I may have found the farm. It wasn't under my grandfathers name of James Henry Miller it was under my great grandfathers name of James Evans. There were about three sections or pieces of land listed all contiguous. I vaguely remember that Grandpa evans split the land up to the kids. He was a small man with white beard and mustache and aleways wore an old suit. He had a nickname of Frenchie and had a bad temper (I never saw it) He had worked for the railroad in Missouri and at one time worked at a switch house. They say he carried a little .41 caliber brass derringer in his vest pocket in a tobacco pouch. My girl cousin (a few months younger than me) would go out on the front porch of the farm house where grandpa Evans would spend many hours sitting and watching the cars pass up on the hill on the road between Bryant and Ava. When he saw us he would gather us up into his lap, one on each leg and tell us mesmerizing stories. Wish I could remember some of them but they were very happy days for us kids. When my dad was little grandpa Evans taught him an old Cherokee song and dad sang it to me but he didn't know its meaning. Lots of questions but no answers available anymore. One vivid memorie I have is, we were going somewhere, maybe Bryant and we, my mother and dad and I went across the creek down to the barn where dad hitched up the horses to the open wagon. One of the horses was a new one they had just traded for and it was skittish. When dad climbed up into the seat it lit out and the wagon and horses went skidding around the barn. Mom heard it coming toward us and yelled and slammed me flat up against the barn. I saw dad with one leg hanging down on the barn side asd the horses came careening around the corner of the barn toward us and his leg got caught between the corner of the barn and the wagon and scraped it up pretty badly. He got them halted and we went to our log cabin where mom fixed up his leg. We didn't go anywhere that day. Another time I remember was dad hoisting me up on his arm lighting the prince Albert in his pipe (sure loved that smell) picked up his axe and went up on the side of the hill (I could look down the hill and see a pretty little pond). He sat me on the ground and began cutting wood rails and such. And maybe firewood. The trees were not big but it must have been fall because the leaves were all yellow and other colors. Still cherish a lot of those memories of so long ago. I am 70 now. Dad and mom passed away in 2006, he 90 and mom 82. Moms folks came from Springfield wher we spent much time later on after grandpa Miller passed away. Paul

This will probably be my last post in this thread as my "initiation" into vermiculture is past the initial stages. I have, at least until 'things' change, settled on a "plan". (Change is inevitable, and OCCASIONALLY even 'good'.) Being the ending post let me remind those that are still watching of my initial ideas and goals. (Please don't let this being MY last post in this thread - other than to respond to other's posts - deter others from commenting, etc.) The following quote is from my initial post on this forum:http://forums.gardenweb.com/forums/load/verm/msg0322443013790.html START QUOTE "While my interest in vermiculture has many roots, the PRODUCTS I am interested in are worms and soil. I have available at the moment: 1) an unlimited supply of goat manure (mixed with straw to a ratio of about 5:1 manure to straw by weight); 2) an almost unlimited (20 cubic yards per year) supply of birch leaves, 3) a large supply (2 to 3 cubic yards per year), of hardwood saw "dust"), 4) about 5 cubic yards per year of grass clippings, 5) currently about 2 cubic yards of shredded paper/cardboard with a weekly production of a pound or two, 6) about a half a pound per week of coffee grounds, 7) and about 10 chicken egg shells per week (which I grind using a mortar and pestle) into pieces smaller than 0.5mm. I have a modest leaf shredder I intend to start relatively modestly with one commercially available "worm farm" with 4 or 5 stacked bins. This "farm" will be in my shop that is kept at a temperature of 60 degrees F. It is my intent to shred and mix (using the leaf shredder) the birch leaves and goat manure/straw mixture. Here are my questions: 1) Given the "food" I have available, and especially the goat manure, what would "you" recommend that I use as food? (I would point out that native worms LOVE birch leaf piles in the autumn even without them being shredding first.) 2) How much of the eggshells should I add on what schedule - weekly, biweekly, monthly? 3) At this temperature, what do you THINK (I'm not trying to pin anyone down), would be the SOIL production per unit time? 4) At this temperature, what do you THINK the worm production - surplus to be harvested for use as fish food - would be per unit time? 5) Given the "system" I have described, do you see any potential areas of concern? Thank you for taking the time to respond to my specific questions. I would add that I have looked through the first 100 threads in this site." END QUOTE Quite a bit has transpired since that initial post, and my education has been greatly accelerated by the generous folks at this forum. The major departure from the above goals of "making soil" and "making worms" is that I no longer have ANY interest in using worms to "make soil". That's not to say I am not interested in vermicompost and worm castings, but using worms to "make soil" for my applications is not reasonable. Instead, I am going to mix items 1, 2, 3, and 4, plus 5 - 10% sand from the first list above (organic matter on hand), and call that "soil", and "use it like I knew what I was doing." The other primary goal of raising worms to feed my fish, got an 'adjustment' yesterday. The wife of my fishing friend (Jim) fought off breast cancer a few years back. Her immune system was compromised while she was going through chemo-therapy, and Jim was advised by her doctors to get a Mosquito Magnet (hereafter "MM") (http://www.mosquitomagnet.com/resource/lps/mm/3-traps-octenol/trap-video-three-traps.html?gclid=CMi24NzEkL4CFY6RfgodF38A4w) to reduce the probability of an infection from a mosquito bite. They have been using it every summer since. The MM collects ~5000 mosquitoes a week. (YES, I HAVE counted them. It's what I DO.) Mosquitoes represent a significant proportion of native fish's protein intake. I asked Jim to bring over a baggy of his first trappings, and we'd see if my fish were interested. It took a day for them to figure it out, but now they are eating them enthusiastically. I have at least one other friend with a MM that has agreed to save his trappings for me. Therefore, the burden to produce worms is LESSENED, not eliminated. The mosquitoes will likely be frozen and saved for winter feed when worm production will, at best, be minimized. SO... 1) "Making soil" via worm guts is "out", 2) I'm "moving outside" with mendopete's worm cages, at least until the Fall. 3) The 'demand' for worms for fish food is diminished. We'll see what the summer brings. THANKS! to all for helping me 'move along smartly'.(Those that have been in the Navy will appreciate the double meaning.) Paul This post was edited by pskvorc on Sat, May 3, 14 at 16:12

I will try to condense this because I could pontificate for hours on this! My love for gardening came from my father. He was the ultimate green thumb-he didn't have formal training that i know of, but he was a street tree gardener for two of the communities we grew up in, and always had a vegetable garden as a way to supplement our large family's food budget.(Six kids) He was a school music teacher and when summer vacation began he was always found out back tending the garden for pretty much the whole summer. Of all six children I seemed to be the most interested in what he did-and my first memory of my own interest was when he gladly allowed me to plant marigolds around the border of his garden to keep pests away(this was a fairly large plot and now I know why he jumped at my offer to help him!)I was in elementary school at the time. Also eating a tomato whole and sprinkled with salt always brings dad's tomatoes to mind. And asparagus and homemade pickles.... That was my first taste of working in a garden. It wasn't until I was a first-time homeowner that I knew I was going to be a gardener but I chose to go the route of flowers instead of vegetables. The saddest thing, though was that the year before I moved into my new home, my dad developed Alzheimer's disease and everything I needed to ask him for gardening advice about trees and organic gardening was completely gone-he was just a shell of my father-quite sad. Not a day goes by when I'm in my yard and garden that I don't think of Dad and the gift he gave me. I just wanted to share it with him. He passed away two months ago. Just an interesting note; Our family surname has it's origin from Poland and it means 'gardener of an estate' I find that kind of neat. Maybe it's in our bloodline to be gardeners! * Posted by: pkock Zone 6 (My Page) on Tue, May 28, 02 at 2:44 So glad to find this thread - hope it lasts, because it's fun! Honestly, I am not sure what got me hooked. I think it's my tendency to love "scientific" stuff - I never pursued it professionally, but I'll make anything into a science experiment. I got through two pregnancies with that attitude. ;-) My grandma was the gardener in our family. She lived with us, and each year we had to have a veggie garden. My dad wasn't into yard work much, but was "forced" into the labor required, turning over the clay soil with a spade and protesting the entire time. Always basic stuff - tomatoes, peppers, pole beans, but they sure tasted good. We had strawberries for a couple of years, and there was a big apple tree in our yard that grew "cooking" apples. Grandma made lots of pies and applesauce. Then there was Girl Scouts - one year we had a hike with a knowledgeable person who pointed out all the fantastic wild plants along the trail. I absorbed it all like a sponge. This is rare, this is edible, this is a cure for poison ivy, etc. I still remember most of it, teach my daughter, and soon will teach her scout troop too. I was voted "Miss Outdoorswoman" in high school. Isn't that neat? Some things never change. :) --Pam * Posted by: Lucy2 Z7Atlanta (My Page) on Wed, May 29, 02 at 8:23 I love reading these. I remember going to visit my grandparents in Texas every summer. We lived in New Hampshire and would fly down and my grandparents would meet us at the airport. The first thing we would do when we got to Grandma's house was run to her garden. Every year she planted a watermelon JUST FOR US! Oh, how special that was. We would walk into the garden and she would "double check that it was ripe and time to pick it and she would let us watch as she "ever so gently" plucked the watermelon from the garden and we would sit on her front porch all afternoon eating the best watermelon we had ever tasted and spitting seeds as far as we could. Sadly, my Aunt burst my childhood memory bubble (when I was in my 40's but it still hurt!) by telling me that my Grandparents would go to the grocery store the night before we flew in, buy a watermelon and lay it in the garden "just for us", pretending they planted it and grew it all along...I guess I'm in denial because I still tell my children about those fond memories! * Posted by: becki3 z5 IN (My Page) on Tue, Jul 23, 02 at 20:34 Can I still step in here? This is such a wonderful thread, brought back some great memories. But now I'm sitting here with tears in my eyes and a big lump in my throat. One of my first garden memories is of my next-door neighbor when I was very small. She had a gigantic (to me) gooseberry bush that she would make pies for us from, if I would pick the berries. And she also had a thick grape vine that she would sit down with me in the middle of the yard and eat grapes from right off the vine. We always sat on the other side of it so my mom couldn't see us from the window. I don't think she would have minded, but my neighbor made it fun, thinking we were being secretive. She also had about a million plants in her house that she would show me all the time. Thinking back on it now, I realize they were mostly African violets. She was in her late 80's, early 90's, and I thought she was the best neighbor a girl could ever have. (still do) :) Then there was my grandpa. When he was a teen in the service, he had come home to visit his mom just before being shipped overseas. He took ONE little segment from her Christmas cactus, which had been a wedding present 25 years before that, and put it in his wallet. He then drove all the way across the country (took a few days), all the while sitting on this wallet. Just before being shipped out, he stuck this one little smashed, dried up piece of Christmas cactus and stuck it in a little pot of dirt from the ground outside his barracks. I'm not sure what happened to it (where it was, who took care of it) while he was in the war. But I do know that when he died in 1994, that Christmas cactus was not only alive, but very, very, VERY big. He had built a planter for it on wheels so he could move it outside in the summer and back inside for the winter. He also had a ramp leading up to his patio door, which he had to remove to get it through. This "planter" was 5 feet long, 3 feet wide, and 4 feet deep. Filled all the way with soil and thick, long roots. And the plant filled every inch of the top of the soil and hung down to the floor all around. He had to give it a "haircut" every time he moved it in or out so he wouldn't run over it with the wheels. I now have a pretty good size pot of this same plant in my husband's office, where it sits in front of a huge window all year long and blooms from Oct to around May every year. I ask about or stop by to check on this plant about once a week. I'm always terrified I might lose this plant, I feel like somehow I would be losing my grandpa all over again. Or that he might be disappointed in me for letting his precious plant die after having survived 4 generations in our family. But my all-time favorite childhood memories (of any kind) come from my Aunt Julia and Uncle Bill. They had a big farm in Missouri with a couple horses, a coop full of chickens, and about 300 head of dairy and beef cows at any given time. Along with the usual couple of dogs and a barn full of cats. And I remember one time my Aunt sent me out with the horse to get a few apples from the big tree out in the east pasture to make a pie for dinner. She told me to get a sack out of the barn to carry them in. Well, being about 8 or 9 at the time, I had no idea how many apples it took to make a pie. So I took 2 big gunny sacks, and me and Ginger (the horse) set out to find that big tree. Ginger was so patient with me as I stood on her back on the blanket that I rode with (never used a saddle) to pick all the apples that I could reach. I tied these two gunny sacks across her back and filled them up full. (poor horse!) When I got back, I didn't think my Aunt and Uncle would ever stop laughing. Instead of a few apples for a pie, I had just picked enough apples for an entire week of non-stop canning, freezing, and baking everything we could think of that contained apples. Then there were the times that Aunt Julia and I would pack a picnic basket to take out to my Uncle Bill when he was working the fields. We would sit under a big tree and just watch him disking the field, or baling the hay until he noticed us in the distance. Then he would come get me and let me drive the big tractors for a while before we ate. But one of my most vivid and comforting memories is of me and Aunt Julia sitting on the porch swing snapping beans or shelling peas. I can't remember who picked those beans and peas, or what she did with them afterwards. But just sitting there snapping and shelling, not even having to speak, but feeling like the most loved person in the world. I just started to garden seriously for myself last year, and this year I had to have those green beans and peas. And I think of my Aunt Julia and Uncle Bill every time I go out to the garden. I almost started crying when my daughter (5yo) asked me the first time if she could help me shell the peas. She had so much fun with them I didn't even mind the ones that kept flying across the kitchen to land under the cabinets or off in a corner with the dust bunnies. And I can just see my Aunt and Uncle smiling now (more like giggling probably). Right now I think I need to call them (they live in Arizona now) and tell them how much I love and miss them, and maybe thank you for teaching me about all the things I love the most. Then I think I will sit down and start crocheting an afghan for Aunt Julia (she taught me how to do that when I was 6). Luckily I learned to crochet a lot better than I learned how to milk a cow (sorry Uncle Bill)! Thanks for letting me take this stroll! Becki :) * Posted by: Mirri 5 (Finland) (My Page) on Fri, Jul 26, 02 at 3:06 My first attempt to garden vegetables was when I was 9. I loved peas, so I wanted to grow them. My father formed me a lot saying it would be too hard for me, turning the thick soil. Then I sow the peas and watered them for about 2 weeks. Then my first dog - who died of old age a few years back at 13- had a friend over. They were just puppies back then, running and playing. My daddy warned me, but I wanted to let them play on our rather tiny lot. They run over my pea-lot several times, breaking all those tender 15cm pea shoots. Oh, how I cried. Then I took little sticks and tied the shoots back up. Most of them recovered. Then the dogs, Roope and Olga, run the pea shoots down again after a week or so. And I gave up. I quit gardening for about 10 years. I only had a few cacti which I killed and bought new ones. But now I am a horticulturist. Working, ironically, in a greenhouse that produces pea shoots! I think that the wonder of growing, seeing the shoots come up from earth was a positive thing in the end. Even though I didn`t get to harvest the peas. This year I have a tiny pea-lot again, the first time after I was 9. I have harvested some, but my dog keeps steeling the pods before I find them. When I was 17 I found gardening again, in the form of houseplants. I was living in a tiny oneroom flat without balcony. The houseplant hobby lead me into studying horticulture. Now I have a son and 2 dogs. If Pyry wants to be a little gardener, I will build a fence around his lot. * Posted by: prairie_rose southalta (My Page) on Tue, Aug 20, 02 at 23:56 my earliest memories. being sat in the potato patch with a coffee can with some kerosene in the bottom and picking potato bugs and putting them in the can. i think that was the way my mom and grandma kept us out of their hair on wash day ( the old wringer washer, rinse tub, mangler days.) i remember the smell of the compost heap, and i never thought it was nasty. my grandpa and i spent lots of time there, spreading things out, turning it over occasionally. i think i must have got compost in my veins, replaced all the blood, cause i still don't find the compost heap all that nasty. (compost tea, well that is a different story. lol) i remember i hated bringing kids to our house in the fall cause you could smell the crocks of sauerkraut brewing. we lived on the edge of town, and i swear my mom was the only one who canned. but i couldn't wait for it to be ready and eating the stuff till i was sure i would burst. i remember we were the "poor kids" but we ate better than any of my friends, and were healthier than most of my friends. the garden was a way of life, and everyone was expected to pitch in. and when harvest happened, everyone was expected to come home to can. my mom would pick the weekend and as young adults, we all showed up. 5 women in a kitchen!!!!! lots of hard work, but lots of laughs, too. and when it was over we all got our share to take home. now, i am a single mom with two kids, and all those lessons are paying huge dividends. my two are the "poor kids" but they eat better than most of their friends and are healthier than most, too. what i save at the supermarket because of the garden pays the morgage and the extras for the kids. and this year, my daughter is taking an active part in the canning. i just wish my grandma, mom and sisters were here, too. * Posted by: lynne_s z5ny (My Page) on Mon, Sep 9, 02 at 22:23 I remember planting potatoes on my grandfather's farm in the early spring when i was about 4 years old. We weren't just planting a little garden patch...I swear this field must have been at least an acre. I remember the fun we had, laughing and running around in the dirt...getting dirty, but it was ok..we were doing something productive. I remember Grampa explaining the different types...we even planted purple potatoes from Russia. Later in our visit to his farm my brothers and sisters and I helped plant the seeds that would become carrots, corn and beans. I remember trudging through the brambles in search of the elusive blueberry bushes...after a morning of picking berries, we'd stop and have lunch...Grampa would take a fishing line and hook out of his pocket and catch small trout from a nearby stream and we'd roast them on a stick over a fire...just like a hot dog. He amazed me...the man could survive in the wilderness with nothing, and probably live better than most of us do today. lol The outdoors was his church; where he prayed, pondered and planned his life. My grandfather, retired by this time still loved gardening and sold his veggies every summer from his down-sized farm. We spent the entire spring and summer there. Everything we ate and drank came from that farm. I still remember how wonderful everything tasted...the taste of fresh food was foreign to me then. I went back to Grampa's farm many times until he passed...there, I worked hard, enjoyed the freedom of being in the outdoors and learned how important it was to treat our planet with respect, for it is what feeds us. It seems I forgot a lot of his wisdom until quite recently. Now that I'm a Mom of 5 boys, with many mouths to feed as well as many personalities and value systems to help develop, the things he taught me are returning. My husband and I have purchased a home out in the country trying to create an environment for our boys that my Grampa created for us...one of fresh air, sun, fun and respect for all things living...an I'm proud to say, we are well on our way! * Posted by: KCtomato1 z5/6 KC, Mo (My Page) on Sat, Sep 14, 02 at 0:36 My grandfathers both got me started. My first memory is of dark purple tulips and tulips that were taller than I. I recall what a joy it was grandpa let me pick one. Somewhere in the family, someone has a picture of it. I was 2-3. Both gardened but it was my paternal grandfather that let me try everything. He introduced me to raw veggies. I still prefer them over cooked. He would also let me in the berry patch - which is what really got me growing. He made a deal with me - if I picked 2 I could eat one. He'd go in and I would pick 'em clean of course taking the best for myself. We both walked away thinking we got the better deal. My maternal Grandfather taught me more on the "how's" rather than the "whats". He grew to sell and was not keen on kids picking things he could potentially sell. When I was small I would go out to the garden where he was working just to be with him and I'd watch. I would have worked but he wouldn?t let me. He thought I was nuts for wanting to work. He told me there were snakes in the berry patch in an "effort" to keep me out. Most the time he ran me off I was just looking for the snake. Him teaching me things came at a much older age. Im grateful for the time I did spend with them and the gift they passed on. Keith * Posted by: bizmhamama CA z10 (My Page) on Tue, Oct 8, 02 at 15:09 This answers your interest in childhood memories in a roundabout way. My parents and I immigrated to the United States when I was four years old and I never really knew my expanded family. My mother, who grew up on a sugar plantation, cared absolutely nothing for getting her hands dirty. Our back yard was concrete! Her only gardening interest was roses. I became interested in indoor plants as a teenager and then became obsessed with succulents once I moved out of the house & had a patch of dirt of my own. I even wondered what it would take to go back to school for a landscaping degree, and daydreamed about owning a nursery. My maternal grandmother came to America only a few years ago. I was fairly shocked to learn that she loves gardening! She grows guava trees from seed. In her 80s, she still derives incredible enjoyment from simply watching living things grow. I realize now my passion for gardening would have been sparked much earlier in life if geography (& politics!) hadn't intervened.

get out your atlases for this one. Or just dial up google maps-that's what I do. Friday night the newlyweds spent in Mitchell, OR. Saturday, they rode to Redmond. We decided that on Sunday, DH and I would drive down from Portland to Sisters and meet them there, because they were planning on climbing the McKenzie Pass-5325 feet-and a lot of tight switchbacks on the way up and even tighter on the way down. The trailer would not only be a weight, but a safety hazard on the tight, steep climb and descent. Portland to Sisters is about 2.5 hours, the second part mostly through the Willamette State Forest. As DH said, it was a 70 mile calendar shot. Absolutely stunning scenery. Sisters is an arty little town-reminds me of Cape May, NJ-lots of cute little shops in a cute little town with cute buildings in a pretty setting. (Cynical R Us-but I'd move there in a heartbeat.) We met the kids right outside of town, driving past them one way, then the other, then finally seeing them on the opposite side of the road waving and yelling. (I hadn't had any tea.) We loaded the trailer into the rental SUV, fed them a quick breakfast from the cute little bakery, and off they rode. Although the Appalachians had steeper slopes, and the Rockies were longer sustained climbs resulting in much higher altitudes, this would probably be their most challenging individual climb due to the switchbacks and the lack of shoulder--cyclists (and there are lots of them) ride in the car lane because the roadside edges end in nothingness and a straight shot down. The plan was we would follow in a couple hours and find them on the way up, give them water and food, then continue up and over and wait for them at the bottom. DH and I perused the cute little town for a while, hit the used book shop (two Elizabethan-era mysteries from a new-to-me author) had lunch, bought the water, gator ade and sandwiches as requested, succumbed to the cute little ice cream shoppe, then set off on our climb up the pass. It was tough to drive, much less pedal. DH complained that he wasn't seeing any of the scenery because he daren't take his eyes off the road for a second. I was busy watching the road ahead for the kids, with the occasional glance down over the cliffs........ We got to the summit without having seen them. As we pulled into the parking area, I heard "what kept you, you with 4 wheels and a motor?" They had made amazing time without the 70 pounds dragging them down and achieved their goal of beating us to the summit. There is an observatory at the top which looks out over the scenery, including the lava fields, many mountains with famous names, and a lake. Breathtaking. After visual appreciation time and a tailgate for the kids, DH and I took off down the mountain ahead of them. it was harder than going up-a route drawn by Zorro. Speed limits of 20 mph that drivers actually respected. No passing. We got to the pull-over at the bottom and pulled over (natch) to...