Fourth name for this recipe. SCROLL TO BOTTOM FOR RECIPE AND TWEAKS.
I never really had a good name for this one. I wanted a juice name that reflected how I felt about this juice. I knew I was gonna post the recipe, and this morning as I looked at it, its "farm life".
The journey is a story. It's Watermelon. Ugh.....again.
Back in the day (60's and 70's), I was a youngin. Often visited the farm of my maternal parents. They were Ogre's and it was kept a secret from me until I was older.
My Grandma always woke before the sun. She was made that way. Always tendin' to chores, and a raisin' seven children.
Grandpa was a school teacher, that was his chores. Teaching life. But Grandma taught life too. She kept the home.
As real youngin', about 6 years old or so, you've already learned about this "mysterious creature" that had adopted Grandma. The old ones had all heard it, Grandma was the only one to see it.
I had already heard about the Braxton County Monster at this age, but now I know Grandma had her own. This was big! It was scary!
Grandma's routine just about every morning was to get up early and tend to chores inside the house and feed the chickens about the time the ole rooster crowed. All the while shes a wearin' an apron and fixing breakfast (vittles), for everyone who had slept there that past night, even a houseful.
One of her chore's was the walk down the dirt and rock driveway to the black top road and fetch the newspaper, in the pitch dark. It was a special treat for her.
This farm was nestled at the openin' of a hollar. (hollow) It was about a hundred yards to the blacktop. There was a tree lined creek on one side and partial woods close to the house on the other. Grandma was never afraid.
Grandpa liked the newspaper with his breakfast. He also liked that big ole country breakfast Grandma made for him.
The story goes like this. Grandma would hear the newspaper delivery long before the sun came up. She'd wipe her hands on her apron and head down the driveway. It didn't matter to her the weather, snow, ice, heat, wind, rain, flood, she fetched the newspaper.
It's pioneering up there in the mountains. You learn you can't let the weather interfere with chores, the livin' you do, and you just throw on a coat or boots and tend to business. I swear, I didn't know they were Ogres at this point.
Just about every mornin' she made this trek down the driveway in the dark, and her "monster", would follow the tree line and growl, or screetch, or howl, or somethin'. I know cause I was one of the first grandkids and I heard it. It made the hair on my arms stand up and I shivered a bit.
I'm an early riser. Up on the farm it let me sit in the warm small kitchen as Grandma worked around me. It was like she had somting on the stove, in the oven, but always had something going on top of the baked enamel table. Kneading biscuits (using lard), dicing apples, or a stringin' beans, Grandma didn't have idle hands.
Being up before everyone else had its perks, like being able to sneak a glass of the homemade canned grape juice, one of the coveted treasures kept locked in the cellar house.
We talked about "The varmit". Grandma giggled at times telling us about it. All the older folks, her kids (parents, aunts and uncles), had heard it, and swore it was real. It's name to us was "Velvies Varmit".
The first time I heard it I was instructed to sit quietly in the dark right inside the screen door, while Grandma quietly went after the newspaper.
"Don't make a peep, it can hear you......"
It was probably a couple years later when I heard it the second time. As usual, I was up when it was just me an Grandma. Probably ten years old, I heard the newspaper delivery and offered to fetch it. Grandma gave me a knowing look, her varmit was out there. I grinned knowingly.
"I'm not scared, it's your Varmit."
"Walk quiet out the door and down the chimney stone walk to the driveway," she said. I was about to bust! Grandma was letting me do it!
I kept my head down and arms in front folded as i went out the door, but let me tell you my eyes were on a swivel! I took the few steps across the porch on gentle feet, and went down the concrete steps on tippy toes. At the end of the sidewalk I had to turn towards the creek and have my back to the closest woods where the Varmit roamed!
I gotta admit, I was a probably a prayin'. It was about the second or third step on the old chimney stone walkway when I heard it. Behind me!
I jumped, most likely out of my skin. Then I turned around really fast to see it. But I didn't, so I threw up a hand and said "Hi, I'm Greg, I won't hurt you."
I scurried on down the driveway in the dark to the box and fetched the newspaper. When I returned I found Grandma in the kitchen and she just beamed at me her biggest loving smile.
"I heard IT !!!!!" I probably woke the whole house with this..and was probably shushed.
It wasn't till a few years later I found out Grandma and Grandpa were Ogres. I was around 14 years old or so. I got up early one summer morning for kitchen serenity with Grandma. (And the juice, and biscuits...)
We both heard the newspaper delivery and I again offered to tend to this chore.
"Is the Varmit still around?"
Grandma's face dropped.
"I haven't heard it in a while now but it may still be around."
I just knew. It's when I figured out I was an Ogre too, and a secret I had to keep.
I touched her on the arm, "I'll get the paper."
Part of this Ogre secret isn't about me. It's about my Grandparents. They were like the King and Queen of all the Ogres. It's a magic gift. The townspeople all knew this but you never heard a one speak of it. They all knew when my Grandparents were around they needn't fear cause all the other Ogres respected them. They lived off the hard work and the land, it was their rule. They were both teachers.
Back to that day when I took those tenative steps down the chimney stone walk. The one fact I knew was that Grandma was gonna stand quietly inside the screen storm door (and silently giggle) while watching me grow up. I knew she had a "oneness" to all of the life around her. I knew, bear, mountain lion, wolf, or any other critter around, all Grandma had to do was say "Shoo" and I'd be safe. The Varmit was real.
An all Tpa recipe.
The Varmit
Tpa Watermelon. 6.5%
Tpa Bluberry Xtra. 5%
Tpa Sweet Strawberry. 2%
Tpa Graham Clear. 2%
Tpa Vanilla Swirl. 2%
Tpa Whipped Cream. 2%
Watermelon was a struggle for me. I figure i was ballpark on this one.
P.S. If asked, I'll tell you we think The Varmit was a Bobcat, but 'round these parts you never know.....
We speculate this cat, or whatever, was making its rounds at the same time Grandma was tending to her chores. They just got used to each other and co existed with boundries or respect, and probably both.
Honestly, I was more excited to hear it than scared. Make no mistake, I was a prayin'.......
Greg
I never really had a good name for this one. I wanted a juice name that reflected how I felt about this juice. I knew I was gonna post the recipe, and this morning as I looked at it, its "farm life".
The journey is a story. It's Watermelon. Ugh.....again.
Back in the day (60's and 70's), I was a youngin. Often visited the farm of my maternal parents. They were Ogre's and it was kept a secret from me until I was older.
My Grandma always woke before the sun. She was made that way. Always tendin' to chores, and a raisin' seven children.
Grandpa was a school teacher, that was his chores. Teaching life. But Grandma taught life too. She kept the home.
As real youngin', about 6 years old or so, you've already learned about this "mysterious creature" that had adopted Grandma. The old ones had all heard it, Grandma was the only one to see it.
I had already heard about the Braxton County Monster at this age, but now I know Grandma had her own. This was big! It was scary!
Grandma's routine just about every morning was to get up early and tend to chores inside the house and feed the chickens about the time the ole rooster crowed. All the while shes a wearin' an apron and fixing breakfast (vittles), for everyone who had slept there that past night, even a houseful.
One of her chore's was the walk down the dirt and rock driveway to the black top road and fetch the newspaper, in the pitch dark. It was a special treat for her.
This farm was nestled at the openin' of a hollar. (hollow) It was about a hundred yards to the blacktop. There was a tree lined creek on one side and partial woods close to the house on the other. Grandma was never afraid.
Grandpa liked the newspaper with his breakfast. He also liked that big ole country breakfast Grandma made for him.
The story goes like this. Grandma would hear the newspaper delivery long before the sun came up. She'd wipe her hands on her apron and head down the driveway. It didn't matter to her the weather, snow, ice, heat, wind, rain, flood, she fetched the newspaper.
It's pioneering up there in the mountains. You learn you can't let the weather interfere with chores, the livin' you do, and you just throw on a coat or boots and tend to business. I swear, I didn't know they were Ogres at this point.
Just about every mornin' she made this trek down the driveway in the dark, and her "monster", would follow the tree line and growl, or screetch, or howl, or somethin'. I know cause I was one of the first grandkids and I heard it. It made the hair on my arms stand up and I shivered a bit.
I'm an early riser. Up on the farm it let me sit in the warm small kitchen as Grandma worked around me. It was like she had somting on the stove, in the oven, but always had something going on top of the baked enamel table. Kneading biscuits (using lard), dicing apples, or a stringin' beans, Grandma didn't have idle hands.
Being up before everyone else had its perks, like being able to sneak a glass of the homemade canned grape juice, one of the coveted treasures kept locked in the cellar house.
We talked about "The varmit". Grandma giggled at times telling us about it. All the older folks, her kids (parents, aunts and uncles), had heard it, and swore it was real. It's name to us was "Velvies Varmit".
The first time I heard it I was instructed to sit quietly in the dark right inside the screen door, while Grandma quietly went after the newspaper.
"Don't make a peep, it can hear you......"
It was probably a couple years later when I heard it the second time. As usual, I was up when it was just me an Grandma. Probably ten years old, I heard the newspaper delivery and offered to fetch it. Grandma gave me a knowing look, her varmit was out there. I grinned knowingly.
"I'm not scared, it's your Varmit."
"Walk quiet out the door and down the chimney stone walk to the driveway," she said. I was about to bust! Grandma was letting me do it!
I kept my head down and arms in front folded as i went out the door, but let me tell you my eyes were on a swivel! I took the few steps across the porch on gentle feet, and went down the concrete steps on tippy toes. At the end of the sidewalk I had to turn towards the creek and have my back to the closest woods where the Varmit roamed!
I gotta admit, I was a probably a prayin'. It was about the second or third step on the old chimney stone walkway when I heard it. Behind me!
I jumped, most likely out of my skin. Then I turned around really fast to see it. But I didn't, so I threw up a hand and said "Hi, I'm Greg, I won't hurt you."
I scurried on down the driveway in the dark to the box and fetched the newspaper. When I returned I found Grandma in the kitchen and she just beamed at me her biggest loving smile.
"I heard IT !!!!!" I probably woke the whole house with this..and was probably shushed.
It wasn't till a few years later I found out Grandma and Grandpa were Ogres. I was around 14 years old or so. I got up early one summer morning for kitchen serenity with Grandma. (And the juice, and biscuits...)
We both heard the newspaper delivery and I again offered to tend to this chore.
"Is the Varmit still around?"
Grandma's face dropped.
"I haven't heard it in a while now but it may still be around."
I just knew. It's when I figured out I was an Ogre too, and a secret I had to keep.
I touched her on the arm, "I'll get the paper."
Part of this Ogre secret isn't about me. It's about my Grandparents. They were like the King and Queen of all the Ogres. It's a magic gift. The townspeople all knew this but you never heard a one speak of it. They all knew when my Grandparents were around they needn't fear cause all the other Ogres respected them. They lived off the hard work and the land, it was their rule. They were both teachers.
Back to that day when I took those tenative steps down the chimney stone walk. The one fact I knew was that Grandma was gonna stand quietly inside the screen storm door (and silently giggle) while watching me grow up. I knew she had a "oneness" to all of the life around her. I knew, bear, mountain lion, wolf, or any other critter around, all Grandma had to do was say "Shoo" and I'd be safe. The Varmit was real.
An all Tpa recipe.
The Varmit
Tpa Watermelon. 6.5%
Tpa Bluberry Xtra. 5%
Tpa Sweet Strawberry. 2%
Tpa Graham Clear. 2%
Tpa Vanilla Swirl. 2%
Tpa Whipped Cream. 2%
Watermelon was a struggle for me. I figure i was ballpark on this one.
P.S. If asked, I'll tell you we think The Varmit was a Bobcat, but 'round these parts you never know.....
We speculate this cat, or whatever, was making its rounds at the same time Grandma was tending to her chores. They just got used to each other and co existed with boundries or respect, and probably both.
Honestly, I was more excited to hear it than scared. Make no mistake, I was a prayin'.......
Greg
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