his name was Ray

I seem to think about my grandfather more in the winter than any other season. Probably because that was when he passed. It's easy when I close my eyes to see him sitting in the wooden chair he made himself, by the back door window. He'd peer out and look around with much intent, and soon there would be a grin. He'd spotted a redbird or maybe even a deer. He was the sort of simple and goodhearted soul that found happiness in the smallest of incidences, even in the barest of winter landscapes.

For my childhood years, we lived up the hill from him and my Mamaw. Us kids would traipse down the dusty hillside to their house knowing he'd be ready to fix us breakfast, any time of the day. He'd been on cooking duty during part of his time in the Air Force and he would often tell us about how much he enjoyed fixing breakfast for the boys during the Korean War. I can remember exactly how his scrambled eggs looked and tasted, and I must have watched him make them a hundred times or more. I've tried, but I just can't get mine like that. I guess it's the little things you remember most about those you loved. The unspoken or mundane moments in-between the important goings-ons of life.

At Christmas time, he would regale us with the most magnificent rendition of the old country carol, "Christmas Time's A Comin'" on his harmonica, and when the muscles in his arms began to fail him, we surprised him with a harmonica holder as a present. There was the grin again, the sparkle in his eyes. One of my brothers jumped up and put it on him, and off he went to playing.

Papaw Ray lived, ate, and breathed bluegrass music. He could play any bluegrass instrument expertly well and loved to share a song or two with anyone that would listen. It was often a loving joke between all who knew Ray that you couldn't slip away without him saying, "Here, let me play you a little tune." I don't believe he could read music- apparently he was self-taught from childhood. And he could tell you the most fascinating backstories to each song- what the lyrics meant, where it came from and so on.

I've turned out to be quite the thrifter, having a passion and an eye for old stuff and really appreciating the stories behind it. I also love selling. If you haven't seen me go at the farmer's market, you ought to try and make it past my booth without a purchase. I do kid, but still, I think it's safe to say I might have gotten this flair for flea market finds from my Papaw. He'd go set up each week at the Hillbilly Flea Market in Russell, and sometimes at other places, too. He loved to make a deal and to get out and socialize like that.

People really thought a lot of him and when he died, I did expect a lot of people to turn out at the funeral home visitation, but nothing close to what really did. The place was packed so that there was not one chair to sit in and no floor space to comfortably stand. People from all corners came out to pay their respects and when they said nice things about him, as people are apt to do at these sorts of gatherings, you could feel that they really meant it. We played bluegrass music at the visitation and there was a photo of a young Ray Perry, with that familiar grin, in his military uniform. I noticed he looked a lot like my brothers.

At the funeral service, my brother who is in the National Guard performed the military funeral flag presentation and I swear it was the saddest, most moving thing I've ever experienced in my life. There was some kind of beautiful circle closing as the flag was folded and he kneeled to present it to my Mamaw. People wailed out in the tiny chapel on the hill. It was snowing and as I walked back to the car with my arms folded, I thought about how much less kind the world felt that day.

I missed him and wished I had gotten to say goodbye. I could have, but as his muscular dystrophy worsened, I began to look away, to not want to try and talk to him on the phone. It was too painful for me to witness him suffering so. He had lost almost all motor function and had begun to choke on liquids, even his own spit. When he tried to speak, it was garbled, as his mouth and throat muscles began to give way. It was truly a pitiful situation.

They say that shortly before he passed, he was sitting in the living room of their condo (they had moved to Florida in recent years to be closer to their youngest child and her burgeoning family). He pointed at the window, out into the parking lot, saying, "Annette, it's a deer!"

It is some comfort for me to know that even in the dimming of his life, he was still living the same as he always had been, in his heart and in his mind.

in defense of honey boo boo child

Americans like Here Comes Honey Boo Boo. Probably for a lot of the same reasons we like Nascar, Cheetos, and Blingee. But I think there's something more to our fascination with the Boo Boo Clan. There's a whole lot of love there inside that rundown house by the railroad tracks and mini-mart. And even the Grinchiest of hearts can see that.

The show's been riddled with controversy from the start. There was Go Go Juice, Sketti, a teenage pregnancy, a baby born with an extra thumb, weight and diet speculation... the list goes on and on. Sure, America loves the voyeuristic stuff. LOVES IT. But what keeps us coming back for more, I think, is the fascination with a family so tight-knit they can smell each other's breath blind-folded for a family fun night.

They care for and support each other wholeheartedly, and protect Alana (Honey Boo Boo Child) from any limelight she might not be too keen on at the moment. They don't push or force her pageantry- in fact, they take a really laid-back approach to the child pageant world compared to most. There's even a gay uncle, Lee Thompson, whom the family is completely affectionate and accepting of. I think some Americans could learn a bit from this "backwards redneck" family- in many ways, the Thompsons are way ahead of the game in equality, beauty and self-confidence issues, and unconditional love.

This past Sunday night, the premiere episode of Honey Boo Boo Child Season 2 had ratings through the roof. I haven't had a chance to watch (getting TV out here on the farm can be... interesting), but I'm really looking forward to it. I love Mama June, Sugar Bear, and all the girls. I hope I get to see more of Glitzy the pig and of Alana competing. But what I'm looking most forward to is watching the small-scale family interactions. The kindnesses exchanged, no matter how weirdly. The make do and mend mentality that gets them through tough times. And the unapologetic and hilarious moments in between.

And please, let there be more Uncle Poodle.

And I've got some new additions to the shop, so have a look! My Etsy Shop

i've got a new love

These guys. 

A few months ago, I was in a shop in Lexington when I spotted an interesting book out of the corner of my eye. I didn't even know what it was about, but I quickly snapped a picture of it on my phone so I'd remember it later. A few weeks passed and as I was flicking through my iPhone photos, I saw it again. A quick Google showed it to be a book in the Moomin series.

Moomin is a Scandinavian import, and much like those Swedish meatballs from Ikea and cheap, colorful tights from H&M, I was both intrigued and sold. I quickly put the first book on my Christmas list and loved David forever when to my delight, there it was under the tree! 

Yay! Here it is!!

So, Moomin was dreamed up, written, and illustrated by the wonderfully Bohemian, Tove Jansson. Critics believe the Moomin characters were inspired by her awesomely wacky family and friends who were all creative, lived close to nature and embraced diversity. 

A description of Moomin from Publisher's Weekly: 

Moomin's stories begin simply (he needs to rid his home of freeloaders, or goes on a family vacation) and snowball into a series of amusing, whimsical misadventures, which can involve elements of the fantastic, like magic, monsters and ghosts. Although Moomin, his parents and his girlfriend, Snorkmaiden, are trolls, they look like friendly hippopotamuses. Moomin is reminiscent of a big, chubby baby; there is something of Charlie Brown in him: Moomin is like a child beset by life's troubles and usually (but not always) too passive to get angry and fight back. Adults should appreciate Jansson's satire—although she always provides happy endings, dark undercurrents are at play: one episode opens with Moomin attempting suicide; reunited with his missing parents, he's abandoned by them again. Jansson's deceptively childlike style masterfully conveys her characters' personalities. Moomin's mouth rarely appears, but his eyes, his brows and his gestures are expressive and endearing.

There was a long-running comic strip, many books, toys, television shows, films, stage productions, a museum, and even a Moomin World theme park which is still a big draw for tourists in Naantali. 

I love that tophat!

Jansson won the Hans Christian Andersen Award for her contributions to children's literature in 1966 and her works have been translated into 33 languages. 

Moomin episode on Youtube, The Treasure Hunt

Moomin episode on Youtube, The Hobgoblin

I'm keen to collect all the books just as soon as I can. It's rare to find something that is such great fun to read. Moomin is magical, witty, and as charming as can be.

a really good year

I just got back from spending four days in Louisville. I wanted a change of scenery and really enjoyed the central heating, the art, eating some food not prepared by me, and ringing in the new year in front of a television with a half empty pizza box on the bed.

Sometimes, it just feels good to be a consumer. 

We had been saying for ages we wanted to do this, but it's hard to get away from farm life when there is so much to maintain- and we don't even have livestock! A farmer never sees a vacation in the spring or summer, and rarely in the fall. There's just too much to do outside. You leave a garden for 3 days unattended and you'll come back to find the weeds have won. Couple weeding and constant harvesting and preserving with the mega-drought we endured this summer and you've got a good old-fashioned ball and chain. A really tasty one, but still. 

Even up until the moment we revved up my old '94 Volvo and tossed the last of our bags (well, mostly mine) into the trunk, we were still doubting this was the right thing to do. Once we had the city in our sights a few miles outside of Louisville, I was certain this was just what we needed. 

It was a cold drive. It had snowed a few inches the night before. 

And, as life sometimes goes, my heating in the car decided not to work for the first time ever, on such a frigid drive. Luckily, we were bundled up anyway, so it wasn't something we couldn't bear. 

We ate some great food, I did some fantastic thrift shopping and used some Christmas money from family to buy some new clothes and makeup (thanks Mamaw Perry, Papaw Ron, and David's parents!), and saw the sights. 

One of my favorite stops in Louisville is a shop called Discoveries. It's on Bardstown Road and carries the most beautiful array of jewelry, trinkets, and accessories from artisans all over the world. I found the sweetest little pair of Japanese cat earrings there and purchased two really super Mexican Christmas ornaments that I can add to the tree next year. One is of a tin Felix the Cat and the other is an antique etched mirror on a string. 

I had the brilliant idea to go to this place called LazerBlaze. Yes. It was awesome. We played glow in the dark mini golf and loads of goofy arcade games where I cashed in my tickets for a sweet prize. Haha. 

We also stopped in at 21C downtown and I adored the art currently on exhibit. 

Me taking a photo of myself in the permanent piece, Text Rain. 

More Text Rain. 

This was my most favorite piece- The Haunted Doll's House by Laurie Lipton

Creepy and so awesome. 

I LOVED this piece so much, but fail to remember the artist or title!

The very best part of the entire trip was our stay on New Year's Eve at the Inn at Woodhaven. 

We got there after dark, having made a "slight" detour into Forever 21 for their half off clearance sale that took up THE ENTIRE SECOND FLOOR. It was epic and now I am trendy again, thank goodness! My sister and best friends will breathe a sigh of relief. Sometimes, being out on the farm, I commit the most cardinal of fashion sins- wearing Crocs. Yes. Yes. Ugh. 

Anyways, the Inn at Woodhaven was built in 1853 and is just as charming as one could ever dream up. We stayed in the Cupola Room, which was the top floor of the old carriage house out back. The room was cozy and sweet and had the most delightful treats set out for our arrival. There was sherry in an antique crystal decanter, biscotti, freshly baked cookies, tea and other such things. We gave Mellow Mushroom a call and as quick as can be, we were in lazytown heaven. My only regret was forgetting to ask the innkeeper what type of mattress and feather pillows were in our room. My own bed was put to shame! In the morning, we were served an incredible homemade breakfast of caramel french toast, scrambled eggs with onions and cheese, biscuits and gravy, pancakes, and bacon. 

The Cupola Room Bedroom

I admit, it was hard to say goodbye. On our way out of town, I stopped at some Peddler's Malls to hunt for things for my Etsy shop and really had quite a haul. I got so excited at one point that I screamed to David down the aisle, "Go get a cart, I've hit the motherload!" and a lady shopping nearby chuckled. 

I came home and finally got to photographing all of my vintage and antique finds, and even tossed in a few of my yarns for good measure. I've got the shop up and going now and have promised myself to load at least one item a day onto it, so that I can find some success at this. Already, I've had way more page views and "favorites" than I could have hoped for so soon. The link to my shop is in the top right corner of my blog- check it out if you'd like. 

And, so, here's to a new year- I'm ready for whatever it may bring, but hopefully there's a lot more pizza, just as much love, and a little luck.  

it's the end of the world, baby

via valeriaortiz

There's going to be a lot of doomsdaying today and I think we're all expecting that. But something I didn't expect was how I'd really feel about the brevity of my own life when I let myself ponder the big, "what if?" We're about to get all deep and stuff here. 

When I got around to really asking myself how I'd feel if all this Mayan apocalypse stuff really did turn out to be true, I was struck with fear. Fear that I hadn't had enough time yet to get around to actually doing the things I always want to do or plan to do but don't. I'm probably not alone in feeling this way. It's just so easy to put things off for another day. Especially when those things feel so much bigger and cooler than you.

So, here's to taking life by the horns and living each day like it could be your last. Ask yourself how you would live if you weren't afraid of failure, then do it.

I really love positive affirmations so here's a few that really speak to living boldly:

via birchandbird

via randomobjects

via tealcheesecake

via designismine

a hard candy christmas

It's going to be a "hard candy Christmas" here on the farm. It's an old reference to being on such hard times that all you get for gifts is hard candy, fruits, or homemade items. Also- a Dolly Parton song. I must have heard that saying a million times growing up in Eastern Kentucky. People would sigh as they said it, often during particularly difficult years. The Appalachian region of Kentucky has always struggled with financial depression, and it seems no other time is your poorness more on show than at Christmas. Growing up in a middle class family, I personally did not experience one of these such Christmases, but having journeyed into adulthood with a lot of choices that were good for my heart but not so good for my wallet, I'm having my first one this year.

Most gifts will be homemade, thrifted or bought for very little and dinner won't feature a spiral cut ham, oysters, or truffles. But everything under our tree will have been chosen with great care and the food we cook and eat will just be the delicious end to the long relationship we've had with it since we first set tiny seeds in the ground.

Two particular "hard candy Christmas" stories come to mind that I have loved since being a young girl. One comes from the book "Little House in the Big Woods" by Laura Ingalls Wilder. The Christmas passages are so vivid and touching and have always been my favorite parts of the entire Little House series.

Laura tells of the great preparations in the tiny cabin, "Ma was busy all day long, cooking good things for Christmas. She baked salt-rising bread and 'Injun bread,' Swedish crackers, and a huge pan of baked beans, with salt pork and molasses. She baked vinegar pies and dried-apple pies, and filled a big jar with cookies, and she let Laura and Mary lick the cake spoon." 

"One morning she boiled molasses and sugar together until they made the thick syrup, and Pa brought in two pans of clean, white snow from the outdoors. Laura and Mary each had a pan, and Pa and Ma showed them how to pour the dark syrup in little streams onto the snow. They made circles, and curlicues, and squiggledy things, and these hardened at once and were candy."

That was the year that Laura was given her doll Charlotte, made by Ma. 

In "Little House on the Prairie", Christmas almost doesn't happen. There's bad weather and tough times, but Pa and family friend Mr. Edwards walk all the way to Independence. There they meet "Santa" at the general store and are able to bring back gifts for the Ingalls girls. 

"These new tin cups were their very own. Now they each had a cup to drink out of. Laura jumped up and down and shouted and laughed, but Mary stood still and looked with shining eyes at her own tin cup. Then they plunged their hands in to the stockings again. And they pulled out two long, long sticks of candy. It was peppermint candy, striped red and white. They looked and looked at that beautiful candy, and Laura licked her stick, just one lick. But Mary was not so greedy. She didn't take even one lick of her stick."

"Those stockings weren't empty yet. Mary and Laura pulled out two small packages. They unwrapped them, and each found a little heart-shaped cake. Over their delicate brown tops was sprinkled white sugar. The sparkling grains lay like tiny drifts of snow. But that wasn't all...at the bottom of each of their stockings was a bright, shiny, new penny. Mr. Edwards had forged a raging, flooding creek to bring the girls their Christmas, and was rewarded by two of the happiest girls on the prairie."

This year's Christmas will be simple, but it will be so full of joyful memories and thankfulness for the blessings of the year. I have always found it interesting in talking with older people about their happiest of holiday memories- every single time, what they remember most fondly are the Christmases when things are patched together a little more than usual, when things meant more because of the sacrifice or thought involved and the love everything was stitched up with. I am beginning to learn that there's a difference between what you want and what you need. If you're loved, warm and dry, with a full belly and a happy home, you're already richer than many. May you have a very joyful day, no matter what sort of Christmas you may be having. 

Each day leading up to Christmas,  I will be featuring some of the old-fashioned ways we'll be celebrating so be sure to check back! 

in anticipation of snow

via forestheartblog

It seems a funny thing to wish for snow as an adult, and yet, I suppose the heart of a child still beats beneath my chest. Children love snow for many reasons- cancelled school days, a fun and fleeting way to play, and I think, most of all, the sheer wonder of it all. Have you ever sat by a window, warm inside your home, and watched as the wet and heavy flakes floated to the ground? It's the sort of meditation our minds go to all on their own, without needing to be prompted by yoga mats or incense, not that I don't enjoy those things, too. 

via gypsypurplehome

In Kentucky, particularly the Appalachian Mountains region, we tend to get some pretty good shots at snow every year, but the most hallowed and wished for of snows is the elusive Christmas Snow. Many children wish to wake to snow on Christmas morn. It lends an element of magic to the holiday and gives families a good nudge to put a fire in the fireplace or share hot chocolate together. To suit up everyone in many, many layers and delight to watch the clumsy, waddling snowball fights ensue.

Now that I am older- a grizzled and wise whole 26 years old!- my wish list has shortened and I admit sadly that some of that wonderful excitement leading up to the holidays has begun to fade. I'm not sure where it went to. I have an inkling that having to be responsible in general tends to edge out that tender sense of awe that can so easily slip away.

All of this to is to say, the weather man says snow is on the way! Tomorrow night AND a good chance for waking up to it on the big day. I'm happy to say I still love a good old-fashioned snowy day and plan to try out homemade snow cream if I have half the chance.

recipe via sugarpiefarmhouse

Snow Cream has been traced to a 15th century Dutch recipe and makes a very special treat for children of all ages. It's something old folks speak wistfully of in childhood memories and you can read about in 19th century fiction. So, without further ado, here's how you make it!

• Gather 8 cups of fresh snow in a large bowl
• Pour in 1 can of sweetened condensed milk
• And 2 teaspoons of vanilla extract 
• Now just stir it up and eat plain or with whatever toppings your heart desires