The Dinner Bell

The dinner bell on the farms here in the mountains called the farm folk from the fields for a meal.

They were made of brass, bronze or a steal blend and were usually mounted on a post. The bell would ring at 12:00 so the worker could take a break in the hot part of the day.

On the second Wednesday of the month I will celebrate the dinner bell and call you sweet readers to the farm table for lots of good eating.

Categories will be: Sweet Mercy (desserts), Garden Gifts and Pass the Platter (ok, sometimes, the casserole dish)

Possibly wearing a hat under the blistering sun yesterday would have lead to better categories. :) Lets go with with Sweet Mercy (desserts) this week.

I did not like strawberries when I was young; I was allergic to most fruit and never developed a taste for the pretty plump treat. My husband and children thought me crazy and treated them like sweet jewels straight from heaven. Now, I love them!

I’m making up for the lost itchy time and use the berries in everything that my heart desires. This little dessert has been around for a while but it is so good and easy to prepare. I can’t give credit because the recipe was taped to a dish of the luscious treat. Here’s the recipe:

STRAWBERRY ANGEL YUMMY (I added the YUMMY!)

YIELD: nine servings. PREP TIME twenty minutes plus chilling.

Ingredients:
1 envelope unflavored gelatin
¾ cold water
2 cups sugar
1 package (10 oz.) frozen sliced strawberries
1 carton (8 oz.) Frozen whipped topping, thawed
5 cups angel food cake cubes
Fresh strawberries
Fresh mint (We have a mint patch by our springhouse.)

DIRECTIONS:

In a saucepan combine gelatin and cold water; let stand 5 minutes to soften. Heat and stir over low heat until gelatin dissolves. Remove from heat; add sugar. Stir in undrained strawberries. Chill until partially thickened.

Fold in whipped topping. Place cake cubes in a large bowl; pour strawberry mixture over cake and gently stir. Pour in an ungreased 8-inch square dish. Chill until firm, Garnish with fresh strawberries (that I sincerely hope you didn’t eat with all that mixin’ and fixin’) and mint.

Don’t you think this would be light and cool after a late summer supper? Yesterday I picked a big bowl off the strawberry plants that came up from last years planting.

Let me know if you fix this summer. Enjoy the strawberries.

Happy Father’s Day to all the wonderful fathers out there. I had a wonderful father and thank the Lord for that blessing. My children would tell you their father is the best!

I am excited about new blog changes for the summer. Next week I’ll share the things I hope you will enjoy with me here in the hollow. A fun and blessed summer it is going to be! I hope you will join in with prayer requests, writing projects, a good book for summer reading, a mouth-watering recipe and many other summer delights.

Come go home with me-I’ll set a plate.

Blessings,

Dee Dee

Pondering Summer

It is so pretty in my hollow today. I’ve been sitting on the porch watching multicolored butterflies dance in the field. The cows across the road are enjoying the warm sun. I’ve been pondering what I would like for Mr. Jim and me to do this summer.

I’ve asked the sweet Lord to let us slow down a bit and to truly enjoy the season. Jim usually has a beautiful yard bursting with colorful flowers but he is unable to plant this year. I will get pots of pretty blossoms and enjoy container gardening and hang wave petunia baskets from our shepherd’s crooks. Don’t you love to smell petunias? Ferns belong on a farmhouse porch and I will purchase several of them to grace the banisters.

I want us to go on an old fashion picnic. I want to pack the basket with fried chicken, potato salad and a watermelon.  Ants not invited!

I want to go to a concert in the park. We have done this for the last few years and have enjoyed it immensely. Shout out to Balsam Range band.

I want to make many churns of ice cream. So many flavors…so little time. I think I’ll start with fresh strawberry and stuff it in a waffle cone.

I want to have cookouts with neighbors and fix S’mores over an open fire. Our neighbors up the mountain have a lovely spot and the company is excellent.

I want to dangle my feet in a cold mountain stream. Don’t have to go far, lots of them here. 

I want to watch the summer night stars and make a wish on the first one to come out. I wish I may…I wish I might.

I want to watch the God made light parade of fireflies in the big field across the way. It rivals all the hoopla of the big theme park a few states down the road. Morgan and Brad will have a front row seat.

I want to sit in our side-by-side rockers and…rock…slowly…holding my husband’s hand. I’ve had almost 45 years of this simple “together time," and I promise it is precious to us. I hope you will give it a try.

Yep, I’ve been pondering about summer. I think I want a taste of days past; a simpler time.

Why don’t you pull up a rocker, grab a glass of sweet tea and join me. There’s plenty of room on the porch and you can ponder to your hearts content. The firefly parade starts at sundown.

I’ll keep you informed on my summer doin's. Do come go home with me and we’ll share recipes, swap stories, and give the sweet Lord praise for His goodness.

Love to you dear readers,

Dee Dee

Happy Birthday, Brooke

I sang happy birthday to my daughter, Brooke, thirty-four times. I wish I could sing to her today.

Brooke was diagnosed with last stage breast cancer while in her late twenties. She fought for six years with grace and dignity, leaving this world in 2006.

Her family and friends miss her precious spirit and beautiful smile. She loved us dearly.

I will sing to her today. I will fling the joyful birthday anthem to the wind and let it soar over the clouds and into the halls of heaven.

Mother loves you, my Brooke.

Whiter Than Snow

 A peace has settled upon the hollow, an exquisite quietness. Snow has come.

A character in my Christmas novella, Grandpa Hack, was fond of singing hymns as he went about his farm chores. His favorite was Whiter Than Snow. This Sunday morning I could not help but join my voice with Grandpa’s, singing the comforting words of that old song as I witnessed the cleansing effect of the snowfall. Even my trashcan was pristine under its cover of white; what had been dirty was now clean.

Whiter than snow, yes, whiter than snow,
Now wash me, and I shall be whiter than snow.  

James Nicholson, 1872 (Public domain)

 
My Lord’s forgiveness of my sins has made me clean. His precious pardon each morning means I can have a new beginning …whiter than snow.

I turned in my Bible to the well-known scripture that was the inspiration for the hymn:  

Cleanse me with hyssop, and I will be clean. 

Wash me, and I will be whiter than snow.

Palms 51:7 NIV

We were unable to make it to church today because of the snowy roads…but I have worshiped. Thank you Jesus, for the beautiful reminder of your love and forgiveness.
Have a blessed Lord’s Day.

Dee Dee 

The Perfect Heart

I hope each of you dear readers have a lovely Valentine’s Day. Everywhere I turn I see hearts, lace, and cards proclaiming love and devotion. Every year I enjoy walking down memory lane paved with the sweet blessings of Valentine's Days past.

My husband of forty-five years has always given me hearts in various forms. I enjoy wearing the heart jewelry he has given me over the years. A very special necklace is the one he gave me to celebrate the birth of our precious daughter. I wore his gift of a silver necklace comprised of antique hearts to church this past Sunday. 

 

Every year I decorate the old farmhouse with the macrame hearts my mother made for me. As everyone who ever knew her would attest, Mother was very talented at crafts. Aren’t they pretty?

As much as I enjoy all of the love I experience here on earth, nothing can compare with what heaven holds for me.

This Valentine’s Day I pray that each of you know and bask in the Savior’s love. His heart is perfect.

 

Love is patient and kind; love does not envy or boast; it is not arrogant  or rude. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; it does not rejoice at wrongdoing, but rejoices with the truth. Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. Love never ends. As for prophecies, they will pass away; as for tongues, they will cease; as for knowledge, it will pass away. 1 Corinthians 13: 4-8

Thank you for your visit.

Dee Dee

Brightest and Best

Sweet Readers,

Christmas has settled upon my hollow. Colored lights dot the ridges and red bows adorn farmhouse banisters and lampposts. I look up to the tallest mountaintop and like the wise men of old I see a bright and shinning star, only this time it is manmade and adorns a housetop. The image still prompts me to sing the old carol…We Three Kings of Orient Are. I love the carols that have been sung here in the mountains for generations. Music joins our hearts and honors the newborn king.

One of my favorite Christmas hymns echoing from the small white clapboard churches hereabouts is…Brightest and Best. The words are hauntingly beautiful and speak of another time.

Brightest and best of the stars of the morning,

Dawn on our darkness, and lend us Thine aid;

Star of the east, the horizon adorning,

Guide where our infant redeemer is laid.

Cold on his cradle the dewdrops are shining,

Low lies His head with the beasts of the stall;

Angels adore Him in slumber reclining,

Maker and Monarch and Savior of all.

Shall we then yield Him, in costly devotion

Odors of Edom, and offerings divine?

Gems of the mountain, and pearls of the ocean,

Myrrh from the forest, and gold from the mine?

Vainly we offer each ample oblation,

Vainly with gifts would His favor secure;

Richer by far is the heart’s adoration.

Dearer to God are the prayers of the poor.

Hope you enjoy pictures of my old farmhouse dressed for the season. The picture of the little girl singing a Christmas prayer at church is of my daughter Brooke who celebrates her seventh Christmas with Jesus this year.

I pray you have a blessed Christmas. Stop to remember the families of the sweet children and adults who are to soon gone in Connecticut.

Dee Dee

A Thankful Heart

The leaf-woven quilt had been raked and mulched. A crisp cold wind blew its way down my mountain hollow, singing its prelude to winter. Frost diamonds glistened atop pumpkins destined for decorations on my farmhouse porch. All the vegetables had been preserved in glass jars and lined springhouse shelves, joining sister jars of plump summer blackberries.

The season of thankfulness had arrived. Time to bow the knee and fling praises toward heaven for harvest gifts and blessings bestowed. The calendar confirmed the natural signs. I had decorated the altar table at church with a cornucopia of fall’s offering, wheat sheaves and a painting of an older man saying grace over his bountiful table. I was going through the motions but my heart was heavy and not even the slightest thanks could penetrate the sorrow barrier binding my spirit.

Earlier that week, I retrieved my tablecloth from the dining room credenza and underneath the heirloom covering were place cards inscribed with family members names. I remembered the excitement of finding the beautiful cards in an antique shop and rejoicing over how they would complement my grandmother’s tablecloth. I lovingly picked them up and pressed them to my heart. 

The name of my son’s fiancé was on top, the beautiful young woman who had died of a brain aneurism shortly after accepting Brad’s proposal of marriage; Gretchen was twenty-eight. Next in the stack was the name of my own precious daughter who had passed away after a courageous battle with breast cancer; Brooke was thirty-four. My mother’s name was on the next card, the mother who died six months after my daughter’s death. Tears fell leaving smudges on the beloved names. How could I have a spirit of thankfulness after such tragedies? I crumbled in a heap of overwhelming sadness.

Through my sobs slowly came a realization: I was so fortunate having had these amazing women in my life, if two of them only for a short season. How could I not celebrate with thankfulness their grace and beauty?

It was Gretchen who started the tradition of giving me a flower arrangement for our Thanksgiving table every year. Brooke carried on Gretchen’s custom until her own death. I had not been able to face flowers since Gretchen and Brooke’s passing, and had started serving thanksgiving dinner on TV trays to avoid the memories made around the holiday table. I decided to renew the floral tradition to honor those memories and in thankfulness of Brooke and Gretchen’s lives.

This year I will again set our holiday table and embrace Morgan, the lovely young woman God has graciously brought into Brad’s life. As for the name cards, I will give them a place of honor on the sideboard.

We will once again hold hands, offer thanks for our blessings, for those around the table and those whose who have left our sight but not our hearts.

Sweet readers, my prayer for your family as they gather together asking the Lord’s blessings is for love to permeate the room, and that the heaping bowls of food remind you of God’s provision, that grace abounds, and that the memories of loved ones gone on to glory hover close.
 

Sing with me the beautiful words of this hymn and may all the blessings of this Thanksgiving season be yours.  

Come, ye thankful people, com
Raise the song of harvest home!
All is safely gathered in,
Ere the winter storms begin;
God, our Maker, doth provide
For our wants to be supplied;
Come to God’s own temple, come;
Raise the song of harvest home!

With a thankful heart,
Dee Dee