Category: 19th century

19th century, Christianity, Culture, Faith, God/Jesus, History, Holidays, Religion, Scripture, Tradition, Yoga & Fitness

December 25th

Lisa Burbank

“Therefore the Lord himself shall give you a sign: behold, a virgin shall conceive and bear a son, and shall call his name Immanuel.” (Isaiah 7:14)

My Puritan ancestors did not celebrate Christmas. The Puritans took much of Scripture, if not all of it, literally. And, as there’s no actual date for the birth of Christ in the Bible, December 25th was business as usual in New England until around 1850 when Prince Albert gifted Queen Victoria with a fully-decorated Christmas tree. That fashionable trend, along with the influx of immigrants from Italy, Ireland and various other countries that followed closely the Church of Rome (Catholicism), paved the way for the religious observance of December 25th that Chrisitians, and even non-Christians, celebrate as Jesus’ birthday each year in the U.S.

Yes, it’s true that Constantine “borrowed”, “hijacked”, or however you wish to term it, certain Yule-tide practices from what we now call pagan religions. Back then, “pagan” was simply a term for a country dweller (farmer), who followed the seasons, and paid homage to the god of his or her consciousness for successful crops, and good health through the long winter ahead for family, friends and even livestock. But it’s also true that early scholars have studied Scripture and other religious documents closely…enough that they have a fair approximation of when Christ was born.

Yule, from which many “yuletide” celebrations have stemmed, is celebrated on December 21st. Kwanzaa is celebrated December 26th through January 1st. And, this year, Hanukkah is celebrated December 25th through January 2nd. Hanukkah’s dates change each year though. The celebration of Christmas does not. It is always December 25th.

In short, He is the reason that Christians celebrate December 25th. So, I will say, “Merry Christmas!” to you in passing. Not in effort to be an insensitive clod, but because this is my faith. This is what I believe. Because I am celebrating this sacred time and I want to wish you well during this season…and throughout the whole year.

If you correct me with an admonition that I should say, “Happy Holidays!” so as not to offend somebody else, guess what? For many Christians, that is offensive. Should I start correcting you in your religious practices?

That being said, I often do say “Happy Holidays!”, especially if I don’t know what you believe. Context often plays a role here. If I know you’re Jewish, I will wish you a Happy Hanukkah! If Wiccan, or today’s Paganism, I will wish you a Happy Yule! But, if I do greet you with a “Merry Christmas!”, perhaps reconsider that I’m baiting you in some way, or lavishing an insult. “Merry Christmas” means I wish you peace, joy, and love. That should not be an insult to anyone…and no conversion necessary to accept my humble blessing of peace, joy and love with grace. A simple “Merry Christmas to you, too!” will do. (Sort of like intoning “Namaste” to each other after a yoga practice…)

May God bless you & keep you!

19th century, Abuse, Alcoholism, Chronic Epstein Barr, Chronic Fatigue Syndrome, Exhaustion, Faith, God/Jesus, Healing, Herbs, Holistic Health, Homesteading, Irritable Bowel Syndrome, Poverty, Prayer, Scripture, Writing, Yoga & Fitness

Convenience Over Quality

Lisa Burbank

“And even as they did not like to retain God in their knowledge, God gave them over to a reprobate mind, to do those things which are not convenient.” (Romans 1:28)

Despite my longing for a 19th century style of life, unprocessed foods and clean soil with which to grow food, I live in the 21st century. When I’m feeling tired, rundown, or overwhelmed, it’s pretty easy to cave into temptation and reach for a package of Ramen noodles. Or a can of Campbell’s soup. Would that there were healthier options available in that time of need. Would that I still spent Sundays cooking and baking a mountain of food to freeze for such times again.

Convenience is the reward for either my laziness, or my lack of foresight, in planning ahead for such “rainy” days. The price is a body that feels stiff and tired, eyes that burn with fatigue, and a head that’s filled with so much fog, I might need a foghorn to warn any incoming data of potential rocks up ahead.

Of course, there’s a snowball effect here, too. As I reach for convenience, I also find myself sleeping later, but not feeling rested. Regular prayer life, yoga and Ayurveda practices, daily walks, and just some quiet time alone have fallen by the wayside. How did I get into this rut? Was it only from another snowball effect of job losses, injuries and toxic relationships that led me here? Or something more?

The campaign ads are correct that so many of our illnesses come from what’s in our food. I have Irritable Bowel/Inflammatory Bowel Syndrome, Chronic Fatigue Syndrome, and Chronic Epstein-Barr. Childhood trauma, and the stress that comes with it, certainly contributed to these conditions, but our food system played its part, too. Mom was a single mother for many years, struggling to get by. She married an alcoholic, who was forever losing jobs because he was hung over and “couldn’t” work before an injury permanently disabled him, so the struggle not only continued, but increased on the stress barometer. We lived on a diet of Campbell’s soup, Rice-A-Roni, Noodle Roni, Hamburger Helper, and white flour products.

We couldn’t afford better. And most families cannot afford better today. In fact, the campaign ads are also correct that it’s gotten worse since I was a kid in the late-60s and 70s.

The answer is to hold myself accountable for my choices, take baby steps, such as ordering a salad at a restaurant instead of “loaded” fries, or writing a blog post that doesn’t make a lot of sense…but doing it anyway. Taking these small steps, and slowly increasing, until I’m feeling more like myself again. And giving back by making healthier foods and supplements (i.e. herbs) not only a staple in my own life, but a cornerstone of this homestead.

Of course, prayer is the biggest answer. Giving it all to God, taking it to Jesus in prayer, giving Him my lazy, my lack of foresight, my tired, stiff body, and allowing Him to build a lighthouse to avoid those rocks in the fog is the best blueprint for success. He is the One “convenience” that gives the best quality of life. Ever.

May God bless you & keep you!

19th century, Appreciation, Brothers & Sisters, Christianity, Community, Compassion, Culture, Family, Finances, God/Jesus, Gratitude, Healing, History, Human rights, Nostalgia, Politics, Poverty, Scripture, Self-esteem

Seeking Humility

Lisa Burbank

“If my people, which are called by my name, shall humble themselves, and pray, and seek my face, and turn from their wicked ways; then will I hear from heaven, and will forgive their sin, and will heal their land.” (2 Chronicles 7:14)

Oh, it’s so easy to get caught up in the political propaganda machine! Yes, there was a political post two weeks’ ago before the election. I tried to stay middle of the road, but in my most honest moments, I did stray further to the right than the left in my commentary. These days my more conservative side is shining through over that part of me that is often liberal.

But this is neither here nor there.

The true test of my mettle has been since election night. I’ve wanted to cheer and do a happy dance (yes, me, the never-Trumper). But that’s the equivalent of rubbing salt in a wound for those whose candidate did not win. So I’ve contented myself with a simple: “Congratulations, Mr. Trump & Mr. Vance! God bless America!” on social media. Neither of these men are likely to see it, and even if they do, I’m a faceless name in a sea of posts, but I didn’t want to gloat.

Okay. Yes, I did. But, again, I chose to listen to the guy with the halo on my shoulder rather than the one with the pitchfork this time.

To make sure the point got driven home, He chose last week to cut off my wi-fi. Two rapid changes in wi-fi providers meant a billing statement got lost in the shuffle. Thankfully, it was a relatively easy fix, but it made me think about all of the people in this country for whom this wouldn’t be an easy fix.

Since last Tuesday, I’ve read a lot of posts decrying that far too many Americans chose money over morals. It’s an ugly suggestion that smacks at the biblical admonishment about the love of money being the root of all evil. Love of money is more like the character of Scrooge in Charles Dickens’ classic, A Christmas Carol: it’s where you love the coins piling up more than the good you could do with that money and piling it up becomes your only aim. It’s also where you put the earning of money before time spent with family making memories, where we value the bigger, fancier house and car, and dream vacations, over what should matter more: faith, family, friends.

That’s not what people voted for.

We live in a cash society. It’s something I lament nearly every day of my life. My years in living history taught me how much more freedom our ancestors had when they could bring a pail of old rags into a country store, have them weighed up, and receive so much credit in the store for them. (This is an example; there were many more commodities that could be bartered for what we needed) The shopkeeper would then take those rags, plus the rags delivered by other patrons, to the paper manufacturers and trade them for reams of paper to stock in his store. Very little coin was ever exchanged, but each had what they needed to survive (we manufactured paper out of cloth until 1954; many older readers might remember the rag man coming to call…). Community seemed to have a much deeper meaning then.

But that’s not the world we live in today. The first, and each subsequent, industrial revolution changed all of that. As mass-produced goods became more readily available, we chose convenience over quality…both in goods, and in life, but don’t get me started down that rabbit hole!

We live in a cash society. If we want to feed our families, instead of working our own farm and growing and/or raising our own food, most work a 9-to-5, receive a paycheck, and then go to the grocery store for our sustenance (I also won’t go down the rabbit hole about the “food” lining the aisles of that store…). We have to pay a mortgage, or rent, each month for shelter. We pay for our heating and lighting sources, and every other “extra” in our lives.

It wasn’t love of money that gave us the election results. It was the necessity of having enough money in this cash society, or of making our dollars stretch far enough in it, that we don’t go hungry…or find ourselves at risk of eviction, or foreclosure. As I was just recently hovering over the latter, I take exception to those who suggest we chose money over morals.

Our economy is tanked. GDP and unemployment numbers, as my fellow Democrats, shouted loudly and proudly during Trump’s last tenure, are NOT a true measure of how our economy is doing. The Democrats may have changed their tune in the last few years, but it doesn’t make that statement any less true. The numbers may look good on paper, per se, but if those numbers are not reflected in an improved quality of life for we the people, yes, we’re going to vote for the person promising cheaper energy, lower taxes and interest rates, better jobs, and the overall improvement of our lives as a result.

Like so many of my fellow Americans, despite being once again right-side-up on my mortgage payments–something I feel immeasurable gratitude for each and every day–I’m still robbing Peter to pay Paul.

My mishap with the internet was a result of being waylaid at Walmart by representatives from Frontier to switch to their service, then being somewhat unsatisfied with Frontier’s service, and when I called Spectrum to cancel my service with them, being offered a better deal, one that amortized my wi-fi and cellphone services into one bill that basically wiped out the cellphone service I had with T-Mobile. Hey, a savings of $90 a month (two phones) is nothing to sneeze at.

We were humbled further this month when Mom’s bank account was hacked, costing her most of her social security check.

Then the mortgage company sold my mortgage to another bank. There was an inspection fee that got added to my payment this month, another $300. (Yeah, I’m hearing the echo of Andrew Yang and Bernie Sanders both lamenting how “millions of Americans cannot afford an unexpected debt of $300…”)

It’s been a rough month. And I was humbled by another visit to the local food pantry.

It was there that true humility rippled through me. First, I was mortified to stand there again (pride goeth…). Then I saw some of my patrons to the library standing in line. Holy crap!

So many social media posts from fellow Democrats point the finger at those standing in that line as having brought their circumstances upon themselves, usually in the form of “they don’t take advantage of the opportunities they’ve been given” or “they don’t want to work”. These are the same people who attacked their Republican neighbors between 2017-2020 for pointing the same fingers. I was doing the same thing: judging others unfavorably, making assumptions that had no real grounds at all.

I was even judging myself unfavorably…how quickly we forget!

Maybe I’m not showing true humility to point out the hypocrisy of others here, especially when I share in it, but it saddens me because this shaming of those who are in need is a societal tumor. I hesitated to reach for help because of it. How many more suffer in silence, too far beaten down, afraid and ashamed to reach out to a society that judges them so unfairly?

I stand guilty as charged.

Still, and maybe it’s because I have been on both sides of this societal tumor, in my heart, I feel there is a need to call it out. There is a need to humble myself first and foremost, and to shine a light on the hypocrisy of others…and the division it causes. Will it make a difference? If it does so only in the heart of one single individual, then I’ve achieved my goal.

He reminded me of where I was just a year ago.

You see, as I stood in that line, I knew the circumstances of some of these people. I saw them everyday at work. I have talked with them. And, in my heart, I have loved them as friends and acquaintances. I know about the woman whose husband collapsed on the porch and has to have surgery. I know the man in the wheelchair, the one who was homeless until an accident took his ability to walk. I know that young mother trying to raise her children alone.

How would they handle an additional $300 this month for their shelter? How would they survive if their bank account was hacked? Most of them probably don’t even have internet or wi-fi at home. Many of those faces visit the library to use ours.

Suddenly, I felt blessed. I have so much. Yes, there is still want. There are still some needs in my life not being met. There is still a struggle going on, but I feel blessed…because the stories of my neighbors are also my story. They’re not stories of some defect of character, as those pointing the finger suggest, but the stories of a nation gone sadly awry and in need of a helping hand as much as each individual in that line. Incidentally, that line was wrapped around the building where we congregated…a 12,000 square foot building in a community of less than 9000 souls.

So, no, we didn’t vote for money over morals. Quite the opposite. We voted to help our fellow Americans, our neighbors and friends, find the means to pick themselves up by those proverbial bootstraps and the dignity that comes with earning one’s way in the world. We voted, too, for that sense of community that helps to lift those up whose circumstances won’t allow them to pick themselves up without a little help. Needing help shouldn’t be something that leaves our neighbors so ashamed that they don’t reach out for that help. It should be something that leaves those of us more fortunate ashamed for judging those who need a little–or even a lot–of help.

Because we’re all one family…God’s family. And when just one of us hurts, we all hurt. We voted to stop the hurting.

May God bless you & keep you!

19th century, Animals, Appreciation, Culture, ecosystems, Global Warming, God/Jesus, History, Homesteading, Memories, Nostalgia, Scripture, Tradition

The Comfort of Fire

Lisa Burbank

“Love each other deeply. Honor others more than yourselves. Never let the fire in your heart go out. Keep it alive.” (Romans 12:11)

I shared the photograph below on social media over the weekend, but it bears sharing here, too. Because nothing brings about a sense of tranquility and peace like a warm fire blazing in either a fireplace, or in my case, the woodstove. It really is a comfort.

Yes, I know a few European countries have banned the use of fireplaces and woodstoves, citing climate change, pollution and air quality as the reason. But how much more is our air quality challenged by the smoke stacks of various manufacturing facilities, jet exhaust, crop dusting, and the mining for various minerals and precious metals that go into our electronics and so-called “green” energies? Even with the recycling of some of those components, it doesn’t completely offset the harm done of this last.

Yes, my minor was environmental science. I’m familiar with the science, have seen the evidence that the climate is changing, and that Mankind is responsible for this change. But it’s not you or I driving back and forth to work each week, or the woodstove you’re lighting to save money on heat each winter, that’s the cause. Both are just a drop in the bucket against corporate violations.

But that’s neither here nor there. I’m here to talk about fire…the good kind that satisfies the soul on a chilly autumn night. Can anything else compare? Surely no electric, oil, or even gas, heat soaks into the bones as readily as the fire on the hearth.

What is it about fire that soothes so much? Is it ancestral memory? Surely our ancestors spent their winters gathered around such, praying, reading, telling stories, making music together, sharing a pot of tea and a wedge of pie.

Granted, before woodstoves were invented, they wouldn’t have been warm. Houses from the 19th century and before were not insulated. And, while the fire on a true hearth (i.e. fireplace) satisfies almost as readily as that in a woodstove, much of the heat actually escapes up the chimney. It’s one of the reasons why woodstoves caught on: the heat stays locked in the cast iron, radiating throughout the house. With a fireplace, unless you’re sitting right in front of it, you cannot feel its warmth.

Perhaps the ancestral memory goes back even farther…to days of living in caves and the crackle of a fire keeping predators away. Is it that sense of safety and security that make it such a joy? While we may not need to keep a fire going to save us from being eaten by a saber-toothed tiger, perhaps there’s a transference of that safety and security onto the knowledge that, in the event of a storm and subsequent power outage, we’re still safe from freezing to death.

It’s likely we will never know the true answer to that, but what a time to mourn if we’re ever denied the comfort of that fire as some of our European neighbors have been. It truly is a gift…as Miss Zelda would agree (below).

May God bless you & keep you!

19th century, Books, Faith, Finances, God/Jesus, Homesteading, Human rights, Scripture, Writing, Yoga & Fitness

Can’t? Says, Who?

Lisa Burbank

“No weapon formed against you shall prosper, and every tongue which rises against you in judgement you shall condemn.” (Isaiah 54:17)

I would’ve been a suffragette if I had lived in the 1800s. Not because of any man-hating, as far too many modern-day feminists seem to do, but simply because I’ve never been able to accept being told I *can’t* do something.

Yes, I am well aware of the biological differences between men and women. I know my physical limitations, for example. I simply do not have the same upper body strength that a man has. I’m okay with that because I *can’t* think of anything that this has kept me from doing that I’ve wanted to do…except maybe Camel pose in Yoga (chuckle). All kidding aside though, in every other instance, I’ve always managed to devise ways to compensate for that limitation. For instance, I purchased a “dolly”, or hand truck, many years ago to help me carry 50 lb. sacks of animal feed into the barn.

But telling me I *can’t* own my own property and do with it as I choose. Telling me I *can’t* control and manage my own finances. Telling me I *can’t* be a writer, or an artist, or a doctor because I’m female. That wouldn’t have flown with me…even in 1830. I’d either be chaining myself to a lamp post, or shoved into an asylum, because I refused to stay in the box that society put me into.

My stepfather use to tell everyone not to tell me I *can’t* do something because I was going to prove you wrong…or die trying. Well, he was right. And I’m still standing.

Not recently, but I have had a lot of naysayers over the years telling me I *can’t* earn a living as a writer. Well, I haven’t proven that I can yet, but it’s not stopping me from writing…or trying to reach that pinnacle of worldly success.

Yes, I know. For every Stephen King or Nora Roberts, there are hundreds of writers who have been published, but they’re still working other jobs to make ends meet. Many of them were my professors in college. I can find most of them on Fantastic Fiction with a list of the tomes they’ve written…even if nobody seems to have heard of them. Their books sell well enough to keep an editor happy but, for some reason, they’re just not household names. There’s no shame in that. Countless others never get that shot at being published at all.

I hear a lot of naysayers telling me I also *can’t* homestead, especially not alone. I need people to help me. Well, yes, it would be nice to have others on the same page with me and working right alongside me. And, even if they’re not on the same page as me, I appreciate the help I do get from others. I’ve learned to accept that not a lot of people *get* this homesteading thing. They certainly don’t *get* my why, or how, no matter how often I seek to explain it. That’s okay. This homestead was thriving solely under my care until a recession, and then an injury, derailed a lot of that care. It will be again. It’s simply a matter of picking up the pieces and getting back on that proverbial horse again, not throwing in the towel.

I would’ve been a suffragette in the 1800s because telling me I *can’t* only goads me into proving to everyone–including myself–that, yes, I CAN, just as my stepfather used to say.

You CAN, too. Whatever dream, or goal, is on your heart, you can. It may not happen overnight, but it won’t happen at all if you don’t take steps towards making it happen. And that’s as much a pep talk for me as it is for you. I’m my own worst enemy!

Taking those steps forward means learning to manage your finances, and your time, a little better than most. It will also mean missing a few cookouts or movies, etc. That’s part of the commitment and time management. Not missing out on fun and/or quality time entirely, but finding that balance that let’s you indulge your passions (those that are productive and giving, not the raw kind of passions that lead to the destruction of self (drugs, alcohol, sex outside of marriage)). But, if you really want it, you’ll learn to manage your resources and make better choices that will take you closer to your dreams.

It will take a lot of prayer and commitment, too. Yes, prayer. Not only does He make all things new, He has a dream for you. If you’re dreaming of something, take it to Him in prayer. What is His plan for your life? I guarantee that dream on your heart came from Him in the first place, but the execution, if we put it in His hands, will be greater and more fulfilling than anything you could’ve ever imagined.

May God bless you & keep you!

19th century, Books, Creativity, Diversity, Fashion, History, Nostalgia, Reading, Scripture, Tradition

Proud to Be A Woman

Lisa Burbank

“Your beauty should not come from outward adornment, such as elaborate hairstyles and the wearing of gold jewelry or fine clothes. Rather, it should be that of your inner self, the unfading beauty of a gentle and quiet spirit, which is of great worth in God’s sight.” (1 Peter 3:3-4)

I’m going to get myself in trouble today. We have our monthly book club meeting this afternoon and this month’s selection is our own. I.e. We chose this month to read a biography, autobiography, or memoir of someone we like, or admire, and will share little bits and bobs from what we read and why we chose the person we did.

My choice?

Well, to be honest, I couldn’t decide between Tasha Tudor and Tucker Carlson. I like Tucker. I love his faith, how open he is in his belief in God, and the gentle and respectful way that he interviews those invited on his show. I also like his courage in being willing to interview those that most journalists and writers would shudder away from…such as Vladimir Putin.

But I’ve settled on Tasha for today. I’m rather tired of political debate. And, if anyone notices the Trump/Vance 2024 bumper stickers on my car, there will be enough political discourse at this book club meeting without me adding Tucker (though I may bring both books in with me anyway…who knows?)

However, for the moment, I’ve settled on Tasha because she is someone I have long admired. She chose her 1830s lifestyle at a very young age and she never wavered from her course. Her art and her creativity was infused with her gentle love for children, animals and nature and, of course, days gone by. She spun yarn, wove cloth, perused antique stores and estate sales for 1800s fashions, which she wore rather than just keep as displays (I’m guessing she was a tiny woman; my 5’8″, 190 lb. self could never fit into such clothing). She kept doves and chickens and geese and goats and birds and at one time even had a crow. She also raised Corgis, which she called Corgyn in the plural, declaring it the only proper way to do so. She cooked on both a hearth and cast iron cook stove. She lit her home with candlelight and oil lamps.

After years of working in living history museums, why wouldn’t I choose Tasha? I wish I had been so focused in my youth and lived much the same way.

But the real reason I chose Tasha is a quote from the book The Private World of Tasha Tudor by Tasha Tudor and Richard Brown:

“Why do women want to dress like men when they’re fortunate enough to be women? Why lose our femininity, which is one of our greatest charms? We get much more accomplished by being charming than we would by flaunting around in pants and smoking. I’m very fond of men. I think they’re wonderful creatures. I love them dearly. But I don’t want to look like one. When women gave up their long skirts, they made a grave error.” (Tudor and Brown, 1992, p. 63)

Having worn the long, full skirts and petticoats of the 1830s, I wholeheartedly agree with Tasha’s view here. When I’m wearing long skirts, I feel attractive and feminine. I feel confident and vital. That’s when I can truly say: I am woman. Hear me roar. It’s when I take myself seriously…so you should, too.

And, despite her love of all things 1830s, including the attire, Tasha had a long, successful, and modern career as a commercial artist, and could navigate between the two worlds quite nicely…even though, by her own admission, she wasn’t always “nice”. There was never a sign that she gave up her rights as a female to look and dress as a female. Instead, she simply celebrated being a woman.

It is something to celebrate.

But that’s just what I think. Let me know what you think (or thought?) when you read Tasha’s quote above in the comments below.

May God bless you & keep you!

Works Cited

Tudor, Tasha and Brown, Richard. The Private World of Tasha Tudor. Little, Brown & Company, 1992.

19th century, Community, Friendship, gardening, Herbs, Homesteading, Minimalism, Nature, No-dig Gardening, Plants, Prepping, Scripture, Tradition, Wild Edibles

Locusts and Honey

Lisa Burbank

“Now John wore a garment of camel’s hair and a leather belt around his waist, and his food was locusts and wild honey.” (Matthew 3:4)

I see John the Baptist as more of the doomsday prepper type than a homesteader in the Bible, yet his simple lifestyle as described in Matthew 3 above serves as an inspiration to anyone who walks this path. “Simple” is the operative word. We don’t need much. We don’t need fancy gadgets or expensive anything. We need the basics of food, clothing, and shelter, and as we walk this walk, we find our tribe, our community of support. That’s important, too.

I found a member of that tribe many years ago when I worked in living history. We’ve never “hung out” together. Rare have we socialized outside of our shared living history employment, but we also share a passion for growing food and medicine, and living a simpler life. He was my mentor when I served as a volunteer docent in the herb garden there. And he taught me a lot.

This weekend, Mom, Robert and I traveled over an hour and 20 minutes (in New England, that’s a long drive…chuckle!) to listen to a talk of his about preserving the harvest without electricity. Using time-honored practices of root cellaring, fermenting, and drying, he reminded me of so much that I had learned while working in living history, but he also had some modern adaptations for those of us without a root cellar. Who knew an old Styrofoam cooler filled with damp leaves could be just as effective, if not better, than a wooden box in a basement filled with wet sand for preserving carrots and parsnips?

However, the real reason we drove all that way (Bless you, Robert, for piloting that drive!) wasn’t so much about the talk, though that was informative and interesting. Instead, it was to pick up some seeds for planting here at The Herbal Hare Tomestead (No, that’s not a typo; writer & librarian here).

You see, Rich worked for the American Chestnut Foundation (ACF) for many years helping to revive and restore the American Chestnut, which was decimated by chestnut blight, a fungal disease that spread quickly throughout our Eastern forests in the early-20th century, making it extremely difficult for the trees to reproduce, migrate and evolve. ACF has been working towards a blight-resistant American chestnut tree for many years (learn more here: https://tacf.org).

Roasted chestnuts are delicious. Though a tree nut, they taste a bit like a baked sweet potato. They’re also good for you. They’re a great source of fiber, which is good for digestion. They can help control blood sugar levels as they are low on the glycemic index. They contain antioxidants and minerals, such as magnesium and potassium, which can reduce the risk of heart disease and stroke, and manganese, which can reduce the risk of cancer. They also contain copper to strengthen our bones and give a boost to the immunity system, and are loaded with B vitamins, which can help balance our nervous system and improve our brain function. They’re also gluten-free and help reduce inflammation.

Chestnuts were an important food in generations’ past. One healthy tree can produce, on average, up to 60 lbs. of nuts per year when fully mature (at about 20 years), but they start producing as early as 3-5 years. Hence, my desire to plant some here.

The Herbal Hare Tomestead is quite small at the moment (just under 1 acre). I don’t have room for the traditional fields of corn or wheat or rye (although I may grow a small patch of the latter at some point; more on that later). At present, I’m working towards raised beds for much of my herbs and vegetables, and a possible food forest where there is an overgrown half-acre filled with invasive species, such as Norway maples, Oriental bittersweet and Japanese knotweed. These last will have to be dealt with before planting, and maintained so they do not grow back, but the vision I have is possible with a lot of careful planning. I’m looking forward to the challenge.

I doubt I’ll be eating any locusts anytime soon (although I’ve heard they’re also delicious when roasted), but raising honey bees again is also part of the plan. And a food forest? Well, what better way to prep?

May God bless you & keep you!

19th century, Books, Christianity, Community, gardening, Gratitude, Homesteading, Plants, Reading, Social Media, Writing

New Horizons

Lisa Burbank

“Therefore thus saith the Lord, ‘If thou return, then will I bring thee again, and thou shalt stand before me: and if thou take forth the precious from the vile, though shalt be as my mouth: let them return unto thee, but return not thou unto them.” (Jeremiah 15:19)

I learned my lesson long ago not to talk too much about my “day” job(s). I’ve mentioned a time or two about being promoted to the directorship of a local public library, but I never mention that library by name. Though there’s nothing controversial about homesteading or herbs, still, I’m careful not to use their name whenever I post.

And I’m sticking to that rule.

However, though this has very little to do with homesteading outside of being the financial means in keeping that homestead running, I keep finding myself amazed at how many of the skills learned throughout the years that are being put to use here.

In the last year, I’ve put to use the budgeting and clerical skills learned at so many previous jobs; I’ve designed flyers and brochures, as I’ve done on the side for local businesses, and I create content almost daily for the library’s social media page. My master gardener skills have come into play in creating flower arrangements in the containers bracketing our front stairs. We’re housed in an old building so all of the interpreting and/or tour guide skills cultivated in more recent years have come to the fore. The workflow/coding skills I used in corporate America have their counterpart in catalogging books, and other materials, for the library. Even long ago inventory management skills get put to use in keeping track of everything we have to offer on our shelves. The only thing missing is the forklift!

This morning I started our first writer’s workshop. Despite advertising it on our Facebook page, so far, it’s been a bust. But I’m not dismayed. It’s only the first day and I’ll do my best to promote it more going forward. Ditto for the knitting and crocheting group that meets every 2nd Monday each month, and the book club that meets the 1st Monday each month. Perhaps the time isn’t good for many (10:00 a.m. for the workshop; 3 p.m. for the yarn and book clubs). I may have to tweak it going forward. But it’s lovely being able to share such skills and build a community from it. It’s lovely being able to offer programs like this to my neighbors. And, in time, I feel confident, each program will grow.

As will others I have planned for the future.

I may be the only one doing a free writing to warm up this morning, but I can easily envision a table surrounded by fellow writers, bloggers, poets, and bards.

Here’s to looking to the bright side of life and anticipating new horizons, a new future…and not just for myself, though I’m chuffed to start this new program, but for this warm and wonderful community I am privileged to serve each week.

May God bless you & keep you!

19th century, Animals, Appreciation, Christianity, Emergency Preparedness, Finances, Friendship, Homesteading, Minimalism, Nostalgia, Poverty, Prayer, Scripture

Coming Out of the Darkness

Lisa Burbank

“God is our refuge and strength, an ever-present help in trouble. Therefore we will not fear, though the earth give way and the mountains fall into the heart of the sea, though its waters roar and foam and the mountains quake with their surging.” (Psalms 46:1-3)

Phew! The last three weeks have been a whirlwind of plumbers, notaries, electricians, lawyers, well-drilling technicians, and mortgage lenders…fits, starts, stops, highs and lows.

The good news is we now have safe and reliable running water again. We’ve been doing the bowl bath thing, heating the bottled water that I purchased every couple of days at Walmart and washing up that way…since November 2021 (Yes, you read that correctly!). To say that first warm shower last Wednesday felt ambrosial is an understatement. And I dare say, my infatuation with 19th century living has been tempered a bit. Had I the infrastructure of our ancestors, such as a pump at the kitchen sink, it might not have been quite so bad, but I’m not complaining. I feel like a lady of luxury these days (Thank you, Jesus…and a very special shout of “thanks” to Sir Robert the Welcome!).

Granted, we did have running cold water until April of this year. It wasn’t safe to drink but, we could at least fill kettles, pots and pans at the sink to heat for dishes and bathing so the cost to refill gallon jugs at Walmart was somewhat manageable…even if it was a pain you-know-where.

It actually feels strange not to have to stop every few days, not to have a mountain of empty jugs piled up in a box on the back seat to refill, not to have to look for an empty grocery cart nearby to haul those 15-20 empty gallon jugs into the store when I park my car. I keep thinking I’m forgetting something. Again, I’m not complaining. But what a habit to maintain out of necessity!

Thursday morning there was a moment of panic when I noted the lonely little gallon jug in the corner and I still hadn’t fed the goats, chickens, and ducks their breakfast, which always includes a refill of clean water. I barely stopped myself from berating myself for not stopping the night before for refills. The feeling of wonder when I remembered to turn on the tap and watched clear, cool water run out into their buckets must’ve been akin to what our ancestors felt when indoor plumbing was first invented.

And it’s amazing how He works. Despite all of our financial difficulties, somehow we always managed to have enough to buy in the water we needed. He always provided…even if we did rob Peter to pay Paul a few times. I’m feeling truly blessed right now.

There really isn’t any bad news, not even where mortgage lenders, attorneys and notaries are concerned. It’s just frustrating news. As mentioned in my previous post, the final date for the signing of the permanent modification paperwork got pushed out another month. It would appear the lenders are not happy with my ability to make mortgage payments. However, it’s very satisfying on this end to be able to write those checks again.

I have 9 days to go before we meet again. I spoke with my representative a couple of days’ ago and she said everything was correct this time. So, third time’s a charm, I guess, but praise God for the blessing of friends…and co-workers willing to take time out of their busy days to act as witnesses.

I’m asking for lots of prayers, good wishes, positive thoughts, etc. that Mom and I, and our little farm, can get right-side up again permanently. As always, many thanks!

May God bless you & keep you!

19th century, Animals, Christianity, Exhaustion, Faith, Family, God/Jesus, Gratitude, Healing, Herbs, History, Homesteading, Memories, Nostalgia, Prayer, Religion, Sleep Deprivation, Writing, Yoga & Fitness

Getting Back To My Roots

Lisa Burbank

“O Lord, our Lord, how majestic is your name in all the earth! You have set your glory above the heavens.” (Psalm 8:1)

Sunday was Palm Sunday. I went to Mass and served as Lector, reading through Judas’ betrayal of our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. It’s one of those rare moments when Mass becomes almost a play, with Father Ben reading the words of Jesus; Lectors, like myself, reading the parts of the narrator and “voice”, and the rest of the congregation reading the parts labeled “crowd”.

I sometimes kick myself for not pursuing a career in acting. I studied acting in high school and, again, in community college. I’m quite good at it. And, after several years of serving as Lector, my knees no longer knock together in front of a crowd.

But I wasn’t really thinking about acting as I stood in front of the congregation on Sunday and read for the “voice”. My mind was reflecting over the last 5 weeks of Lent. I gave up junk food, at least the more popular definition of it (candy, sweets, chips, etc.). Living with the definitive junk food junkie (Mom), it’s tough to resist. However, as a measure of Mom’s sweetness and solidarity, she also gave up junk food for Lent so it wouldn’t be so hard for me. She didn’t want to eat chips and cookies in front of me.

Less mindful after Mass, I took Mom out for Chinese food and broke that Lenten vow by eating a fortune cookie (sigh!)

I also vowed to get back to reading a chapter of the Bible each morning and focusing more on my prayer life.

I’ve failed miserably on that score.

It’s amazing how hard it is to rekindle a habit once it’s been broken. It’s also amazing these epiphany moments.

Earlier blog posts have often sung the praises of working for a living history museum. It was the dream job come true. And, in many ways, that statement was true. I learned all sorts of things that will aid me on my homesteading journey, things that have been a major blessing already. Perhaps the sin of pride, but there was recognition as a herbalist…because that was my title: Herb Garden Lead. And, in many ways, I got to act. There were “scripts” to memorize (i.e. historical facts) when interpreting for visitors to the museum. There were skills to learn so we could demonstrate life in the 19th century.

It was also a very demanding position.

Prior to getting this job, I had a habit of rising everyday at 3:30 a.m. I blogged, prayed the rosary, and hit the yoga mat. Then I headed downstairs and outside to the barn to take care of the animals. I didn’t have to be to work until 3:30 in the afternoon at the dealership so I spent late-morning, early-afternoon writing. If the dealership had been a full-time position, it would’ve been ideal for this writer. I got home at 7:30 in the evening, spent some time caring for my animals again, and then went to bed.

Living history, however, demanded swing shifts. Evening programs on a Saturday didn’t see me driving over an hour home until after midnight…only to have to get up again a few hours’ later to work Sunday morning. 3:30 a.m. and writing became an impossible dream. The rides into work each morning found me playing “beat the school bus” because every route into work seemed to be a school bus route…no matter what time I left for work. I spent my mornings literally running through the barnyard, 19th century skirts hiked up over my knees as I threw hay and feed at the animals and yelled at them to get out of my way (we had to be fully dressed in period attire walking into the museum). Even changing the animals’ feeding time didn’t help because of how late I often got home at night.

And then I got my wrists slapped a few times for what few blog posts I still managed to create. I wrote about something unethical I witnessed in regard to the animals kept at the museum. I lamented being unable to attend Mass on a Sunday morning because of a conflict of hours. I own my bad on the first but, the lamentation over Mass was simply that: a lamentation. Not a dig against the museum.

I remember coming home from one of those evening programs, collapsing in the easy chair in the living room, still fully dressed in period garb, getting up 4 hours’ later and going back in, rumpled plaid still hanging from weary shoulders. I drove home the following evening praying, telling Him how I simply couldn’t do this anymore. As much as I loved interpreting, as much as I loved wearing the period clothing and learning all of these antiquated skills, I simply couldn’t devote every ounce of my being to it, as it seemed to be required.

I slipped while shoveling snow the following Tuesday so I could go into work on Wednesday and fractured my shoulder. The rest is history.

I may not have kept my Lenten vows as well as I would have liked this year. However, this Lenten season has been a time of reflection. How did I stray so far away from all that I hold dear? Writing, herbs, animals and homesteading…the things that make me, well, me. More importantly, family, friends, and above all, faith. I feel like this has been a long lesson in the sin of idolatry.

Because I truly idolized what seemed an idyllic job. If I had lived closer, if I didn’t have farm animals and pets, if, if, if…it might’ve remained a dream job–despite the grueling work schedule. But, perhaps, it was also a lesson that I’m not Supergirl. Like every other human being, I am gifted with 24 hours each day. How am I spending them?

As I continue to reflect during this Lenten season, I’m starting to go deeper. I feel like Job, questioning the why and the how. Maybe it’s time to re-read that book from the Bible.

However, for the moment, I seem caught up with the Psalms, finding balm for my spirit in shorter verses that always seem to pack a punch. It’s a reflection on my life these days: slow and steady, short and sweet. Baby steps forward, learning to take those steps and not being too hard on myself for being unable to handle anything bigger these days; it’s too overwhelming because of how far I’ve fallen behind in, well, everything. The good habits will return, or morph into something better. The life I dream of living will become a reality…or He will mold and shape it into something beyond my wildest dreams.

Amazingly, He’s been using my work at the library to teach me this very valuable lesson in taking things one step at a time. Rome isn’t built in a day but, those baby steps make a difference. It’s time to apply them at home. I can’t twitch my nose and do it all in a blink. But, each baby step will take me that much closer to that dream life…and maybe I’ll finally have time to enjoy some of that journey doing what I love, sharing it with those I love, and above all, praising Him whom I love above all else. In short, getting back to my roots.

May God bless you & keep you!