We made it home after our trip to Texas and points in-between. Time had started to drag because Mary and I both caught what we thought to be head colds but turned out to be, with a doctor's diagnosis, sinus infections. The weather was mostly cold, wet, and windy. Conditions were rife for colds, and within the confines of our tour bus there was much coughing and hacking to be heard. Some prescribed antibiotics and cough syrup seem to be doing their jobs, so everything should be back to normal soon.
Last night we ate fresh corn muffins, a treat baked from the flour we bought near Waco, Texas at an agriculture-based Christian community named Homestead Heritage located on a 350 acre patch of ground. They termed themselves non-denominational and used a lot of modern devices such as cell phones, computers, automobiles, etc. Their farming methods, though, were conducted by old, labor-intensive methods. Draught horses pulled their machinery, foot-pedaled potter's wheels turned clay for shaping into pots and vases, a running stream powered the mill stones to grind the flour, and carpenters used hand tools to craft their furniture.
This community started in 1973 with one of their goals being to escape the corporate world's pressures and demands and turn to this simpler way of life. They eagerly demonstrated their crafts and welcomed the business we gave them, including the cost of the noon luncheon they prepared for us using all-natural foods produced on their farm.
They freely admitted that they were learning as they went along. They illuminated a few old wise sayings that they had learned the meaning of. For example, "keep your nose to the grindstone" was important because when the clearance between the two millstones was correct, a certain odor emanated from the grain grinding process telling them things were right. "The rule of thumb" came when the miller took some flour and rolled it between his thumb and forefinger. If a ball of flour sat as a small lump on the finger, the grind was good. "Strike while the iron is hot" came from the world of the blacksmith and basically speaks for itself. A blacksmith could tell from the color of the hot iron if it was at the proper temperature for working with his hammer on the anvil. The origination of the term "threshold" interested me most. (When a groom carries his bride over the threshold, he never thinks of this.) Shocks of grain were brought to an open shed and a flail knocked the kernels from the stalks. Then it was all winnowed or tossed into the air for the breeze to carry away the chaff, leaving the thresh or kernels on the floor. As the pile of grain built up, a board was placed across the bottom of the open door to hold the thresh in; thus the word threshold came into the vocabulary.
