Backdoor Harvest

Simple Living, October II

On this page . . .

October Yard Art  ❤  Milk Gravy  ❤  The Attic Booktore  ❤  Acorns and Scalawags  ❤  Heads Up!  ❤

October Yard Art 

What happens to me in October?  As soon as the sun gets settled a little more southerly in the sky, I can't wait to get out the yard art that's been stored away in the Pony Closet for the past several months.  Here comes three metal pumpkins, one with rafia; two metal sunflowers, one with the price still on the back; a jack-o-lantern with his black-cat sidekick; a sign for the Deep Dark Woods that says "Dead Man's Curve"; two iron spikes with glittery ears of orange metal corn attached to the top; a plastic owl, and three small black crows, metal, hiding in the lantana pots. 

Tis the season for yard art.  

So if you're secretely harboring a desire to throw off the constraints of up-town living and bring out your private stash of yard art, no one will hold it against you.  In fact, I'd say "be my guest.  Now is the time."    

Milk Gravy 

It was no surprise that within a few days, my mind wandered to another cold-weather thing of beauty--milk gravy. 

A true fall southern breakfast should include several spoonfuls of rich gravy with plenty of salt and pepper. We call it milk gravy at our home, although as I discovered, there are variations on the name as well as the recipe.

This simple gravy is the bearnaise sauce of breakfast as far as we're concerned, and somewhere around early October it begins to show up on our table after its brief summer break, just as I suspect it does at many other homes in our area. After all, it's been on our menus and our mother's menus for a hundred years--not to be confused, however, with red-eye gravy, which is another show.   We'll talk about that at a later time.  

My mother made milk gravy like a professional all her life, and she taught me to make it the same way, tricks and all. Experience taught me that it's best eaten in a warm kitchen when the weather is cold. It's all about style and detail, and I've been partial to this recipe since I started making it when I was 20 years old, although in those days I was woefully short on style and detail.  In spite of that, it was and still is the only breakfast gravy that counts. 

You'll be wanting to see for yourself what all the fuss is about now that  blankets and warm foods have positioned themselves for the great gravy reveal.  It's easy - only three ingredients - and you don't need any skill. 

Did you catch that? Three ingredients -- if you don't count the salt and pepper.  

So listen up.   

Keep a watch out--once the color starts to turn, it can burn quickly, although I have yet to "burn" a pan such that the flavor wasn't better for it.  

Remove the pan from the heat and slowly pour in about 2 cps. whole milk, whisking or stirring as you go.  Place back on low heat and continue stirring.  Take your time so it doesn't thicken too quickly.

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Feel free to add more milk if the texture seems too thick for your liking.  It's kind of a free-for-all recipe, if the historical truth be known. 

Oh, and if you call it white gravy because it's white,  you don't have southern milk gravy, you have thick milk.  Make it brownish but call it milk gravy.  

That's how you achieve authenticity.  

The Attic Bookstore

Then to top it off, the next thrift store stop brought me a small, thick book called "Christmas Stories," full of chapters from classic literature and short stories by well-known authors like Willa Cather and Charles Dickens. 

Oh, to have a small bookstore. 

When I was 17 years old, I worked at the county library, which was housed in an old home near the gulf bay in Sarasota, Florida. 

My job was to shelve the books that came in every day.  Once in a while I prepared the newly purchased books with clear, protective covers.  I never got tired of shelving books--and the book covers?  Two of us sat in a back room with sun shining through the room's worn, wooden windows, and folded sheets of plastic ever so carefully so that nothing was out of line or wrinkled.  Then we fastened it down with special tape, and made sure it closed just right.  Our conversations were small and relaxed, as befits a library.  

Nice work. 

Another favorite task was when someone needed reference material that was kept in the attic.  I had to climb an old, steep set of  wooden stairs and peer into the cozy world of stored books and magazines--just me, by myself.  The room was warm and slightly dusty with wood planks all around, and only a small bit of light coming through one attic window.  I felt like the gatekeeper to all mystery and learning. 

Acorns and Scalawags 

The rabbit I told you about is still coming to the side yard most mornings and evenings.  He is an interesting mottled color, tans and browns, and looks plump and healthy.  I found out he sometimes hangs around under  the Fretting Porch, I suspect to scout out the chervil I just planted.  

I wonder what his winters are like and will he stay until spring.   

The neighborhood's white cat is slinking around, looking to scare the daylights out of a chipmonk or two.  I saw him sitting like a statue one early morning this week beside the potting shed, staring at the ground in front of him.  Not a muscle moved, not a nod of his head; only once in a while, his big bushy tail swished.  When he heard me behind him, he turned his head around slowly to look at me, then turned back to the hole he was fixed on, as if to say, "don't bother me,  I'm busy." 

Everything is as it should be for an early October.  Rabbit Hill stands wide awake, humming-along.  It's only one small yard, of course, in a large universe.  It's an eternity, however, to the inhabitants that populate it every year with their autumn shenanigans.   

I'm both a spectator and one of the hooligans.  May the Good Lord bless us all.   

Until next time,

scalawag  (skal e wag) (noun) --   a person (or animal) who behaves badly, but in an amusingly mischievous rather than harmful way; a rascal

from online Bing dictionery

Heads Up! 

In spite of that frantic little scene and my determination to not do anything like it again, I still sometimes go on my merry way, minding my own business, and suddenly find I've stumbled headlong into a fresh new tunnel.

So many tunnels, so little time. That's what happened two weeks ago as I was working on some drawings and website rearrangment. The real world faded into the background, while the more shallow thing in front of me grew bigger and more demanding. Slowly but surely my field of vision got smaller and deeper.

"Here I am again," I thought.