November 6th, 2025, Issue # 100

One Week, One Project, One Path to a

Stress-Free Holiday Season.

The Pecan Detour

Howdie!

Happy Thursday!

It’s November. Time to tame overwhelm with intention. From now until the end of the year I invite you to join me in creating a weekly project that actually delivers joy. Each week, I'll share one project you can make—or modify to fit your life—guarantee to transform this season from rushed into remarkable. No lines. No burnout. Just focused, doable wins that create memories and gifts people actually treasure.

This week? We're taking the Pecan Detour.

Decades ago, young and ambitious, Dan and I planted four varieties of pecan trees. Three are dwarfs compared to the Kentucky pecan that stretches two stories skyward—with branches so heavy with pecans, they actually kiss the walkway to our front door.

The Signal

Pecans are hidden in green husks. When the husks split open, it is harvesting time. Rush it, and you'll crack open shells that yield bitter fruit. One must wait in vigil for nature's cue and outsmart the battalion of relentless critters (jays, black birds, squirrels…) who think this tree is just for them.

The 9 AM Ritual

Dan heads out—surgical gloves snapped on, basket swinging. He picks only the pecans with husks yawning wide. Pecan clusters can hold up to five or more pecans, but they don't all ripen at the same time. Patience and pickiness wins.

Inside, I'm transforming last season's stash using amazing super easy recipes that taste like a camp of labor workers were hired to make them. Ras el Hanout Pecans with Toasted Sesame cooling. A batch of Rosemary Orange Pecan ready for pretty glass pedestal jars. These become the gifts people remember. This year, I added Pecan Turtles to the mix.

The 10 AM Assembly Line

I join Dan outdoors. He dumps his haul—a mountain of green and brown on our outdoor table. My setup: two baskets (waste, treasure), gloves, knife for stubborn husks.

Peel. Toss left. Drop right. Repeat.



Why the Gloves Matter

Pecan husk juice is relentless. It brands your hands and fingernails brown—a stain that laughs at soap. Surgical gloves aren't fussy. They're survival.

The Midday Haul

By lunch, we've filled a basket the size of a giant watermelon with naked pecans in their shells. But we're not done. Not close!

The Three-Week Cure

Pecans need air and time. We spread them in a cool, ventilated spot away from sunlight. Three weeks minimum. This rest transforms them from bitter and mushy to buttery and crunchy.

Happy Hour Memories

Happy hour finds Dan and I settled in on the deck with our shelling tools. One hour. Four hands. We crack while we relax and chat. An hour later, we have one pound of perfect pecan halves.

Yes. Only one pound!

Homegrown pecans aren't cheaper. They're priceless. If you receive homegrown pecans as a gift, you’re holding a gift of love.

Your Turn to Detour

This season step off the commercial conveyor belt. Make gifts that come from your hands, your time, your intention.

Fast forward the steps above and reproduce the recipes I provided by visiting Costco where the price on a two-pound bag of pecans is baffling. Less than $15.

The people you love do not need more stuff wrapped in glossy paper (but if they do, you can always find clever stuff at www.bygitedhands.com). They need more of what you felt while making something that shows you were thinking of them. They need gifts that say, "I chose time over convenience because you matter." Later, watch with satisfaction what happens when someone unwraps not just a present, but proof they're worthy of your detour.



Bye for now,

Nora