Ozarks Gardening
Jim Long
Read the Label!
Besides writing and gardening, my main occupation is curing people’s nail fungus problems. If you garden or injure your nails, you will most likely get nail fungus. Years ago I created a formula that gets rid of this problem for most people. That is, if they read the directions. I ship my product all over the world and for the people who read the directions, it works. But I never cease to be amazed at the number of people who won’t take the time to read my very simple instructions.
This is true for pesticide labels, as well, people just don’t take the time to read the directions. In the last few years, pesticide companies have added more and more information to their product packaging, to the point that many bottles come with pages to read. Worse, you have to read much of the material before you ever find, the actual directions for using the product.
You know from reading me over the years here that I always recommend using non-chemical controls for garden insects if at all possible. I strongly believe that if you put something on your vegetable crop, you are going to eat it, eventually. I’m not totally opposed to using pesticides when absolutely necessary, but if there is any other means of controlling the bugs, I will.
Reading the label is important in products like carbaryl, which you will know by the name of Sevin. Some gardeners look to Sevin for solving all their bug problems, even though it kills the beneficial ones that often can control the pests. Just spraying to get rid of a pest, doesn’t mean you are being safe. The directions have some specific instructions for the length of time from spray to harvesting the vegetable (it’s called the PHI, or pre-harvest interval).
The amount of time you should wait between spraying a crop and harvesting, or PHI is only one day for asparagus, but it is 14 days on turnips and mustard. The PHI for tomatoes and eggplant is different than for something like potato beetles or corn. (And one pesticide often only works on some pests, not all of them).
The other issue when using chemical insecticides is the amount to use. I’ve heard people describe using a pesticide and not being sure they used enough, so they simply added a few more tablespoons of the concentrate, “just to be sure.” That’s dangerous for a number of reasons, and the most obvious one would be the time between spraying and safely eating the vegetable would be greatly extended. If you double or triple the amount of chemical you are using, you are making the crop less safe for you to consume. (Using more than the recommended rate also guarantees you are killing off bees and other beneficials that pollinate your crop; without pollination, there would be no crop).
If you can pick off potato beetles and smash them with your foot instead of spraying, you’ve saved money (potato beetles seldom do serious harm to potatoes). If you can pick off a tomato worm instead of spraying the whole patch, you’ve saved money and made your tomato crop safer to eat. Use as little chemicals as you can because in the long run you are going to eat whatever you put in your garden. And most important, read the directions, it’s there for a purpose.
Every summer I get lots of requests from people who would like to come and visit my garden to see what strange and unusual things I grow. We occasionally accept specific groups by advance reservation, but this year we have an open house day, just for readers of this column. If you would like to visit and talk gardening, we will be open for you on Friday, June 26. There’s no charge to visit that day, all we ask is that you call 417-779-5450 and let us know you are coming (and to get directions because you will need them).
To see what’s happening in my garden this week: jimlongsgarden.blogspot.com. Questions and comments always welcome through my website: www.LongCreekHerbs.com. Happy gardening!
5/27/2010
4/02/2010
Safer Lawns
Ozarks Gardening
Jim Long
Safer Lawns
According to the National Garden Bureau, there is an expected seven million first time gardeners this year. That’s a lot of new folks thinking about growing their own food, and I think that’s a good thing. I hope it will mean, also, people who grow their own gardens, in their own backyards, will consider the implications of the chemicals they put on their lawns and plants.
Dr. June Irwin, a doctor in Hudson, Quebec, has been on a campaign in her town for almost 20 years to reduce and eliminate lawn chemicals on residents’ lawns. Why? Because babies, children and pets, all play on, roll through, eat and sleep on lawns, and many of those chemicals are not safe for skin contact. Additionally, lots of the chemicals that are sprayed on so-called, “perfect” lawns and golf courses, wind up in the water supply. There’s a lot of evidence, according to Dr. Irwin, that many kinds of cancer and diseases can be traced to these chemicals in local water supplies. (Plus fish die offs and grotesquely-formed fish in streams below gold courses, apparently has a direct connection to chemical run-off from the courses).
A new feature-length, award-winning documentary called A Chemical Reaction tells how Paul Tukey, author of The Organic Lawn Care Manual and founder of http://www.SafeLawns.org, discovered June Irwin's story as he campaigned on behalf of a kinder, earth-friendly method of maintaining lawns.
Tukey documents Dr. Irwin’s efforts to remove the chemicals in her town, making it safer for children, pets and the town’s water supply. What Dr. Irwin accomplished was her town, Hudson, Quebec, became the first town in North America to ban all lawn chemicals. The town was subsequently sued by the world’s largest lawn care company, but the town won all court challenges all the way to the Canadian Supreme Court in 2001. Today, lawn chemicals are now banned in more than half of Canada and are not sold in Home Depot and other major retail chains in that country. (The same lawn chemicals are still sold in the U.S., however).
This new documentary, A Chemical Reaction, is available on DVD for $19.95 each from http://www.safelawns.org/chemical-reaction.
You may not have noticed after your lawn was treated for “weeds” and lawn insects, that lots of your songbirds were dead in the street. You may not even care, but the people whose water supply is downstream from you, may care.
Don’t pound on me saying I’m anti-chemical. I’m not. I am, however, concerned about the enormous amounts of needless chemicals people put on their lawns, and the effects those chemicals have, for wildlife, children, pets and the rising incidence of cancer and other diseases. There are safe, effective alternatives to dangerous chemicals for the lawn. Consider looking into safer ways of having an attractive lawn instead of blindly dumping chemicals you are afraid to touch or breathe.
To read more about the effects of atrazine and other chemicals on lawns, the proof in the demise of frogs in our streams, check out Grumpy Gardener's blog post. Surely we can do something good to stop this ongoing problem, besides just sitting by and waiting while our wildlife dies and our population's cancer rate grows.
Jim Long
Safer Lawns
According to the National Garden Bureau, there is an expected seven million first time gardeners this year. That’s a lot of new folks thinking about growing their own food, and I think that’s a good thing. I hope it will mean, also, people who grow their own gardens, in their own backyards, will consider the implications of the chemicals they put on their lawns and plants.
Dr. June Irwin, a doctor in Hudson, Quebec, has been on a campaign in her town for almost 20 years to reduce and eliminate lawn chemicals on residents’ lawns. Why? Because babies, children and pets, all play on, roll through, eat and sleep on lawns, and many of those chemicals are not safe for skin contact. Additionally, lots of the chemicals that are sprayed on so-called, “perfect” lawns and golf courses, wind up in the water supply. There’s a lot of evidence, according to Dr. Irwin, that many kinds of cancer and diseases can be traced to these chemicals in local water supplies. (Plus fish die offs and grotesquely-formed fish in streams below gold courses, apparently has a direct connection to chemical run-off from the courses).
A new feature-length, award-winning documentary called A Chemical Reaction tells how Paul Tukey, author of The Organic Lawn Care Manual and founder of http://www.SafeLawns.org, discovered June Irwin's story as he campaigned on behalf of a kinder, earth-friendly method of maintaining lawns.
Tukey documents Dr. Irwin’s efforts to remove the chemicals in her town, making it safer for children, pets and the town’s water supply. What Dr. Irwin accomplished was her town, Hudson, Quebec, became the first town in North America to ban all lawn chemicals. The town was subsequently sued by the world’s largest lawn care company, but the town won all court challenges all the way to the Canadian Supreme Court in 2001. Today, lawn chemicals are now banned in more than half of Canada and are not sold in Home Depot and other major retail chains in that country. (The same lawn chemicals are still sold in the U.S., however).
This new documentary, A Chemical Reaction, is available on DVD for $19.95 each from http://www.safelawns.org/chemical-reaction.
You may not have noticed after your lawn was treated for “weeds” and lawn insects, that lots of your songbirds were dead in the street. You may not even care, but the people whose water supply is downstream from you, may care.
Don’t pound on me saying I’m anti-chemical. I’m not. I am, however, concerned about the enormous amounts of needless chemicals people put on their lawns, and the effects those chemicals have, for wildlife, children, pets and the rising incidence of cancer and other diseases. There are safe, effective alternatives to dangerous chemicals for the lawn. Consider looking into safer ways of having an attractive lawn instead of blindly dumping chemicals you are afraid to touch or breathe.
To read more about the effects of atrazine and other chemicals on lawns, the proof in the demise of frogs in our streams, check out Grumpy Gardener's blog post. Surely we can do something good to stop this ongoing problem, besides just sitting by and waiting while our wildlife dies and our population's cancer rate grows.
1/09/2010
Late Winter Snowstorm
The Ozarks Herbalist; for The Ozarks Mountaineer magazine.
Jim Long
Early Spring Snowstorm
For many years I made annual trips to Tennessee, buying landscape plants from the wholesale nurseries there. It was a trip I looked forward to, driving a truck across Arkansas and Tennessee to the Warren County and McMinnville nurseries. I’d choose the plants I would use for the season in my landscape work and take a bit of time to visit the countryside around central Tennessee.
One year, in preparing for this annual trip, I waited a bit late. It was March, the weather had warmed, the jonquils were in bloom in drifts along the side of the house. It felt solidly like spring.
I had two half grown calves at the time, which required a five gallon bucket of water twice a day. I had two goats to milk, a dozen chickens to feed and water, along with six geese, a dog and cat. In order to be gone the six days it would take for the trip, I had asked a friend to house sit.
He, being a vegetarian, would bring his own food, so I intentionally used up the groceries in the house, not wanting to leave a stray ham bone or a pound of hamburger around in his way. I purposely didn’t buy groceries of any kind, not bread nor milk or even potatoes. The friend would live on rice and beans, tofu, soy milk.
Since warm weather seemed to be firmly settled in, I hadn’t cut any wood, either, which was my only source of heat. I was down to nine sticks of wood and it wasn’t even necessary to have the woodstove fired up at night.
I remember the afternoon well. It was in the 70s and I was shirtless, working outside making some repairs on the wellhouse. The radio was on, the music keeping me company. At noon newstime I listened to the weatherman who said, “Storm warnings and possibilites of heavy snow for Stone and Taney Counties in Missouri.” I laughed. In fact, I swore at the weatherman. “Look outside you moron,” I remember saying out loud. “It’s 70 degrees. Snow? Are you crazy? I already have early garden planted!”
I finished my outdoor chores and went inside to pack. I had at that time, a little 1976 hatchback car, bought cheap, which would take me to town where I kept my truck at work. I continued to enjoy the warm afternoon, even taking a shower outdoors, just to show that it was, indeed, springtime.
Around 4:00 p.m., huge snow flakes began to fall. Then clusters of flakes. Of course the ground was warm, so nothing was sticking, but the snowshower picked up. Again I laughed and went back to my preparations for the trip.
By ten o’clock that night, the ground was covered with snow and it was still snowing. The beds of jonquils and tulips were nowhere to be seen, their heads bent beneath the heavy snow. Still, I went to bed confident that I’d arise to melting snow and head off for my Tennessee trip.
But morning brought new surprises. The first thing I noticed was the house was cold. Since I was nearly out of wood, I had not been having a fire in the wood stove. I then noticed I had no electricity, so there was no radio to hear what was happening in the rest of the world. Outside, I could see that in level places, there was more than a foot of snow, with drifts where the wind had blown over night.
I checked the telephone and found it to be dead, as well. It wasn’t until I heard the dead silence on the phone line that I realized I might be in a difficult situtation. Never before in all the years I’d lived on the farm, remote, far from town, had I ever allowed myself to be out of food. But this time, with my housesitter friend coming, bringing his own supplies, I’d seen no need to stock up. I looked around at what there was to eat.
I’d spent part of the previous summer, canning, so there were a dozen jars of grape jelly. Half a dozen plum jams, eighteen jars of sweet pickles and two jars of pickled hot peppers sat on the shelf. Candied violet blossoms were there and a half dozen jars of tomato preserves, too.
That was it for food. No bread. No meat. No vegetables. Only pickles and jelly and jam, but no bread nor peanut butter. Well, I could surely miss a couple of meals without much difficulty, I thought to myself.
Then it began to occur to me that the two five gallon buckets of water I carried for the calves, and the bucketful for the chickens and goats, couldn’t be gotten, because the well had an electric pump. No electricity, no water. In fact, knowing there was no water on hand, I was immediately thirsty. I ate some grape jelly and a few old, stale crackers, making myself even more thirsty.
I could gather snow and melt it, I thought. But I didn’t have enough wood, and the snow on the ground was now at the fourteen inch level, in big drifts. I didn’t have a chainsaw at the time, nor even a wood cutting saw. I began to panic.
Each day I would use a little of the wood, and melt enough snow to keep the animals alive. If pressed to it, they could eat snow, like I was doing. I gathered broken limbs and kept a small fire in the stove, realizing that if I didn’t, the water pipes would freeze and I would have additional problems, even if the electricity did come back.
One day passed, then two, then three and four. On the fourth day, I was getting really hungry. I’d eaten jam and pickles until I couldn’t stand to eat any more. I’d eaten snow until my tongue was numb and yet I was still thirsty. I’d tried driving my little car but got only a few feet before the depth of the snow lifted the poor little thing so high the wheels were off the ground. Shoveling the heavy, wet snow, was useless as it would take miles of shoveling, up several steep hills, to make any difference.
Finally in mid afternoon of the fourth day, I decided I absolutely had to see people, to know how extensive the storm was, and to get food. My nearest neighbor was two miles away and I hiked slowly through the drifts in the woods, falling over limbs and rocks hidden by the snow. The neighbor and his wife lived closer to the highway and had a four wheel drive pickup. The neighbor drove me to town, where I bought four large grocery sacks of food. I bought a gallon of milk, a loaf of bread, five pounds of potatoes, lots and lots of canned goods.
The neighbor drove me as far as he could, but the rural roads hadn’t been cleared, so I still had about a mile to hike through the high snow, through the hills and woods, over barbed wire fences and through piles of broken trees. My brown paper grocery bags soon got wet, I dropped potatoes and canned goods through the woods, making several trips back and forth to carry home all that I had bought. But that night I ate well after draging home a few more broken branches to burn in the stove. I lit candles and ate close to the wood stove.
The next day the electricity came back on. By mid day, the telephone was reconnected. The following day the snow melted rapidly as the weather warmed back into the upper 60s. The jonquils and tulips began to slowly raise their heads and soon the world was back to normal. Never since, in the 29 years that have followed, have I allowed my pantry to become bare. One never knows when a 70 degree day might turn into a fourteen inch snowfall!
Jim Long
Early Spring Snowstorm
For many years I made annual trips to Tennessee, buying landscape plants from the wholesale nurseries there. It was a trip I looked forward to, driving a truck across Arkansas and Tennessee to the Warren County and McMinnville nurseries. I’d choose the plants I would use for the season in my landscape work and take a bit of time to visit the countryside around central Tennessee.
One year, in preparing for this annual trip, I waited a bit late. It was March, the weather had warmed, the jonquils were in bloom in drifts along the side of the house. It felt solidly like spring.
I had two half grown calves at the time, which required a five gallon bucket of water twice a day. I had two goats to milk, a dozen chickens to feed and water, along with six geese, a dog and cat. In order to be gone the six days it would take for the trip, I had asked a friend to house sit.
He, being a vegetarian, would bring his own food, so I intentionally used up the groceries in the house, not wanting to leave a stray ham bone or a pound of hamburger around in his way. I purposely didn’t buy groceries of any kind, not bread nor milk or even potatoes. The friend would live on rice and beans, tofu, soy milk.
Since warm weather seemed to be firmly settled in, I hadn’t cut any wood, either, which was my only source of heat. I was down to nine sticks of wood and it wasn’t even necessary to have the woodstove fired up at night.
I remember the afternoon well. It was in the 70s and I was shirtless, working outside making some repairs on the wellhouse. The radio was on, the music keeping me company. At noon newstime I listened to the weatherman who said, “Storm warnings and possibilites of heavy snow for Stone and Taney Counties in Missouri.” I laughed. In fact, I swore at the weatherman. “Look outside you moron,” I remember saying out loud. “It’s 70 degrees. Snow? Are you crazy? I already have early garden planted!”
I finished my outdoor chores and went inside to pack. I had at that time, a little 1976 hatchback car, bought cheap, which would take me to town where I kept my truck at work. I continued to enjoy the warm afternoon, even taking a shower outdoors, just to show that it was, indeed, springtime.
Around 4:00 p.m., huge snow flakes began to fall. Then clusters of flakes. Of course the ground was warm, so nothing was sticking, but the snowshower picked up. Again I laughed and went back to my preparations for the trip.
By ten o’clock that night, the ground was covered with snow and it was still snowing. The beds of jonquils and tulips were nowhere to be seen, their heads bent beneath the heavy snow. Still, I went to bed confident that I’d arise to melting snow and head off for my Tennessee trip.
But morning brought new surprises. The first thing I noticed was the house was cold. Since I was nearly out of wood, I had not been having a fire in the wood stove. I then noticed I had no electricity, so there was no radio to hear what was happening in the rest of the world. Outside, I could see that in level places, there was more than a foot of snow, with drifts where the wind had blown over night.
I checked the telephone and found it to be dead, as well. It wasn’t until I heard the dead silence on the phone line that I realized I might be in a difficult situtation. Never before in all the years I’d lived on the farm, remote, far from town, had I ever allowed myself to be out of food. But this time, with my housesitter friend coming, bringing his own supplies, I’d seen no need to stock up. I looked around at what there was to eat.
I’d spent part of the previous summer, canning, so there were a dozen jars of grape jelly. Half a dozen plum jams, eighteen jars of sweet pickles and two jars of pickled hot peppers sat on the shelf. Candied violet blossoms were there and a half dozen jars of tomato preserves, too.
That was it for food. No bread. No meat. No vegetables. Only pickles and jelly and jam, but no bread nor peanut butter. Well, I could surely miss a couple of meals without much difficulty, I thought to myself.
Then it began to occur to me that the two five gallon buckets of water I carried for the calves, and the bucketful for the chickens and goats, couldn’t be gotten, because the well had an electric pump. No electricity, no water. In fact, knowing there was no water on hand, I was immediately thirsty. I ate some grape jelly and a few old, stale crackers, making myself even more thirsty.
I could gather snow and melt it, I thought. But I didn’t have enough wood, and the snow on the ground was now at the fourteen inch level, in big drifts. I didn’t have a chainsaw at the time, nor even a wood cutting saw. I began to panic.
Each day I would use a little of the wood, and melt enough snow to keep the animals alive. If pressed to it, they could eat snow, like I was doing. I gathered broken limbs and kept a small fire in the stove, realizing that if I didn’t, the water pipes would freeze and I would have additional problems, even if the electricity did come back.
One day passed, then two, then three and four. On the fourth day, I was getting really hungry. I’d eaten jam and pickles until I couldn’t stand to eat any more. I’d eaten snow until my tongue was numb and yet I was still thirsty. I’d tried driving my little car but got only a few feet before the depth of the snow lifted the poor little thing so high the wheels were off the ground. Shoveling the heavy, wet snow, was useless as it would take miles of shoveling, up several steep hills, to make any difference.
Finally in mid afternoon of the fourth day, I decided I absolutely had to see people, to know how extensive the storm was, and to get food. My nearest neighbor was two miles away and I hiked slowly through the drifts in the woods, falling over limbs and rocks hidden by the snow. The neighbor and his wife lived closer to the highway and had a four wheel drive pickup. The neighbor drove me to town, where I bought four large grocery sacks of food. I bought a gallon of milk, a loaf of bread, five pounds of potatoes, lots and lots of canned goods.
The neighbor drove me as far as he could, but the rural roads hadn’t been cleared, so I still had about a mile to hike through the high snow, through the hills and woods, over barbed wire fences and through piles of broken trees. My brown paper grocery bags soon got wet, I dropped potatoes and canned goods through the woods, making several trips back and forth to carry home all that I had bought. But that night I ate well after draging home a few more broken branches to burn in the stove. I lit candles and ate close to the wood stove.
The next day the electricity came back on. By mid day, the telephone was reconnected. The following day the snow melted rapidly as the weather warmed back into the upper 60s. The jonquils and tulips began to slowly raise their heads and soon the world was back to normal. Never since, in the 29 years that have followed, have I allowed my pantry to become bare. One never knows when a 70 degree day might turn into a fourteen inch snowfall!
12/21/2009
Changing Climate Affects Our Gardens
Copyright© 2009, Jim Long
Mistletoe has always seemed like a southern plant to me. It grows high up in the limbs of trees, usually in oaks and elms. I used to drive down into South-Central Arkansas to collect mistletoe to give to friends at Christmas. The assumption has always been that the climate here is too cold for this semi-parasitic plant to exist. The seeds are carried by birds which leave bird droppings on tree branches, and the mistletoe grows where it’s planted.
Just recently I discovered several bunches of mistletoe growing on the Arkansas-Missouri border. I’ve tromped through the woods in that area for three decades and have never seen any evidence of the plant until this year.
Certainly there are those who refuse to believe our planet is warming nor that our milder seasons are anything other than a cycle. It becomes more difficult to accept that view when I have personally witnessed radical changes in my own garden. I’ve moved from a Zone 6 gardener to a Zone 7a, which is significant in when and what I plant.
I observe cause and effect. We pollute more, faster, than any civilization in the earth’s history. We burn tires, trees, coal, fuel of all kinds and it all goes into the atmosphere. It doesn’t just disappear, it has an effect, on weather, on water sources and on what we breathe and eat.
For the first time ever, fire ants were found in Missouri this year. We’ve long believed those nasty little critters couldn’t survive our winters. We’d had regulations that prohibited plants with soil that wasn’t treated to kill fire ants, from being brought into the state. Oddly enough, it wasn’t infected plant soil that brought the destructive ants in. Instead, they hitched a ride in large bales of hay that were brought into the state for feed after last year’s ice storm. Once they arrived, the ants began colonizing areas, reproducing and making livestock and humans quite uncomfortable with their stings. It’s unlikely the ants will decide to move south. Once they are in an area, they will spread just like the armadillos have.Like it or not, as gardeners we have to change some of the ways we garden. Planting early, using two crops a year of some things, being more vigilant for new insects and using better, safer controls of those, are all ways we will have to change.
Growing your own vegetables can be frustrating, sometimes challenging but always rewarding. Read what’s happening in my garden this week at http://jimlongsgarden.blogspot.comhttp://jimlongsgarden.blogspot.com. Happy gardening!
11/17/2009
Long Family's History Through Quilts
Quilted LivesWritten for The Ozarks Mountaineer magazine
Copyright© 2009, Jim Long
In the way that e-mail and Facebook connect people today, the quilt once served the purpose for socializing in a community. Church women held weekly quilting get-togethers, either in the back of the church, or in someone’s home.
Making a quilt took a commitment of time and ideas. Either stretched on a quilt stretcher, or rolled on a wooden roller, ladies would sit around the quilt and sew. Individuals worked in small areas, sewing the pieces into blocks, the blocks into a quilt top. Every week the quilt slowly came together, piece by piece until it was whole, while the participants
visited, gossiped and kept up on each other’s lives. News of the day, politics, problems in the community, errant children and misbehaving husbands, were all fair game around the quilt.The quilt symbolized the fabric of the community, each person adding their own stitches and personality. And the quilt served as a love offering, for the person it was being made for, or for an auction to benefit some person, institution or event.
As the last person in my family line, I have inherited several quilts - quilts which tell the story of our family. Each quilt holds the hopes and dreams of a generation, and more, of the community from which it came.
The oldest quilt I have is one made by my great-grandmother Sumpter. She and my great grandfather came to St. Clair County by covered wagon soon after the Civil War, traveling from Sumpter County, Tennessee, to Johnson City, Missouri. That quilt, made by great grandmother Sumpter, was wrapped around a bowl given to the couple as a wedding present, and which remains with the quilt, still. Imagine the stories that quilt could tell, having been wrapped around my ancestors as they traveled away from the chaos of the remnants of War, to new territory in Missouri. The quilt has been well protected through the passing generations and is remarkable in its preservation.
The second quilt I have inherited is the wedding quilt made for my parents by the women of the Upper Monegaw community. The quilt is dated and signed, “Upper Monegaw Friends, 1933.” Having been finished right before my parents married in 1934, it contains the signatures of ninety people, embroidered into each block of the quilt. It reads like a census of the community, a tapestry of one little moment in time.
Reading through the list of names on the quilt, I recognize neighbors of my grandparents Long and great grandparents’ Sumpter. I see cousins, uncles and aunts, great grandparents, I recognize names of families who migrated West when the Longs moved from Pennsylvania, into Indiana, Iowa, Kansas and finally, Missouri. I find the names of families whose lives have been woven together over generations. The Hagens, the Shorts, the Bishops, Fosters, Sewards, Carrols, Wiecherts, Culbertsons, Sumpters and Longs, all tied together by place, kinship, and this quilt.
The third quilt I have is the baby quilt, misnamed because it is a full bed-size quilt, that the ladies of the Taberville Methodist Church made for my mother before I was born. It, too, has been preserved and passed down to me.
And the final and last quilt I have in my possession, is the wedding quilt the ladies of the Taberville Community Center made for my wife and me when we were married. Because my then wife was from Texas, they thoughtfully chose a Texas Star quilt pattern, and presented it to us at the wedding reception in my parents home in 1968.
Those quilts all trace my family’s history, from the early beginnings of a young couple fleeing the devastation after the Civil War, through my parents’ marriage, my birth and my marriage all those years ago. The quilts were treasured and protected through one hundred thirty nine years of my family’s history. They have wrapped newly weds, protected dishes, covered babies, been the pride of new homes and embodied the hopes and dreams of four generations of families.
It is both a blessing to have such treasures, and it is an immense burden, as well. Even though the quilts are all in excellent conditi
on for their age, I wouldn’t use them for everyday use. They’re too big to display, and being the end of the line in my family, the only one left who they mean anything to, I have to decide what should happen to them in the future.The families of the Upper Monegaw community are gone, all of the names on the wedding quilt are now merely names on tombstones. The quilts were made with love, neighbor to neighbor. Somewhere in the stitches are the stories of the community, of the families who made the quilts. Somewhere in the ancient fabric, the long journey of the wagon going north resides. And yet, what happens to the quilts in the future remains uncertain. What does one do when the weight of previous generations comes down to quilts in a closet?
A snapshot of a community, 1933, Johnson City, Missouri
Here are the names of the people who signed, and helped make the wedding quilt for my parents, Lloyd W. and Mada M. Long. The names are listed according to how the participants signed the quilt, including their punctuation and the dates they signed the quilt before it was embroidered. It’s interesting to note that some who signed, put a period after their name. Several men signed the quilt, with others signing each of their children’s names, their wives or mothers doing the embroidery on the quilt. Not only is the list a snapshot of the community at the time, it is also a listing of all of my living relatives still in that community.
Mrs. Luella Carroll
Gladys Seward
Herbert D. Foster
Earnest & Flossie Foster
Chas. Dines
Mrs. Maggie O Hagen
Mr. Ormond R Hagen
Mr & Mrs Guss Wiechert, Mar 1933
George W. Thompson
Alice Dines
Linn Crowder
Orlando Donnel Feb 21/1933
Wendell Haye
Pauline Carroll
Emma Bishop
Ruby V. Ginter
Katherine & Hazel Short
Phayne Bishop
George Fredrick Hagan
Kenneth Chiles
Laverne Chiles
Ormond Leroy Hagan
Arline Hays
Ester Smith
Dorthy Smith
Ferne Bishop
Edward Chiles
Inez Lorene Hagan
Nolan Culbertson
Lena Smith
Leonard Wiechert
Grandma Long
Beulah Long
Jim Long
Tildie Long
Mrs. Chas. Lillard.
Helen Enson
Mrs James
Cleta Lillard
Coriss Lillard
C C Oetley
Zoe Ginter
Arthur Hays
Mrs. Hays
Milton Shepard
Rosalie Shepard
Dorthea Ridgeway
Vilolet Hunsucker
“Lest Ye Forget” Avery Hunsucker
Myrtle E. Thompson
Everleigh Crowder
Ermine L Wain
Alvin Long
W T Ridgeway
Bernice Shepard
Jessie Montonya Jr
Violet Wiechert
Raymond Smith
Elmer Allen
Elmore Shepard
Cora Inskeep
Alfred Raymon Hagan
Ruby Dorrel, Feb. 21/1933
LIzzie C. Gunter
Leonard Dorrel, Feb. 21/1933
Burt Long
Joel Foster
Roseanna Dorrel, Feb 21/1933
Loyel Smith
Howard Inskeep
Lecil Inskeep
Mrs. Elizabeth Carroll
Lenn & Luther Crowder
Kenneth Short
Lavon Lillard
H.A. Long Family
Clarence Long
Charlie Long
Carlene Long
L. W. Long
Joyce Everett
Alberta Everett
Mary Gates
Nancy Gates
James Gates
To Miss Mada from Upper Monegaw Friends, 1933
7/27/2009
Basil Season
Ozarks Gardening
Jim Long
August is Basil Season
I am just back from the annual International Herb Association conference, held this year at the Huntsville, Alabama Botanic Garden. One of our speakers at the conference was Dr. Mentreddy, who’s the head of research of basil at the Alabama Agricultural and Mechanical University in Huntsville. His research focuses on the highest concentrations of oils useful in preventing or treating diabetes and colon cancer. He is trialing 87 varieties of basil. The total number of basil varieties world wide is 150, therefore comparison studies of 87 varieties is a significant.
Dr. Mentreddy explained that two of the best basils (meaning highest is useful oils for medicinal purposes) so far are Indian holy basil (Ocimum tenuiflorum sny. sanctum) and one called, Ocimum selloi, the variety I grow that is commonly called, Green Pepper Basil. Mine came from Oaxaca, Mexico while Dr. Mentreddy’s sample came from Uruguay. (I passed my green pepper basil along to Nichols Garden Seed in Oregon and they are the only sellers of that basil as far as I know, You can contact them by visiting my website, www.LongCreekHerbs.com and clicking on, “Looking for Plants?”)
Basil comes into its own in July and August. If you are a first time basil grower, you may not have realized yet how important it is to consistently harvest basil. Leave it alone and it either goes to seed or gets bitter. I often see first time gardeners plant one lonely little basil plant and feel they need to baby it and not pick too much. It becomes a, “precious little plant” and the gardener is just glad to see it grow, but afraid to actually use more than a leaf or two.
Take your scissors and prune basil like it’s a hedge. The more you prune, every week to ten days, the more leaves it produces and the better the flavor. Quit shearing it and you’ll have bitter leaves due to the concentration of basil oils.
I like to chop basil leaves into salads. I use basil leaves instead of lettuce on sandwiches. And I make pesto often. I put a big, double handful of basil leaves - any kind, into the food processor. I add some nuts, pine nuts, almonds, pecans, it doesn’t matter which, and some grated parmesan cheese and a clove or two of garlic. To that I add about a tablespoon of olive oil then pulse blend the whole thing until I have a coarse paste. This will keep in the refrigerator for about six or seven days. I use it over fresh pasta, in summer cold tomato soups, spread on crackers or I slather some under the skin of chicken breasts before grilling or broiling them.
Summer is the basil season. I only grow 12 varieties, nothing close to the 87 of Dr. Mentreddy, but I am certain I enjoy mine every bit as much as he does in his research.
To see photos of the International Herb Association conference, Huntsville Botanic Garden and my garden, too, visit my blog: http://jimlongsgarden.blogspot.com. Happy gardening!
Jim Long
August is Basil Season
I am just back from the annual International Herb Association conference, held this year at the Huntsville, Alabama Botanic Garden. One of our speakers at the conference was Dr. Mentreddy, who’s the head of research of basil at the Alabama Agricultural and Mechanical University in Huntsville. His research focuses on the highest concentrations of oils useful in preventing or treating diabetes and colon cancer. He is trialing 87 varieties of basil. The total number of basil varieties world wide is 150, therefore comparison studies of 87 varieties is a significant.
Dr. Mentreddy explained that two of the best basils (meaning highest is useful oils for medicinal purposes) so far are Indian holy basil (Ocimum tenuiflorum sny. sanctum) and one called, Ocimum selloi, the variety I grow that is commonly called, Green Pepper Basil. Mine came from Oaxaca, Mexico while Dr. Mentreddy’s sample came from Uruguay. (I passed my green pepper basil along to Nichols Garden Seed in Oregon and they are the only sellers of that basil as far as I know, You can contact them by visiting my website, www.LongCreekHerbs.com and clicking on, “Looking for Plants?”)
Basil comes into its own in July and August. If you are a first time basil grower, you may not have realized yet how important it is to consistently harvest basil. Leave it alone and it either goes to seed or gets bitter. I often see first time gardeners plant one lonely little basil plant and feel they need to baby it and not pick too much. It becomes a, “precious little plant” and the gardener is just glad to see it grow, but afraid to actually use more than a leaf or two.
Take your scissors and prune basil like it’s a hedge. The more you prune, every week to ten days, the more leaves it produces and the better the flavor. Quit shearing it and you’ll have bitter leaves due to the concentration of basil oils.
I like to chop basil leaves into salads. I use basil leaves instead of lettuce on sandwiches. And I make pesto often. I put a big, double handful of basil leaves - any kind, into the food processor. I add some nuts, pine nuts, almonds, pecans, it doesn’t matter which, and some grated parmesan cheese and a clove or two of garlic. To that I add about a tablespoon of olive oil then pulse blend the whole thing until I have a coarse paste. This will keep in the refrigerator for about six or seven days. I use it over fresh pasta, in summer cold tomato soups, spread on crackers or I slather some under the skin of chicken breasts before grilling or broiling them.
Summer is the basil season. I only grow 12 varieties, nothing close to the 87 of Dr. Mentreddy, but I am certain I enjoy mine every bit as much as he does in his research.
To see photos of the International Herb Association conference, Huntsville Botanic Garden and my garden, too, visit my blog: http://jimlongsgarden.blogspot.com. Happy gardening!
6/28/2009
Summer Peaches
When I was five, the lady next door passed away. Her relatives took what they wanted from the house, but set her old cast iron cook stove outdoors under an old peach tree and the house set abandoned for years. That ancient stove became a playhouse for me and my six year old neighbor, Betty. The lot was securely fenced and my mother could watch us from our kitchen window.
That year my mother cleaned out her spice cabinets because of pantry moths, and put the tins of herbs and spices outside. I knew many of the spices because of their fragrance and considered these tins of seasonings a rare find for our make believe kitchen in the neighbor’s yard.
I carted the spices next door and arranged them in the warming oven above the cook top. Since both of us children were just beginning to read, it didn’t occur to us to use alphabetic order, but instead, we put them in the order of our favorite smells and the foods we would make believe we were using them in.
I liked cinnamon, so that was first, followed by stick cinnamon, allspice and cloves. Nutmeg followed, then mint leaves, oregano, marjoram and thyme. Parsley had no smell at all, nor did the bay leaf, and neither Betty nor I liked the smells of fennel, fenugreek or celery seed, so those were relegated to the last place on the shelf.
I had watched my mother make pickles that year and Betty and I found an old crock in the left over household items and pushed it up beside the stove. The peach tree over the stove was full of still green, late summer peaches and we began picking them for our pickle crock. We added rainwater to the crock as the peaches filled the space, much like my mother had done when making her delicious seven day sweet cucumber pickles earlier that year.
After what I determined to be enough time for the “pickles” to be ready, Betty and I decided to can the pickles, just as both of our mothers had done with their pickles. Fortunately, the old garden shed not far from the antique stove had boxes of old, blue canning jars and lots of zinc canning lids. We chose pint sized jars, which were easier for our small hands than the quart and half gallon jars were.
On our “canning” day, we put the fruit jars in the oven to sterilize them. Never mind there was no fire in the stove, this was make believe. We “baked” the jars and used big, fuzzy leaves of the mullein plant for our hot pads to remove the jars and set them on the stove. We then filled each jar with our peaches from the old stone crock, adding the make believe brine, as well. Then to each jar I added a pinch of allspice, one of cinnamon, one of cloves, and then, because Betty thought it looked nice, we added a bay leaf and a stick of cinnamon. We screwed on the lids and set them in rows across the top of the cast iron stove.
Mother, who was certainly watching the two busy children out the window came over to investigate. “Look Mother, we’ve made pickled peaches!” I said with excitement. I removed the lid of one jar for her to smell the wonderful, spicy fragrance.
Mother looked over our work and said, “You two have really worked hard. These are beautiful pickles and you’ve filled each jar to the top.” Then she said, “You realize, don’t you, these are not to be eaten?”
Oh, yes, we knew that, we were just playing make believe. We were going to turn our attention from our kitchen to making it a restaurant and serve even more things. Since we were the only children our age in our little town, the restaurant clientele would be our pets and Betty’s dolls.
I think back to that summer and what pleasure we got from Mom’s discarded herb and spice tins. I learned since that cleaning out the spice cabinet is a good thing to do once a year. Herbs like parsley, celery leaves, bay and chives, lose three fourths of their flavor after about nine months. Stronger spices like cinnamon, cloves and allspice, are good for about eighteen months. Refreshing the jars of all those things on a regular basis insures their best flavors. But one summer, with old spices, two small children had a great deal of fun, thanks to my mother’s housecleaning of her spice cabinet.
Readers questions and comments are always welcome at Longcreekherbs@yahoo.com. Visit Jim’s blog to see what he grows: http://jimlongsgarden.blogspot.com.
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