Adventures in Country Living: Backyard Garden

Ah, my garden. I could just sit and stare at it all day long. Seriously, I can. I don't know why it brings me such peace and joy, but it does. Maybe it's the feel of diving my hands into the warm earth or the sight of the first blossoms in my pea patch, but my garden is a place of refuge and quiet, a place my children can dig (safely away from my plants, please) with their tractors and shovels. We're together, working as a family, growing organic fruits and vegetables for our table and it couldn't be more fun.

Starting a garden was daunting for me for several years. I never quite had it all together and it wasn't until I figured out one secret that my garden finally became a success. Shh...I'll tell you...GOOD SOIL!

No matter how much sun or shade or water or TLC a plant gets, if it's rooted in poor soil, it WILL struggle. For years, it seemed, I would water my plants day in and day out only to keep them barely alive. Then I discovered composting and incorporated manure into my garden (ick! you say? I said the same thing until my garden doubled in size. Now I am manure's #1 fan :D) Let me explain.

When we first moved to our home several years ago, we could have sold our garden soil as low-grade concrete. Once the rainy season was over, anything short of an axe would not penetrate the ground. Hence our plants had little to no hope. But with my husband's help (and brawn) we built raised beds, and sprinkled in thin layers of leaves (thanks neighbors across the street for letting me haul a trash can back and forth like a crazy lady), grass, compost, manure, dirt and anything else we could get our hands on. Now, or soil is light and fluffy and the garden is bursting at the seams. Every few days, it seems to double in size like a bowl of dough left to rise--and I love it!

We have so much lettuce, I'm about to beg my neighbors, "please take some lettuce home with you!" We have had a salad everyday for months thanks to the cold frame my hubby built--with a couple of two by fours and some corrugated plastic attached to a hinged frame, come snow or snow or snow, we still had winter lettuce and spinach growing underneath.

With a small container garden, comes the obstacle of space. But we are learning new and fun methods of growing an abundance of fruits and vegetables in a small space. From the creek bed, we cut down willow and hauled it home. From the large pieces, I formed rustic obelisks for green beans, a trellis for cucumbers and used the smaller pieces as stakes along the pea patch. I think the effect is charming and quaint. Not to mention cheap. And as we would say in our family "That's sooo Martha Stewart!"

So if you've been intimidated by starting a vegetable garden, give it a shot. Get your hands on free seed catalogs that explain which vegetable varieties grow best during the different growing months. I highly recommend the book, "The Edible Garden" from Sunset. It has amazing photos and great tips for building and growing your garden. Talk to friends and neighbors who garden--chances are they'll have tips and plants to share--gardeners love sharing their plants. I've gotten rosemary, rhubarb, oregano, chocolate mint, strawberries and blackberries (to name just a few) from friends and neighbors. Gardening doesn't have to be expensive and it doesn't have to be daunting. Grow what you like to eat--if you and your family don't like it don't grow it. (Sorry squash and zucchini, you might find better luck with a different family:-)

Happy Homesteading!

The Writer's Torch: Alison Winfree Pickrell

This marks the beginning of a new thread that I'm excited to share. It's called The Writer's Torch, and the purpose of this thread is to showcase Christian authors by allowing them to share with you their stories of how God called them to be a writer. Here, they will share their testimonies of using the gift of writing that God has given them--the written word is their torch and they are striving to be a light in the world. I hope their stories bless and inspire you, as they have me.

First off, I would like to introduce Alison Pickrell, the author of four books, including her latest release, The Last Cordate. Alison writes, "I believe that God put a desire to write in my heart from a very early age. I grew up in Winston-Salem in the beautiful state of North Carolina. My parents didn’t buy us kids a lot of expensive toys but they did make sure we always had a supply of paper, pencils, crayons and markers. My brothers, sister and I would make books, stories, plays and illustrations which we would share with our mother and anyone else we could get to read them. This instilled in me a love for words, stories and, of course, reading books. That love burned in front of me like a light I couldn’t take my eyes off of.

I loved the fantasies by C. S. Lewis, Tolkien, E. Nesbit and others. At age sixteen, I wrote a fantasy of my own. I made a list of publishers without doing any research and had my father wrap the manuscript in brown paper, tie it with string and send it off to New York City. Thus, began the first of what would be three bulging volumes of rejection slips! This early experience with the publishing world only whetted my appetite and desire to get published.

I grew up, got a teaching degree in special education, and moved to Statesville. I married a wonderful man, Brian Pickrell, and inherited his three sons (twins, age 5 and a 6 year old). Being a teacher and a stepmom should have filled all the empty gaps in my life. But there was still this burning desire not just to get published, but to make a difference in the world through my writing. I couldn’t forget it. It was like God was tapping gently on my shoulder reminding me of that early desire. I joined a writers group in Statesville and wrote five novels from 1984 to 1988 that I believed God had given me."

Her books reveal the call on her heart for those in need. Her titles include: As Eagles, a novel about an older woman and an abandon child who desperately need eachother, and The Den of Lions, a novel about an asthmatic librarian who rescues a severely handicapped man from the circus. Alison says, “There is a little bit of hero in each one of us.”


"In 1988, I decided to give up writing for Lent (usually I give up desserts) which meant during that period of time I couldn’t do anything that had to do with writing. All during Lent an idea for a book kept coming to me and I had to push it away and refuse to think about it until Easter Sunday when I bought a composition notebook and wrote across the cover: My Religious Epic Pilgrimage Novel. I began taking notes and the book that resulted, The Last Cordate, flowed so easily and was such fun to write I believe the Holy Spirit told it to me.

Each of these books was about things I strongly believed in and I thought they could be a light for readers in a dark world. I even had an agent who believed in me and my writing, but by the end of the eighties, when she hadn’t been able to sell a single one of them, we parted ways.

I began to question God. Had I heard Him correctly or was this just a selfish little desire on my part? I decided to move forward by faith and began sending out the manuscripts on my own."

With larger publishing houses closed to first-time authors, Alison sent her five manuscripts to smaller houses, but her rejection collection grew and grew.

"At last I reached the realization that God was saying ‘No’ to this little desire of my heart. I believed he was telling me to focus on my REAL life, that of being a wife, a stepmother, a special ed teacher and in later years a jail minister. I needed to leave the pretend world of pretend stories behind. This was one desire I just couldn’t have. I put my manuscripts in the attic, left the writers group, dropped my writers’ magazines and tried to focus on The Real World. I succeeded to a certain extent but the desire was still there.

So, in 2004 I said to God, ‘God, I heard You. I know what You said, but I just want to see if I can still do it.’ I hadn’t written a book since 1988. So, I wrote Unto the Least of These, a mystery where the detective is a Christian and the only eye-witness to the crime is a little boy who has cerebral palsy and can neither walk nor speak. This child is based around two boys I met in my teaching days. I always wanted to make one of those boys a hero and Jody is the hero of my book."

After submitting her work to The Writer's Edge, Alison shares what happened next.

"The little summary of my book appeared in the Feb. 2006 issue of the report. It was New Year’s night—January 1, 2007 and I couldn’t sleep. I checked my email and there was one from Capstone Fiction saying, “We were intrigued by your summary on Writers Edge…” What? It had been almost a solid year! Capstone would have had to wade through months and months of reports to find my tiny one inch summary. I couldn’t believe it.

God hadn’t been saying No. He’d been saying, Wait. The publisher He had in mind wasn’t even in existence until 2006. The best part is that Capstone (which later became OakTara) wanted to see everything I’d ever written, so I started sending them those old manuscripts I wrote in the eighties.

Isn’t God good? I am reminded of the line from the 23rd Psalm, “Goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life.” I feel like goodness and mercy went back into my past and brought all those stories forward to my present. I just hope that my books will be part of that blazing light that God has sent out into the world to enrich, encourage and bring joy into the lives of readers!
Alison's Website

Book Review: The Heart Mender

When I first began reading Andy Andrew's The Heart Mender, I was honestly worried that I wouldn't like it. The story got off to a bit of a puzzling start, but as the pieces of the mystery fell into place, I found myself digging deeper into the book, curious to find out more about what seems to be a very true love story between a WWII "Nazi" and the American waitress who finds his battered body on the shoreline.

Helen has just lost her husband to the war and finds herself in a lonely pit of anger and despair. When taking a late night walk, she stumbles upon a German soldier's body lying on the shore, and her first instincts are to leave him to die. Yet when this man whom she assumes is a heartless Nazi, quickly demonstrates his kind spirit, Helen undergoes an enormous risk by lugging the wounded soldier back to her sea-side cottage and nurses whom she thought was her enemy, back to health.

With enough romance and action to satisfy an array of readers, The Heart Mender is a story of love and second chances. The account of one woman's need to forgive and a displaced soldier who has no where else to turn, The Heart Mender is a reminder that a person's true colors do not decorate any uniform, but exist within the heart.

Leave your comment to be entered in the drawing for a free copy of The Heart Mender. The winner will be drawn on May 30, 2010


Thomas Nelson has provided me with a complimentary copy of this book, and the opinions expressed are my own.

Encouragement For Mothers: Patience

In honor of mothers day, I would like to share a thought that has been close to my heart for the last few days:

"Why is my patience conditional?"

My relationship with Christ is not conditional.
My relationship with my husband is not conditional.
Therefore my relationship with my children should not be conditional--and one of the most tangible ways a mother demonstrates her love for her children is through patience. Yet I find myself often losing my patience with my children based on factors or conditions that arise throughout the day. Perhaps my daughter dumped out the box of raisins or perhaps my son decided to unroll the toilet paper into the bathtub only to make a wet sopping mess. Even though I have to address them as an authority and correct their behavior, it should always be done through NEVER ENDING patience. How I wish that were the case, because I am ashamed to say, that is sometimes (more often than not--wince) not my resulting attitude.

God handles us, his children with never ending patience. He is perfect at it because he is 1) God and 2) fathomless in all that he does. So since I am called to have a Christ-like mindset and heart, I want to follow in my Father's footsteps. I want to stop losing my patience and start gaining it!

This was my cry last week when life and motherhood were not going my way: "My patience is wearing thin. My patience is wearing thin!" I was frazzled and my children had a front row, interactive seat.

Then the Lord spoke to my heart and He helped change my mindset. This became my prayer: "Lord strengthen my patience, deepen my patience, let it not be conditional. Let my patience be ever growing and steadfast. This is how I can be a good mother to my children." With this prayer filling my heart, my patience suddenly was not a conditional thing, something that swayed with the tides of my emotions. It became steadfast and solid, something my children could depend on as I loved them and nurtured them throughout the day. Then, even when trials arose, I was calm in addressing those trials. I want my little ones to look to me for refuge and stability and they should be able to rest in the security of my patience.

I'm still working on it, but I am determined to hold myself accountable for my behavior and temperament by trying to overcome the little things throughout the day that try and throw me off course. When daily life begins to escalate, and the teakettle of my heart is close to boiling, I don't want the result to be a steaming, fuming mother for my children. I must pause for a moment, remember to pray my little prayer and allow God to do his work in my heart.

Blessings to all you mothers out there. The Lord is watching over you and your little ones. Lean on Him and let Him be your pillar of strength.

Strawberries and Honey

Today is a beautiful day. Birds are chirping outside my kitchen window and although I have no name for the bouquet of wildflowers on my kitchen table, the purple blossoms are distractingly beautiful. I have jars of them all over my house. I say jars, because I own very few vases. Instead, glass jars of varying shapes and sizes cover nearly every surface of my house from the tiny daffodils in the bathroom to the kitchen sink with orange blossoms and Irises to the small oak table with the purple flowers that I must find a name for. The humble vases are the perfect vessels for wildflowers. They are my favorite vases--large clear pasta sauce jars, small wine bottles, green ginger ale bottles and pretty little bottles that once held yeast with the prettiest golden-brown hue, I could never bring myself to throw them out. Every time I use a jar, I'm addicted to tearing the labels off and throwing them in the dishwasher. Our cupboards are overflowing with glass jars, they practically spill out every time I go searching for a dish. Sometimes when my husband does the dishes, I'll open the dishwasher the following morning to find a glass jar on the top rack--it makes me smile, it is his quiet way of telling me he loves me.

Thanks to our chickens, the children and I had a breakfast of eggs whose yolks were so orange I felt bad for those who will never get to taste a farm-fresh egg. And considering that it is easier to keep chickens than a dog, they will always be my pet of choice. There are five of them in our little coop. I let them out every day. Right now, they are running around in the sunshine looking for worms. There are four rusty red ones and one that is burgundy. It makes me wonder who their mother's were and if their mother's were friends. The burgundy one is enormous. If she were a woman she would be wearing a muumuu. She lays the fattest eggs. I think she is my favorite.

The children played for awhile after breakfast. My son sat at the kitchen window drawing on construction paper. He decided to draw on the walls. Three-year olds make impressive wall washers if you give them a wet rag. I doubt he will ever do it again. He asked for his usual PB&J for lunch, but he settled for some toast with left over sweet potatoes. There was enough cream and brown sugar in the sweet potatoes that I doubted he would complain. Of course he didn't. I was craving some Greek yogurt. It is so thick and creamy, it is another addiction of mine. But it must be served in my favorite bowl. A little blue and white bowl that says England on the bottom. I've named it my porridge bowl because I imagine thats what it was once used for. Everything tastes better in that bowl. I sliced some strawberries and drizzled honey on top. My son watched me and asked for some. He now loves yogurt with honey.

My son and I went out to the garden. He ran around with the hose, getting his socks wet, while I picked perfectly green spinach for a salad. I noticed my green beans were popping up. Somehow, by the miracle of God, I planted dried green beans and after a few weeks of watering, little plants emerged with their heads still stuck inside the bean. They look like little bent over soldiers, trying to take their helmets off. They are my favorite vegetable. My mother-in-law is Italian. She cooks them with olive oil, red onion and fresh tomatoes. She sprinkles salt and pepper on top and when you're done with the beans, you really wish you had a straw to slurp the seasoned oil off your plate. She made them for my birthday party last week. I will request them every year.

I've decided that, today, I'm satisfied with the simple things in life: my flowers, my garden, and my children. I love my children most of all. I love that they are still in their jammies and my son's shirt is not only inside out, but also backwards. He dressed himself. My daughter smells like sunshine and baby powder though I don't know how that is possible as she hasn't gone outside today and I never use baby powder. But she smells that way everyday and I love it.

Adventures in Country Living: Sourdough Bread

My latest project thats been going on for about six months is learning how to bake homemade bread. As usual, my attempts at these sort of tasks are not only for my families benefit, but its also hands on research for my books...when I say someone lets the dough rise on the back of the stove in my story, I really want to know what I'm talking about.

So this path at homemade bread making has been a ton of fun. It might be responsible for a few extra pounds padded onto me and my family (sorry guys) but there's this thing about homemade bread...when it comes out of the oven and its hot and the house smells amazing, you can't just eat one slice. ( A dear friend of mine who bakes bread regularily for her family says the excitement wears off after awhile and you develope some self control...I don't know about that) I mean, I've never seen anyone sit down with a loaf of store bought bread, undo the twisty tie, pull it out of the bag, and eat the whole thing. It just doesnt have the same effect on the soul as homemade bread.

So now, I'll tell my adventures in the wonderful world of sourdough! There are some misconceptions about sourdough. 1) you don't have to live in San Fran 2) you don't have to be an apron-clad Italian man in a bakery to make good sourdough 3) and although you have to feed your sourdough starter like a pet, its not going to crawl off your counter and attack you while your sleeping (haha) although when it bubbles, it can be a little creepy.

I bought my sourdough starter online (amazon.com, about $6) after researching how to make a starter. But what I didn't realize is that you can make it just as easy. All the online recipes discouraged making a starter from scratch using yeast (hence the amazon purchase) But, after looking in Carla Emery's, Encyclopedia of Country Living, she says it plain: "I hate to say it but there's a certain element of hoax potential in this sourdough business. You don't have to send away for a starter..." (don't I feel dumb!) "...anybody who wants an authentic and usable starter and who lives in a normal (food around and air circulating) environment rather than a totally antiseptic one (an operating room) need only to mix a cup of flour with a cup of water and leave it covered with a light cloth up to 5 days." What will happen then, is wild yeast in the air will be attracted to your flour/water mixture and decide to live there :-) Gross in a cool kinda way!

Well, my sourdough starter arrived, I followed the simple directions of keeping it in a loosley covered container, fed it flour and water occasionally and after a few days, it smelled like beer and looked like bubbling toothpaste (this was all quite exciting for the 3 year old in my household) I got the easiest recipe for 1.2.3. Sourdough bread on youtube and baked up my first loaf this morning. I've worked with a lot of homemade dough in the past and I have to say that this was THE EASIEST recipe I have ever used. It only required 3 ingredients (flour, salt, water) and a slight ammount of brain power which I successfully provided and, voila! For breakfast we're eating crunchy crusted, soft centered, warm, fresh from the oven sourdough bread with melting butter. I think I better go for a jog later.

Now that I know how easy sourdough is and that it did not originate with the goldminers as is a misconception (they simply popularized the bread because it was so easy for those single guys, it originated, supposedly with the Egyptians) I think I will sneak it into my next story. It seems such a practical way for folks to bake, even if you have no baking powder or yeast, you can still have wonderful bread for your family. Salt, flour, water and some wild yeast floating in the air. How easy is that? Oh, and a bonus: If for some strange reason your dough ever flops, it makes great playdough for the kiddies!

Happy Homesteading!

Maybe I Should Stick To Writing

Hand hubby long sleeved striped shirt.
Hubby takes striped shirt and asks, "What's this for?"
Wife (while smiling and trying to look cute) says, "I need to take your picture. I'm making a book trailer. Do you think you could look like your from 1900?"
Hubby immediately responds in a VERY unenthusiastic tone, "Oh, gosh."

Now, I must admit that my husband is a manly man. A really manly man. (I mean, the guy dresses in camo and stalks 500 pound Elk bulls with a bow and arrow, seriously, he does.) Parading around in my back yard...in the snow...while I follow him with a video camera is NOT his idea of a good time.

So there we were, in the back yard, him dressed in an old fashioned striped shirt, wearing his grungy boots which, I think look very hillbilly and quite appropriate for the book, and I am giving orders for him to stand "here" and look like "this." (mind you, this is not helping his enthusiasm.)

"I think it would look cool if you could chop some firewood. Where's your axe?" I ask.

"It broke," he reminds me.

Of course I remember it broke; a wife remembers everything about her husband's tools, but of course I respond, "Are you serious!"

"I'm serious. The handle busted off."

At this point, it would only be fair for me to mention that I was going to have him take my picture next. Which means, I'm wearing: a skirt, petticoats, stockings, lace up boots, and the list goes on. Now we are standing in the freezing cold, me holding a camera, him wearing that stupid shirt while giving me the look, our son, wearing his modern snowsuit, staring at his parents. hmmm...no axe.

I scan our back yard, trying to come up with an alternative "1900's chore" when I spot our chicken coop.

"Do you think you could kill a chicken?"

Husband laughs, not a little laugh, a really big laugh. "No."

Now, its my turn to laugh. My chickens peck around their pen, oblivious to my suggestion. (sorry chickens, I didn't mean it.) Needless to say, I never got my picture.

My husband took off the striped shirt and proceeded to shovel snow. I guess I could have taped him doing that, but the shovel was made out of plastic and the BBQ in the background would have killed the authenticity of the shot. ...so I must wait til another day. And the book trailer will just have to wait as well :-)