The BEST Biscuits...

OK, if there is one thing that is supposed to happen in a country kitchen, it is biscuits and gravy.  I have made dozens of recipes of biscuits and have gotten good reviews but I still wasn't happy.  You see I try to steer clear of all store bought, pre-packaged foods.  I am not saying I don't ever do it...it just hurts when I do.  It's painful....very painful.  So, with all my attempts I have never achieved a biscuit that I truly thought was as good or better than store bought Pillsbury Grands.  I mean they have it all....they're light, flaky and buttery.  Yum!  Well, because I love all 6 of you that will read this, I have found it...THE recipe.  I should say that last week I tried a recipe for true beaten biscuits.  Apparently, back in the pioneer days (of which I am convinced I should I have lived), ladies would "beat" their biscuits when they didn't have leaving agents (baking soda/powder).  And apparently they truly beat them....like with an ax even.  Pshaw!  And it wasn't like for 5 minutes...it might be off and on all day.  Those ladies didn't need Pilates or P90X!  Because last week I thought I was going to meet my maker when attempting to beat my biscuit dough for a mere 15 minutes.  Sweat was pouring down my face, my forearms were burning like I had scalded them with hot water.  So, for my "rest" after the morning exercise regime in which I had just partaken, I sat at my computer and googled "beaten biscuits" which led me to a blog I had visited several months back and had forgotten about.  It is called The Homesick Texan.... you should go there.  Every recipe I have tried has been delish....she is a strong contender with Pioneer Woman I tell you.  She had a recipe that called for you to beat the biscuits only it was more on my terms...like 3 minutes.  I could do that....I had just proved it.  To wrap up this story and get to the recipe, I left the computer with stories of old wisping through my head and the one liner stuck in my head that beaten biscuits were more like crackers.  I went to my kitchen, pulled out the cookie sheet to find that my biscuits hadn't risen a'tall.  They looked similar to hockey pucks really.  I called to my husband that breakfast was ready (if you could call it that) and due to my waste not want not theory I served these disastrous concoctions to my family.  For whatever reason, I am sure out of politeness, they all complimented how good and different they were....I think they were really kissing up.    But yesterday morning, I tried the Homesick Texan version and, oh my stars, you would not have known they weren't straight from Pillsbury.  So, I made them again this morning (as my husband left before breakfast yesterday) and he said "*expletive* these are good..."  They're a keeper.  So, get ready and make some biscuits....

Biscuits
Ingredients:
Two cups of flour 
1 tablespoon of baking powder 
1 teaspoon of sugar (can add more to taste)
1/2 teaspoon of salt
1 stick of butter, cold (8 tablespoons)
3/4 cup of buttermilk, cream or half-and-half



Method:
Preheat the oven to 450 degrees.
Mix all the dry ingredients together.
Cut the stick of butter into pieces, and work into the flour mixture with your hands or a pastry blender until it resembles pea-sized crumbs.
Add the liquid, mixing until a bit loose and sticky.
Pour dough out on a floured surface, and knead for a minute. Dough should be smooth and no longer wet. You can sprinkle more flour on the surface if you find it’s sticking.
Take dough into a ball, and hit it with a rolling pin, turning it and folding it in half every few whacks. Do this for a couple of minutes.
Roll out dough until it’s 1/4 of an inch thick, and then fold it in half.
Using a round cutter (can use a glass or a cup if don’t have a biscuit cutter) cut out your biscuits from folded dough.
Place on a greased baking sheet close together (so they rise up not out), and bake for 15 minutes or until the tops are golden brown.
Makes 10-12 biscuits.



I will post pictures later this weekend.  I am on my way out the door to the Pearl Bluegrass Jam...more about that later, too.  


PrairieKerri

Removing Bottle Labels

I am on a real tear in my house this week.  I am trying desperately to do 'summer' cleaning.  You know, the kind of cleaning that hurts...both physically and emotionally.  We live in small space.  There are 5 of us sharing approximately 1000 square feet and between my milking equipment, my craft stash and my homeschooling books, there is very little room for my kids!  And, tomorrow we are heading south to my mother's home for the very last time....ever.  My mother passed away a little over two years ago and we finally got it together to sell her house and move forward.  I will post about that over the weekend, as I am sure it will be an emotional trip, which I would be happy to share with you.  But, for today I thought I would share something fun and simple.  Matter of fact, I had no idea how simple it really was.   I am a sucker for western themed wine bottles and jump at the chance to try them, even if they are a robust red wine that makes me gag as I swallow it...it's all about the label, Baby.  Feel free to share the names of any and I will be happy to rush out and make the bottle disappear in order to attain the bless-ed label!  So, I have had these two bottles, one being the Purple Cowboy, which I will have you know that my hubby actually sampled!  Doesn't matter if he immediately gagged, choked and spit it at me.  It was a VERY strong red wine which forced me to commit wine tasting sins of great magnitudes...I put ice in it to choke it down.  I am of a frugal sort, so pouring it down the drain and wasting $11 wasn't happening.  In hind site, perhaps cooking with it would have been less traumatic.  Hind site is always 20/20.  Back to the bottles which had been moving from place to place in my kitchen.  Once they lived on the little shelf over my stove, another time the lived on top of the refrigerator and most recently they sat on my antique dresser next to the coffee pots.  I think I knew at that point that they were doomed.  They, in no way, were necessary.  So, today, during spring cleaning I looked at them...then, they looked at me....then I looked at them and immediately googled on my phone how to remove wine labels.  Who knew there were so many websites dedicated to this sort of thing.  Easy peasy....watch this.

Place your bottle (or bottles for those lushes out there) on your oven rack label side up.  Turn your oven on and set your timer for 5-7 minutes.  Of course, more is better is the motto in our family, so I let 'em go to 9 minutes.  I am such a rebel.   Then, remove a bottle with a pot holder and place it standing up on a dish towel.  Take a razor blade or exacto knife and gently lift the edge of one corner of the label.  When you have lifted enough, use your fingers to gently peel it the rest of the way off. 

The glue will be very tacky so try not to lean over and inspect your

accomplishment.   Your hair will fall over your shoulder, get stuck and leave you spinning in circles like a dog chasing it's tail trying to get the blasted thing out.  Finally, you will sit on the floor and ask your 4 year old to rescue you and you might end up with a bald spot.  To prevent all this, just turn the little label right side down and place on your counter or a cookie sheet and move on to the next step. 

At this point you can either adhere the little goody directly onto paper (for you crafters out there, some other trinket that you wish to decopage with wine labels) or you can dust with a light coat of baby powder.  This is the route I went as I have no immediate plans for them, but given time, I will.... 

On a final note, the strangest thing happened to me today.  Being that I blogged about the Fisher & Paykel Wonder Washer yesterday, I received an email today that 'Fisher Paykel' requested to follow me on Twitter.  I was intrigued so I accepted their request.  Immediately, it took me to their home page where I found this Tweet...

"Kerri from Texas, wrote this awesome blog post!  Her encompassing story to find the washer of her dreams." 

.....with a link to my blog!  Oh, my stars, am I famous?  I mean they have 729 followers!  And, how in tarnation did these folks find my blog post....so quickly to boot.  Whatever computer program they have scouring the internet needs to be acquired by the US government to monitor all illegal activites.  Maybe Fisher & Paykel could contract it out to them....the next movement in National Security?

Lubya,

Prairie Kerri

The Porsche of Washing Machines

Yesterday, July 4th, so many Americans were celebrating our nation's independence, but I selfishly was celebrating mine.  You see, about 5 months ago, my dryer went out and being the prairie-girl that I am, I embraced that challenge to it's fullest.  No, ma'am, I did not complain when I had to hang out my laundry in sub-zero temperatures and snow....

but the Lord knows my heart.....I wanted to.  And, I would like to say that to date I didn't complain....often.  And, in my final days of a dryer-less life, I would like to note that it wasn't me that complained the loudest.  I did learn that you can, in fact, freeze dry clothes. Who knew, right?  However, with the changing of the seasons and  the sudden, and quite unexpected monsoon season brought on with Hurricane Alex, I found myself making statements to my son, innocently looking for a pair of jeans, like...."I don't know what to tell you...do chores in your undewear, we live in the country, boy!"  I tried that on my husband and that's when the axe fell.  Okay, not really, but it was getting down to the wire on his clean clothes inventory. 

So, this is the story of how we acquired a new, or not new, dryer (and washer)...

For those of you that know our family intimately, you know that any "major" purchase is excruciating for me.  It feeds an ongoing inner-struggle of do we 'want' or 'need' said item.  And, with this particular issue, the pendulum swung between 'want' and 'need' depending on the weather.  And given the length of time one needs to research every reasonably priced laundry appliance thoroughly, there has been many a change in weather.  So, yesterday morning I slept in until 6:08 and was greeted with a cheery phone call from Hye Country Heather who chirped , "Goooood Morning!"  She was clearly dillusional and had lost track of her days.  It is an unspoken rule that Sunday is a day of rest and should be considered sacred.  So, I quickly assessed that she must have lost Sunday and had moved on to Monday."Heather, what in tarnation are you doing up this early on a Sunday?".   Her family had purchased a rather large quantity of some of the Texas Hillcountry's finest peaches and she was dutifully going to her mom's house to peel, slice, dice and chop those babies to turn them into the nectar of the gods....her prize winning Peach Preserves (I am hoping she will share that recipe on her blog at a later date...if not, because you all need it, I will do what any good blogger does and steal the secret family recipe and blog it for all the world to read!).  She later confessed that she was trying to "get" me since I routinely call her...daily...as her morning wake up call. You know the one, "IT'S TIME TO GET UP! THE DAYS AWASTIN'! WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU ARE, A PRINCESS OR SOMETHING?" **Note to all of you who also provide, as a service to your friends, morning wake up calls....make sure it is the intended person that actually answers the phone before battering them with a barrage of loud verbal assualts. I am quite convinced that only the intended person will truly appreciate being woke from their slumber this way.

So, for the next 6 hours at my home, the great search was on for THE perfect dryer.  We scanned craigslist and researched and looked online at Independence Day sales.  In the beginning, I was excited, hoping to find 'THE ONE'.  But, somewhere between hour 4 and hour 5 of the research, I began to lose my enthusiasm.  I am not sure if it was hunger or the nagging feeling like we should be putting up the chicken yard and planting honeysuckle around it, but something caused me to have a change of heart.  Oh, I remember now, it was the fact that the sun was shining at this point and I didn't need a dryer (did you see the pendulum swing right before your very eyes?).  After all was said and done, we had decided on a Fisher & Paykel dryer.  Mainly because the consumer reviews on both the washer, which sounded amazing, and the dryer were almost unanimously good.  Lowe's had them and were running a special that all major appliances were 10% off....all, that is, except Fisher & Paykel!  WHAT?!?! 

The end of all to the day was we found a Fisher Paykel washer and a Kenmore Elite dryer (which had terrible reviews) both which were 4 years old for $250.  That price for the washer alone would have been a great deal in itself.  You see this magical washer does amazing things to your laundry; things like spinning at 1000 rpm's during the spin cycle and starting every load with a 5-10 minutes intense wash with a minimal amount of water and your detergent.  Oh, and the major selling point to my husband (and almost a foreign language to me), it has a direct drive motor.  Girls, this means something like... there is no belt and it's more like a power tool, I think.  Now, the pendulum flat broke because at this point, I definitely no longer need a dryer, but I NEEDED that washer.  So, we merrily drove 2 hours away to pick this set up and I resigned to using the (terribly reviewed) Kenmore Elite dryer to its death all the while enjoying the awesomeness of the Fisher & Paykel washer.  It definitely will make up for the junky dryer, right? Oh, I shouldn't be so hard on the poor ol' Kenmore dryer.  It's a Mr. Fancy Pants, too.  He is all digital and fancy and even has a moisture sensor, but no matter how I look at him, he will never be a Fisher & Paykel.  Non-the-less, he is mine and I will use him. 

So, on a side note, Hye Country Heather called as we were on our way to pick them up.  I hadn't talked to her all day to let her know of our adventure.  I immediately tell her of the F&P washing machines greatness and this was her response:

      It sure is hard to be your friend sometimes.  Here I am sitting here at home, perfectly content with my washer and dryer and you have to go out and find the Porsche of all washers and dryers....

I reply...."Yep!"

So, I am off to finish up driving my Porsche....errr....washing anything and everything I can find.  My laundry today has been unusually clean and that is a miracle.  Between my farm-schooled kids and my hubby who is a farrier (does anyone out there know how bad stinky horse feet mixed with sweat smell),  it is truly a testament for the cleaning power of the Fisher & Paykel Ecosmart washing machine!  Oh, just to quell your curiosity and to help you be efficient of your time, here is a pic of the little beauty.  I don't want you to go off wastin' more time looking around for one on the internet.  I mean, I am sure you have laundry to do or somethin', right?

Lubya,

Prairie Kerri

Peach Salsa

My first attempt at this was six summers ago, with Hye Country Heather and her our dear mother, Oma.  If I haven't already shared with you, I adopted Oma many years back.  She's mine for the keeping and I have already told Heather that if I ever have to fight her for Oma, I'll do it....and I am meaner than Heather....she knows it.  But, for now, there is peace....we will share Oma.  But, in the summer of 2004, Heather and I met at her mother's for a weekend of canning and kolache making.  I jokingly called it our own 'Jamboree'.  We made kolaches, peach preserves, peach chutney, tomato preserves, grape jelly (we both got chiggers from that little adventure) and the bless-ed (you must say it like that....two words, people) PEACH SALSA! 

It has been many years, obviously, since we made it (for those of you who are bad at math, that's 6).  I was blessed this year by a friend to go pick all the peaches I wanted - immediately I heard the voice in my head whisper softly....Peach Salsa.  However, I became a little over-whelmed with the 75+ pounds I picked, and ended up freezing all of those all doused in sugar.  But, still I heard the voice chiming in when I laid my eyes upon our loaded tomato plants.  You see, when we planted our garden this spring, I dreamed at night of all the tomatoes I would have.  I would can them whole, diced, Rotel style and even make spaghetti sauce.  Oh, how I dreamed.  Pshaw!  I haven't picked a ripe one yet.  They set tons, but it got so hot they never turned.  Then, in the still of the night just 2 weeks back, some lowly scoundrel came and plucked off every last one of my green tomatoes.  To date, I still cannot explain what happened to them.  Was it the great Tomato Horn Worm (whom I have come to love feeding to my chickens) or was it Little Peter Cottontail?  I may never know, but since then, I have been babysitting my tomato plants...checking them morning, noon and night.  All this trauma aside, there was still a nagging for me to make the Peach Salsa.  So, what does any good prairiegirl do?  She goes into her local, small town grocery store and squeals with excitement when both peaches and tomatoes are on sale, loads up and heads back home to start a cookin' (only to find out that she forgot after 6 years that she needed apples, too).  Lucky for her, her darling husband calls and asks if she needs anything before he heads home that evening.  He truly is my knight in shining armor! 

Before I get on with sharing the recipe, I thought I would share a tutorial video on how to slip the skins off of tomatoes.  If you don't heed the advice of this video, I am done with you.  There is nothing left to say....we will sever this relationship and part ways.  Okay, maybe a little dramatic, but seriously, you hard-headed folks that attempt to just peel them with your purty little paring knife will come around after 2 or 3 tomatoes.  Ask me how I know.  On a side note, I have heard that you can do this with the peaches, too.  I am too hard-headed for that nonsense, plus the peaches I got at the store were more like softball texture, so I could actually peel them with my handy-dandy Pampered Chef vegetable peeler (did you like that little plug there?). 

So, watch this short clip on peeling tomatoes, then proceed to recipe.....

PEACH SALSA

15 tomatoes, peeled and chopped
5 fresh peaches (preferably ripe and sweet), peeled, pitted and chopped
5 red apples, peeled, cored and diced
4 medium onions, diced
4 stalks celery, diced
1 1/2 cups distilled white vinegar
1 Tbs. salt
1 cup pickling spice (not to be confused with pickling salt), wrapped in cheesecloth

Combine all in a large stock pot.  Bring to a boil; reduce heat to low and simmer for ~ 2 hours or until thickened.  Transfer to sterile jars.

**My note on this recipe was this:  'Almost botched the frist time when Heather came home with pickling SALT instead of pickling SPICE! 

This is super yummy over cream cheese!  Enjoy!

Prairie Kerri

P.S.  For a little garden education I thought I would share a picture of the Great Tomato Horn Worm and the moth it turns into.  They both are in my sites and I will kill them all....

Bad Blogger...

I have to first say that I am sorry.  I am sorry to all the masses of people that read my blog, or rather don't read my blog because I haven't posted in months.  This is such a busy season for us.  We've been busy planting, weeding, harvesting, preserving and mixed in with all of that we had our county fair and the last of our 4-H events.  However, all that whining aside, it has been brought to my attention (on numerous occassions) that I am a bad blogger.  Last night, I received an email that made me truly realize the consequences of my actions, or lack thereof.  Here is the email:


Idea


From: Hye Country Heather

To: Prairie Kerri
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------


You should make a note to try Dr. Pepper Cake as an idea for your fair next year.


I'm also getting board with the 100+ days of cornmeal cookies on your blog. I have the placement of your ornaments on that section of the tree burned into my memory.




This was preceded by other emails.  One demanding me to blog about our recent trip to SeaWorld and the Alamo with her and her family.....

And, another desperate attempt trying to get me to blog about my kitchen after a day in my life.  This was spurred when Pioneer Woman blogged about the state of her kitchen after a day of cooking.  It made me laugh because her kitchen still looked like she had a clean up crew.  If it were me, the camera lens would have had flour haze across it making the onlooker wonder if they were suffering from a sudden onset of cataracts. Not to mention, I often try to create a small scale replica of the leaning tower of Pisa with stacks of dishes. But, I wasn't about to fall into her trap.  No siree!  Seriously, take a look at PW's kitchen! Pshaw!

 

So, here you have it.  I will try desperately to get back on the train and blog again.  I know y'all have been sitting on the edge of your seats, barely able to get on with your daily lives.  I just can't keep you hanging any longer!

Prairie Kerri

P.S.  Oh, my stars!  When I previewed this post, I learned that it has been 147 since I tweeted, too!  Stay tuned...

Cornmeal Lime Cookies

The name sounds strange.  A little weird even.  But, they are so super yummy you'll just have to get over it.  Little Man made these last year for the county fair so they are now "his".  We made them this afternoon and it made my wonder why I hadn't made them in almost a year.  They remind me of spring.  The freshness and lightness that comes right with it.  I also must confess that after having snow just a few days ago, I am SO ready for the warmth of the sun.  Maybe if I eat a dozen of these cookies every day for the next 2 weeks spring will go ahead and come.  OK, maybe not, but it might be fun trying!

Oh, dear!  What's that in the background?  Surely not?  My Christmas Tree?  You might be saying....you've got to be kidding?  No siree, I absolutely am not.  I was going to just leave it up until next year.  So, many of my friends thought I couldn't do it (I love a challenge).  It wasn't until a couple of weeks ago, that my dear husband mouthed off that the ornaments sure were going to get dusty.  It's coming down tomorrow.  I can't stand to dust!

Cornmeal Lime Cookies

2 sticks of butter
1 c. sugar
1 large egg
4 tsp. lime zest
2 tsp. orange zest (I never use this, I just use 6 tsp of lime zest)
2 tsp. fresh squeezed lime juice
1/2 tsp. almond extract (you can use vanilla if it strikes your fancy)
1 1/2 c. all purpose flour
1 c. yellow cornmeal

Cream the butter.  Then, add the sugar and mix well.  Add the egg.  Beat until well mixed.  Add the zest, juice and extract.  Mix but don't overbeat. 
Add the flour and cornmeal.  Mix.  Cover with plastic wrap and chill for 1 hour.  NOTE TO CHEATERS:  Don't attempt to bake these without chilling.  Don't you even think about it!
Use 1/2 oz. scoop (the Pampered Chef medium scoop is perfect....I'm just sayin'!) and scoop and form balls.   Place onto ungreased cookie sheet (or Pampered Chef bar pan....hint, hint).
Use a flat bottom glass - dip in cornmeal and press the cookies flat.
Bake at 350 degrees for 14-16 minutes or until the edges are browned.  Remove from oven and cool completely.

Meanwhile, prepare the glaze!
     GLAZE:
          Sift 3 1/4 c. powdered sugar into a bowl.  Stir in 8 Tbs. freshly squeezed lime juice.  Add 2 1/2 tsp. fresh lime zest.  Stir or whisk these together.  Spoon ~ 1 Tbs. of glaze over each cookie.  Let dry completely.  Then desperately search for hiding spots to tuck these away so that you can actually enjoy one or two (or a dozen if you're trying to invite spring to your house).

PrairieKerri

The Legend of Louise Rosenow

The title makes you think you should know her.  Most of you don't, but will.  Louise Rosenow was an early example of a true pioneer woman and I am blessed to say she is my great-grandmother.  Recently, I found a newspaper article the my mother had transcribed that was an account of my great-grandmother's life.  Within it's words, I found such a connection with her.  She passed away when I was around 4, the same age as my youngest child.  So, my memories of her are few.  Finding this article really made me appreciate the type of woman she was and that I strive to be.  And,  it's odd how many similar interests we share.  Mine often by choice and hers by necessity.  The following story was written by Mrs. Coleta Cox of Uvalde for the Zavala County Sentinel.  She was a journalist that had an interest in preserving pioneer stories.

        

        Spanning the Years with Louise Rosenow



The sprawling, rock ranch house was fronted by tiers of multi-colored flowers all with faces drooping in deference to the scorching rays of the afternoon sun - this was before the rains came. Inside, it was cool and comfortable and Louise Rosenow though well into her eighties, flitted about, busy as a bee and just about as active.

The twentieth century has been a time of progress and great change and Mrs. Rosenow is the kind of person who not only saw those changes take place but also shouldered her share of the work that is always involved with progress and growth. Here is her story:


“I was born August 9, 1887, six miles north of Hondo at the small community of Vandenburg. My mother, Katherine Grossenbacher, was born in D’Hanis, however her parents came to Texas from Switzerland. My father, Louis Mumme, was born at Castorville but his parents came over here from Berlin, Germany.”


The “fairy tales” and “Mother Goose” stories that Mrs. Rosenow grew up with were the true accounts of Indian raids on those frontier settlements as recalled by her mother and an uncle. Her favorite was of the time her grandfather had sent her mother to a nearby pasture to bring in his prized race horse. Just as she caught the horse, Indians rode into the field. Trembling with fear, she jumped astride the horse and turned him loose. Fortunately for her, the horse outran the “pursing Reskins”.


Another of these Indian stories she recalled was of the capture of her mother’s sister by the Redmen. Only a few hours following her capture however, the raiding party was intercepted by a party of white men who were unaware of the raid, but seeing the white girl could guess as to what had happened. By chance, the white men had some sheepskins with them, which they were able to trade for the girl.


“While my mother was growing up, quite often when Indians were raiding the coutnryside, the families of a community would all gather at one farm and the men would take turns standing guard. They called this “bushwhacking”.


In those early days, vegetables in the winter was unheard of, so at the first signs of spring many frontier housewives would search the woods for wild greens. I recall my parents telling of one such family who lived near them and of their fondness for wild lettuce. One spring while gathering wild lettuce, however, a poison plant was picked by mistake and with the exception of the two eldest boys who were away from home at the time, the entire family was wiped out - poisoned! I was too young to remember the incident but did know the two boys who survived, in later years.


I got all my schooling at the one-room school at Vandenburg,” she continued. “The schools weren’t graded then but I probably completed what would be the equivalent of the seventh or eighth grade today. I attended school until I was 15 and had only two teachers in all those years: Mr. Willie Saathoff and Mr. Henry Heyen. Both of them were very good teachers, too. I liked school very much and enjoyed every subject I studied. I walked a mile to school every day, then there were plenty of chores to do when I got home in the afternoon: cows to bring in from the pasture amile from the house. There was corn to shuck and hogs to feed as Father always kept a large bunch of them; we put up our own meat and made lots of good sausage.


I had eleven brothers and three sisters; I was in the middle. I learned to sew while quite young and was soon the seamstress for the family, training that surely came in handy later on in life. I made all of my brothers shirts and their underwear in addition to all of my own clothes, but I never learned to knit, though I crocheted very well. I never had to go to the field to work however, as many girls and women did.


There wasn’t a doctor in Hondo during those early years, but I’m sure there must have been one in Castroville, though we never used him; didn’t need him. We were never sick and Mother always doctored us children through our childhood diseases with home-made remedies.


There wasn’t an undertaker in Hondo at that time either. The neighbors always came in to “lay out” the body when death came and sometimes the men even made caskets.


I attended church at New Fountain, a rural church a few miles out of Hondo. I went to the Lutheran church for a time then to the Methodist congregation and was baptized, though Mother had all of us baptized in infancy.


There wasn’t much social life when I was growing up, but oh, how I did love to dance! There was always a big dance at Castroville on Christmas and the Fourth of July and sometimes in between times. My brothers and one of the neighbor boys would take us in a hack. It was fifteen miles one way and would take about 2 hours to drive it. A delicious supper would be served at midnight then we would dance until two o’clock in the morning so it would be almost daylight before we got home. Music was furnished by a band from San Antonio and how I looked forward to those dances!


In 1909, I married W. C. Martin of Hondo. We were married in the Methodist church at New Fountain with the Rev. Mehner officiating. A strange thing happened on our wedding day; I told my husband it was a bad sign. We were going home from the church following the ceremony, when one of the horses pulling our hack balked. We had to get out and walk before that horse would budge up thehill!


Mr. Martin worked for the city of Hondo and we lived in town. In 1920, he passed away leaving me with 5 small children and a small ranch on the outskirts of Hondo.


There wasn’t any social security in those days and the income from the ranch was inadequate for a growing family, so I decided to take in sewing. I had had plenty of experience and could make anything, then too this allowed me to stay at home with my children. I sewed mostly for women who had plenty of money; they would go to San Antonio and buy good quality heavily beaded and embroidered dresses so popular during the twenties. For making a coat or elaborately decorated dress I was paid five dollars while for a plain cotton housedress I received a dollar fifty. I even made ladies underthings. For eight years I burned lots of midnight oil sewing but with the small income derived from the ranch I was able to provide well for my children.


I kept a cow in town, during those years of widowhood so we had an ample supply of milk, butter and cheese. I used to make a cooked cheese from skimmed milk which my children loved, a German cheese. I mixed cream and butter with it and they used it for a spread on their bread. The children were too small to be of much help, though Wesley did help me in the kitchen some.


In 1928, I married John Rosenow of Carta Valley, in Edward County. He was several years older than I was and when he asked me to marry him I said ‘Yes’ on one condition: the he gave my children a home, too. He said, ‘Of course, they’ll have a home! There will be plenty of work for the boys!’ And he employed all four of them, too.


Mr. Rosenow had a sizeable ranch that was well-stocked with sheep and goats and there was a large two-story house at Carta Valley. I sold my small ranch at Hondo and we moved my cattle up there. He always employed several hands so finding a job for my boys was no problem and they all the freedom of ranch life.


I had never lived that far away from town before, it was forty miles into Del Rio, but I was accustomed to hard work so the ranch work didn’t seem overly hard to me. I always cooked for all the hands that worked on the main home ranch. I baked four large loaves of bread every day and my, how those Mexican sheepherders went for that fresh home-baked bread.


There was lots of fame at Carta Valley and the boys enjoyed hunting. They were always amused when they rounded up the herds to find deer mixed in with the sheep and goats. To market the animals, they had to be driven into Del Rio where they were then loaded into stock cars and shipped by rail. The drive would take three days but the boys enjoyed them and the nights camping out on the road.


There were lots of fur-bearing animals in the hills, so my youngest son, Hilmer, trapped during the winter months and made all of the pocket money that way.


There was interdenominational church in Carta Valley when I first went there which we attended. Due to lack of interest the doors were closed however, and we were forced to go into Del Rio for church services. Of course, I couldn’t go regularly but I did belong to the Missionary Society of the First Methodist Church and went whenever possible. It was quite lonesome out there, so far from everything.


Not too long after I married Mr. Rosenow this country went into the depression of the terrible thirties! There was no money, no jobs and every city had a coup line to feed its hungry! On the ranch we had plenty to eat but we didn’t have any money. Couldn’t even pay our taxes. No one could. There wasn’t even money to pay the school teacher’s salaries. Oh, it was terrible!


It was at this critical time that Franklin Roosevelt became our president. Under the pretext of ‘helping us’, he sent men in and killed off our livestock. They paid two dollars a head for fat young kids and fourteen dollars per head for the calves. The only cattle we had were the ones I had moved from my ranch at Hondo, but Oh, the young kids they slaughtered and left laying on the ground! Think about it! People here at home crying from hunger and all that meat spoiling; going to waste! A mexican here on the ranch cut the fat from a lot of the kids and we made a kettle after kettle of lye soap.


There was an old dry well on the ranch that the boys filled up with carcasses, then some were piled in caves. The government forbid them being used for food.


During those bleak years we sold wool for eight cents a pound and couldn’t sell mohair at any price; finally burned it to get it out of the way.


Following the worst of the depression, we bought fifteen sections of land here in the western part of Uvalde county. Then, seven days before Pearl Harbor, Mr. Rosenow passed away and once more I was alone.


Mr. Rosenow had nine children by an earlier marriage and since the Edwards county ranch was rightfully theirs, I moved tthe Uvalde county ranch, which he had bought for me. There was a good ranch house on the place but it was located in the back pasture, off the highway and the road into it was so hard to keep in shape that I felt I needed to make a change.


First, I built a house in Uvalde, but I never lived in it. I just couldn’t move into town; I like country living. I sold the new house in town and began to gather rocks from the ranch to build a new ranch house, which I completed in 1949 and here I’ve been ever since.


Several summers I went on organized tours by bus and train to visit scenic and historical spots of interest all over the United States and Canada. One summer I took two grand-daughters to California for a couple of weeks. We went all over Hollywood and toured television studios and saw several T.V. shows; we really had a time.


I’ve killed lots of rattlesnakes on this place and I keep a 410 shotgun handy for snakes and varmits. Not too long ago however, I killed the largest rattler I’ve ever seen. It was only five-foot long but was unusually thick though; must have been twice as big around as an average rattlesnake. I was out in the flower garden and I walked right by without seeing it, but my dog came along and began to bark so I got my gun and killed it.


I used to kill lots of armadillos; they would just ruin my flowers. I haven’t seen any lately so guess I thinned them out.


I had a frigthening experience a few years ago. About dark one evening, my dog treed a coon just outside the yard so I grabbed my gun and a flashlight and went out there. The coon jumped from the tree and ran to another and I followed. He continued this with me following until I suddenly stopped, looked around, and realized I couldn’t see a light anywhere. I began to scan the skyline for my windmill and when I couldn’t find it, I knew I was lost. I couldn’t even see any car lights on the highway so I began walking in the direction that I thought home lay. It wasn’t long until I discovered I was going in circles though, so I sat down to try to reason things out. It was then I recalled the highline, which crossed the pasture I was in and also went close to the house. I once more took the flashlight and began a careful search of the sky for the power lines. Finally, the dim beam of the light struck the wires and I followed them home. I had wandered around aimlessly about for more than an hour but it sure taught me a lesson; not to go out alone at night. This was the year that so many rattlesnakes were killed between Uvalde and Crystal City but I didn’t see a one that night.


I have never been sick and three years ago when my house cat came in with its throat chewed up I never thought too much about it and cared for it the best I could. A few days later though when he suddenly attacked me and sank his teeth into one of my ankles, I became frightened and called the doctor. As it turned out, the cat was rabid; I had to take rabies shots and was hospitalized over a week with an infected ankle.


I have always loved flowers and joined the Iris Garden Club soon after moving to Uvalde. One of the proudest moments of my life came when I was awarded the silver bowl at the annual flower show a few years ago; this is given to the member winning the most first place ribbons and you keep it for a year.


One of the first things I did on moving to Uvalde was to join the First Methodist Church. I especially enjoyed the Wednesday morning Bible class. Ten years ago I was made a life member of the Women’s Society of Christian Services by the local society, something I was quite happy about.


I’m also a member of El Progresso and of the Homemaker’s Home Demonstrations Clubs. Since my retirement from active ranching in 1959, these organizations and my church work fill my time.”


The afternoon I visited with Mrs. Rosenow, she had just returned from town where she had had her driver’s license renewed. “I’ve been driving for fifty years,” she recalled, “and never so much as dented a fender in all of those years. I learned how to drive a Model T Ford. I always try to drive carefully and watch out for the other person.”


Mrs. Rosenow has four children living; Elmer, the oldest boy passed away a few years ago. Willie lives in Uvalde and ranches out west of town; Wesley farms in Yuma, Arizona and Hilmer, the youngest boy and “my right-hand”, as his mother described him, lives near her and ranches. Lorene, the only daughter is married to George Love and lives in Sinton, Texas.


She was an amazing woman and I will humbly say that I am not half the woman she was....

PrairieKerri