NEWS FROM THE HILLS

Out in the forest, the May apples are unfurling their fairy umbrellas in anticipation of April showers.  They have been scarce so far this month, but the grass grows greener and more lush  each day.  It is a thrill to meander through the woods and see the woodland plants that are springing up almost overnight.

We went to hunt for morels out in the deep woods, and I got more interested in growing things than I did mushrooms.  I filled my bag with young greens, from wood lettuce that had barely popped through the ground, to cleavers, or goosegrass, which is very good when picked while young and tender.

There was a nice patch of sorrel, which we always called “sour grass,” and a lot of violets.  Violet blossoms contain three times as much Vitamin C as an equal amount of orange juice.  Sometimes I wonder why we get our vitamins in pill form, when there is so much natural food that is good for us.

My sister, Mary Ellen, has made violet jelly, and also candied violet blossoms.  Candied violets make a beautiful decoration on a spring cake.

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While I was digging some goldenseal (Grandpa called it “yaller root) I raked away some dry leaves and accidentally found two tiny morels.  I think the yellow ones are just beginning to make their appearance.  Most of what we’ve found so far has been the black ones.

I brought the yellow root home and brewed some tea from the fresh roots.  It turned a peculiar shade of bluish-green, unlike the yellow color that the dried roots make.  I am gargling it anyway, figuring it would be good for what ails me.  Another of Grandpa’s sayings was. “Do you no good; do you no harm!”  My sentiments exactly.

While the others were hunting avidly for morels, I was scouting for poke greens.  This spring sunshine should bring them up, but I didn’t find any.  Ramps are up, and are just right for cooking.   We have had two messes, and they were delicious.

I don’t believe you can stay neutral about ramps.  You either love them or loathe them.  The best place to eat them is on a camping trip in the mountains.  They can be cooked over an open fire and the breeze will blow the scent away.  Many times you can drive up the William’s River road and the pungent odor of cooking ramps follow you from camp site to camp site.  It is the perfume of spring.

Many people have never tried ramps as the smell turns them off, but it is surprising how mild they taste.  Daddy used to eat them raw on a sandwich, and the lingering odor was outstanding!

It is not just the wild flowers we find, or the edible foods we are able to gather, but wandering through the woods and fields brings a peace not found in the everyday rush of life.  Peace and solitude—no sound except the melodic chirping of a tiny wren, and the faraway caw of a crow.

There is nothing better than sitting on a log deep in the woods, with the warm sunshine filtering through the trees and shining warm on your back.  There is time to meditate and pray—to thank God for the beauties of nature that He has wrought.

Daddy used to have a special place in the woods where he went to pray when the weather was warm.  It was beside a big rock where a spring of water rippled, and leaves fluttered overhead.  It was a sacred place, and even now it seems that I can hear the echo of his prayers filtering down through the years.

I have a favorite poem that I’d like to share that describes this solitude.

A SONG FROM SYLVAN

The little cares that fretted me,

I lost them yesterday

Among the fields above the sea,

Among the winds at play;

Among the lowing herds,

The rustling of the trees,

Among the singing birds,

The humming of the bees.

The fears of what may come to pass,

I cast them all away,

Among the clover-scented grass,

Among the new-mown hay;

Among the husking of the corn,

Where drowsy poppies nod,

Where ill thoughts die and good are born,

Out in the fields with God.

By Louise Imogen Guiney

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We received a response for freezing ripe tomatoes from Ray McCune (formerly of Braxton County.)  He said when he and Joanne were first married; she wanted to learn how to can tomatoes.  He remembers his mother scalding them in hot water, then plunging them into cold to peel the skins.  He had read a tip somewhere that recommended washing the tomatoes, cutting out the core, and then placing a layer in a Ziploc bag and freezing them.

To use in soups, stews or to make tomato juice, run cool to warm water over them and the skins peel right off—no burned fingers.  Let some thaw after peeling and run them through the juicer or ricer and you have fresh tomato juice without cooking.  Ray adds, “Try it—I guarantee you’ll switch and never can tomatoes again!”

William Haynes, our son-in-law Bob’s father, sent me a poem I want to share.  Mr. Haynes was a well-known figure in the Charleston area when he was younger, and is still a talented man.  He now resides in Sarasota, FL.  Unfortunately he suffered a recent fall and is undergoing surgery on his back.  I think his poem speaks for itself.

THE LEAF ON THE DRIVEWAY

It moves across—all the way to the other side?

No, it stops midway—waving, waiting for an unseen hand

To decide for it which way to move.

Then, as if by some magic, it moves in another direction,

Away from obstructions and other entanglements.

The breeze, the wind, the hurricane, the typhoon, the tornado,

All speak in their own friendly or terrible way.

The hand of God; His love for all of us gently,

And His wrath expressed in very certain terms for those

Who ignore His will continually.

Although the Son, our Savior, has shown how life should be.

The leaf again responds to the wind, uplifted into space

And carried to a safe, secure and permanent resting place.

Withstanding the terrible wind forces

And responding to the gentle breezes.

Like the leaf—all have been shown how to find a safe, secure

And Eternal resting place.

By William (Bill) Haynes

(The Lord willing, I will be at the Cross Lanes Library at 11:00 AM and the St. Albans Library at 2:00 PM on April 24 for book signings.  Hope to see you there.)