Goats Have Wet Tongues On Grave's Mountain In Syria, Virginia

Alyssa has this thing about saliva.

She doesn't want any farm or zoo animal to lick her...ever, but she loves animals.

When we made the wrong turn on Grave's Mountain and found The Little Red Hen and her friends, it was very exciting. Next to The Little Red Hen was a large pasture with goats.





The goats walked right up to the fence and we could touch them!





Alyssa was as excited as my sister and I had been all those years ago.

Ahhhh....memories-in-the-making colliding with memories of the past.





"Look!!!" Alyssa squealed, " The goats are pregnant!"

Boy were they pregnant!!!





The little baby goats are called kids and they acted like rambunctious two-year-old human kids as they hopped around eating grass.





The kids would get underneath the mama goat and nudge her udder and then grab onto the teats searching for milk. They were so cute!





Okay. I was excited with all the goat antics too.





The goats and their kids grazed and co-existed so peacefully.

People are so stupid to be mean to each other and fight all the time.

*sigh*









Then there was the goat that missed the appointment with the hairdresser.





This unsheered goat reminded us of Bella!





I have to get back to the saliva thing.

When Alyssa was a little girl, I would beg her to let animals eat food out of her hand or to at least hold the container so that they could get close. She wouldn't hear of it! No way!

"I might get spit on me!" she would say.





There are no words to describe my thrill when my 18 year old daughter FINALLY wanted to feed the animals from her hands! It is a day that will go down in history!





Alyssa was a natural at it too. She just filled her hands with the food and put them out.

The goats were eager to participate in this historic moment.





"Ewww, Mom. I hope you are getting pictures because you might not ever get the chance again," Alyssa said, but I could tell she was loving the experience.





"They are just so cute!" Alyssa kept saying.

Yeah, she just about forgot all about their wet tongues.





The joy on her face thrilled my heart.

Alyssa finally fed the animals and it is a moment imprinted in my brain forever.





Don't worry. We had gallons of water and rolls of paper towels in the trunk of the car, so Alyssa didn't have goat slobber on her hands for too long.

It turned out to be a good thing that we got lost after all. As a mother, I have soaked in every experience possible with my child and this day with the goats was well worth the wait.

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Eye Love The Little Red Hen On Grave's Mountain

Since you read my post the other day, you now know where Grave's Mountain is located, what happens each October on Grave's Mountain and why I love being on Grave's Mountain. Yes, I do love saying Grave's Mountain because just saying it makes me feel peaceful and happy.

The weather was so perfect that day. As we explored the dirt roads, getting lost and making lots of u-turns, I was reminded that not being able to follow a map is often the best way to find treasured hideaways.

We made a wrong turn and found a country store that was closed, but in the side yard of the place were some very exciting animals!

There was a really Fat Turkey that I fear is probably going to be someone's Thanksgiving dinner.





The Fat Turkey definitely wouldn't hold his head still. I just kept snapping photos trying to catch all his cuteness. The top of his head reminded me of brains with all the folds. Okay, maybe I've watched too many medical documentaries. Of course, I loved the contrast of the red head and white feathers of the Fat Turkey.





The neck on this turkey was saggy, baggy and wobbled. Fat Turkey had a long beard, but as hard as I tried, it was impossible to actually take a good picture of it!





Friendliness was definitely a trait of Fat Turkey and I loved all the sounds he made while strutting around the caged area.





White Duck seemed like he wasn't paying any attention to me at all while cleaning under his feathers.





However, he looked up, saw me and then turned tail and walked away.





I named one fancy looking bird Polka Dot. She slowly walked around like June Cleaver. I almost could here her say, "Beaver, your father will be home soon."





As much as I hate to admit it, the black and white hen with the big feathers sticking off her head reminded me of the Queen of England. I can't help it! All those proper English ladies wearing fascinators (a fancy British term for hats and headpieces) at the Royal Wedding are indelibly etched in my memory.





The Paisley Hen was quiet and didn't venture off on her own. Maybe she knows that paisleys aren't as popular as they used to be and she wants to hide.

Maybe I should be called the Hen Whisperer.





But wait!

A feather fascinator on a redheaded hen!





Honestly, I felt like I was looking at myself right after I wake up in the morning. My hair sometimes is all over the place, so now I know I look like a hen with a fascinator.

I wonder if that makes me fascinating. (wink)





"What?! No way! Don't take my picture to just make fun of me!" the redheaded fascinator hen said as she ran to the other side of the cage.




Then I saw her...

I found The Little Red Hen.

She was beautiful and her feathers are an exact match to my hair.

The Little Red Hen on Grave's Mountain stood at the wire mesh and stared at me. Naturally, I talked to her because I always talk to animals.

"Hi Little Red Hen. We are the same color. "

The Little Red Hen didn't say anything, but she turned her head a little bit.

"I like you, Little Red Hen. You make me think of my childhood and my mother reading to me each night. You also make me think of love-filled Sunday afternoons spent with Mama Minnie and Daddy Cecil on their farm. They had lots of chickens."

Now The Little Red Hen leaned against the fence and watched me with one of her beautiful eyes.

That's when it happened...

The turkey had moved closer, spread out his wings and flapped. That probably wouldn't have been too big of a deal for most people, but I'm actually allergic to birds if I hang around them too much. When the turkey flapped his wings, all the dusty stuff from the dirt floor of the caged area filled the air and got in my eyes.

It wasn't painful...then.





When I stood up, The Little Red Hen walked over to be with her other hen friends. I wanted to take her home. I really want chickens!





"Mom!" Alyssa called to me. "Come here and look at the bunny!"

So I walked over to where she stood. Sure enough! There was a cute little bunny rabbit just sitting in the middle of the open dirt.

Awwwwww.





Unfortunately, I have suffered with a terrible eye infection this week because of the chicken-turkey-duck-bunny stuff that got in my eyes because of Fat Turkey flapping his wings.

Sitting with the Optometrist yesterday, I had to tell him what I "thought" was going on with my eyes. After a few drops of blue dye that burned my eyes like fire, the doctor looked in them and said, "Yep. Your whole eye is inflamed."

Lovely.

Well, he wrote me a prescription for another kind of burning drops and I have been putting them in my eyes every two hours. Thankfully, tonight my eyes actually are feeling better and not hurting at all!

The Optometrist asked, "Was the visit to the animals worth it?"

I didn't even hesitate with my answer. With thoughts of The Little Red Hen on Grave's Mountain still in my mind, I said, "Yes, totally!"

Hmm...I guess that proves I really am a country girl.




Cluck, cluck.

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Grave's Mountain Apple Festival

“Lost time is never found again.”
~Benjamin Franklin~

"Nestled deep in the foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountains near the end of the road in Syria, Virginia", is a wonderful place that Alyssa and I found eleven years ago. After moving to Virginia, we went on day adventures in order to have priceless carefree timelessness and this was one of the first places we visited.



The drive through the countryside is absolutely beautiful especially since the leaves are ablaze with the colors of Autumn. When I'm in such beautiful surroundings, I love to listen to the peaceful sounds and take lots of photographs. We also leave everything behind us which helps the conversation to flow freely.

During our first visit to Grave's Mountain Apple Festival in 2000, we fell in love with everything especially the apple sauce and apple butter. That was the beginning of our obsession. Each year we enjoy Brunswick stew, cornbread, apple sauce and apple butter in front of the big fireplace.

We eat lunch in the covered picnic pavilion and sit so that we can see the rushing river just a few feet away.






We also watch the other people who are milling around or eating outside. Dogs wearing bandanas and children wearing orange tutus find the experience enjoyable too.





In the distance, we also could see the pumpkin patch and more colorful foliage.





The Country Poor Bluegrass band twanged as we enjoyed the delicious food and cool weather. Yes, that is the name of the band and they are very, very bluegrass. But the important thing about the group is that they know how to pick out the right color shirt for their performances.





Oh, please! You know that red is your favorite color and you love bluegrass.

Is it possible to brainwash people by using blog posts?

Anyway, we enjoyed the fresh apple sauce...





And the magnificent apple butter which is rich and thick and so very smooth..





When you can't decide which you like the best, there is only one thing to do - You eat the apple sauce and apple butter at the same time!





I'm sure you're wondering how they make that delectable apple butter.

Let's see if I can explain it to you...

You git a big ole black pot and startcha a wood fire goin' under the pot. You gotta surround the pot with cinder blocks to hold stuff and to keep the wind from blowin' the fire too much. It also keeps the not so smart people from walkin' in the fire.





You gotta keep stirrin' the secret apple butter recipe with a big ole' paddle while someone else keeps the wood blazin' hot with a metal contraption that looks kinda like a golf club. The secret is to have a bunch of men who don't have anything better to do, gather around the big ole' black pot and stir the apple butter for hours while they talk about cows, hay, trucks and pretty women.

The men really don't mind doin' it because it makes the women folk quite happy. They learned a very valuable lesson a long time ago. If Mama ain't happy, then do somethin' to git her happy or life is just gonna be miserable.





As long as the men keep the pot stirred, the women folk don't really care what they talk about around the fire.





Actually, the men and women folk don't bother each other until the apple butter is canned, the people are gone and the sun sets behind the mountains. That's when they do what all tired country folk do...they hit the hay.


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No Washboard Worries

"Read the directions."

If you've heard or said those three words approximately five hundred times by the time you are forty years old, don't feel alone because so has everyone else your age. I would venture to say that the men are doing the hearing and the women are doing the saying of this sometimes very controversial sentence.

First let me give you a little history of my family roots so that this story will make sense. My line can be traced back to farmers and I don't have to go any further than grandparents in order to find them. So I know a little about how farm life looks, feels and the amount of work it takes to keep everything running smoothly.

Keeping the "directions sentence" and "my farming roots" in mind, I'll tell you about my little trip last week. I love going to antique stores which is rather surprising since I usually like new stuff or old stuff that I make look new. I'm such an odd mixture even to myself. Anyway, after I had my hair cut last week, I decided to spend a little "me" time walking through a very large and clean antique mall in Williamsburg.

I'm somewhat obsessed with looking at antique linens, brass keys, books, thimbles, furniture, dolls, crystal, china.... Yes, I simply love to experience the items of days gone by. There was a very old poem book dated 1895 with an inscription inside that said "Merry Christmas" and someone's name. I almost bought it, but the binding was cracked and the pages had begun to fall out. Alyssa loves old poetry books, so I always keep my radar up for them.

Anyway, the next to last aisle had very old appliances and furniture. I sat on the bench wondering who had designed, produced and purchased it. How many people sat down just like I was doing? In a way, I felt very close to my grandparents who have already passed away. While sitting on the well worn bench, I saw something in the very back, leaning against the wall. I got up and walked closer in order to see a washboard used years ago to clean the laundry.

My mother told me stories about how she washed my diapers using a washboard and then hung them on the clothesline to dry. I stood looking at it and pictured my very young mother working so hard just to keep my diapers cleaned and I started getting teary with appreciation for a loving mother.

Antique stores always have this affect on me.


As I bent down to touch the well worn wood, I read the directions for use that were boldly printed on the front of the washboard. My first thought was, "That pretty much solves the issue of any man not reading the directions!" Maybe we should mimick this type of short, bold instructions on things instead of the ten page instruction manual needed just to learn how to use the new electric toothbrush.

The washboard read, "Do not rub hard. The board will do the work." Whoa! Obviously, I have a whole different mindset around the phrase "will do the work." My idea of having my laundry cleaned is placing it in the electric washing machine, adding soap, pushing the button to start the wash cycle and walking away. The machine at that point "will do the work."


There I stood, still misty-eyed with gratefulness for a wonderful mother and then, I started laughing. I must have looked crazy. Since I am a very visual person, I had a funny mental image flash across my mind. I imagined taking the washboard home, handing it to my husband and daughter while saying, "From now on, I want you to do the laundry with this washboard. No need to worry because I read the instructions and it will be very easy to use! As a matter of fact, you don't have to rub hard because it will do all the work for you."

Of course, I'm sure they would both look at me as if I had completely lost my mind.

Just in case you ever want to give up your washing machine for a lovely washboard, the full laundry process is detailed below:

• Fill a large bucket with hot water.
• Place the washboard in the bucket.
• Wet a piece of dirty laundry.
• Lay it against the front of the washboard.
• Rub a bar of soap on the laundry to create a lather.
• Pick up the piece of laundry and rub it against the washboard.
• "Do not rub hard. The board will do the work."
• Set the soapy laundry in an empty bucket.
• Continue washing each piece of dirty laundry in the same manner.
• Add clean water to another large bucket.
• Place the soapy and washed laundry in the clean water and swish them around until all the soap is rinsed out.
• Squeeze and wring the water out of the clean and rinsed laundry.
• Hang laundry on the clothesline to dry.
  

Ahhhh, so simple! Totally dismisses all washboard worries because obviously "the board will do the work!"

Do you think you will ever complain about doing the laundry again?

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