Something on your “to-do list” that never gets done.
My to do list is significant. Though I continually stay busy with my endless list of projects, I never complete it. In fact, I expect to have a list when I enter the Pearly Gates.
Author: lbeth1950
Outdoor Cooking: Mastering Pork Ribs
What’s your favorite thing to cook?
I love to cook pork ribs outdoors in my cast iron pots with a charcoal fire. I have them in right now marinating in a dry rub of one cup of brown sugar two teaspoons of salt, one teaspoon of Tony, one teaspoon of garlic powder, one teaspoon onion powder. By ten, I will have the ribs at room temperature in my 18” cast iron pot. I put the pot over charcoal and additional charcoal on the lid. Cooking the ribs low and slow, they will be so tender they fall off the bone.
Homemade Dutch Oven Table and Bean Pot Tripod
My husband constructed this Dutch Oven Cooking Stand out of an old aluminum truck toolbox using an old bed frame to attach legs purchased from Home Depot for less than $30. All other materials were from his shop. It is light, folds up well for travel and storage and shows no signs of heat damage or wear despite several years of use. The wind screen latches in place with small holes at corner. I put my coals directly on table and use it for hours. You can see it is very heavily loaded. I bake bread and desserts in Dutch oven as well, using a cast iron trivet to avoid burning the bottoms.
He also built this fine tripod from scrap using the hollow legs of a rack from a truck. The actual tripod connector is made of 5/8″ cold roll heated in his forge and bent into shape. I love this thing!
I have a nice collection of cast iron, though not nearly enough, of course. I bought a few pieces new and picked up a lot at flea markets. I don’t shy away from a piece without a lid. You can get a good deal on them and pick up a lid some other time. When I am looking for a lid, I measure the inside diameter of inside rim and keep a tape measure in my pocket. I picked up my !4″ Lodge Dutch Oven for $37 without a lid and ordered lid from Amazon (No shipping) for around $20. Bought new, the Dutch Oven would have been over $100.
A flat bottom Dutch Oven works beautifully placed on top of pot lifter.
Aint Berthy
This is a guest post by my friend Harvey Hughett Please check him out on facebook at Musing Appalachia by Harvey Hughett
PROVIDENCE CAUSES BERTHY TO GET SERIOUS
God’s Hillbilly Warrior Goes Yondering (Part 7 of 9)
© Harvey Hughetti
Berthy was barely a mile out of town when she came across a man attempting to change a flat tire on his car. He had the tire tool on a lug nut, but his arms weren’t strong enough to get the nut loose. It was frozen hard. Berthy could tell that he was frustrated and offered to help. He seemed to be a nice guy, quite a bit younger than Berthy. He introduced himself as Ben. Berthy took a look at his situation and said, “Here, let me try that.” Rather than use her hands, she stood on the handle of the lug wrench, balanced her feet, and jumped. One by one, the nuts came loose, and they were able to mount the spare tire.
Ben offered to pay her for helping, but Berthy refused payment, saying, “No, I don’t charge nothin’ for helping a body in a pinch. I’m heading up the mountain to see what it looks like from up there. I’d best get going if I’m going to get up there and back to town before dark.”
It turned out that Ben had been raised in Newport, Tennessee, not far from Berthy, and he knew where Bulls Gap was. He had been working in a restaurant in Sevierville when a highway accident took the life of his older sister. She was hitchhiking to work. Ben blamed himself because he could have given her a ride. She hadn’t asked for a ride that day, and it didn’t occur to him that she needed one. However, he was the only one in his family with a car, and his family blamed him for her death. So, he cut ties with his family and wandered from town to town in his car. As a drifter, he’d stop here and there to work for gas and food money and continue on his aimless journey, trying to escape his past. Despite his rough exterior, Ben was kind-hearted, haunted by guilt, and longed for forgiveness.
Berthy sensed his sadness and engaged him in a conversation. Through her warmth and curiosity, she gradually earned his trust. Ben shared his story with Berthy, and she encouraged him to face his past and attempt reconciliation with his family. This conversation became a turning point for Ben, and he began to believe in the possibility of forgiveness and a better future. Berthy’s unwavering faith and compassion helped him take the first steps toward healing and reconciliation with his family.
Frankly, Berthy was very surprised when she learned about Ben’s past, especially the tragic accident and his subsequent life as a drifter. She hadn’t expected such a heavy story from the quiet stranger. It troubled her that the man had lived a sad life, feeling that he had committed a grievous sin when he really hadn’t. Berthy’s compassionate side took over when she realized Ben had been punishing himself for years. Drawing on her faith, she explained the teachings of forgiveness and redemption from the Bible. She believed that everyone deserved a second chance. She felt impressed that, as God’s Warrior, she had a duty to help Ben find his way back to the right path.
Berthy and Ben hit it off together and she trusted him, a rarity for her with him being a man she wasn’t kin to. Nevertheless, she would continue to be cautious. She’d been burned by men too often. Since Berthy had completed the goal of reclaiming her money from Mrs. Gooch, Ben offered to give her a ride back to her Mohawk home. They decided to leave early the following day. He’d drop her off at her house on Democrat Road, continue on to Newport, and attempt to mend fences with his family.
They then drove to the top of Lookout Mountain, where they contemplated the Civil War battles that had taken place on that hill and in the surrounding area. Bertha told Ben that her great-great-uncle John Hughett had died in the battle at Chickamauga. He took a Minié ball in the chest on the north bank at the mouth of South Chickamauga Creek on September 19th, 1863. They could see the battlefield in the distance from where they stood on the easternmost part of the mountain. It was one of the bloodiest of the Civil War. More than 700 thousand soldiers died in that war. John’s wife had been taking care of the family farm in Tennessee during his absence. After her only child died of dysentery and after being raped by a Yankee soldier, she committed suicide. Berthy was quiet for a long while as she imagined what that war must have been like. She prayed for those who had died.
After Berthy and her new friend left Lookout Mountain and Rock City Gardens, they drove to The Krystal in Chattanooga and ate hamburgers. The Krystal was founded in Chattanooga in 1932 and was well known for its small, square hamburgers, often called Krystal Burgers. You could buy twelve for a dollar. Berthy thought they were the best hamburgers she’d ever eaten, although she had to return the first order because they’d mistakenly put onions on hers. She hated onions.
As Berthy and Ben sat in a corner booth at The Krystal, the aroma of sizzling burgers and fries put them into a nostalgic and happy mood. Berthy took a bite of her Krystal burger, savoring the taste. Across from her, Ben was engrossed in his meal, occasionally glancing up to smile at her.
Berthy was relaxed and peaceful. It had been a fun day. She was enjoying herself and finally felt a sense of peace after having survived all the attacks on her since starting the trip.
While sitting there and contemplating the next steps before Ben drove her back to Mohawk, a man walked up to her and said, “Well, I’ll be danged if it ain’t Aunt Berthy from Resume Speed, Tennessee!” Her heart skipped when she recognized that it was a neighbor friend she hadn’t seen for ages. Eli Smith looked weary and older than his actual years.
Eli: “Berthy? Am I seeing things? What are you doin’ here?”
Berthy stood up, her eyes wide with surprise. “Eli! I can’t believe this. It’s been years.”
Eli shifted nervously. “Berthy, I have to ask for your forgiveness. For what I did back there in Bulls Gap. I was young and stupid, and I let you down. I’m real sorry.”
Berthy’s expression softened. “Eli, that was a long time ago. We all make mistakes. You don’t have to ask my forgiveness. I hope you’ve found some peace.”
Eli’s eyes glistened with unshed tears. “Thank you, Berthy. That means more than you know.”
Berthy pointed to a seat next to her. “Sit down for a minute and tell me how you’ve been.”
Eli sat down. “I’ve been working on turning my life around. It’s been rough, but I’m not giving up. Seeing you here a hundred miles from your home… it’s like a sign.”
Berthy nodded, her eyes kind. “I’m pleased to hear that, Eli. It’s never too late to change. What have you been up to?”
Eli: “Oh, I’ve been working different jobs and trying to stay out of trouble. It’s not easy, but I can do it. I want to make something out of myself.”
Berthy: “I believe in you, Eli. I know you can do it. Just take it one day at a time. If yore momma was alive, that’s what she’d tell you.”
“Thanks, Berthy. You were always the strong one, the one who stood up for what was right.”
Berthy said, “Well, I’ve had my moments of doubt, too. But we all have our own paths to walk. Just don’t forget, you’re not alone in this.”
Eli nodded, “I won’t forget that. Thank you, Berthy. You always were a friend.”
Berthy then asked, “Eli, what happened back then? Why did you go to jail?”
Eli sighed, looking down at his hands. “It was a crazy, stupid mistake. I was running around with the wrong crowd, a bunch of city boys. We wuz drinking and reckless, and one night, we robbed a store. I didn’t want to hurt anyone, but things got out of hand. The owner tried to stop us, and in the struggle, he got hurt. We wuz arrested, and I was charged with assault and robbery.”
Berthy’s eyes widened. “I didn’t know it was that serious.”
Eli nodded, shame evident in his eyes. “I think about it every day. I served my time, but the guilt don’t go away. And I know I let momma, you, and everybody down, Berthy. I was angry and lost back then. I took it out on the people who cared about me.”
Berthy reached out and took his hand. “Eli, everybody makes mistakes. It’s more important that you’re trying to set things straight now. I forgive you, and I hope you can forgive yourself too.”
Eli’s eyes filled with tears. “Thank you, Berthy. That means so much to me.”
After a few more words, Eli left, and Berthy sat back down, her mind swirling with old memories and emotions. She stared at her half-eaten burger, suddenly feeling a wave of doubt wash over her. It added a new layer of complexity to her journey as she navigated the delicate balance between trust and caution: violence and peace.
Berthy: “Ben, do you think I’m doing the right thing? Being a warrior for God, fighting against sin and sinners… Am I doing more harm than good? Some people are afraid of my strictness and my no-nonsense attitude. Do you think I’m pushing people away instead of bringing them closer to faith and redemption?”
Ben: (gently) “Berthy, you have a strong and unwavering personality. And it’s okay to have doubts. It just verifies that you’re human, and it shows you care deeply about doing the right thing.”
Berthy: (nodding) “I want to help people find their way, but sometimes I wonder if my approach is too hard. Maybe there’s a better way to reach their hearts. Think about it, how many fights have I gotten into on this trip? How many bones have I broken? Is there a better way to reach people?”
Ben: (smiling) “You have good intentions and a heart of gold, Berthy. Your strength and faith have inspired many, including me. Perhaps it’s not about changing who you are. Maybe it’s about finding a balance and showing compassion without compromising your values. And where warranted, showing your strength for good. You really are a warrior for God and you’re fighting in the battle between good and evil. And in all battles, there are bound to be a few casualties, and even a few may be hurt in friendly fire. Don’t beat yourself up, Berthy. Remember that you’re battling for God. If you’re on His side, you can’t go wrong.”
Berthy: (thoughtful) “Balance and perspective? I think I can be firm in my beliefs and actions but still show some kindness and understanding. I’ll try harder.”
Ben took her hand, his grip firm and reassuring. “Berthy, you’re the strongest person I think I’ve ever met. You’re honest, and you’ve got a good heart. You’re fighting for what you believe in. It’s normal to have doubts but don’t let them sidetrack you. Keep up the good fight. You’re making a difference everywhere you go.” Then he said, “Berthy, it’s not about having doubts. It’s about forcing yourself through them. Every warrior faces times of uncertainty. It’s what you do in those times that defines you.”
Berthy: “Ben. You’re right. It’s just that sometimes it feels like the weight of the world is on my shoulders to help set wrongs right.”
Ben: “What you’re saying reminds me of when I was younger. I was working on my papaw’s farm, and we had a terrible drought. Crops were failing, and it felt like everything was falling apart. I remember sitting in the field one evening, feeling completely defeated. My papaw came and sat beside me. He didn’t say much at first. Then he said, ‘Ben, sometimes life throws challenges at us that we don’t think we can overcome. But it’s exactly in those moments that we find our true strength, and we keep going. Nobody ever said that it would be easy, only that it would be worth it.'”
Berthy listened closely and knew that he was right.
Ben: “That night, I realized that what Papaw said was true. Even when things seem hopeless, we have to keep pushing forward. Berthy, you are strong. You’re fighting for something way bigger than yourself. You have God on your side. Berthy, you have more courage than anyone I know. Now, let’s finish these burgers and get back on the road. We got a long drive ahead of us.”
Berthy, her spirits lifted, said, “You bet, Ben. Let’s keep on keepin’ on.”
This moment of doubt and reflection helped Berthy grow and strengthen her character and her bond with Ben.
(to be continued)
If you like this story, please hit LIKE and FOLLOW. I have more stories from the same place this one came from. I also have books for sale on Amazon. Amazon.com: MUSING APPALACHIA: VOLUME 2: Wrestling with Life in the Flatlands: 9798867673383: Hughett Jr, Harvey L: Books
Texas Instruments TI99
Write about your first computer.
Texas Instruments TI 99. Back in the dark ages, that was the first computer we had. It cost about $100. It required a tape recorder for memory.
We got a surprising amount of use out of it. Bud wrote a program for balancing his checkbook. Bud and John played a scavenger hunt on it for months. He hn used it a lot for school.
My Condolences
One of the hardest parts of being a nurse is comforting and supporting the bereaved family at the time of death. Normally, family members are heartbroken, grieving at the death. On a few occasions, I witnessed something different. Mr. Jones, an elderly patient owned a successful insurance agency. Every morning, he donned freshly laundered silk pajamas. When discharged, He wore a fine finest suit, shirt, shoes, and hat and took great pride in being noticed. He bragged of buying a new Cadillac every year, dining at the most prestigious restaurants, and enjoying a membership at The Country Club.
His son, Junior Jones was in his late fifties and had always worked for Daddy. It appeared Mr. Jones was none to generous nor kind to Junior. Junior dressed in cheap clothes and drove an ancient compact car. It must have been miserable since he was so tall he had to fold up like a jackknife to fit in it. When Junior came to the hospital to consult with Daddy about the business, Daddy was condescending, snide, and critical, never showing Junior the least respect.
One the morning Daddy died, we’d called to notify Junior his father’s death appeared imminent. Junior came streaking into his father’s room just moments before Mr. Jones’ death. I offered my condolences. Junior ignored me, opened the drawer of the bedside table, dug out the keys to his father’s Cadillac, his father’s checkbook and left the room without speaking. A nursing assistant who was a friend of the family walked him out to the parking garage. He handed her the keys to his small car and drove off in his father’s big, black Cadillac. That was different! I guess he’d had enough.
Drive On
John was too lazy to work his farm. His family would have starved if the neighbors hadn’t brought them something to eat. Finally, a group of the neighboring farmers collected up and decided if John was too sorry to support his family, maybe they ought to just hang him.
They had him loaded up on a wagon to haul to the gallows when Charley felt guilty and spoke up. “We can’t just hang a man for being too sorry to work. I’ll give him a wagon load of corn to get his family through the winter and he can make a fresh start next spring. How about that John?”
“Is it shucked?” asked John.
“Well, no.” said Charlie.
“Drive on.” said John.
Baby Blues
We were a good couple. Long before we got married, we agreed completely on important things…foreign policy, religion, life plans. Then we got married. Life was idyllic. We were both in college, working student jobs. Bud had saved over $500 and student loans covered my tuition.
Budgeting was easy. At the first of the month we paid our rent, utilities, bought some dried beans, rice, flour, meal, spaghetti, and coffee. If we had a couple of dollars left, we could buy a little gasoline for Bud’s old truck. We walked to class, work, and the grocery store. Carrying home our four bags of groceries (once a month) was not a struggle. Sometimes we fished in the afternoons. This doubled as a budget assist. If we caught fish, we ate them as soon as we got home. No luck…we had grits. Our social life was relaxed. We visited other impoverished students for entertainment and had a wonderful time, cherishing this poverty since we wouldn’t always be this poor and carefree.
A couple of years later, we started noticing other people’s kids, and decided to see what we could cook up. We were out of college, both working, and having a hard time figuring how to spend all that money after the poverty of college. Unconcerned that we were just starting out, I knew we could handle a baby just fine. I imagined a little guy with dark, curly hair, smart, sweet, and adorable. As smart as we both were, our child was sure to be a genius. It never crossed my mind that our kid was free to exercise the options of our genetic pools, with all their messy subsets. With all the sisters and brothers between us, we knew all about kids. Since we already agreed on everything, and got along great, what could go wrong? Our main goal was not to mess up like our parents had. We’d cooperate, back each other up, and never, never speak or act without thinking of the effect on a tender child.
Sure enough, before too long, that tender child was on the way. Pregnancy wasn’t too bad, but finding out we had to pay the doctor ourselves when Bud’s insurance didn’t cover was startling, but good practice for the many surprises to follow. Every one of our dollars had a place to go now. At a hundred dollars per pound, John was a quality baby.
I couldn’t wait to get home from the hospital and get the baby to myself. The new grandparents were waiting at the house, just dying to get their hands on him. I was miffed when they grabbed him up before I even got him settled in, passing him from hand to hand, just like I wasn’t there. Mother rushed to change his first diaper at home and he washed her face for her. I thought that was just right. They finally put him down after his first feeding. He looked so sweet in his crib. Eventually everyone left and Bud and I had him alone. I was exhausted and settled in for a nap.
Twenty minutes in, I heard the rustling of sheets and some grunting. It didn’t disturb me much. Bud knew what to do. I was right. In a minute and a half Bud and the baby came calling. It seemed the baby’s pooper had kicked into overdrive and overwhelmed his diaper, clothes, crib, and Bud’s clothes. Bud was literally in over his head, sliding the slimy, malodorous baby in bed with me and was racing for the shower. Stripping and gagging, he left a trail of dirty clothes and baby poop splatters locked outside the bathroom door. I was right behind him, trying to get the baby’s bath stuff.
It was hopeless, so John’s first bath was in the cold kitchen – not the relaxing, calm bath I had planned for tomorrow morning. No rubber ducky, no velvety baby bath cloths, hooded towels, or gentle baby soap. I dangled him awkwardly over the kitchen sink, bathing him with dish detergent and rinsing him with the pull out sprayer, running mustard-colored baby poop down the drain. I dried him with dishtowels, the only thing handy. Between the three of us, we managed to mess up all our bedding, our clothes, the crib sheets and blankets, six towels, a throw rug, and several dishtowels. I think that’s probably the first time I called Bud a Stupid A**hole.
By the time the baby was bathed, fed, and settled back in his nice clean crib, we had piled up two full loads of laundry. We were all exhausted and starving. Bud hadn’t gotten to the grocery store while I was in the hospital, so we had grits, fish sticks, and orange juice for supper, before passing out at 8:30, too tired to even put sheets back on our bed. Uttering “Please, God let this baby sleep till at least 08:00 in the morning,” I wonder, “What in the world have I done?”
Well, I won’t say God wasn’t listening, but if he was, the answer was , “Hah!” John was not concerned about stereotypes and didn’t care that babies could sleep for twenty-two hours a day. At 10:00 P.M. he howled, furious at our neglect. I was in another world and took a minute or two to realize what was going on. I grabbed him up and changed him while Bud fumbled to heat a bottle. He took about an ounce and a half, produced another impressive mustard poop, and was ready to go back to bed, totally unappreciative of his second cleanup of the night. Not knowing if refrigerating and giving him the rest of that bottle later would kill him, I pitched it.
The hospital had sent six four-ounce bottles of formula home with us. We hadn’t bought formula ahead of time, since we didn’t know exactly what to buy. One down, five to go. Bud was going to make a supply run in the morning, so we’d be fine. We settled in for the rest of the night. Short night! At 11:30, John was ready to go again. I had already noticed that he was moody when he first woke up.
Since the literature said babies only cried when they were hungry or wet, I changed him while Bud went for the bottle, even though it had only been an hour and a half. He took another ounce and a half, pooped, and nodded off. I was starting to notice a pattern. Next time we’d feed, then change. It didn’t occur to me that it might be a good idea to jostle him awake to feed a little better. Another bottle gone. We shared quality time again at 01:30 and 03:30. Two more bottles gone.
He was up for the day by 05:00…wide-eyed! I fed him, bathed him, in the nice warm bathroom with all the proper accessories this time. I rocked him again, and waited for him to start on that twenty-two hour nap I was promised. Bud was whipped and slipped back to bed while I waited. I thought about putting him in his crib, but thought he might die, so I rocked. By this time, the formula situation was getting serious, so I woke Bud to go find a store that opened early.
While living in a tiny town can have its advantages, access to well-stocked stores is not one of them. After checking three local stores, Bud drove eleven miles into the next town for formula. He bought one big can of Ready to Feed, and a case of the kind you mix at home, squeaking back in just before John was due a feeding.
Satisfied that he had the day going his way, John knocked back four ounces of formula and slept six hours. He woke up just long enough to feed and slept another six hours. Bud settled on the sofa and got a nice nap, too. Not understanding the situation I had gotten myself into, I cleaned up the bathroom, kitchen, remade our bed, and did three loads of laundry. I was exhausted, but got a nap mid-afternoon. Bud was a fast learner. He assumed I didn’t want to miss anything, and made sure to rouse me as soon as John woke in the early evening.
For the next three months, John and I spent a lot of time together at night. I had to entertain myself during the day while he rested up. I learned a lot about babies, Bud, and myself in the next few days.
- John’s agenda did not include sleeping twenty-two hours a day.
- Bud was a better critic, than provider of baby care and always knew just what I was doing wrong. He couldn’t stay up at night because he had to work.
- I was in way over my head.
- The person you married may bear little resemblance to the person with whom you share responsibility of an infant, deteriorating rapidly from “My Love” to “You Stupid %$#&^” in a few hours.
- It doesn’t take long to get over wanting the baby “all to myself” once it actually happens.
- I was in way over my head.
Eventually, things settled down and we figured it all out. John is sleeping all night now. We’re hoping to get him out of our bed soon. He will be forty-one his next birthday!
Heights
What’s the thing you’re most scared to do? What would it take to get you to do it?
I don’t like heights. An elevator with glass sides gives me the willies. There’s no way I would willingly go out on a ledge unless someone I loved needed a rescue.
Nutsrok 