Penny Sanford Designs

Charles Hamer carving a fork.

Charles Hamer, age 83 of Kilmichael, Mississippi, carving a wooden, primitive fork made from trees blown down by Hurricane Katrina in August of 2005.

More of Unc's carving talent

Unc caught up with the orders for his wood carving, so here are some new pieces that he has available.

The wood is all from trees that Hurricane Katrina uprooted in August, 2005. It has dried slowly and naturally. That means the wood won't crack in the future.

He oils his primitive kitchen utensils with olive oil, several coats to seal the wood.

These Salad serving sets are new designs for Unc. I remember how many years I searched for something hand-made by a Mississippi or Alabama artisan to add a little drama to serving salad. Why did I not ask Unc to make a pair for me 20 years ago?

The bread board was a special commission for a special friend. The special wood grain, the natural organic shape of the board (following the shape of the original log) and the size make it truly one-of-a-kind!

He has started making little cutting boards again as well.

Here is how we use his little cutting boards. They work marvelously when trying to keep little pieces from scattering all over the counter or table or floor!

Another new primitive kitchen utensil Unc has started making this year are potato mashers!

All of Unc's primitive kitchen pieces are hand carved and hand finished.

Several of these pieces pictured in this blog post are already sold. If you are interested in some of Unc's primitive kitchen items, just let me know, penny(at)pennysanford.com. Unc accepts Paypal or checks.

I prattle about Unc all the time on this blog. For those who are new readers, Unc is my 83 year old uncle Charles K. Hamer. He has lived his entire life and is the fifth generation of this family to live and work on this Historic Centennial Hamer Hills Farm, established 1837.

See more of Unc's carving here.

Two Months Without Annie; First Mother's Day Without Mama

Oh, dear. The flood gates opened a little while ago.

All day I have been thinking about our rescue Westie Annie who died two months and two days ago.  I miss her so much, and at the same time, it seems like she died years ago.

Little Jenny B has brought so much life into this house.She is indeed my little girl, and she cries when I leave the room without her. Lillibeth is so loving. So is Mackie and Charlotte and the big girls. Annie was just very very special.

Then I realized this was the first Mother's Day spent without my mother, who died January 5th of this year. No red corsage for me this year. I cannot believe it has been four months since she died. It also feels like she died years ago. Why is that?

Does your family still observe that old tradition? If your mother is alive, you wear a red flower or corsage to church? If she is not alive, you wear a white flower or corsage.

I remember feeling sad for Daddy who always wore a white flower in his lapel. (My grandmother Julia Swinney Sanford died when I was six months old.)

Then it was my Grandmother Hamer who wore a white coursage. Then my mother wore a white corsage. Now me.

Time marches on.

Once Grandma grew red and white roses specifically for the families on the farm to all have white or red roses to wear to church on Mother's Day. Years ago, Mama and Unc sat down and talked about the specific rose varieties Grandma grew for that purpose. I took notes frantically while they talked and shared family stories.  Those notes are somewhere. 

I'm a little glad I cannot find those notes tonight. It would be too sad to realize how far things have changed here....from growing roses to give all the people relying on this farm for sustenance...to today when just three people live on the family farm.

And there will be no family members to follow us.

Many of you have told me these "I miss Mama" moments will hit out of the blue...for years to come, maybe for the rest of my life.

Unc is carving primitive kitchen utensils from Katrina felled wood!

The fireplace may have started it.

All those hours sitting in front of the fireplace in the den these three months since Mama died, poking and prodding and feeding the wood fire, has stirred Unc's carving urges.

He first started carving primitive wood toys, Whirleygigs. There is a charming Depression Era story behind them that I will share along with photos at another time.

Then he started carving wooden Butter Paddles. As a 14 year old boy in 1940, he carved a butter paddle for my grandmother. She made butter every day with that butter paddle from 1940 well into the 1960's. That paddle squished its way though thousands of pounds of butter over the years. (You can see Unc's first butter paddle in the picture above.

Unc remembers that a churn full of milk, about three gallons, would make roughly a pound of butter. One churns the milk until the butter comes to the top, roughly 30 minutes of constant motion.  Skim butter off the top, then work it with one of these Butter Paddles to work out the milk and whey. The paddle is convex (curved) on one side and flat on the other side.

I've not made butter personally, but I plan to. If I have to drag my menfolk kicking and screaming, we WILL have a milk cow, hopefully this year. Raw milk can prevent and even reverse osteoporosis, plus oodles of other good stuff according to what I am reading.

Anyway, back to Unc. From the butter paddles, he began making scoops. The Canister Scoop pictured here is mine....MINE! (One has to speak up fast and decisively around Unc's carved work. Otherwise, we would have none of his work for our own collection!)

I like these little Canister Scoops. He has made some of them with cute little curved handles and some with flat handles. Gordon or I will take some more pictures tomorrow. The Canister Scoop will hold about a teaspoon of dry ingredient, a level measure. I promise more photos tomorrow of the ones that did not sell tonight just from this picture of MY Canister Spoon!

Realize, these measurements are all approximate. Unc does not follow a pattern of any kind. He just starts carving on a piece of wood, and the wood grain and dimensions in part determine the finished shape.

THEN, Unc made this Flat Scoop. It is about 9 inches long, and will hold approximately 1/4 of a cup of dry ingredients, level measure (not heaped).

The Flat Scoop is $22.50 with shipping and insurance of $6.50 for a total of $29.00. (Shipping costs are combined for multiple purchases.)

This particular flat scoop sold within minutes after I posted the picture on Facebook. The one he is working on at the moment also sold. That is ok, because he has lots of Katrina wood to use for carving and thanks to the gracious ladies who responded so quickly from those Facebook pictures, he has lots of encouragement to keep carving. Unc will have more Flat Scoops for sale very soon!

When Hurricane Katrina passed over our farm in 2005, she was still a Category 1 Hurricane. She was so big that those powerful 75 mph winds rocked huge trees back and forth like a child playing with a loose tooth.

Before she left us, Katrina had popped many venerable oak and cherry and hickory and walnut and cedar and other trees out of the ground.  Tree by tree, Unc has cut up the trees deep in the woods here on the farm and has dragged logs up to the barn for cover and good drainage.

Some of the wood he had cut into lumber. Some of the wood he set aside to continue aging naturally and slowly. Wood that is allowed to dry out slowly, with the bark still on the log, will not crack as easily or split while one is carving or working with the wood. 

Some of the wood has developed spalding, or unique discoloration in the grain because of the aging process. The spalded wood is reserved for very special projects.

Some of the Katrina felled wood he saved has interesting burl, or design in the grain.

More photos and prattle to come, later today, on this topic. The clock has just clicked past midnight, and I was trying to get this posted yesterday! 

My Uncle in a 1941 photo on Flickr

 

Today, I received an email from the Mississippi State University Alumni Office about the recent commemoration of the 50th anniversary of the burning of Old Main Dormitory.

Now, Old Main was at the time the largest college dormitory in the United States. I don't think one has ever been built any larger. The formidable dormitory burned the night of January 22, 1959.

Both my Uncle Charles, who lives here on the farm, and his brother, my Uncle Clyde D. Hamer, lived in Old Main at different times, before and after World War II.

The plan at that time was to attend as much college as they could before they were drafted. Unc even graduated early from high school so that he could get started with college.

Anyway, from the email I received today, I found this link to a collection of archive photos of Old Main and its fiery destruction. I was showing them to Unc tonight, letting him navigate the computer.

Suddenly he turned the laptop around so that I could see it and asked me if I recognized anyone in this photo. There was Uncle D getting his hair cut, the fella on the far right in the picture.

Unc remembered the photo and the event at which it was taken. Uncle D was a freshman in 1941, and this was an event in the Lee Hall Auditorium at which several freshmen were dragged up on stage and given a haircut by a lovely co-ed. I doubt those guys had to be dragged toward the pretty co-eds!

I think that is so cool. One can find a picture of one's relative in so many places on the Internet. This happened to Gordon a few years back when he found a picture of his great-great uncle George Washington Fikes online.

And men accuse women of talking too much?

Unc: "365 days...and its a four letter word." He is working a crossword puzzle, and he loves to test me to see if I know the answers. He's done this all my life.

Gordon: reads some tech headline out loud.

Unc: makes a loud yawn that can be heard in the attic, above the second floor.

Gordon: "Look at this. I'm trying something new on the Mac." I have to stop and strain to see his computer screen.

Unc: Another loud yawn prefaces "Back some years ago..." and a familiar tale follows.

These two fellas in my life are so funny, and they don't even know it! Unc is sitting in front of the fireplace, his feet propped up on the hearth, working his puzzle, sometimes out loud.

Gordon and I are on our respective computers, and I've just sent him a couple of emails when he is just a few feet away!

It seems our "nest" will remain partly a den for at least the rest of the cold weather.

I sweated over icky tax stuff today, and I wanted to get lost in how the CSI:NY crew solves the mystery of who killed the mummy woman.

Some ME time! Four Westies are snuggled around me, trying to help me relax.

Gordon teases me that when I am stessed, I want to see dead bodies on television. Something about crime dramas or bloody mysteries or a good shoot-em-up quickly calms me. That is not normal, is it?

Maybe it will be peaceful and quiet in the shower. 

I could not make it without those two, so I can step back and chuckle at the two of them wanting my attention.

...and I'm off to the shower

Contest: You name our repurposed sleeping/hobby room

WELL! Apparently I am staying in bed today whether I want to or not! And I donwanna stay in bed!! My mind has to stay busy, and this is giving me too much time to think up creative things I want to do to the farmhouse!

I got out of bed this morning, and my physical surroundings have been swimming ever since. Not a fully dizzy, but "swimmy". Blood pressure is spiked again. Consulting my wonderful doctor again today.

Truly, the prayers of friends and readers have settled an intense cozy blanket of peace over this house. We have faced a few challenges, and they have resulted in better-than-expected resolutions.

We're all staying steadily busy, making progress in reorganizing and editing the farmhouse. Unc and Gordon are being fantastic helpers!

I'm making progress in paperwork overload. Making progress in porcelain. Nothing to worry about in these areas that would cause my bp to spike.

I've been climbing into bed between 8 p.m. and 9 p.m. so tired, but it is a good tired, that I barely look at the computer. So, I am getting lots of rest with the added "medicine" of snuggling Westies and three snoring English Shepherds on the floor. All the English Shepherds have gravitated to the den, a.k.a. bedroom, a.k.a. hobby room, and I adore the soothing soft sound of doggy snores.

So with all this unusual peace and harmony and productivity, what gives with this annoying bp?

Anyway, moving onto a more upbeat topic, what is a good name for our den-turned bedroom with areas for sewing and computer passions? I really do need your help for some one or two word name. I do feel a little shy about calling the room that includes our bed, "The Playroom", ya know?

I'll make a piece of porcelain to send to the winning suggestion for an good descriptive name for this room!

Ya may not be able to CHANGE a man, but...

...you sure as heck can train him.

Oh, dearie me, I just luve being a Southern gal! We grow up with this Scarlett at the Picnic expectation of handling the men in our life. Know what I mean?

It is just so much fun to mess with a fella's mind! Life would be so dull if I could not deploy the ole grey cells to affect hubby's actions or behavior.

Most recent example: Cleaning the greasy television.

The television in kitchen of the farmhouse was covered in a dusty cooking grease film. Each day we make more progress, albeit measured, in showing the family farmhouse who is the new Lady of the House.

I'm not a good housekeeper, but for some inexplicable reason, when I move into a place, I have to scour every surface, inside every drawer and cabinet, even the walls. In years past, this ritual was performed on apartments and two rental houses. This time it is just our family dust mites and kitchen grease in the family farmhouse, but I just cannot help myself. You go ask a bunch of lemmings how hard it is to resist those instinctive inner urges!

A TV in a kitchen apparently begs the airborne grease (from frying) to come live on its screen. If your kitchen television does not swath itself in a layer of dusty cooking film, then you probably don't cook a lot.

So, Monday, I was folding clothes, Unc was cleaning the stove, and Gordon was bringing me yet more clothes to fold, putting clothes in the dryer and starting another load of clothes.

A lightbulb sizzzled to life above my head.

"Unc, you are closer to the TV. Does it have a film of grease on the screen, or am I developing cataracts?" I happened to say this just ever so slightly louder than I might normally speak so that Gordon would have no problem hearing me from the pantry.

Gordon's surveillance radar hones in on our conversation. As if on cue, Unc's finger left a definite streak across the television screen.

"Uuughh! See if you can find that bottle of 409 spray under the sink. That will take that greasy film right off the screen," I said to Unc.

"NOOOOoooooooo!" Gordon's cry of horror did not even have time to fade as he burst from the pantry to save a piece of electronics. Super Geek to the rescue.

"NEVER Ever EVER clean any screen with any liquid cleaning stuff. Here, I'll show you."

Gordon dug in the pile of rags at my feet, waiting to be sorted, and pulls out some baby soft flannel. He then spent the next 23 minutes rubbing the television screen with that dry flannel rag. Lots and lots of elbow grease.

It was pure delight to watch his muscular arm and muscular back and shoulder ripple under his t-shirt as he polished that television screen back to good-as-new brilliance. I had my private clothed Chippendale show to enjoy while I folded the inexhaustible pile of clean clothes. Lots of denim tushie movement to visually enjoy!

Ahhh, Scarlette, I have learned so much from you!

Photos: A collection of vintage service station equipment, signs and vintage vehicles, owned by D.D. Hovas, Kilmichael-Vaiden Road. I think the actual building is an authentic old service station.

Santa has not brought me a digital SLR camera, yet, so these are a bit distant. I don't want to get onto private property without permission, so these were shot from the public road. All that delicious rust and age were a bit too far for my faithful point and click camera.

Where do you keep your dull, bent lawnmower blades?

"Honey, where is the card reader?" (That's the little bitty thing that lets one take the digital card out of the digital camera and stick it into the computer to offload the most recent pictures.)

"It's down there," Gordon said using his head to gesture toward the den, now our living quarters.

I almost burst out laughing as I refilled my thermos with peach tea and looked from the kitchen down to the big space that is presently indescribable in its chaos. Somewhere in that melee I was supposed to know, by telepathy or clairvoyance, where Gordon had stashed the tiny little card reader>

This is a 20' x 40' room anchored by a very large fireplace and brick wall on one end and a floor to ceiling bookcase on the other end. Behind the bookcase is something like a galley kitchen without the refrigerator. It has been part flower arranging station, part butler's pantry and an easy buffet line in parties past.

The "den" was just a den for a brief period in the last 17 years since I have been back on the farm. Then my porcelain business blossomed, and the den was the shipping department and most recently the office and shipping department.

So, mid slow transformation to office and shipping, Mama died and Gordon and I began moving into the farmhouse, launching Operation Playroom.

I don't know what else to call it but "playroom". It will have our bedroom stuff and clothes, plus a wall of books and a place for my sewing. A good 1/3 of the room will be Gordon's computer stuff. I think he is near giddy at all the space he will have. Then, we will make that flower station/ butler's pantry/ party station into more of a galley kitchenette or whatever project needs counter space with easy access to water.

We have really grown attached to having most of our activities in the same area, so that we can chatter at each other, share the television and still putter at our work or hobbies. Needless to say, you will never see our bedroom on a magazine cover. I would like to turn Candace Olson of Divine Design completely loose with an unlimited budget and see what she could come up with for our unique definition of living quarters.

Reality: Anything we do will have to be DIY with amost zero budget. Calling all the Creativity Muses...

Unc has been a complete sweetie about the new level of chaos. I was expecting some 82-year-old bulkheads. Daily taking his medicine and getting a bath and shaving were the main areas in which I expected resistance. So far, he has been agreeable to everything I've wanted to work on.

We've been watching his blood pressure dance around, so I've tried to allow him lots of time to rest (morning nap and afternoon nap), punctuated by asking for his help with appropriate projects. So far, so good.

The three of us worked until 2 p.m. and the start of a NFL playoff game. I can't tell you who is even playing. My mind is full of reorganization plans, paint colors and to do lists.

One of Unc's oldest friends has dropped by this afternoon, and they are visiting in the parlor. Unc needs some *just him* time with his friends, so Gordon and I have greeted and then left them to visit. It is too much chaos to let anyone past the parlor and into the bowels of the house. *Insane howls and cackles of laughter*

You won't believe me, but I will go ahead and tell you anyway... that one of the items we removed from a corner of the kitchen, stashed under a free-standing chest, was a pair of dull lawnmower blades.

Now, where in your kitchen do you keep used, dull, slightly bent lawn mower blades? What, you don't keep used, dull, bent lawnmower blades in your kitchen? Then just what kind of home are you running?

The back story is that Unc wanted to salvage and sharpen that particular pair of lawnmower blades and hammer them back into shape to be ready for the upcoming mowing season. He has done many a little task like that in the kitchen of the farmhouse, which is fine. Except, without a diligent woman on guard, the unique little projects never seemed to leave the kitchen once they arrived.

The farmhouse kitchen has been like a Twilight Zone version of Hotel California where objects and people check in, but they can never leave.  *More disturbingly kooky laughter*

Well, I have no right to complain. That kitchen and its kitchen table have been Ground Zero for so many projects. Winona Manor Nursing Home Christmas Fund, Genealogy Research Projects, Majolica creation, Porcelain sculpture... It will be a pleasant trip down memory lane to remember all that kitchen table has seen. I'll enjoy pondering that.

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Now, two days after I started this blog post, I am just now getting it posted. That is pitiful! Not enough hours in the day right now, and not enough battery power in this chickie-pooh. It is sleep time for the new "Little Lady of the House" and her attending Westies who have worked just as hard (or harder) than their humans.

Mackie is finding dog toys every day, most of them toys Delta (deceased English Shepherd) claimed and hid all over the house. All the dogs are loving every minute of the hustle and bustle. Lots to share with you. I "write" blog posts in my mind to share with you as each day progresses, but by the time I get into bed, my usual computer time, it is around midnight, and... Well, you understand, I hope.

My Fellas

Moving forward. That part is not hard this time. I suspect there have been enough challenges in life that at age 46, moving forward is what comes naturally now. My ancestors who have lived and died on this farm could say the same.

We're not promised that life will be easy. We are promised, as Christians, that God will not allow more challenges in our life than we can handle with His help. So far, I can testify that His promise is good. With each challenge, I have learned to trust His promises on a deeper level.

My fellas. Both in a suit, a rare sight. Don't they look like they are afraid to bend their arms? he he he

I shot this at the little country church on the day of Mama's funeral.

I wonder how Cary Grant learned to wear his suits so easily? He had a pronounced stoop, a hump in his shoulders, but it did not seem to detract from the fluidity with which he wore his suits. His style probably had something to do with the time he actually spent in a suit.

By that measure, Gordon looks fantastic in the classic All-American jeans and t-shirt or sweatshirt. One of these days, I want to get him in a pair of boots so that I can enjoy the view!

After the visit to the doctor yesterday for Unc's blood pressure, we stopped by the vet's office to visit with Lillibeth. Dear, sweet Barbara brought Lillibeth out to the waiting room, wrapped in a blanket. Vegas, the brilliant orange and yellow bird in the vet's office, was chattering away, and that had Lillibeth flummoxed. She was shaking until I got Gordon on the cell phone to talk to her. It was so sweet to see her little face fill with joy and peace when she heard her daddy on the phone.

Unc and Gordon have gone this afternoon to pick up sweet Lillibeth, and I can't wait to snuggle with her here at home. The other dogs have gone from depressed the day we did not bring Lillibeth back to accepting yesterday when we explained to them that Lillibeth would be coming home soon. Today they are all excited with anticipation.

You can talk til you are blue in the face, but I KNOW that our dogs and cat understand more English than we give them credit. Think about it. Human babies learn English by being saturated with it. One can learn another language more easily by being emersed in an environment with only that language.

Why should we not expect our pets to understand more of our language than the simple commands?

Rosalie followed Gordon out of the studio and up to the den in the farmhouse today. She was missing her people. We had not moved her to the farmhouse yet because we did not want to traumatize her by being immersed in a house of seven dogs.

I have some ideas that will let Rosalie live with us, but inhabit a world of her own that the dogs cannot reach. Think... near the ceiling. Did you ever see the book, A Cat's House? Our solution will not be as colorful. For now, Unc has cut a Rosalie-sized door into the basement for her to explore and to access her potty.

Gordon and I have moved and continue to move into the den in the farmhouse. Details later, but it will house an area for my sewing and have ample room for Gordon's computer adventures.

Gordon just called on the way back from the vet's office, "Honey, I want you to know that I just picked up a Mississippi gal, and she is literally kissing and slobbering all over my face and neck. Now she is making googly eyes at Unc."

Precious little LIllibeth is on her way home! I'm told Lillibeth is grinning at Gordon from the wamth and safety of Unc's lap. Over the phone, I hear her making her get-daddy's-attention whimpers.

Unc's blood pressure is better today after the doctor gave him an additional blood pressure medicine. Ya know, Gordon has been on bp medicine for over a year. So, guess who had the worst blood pressure yesterday?

Yep, moi. 195/111 Now I am on bp medicine as well. Bummer. I kept promising my doctor that I would be able to keep it under control with diet and exercise. Guess not. *sigh* Another rite of passage into Middle Age.

This is the pasted, scanned and printed obituary that we will send out to far-away family and friends. I forgot to put Mama's parents (my grandparents) in the obituary, so I added them to this mailing.

I have 25 or so minutes to relax and enjoy the quiet of the house, alone with the fur kids. Annie is in my lap snuggling.