Started the week off with the  sound of squishy four-legged mucking just shy of the back of our rig, waking our household. It signaled the movement of our Pineywoods cattle crossing from the left pasture to the far right pasture encouraged by our resident town of Washington “Trustees”, aka prisoners who work outside the prison. They had arrived early to do some fixin’ down on the farm.

I am surprised that the state and federal parks where we have volunteered previously have not taken advantage of local soon-to-be-released prisoners to help with the workload. It is a shame, as from what I have seen, they are polite, hard workers, friendly, willing to do whatever is asked of them and they have a guard supervising them at all times.

It is Saturday, our volunteer day and John’s favorite day.  Kelly is in the farm kitchen preparing a yummy chicken stew for the volunteers and staff at Barrington just as Anson Jones wife would have done using the farms poultry and fresh picked veggies and herbs back in the 1850’s.

I completely missed our big event this week, photographing the butchering/grinding/salting of the meat of Barrington’s hog.  John was down-on-the-farm in period dress helping while I volunteered in the Visitor Center during the event. No present day items are allowed while volunteering at Barrington so John was unable to get photos but Ginger, one of our rangers, took pictures.

BEFORE YOU VIEW THESE PICTURES, PLEASE NOTE…YOU WILL SEE PICTURES OF A SLAUGHTERED HOG.  BACON, PORK LOIN AND PORK CHOPS COME FROM A DEAD BUTCHERED HOG, JUST AS IT DID BACK IN THE 1850’S.

In keeping with the spirit of authenticity of an 1850’s farm, the hog was killed and brought to the butchering table at the farm.  The public is invited to watch the entire two day procedure.  The process begins with a dip in the boiling pot to scald and help remove the hair.

The skin is then scraped to remove as much hair as possible.

Next the hog is hung by the back hock tendons,

gutted and beheaded.  The beheading is somewhat gross so I left out the picture of the bloody hog head and entrails in the wheel barrel.

After being cut up and brined in salt for several weeks, the pieces are put in the smokehouse and smoked for a month.

And that, my friends, is how this little piggy goes from a farm animal, to that salty crispy flavorful breakfast food known as bacon.

After two years of living in a box on wheels, loud odd noises become the norm and you attempt to ignore all but the strangest. Early this morning erupted a sound so obviously something gone amiss, not quite the sound of struggling mechanical workings of LilyPad’s many systems, that I grabbed my camera and rushed outside in my PJ’s and slippers. Chrissie, a Texas Longhorn and the only bovine with which I have become familiar, was loudly proclaiming her displeasure two feet from our bedroom window. Deep throated boisterous growling, the closest description of the sound, was stubbornly being displayed. Apparently annoyed that the adjoining pasture was blocked just shy of the back of our rig, she became an opinionated heifer, not willing to overlook infractions of her wishes without comment .

Special treat this morning.  Ruth, an archeologist for Texas Parks and Wildlife, gave a presentation to all the park employees, volunteers and trustees.  The informational program and subsequent dig was to document any mixed matrix that might be found in the holes to be dug for the sign marking the demonstration kitchen building. The demonstration kitchen was built in the 1950’s to exhibit 1850’s wood fire cooking and Ruth had already determined that the site was most likely compromised.

With the help of our trustees, Ruth carefully dug down 4 inches, deposited the dirt onto the screen, trustees gave each shovelful sturdy shakes until only hard objects remained. The resulting objects were inspected, noted on paper, then deposited into plastic bags for microscopic inspection at a later date.

Each four inch deep, thirty centimeters square shovel test of screened excavated dirt revealed several pieces of Native American Indian pottery, brick chunks and “flakes” a.k.a. chips from arrowhead construction.

Although the dig was halted due to an obstruction, a 1950’s water pipe buried when the kitchen was built, several interesting pieces of history were presented to the group for inspection including a flake of obsidian.

Our trustees crew work here at the farm on a regular schedule.  We had breakfast with them a while back and because they aren’t given sweets often, I watched them pile their plates with sweets after the meal.  Seeing how much they enjoyed the sweets, I sent two good sized bags filled with goodies over to the shed from which they work, happy to see them enjoying the goodies after all their hard work here at Washington on the Brazos.   For a full two weeks afterwards, I have gotten heartfelt thanks each time I pass them by. Yes, the incarcerations include murder but John and I are with them frequently, talk with them several times a week and have not once felt threatened in their midst. I’ve had lengthy employment positions subjecting me to circumstances far more frightening than volunteering near guarded, soon-to-be-released, criminals.

Another day, another addition to “it’s always something”. A rip and fray of our largest slide out cover will be replaced at Red Bay Alabama later this year, our five solar panels have been increasingly problematic and several nights of wicked winter wind here in Washington snapped and splintered our US and Texas flag pole attached to the back of our rig.  Our dark and deserted-after-six-pm farm is the perfect venue to perform scream therapy and release pent up frustrations into the night air.

Tonight we will escape the solitude of the farm and visit one of our favorite groups, Yelba Latin Fire Band.  Conveniently playing at Bernhardt Winery, John bought tickets for dinner and we bought a bottle of their reserve red wine for the two hours of shimmy shaking Latin music with songs from around the globe.  The band played samba, merengue, cha-cha-cha, tango and a hand clapping, foot tapping assortment of other Latin songs which were enjoyed by the movers and shakers on the dance floor as well as the audience.  This corporate ladder climber turned Latino songbird has showmanship down to a science and encouraged dancing in the isles, an offer taken up by several couples, growing into the majority after dinner.  Amazing music, relaxing fun night.

I am not sure why this state park is so well staffed during the day and is availed to so many perks not seen in other state parks but John and I are completely enjoying the friendly staff and workers here at Washington on the Brazos. This is by far the most welcoming group of staff with which we have worked since the beginning of our rolling travels.

Traveled to Livingston, TX today and became a Texan once again. Thanks to the new health care laws, I must be a Texan or give up my mindfully fashioned association with the doctors I have enjoyed and trusted for over three decades. I have no intention of driving to South Dakota every time I need medical advice or procedures. Until I am 65, I will put up with the involuntary outrageous monthly charge for major medical. In this instance only, it sucks to be young.

We ended this week by returning to Chapel Hill to stroll through the town and check out the shops.  What appealed to me most was the amazingly ornate 1880’s iron gates attached to two of the buildings.  The eclectic gift shops were fun to explore and the day ended with a relaxing drive back to the farm.