I'm trying to think of a term for myself that sounds right. I inhabit a little non-working farm with my husband.He is the farmer. He plants the seeds. He weeds and hoes. He sprays organic stuff to get rid of bugs.
He is the farmhand (remember Eb on "Green Acres"?). He lugs the heavy stuff, does the grunt work.
He is the farmer's wife. Forgive me, but he is. He not only picks the berries, he comes in the house sweaty and dirty from picking, and he gets out all the canning equipment and makes jams and jellies, while I sit and read. Well, I help sometimes. But he has all the knowledge, all the drive.
I, who am I?
Sticking with the Green Acres connection (please click on the link for the theme song and opening sequence), I am Lisa. Now she's not the typical farmer's wife, which is why I can say Don is the farmer's wife and I am Lisa.
Unlike Lisa, I can actually bake a real cake (not put a box in the oven and watch it come out a cake). Unlike Lisa, I am not a city girl, and I don't wear evening gowns around the house.
But she is the closest I can come, so far, to discovering who I am.
And oh, see all this pumpkin glory? Yes, my husband's first pumpkin harvest. And yes, it was HE (shall we call him "Ollivah"?) who cut one up (not easy), baked it 1 1/2 hours at 350F, pureed the flesh in the food processor, strained the juice, made homemade pie crust (Carolyn Roehm's recipe; if you look at this link, she looks a little like Lisa), and made pumpkin pie. It's the best darn pumpkin pie I've tasted, so fresh and REAL, unlike canned pumpkin. And he used the recipe for pie that our old friend gave us, who died a couple of weeks ago after a beautiful long life. She used molasses, and that, my friends, is the secret to extraordinary pumpkin pie. You can see it makes the pie dark too.
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