who is maggie?

happy birthday to us!
notes from maggie's farm

Approaching our first birthday, this blog, we are, and we've been giving thought to how, with the encouragement and support of our readers, we've come pretty darned far.  We're thinking of ways to throw a little blog party next week.  We welcome your ideas.  But first, for the all but two of you who weren't here in the beginning, one of our first blog posts.........who (the heck) is maggie?

When I walk into my kitchen today, I am not alone. Whether we know it or not, none of us is. We bring fathers and mothers and kitchen tables, and every meal we have ever eaten. Food is never just food. It's also a way of getting at something else: who we are, who we have been, and who we want to be.  --Molly Wizenberg. 

Easily the question most often asked around here, after 'How in the world did you end up out here?' is Who is Maggie?  A quick internet search for from maggie's farm might return our website, this blog, or just as likely a slew of offshoots based on the song, Maggie's Farm, by Bob Dylan.  And while we might, on occasion, relate to so some of the particular sentiment of that song, that is not our Maggie.  And most people know me casually as Christine, Christy, or Chris.  So, they ask, who is Maggie?

Margaret Josephine, and her son, my father, Thomas William

Well, there are quite a few Maggie's in the story of from maggie's farm. I am fortunate to hail from, and be surrounded by, strong, talented women who have all supported and contributed to the best of what I've become.  My paternal grandmother, Margaret Josephine,  the third of eight children of Josephine Margaret, was a devoted mother and doting grandmother, and when I am challenged as a mother, it is her example which guides me, and I strive to live with the grace and strength she so beautifully personified.  She leaves a legacy of gathering family around the table for memorable meals; her fried chicken is the stuff of legends.  During the harvest of our summer's bounty, I often walk into my kitchen on preserving days to the heady aromas of fresh vegetable and sweetened cider vinegar that transports me to her kitchen and infuses me with an indescribable warmth, and the assurance that I am doing just what it is that I am meant to do.

Harriet Margaret and her daughter, and my mother, Margaret Ann

My maternal grandmother, Harriet Margaret, was a beautiful woman, and incredibly talented artist with a dry, rapier with.  She spent long hours teaching me to hand sew perfectly, and helped me to hone my penmanship skills so that I was the best in my class.  Although she was always impeccably groomed and dressed, that never stopped her from plopping down in the garden with me, along with my twin brother, teaching us the fine art of making mud pies, or using furniture casters as 'cars' in the 'race tracks' we made in the dirt.  Her father died when she was young, and she was subsequently raised by her beloved widowed mother, a farmer, also.  When my art projects work out unexpectedly well, my chickens gather around me adoringly, or when a little comic genius is called for, and delivered, I know she is with me.


And my mother, Margaret Ann, is the most perfect homemaker I've ever known. There has never been a day that I have walked into her home and found it less than spotlessly tidy.  No shirt fresh from the dry cleaner's has ever been pressed as sharply as hers.  She is an award-winning seamstress, and when I was a little girl, we would 'window shop' for pretty little dresses that she would sketch out on the notepad she carried just for such occasions.  We'd then head to the fabric store, an on home, where she would work late into many nights to duplicate, and surpass, the choice I'd made.  She set high expectations, simply because she believe her children could accomplish anything they set their minds to, and they often did so, with her encouragement.  When the world gets tough, as it often does, and I'm feeling a bit tattered, there is no mother more in her child's court than she.  Mothers and daughters, well they have unique, and often complicated relationships, but I have no doubt that my mother will always be on the other end of the phone to offer me words of unquestionable support ,and still believes that I am the best, most talented daughter in the world. 

And that leads back to me, and my full name, Margaret Christine.

In closing, I'd be remiss if I didn't include two other Maggie's of from maggie's farm, 

Maggie, the farm forewoman-cat, and lastly, the lane upon which we farm.......

and that is the story of the Maggie's from maggie's farm.