We had dinner in a beautiful port town of New Hampshire. Portsmouth, NH, is a historic seaport and popular little patch of quaintness on the Piscataqua River that beckons summer tourists. But I wonder how many folks miss the story growing tall and strong just a few blocks inland.

Edit to add: While our nation faces a year–2020–like none of us have lived through before, while we worry if our nation will survive such division, fears, anger, and a global pandemic, we need to remember that our nation is founded on such things (well, maybe not the pandemic part), and we overcome by claiming and planting hope, guys. In simple ways.

It’s the theme of my Simple Doesn’t Mean Easy Podcast.

William Whipple did this in a very tangible way…

His One Simple Act is Still Growing Today

In what used to be the yard of William Whipple grows a Horse Chestnut tree with quite an autobiography. While that may not seem like a fair word to use (since I’m the one telling you its story today), trust me this tree has a novel coursing through its sap.

But I know you’re asking, “Who’s this Whipple guy?” William Whipple was one of our founding fathers that doesn’t get much press. A signer of the Declaration of Independence. And today I gotta tell you his story.

It’s a great one. Mr. Whipple’s story clarifies the fact that doing “simple” things isn’t easy, but wow, is it worth the effort.

That’s Bill and I, with Mr. Whipple’s gorgeous tree behind us. Like I said, I love a great tree. And a great story.

Sweet Maple hits bookstores October 1st, my opus of a few great trees and a great story. So yes, put them together–a tree and a story–and I’m happy.

And obviously the love of my life was pretty happy about this chestnut too. Gotta love his school-boy smile.  He’s also holding my leftover shrimp, which he willingly carried all over Portsmouth while we window shopped. Now you have a glimpse into why he’s been the love of my life since 11th grade. But I digress…

A Signer and His Seed

The Horse Chestnut behind us was planted by William Whipple, a signer of the Declaration of Independence, after returning to his little New England seaport town from Philadelphia and that monumental occasion in 1776. Just imagine as he planted that seed what he must have wondered. He must have doubted if it was even worth the effort. If the city–his colony’s main port city–would be burned to the ground by British forces. If the colonies would crumble under the dictates of a powerful and angry king when he received that signed parchment that declared these humble people were going to try it alone and would no longer acknowledge his dominion.

But William Whipple chose to cling to hope. And I imagine he prayed a little too as he caked dirt under his nails, pounding the soil firmly around that little lifeless looking brown seed that offered just a glimmer of hope. A glimmer of a promise of a day when it would provide shade and comfort in possibly a free nation that could govern itself.

Thinking a lot about Mr. Whipple after standing under his tree, I had to look him up. I love one fact I read… William Whipple freed his slaves when he returned home from signing the Declaration of Independence. (And, yes, slavery did exist in the far north at that time, but that’s a whole ‘nother story.) His reasoning was that he could not fight for freedom while keeping others from having their own.

I knew I liked this man.

Facing an Uncertain Future

This week we will celebrate Independence Day. We will celebrate that document that Mr. Whipple risked his very life to sign. I think we should celebrate that little seed that Mr. Whipple planted as well.

After all, we’re all facing something today that seems daunting. Something where the outcome is uncertain. Something that we wonder what we should do about it or how or if the effort is even worth it.

This fourth of July week remember Mr. Whipple.

He rode 800 miles on horseback to sign a paper that could have easily have led British soldiers to his door to drag him to the gallows. But instead of coming home and hiding away in depression or discouragement–exhausted, depressed, and uncertain of tomorrow–he kept on doing something.

Something that clung to hope.

Clung to promise.

Clung to faith.

An Example Worth Following

William Whipple’s simple act now grows tall for the world to see, overlooking the picturesque Piscataqua River in this glorious Land of the Free that we get to call “home.”

So I have to say “Thank you, Mr. Whipple.” Thank you not only for that long ride on horseback, and that daring act of putting pen to paper in defiance in the name of freedom, but thank you for your courageous, oh-so-simple act of hope.

Thank you, Mr. Whipple, for getting down on your knees, getting your hands dirty, and planting hope.

Thank you, Mr. Whipple, for planting hope that still stands and still grows.

So what about you? What about that simple thing that intimidates you today? That thing you don’t know the outcome of but you know you should be brave and do it? Pray, dig in, and get it done.

You never know the benefits others may reap.

Is it Really That Simple?

If you’re trying to simplify your life a tiny bit in the midst of a chaotic world, take heart, just one simple step toward simplifying your family’s life (like planting a tree) can someday reap a harvest that you can’t imagine today.

In this podcast episode I talk about another simple step that everyone can take to make a huge stride toward simplifying their home:

Photo by Rob Mulally on Unsplash

You never know the forest of joy that may grow.

Photo by Collie Coburn on Unsplash

Where do I Get the Strength?

I can’t write this–this little post of inspiration; this little post of a story of a man who acted in faith when he didn’t know what tomorrow held–without explaining that it’s MY faith that gives me strength.

Without my faith in a personal savior I would be a wet floppy noodle drowning in a puddle of discontent and inaction. Instead, I am oh-so blessed to know the sovereign creator of all as my personal father and friend. I know he goes before me and he holds all things together. (Colossians 1:17)

• I could not have moved from the only home I’d ever known to start a new scary, unknown adventure without assurance that He had a plan.
• I could have never worked at setting up a rural homestead, survived our barn fire, and worked through my continual failures (please don’t make these mistakes) without knowing He had gone before our family and prepared us for this.
• I could have never faced the grief I did of loosing both Mom & Dad suddenly had it not been for His strength.
• I could not have held a daughter’s hand 18 days in the ICU, facing a horrible neurological syndrome, had I not rested in His goodness that goes hand-in-hand with His sovereignty.

But I am a better, smarter, stronger person today as I look back and see how He held all those things together. 

Today when we stand on the narrow street in Portsmouth and look up at Mr. Whipple’s chestnut we have no idea the storms it has weathered and the difficulties of its planting, but we sure can enjoy its strength and beauty today.

So get down and dirty today, keep on doing what you know you’re supposed to do–even facing an uncertain future–and trust in the one who is “the Most High over all the earth.” (Psalm 97:9)

More articles about living a simple life:

Overcoming the worst tragedy a homestead can suffer.

A modern homesteader remembers when it wasn’t a choice.

12 Questions to ask yourself if you want to someday own a farm.

8 Things Wanna-Be Homesteaders Need to Know.

{{Please consider leaving a comment for “the world” to document what intimidating thing you’re gonna dig into.Then come back and let me know how it turns out. I’d truly love to hear.}}

Yours, LORD, is the greatness and the power and the glory and the majesty and the splendor, for everything in heaven and earth is yours. Yours, LORD, is the kingdom; you are exalted as head over all. Wealth and honor come from you; you are the ruler of all things. In your hands are the strength and power to exalt and give strength to all. I Chronicles 29: 11-12

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The post A Great Reason to Plant a Tree first appeared on Souly Rested.

But as the proud parent of an amazing young lady, you also need to make sure to take your daughter to a county fair.

This post contains affiliate links. Go here to read the full (ultra fun) legal disclosure about that.

Raising and homeschooling four daughters over the last two decades, I’ve thought a lot about girls and STEM. We’ve enjoyed wonderful resources, like TechGirlz, when we lived near Philly, and FIRST robotics that made sure my girls knew how awesomely fun Science, Technology, Engineering, and Math (STEM) can be.

If you’d like to help your daughter build and program a robot you’ll not believe how simple it is with this fun robotics kit that you can even use to compete in FIRST robotics programs.

One daughter started a successful business at the age of 9; another ran a successful blog and helped friends build websites; one’s on her way to becoming an amazing Mechanical Engineer; and one will someday be rescuing marine mammals, once she’s completed her Marine Biology studies. All have spent hundreds of hours teaching middle school girls to program robots, and they know how to write some cool code. So, yes, my girls know STEM.

But my daughters’ love of STEM started long before they even knew what robots were. Their love of STEM started with natural science, with observing caterpillars and daises in our backyard, with meeting goats at a petting zoo. And, of course, agricultural communities–epitomized beautifully at local county fairs–are seeped in natural science. My point? Take your daughter to a local county fair! But just in case you need some convincing…

12 reasons to take your daughter to the fair

1-   She’ll feel like you took her on vacation, but unlike a day at Disney, a day at the fair won’t requiring auctioning off a kidney to afford it.

2-   She’ll see a different kind of princess–one who wears dusty cowboy boots, works hard, and loves every minute of it. One who, instead of waiting to hitch a ride with prince charming, calms and rides her own monstrous steer. Your daughter will learn that while it’s never easy, doing something well that she loves to do, will put her head-and-shoulders (maybe even bovine-head-and-shoulders) above the rest.

3-    She’ll learn that sometimes being in the right place–which for an agriculture-kind-of girl is in the barn–is not synonymous with keeping your nose clean. In fact, some of the best noses are often dirty.

4-    She’ll see real life and learn that sometimes it stinks (quite literally).

5-    But she’ll also learn that life can be sweet, thanks to God-given flavors, if we’re willing to do hard work (like Backyard Maple Syrup making…),  tap into the sweetness (like we’ve learned to do on our New England farm…), and sometimes wait many seasons.

6-    She’ll melt when a hairy boy with big ears flashes his deep-set, wide-spread eyes her way. Don’t worry, you won’t mind cause he’ll be a nice kid, or gentle guy who doesn’t give you any bull.

7-    She’ll understand where real food comes from. And if she understands this as a young girl, she may grow into an amazing homesteader, full of compassionate animal husbandry skills that she shares with her generation, which has long since strayed from such things. This I know first-hand. My then-7-yr old met a calf named Honeypot who melted her little heart at the Fryeburg Fair in Maine many moons ago. (She’s pictured with Honeypot in the pinable image of this post, near the bottom.) She is now a teen who runs a business to pay for her cow, chicken, rabbit, duck, and farming expenses. She is passionate about agriculture, homesteading, and responsible animal husbandry. And it all started in a little cow’s stall, at the fair. Read more about her in this CNN article. Or go here if you’d like some inspiration on how to inspire and encourage your young entrepreneur.

8-    She’ll see that good things are worth the hard work and the most beautiful accessories are not purchased at Kohls.

9-    She’ll appreciate animals and understand they’re more than the sweet eyes and big ears that make her melt. She’ll understand that caring for them is a lifestyle. A hard, messy one that many people seem to love. Because there’s no “behind-the-scenes”at the fair. You see the tired caregivers who fell asleep on a hard barn floor, on top of a  bale of hay. You smell the piles of manure that need to be dealt with daily. And you witness the sweet-tempered cow who follows her beloved girl. A view I now have every day, on our homestead.

10-    She’ll see agile women–of all ages–winning competitions, earning ribbons, and carrying trophies. Not because they walk fashion runways or run long-distance. But because they help others–from animals who need their care, to people who need the food they raise.

11-    She’ll witness the value of teamwork, from two young oxen learning to pull on a yoke, to beautiful draft horses doing amazing work side-by-side.

12-    She’ll learn a new way to define and appreciate “adornment.” Not the latest fashions on supermodels, but worn leather gear on a beautiful team of drafts and the patina on an antique tractor that still does the job, after all these years.

So run, don’t walk, to your local fair with your daughter. She will be a better woman because you did. And there’s no better place, in my opinion, to spark a young lady’s interest in natural science, which may naturally lead her to more STEM involvement. There’s no doubt that this world needs more bright young women who are interested in all areas of STEM, including agriculture.

If you like this post, you might like reading about my own childhood memories of sustainable living and the history of New England Old Home Days.

More Encouragement For You:

Secrets to helping your child become a successful entrepreneur

Help your child start a blog like a pro

Why I only have two goals for my daughters’ education

How to encourage philanthropy in your child

Four questions successful parents ask themselves

Find out why SoulyRested was considered to be one of the Top 20 Must-Read Homesteading Blogs of 2018 and then one of the Top Homesteading Blogs of 2019 as well.

Glance at my Resource Page if you’d like to get a glimpse of all the supplies I use and recommend for everything from gardening, to homeschooling, to chicken care, to nature journaling, to maple syrup making.

 

 

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The post 12 reasons to take your daughter to the fair first appeared on Souly Rested.

When I first set up my blog, I knew there was one topic I’d never approach: politics. Or the press. But when I witnessed firsthand that the press is biased, well, I decided I have something to say.

So today I’m gonna take a tiny break from writing about all that sweet stuff I love to write about–ya’ know, our beautiful calf, our crazy old farmhouse, and our sweet syrup making process–and write about something I feel like I have to…

Plus, it turns out that in a New Hampshire in January… in January of the U.S. presidential primary season… a girl can’t HELP but approach politics. In fact, politics comes to her. Last winter, politicians came to American Legions, high school auditoriums, country churches, and the little country store on the corner. Giant buses rolled in with candidates’ mug shots and tag lines on each side. The state was abuzz with talk of the candidates at every turn, in every corner. And hundreds of cameras, microphones, and steno books spilled into every venue…

… setting up squatter‘s rights where there was no room; towering above onlookers, with no thought of actually squatting down so anyone behind can see.

With the next presidential election only days away, my daughters and I have had a whole different perspective on what we see nightly on the news, given our personal experiences with the press last primary season.

We also have a different perspective, given another one of our current insights… I’ll mention that later in this post. Please stick with me, because there is a very positive conclusion to all this circus-crazy mess.

Last January, in a local country store, my daughters and I were surprised that we couldn’t see the podium where the candidate was speaking, because more than two dozen news channels were represented by more than four dozen people and all their paraphernalia, and they were stationed at the bottleneck area of the small store, at the top of the two steps that lead to the small speech platform.

As if that wasn’t bad enough, about three other giant cameras stationed themselves to our left, in front of an obstructed view of the podium. Their corresponding reporters would periodically make obnoxious sounds and flamboyant gestures, overpowering parts of the senator’s speech. Their goal was to get Mr. Cruz to look in their direction, for a better photograph, that was indeed probably not much different than the 2,080 previous shots they had taken of him all across New Hampshire.

Even though he was only ten feet from us, all we could see of Senator Cruz, at the ironically named “Meet and Greet,” was the image we could glimpse through the small screens on the cameras in front of us. I was truly shocked at the rudeness of the press in the few hours that we spent in that little country store. Even if the women’s designer bags and hairdos, in lieu of baseball caps and ponytails, and the men’s argyle sweaters and black shiny loafers, in lieu of muddy work boots, didn’t scream “outsider” in our tiny farm town, their attitudes alone would have labeled them as such.

Direct Answers

Since our family’s move, from suburbia to a small farm in small town, USA, I’ve felt blessed on a daily basis.

But the past month I’ve felt richly blessed to be, more specifically, a New Hampshire resident in our great democracy. This is exactly how a government of the people should work. Every man and woman who wants to lead this great country should have to make themselves available to answer directly to the people, and that’s what happened this winter in small country stores, rural American Legion offices, and school auditoriums all around the Granite State. It was a wonderful experience to meet the candidates directly, in small groups, and form my own opinion without filtering out the press’s opinions. Because indeed, I learned, the press is biased.

A Third Party

The discussions, you see, are not just between the candidates and the people. On every shoulder and behind every elbow of the people there is a third party, who isn’t a separate party really at all, but–very often–an extension of the Democratic party. Regardless of each reporter’s personal political stance, they–just like all of us–also have preconceived notions and personal theories that will sway their portrayal of any given situation. The press is biased. Although one khaki-clad reporter I talked to from California did not come across with a political agenda, per se, in his article where he quoted me, he certainly had an original, preconceived thesis. He quoted just the right amount of my statements to uphold that thesis.

I attended many Town Hall meetings in January and early February, and at the last one, after many minutes of heartfelt discussion one-on-one with Rubio, both my 15-year-old daughter and I were interviewed by 3 different reporters: a young, golden-haired gentleman from California, a middle-aged man with the Associated Press, and one quiet, white-haired reported from Kasich’s home state of Ohio.

In the California article, to make my quote support his theory, Mr. Nash (the reporter from the Golden State) did quote my words word-for-word, just out of context and incompletely. You see, Mr. Nash had a theory that Rubio was working hard to pull Cruz supporters to the Rubio campaign. It was surely even an accurate theory, but I wasn’t the correct interviewee to support his theory, so he just reported part of my words. He wrote that he spoke with “a 46-year-old homeschool mom who said she was torn between Cruz and Rubio, finding both senators articulate avatars of the conservative philosophy.” He went on… “Now that I see what happened in Iowa, I came off the fence,” the mom said in an interview.

What Mr. Nash didn’t explain what I told him first thing in our probably 5-minute-long interview, which was that I was a Rubio supporter from the beginning. Then I met Ted Cruz and was pleasantly surprised that he impressed me as genuine. (I didn’t feel that from debates, his commercials, and different details I had read about him.) Then, I explained to Mr. Nash, I watched polls and knew if Rubio dropped too low I could, with good conscience, vote for Cruz if I felt a vote on Rubio would be wasted. After seeing how many Iowans agreed with me, and after meeting and talking with Rubio in person, I decided to definitively put my vote where it was to begin with, with Marco Rubio. On a side note, Mr. Nash, although not the most talented man at summarizing another person’s views accurately, did in real life look like a golden boy from the Golden State, showing an uncanny resemblance to Brad Pitt.

“Pantless” Truth

Unfortunately, no matter how attractive the reporter of a lie may be, as Winston Churchill said, “A lie gets half way around the world before Truth has a chance to get his pants on.” I’m not saying that all reporters lie (at least not intentionally). But the press is biased. Reporters have their own personal view points and their own world views, and they are quite skilled at twisting facts to fit nicely into their outline.

Mr. Nash gave me one more inaccurate quote in his little article. He quoted the 46-year-old homeschool mom saying, “I hope the Trump supporters are going to wisen up and realize that he can’t even begin to be elected, and they’ll go to Rubio, too.” In reality, this was only a smidgen of my comments about Trump as well, making it appear that I felt there was no way Trump could ever win the nomination. In additional remarks, which weren’t quoted, I explained to Mr. Nash that I did not mean, literally, that Trump wasn’t able to win, but just the opposite. I was afraid, even back in early February, that he could win the Republican nomination, when in my opinion, there were much better, more conservative and morally upright candidates. Yes, I was concerned that Trump could win the nomination and, hmmmm, there might be an ugly run for the presidency offering a situation where no one truly had a candidate they could fully stand behind. So my meaning, which didn’t make it into the article, was “Trump can’t even begin to be elected if we as a people value our country and all that is at stake… if we want a leader of substance, character, and well-grounded, level-headed policies, we can’t elect Trump for the conservative leader of the Republican party.”

Like it or not, and whether they ever disclose full, unbiased truth or not, reporters are a staple of the primaries. They brighten up a room with enough radiant light to make a room unbearably hot, even on a cold February day.

They literally take over any area in which they are allowed to expand, like the downtown Radisson where we went to hear Rubio’s speech on the night of the NH primary. The Boston newscasters literally had a full-scale news desk set up in the front hotel lobby, complete with a hanging trellis of lighting, multiple cameras for multiple angles, and about two dozen large-screened monitors on rows upon rows of tables.

But before you even got to the Radisson, you had no doubt where the political circus was that night. Bright lights, huge tents, multi-level camera platforms, and even a CNN reporters’ trailer on an elevated lift, all pointed the way to the center ring of the political craziness.

Even after they had been standing for three hours to guarantee their front-row status, eager teen voters and patient, tired elderly ones were deprived of an intimate view of the candidate by camera men and women who waltzed in minutes ahead of the senator and blocked all views with their camera screens and flashes.

I decided that all reporters in the Radisson that night had a specific agenda and a predetermined thesis in mind for the evening as I watched all of them parade right by a man worthy of talking to, without asking him a question. A man who had obviously been a part of this political circus for quite some time and who seemed unphased by the craziness of it all. He was there under the bright lights, far behind tall cameras, elbow to elbow with other crazies like my daughters and I, just hoping for a conservative leader this time around (and of course a winning political pin).

The reporters-by-the-busload frenzy during the months leading up to the New Hampshire primaries does pay off, literally, for the Live Free Or Die state. Because, let’s face it, all those members of the press do not live for free… In New Hampshire (according to the U.S. Travel Association), visitors in town for the campaign spend approximately $350 per day on transportation, hotel rooms, meals, rental cars and the other basic needs. In hotel revenue alone, it estimates an extra $8.9 million. So I guess they all spend plenty to rest easy when they lay their heads down at night, regardless of the circus and confusion they participate in each day.

And while, like Mark McKinnon said, “The media has wrested complete control from the parties and candidates over everything….[it’s]  become a circus…” we also have a little more insight into all this craziness. You see, we’ve been studying the book of Daniel recently. Daniel as a young teen was taken into exhale in a foreign land because his own nation–that had once been the most prosperous in the world–collapsed. But he never gave up hope, and he even personally survived a deadly circus of killer furnace flames and ferocious lions. Daniel had God-given insight into his seemingly desperate situations, and that insight still holds true today. This insight rings in my ears and comforts me when I see the political circus that has engulfed our nation. It reminds me that on November 8th, God is the reigning authority. “He changes times and seasons; he removes kings and sets up kings; he gives wisdom to the wise and knowledge to those who have understanding.”–Daniel 2:21

Many readers often ask what camera I use to take the images you find here on SoulyRested. I love my Nikon; you can read more about my camera on my Resources page and even purchase your own here.

I’d much rather write about life on the farm than politics, any day. Glance at my Resource Page if you’d like to get a glimpse of all the supplies I use and recommend for everything from gardening, to homeschooling, to chicken care, to nature journaling, to maple syrup making.

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My other posts in this series on the 2016 NH presidential primaries:

A post about the day When I Met Marco Rubio.

One about the different venues in the NH primary and what it’s like to meet the candidates.

And one about why NH holds the first primaries and a history lesson about the constitution.

The post A Look at the Presidential Primaries (and the press) first appeared on Souly Rested.

an exciting addition to our farm…

and presidential candidates to our little neck of the woods. . .

But the fervor of the country’s first 2016 Presidential Primary was extra special for me. Why? Two reasons. You see, two is the total number of states I’ve lived in in my 46 years (Delaware and New Hampshire). Two is also the number of states that played the most pivotal roles in the ratification of the U.S. Constitution: the unhesitating first and the deciding ninth. Those states–the ones so important in the life of our Constitution–happen to be the two states important in my own life: Delaware and New Hampshire.

I’m quite proud of my connection to the supreme document of fundamental principles that makes our nation great. And the past few months I’ve been more intrigued with our Constitution than ever, as I’ve been analyzing how well I believe the presidential candidates will ensure that the document’s original intentions are upheld.

Growing up in my native state, I learned to dig for sand crabs, appreciate blue hens, and develop a snobbery for Capriotti subs. I also learned to be proud that I grew up in the state that was home to the penman of the Revolution (John Dickinson), the first log cabins (brought by the Finnish settlers), and the infamous fighting Blue Hens (who accompanied Delaware’s brave soldiers to Revolutionary War battle lines). Yes, my native Delaware (along with its fiery fighting birds) is near and dear to my heart, and its slogan lets no one forget that it is indeed “The First State.” Back in 1787, the diminutive Delaware needed to see the Constitution ratified quickly or it was threatened to be devoured by nearby, larger, stronger states.*

The Granite State—the state I’ve just recently had the privilege to call “home”—is where I’ve learned to recognize the sound of “r” as an “ah” and appreciate that every way is the “long way” when you’re driving in the Lakes Region, but at least the long way includes a lakeside view.

I’ve learned that New Hampshire is more reserved than Delaware, both in its people (who never waste words, food, or time, if they can help it) and about its place in line when ratifying the Constitution. But its ninth-place status is truly just as important as Delaware’s first-place distinction. As the ninth state to jump on board, New Hampshire finalized the deal. The Constitutional Convention had called for only a 70% ratification for the document to be in effect. While the drafters knew that a full, unanimous agreement would be impossible, they also knew that time was of the essence or our nation might be fractured beyond re-piecing.

New Hampshire, true to its rebellious spirit and its promise to “Live Free or Die,” signed the final pen stroke that made our Constitution the law of our land, even though it was an extra-legal document** that had been written behind closed doors and was under severe scrutiny by the anti-federalists (which included worthy patriots like Patrick Henry I might add).

So, you see, my native state’s unanimous vote—of all 30 Delaware delegates—accurately foretold that our nation would rally to form a more perfect union, truly the best one formed on this side of heaven at least, without bloodshed. And my now-home state confirmed this fact and made the Constitution the highest law in our land, guaranteeing domestic tranquility and liberty, at least as long as we the people are willing to uphold it.

And now the Granite State continues to take its role in upholding the Constitution very seriously, as the location of the first presidential primaries. Funny, the Hawkeye State became the first location for presidential caucuses in the early 70s because of a simple lack of hotel rooms, but the hardline, stubborn Granite State voted into law in the 40s the fact that it will always be the first primary. I’d like to think that those lawmakers in 1949, thinking of New Hampshire’s stance as the state to sign the Constitution into law, wanted to make sure that New Hampshire continued to have a say in honoring the Constitution– by carefully, painstakingly considering the candidates whom it felt would uphold the Constitution–and proudly be some of the first to reveal its opinions to the watching nation.

I, a First State girl and now a Granite State woman, have been loving my first presidential primary election year as a New Hampshirite. For a 3-week period in January and early February, I have been giddy with the notion that in a roughly one-hour-or-less drive… north or south… on any given day… I can meet almost any one of the presidential candidates who are vying for my vote.

So over the course of many school days that followed, in between caring for the animals…

and working through math and grammar lessons with my daughters (and a few stray bunnies)…

We talked to some presidential candidates.

I thought others might like some insight into this process. Insight into life in the state of the first primaries in a presidential election year. Insight into our democracy at work, on the ground. Insight into a month’s worth of Town Hall meetings filled with real people… talking to real candidates… about real issues.

So stick with me over the next few days or weeks. In upcoming blog posts, I’ll give you a little glimpse into the first presidential primary. But don’t worry, I’d much rather talk about ducks that lay eggs and cows that offer milk than elephants that bicker and donkeys that lie. So soon enough I’ll be writing about the promises of a spring garden instead of the emptiness of wintered politicians.

But for this week, I’m elated that I personally got to meet some presidential candidates, and I’m elated at the prospects of a new Commander in Chief who might value and honor the Constitution. I’m elated that we the people can get to know the candidates and then have a deciding voice in determining the next President of the United States. After all, as the American author Elbert Hubbard said, “Parties who want milk should not seat themselves on a stool in the middle of the field in hopes that the cow will back up to them. ”

* For those of you looking for a history lesson, I’ve read many varied arguments as to why Delaware jumped to sign so quickly, from wanting a strong central government, to protecting their long beach line, to lowering inter-state taxes, to desiring to be first in line for federal grants. Truth is, very little documentation was kept of what went on in the short three days of deliberation in Dover, Delaware, but every one of the 30 voted-in delegates (10 from each of the state’s three counties) was a Federalist. Delawareans were obviously pretty passionate about signing the Constitution. But as a native Delawarean, I’ve always heard that we were eager to sign because we would then be official as an entity of our own and less likely to be gobbled up by nearby states who wanted to extend their boundaries.

** The Articles of Confederation had made it clear that all states must be in agreement for  ratification.

The post A Look Into the NH Presidential Primary (part 1) first appeared on Souly Rested.

A Delicious Solution.

A few nights ago I wanted something chocolate. (Who am I kidding? That’s every night.) She wanted something decadent. But neither of us wanted to spend long in the kitchen, because we had all christened the evening “Family Game Night in Front of the Fire,” and we were eager to get the cards dealt.

Whoopie Pies came to my mind. Whoopie Pie Cookies were the delicious solution she came up with.

We mixed the dough, then set up our game and built a fire while the dough chilled. After 30 minutes, we made the cookies. Then we tried to focus on our game while the cocoa goodness baked and the delicious aroma frolicked around the room.

Yes, They Really Are Quite Easy to Make.

I reveled in the fact that there were actual Whoopie Pie Cookies in my oven.

When my family packed up decade’s worth of “stuff” and moved from the mid-atlantic area to New England, we knew there were plenty of things we’d be leaving behind.

We knew there were a few joys that we’d only experience every now and then, when we ventured “down south.”

Warm beaches. (Yes, fellow New Englanders, there is such a thing as swimming in the ocean in August and not having trouble breathing because your lungs are constricted from the frigidness.)

DuPont estates.

And Longwood Gardens water fountain displays.

Then there was all the food that we knew we’d never taste on a regular basis… Rita’s water ice. Philly cheese steaks. Capriotti subs and bobbies. Fisher’s caramel popcorn. Herr’s potato chips. . .

And Amish-made Whoopie Pies.

The first day I ventured into my little country store I was shocked to be greeted with an amazing array of whoopie pie varieties, all baked that morning and hand-wraped by the owner’s wife herself. Turns out, whoopie pies are considered to be one of New England’s best loved comfort foods. Who knew? Not this Delaware native. I still haven’t been able to figure out what caused the amazing yumminess to migrate this far north. But, hey, who am I to look a whoopie-pie horse in the mouth?

Read on for whoopie pie history and recipe below. . .

Of course Whoopie Pies are nothing like a pie at all.

I say this because–I’m just going to admit it right here in the open–I’m not a fan of pie. (Whoopie Pies are more like mini cakes with sugary icingish goodness in between.)

Why Are They Called “Whoopie Pies”?

The story goes that Amish moms in Pennsylvania made the yummy concoctions whenever they had left-over cake batter and put the treats in their husbands’ and childrens’ lunch bags. They always garnered an excited “Whoopie!” when discovered; thus the name.

Needless to say, I let out a couple “Whoopie!”s myself when I realized these delicious delicacies were one thing I didn’t have to leave behind when we left Delaware. When my daughter discovered this quick-to-make, even-better-to-devour recipe, well I was chanting “Whoopie!” till the cows came home (bringing a tall glass of milk with them).

Like how I snuck in an allusion to the newest addition on our homestead? But more about her in another post… Read about Scout and her beautiful heifer here. And I give you the full low-down on how to make butter–my favorite product from our fresh milk (and it’s soooo easy) right here.

By the way, I haven’t converted this recipe over to maple–yet–but hop over here to print out my FREE conversion chart that will help you convert any recipe at all in your kitchen over to one made with all-natural maple syrup goodness. Not sure why you’d want to use all-natural maple syrup in your baking? Print out this comparison chart right here.

And find out what folks are saying about my brand-new book right here–Sweet Maple, about to hit bookstores across the country.

So-Easy-But-Beyond-Yummy Whoopie Cookies

Directions

Toss the flour, cocoa powder, baking soda, and salt together in a large bowl. Set aside.

Beat the butter on high about 1 minute. Beat in the granulated sugar and brown sugar until combined. Add in the egg and vanilla extract. Pour the dry ingredients into the wet ingredients and mix until a dough is formed. Cover the dough tightly with plastic wrap and chill for 30 minutes. Don’t skip this step, as we were tempted to. It really is mandatory.

Roll the dough into balls. Press down on the balls to slightly flatten. Bake for 6-8 minutes at 350 degrees. Remove from the oven and allow to cool for at least 5 minutes on the baking sheet before transferring to a wire rack to cool completely.

To make the cream filling, beat the butter until creamy. Add confectioners’ sugar and vanilla. Beat on low for 1 minute, then on high until creamy.

Spread cream filling between two cooled chocolate cookies. On the crazy chance that you actually have any left over, the cookies freeze well. At least I’m sure they must. We didn’t have any left over.

Maple Whoopie Pie Cookies

UPDATE: A sweet reader, Mandy Bentley, headed right to her kitchen the minute she saw this post, used my conversion chart and other details I’ve written about baking with maple syrup and within an hour had messaged me with all the details needed to make amazing MAPLE WHOOPIE PIE COOKIES…

Substitute 3/8 cup of all-natural maple syrup for the refined sugar in the cookies above. And reduce oven temp to 325.°

Boy I’m glad Mandy did the conversion for us… Now I need to try the maple version myself! Please comment which version you make and what you think of these whoopie pie cookies!

 

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The post Whoopie Pies in a Cookie You Can Make Tonight first appeared on Souly Rested.

There where the lake greets the river in rolling melodies, spilling over the dam, the full moons of many Septembers have certainly rolled their bright lullabies over the humble clapboard walls and lofty shingled roofs of the unassuming home, stretched carriage house, and formidable barn.

There, close to the marshy river bank where moose have made evening stops for centuries, iridescent moonlight has danced over the tassles of ripened corn husks many times before tonight.

But tonight I am the one harvesting.

Reaping in the beauty of the billowing poufs of clouds as they soar through the sapphire dome overhead.

Gathering new perspectives on the beauty of night that I usually don’t traverse.

Gleaning a small insight into God’s unfathonable majesty.

I was up too late, as usual. The dogs, already asleep for hours in remote corners, stumbled to the back door when I beckoned them for their last stop outside before retiring to their cages for the evening. Having heard mention of tonight’s moon being  a Harvest Moon, I joined Maggie and Bixby in their jaunt out back. The bleached clouds, cobalt blue firmament, and ringed, colored orb begged me to linger. Maggie moonbathed by the back door, while Bixby and I ambled through the back field, down to the gardens.

Harvest time always gives something to be thankful for.

Seeing the garden vines and plants–a summer’s worth of daily effort–basking in the ancient light, thinking of the generations of farmers who had harvested their crops on this land by the light of the same Harvest Moon, I was so thankful for Jehovah Jireh, the Lord who provides.

He provided this home for our family. Provided the warmth of the summer sun to cultivate the promise of her garden. Provided the extra light of the lingering moonlight every year at harvest time, when more light was needed in the face of shortening days and lengthening amounts of work.

You might wanna know these 8 Things Wannabe Homesteaders Need to Know in the Fall. (I learned some the hard way.)

Harvest time is accompanied by the beautiful Harvest Moon.

The bright full moon of September has been aptly called the Harvest Moon even longer than our modest cape cod home has stood on its small wooded plot. Even longer than our meek New England town was even a thought in anyone’s mind. According to the Oxford English Dictionary, the full moon closest to the autumn equinox has been referred to as the “Harvest Moon” since at least 1706. Because of the elliptical path of the moon at this time of the year, the time between sunset and moonrise is much shorter than usual, meaning the night sky is illuminated much longer, giving farmers an extended harvest time during those precious days of the full moon.

Harvest time gives us a chance to reflect.

For me tonight, it gave me time to garner insights into God’s breathtaking creativeness. Insights into the light he provides, so we don’t have to stumble in darkness. Insights that I will store away deep in my heart and unfold again one cold day when I need reminders of the warmth of our family’s first summer here, here in the home where God has placed us. Where he has planted us.

Little did I know just how much coldness was ahead of me on our first New England winter!

Again Jesus spoke to them, saying, “I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will not walk in darkness, but will have the light of life.” John 8:12

When I look at your heavens, the work of your fingers, the moon and the stars, which you have set in place, what is man that you are mindful of him, and the son of man that you care for him? Psalm 8:3-4

_________________________

I found this site very informative about the Harvest Moon and the upcoming Hunter’s Moon in October.

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And in my Resource Library you’ll find great fall recipes for yummy things like pumpkin bread, whoopie pie cookies, and maple sap switchel.

The post Reaping a Harvest first appeared on Souly Rested.

On a dirt road behind the church, we chatted with a man who brought history alive as he shared details about his unique ride–one of only seven like it that are still in existence today.

From tractors to quilts to art to bees, it was history and small town life on display at its finest.

But small town life wasn’t just on display; we were an intricate part of it–a part of history in the making in a small town.

As we ambled back around the turns in the road to reach our car, we passed sweet reminders of those men who served in the Revolutionary War, the men who revisited the land of their youth on the first Old Home Week.

I felt overwhelming grateful to be a tiny part of this small town’s story as it is being written throughout the annals of time, at the hands of an abundantly immense God. A gracious God who marked out our family’s boundaries in a land so fair. Long before we even heard of this tiny town or set eyes on our little cape on the hill, by the dam, where the crystal clear lake empties into the winding river, He planned to place us here. For that I will always be thankful.

“From one man he made all the nations, that they should inhabit the whole earth; and he marked out their appointed times in history and the boundaries of their lands.” Acts 17:26

The post History and Small Town Life at its Finest first appeared on Souly Rested.

What Will You Find at an Old Home Day?

While on summer vacations over the years, I’d attended quite a Old Home Days, in small rural towns speckling the central New Hampshire landscape.

At these marvelous festivities I’d met fascinating craftsmen; watched all kinds of trades in action, from wooden bowl carving, to wool spinning, to fused glass creations; and devoured decadent baked goods from fresh kettle cooked corn to Maple Sugar Cotton Candy.

I have decided, btw (with the means of the official editorial decision-making capabilities at my disposal), Maple Sugar Cotton Candy is worthy of an initial-capped, esteemed-looking name.

(It is also, by the way, definitely worth the calories. Although, given the way it dissolves so sweetly on your tongue, surely the calories must be at rudimentary levels, if not non-existent.)

It Turns Out There Aren’t Typically Any Old Home Tours

For all the crafts I’ve witnessed and delicacies I’ve imbibed at various Old Home Days, as a vacationer from “the South,” I never knew the history of the occasion.

I always assumed somewhere in each town there were, indeed, old homes open for public tour on this one beloved day of the year. I never thought to ask if my assumption of the name was correct. Silly enough, I never even thought to ask where the tours were and if I could attend one.

I guess I was too busy standing in line for every Maple Sugar Cotton Candy bag I could afford.

It Was a Ploy That Worked

I recently learned the history behind this New England summer tradition. And it doesn’t typically involve any old home tours at all.

After the Civil War, many men who returned home to the rugged, unforgiving New England fields, often headed south and west for easier farming. (This old rocky, rough soil has certainly earned its nickname of “The Granite State.”)

In 1899, the Governor of New Hampshire decided to try to change the tide and encourage native New Hampshirites to return to the land of their roots. He figured if he could just draw them home in droves, families would realize how much they missed the beauty of their old home place.

He organized, aptly named, an “Old Home Week.”  Towns across the state welcomed native New Hampshirites to revisit their old homesteads…

Revisit the land dotted with crystal clear lakes and sweeping vistas…

Revisit the land of their youth.

And they did. Many visited for a long week, catching up with friends who had grayed and bent a little but who still had youthful jubilee in their voices when talking of their New England childhoods together. As they reminisced, they soaked up the forgotten beauty of the landscape.

Roads that wind and unfurl, opening up to one scenic overlook after another. Mountains that curl their backs up into the pulled wisps of clouds, who themselves are stretching across the azul summer sky.

Intricate marvels of nature that await anyone who will slow down and let the beauty envelop them.

Lakes that lazily take in the bounty of the scenery and offer it back serenely, reflected among the water flowers that dot their shore.

It Drew Folks Back to Their Old Homesteads

The original “Old Home Week” was a success. Meet the man behind it all right here.

Families moved back to the beauteous land they didn’t even realize they had missed so dearly. And New Hampshire’s population increased.

Over the years, the celebration shortened to a single day, but the intent of celebrating the charm of New Hampshire and its people is still thriving today, well over a century years later.

I’m excited to be a part of my small town’s celebration next weekend as a true New Hampshirite myself, no longer one just vacationing through who knows the deliciousness but not the history.

Mind you, I am also hankering for some Maple Sugar Cotton Candy.

Other articles you’ll enjoy:

The History of the Harvest Moon

How I Make Money Blogging

Our Move from Suburbia to Rural Life

3 Secrets Old Farmhouse Owners Might Never Tell You

I will be glad and rejoice in your love, for you… have set my feet in a spacious place. Psalm 31: 7-8

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The post Old Home Day in New England first appeared on Souly Rested.