A Little Day Trip to Max Patch

A beautiful day in October led me and a few friends to Max Patch.

Max Patch on the Appalachian Trail in Madison County, NC | Welcome to Madison County, North Carolina

Come along and see what we found. Better yet, head up there yourselves in about two weeks, it will be even more amazing.

I started with the out-of-focus picture so the rest will make me look like a pro!

Hint, don't try to do a close up with the iPhone when you have it set to zoom.

Who says Fall is without the pretty pastels we enjoy in the Spring? Not here.

Notice the strange "blooms" on this ground cover. Anyone know what it's called?

And if you get hungry...mini watermelons?

I love yellow flowers in the Fall!

 

Fuzzy little creature on the trail. I heard if it is black on one end it means a hard winter, if black on the other end it's a mild winter. What if its black on both ends? Hopefully, it means it will be a tropical winter!

The view from the top is like this for 360 degrees.

 

Imagine what this will look like in two weeks!

Cindy having too much fun!

Gail - said "oh, my wig!" LOL

Mom - always a lot of fun!

And Yours Truly, wishing you a wonderful Fall!

 

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Biscuits and Gravy

Warning: this is not a post about weight loss or health. It's a story of true, unadulterated love between me and my momma's biscuits. Read at your own risk.



Flour, crisco (always called "lard" in the mountains, even after they removed the pig) and milk when mixed together and baked makes biscuits. Flour, grease (preferably donated by pigs) and milk, when stirred in a pan makes liquid biscuits -also known as "sawmill," "country," or "milk" gravy...hmmm???

Is it "biscuits and gravy," or "gravy and biscuits?" I suppose the first one you say is the part of this delicious treat you love the most. For me, it's biscuits and gravy.  Here in the south, it's a treat to have it for breakfast, but more often now-a-days, it's one of those "breakfast for dinner" meals we like to have. This used to only be possible for us by visiting my mom's house, my mother-in-law's house, Hardees, or Cracker Barrell. (By the way, that list is in order from my favorite to my least favorite gravy).

Apparently, our family's relationship with biscuits and gravy goes way back. I'm sure if my Papaw Green were alive today, he would not be the greatest fan of this "treat." He told a story of how he and his cousin took their "bucket" of biscuits and gravy to school and they argued all the way about who was going to carry it. I don't remember if they both wanted to carry it, or if neither wanted to carry it. But either way, the next day, their aunt made them their own individual buckets of biscuits and gravy. This "bucket" was a lard bucket, like what we get Crisco in. And think about it, there were no microwaves in the 1920's...COLD GRAVY - YUCK. I can't imagine anything worse to eat.

Skipping ahead about 60 years, when I was about 13 or 14 years old, my mom had started to work outside the home and I decided I wanted to make breakfast for my dad on his day off. So, I thought, what would make him happier than biscuits and gravy? Nothin'. Well, turns out LAUGHING at my gravy has made him very happy for many years. It's been a running joke in the family that I made play dough to go on the biscuits. As you can guess, it was very thick and not even "fit for dogs." I can't remember what we had for breakfast that day, I think I lost my appetite. Probably toast and jelly...I make a mean toast. I won't even get into the biscuits/rocks story.

Well, as you probably know, the freezer section of the grocery stores are filled with all kinds of biscuits now that are pretty close to the real thing and those are the only ones I buy now (no canned biscuits with gravy please). I usually get the "thins," because they have less calories (and mom always pulls the middle out of her biscuits anyway because they are too "doughy" for her). But I'm the first to tell you, there's nothing like a big "cat head" biscuit, as my dad and brother call them. When mom makes her skinny biscuits, she always adds a big lump of dough to the side of the pan for my brother.

 Anyway...mom and dad gave us some fresh spicy sausage when we visited last week, so I couldn't wait to cook some for supper one night. Well, the aromas of mountain mornings and grease and sausage frying obviously made me think of sausage gravy and I just couldn't imagine pouring all that fat in the garbage, and the dog can't eat it 'cause she gets pancreatitis, so here I go at another attempt to make gravy. I added my heaping spoonful of flour and immediately it started browing and clumping and I thought "so much for that, better luck next time," but decided to stick with it and added some milk, and stir stir stir stir...hmm it was starting to look a little like real gravy. I turned the heat down to low and kept whisking it about in the pan and Jay says "are you making gravy?" with a laugh in his voice. I responded "not sure." Well, to everyone's surprise, I whipped up the best breakfast that's ever come from my kitchen I do believe, except it was for dinner. I guess that counts.

Now, you may be asking, where's the recipe? I really can't say I have one, I just do what mom does and "throw it in there." If you google "biscuits and gravy," you will surely see the Pioneer Woman's blog post with  how-to, step by step (photos included) instructions (but PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE do not use the canned biscuits that she begs not to be judged for). I love her, but *sigh*.

I hope you enjoy your biscuits and gravy and get that same warm, comforting feelings of home that I do every time.

p.s. I'm pretty sure if you take these same ingredients and fry it, you get doughnuts!!

Mountain Memories Series Part One

For a long time, I've thought of writing a book about my mountain heritage. I know there are many of those out there, and everyone thinks they have a story to tell, but I might just do it. I thought I'd start by blogging some random parts, and maybe someday I'll be able to combine all of those parts into something self-published.

My hometown is often the topic of conversation, because a town with a Spanish name in the hills of East Tennessee just seems strange. Then there's the country girl accent that I can't hide, no matter how hard I try. Del Rio, which means "from the river," was previously known as Big Creek, and that's a long story for another time. This little mountain community is surrounded by the Appalachian mountains and situated along the Cherokee National Forest; as a matter of fact, the "gov'ment" as the locals say, still owns a big part of our little mountain. They call our little spot in the world Spice Wood Flats. The origin of the name is still a mystery to me, my extensive Wikipedia research turns up nothing, although I did learn that spicewood is another name for sassafrass, which is a pesty little shrub that grows across certain regions of the state. I don't know if we are one of them, I'll have to ask the arborist in the family, my dad (now that he's recently retired, he spends a lot of time sitting on his back porch thinking about something, I'm pretty sure he's thinking about spicewood and sassafrass). I bet he's even making sassafras tea as I write this.

When giving directions to Mom and Pop's place, I tell everyone that they live "as far back as you can go until you just go in circles around the mountain."  If I could draw a picture or map showing you how to get to our place, it would look like one of those trees you drew in kindergarten - you know, the ones with a trunk (that would be the main road, which wasn't paved until my grandmother was in her 60's) and the top of that big round tree (usually drawn like a circle with extra curves) would be the road we live on  - in other words, you end up right where you started. You can't go any farther or you'll fall off the edge of the earth. Some who have driven there really believe that... If that tree were a clock, our land lies between two and four o'clock. Now, you should have no problems coming up for the holidays.

P.S. My brother and I (and the other 8 to 10 kids on the Spicewood Flats route) rode the short bus -because the long bus really would fall off the mountain in the curves if the roads were slick after a rain or snow. I learned all I ever needed to know and more about life on that short bus, so don't make fun!

Stay tuned.