollie trim job until he was 80 years old.  He always put out a garden.  He always did anything for anyone.  My parents had to work to survive.  I'm glad I developed a good work ethic from both my mom and dad.

(I think Dad was starting me out young.  Looks like I was mowing the yard in this old photo). 

2.  He taught me to love the woods and the mountains.  I said to my mom this morning, "Dad would have loved to have a day like this for his birthday, wouldn't he?  Mom:  "Yes, he'da been out diggin' something."  It didn't matter . . . hunting squirrels, fishing for bluegill, digging Ginseng, Dad loved the woods.  They were solace to him, and they are to me.

3.  He taught me to love the simple things.  Brown beans and cornbread or a bowl of corn mush and milk were as much appreciated as a steak dinner . . . which by the way, we never had.  We lived off the garden for the most part, with some chicken or Spam.  I swore I'd never live that like.  How stupid my young self was.  Now I pay good money to antique stores and auctions to re-capture the things of my simple, poor childhood.

4.  He taught me to love auctions and pickin'.   I was just telling my husband last night, "How would I have known all those years ago that I would still love to go through someone else's junk to find a treasure?"  I think it is because Dad would go to the Auction House on S. Arlington Street on Friday nights.  I was too little to stay up that late, but Saturday mornings always came with a treat, some treasure that Dad had bought for me at the auction.  Today, going to an auction or a tag sale or better yet, if possible, going through an abandoned building looking for treasures, equals FUN. 

5.  He taught me to love animals.  We always had a dog.  And cats.  He brought me home a baby squirrel that became my pet for awhile.  He even let me bring home a banty rooster all the way from West Virginia one time.  He always swore he'd never have another one after the death of a favorite dog . . . but eventually we did.

 

Our beloved TIPPY. The mayor of Molly Drive.  He was getting older here as you can see by the white snout.  I think this picture was taken shortly before he was hit by a car and killed. 

6.  He taught me to fix things.  My dad could fix anything.  He wasn't a carpenter, but he built the house my mother still lives in 56 years later.  He taught my boys to pound nails into a piece of wood.  It the nails bent, Dad taught them how to straighten them.  One day he told my middle son, Steve.  "Stevie, you just might make a pretty good carpenter someday."  I think he would be proud of my barn-building son today. . . on many levels.

Dad had a solution for everything.  My first-born son, Brian, was having a terrible time teething, One night, Dad sneaked and gave me a little bottle of whiskey to take home.  He said, "And if things get really bad, you can rub some on his gums."

7.  He taught me to laugh.  My dad was . . . putting it mildly . . . ORNERY (as seen in #6).  How many of  the grandkids were fooled time and time again by his request, "Here, pull my finger."  Hopefully not as crude, but I have inherited a bit of my dad in that respect.  I have known to be ornery a few times.  ;-p

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

So, . . . this is how I choose to remember my dad on what would have been his 99th birthday. 

#1 Young, strong, healthy and handsome.

 #2 Oops, Dad, your eyes are closed!  Accident, probably. . . but that grin . . oh, that grin says a 1,000 words and makes me laugh out loud just seeing it. 

#3 Older, on the brink of the battle with cancer that would take him.  A man who proved his love for his family, not in words but in deeds.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, DAD.  SEE YA LATER!

Happy BIRTHday!

January 18, 1977 was the typical "what Ohio winters used to be" kind of day.  It was bitter cold, blustery, with close to a foot of blowing, drifting snow.  It was also four days past the due date of my first child.  It had taken us almost three years to conceive. . . month after month of disappointment and tears, doctors' visits, well-meaning advice from friends and family. . . and finally our baby would soon be here!  I was more than ready, but baby Yoak was content to stay put.  Only a fingertip were the words from my OB/GYN.   Dr. Yoder was firm (absolutely NO more than 20# gained during pregnancy), adamant (this baby will come when he is good and ready), matter of fact (It's a BOY.  The heart rate is 120), but caring and compassionate underneath that stoic demeanor (we were soon to see that side of him). 

Rod and I had rented a tiny, two-bedroom house within walking distance of my parents when we married.  He worked an ungodly night shift in Stow (25 minutes away) and was gone from 3:15 in the afternoon to nearly 3 am in the morning.  We were both so excited about finally having a child!  Towards the end of my pregnancy, I was awakened many nights by the sounds of squeaks and rattles as my sweet husband and soon-to-be daddy inspected every item in the tiny room that we'd prepared as a nursery.  I think he spent a lot of time in that room as he unwound from his long shift.  I know he prayed over this child, for me, for him.  The birth of one's first child is a crazy scary time, and we were just kids ourselves. 

Now we were in the grip of winter, and my due date had come and gone.  My dad was very careful to put a light under the hood of his car every night.  With only an open carport as shelter, the warmth helped the engine start in the bitter cold temps.  My sister-in-law Janie was eight months pregnant, and both of us night-shift widows spent many evenings at my parents' house.  We must have played hundreds of games of Yahtzee and maybe ate that many tomato and cheese sandwiches.  My parents didn't mind.  They enjoyed the antics of their first grandchild, Heather, as she toddled around.  But this night, January 17th, I had stayed home.  A storm had dropped more snow that week.  Rod had shovelled just enough to pull his car off the road, but the drifting in our long driveway made getting my car out impossible.  I was anxious but content to stay home and watch a new mini-series on TV called Roots.

Memories can blur after 35 years, but I will always remember that nagging cramping that started . . . and continued . . . in my lower back.  By the time Rod got home, I knew I was in labor.  We both tried to rest for awhile, but there was little sleep.  We made the call to Dr. Yoder who instructed us to head to the hospital.  It was time!  With all the bags packed and ready, Rod trudged out to the end of the driveway to warm up the car.  G-r-i-n-d . . . c-l-i-c-k, c-l-i-c-k.  After only sitting a few hours, the car's battery was sapped from the cold and refused to start.  DOESN'T THAT CAR KNOW WE HAVE A BABY COMING?!!!  Okay, time for the back-up plan. 

Soon we were in the back seat of my parents' car as my dad nervously drove us to the hospital.  I don't know who was more anxious. . Dad, Mom, Rod or me.  The road was so hooved up from the freezing temps that winter that Rt. 619 was like a washboard!  Dad drove so-o-o slow that it seemed like an eternity before we arrived at Barberton Citizens Hospital!  I KNOW my poor dad was afraid I'd deliver in the car!   If only we knew. 

Lest I bore you with details, let me just say that after two IV's of labor-inducing Pitossin and twelve more L-O-N-G hours of back labor, our beautiful blue-eyed baby boy finally arrived.   (Yes, Dr. Yoder was right . . . all three times.  Oh, and I found out later that my doctor was at the hospital for many hours that day.  While I was slowly laboring, he waited there - even playing cards with the nurses).  Our first son, Brian James Yoak was born on January 18th at exactly 8:18 pm.  Less than three years later, he would be joined by two more brothers, Stephen Wayne (Stevie) and Keith Michael (Keithie).  And yes, some people still call them by those names.  Precious babies who grew to be strong men . . our three sons whom we love so much.

It's hard to believe 35 years have passed so quickly since we held the first of our three sons.  The pages of these boys' lives are etched in my heart and mind, but the roles are so different now.  Now they are the young husbands and fathers, and we are the grandparents.  They have brought us so much joy yet a few more gray hairs.  I no longer can kiss away the sting of a boo-boo, and band-aids can't cover up the hurt of a broken heart.  Stresses of life, wrong choices made, lessons learned the hard way are just as much a part of their lives as it was in ours.  They have a lot of us in them, the good and the bad.  But they are good men, these sons of ours. 

Their dad and I rejoice because of eternal choices they have made.  "I have no greater joy than to hear that my children walk in truth."  3 Jn. 1:4

We take comfort in the truth that those choices carry with them an effectual working in their lives.  "The LORD will perfect that which concerneth me: thy mercy, O LORD, endureth for ever: forsake not the works of thine own hands."  Psalm 138:8
 
We desire that all of life's experiences will expose that the greatest thing they can do is love.  "Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends."  John 15:13
 
And like their parents . . who are continually learning that our mistakes and hard times are not the END but part of the process.  " . .  to give unto them beauty for ashes, the oil of joy for mourning, the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness; that they might be called trees of righteousness, the planting of the LORD, that he might be glorified."  Isaiah 61:3
 

~ ~ ~ ~

 

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, BRIAN!  We love you!

 

 

  Brian with the youngest of his three sons

 
 



 
 
 
 



 
 
 

Today I was the Englisher.

A girl has to take a road trip every now and then, and today was mine.  It's early January, and that means it's time to consult with my MODA rep at The Holmes Country Fabric Show in Berlin, Ohio.  Last year a snow storm closed the schools, but not this woman on a mission.  Today was perfect!  Blue skies, dry pavement, mild temps in this strange Ohio winter we're enjoying.  It was a much-needed time to relax and enjoy the peaceful sights in the heart of Ohio's Amish country.

Looking over fabric samples with Mark Pytel of MODA/UNITED NOTIONS

Business was even going on in the parking lot.

By 5pm, my goals were accomplished and business was done. The sidewalks in Berlin were rolled up, the sun was setting, smoke from wood stoves was billowing out of chimneys and lying like a blanket across the valley, Amish men and women were scurrying out of town towards their homes.  Some walked, some rode bicyles, and most travelled in buggies.  Dusk was falling as I drove out of the rolling hills of Holmes County.  Topping each knoll, I was careful to look for the reflective triangle that would signal an Amish buggy ahead.   It was a treacherous time of day when many Englishers have brought tragedy to this community with their carelessness. 

Our cabin . . . at least we claim it as ours .. Simple Blessings Cabin in Berlin, Ohio    is a favorite place to stay. 

Winesburg, OH

 Taking the back road home is worth the extra time it takes just to drive through Winesburg.  It has to be the perfect small town in America.  It was a good day.  My heart is full and my mind is rested. 

Tomorrow is a new day.  Much to do, and sew on. . .

Until next time.