Tuesday, October 3, 2017

Calves, Vegetables, and Buttermilk Pie, Oh My!

Sweet Readers,

Welcome back to the hollow. Let me hang my apron up and I will meet you on the porch.

Lavinia Messer brought over a buttermilk pie today. She is well known for her collection of blue ribbons garnered for her pies and cakes at the county fair. I love to see her making her way here carrying her Mama’s split-oak basket on her arm…means goodness is snuggled inside!  Hope you will try her recipe. It took a lot of convincing to get her to share this mouth-watering delight with our porch-tending club. I ‘m savoring a piece as I watch the cows graze in my neighbors pasture.

I’ve been told two calves are expected any day now. One mama, named White Cheeks, looks like her blessed event could occur any moment. The farmer takes such good care of his cows. My mind always wanders to what a Good Shepherd we have in our heavenly Father…always watching over His children.

I noticed the first hint of fall make an appearance this week. The hollow has a crisp feel in the air and a tinge of color kissing the ancient oak tree behind the spring-house. My neighbor, Bob, said he would be pressing apple cider in the next few days. I will ask him to make some pictures to share and I have hope for a gallon of the sweet nectar to find its way to me.

 Mentioning the spring-house brought to remembrance the rows of jewel-toned vegetable jars that lined its shelves holding the promise of savory soup in the cold of winter. The sight of those packed jars always gave generations of women, caretakers of the home place, a sense of fulfilling the instructions of the Proverbs 31 woman by providing for the needs of her family.

Well, I’ve finished off this piece of pie and I’ll try my best to resist the call of a second slice. The recipe is below.

Be sure to come back and visit…you are always welcome. Please let me know of any prayer requests…it will be an honor to pray for you.

Farewell sweet summer.
Welcome glorious fall.

UPDATE: Calf spotted in the pasture! Pictures on next post.

Image from Add A Pinch, Robyn Stone

Southern Buttermilk Pie


I large (9 inch) pie crust
½ cup butter, softened
2 cups sugar
3 1/2 Tablespoons flour
1 cup buttermilk
3 eggs
1-teaspoon vanilla extract
Nutmeg (to sprinkle on top of pie)


Preheat oven to 350.
Cream together butter and sugar.
After butter and sugar are combined fully, add flour and eggs.
Mix well until fully combined.
Add buttermilk and vanilla extract.
Pour into prepared piecrust and sprinkle nutmeg on top.
Bake for 1 hour and 15 minutes or until done (a toothpick should come out clean when inserted in pie middle.)
The pie will be slightly jiggly after baking.
Allow at least one hour to cool and set before serving.

Image credit: Add A Pinch

Monday, June 12, 2017

Welcome Back to the Hollow

Welcome back to the hollow. I've missed you, dear reader.

Due to illness, I’ve not blogged in a long while. Thank you for all the prayers, cards and lovely gifts. Please continue to pray as I regain my strength. I’ll certainly pray for you.

I was so thankful to attend the wonderful Blue Ridge Mountains Christian Writers Conference shortly after leaving the hospital. It did me a world of good seeing long time friends and meeting new people that love the Lord and writing. Thank you, Edie and DiAnn for a wonderful conference.

Now, are you ready to head out to my porch? 

Grab a glass of sweet tea and meet me at the rockers. Give me a minute to hang my apron on its hook and I’ll be right there.

Isn’t this a lovely day? The grass is the color of bright Easter basket strands. The rhododendrons are blooming in beautiful shades of deep rose and vibrant purple. After a six weeks stay in the hospital, I feel I should twirl around and sing atop the mountain the way Julie Andrews did; arms flung wide open and joy bouncing off her face. The mountains are alive here and so am I. Praise The Lord!

Our dear neighbor Bob has gone to an old homestead to dig replacement hostas that played ring-around-the-rosie with our front yard maple tree. The old tree has provided shade in the summer and a soft landing place for snowflakes in the cold winters. The hostas usually fare well snuggled under the tree, but late cold weather killed some of my favorite varieties.

I feel hostas are at home at a farmhouse, don’t you?

The cardinals that sit on the maple tree limbs are not to be outdone in the color parade. The bird’s blaze of red often catches my eye and brings me frequent bursts of beauty. They will be so happy to find their favorite dried cherries among the bird food today.

As Miss Loanie, the elderly lady up the hollow a ways, is fond of saying; “Them redbirds of yours are like spoilt younguns”. (A little sneak tidbit, readers: Miss Loanie will make an appearance in my work in progress. I believe you will love her and her wealth of mountain wisdom.)

The cows are back in the pasture across the way. I love to watch how the farmer takes care of them. He walks the pastures each week to see if the fence is intact and if any harmful weeds have appeared.

What a lovely picture of our Heavenly Father the caring farmer paints. Like the farmer, our Father walks before us and recognizes harm that might befall us. Sin, like weeds, appears overnight in the fields of our lives. Our Father’s enfolding arms, like the farmer’s fence, provides safety to us that belong to him. We are the sheep of His pasture.

The eternal God is your refuge and dwelling place, and underneath are the everlasting arms. Deuteronomy 33:27

Sweet mercy, I could go on and on, but I need to stop and look over a colander of dried beans. A produce stand at the bottom of the hollow has some delicious tomatoes from Georgia that will complement those beans along with a pan of fried potato patties for supper. Do I need sliced onions or chow-chow?

It has been wonderful spending these few minutes with you. Please let me know of any prayer requests you have. I consider it an honor to pray for you, beloved.

Come go home with me next month, take a sweet breath of mountain air, and give your troubles, your hurry, and worry over to the good Lord. I’ll be here with bells on waiting for you.

Love you all.
Dee Dee