Near Disaster in the Frozen Waste of Walmart

You can never be dressed too warmly for a winter excursion. We learned this (again) yesterday.

Our forced weekly grocery buying trip to Walmart for the inn’s needs over the New Year, turned into a more than usual struggle of endurance. The temperatures were hovering in the low 20 degrees Fahrenheit, with a wind chill factor dropping that number by ten points. We bought everything on our list and as we exited the store the arctic blast hit us in the face. By the time we had loaded up the truck with our bulging canvas bags, my fingers were beginning to freeze despite my ski gloves.

“You’ve got a flat,” remarked a man getting comfortably into his car next to ours. We both rushed around to his side and you can imagine what we said. The freezing wind howled around our legs and I wished I had put on my Long-Johns and extra socks. We reluctantly began the process of a tire change. Richard got onto his knees in the dirty parking lot slush to place the jack for lifting up the truck. After two years of short handed cruising I am still used to my role aboard ship and I stayed by my 1st Mate’s side offering helpful comments such as “Oooops! The truck just fell off the jack.” and “You should loosen the nuts before you lift it up off the ground.” Meanwhile his gloves were soaking wet and his fingers so painful as they froze up and he could barely get the spare high enough to reach the bolts. With well practiced mutual support and persistence we got the job finished and hauled ourselves back into the cab with the heater on full blast, our eye glasses all a fog. Thankfully the tire place was still open and we stopped to get the flat fixed on the way back to the inn.

We arrived at two minutes before check in time, with the incoming guests waiting in the parking lot for us. It could have been so much worse. I vowed that the next time we poked our heads outside, even if it was just going to the grocery store, we would be dressed like Scott of the Antarctic and his dog. Woof!

The Fatted Calf

Since we have our sons coming here from the west coast, we decided that we needed to give them a sampling of local fare for the Christmas feast, yes a haunch of venison sounded just the thing.

On the way to the Mennonite outpost “Grandma’s Home Style Jams” where we buy our inn gift shop jams and honey we pass an establishment that does the processing and butchering for all the deer and bear hunters in the area, and that is where we stopped to ask if they knew someone who could sell us our desired yule haunch. 

We drew into the compound and were faced with two options, “Office – Drop Off” and “Office – Pick Up”. When we went inside it was evident that the processing business happens somewhere in the middle. No one was behind the counter, so Richard knocked on the inside door. Two seconds later a mountain of a man opened the door. He had fresh blood running up to his elbows and dripping down the jaunty mound of his stomach that was covered by a wax cloth apron. “We’d like to find out where we can buy some venison,” we asked. “Weeell’” he drawled. “Its illegal to buy wild deer meat, alls you can do is pay fer processin’ on a do-nated carcass.” I had visions of roadkill being hauled in by ol’ Grannie. He scratched his immense beard with a bloody finger and announced that he thought they might have such a beast for us. He returned a few minutes later with a positive somewhat unnerving smile on his face. “Yesir, we got us a do-nate, an we’ll only charge you fer half the processin’ since one of the shoulders is too messed up.” We feigned happiness at this pronouncement and after very tidily printing up our receipt he said we could pick up the meat in a few days, when they had done their work.

After our summoning call we expertly chose “Office – Pick Up” and rang the buzzer. CJ Junior (younger, smaller beard but just as huge as his dad) came to wait on us. His hands were caked with ingrained dried blood. Junior had our meat brought out from the freezer by Miz Juliet whose homemade Mennonite frock would have fitted the prize Highland bull standing outside in the snowy pasture. She gave us a sweet, broad smile and handed over the goods all marked efficiently with our name. In the middle of running the debit charge Junior’s cell phone rang. He listened to the caller then said, “Nope, I caint git down six feet, its too hard.” Another pause and then, “Nope, we gonna need a back hoe to git in, I’ll think on it Mom, an call ya back.” Without hesitaion Junior explained that his cousin had been hit by a car and killed the day before and that they were in the process of burying him. At this crushing news we made our sincere condolences to him while he completed our business. He brightly answered, “Naw, it don’t matter, ya know bad thangs happen.” We were unsure if he meant something to the effect, “plenty more cousins where he came from” or perhaps it was just that he needed to show a valiant face despite the sadness in his giant heart.

We threw the bag of venison on top of the heap of snow in our truck bed and marveled at the things we daily learn.

Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening


Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound’s the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

By Robert Frost

Flocks of guests - the feathered variety.

The quiet “shoulder time” has arrived and the skiers are still home doing their Christmas shopping. The manic summer has softened in my memory, sort of like the way the body conveniently forgets the pain of childbirth, naturally tempering it with time so that one day you will do it again. We have been for our holiday of two weeks and we celebrated a birthday when we got back – without a soul other than us and two dozen oysters at the inn. Now there is a smattering of reservations here and there, just enough to keep the heat on (literally) in the building. We wave goodbye each Sunday to the weekend visitors and then our week is our own until the following Friday evening – for now. Even the lake is quiet. The ducks and geese have migrated, the black bear population is searching for dens to settle down into for the winter, the groundhogs have gone to ground and even the perky little chipmunks have made themselves scarce. Our evenings close in and it is dark by 5.00pm and I snuggle under a homemade quilt in our cozy innkeeper’s apartment to read the next good book undisturbed. The hub of activity right now is the bird feeder outside my kitchen window. We constructed Model B after the hungry bear ate its predecessor last Spring. The new design has a rain/snow cover over it and natural tree branches for the birdies to work at the sunflower seeds inside the feeder. The pulley system is also out of reach for Mr. Bear, but we plan to take the whole thing down around the time he will be out and about again. We have had Junkos, Chickadees, Tufted Titmouse, White Breasted Nuthatch and the most thrilling a female Cardinal – no male yet this year. They come chattering and bustling in flocks and work the seed holes until dusk. After the unusual seven inches of snow in late October they must feel an urgency to eat and store for the frigid months ahead. Its great being an innkeeper – isn’t it?

Its winter and I'm busy crafting in the cold dark afternoons. I found a stunning collection of wood burls that were revealed when the lake level dropped for a couple of days last month. After much cleaning and burnishing I have some new whimsical items for the inn's gift shop.

The Apple has fallen!

All through the gorgeous summer months the Inn is humming with vacationing guests; some staying for two nights and some for as long as a week. I don’t think that we were quite prepared for how exhausting it was going to be. Our few opportunities for free time was spent on our backs in a cool place under a fan or we escaped in the late afternoon down to the lake with a couple of beers, pushing the paddle boat into the middle to drift around out of earshot of the phone and the needy people. We ached for signs that summer was waning, which meant that our work load would ease up somewhat. And now here we are in the full flourish of autumn colours telling us that the cold and quiet time will soon be here. Memories of summer is all that is left.

I dislike wishing time away and I am made more aware of the folly of that with the untimely death of Apple’s co-founder Steve Jobs. His illness and passing has pulled me up and made me pay more attention to each day that I am here, even when I am exhausted and exasperated with my day and it seems so like a steep uphill climb. At least I have my health and an amazing partner and our children who are a constant source of hope in a struggling world. If I didn’t have this job to hold down I would grab a back pack and go off to ‘occupy’ Wall Street. It is a movement full of desperation with the times, people with their backs against an unyielding wall and it may drag on and on much like the Vietnam War protests, maybe getting ugly before something positive happens. Meanwhile our little boat is in need of us. We are taking some time off and will be going back to Deltaville, VA in November to do some maintenance and to cover her up again against the imminent snow and ice. We are looking forward to our children coming to the Inn over Christmas and to a winter season in this beautiful part of the country. Time marches on, the seasons do not waver from their proscribed time, all we can do is to hold fast and do the best with every moment we are given.

I've been Liebstered

My award was given to me by my sailing friend Nancy who we first met with her teenage son Josh on the street in Charleston S. Carolina - she stopped us and said, "You look like cruisers looking for a supermarket." and she was right on the money. They gave us directions and we later grew to be friends with her and her husband Dave. They are going south for the winter on their boat FAWKES. To see her blog: NancyJNicholson'sBlog
Nancy is a wonderful writer and cook and she is also a master cabinet maker among her many varied talents.

Recognition is a beautiful thing. Now I have to see how to pass it on.

Bow Season in the Mountains of W. Maryland

Deer Hunting season is a big thing here. Kids get a week off school to go hunting with the folks, there is deer corn and salt licks for sale for luring the beasts within aiming distance and all over are establishments for butchering and dressing your kill.

I hate hunting, but I do recognize there are way too many deer around and as long as the hunters eat the quarry rather than hang it on some wall I guess I'm okay with it. Here at the inn we bought a salt lick and deer corn to try and lure the deer closer to the property so that they are protected. We have especially been enjoying a pair of twins as they grew up over the summer. But it is the season for laying up the winter provisions and I came across this article in one of my favorite blogs all about the origins of "Humble Pie"

The Mighty and the Offal: Humble Pie - From the blog "The Austerity Kitchen"

Some carried long bows and forked arrows; others harquebusses, muskets and Lochaber axes. They wore thin-soled shoes, tartan hose, knotted handkerchiefs, sky-blue caps, and garters fashioned from wreathes of straw. Thus equipped and adorned, they, the Irish nobility of Braemar, ventured into the Highland countries to hunt deer.

Numbering fourteen or fifteen hundred, these noble hunters would rise with the sun to consult on the particulars of the day's enterprise. After deciding the best place to herd their quarry, they dispersed in all directions. Sixteenth-century Londoner John Taylor, ferryman by trade and chronicler by avocation, relates the details of one such hunting party. The participants were intrepid. No obstacle proves too formidable to overcome. They waded "up to their middles through bournes and rivers" in search of cover. Upon a signal from scouts charged with spotting game, the "tinchel," or circle of sportsmen, would close in, driving the startled ruminants toward other hunters lying in wait, who greeted them with hundreds of snapping Irish greyhounds and scores of "arrows, dirks and daggers." In less than two hours' time "fourscore fat deer were slain" for the noble hunters "to make merry withal."

The choice cuts of venison went to high-born hunters and were baked into a pastry served on the manor lord's dais. Seated lower because a few rungs down on the social ladder, the master of the hunt and his fellows received their due in the form of a pie containing the heart, liver and other inward parts of the deer. Known colloquially as "humbles," "umbels" or "numbles," these ingredients have since come to be associated with acts of mortification and obeisance. An old saying goes, "Whence, as the haunch and neck were for 'Lordings' and the umbles ... for the yeoman."

Victorian writer George Sala insists, however, that humble pie's reputation is wholly unearned. "He who first decried Humble Pie, and libelled it as a mean and shabby kind of victuals," he observes in his 1862 tome The Seven Sons of Mammon, "was very probably some envious one who came late to the feast, and of the succulent pasty found only the pie-dish and some brown flakes of crust remaining."

If you wish to secure yourself a piece of savory humble pie, the recipe below, which also appears in Sala's work, should, despite its fragmentary character, spare you any unwarranted culinary humiliation.


Humble Pie

"Take the humbles of a deer," says the recipe, – you see, there is venison for you to begin with, – and then it goes on to enumerate slices of bacon, condiments, buttered crust, and so forth.

A Natural Dilemma - Guest writer Richard Cross

The Inn has few resident neighbors. Of the twenty or so houses scattered through the woods on the fifty acres that once was monastery land, only two are occupied year round. The remainder are holiday homes and rentals. We know more chipmunks by their first names than we do neighbors.
An apple tree grows by the side of the lane on our path to the lake. In the forest we have tried to sharpen our foraging skills gathering flowers, herbs, fungi

and berries and now this little tree is heavy with small, blotch-marked and misshapen apples, the kind that would never be sold in a store, but are so full of promise. For some time the tree has been denuded of fruit, totally clean, to a height of six feet or so, the apple bobbing reach of a standing bear. Now those above the bite line are ripening to lush red.
Will the bear climb the tree to take the rest?
Have the house owners left them for a ritual family apple picking over the Labor Day weekend?
We’re torn. We want to be good neighbors, both to the owners of the tree and to the bear, who surely needs to fatten up for the winter more than we. It would be a crime to let them over-ripen and fall, wasted. We delay (but only for a moment) and then, with stealth, we glean two large bags, twenty pounds, of the little beauties.
Ethical or not and with profuse apologies to neighbors and bear, they cooked up beautifully and seem just right as the evening air begins to gather a little chill bite.

Long Hard Summer, Nearly Over!

Here we are on Labor Day weekend and although we have several full house week-ends still to come, there is some light in the tunnel during the mid weeks when we are only half full or less. Phew! June, July and August were so crazy we worked and worked and then collapsed on the bed or sofa to get half an hour off our feet. Our guests have run the gamut from absolute horrors to really interesting and accomplished people who

one can’t help wonder where they find the time to have achieved so much.

There have been some wonderful high points during all the craziness of work. My brother David and sister-in-law Jo came to visit for three days on their way back to Britain from a week in the Outer Banks at a huge annual family reunion (my mother’s side). It was the first time we have seen them for nearly nine years, too long of course and I resolved not to let it happen again. Bears with their cubs and sightings of a pair of deer twins as they grow up in our immediate woods. The gracious musician Don Walters who arrived with his companions a mandolin, guitar and banjo. They wrote music together in Room 1 for three days and on the last night they gave us an impromptu concert under the stars, around the nightly campfire. The frogs and cicadas seemed to be singing louder that night in appreciation of their beautiful music.

The work of running a popular ten room B & B is endless. We rise at 6.30am and the phone is often still ringing with reservation demands or questions from people at 10.30pm at night. Incredibly, we have endured the phone ringing at 2 or 3am in the morning. They are lucky that we ignore them and turn over, because it is a severe temptation to be fabulously rude to that kind of imbecile.

One of the ways I have “escaped” this summer is through some good books and I highly recommend any of them.
“The Millennium Trilogy” by the late Stieg Larsson
(The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, The Girl Who Played with Fire, The Girl Who Kicked the Hornets Nest)
“The Heart is a Lonely Hunter” – Carson McCullers
“The White Tiger” – Aravind Adiga
“Fire Bed and Bone” – Henrietta Brandford
“The Help” – Kathryn Stockett

Mushroom Season

We are drowning in endless streams of people coming for their vacations here at the inn. It has been very warm and humid despite the fact that we are in the mountains, although the rest of the country is suffering double digit temps, we are hovering around the upper 80’s. The humidity and plentiful rainfall has produced an amazing array of incredible fungi here in the forest. We have been awed by the beauty of some of them and when we can, we identify them and find out if they are edible or not.
One that we have found just a few feet from the inn is this Sulfur Shelf. It is also called Chicken of the Forest. As long as it is not growing on a Hemlock or conifer it is quite edible and if you simmer it in broth for half an hour it tastes a little like earthy chicken. If the Maple Syrup tasted like the blood of the earth in the Spring, these are the bone marrow. There are so many different varieties of mushrooms sprouting up from the ground and we have never before been exposed to this particular side of nature. As we have said before the seasons on this side of the country are incredibly profuse and defined. We are getting quite excited about the prospect of autumn and what that will bring to our wondering eyes.

What a Bunch!

We have seen this past weekend coming for a long time. We were the overflow accommodations for an Irish/American wedding party being held at a nearby farm. Half the inn has been reserved since we arrived in January for this occasion. Over the last few weeks the rest of the inn sold out. Nothing new there, but one by one the room occupants called to advise us of their particular special needs.

Room 2 - no salt, fats or egg yolks.
Room 4 - allergic to walnuts.
Room 8 - a vegan.
Room 10 - can’t have bread.

So a challenge lay ahead to attempt to feed all these needs with one menu. It drives Richard into a frenzy when the general public won’t eat what is offered, he cannot understand because he eats everything and has always enjoyed trying new foods.

On Friday night we had almost finished checking in our finicky household when the boozy Catholics rocked up three sheets to the wind, hefting crates of wine for the wedding celebrations on the morrow. Half of them got lost along the way (distracted by the pool table) during the welcome tour of the inn. When we got to the place where the breakfast menu was written I asked them to let me know if they had any problems with what was offered. Much to my relief one of them answered, “No darlin’ we eat and drink everyting, can’t you tell?”

Dream Weavers

The majority of people who call us to reserve a room for a break or an anniversary are dreaming. They are dreaming of a surprise birthday treat for their spouse, a romantic weekend without their children or some long desired time on their own with no outside demands.

Our job, as we have discovered, is not just to try and set the scene for these dreams, but we also have to feed their imaginations and hope during these phone conversations. We are frequently answering questions and listening to their dream weaving for half an hour before we can bid them goodbye. We know they are dreaming because the very same people show up, having declared themselves “outdoor people” for example and spend all of two hours outside and the rest of the time closeted in their room with a movie and the air conditioning running. Couples on a “romantic” anniversary weekend have the most fearful row because one of them is not in tune with the others romantic reverie. They end up eating alone and we become the silent, somewhat embarrassed witnesses to the imploded dream.

The dreaming part of their getaway must in some circumstances be the best part as it sometimes turns out, but we are continually surprised by the difference between what people dream about themselves and their lives, and what is in fact the truth when they show up.

Hope is a powerful thing, but reality is a one way street.

Sister Solo

A couple of weeks ago in mid week, we had an empty inn. A woman called to inquire about a room - we sighed and took her reservation. We usually ask the question, “And this is for two adults?” She replied “No, just me.”

The next day she arrived and we welcomed her, joking that she had us at her service for the whole two days of her stay. She wanted to be low key and non-demanding. She had her own stash of food in the guest fridge and asked for peanut butter on toast or scrambled eggs and salsa for her breakfast.

On her second morning Richard was chatting to her in the common room and she said to him. “I am having such a wonderful time, it is so quiet and restful here, but I don’t want you and Virginia to feel like you have to cook anything special for me. I’ll just eat whatever you are eating.” Richard thought for moment. The statement had been made in an effort to be easy, since she knew she was the only guest at the inn.
“Well, its like this.” He said “It works the other way around...we eat what you eat and if you don't eat it, we have it the next day.” It made her laugh and the following day she called to ask us what kind of ice-cream we liked at the local homemade ice cream shop down the road.

One guest at the inn could be a pain when you need some down time, but this one so enjoyed her quiet stay here that it was a total pleasure for us too.

Evil Coffee Maker Attacks Inn Keeper

Memorial weekend was two thirds over. We got up early on Monday morning with our full house still snoozing peacefully. Richard reached into the fridge and grabbed the milk by the lid and as he pulled it out the whole carton fell to the floor covering his shoes, legs and the six feet around him in creamy Half and Half (milk and cream). Someone – probably me had not screwed on the top properly.
I was in the middle of concocting granola muffins. Richard went downstairs to change and I got the floor wiped up as I mused over the saying “Its no use crying over spilled milk.”

An hour later the house was waking up and there was a trail of sleepy heads wandering to the Keurig machine for their first beverage of the day. Richard walked into the breakfast room to discover an ominous queue. The whole machine had packed up due to some blockage in the boiling water outlet. He hurried to the kitchen with the offending machine to clean it out and rinse some vinegar through, meanwhile, we filled up the Mr. Coffee (12 cup) in the kitchen to keep the coffee drinkers mollified.

I kept on cooking.

Richard turned on the large coffee urn (30 cups) ready for the breakfast rush at 8.30am and as he did sparks blew out of the electric socket and there was a frightening smell of burning. Just as he was rushing back into the kitchen with the urn in his arms, the Mr. Coffee maker spilled over and there were coffee grounds all over the table and floor. Mr. Coffee doesn't like making twelve cups of coffee all at once on Memorial Day and had a hissy fit. We had three useless coffee makers and twenty guests pawing the ground in the breakfast room. I kept on cooking and Richard flew around the kitchen in a whirl of coffee grounds, white vinegar and screw drivers.

We survived the morning. Mr. Coffee eventually supplied enough to keep everyone coffeed up (six cups at a time). The loose wire in the urn was located and tightened up and the Keurig got descaled and cleaned out.

After everyone had been fed and left the breakfast room, we were cleaning up the mornings detritus and I reached for Mr. Coffee’s glass carafe with a soapy hand. The bloody thing slipped from my fingers and crashed into the sink leaving it with a large crack in the side. It sort of rounded up the morning in a surprisingly satisfying way. All for one and one for all. The Circle of Life and all that.

Finger Food

Just when things are beginning to get busier, I had to go and cut the top of my finger off. Yep, while I was in a hurry and not concentrating, I sliced off the top of my left index finger while chopping up cooked bacon. I will spare you the gruesome details, only relevant because Richard confirmed for himself that he has inexplicably developed an aversion to blood. He fainted while trying to help me bandage the thing up. I caught him just before he fell onto the floor while holding my hand up over my head – not so easy.

That was last Thursday and tomorrow is the start of our busy three or four day Memorial Weekend. My finger is getting better, but it is still wrapped to keep it clean and stop me banging it on things. Ouch!

Blossoms, Butterflies, and Beavers

Although we are being deluged with rain, the forest around the inn is a riot of Spring activity with Lilacs, Wild Azalias, Dogwood and Redbud trees exploding with intense blossoms. Also on the forest floor is a huge variety of wild flowers, including many kinds of violets, polygalas, catnip, star chickweed and many others.
Also we have seen close up a juvenile Great Horned Owl, a Black Bear and a community of Beaver with a five minute walk of our back door.

Oh, and I have found another housekeeper, who is so far working out really well.Keep my fingers crossed.

There's nowt so queer as t'other folk.

"There's nowt so queer as t'other folk".

This phrase that has its roots in the northern parts of England keeps coming into my head as we continue on our path through the experience of being inn keepers. I am not only referring to the section of people who are guests at the inn either.

The phrase as translated into average English means, “There is nothing as strange as people,” My mother-in-law used it while she was visiting us and dredged the memory of it back for me from my childhood.

In case you are wondering we still have not found a new housekeeper, but the search continues.

Spring has come to the Allegheny Mountains with the same force as winter with heavy swaths of Dogwood, Lilac and Redbud in bloom. With the blossom come the newly wed “folk", here for a few days of honeymoon before returning to their lives. They are feeling romantic and special, as so they should. We put champagne in their room and Rose petals on the bed. When they leave they also get a wooden spoon (a Welsh custom) that represents a wish to the bride and groom that their home will always be bountiful. If they bring the spoon back to the inn for another stay before or on their first anniversary they get a 10% discount (nothing to do with the Welsh custom).

A few days ago we were expecting a newly wed couple. When they arrived they got their short tour of the inn and were then shown to their carefully prepared room. Richard noticed that they were exchanging some strange looks, but took it to mean that they wanted him to get on with it and leave them alone, which he did.

About twenty minutes later the phone rang. A man said, “This is mister so and so calling, and I’d like to cancel the reservation.” “Yes, what day was that for,” Richard said. “For tonight, my child is sick and we have to leave.”

It was the honeymoon couple. They already have a child? Okay… we told him that according to the inn’s policies we had to charge him the 50% for the room and he hurriedly agreed and rang off. When we went to the honeymoon suite it was untouched with all the lights on as we had shown it to the couple. What a shame we thought that their stay had been ruined. We charged their card with the 50% and wrapped things up for the night.

The next morning right in the middle of a very busy Sunday breakfast the phone rang. On the other end this time was the mother of the groom and she was fit to be tied. She accused us of running “a shit hole inn with dirty rooms and guests who wouldn’t know any better because they live in trailer parks.” She was incensed at the charge levied on her son’s account for the room and demanded we return it to him as the room was not as represented on the website and on and on with everything unpleasant she could think of to say. A long time later poor Richard got away from her and was a nervous wreck.

We were left wondering. Had their child really been sick or were they unhappy with the room in some way?

Half an hour later the mother called us back – she had spoken to her son and our place was not a shit hole full of trailer park residents. She was enormously apologetic and she sounded like a different woman in fact. Richard asked her to ask her son (all of 24 years old) to please call us and explain his problem. She pleaded with us to refund him his money as he and his “bride” needed their honeymoon and had no more funds. Bleeding hearts all. No hotel in the world would refund the deposit on a dumped room, so why us?

Funnily enough that Sunday was Mother’s Day and that mother got her wish, but it left us shaking our heads and the old saying jumped up into my head again.

“There’s nowt so queer as t'other folk.”

Breakfast on the Terrace

Some guests no matter what you say to them on their introductory tour of the inn are on their own schedule. This one wanted his breakfast on the terrace at 6.45am this morning, despite the rain When the inn keeper got annoyed with him he decided to just make it a take-away.

As The Inn Turns – Episode 3

Yesterday I started a new young woman as our second housekeeper. I am clinging on to my one remaining lady who is worth her weight in gold, but whose mother is ailing and she cannot do all the hours required as the summer gets busier.

The ‘new one’ arrived on time, she is baby faced and doe eyed. Wears pastels and seems naive for her 24 years. My golden housekeeper and me trained new one for two hours, showed her where everything was and how to do her job in the most efficient way. At the end she sheepishly announced that she had never learned how to iron, so she got a quick lesson in that too. I sent her home with napkins to practice her folding on and sheets of paper with the lists of her duties to read over for homework.

In the afternoon, we received an E-mail from on high alerting us to the fact that new one had actually worked at this inn for two months in the summer of 2007 and had herself an impressive criminal record that included burglary and assault – a little charmer!

I was able to challenge her con act with me because she called us not long after wards to ask me to sign some day-care form for her mini con-baby, whose daycare would be covered by social services if mommy-con had a job. She was pissed in a major way that her ruse had been discovered and proceeded to shriek obscenities and threats down the phone. Richard intervened and dispatched her ass.

Well I guess I won’t get the practice napkins back, but at least she won’t have the chance to get her feelers on our operation. I am getting paranoid however and much to Richard’s annoyance, I am hiding things and locking everything up wherever I go.

Now we have access to a great website where you can look up a person’s criminal record if they have one. You can bet that I will not be training anyone else without first checking up on them there.

Meanwhile on a sweeter note. The Spring up here in the mountains and the forests is spectacular. The rivers and waterfalls are in flood, the trees are budding out and blossoming and we have been treated to some incredible close encounters with wildlife (excluding housekeepers that is) such as juvenile owls, bears, wood chucks, and deer. We have been planting flowers all around the inn and getting out the adirondack chairs and cafe tables on the generously sized decks that overlook a sylvan paradise.

Back to the classifieds “help wanted” next week. In my desperation I stopped by the local Mexican restaurant to plead with the owner to send any of her friends or relatives my way. What I wouldn’t do for a wonderful Hispanic lady right now.Until then I guess me and Goldy will keep it together,

and Richard is my knight in shining armor.

Once Bitten...

Last week I thought that I had settled on a person to be our new housekeeper. She is an older lady but seemed very fit and active, a sporty looking pixie style haircut made her look neat and together. She lives near the inn and has her own car. She has no problem with being called in to work on a moments notice and wanted the work because she was bored at home. I was happy to have found her and she comes with good long term references from other housekeeping work in the area.

I called to arrange for her to come for her first day of training here and as we talked I heard a note of reserved hesitation in her voice. Then out it came. She had just broken her left arm in two places and was in a cast for several weeks. She asked to be allowed to start work despite her injury, but after some consideration I had to tell her that I could not hire her as the job does involve carrying vacuum cleaners and heavy breakfast trays and moving some furniture around to clean. I did not want her healing process to suffer because of the work. So I was back to square one with another week of advertising.

The search for good help is not easy, especially in the mountains of western Maryland. When you find a diamond amongst the lumps of coal you had better look after it well. We need to find a housekeeper who produces sparkling results despite those who leave their rooms looking like a tornado has hit it.

My cousin Susan told me to watch the new episodes of “Upstairs Downstairs” in which the new upstairs inhabitants of the house at 165 Eaton Place are hiring a whole household of servants including a housekeeper. I felt very glad not to be in that position. Finding one person is quite enough hand wringing for me.

Out With The Old

Arriving to work in a new job is always stressful and full of possible pitfalls. One is both learning the job as well as assessing the people already in place. Some of these are long standing employees who, despite their actual position in the establishment, feel a sense of power over the newbie because of the length of their tenure.

We have done an awful lot of cleaning house in the most literal sense since we arrived to start being inn keepers, now that we have the heavy work done, it is the normal upkeep and maintenance of the place, which is very manageable. I was assured by the boss that the two housekeepers who cleaned the guest rooms in the inn were very good at their jobs and I looked forward to developing a good working relationship with them as it was sure to make my life much easier if we all understood and respected each other.

Both of those women are now gone. One left to pursue a career in the medical field for which she had been taking online classes. The other one was too keen on telling me when she couldn’t work due to a stunning array of life problems. Yesterday we discovered that on the days that she did manage to come in she was making off with our tips as well as hers.

Our boss was correct in what she had told us about these two, they did the work well and the rooms were adequately cleaned and looked presentable, but as always there is more to the cake than taking it out of the oven.

Being born a Libra makes it doubly hard for me when everything goes out of balance and there is discord in my life. I hate losing my temper, but when pushed I do it spectacularly.

The inn is feeling much cleaner today. I have hired one new housekeeper who does sterling work and we have the good relationship I had imagined previously. Boss says I can look for another one in May since we get very busy then and through the early fall. The good thing is that whoever I choose, I will be the established employer and not the new kid on the block with everything to learn and discover.

All breakfast tables are not created equal.

It might look like all the other tables, two chairs are neatly tucked under it just like the other fourteen in the room, therefore we assume that it is the location of this favorite table that must be the draw to whoever comes up for breakfast first in the mornings.

Human behavior is all about comfort levels and security, or lack of it. As new inn keepers we have been on a crash course in people’s body language; fascinating and deeply meaningful once you begin to study it. Our guests at the inn are mostly couples taking “getaway” breaks together, some are celebrating special milestones and some are just needing time alone together, away from the pressures of their regular lives. Depending on the personalities of the two people this translates into different behavior.

Some couples want to be madly social with the rest of the guests and some rush to their room with supplies and are hardly seen again until check out time.

The pattern in the breakfast room is undeniably consistent however. This is the favored table. Even if it has been used and not reset and there are other tables fresh and ready for sitting at, people love this one place in the room.

I have looked at it from an objective stance. It is near the window and enjoyable for its views of the grounds and possible deer and wild turkey sightings. It is in view of the wood fire, but not too close for comfort, but what is the clincher I believe is the fact that from this table the guests can see who is approaching from the other rooms in the inn. I think it is an ancient instinct that moves their choice. That of observing the advance of intruders into the space in which they are feeding.

For all our technological advances we have not evolved very far from our early ancestors who sat at the mouth of the cave guarding the fire with a bone clutched in their fist.

It is the “Mud Season” here in Maryland and across the eastern seaboard. The time of year when the snow turns gray beside the road and slushy rivulets traverse tired grass lawns on their way to the nearest stream.

For some, mud season is what they have waited for through a long hot summer, crisp fall and freezing winter, because it is the time of year when there is a large range of temperature between the nights and days. It is this range that makes the sap rise, and when that happens its Maple Syrup time.

The farmers who tap the Maple trees all across the hills of Maryland and beyond raise cattle, grow corn and other crops through the year, but in the mud season they can be found in amongst the trees as the maple sap fills their tapping cans or in the barn as the watery sap is reduced in huge boilers until it is pale brown and syrupy and ready to bottle for the stores. Many of the farmers give maple syrup making demonstrations to the public at the weekends, which is another small money maker for them.

We have a shelf full of Garrett County Maple Syrup 2011 in our little gift shop. We sold the last of the 2010 vintage and drove out into the country to the Steyer (pronounced Stoyer) Brothers farm where they have been very busy. Mrs Steyer had our order waiting for us. She had just returned from the cattle market where her husband and she had been dismayed by the low prices for their stock. But like all farmers they have a hard won resilience to bad times and with a wan smile she said’ “At least the trees are going to make up for it this year.”

The temperatures have been swinging wildly across the scale for Mr and Mrs Steyer and that is just what is needed to balance out their budget. We go through a lot of it in the Inn’s kitchen, serving it in the traditional way over ham steaks as well as on waffles of all kinds. The guests buy it to take home to their children for breakfasts before school or to remind them of their visit to these mountains. We thought we had tried maple syrup before we arrived here but when we tasted Garrett County maple syrup we were transported to another level of gastronomic delight. It is truly the nectar of the gods and it flows from the depths of the earth where the real secrets of life are never told.

All good inn keepers need a day off.

Today looked like a good one for us to take off for some R & R. The weather was going to be sunny, even though night time temps are still dropping down to 13 degrees F. The sun can not quite vanquish the cold air as it is still pretty low in the sky, but it was a beautiful day nevertheless. We made sandwiches and were just walking out of the door when the laundry man appeared and wanted us to exchange some sets of sheets for a some new style ones for which we had been waiting for several weeks – today of all days. Then you just have to pass the time of day with him, joke around a bit since you see him twice a week and he likes to feel part of the operation. Bye, Bye Mr. Laundryman.

“Okay, now we can go!”

"Is the front door locked? Yes, and all the other doors to the Inn." We both climbed into the truck, Richard studied the map as we were heading up into Pennsylvania to go and look at some Blacksmithing tools he had found for sale on Craigslist.

“Do you have your camera Virginia?”

Virginia clutches her face and leaps out of the truck. “It’ll just take me a minute; give me the keys to the Inn.” “Oh NO! We forgot the keys and we have locked ourselves out of the Inn and the apartment. Great!”

The next ten minutes were spent circling the Inn trying to find something that we had not locked in our zeal to leave it secured. Finally we got inside again.

“Okay, we have got the keys and the camera, now we can go.”

And go we did. The day was gorgeous; the countryside was filled with big red barns, farm houses, highland cattle, rushing streams sparkling in the crisp sunshine and thousands of acres of sleeping winter trees. We found the tool guy and Richard bought two or three. We stopped in a place called Frostburg for coffee and a walked around the town where we found an “artisan store” where we might be able to sell my nifty hats and Richard’s knives, once he makes them that is.

It was a good day not to be working. It is supposed to snow again tonight and for the next few days; winter is not over three thousand feet up in the western mountains of Maryland until May, but who’s complaining when you can have a day off like today and you can share your adventures with the laundry man on Friday.

Vegan Burns Socks at Equinox

There is a solemn ritual that is held very dear by old salts around the Bay of Chesapeake. It is not a ritual for the faint of heart, but since most of those sailors are cut from molds of iron, they have made the ritual a tradition.

At the Spring Equinox (this year last Sunday March 20th) sailors gather round a driftwood fire at a favorite beach to share their stories of winter woes and their hopes for Spring time boat repairs in readiness for a summer of sailing. Since we have our little boat Mandy on the edge of the Chesapeake, we took it upon ourselves to bring this sailor’s tradition to our lake edge B & B. The snow was gone, the fire pit was full of leaves and sticks and we had some pleasant people staying at the Inn who were pretty gung ho for an evening camp fire, despite the March wind whistling through the forest of pines all around us. The first day of Spring? Well maybe.

After plying the guests with plenty of the complimentary red and white wine and some getting to know you conversation, everyone was jolly despite the fire's smoke that insisted of changing direction constantly. One of the guests was a recent convert to a vegan diet and held the stage talking about the wonders it wrought on his general health. He was also, among other things, a sailor and knew the boatyard at Deltaville, VA very well.

Inspired by the company I suddenly remembered the sailor’s Spring Equinox ritual that I read about last summer. At the official arrival of Spring, when the fire is roaring, the maritime set remove their stinky old winter socks and toss them joyfully onto the fire. It is an act of defiance to the Winter. It says, “I’ve had enough and I just won’t take any more of it!” From then on a proper sailor will not wear socks again until the following year, despite all efforts from the weather to dissuade him.

Our Vegan was the first to rip them off and fling them onto the pyre. With an inspired “Whoop!” Richard was next, and then all of a sudden socks were flying in the air and landing solidly in the flames. I moved down wind, since there was no telling how old those stockings might be. One of the guests announced how fun it was to be part of such merriment and asked his wife to remind him to tell the grand-kids.

The wind grew in strength and everyone decided to retreat back into the cozy inn, probably in search of fresh socks. It suddenly occured to me as I watched the dying flames that the monks who built the place for their mountain retreats would have approved of the fun, despite it smacking of paganism, because they were a “discalced” order which means, they wore no shoes or socks, even in the winter.

A Winter's Tale

“Aren’t you scared being in that place all on your own when Richard is away and the inn is empty?” I am asked by concerned friends.

The first time we came to the inn for our interview there was snow falling; the first snow of the season last year. Into my head popped scenes from the movie “The Shining” with Jack Nicholson and Shelley Duvall who play caretakers at an off season hotel that is shut off from the world by snow. Lots of craziness ensues involving ghosts, knives and murder or should I say “redrum”. There is even a long corridor here that has a runner all the way along it, just like in the movie.

The inn used to be the retreat house for an order of monks from Baltimore but sixteen years ago it was turned into a B & B and the fifty acres surrounding the monastery was sold for the development of lake homes. Monks, monasteries and ghosts all seem to fit together somehow. Near the end of our interview I casually asked the boss if the building was haunted. “Not exactly” was the reply, “But there was once a strange incident in Room 9. A woman staying there alone was booked for three nights at the inn, but after one night she checked out in a flat panic saying that she had had a terrifying experience in the night. She said that she woke up violently - a man was in her room trying to strangle her.” After her departure from the inn there was no recurrence of this event or any subsequent disturbances in Room 9.The were no explanations for what had happened either.

On our arrival to begin working here, the innkeepers apartment was not usable and so orders from above were to take Room 8 or 9 and use it until we could move in to the apartment. I wanted to dispel any loopy ideas in my head that Room 9 was haunted, so there we stayed for our first two weeks. I was not alone but there also did not seem to be any cold drafts or spooky bumps in the night. I felt more easy having stayed in the room right at the beginning and I was sure that one way or another it would make a pretty good story one day.

Living at work is not the same as working from home, I’ve discovered. Its rather like when cell phones came into being, and although the concept was good, it meant that you would never again be able to escape work completely. Even at intimate dinners the cell phone crouches behind the salt and pepper threatening to ring or worse vibrate.

When you live at work, especially in an inn or hotel environment the phone is in constant persuit of your sanity, especially when instructions from above dictate not to allow more than two rings before answering. There is also no escaping the constant round of repairs, maintenence, cooking, cleaning, washing up and resetting the perfect arrival scenery from day to day, week to week etc. etc. Of course you say, that is what you have bought into by taking on the role of an innkeeper. That is true and so we have to redirect our focus to spend time doing something here that is not work related. That way when we greet our guests, thirsty for their special retreat, our smiles genuine from time “away” doing things we find inwardly rewarding.

Richard has begun a new hobby, learning how to be a blacksmith. Our friend and master historical armourer Jeff Hedgecock back in S. CA taught him how to make a craftsman’s knife and it was inspirational. Since arriving here Richard has started searching for all he needs to begin practicing making his own style of craftsman’s knives and recently joined the Appalachian Blacksmiths Association. At the first meeting he realized that he did not fit in next to the mutitude of extreme beards and bellies, but he’s not deterred from his goal. Banging away at hot steelon an anvil helps when a pampered guest leaves without tipping.

Me, I walk among the trees, watch the wildlife, and write my heart out. I have joined an online writer’s group led by a friend we meet sailing and from past experience I know that that interchange truly transports you to other worlds.
I have a notion to start hatmaking, since getting my industrial sewing machine from the boat and I am lucky in that part of my work here at the inn entails the creative art of cooking which has always been a pleasurable and fulfilling, as long as I am not in a crazy restaurant environment.

Perhaps living at work is not the issue, the tough thing is chewing off the time to separate ourselves from work, for it is the creating time that renews and gives us back ourselves.

A Sea of Trees and Glass

Welcome to the new blog.

Some of you will have migrated from www.sailblogs.com/member/mandy where you followed our two and a half year voyage from San Diego, CA through the Panama Canal and up to the East Coast USA where we have left our boat s/v Mandy on the hard in the Chesapeake, and some of you will have discovered this blog through other means.

We began this new venture on January 7th 2011 and we have been working very hard through a long snowy winter to learn all about our Inn and how to run it well. Whereas we had grown accustomed to living on the ocean, now we live in a sea of trees near some of Maryland's most loved state parks. Outside our Innkeepers apartment roam deer and black bear. Chipmunks, squirrels, wild turkey and grouse are also frequent visitors and we have a growing list of birds sighted here. Richard my husband and inn-keeping partner built a bear proof bird feeder outside the inn's kitchen window and it has been attracting chickadees, junco's, tufted titmice, woodpeckers, cardinals and wrens.

Two days ago I was in the kitchen preparing hors d'oeuvres, and I heard a tremendous crash like some one had dropped a huge tray of glasses, then a shrill cry from one of our guests made me run out to investigate. It turned out that a Ruffled Grouse had flown straight through the window near the breakfast room. One man had been busy microwaving a cookie near the window when the incident happened. He stood in his stocking feet with shattered glass over the entire floor, counter top and even on the plate he was holding. I told him not to move as he would get glass in his feet, until I had a chance to go and get him some shoes. The poor grouse was flapping around on top of the neatly laid breakfast tables, trying to work out where it was and how to get back outside. It was stunned from its impact with the glass window pane and along with the glass there were grouse feathers everywhere. What a mess! It was Friday night, right in the middle of the time for new guests checking in for the weekend.

Eventually we caught the poor bird and put her/him outside in the barn with the door ajar so that it could recover its senses under cover. I am still finding feathers and glass in various nooks and crannies. The guest also recovered his senses after a warm cookie and all concerned were none the worse. He took a photo of the bird in Richard's hands before we released it which we hope he will E-mail to us for you to see.What remains to be done is to get the window back from the repair shop and that will happen in due course.

Its going to be a whole new trip, so come along and enjoy the ride with us.