I FARM HOUND DOGS, ONE AT A TIME

I'm no farmer.  Many people upon hearing that we live on 40 acres on top of a mountain somewhere assume that I must be.  But no, I'm no farmer.  My best friend Ginger is though.   She lives on a farm in Catawba, which is the top of another mountain in the same area code but still about an hour's drive from Bent Mountain.  Her husband used to say when they moved here that if we still lived in NJ,  they would be in Pennsylvania.  I guess that may be a joke you would only get if you were from New Jersey, living in Catawba and your friends lived on Bent Mountain, on the Floyd County border. 

Back to non-farming.  We do have a coonhound.  He's gorgeous.  We took pictures of him to the Ferrum Folklife Festival and determined that he was a rare fellow indeed; a very fancy English coonhound.  He's got brown spotted legs and a black spotted body and big brown and black spots all over.  Spott.  We added the extra "t" because of the fancy factor.   Doesn't take much to entertain a Florin.

We used to have bassett hounds, which were a bit easier to train,  but our sweet Millie (short for Mildred after my dear old great aunt who had both blue blood and blue hair) died a couple of years ago.  Spott showed up one day looking in the backdoor as our son Cameron was looking out.  Larry told Emma and I not to feed him.  In fact, Larry wouldn't even look at him as he had fallen in love immediately and we weren't in the market for another dog. However, the kids and I won out and Spott sleeps on my side of the bed when I'm out of town.  And he is Daddy's boy.  They like to putter around outside the house and Spott likes to show his dad how he can chase rabbits and deer.  He coonhound blubbers all over the back 40.  Don't get mad.  The rabbits ALWAYS win out.  Then Spott lays panting for the next two hours in the downstairs bathroom  trying to get cool and his tongue sticks to the hardwood floor.   He has a good life.

Larry has begun to think I might enjoy farming.  He is fixing our sweet little shed "The Bird House" into a chicken coop.  Ginger is moving back to Texas and we are going to inherit a dozen of so of her chickens in a couple of weeks.  My man is also fencing in the bottom field along the creek so we can grass finish our first steer this summer.   I haven't the heart to tell him.   I'm a spoiled sleeping on the bed coonhound farmer...not a chicken or cow farmer.  But I'm sincerely hoping that he is. 

NO PLACE LIKE HOME IN SW VA

My 18 year old daughter Emma and I have been doing a lot of travelling lately.  While we have limited our trips to just about 3 - 5 hours, her brother Cameron has been cavorting around the globe solo.  His last trip earned him about 10,000 miles of frequent flyer points.  After three months on the Big Island of Hawaii, he now resides temporarily in Lutsk, Ukraine. He's heading from there to Istanbul, and then dropping by Hawaii again on the way back home to SW VA in June.  I know.  Get out your globe.

The trips with Emma haven't all been quite as fun, nor exotic.  She had ankle surgery in Charlotte, NC in November and we had to go back there every two weeks for about four months.  I officially now know how to drive in 5PM traffic around a large metropolitan city.  Just close your eyes and gun it. 

On the much more interesting side, there have also been quite a few college shopping  mini-vacation trips:  we've breezed through Spartanburg, SC, St. Mary's, MD, Asheville and Boone, NC.  All lovely vacation spots in themselves with the bonus of being hotbeds for academia, if you are so inclined. Em has decided on Appalachian State University in Boone, NC.  Funny, I thought after growing up a mountain girl, she would want to see the big city.  But when we pulled up to Boone for the first time she thoroughly shocked me by saying "Mom, this is the only place we've been where it is almost as beautiful as it is at home!"  Hmmmm.  Surprising.  But while Boone is a gorgeous place and a fun, fun, fun college town, I think we'll stay put.  We were visiting an art gallery in Blowing Rock, a great little town off the Blue Ridge Parkway right next to Boone.  When the owner learned where we came from, she gushed all over Floyd, VA.  She knew everything about the very vibrant art scene, the Crooked Road Music Trail and the Floyd County Store and the great locavore restaurants.  We are getting quite the name for ourselves, Floyd.  Shhhh.....Good thing we don't have a college downtown. 

WE GET TWO SPRINGS UP HERE IN FLOYD COUNTY

There is nothing like springtime in the mountains of Southwest Virginia. 

Growing up in a Revolutionary War era commuter town in suburban NJ,  the beautifully manicured postage stamp sized lawns were really impressive.   Ironically, we had one of two Southern Magnolia trees in the state in my backyard.  But now that I'm typing that I'm really doubting my information. Probably some useless inaccurate minutia that has somehow stuck in my head.  Actually, the tree always looked pretty sickly and I'm not sure that I ever saw it bloom.  But you surely couldn't cut it down if there were only two in the state, now could you?

Indigenous spring in the Blue Ridge Mountains completely shames anything we could purchase at the local Garden State garden center.  On my walk this morning I noticed that the wild rhododendrun that line the creek are about to burst into color.  The color is more subdued than the cultivated variety, but the rhody grow so thick back here that they form a kind of natural fence between our house and the neighbor's house.  But we can't really see the neighbors anyway, cause we Bent Mountians like our space. 

There are a lot of gorgeous redbud coming up the mountain from Roanoke, but I think it may be a bit too cold up here for them to flourish in the wild.  That isn't the story with the mountain laurel, or the flame azalea, or the wild dogwood.  They seem to thoroughly enjoy our natural airconditioning. 

Trilium like the cooler temps and grow along the road in profusion.  Some white, some a light shade of pink.  Hundreds of them.  My favorite are the little trumpet shaped red colored beauties.  I had thought they were called Indian Paintbrush, but now I'm not so sure.  Anyway, they are my favorites.  Favorites are so special that you don't always have to know the name.  Usually, when I'm musing about wildflowers I'm by myself anyway, and I don't have to appear educated.  I know I'm not.

Anyway, because we are a little cooler in Floyd County, we get springtime down in Roanoke about two weeks before we get springtime up here on the Mountain.  I have always said that we get to enjoy two springs.  And I have always agreed with myself.

CALENDAR PLANNING 101: ATTEND FLOYDFEST

Back about four years ago, we added a Timberframe addition to our home on Bent Mountain.  Our generous timberframers, Streamline Timberframe in Floyd, Virginia, are major partners with the Floydfest organizers, actually having built a couple of permanent Timberframe structures that house parts of the festival.  Our friends at Streamline offered us a couple of three day passes as a VERY kind gesture. 

We cluelessly attended our first Floydfest.  Oh my goodness.  I didn't know that  much fun could be had on Planet Earth.   The people watching was fantastic; the music even better.  I was introduced to some amazing bands, many of them just on the verge of being too popular to play this intimate venue on the Blue Ridge Parkway.   

The 2011 festival dates have been set as July 28 - 31st.  The line-up for the 10 year anniversary of Floydfest includes favorites Grace Potter & the Nocturnals, Old Crow Medicine Show, Taj Mahal,  Xavier Rudd, Railroad Earth,  David Grisman, Hot Tuna, Sam Bush, Toubab Krewe, Donna the Buffalo, Carolina Chocolate Drops and my new favorites from last summer, J.P. Harris and the Tough Choices.  And many more, some of whom I'm sure will soon become my new,  new favorites.  There is something for everyone, including the kiddos in the Children's Universe.  Check our http://www.floydfest.com/ for the complete line-up and information on tickets, camping, and anything else you need to know to have more fun than you ever knew possible.   

So if you are on the fence about attending, here's a nudge.  DO IT!  For those of us in SW Virginia, we are incredibly lucky to have this worldclass festival in our own backyard.  And for those of you who aren't?  Well, we just happen to have that perfect piece of mountain land you've been looking for.....

VISIONS OF WATERCRESS DANCED IN THEIR HEADS

Seriously?  With all the things going on in our world now the thing that kept me awake last night was WATERCRESS???  Or lack thereof?  As in,  maybe I missed it? 

Every year our neighbor Ed harvests watercress from his "backyard" butting up against Poor Mountain.  Big Laurel Creek flows slowly through his property as it meanders down to meet up with our own Bottom Creek.  Big Laurel is just slow and trickley (is that a word?) enough to be a perfect cultivating ground for Nasturtium Aquaticum, more commonly known as watercress.  Since Ed and his lovely French wife (I'm trying to get her to cook me something here) Francois are empty nest retirees,  there is only so much watercress they can consume.  SO....every spring Ed brings over a huge trash bag of the tangy delicate lovelies to his very appreciative foodie neighbor, Moi. 

I'm not sure how this blog is going to play out, but I guess on day two I'm going to give you a killer recipe for Romaine with Watercress Dressing, a lovely refreshing concoction that I had to pry from my mother's dying fingers.  Just kidding.  She is still very much alive and gladly gave it over.  The other just made for a better story. I guess I may be a little bit twisted. 

This is most probably a 1970's Sunday New York Times recipe, since that is where most of the best ones originated.  It goes exactly like this.  Except now in 2011 we can buy lettuce that is already washed and dried.  To heck with salad spinners and paper towels. 

Romaine with Watercress Dressing
2 heads romaine (1 head if large)
1 bunch watercress (or small trash bag if you are Floyd County creek harvesting)
1 bunch small radishes (sounds good already!!)
9 T. good olive oil
Juice of 1 lemon
1 T. tarragon vinegar
1 tsp. salt
1/8 tsp. dry mustard
1/8 tsp. sugar 

Wash romaine, watercress and radishes.  Shake greens well to remove moisture.  Roll in several thicknesses or paper towel and put in refrigerator to crisp.  Do this several hours before time.  (?)
Greens must be absolutely dry. Slice radishes paper thin and keep in ice water in refrig until needed.  Remove coarse stems from watercress, keeping only the delicate stems and leaves.  Chop as would parsley.
In small bowl mix oil, lemon juice, vinegar, 1/2 tsp. salt, mustard and sugar.  And chopped watercress and stir well. Chill. Break romaine into bite sized pieces.  Sprinkle with 1/2 tsp salt, add radishes.  Dress and toss.  

Thank me in the morning.  See you.  Gotta go call Ed.

THE BEGINNING

There is a well kept secret to life on Bent Mountain that separates the natives from the tourist wannabes:  the curvy mountainous 55 mile an hour road that brings you in from the Roanoke, Virginia side. The first voyage (or in the case of my 75 year old Floridian mother, every voyage) up the aptly named S-Curve results in a white knuckled, hanging on for dear life brake-stomping reaction.  Especially if said Floridian mother is the passenger.  But, shhhh….the secret is in this:  the road is perfectly banked, the views are spectacular, it’s actually a delight to drive, and there is almost no way minus a very serious flubber that you are going off the edge.

But here’s another truth.  We like it that way.  What if everyone realized that paradise were but a 20 minute drive from Cave Spring Kroger?  Well, paradise Bent Mountain would be no longer.  I think perhaps the name helps, also.  Bent MOUNTAIIIINNNN.  You’ve got to really climbbbbbb.  Certainly not anywhere someone could live and still commute to downtown Roanoke in half an hour on the world famous Blue Ridge Parkway, if you were so inclined.  Someplace way too far away to be in Blacksburg in 45 minutes. 

Well, thank you to whomever named paradise Bent Mountain.  There is mad speculation about what the Bent part means, but we’ll take it.   I think I may have preferred the address “Twelve O’clock Knob”,  but just because of the obscurity of the moniker.   I really want to live on Bent Mountain.