Let me introduce myself and tell you about this blog; my life in the Ozarks. It’s a busy life in these laid back hills, and well, I don’t think there will be any shortage of material to entertain you with.
Moonmooring is home. When I purchased it over 30 years ago the deed stated it had belonged to the Needmores in the 1800’s; we lovingly called it Needmore Acres. We moved here from California and there was a whole slew of jokes about outhouses, goats and Ozark hot tubs.
I’ll tell you about Uncle Butch, who drank beer the same way I like Southern Comfort, straight up and room temp, and Grandma Dall who, along with Grandpa Ed, brought five of their six children here in the late 40’s. Her second husband Grandpa Dall was the Grandfather I remember. You will hear about Aunt Zoma, may she rest in peace, and her amazing gardening abilities, cooking skills and storytelling … must run in the family … how I got my strawberry patch, my first garden, compost, raised beds, the gold value of rabbit manure, possum grape jam, persimmon leather, paw-paws, okra, wild plums, chiggers and tick tape, road kill, the appearance of roadrunners and armadillos in these parts and my own stock tank. Mom and Dad will have a special place here.
I’ll tell about the ice storm of 09 and the twin floods of 08, and what a full moon on a clear night reflecting off a fresh snow looks like. You’ll hear about the changeling driveway to Moonmooring, dogs and cats, wood furnace 101, Adrian’s three story treehouse, outdoor showers, lemon drop peppers, and evenings on the porch listening to tree frogs.
I hope you enjoy a good recipe. I’d love to share some with you. There might be a poem or short essay about life in the Ozarks. I may recommend a book, and I’ll tell you about the Bruchas hanging throughout my home.
There will be stories from and about friends and family … that’s fast becoming an endless list! If you feel shortchanged because you’ve not been mentioned, give it a rest, I’m sure your name will come up sooner or later.
This photo was taken in Greece a few years ago. I was draping myself over a flimsy balcony on the tenth floor of a cheesy hotel in the Omonia District in Athens. Scared to death it would give way and I would fall to my demise on the first day wearing nothing but a slip but determined that with enough coaxing my sister could get a decent shot; I braved the filigree.