prep for Food Not Bombs

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I finally got the last of the canned & dry goods put up.

Someone left a shoe tree, the size of a door, out in the alley. I dragged it in and hung it on my fence. It's a good place to hang big pots and bowls.

I got my 2 outdoor "end" tables in, put them in the flower bed, and put a large ice chest and plastic storage container on them. That way, we can fill them with hot water and wash & rinse dishes, out doors. We needed bigger sinks! The water will drain into my flower bed.

I have a towel rack, hanging from the fence, big enough for all six of my kitchen towels, too.

I already had them help me bring out my steamer trunk of baking pans; it's on concrete blocks, in the flower bed.

I'm going to boil spaghetti tonight, to serve with tomato sauce.

I'm also going to make soup. We got some cans of meat soups, so I'll make tha with some vegetables. We also got vegetarian soup, so I'll make up some of that, too, with vegetables. That way, those will be ready to go tomorrow, with just a brief warm-up.

Depending on what the kids bring over today, I might cook something else, too.

My yard's neat as a pin and not cluttered. It's just a working, outdoor kitchen.

Very hillbilly.

I heard some audio from a film about Harlan County this morning. Lord, it was good to hear hill people again!

Now, I'm listening to Folk Roots, broadcasting live, from the folk festival at the Fair Grounds.

That bluegrass is a balm. It's home.

In between, I heard a Johnny Cash/June Carter song that made me cry.

I'm not a country music gal; could rarely abide that commercial crap. Tolerated Willie Nelson.

But, sometimes, a person just gets a hankerin' for corn bread and buttermilk, y'know?

I don't want to live like my people. But I like to remember. I like to visit. I like to be proud of where my people come from, crazy as they are.

I'm remembering fishing. I'm remembering canning tomatoes. I'm remembering things that brought me great satisfaction.

I'm remembering, finally, the family who put me here.

As much as they scare me, as much as they've hurt me, deep under the crippling poison, there's some strength and beauty which have sustained and nurtured me.

For all their dangerousness, I'm still grateful.