Dirty birds move out; alas, chicks move in

            How many folks buy wading pools for their chickens? We do. Chicks live under heat lamps until they feather out. A pool controls them and their mess. I called a discount store and spoke to a helpful cashier who sang the praises of a deluxe model with built in steps and a slide. I assured her chickens didn’t need a deluxe model. “What does a chicken need with stairs or a slide?” I asked? Her reply consisted of silence. I imagined her wondering if she heard correctly.

            New pool installed in the porch bathroom (remember the evil messy ducks’ pool resides in my office) we drove to Cameron to pick up fifty darlin’ chicks. On the way home I lifted the lid repeatedly to view the peeping mass. The thrill of new babies vied with the dread of the weather to come. Thirty-nine degrees this evening. Why does the temperature always drop when we fetch new birds home?

            Two lamps and a space heater warmed the bathroom into the 90’s. The chicks sipped water and tilted their heads back to swallow. So endearing, I thought. Not like those demanding, smelly ducks ensconced in my office. Chicks bumbled into the feeders and set to with voracious appetites. Day one ended with contented chicks settling down on the fragrant hay for their first nap. We checked on them throughout the night from the warm vantage point of the inside doorway. I love chicks.

            Early on day two I raced to the bathroom to view the babies. Still sweet-smelling with dry bedding (unlike the teen-aged ducks) they puttered around like clockwork toys.  I supplied more feed and water and I noticed wing feathers sprouting on several babies. I gazed fondly upon my little dears, then went to feed the disgusting ducks and complete morning chores.

            Day three saw chicks learning to leap. With practice and flapping their altitude improved to double their height. A large mahogany-colored Einstein considered the top edge of the pool. I felt a chill. I saw the gears whirring in its chicken-brain. Another noticed it and joined its contemplation of the pool top. More joined the fowl think tank; I knew it was time for a higher barrier. Food and water distracted them while I went to find the hubby, a roll of cage wire and the wire cutters.

            Border secured, I went to feed the ducks. Six escapees scuttled around the outside of the pool.”I’ve had it with you!” I shrieked. “I’m tired of the mess and I want my office back, you dirty birds!” Remember when I thought ducklings were adorable? Their outdoor pen ready, Art carried them in covered buckets to their new digs. I stood in the door of my office and contemplated the wreckage. Tomorrow, I told myself, I’ll deal with this tomorrow. I shut the door and returned to watch the chicks for a few minutes. Chicken therapy calms me.

            Day four brought bad news. “I want my bathroom back, “Art grumbled. “I need a long hot soak after all the duck toting.” I wanted to cry. Visions of working in my office evaporated. I must keep my assistant happy for the times I can’t carry out my wonderful new ideas. I agreed to move the chicks into my office. What’s another six weeks of birds blocking my desk? After all, chicks are adorable.

Chickens and Woman Play Games

Day One

She has them and I want them… henfruit , otherwise known as eggs. The basic conflict between womankind and chickenkind plays out every day at HomePlace.

            The day’s offering rests in the nest box, but some seem to be missing. The chickens’ opening gambit is to hide eggs in a corner of the pen. The pen is only three-and-a-half feet tall. I can’t go in after the eggs, so I need to use a “grabber”, one of those sticks with pinchers on one end  to reach through the fence. Cantankerous chickens lay as close to the fence as they can. The finer wire close to the ground blocks the “grabber’s” reach. While I manipulate grabber  around, the rooster lines up for a cheap shot at my hand. His favorite bite is the spot between my index finger and thumb—oh, so very tender! Shaking my hand in pain, one eye on the rooster, I find a stick and use it like a pool cue to knock the egg away from the fence. Finally I close the pincers around the egg, lift and… “plop!” The egg falls from the pincers. “Oh, hot ham!” I shout. Or something similar. Repeat the process until I get the egg threaded through the fence. Helene—1, chickens— 0.

            While I’m angling for eggs, another hen plants herself over the clutch of eggs in the box. Her beak is facing out, and murder shines in her beady orange eyes. I have to open the pen door to get her off the nest. She growls in warning (yes, chickens growl), and the rooster rushes up to help. Already wounded, I wave the grabber menacingly in his face. He strikes at it with spurs, so I give him a mighty shove while I knock the top off the nest box. Glove on one hand I reach toward the hen to dislodge her. She pecks me smartly on the wrist just above the glove. “Ow! Schmidt!” I squeal. Helene—1, chickens —1.

I retreat to the house, arm myself with tasty kitchen scraps, and return to battle. I push the scraps through the fence into a far corner, open the gate again, and snatch up the eggs before the foul creatures finish their snack. I think I deserve a point for each egg, which would net me seven points. Hubby says that’s cheating.  Helene—2, chickens —1.  I am the winner for the day! I cheer myself loudly and go for a band-aid.

Day Two

Toting the egg basket, I return to the arena. I look into the nest box and shriek,” Ham, ham, ham!” Defiant chickens glare as I look at shards of eggshells in the box. They ate them!!! They ate my eggs!” Chickens get a penalty for unsportsmanlike behavior. I clean out the remains and stomp to the house.

I select an egg from the fridge, tap a hole in each end, and blow the contents out into a bowl. I apply a waterproof  band-­aid adhesive to the larger hole, and grab a bottle of Louisiana hot sauce I fill the egg, and apply the other half of adhesive to seal the egg bomb.  Back to the pen I go. I wear a malicious smile as I place the egg into the nest box.” Go ahead girls, eat my egg!” I say.

I retreat to my lawn chair to watch and wait. I wanna know, do I get points or a penalty ? What do you think?

Deer Season Equals Lost Sleep

As my son and friends readied for deer hunting season, I dreaded my upcoming loss of sleep. I don’t hunt, but I do have several important functions to help stock both family freezers with venison.
The first day of the season, the phone rings at 4:00 a.m. “Mom, we’re on our way!” My son carols when I pick up.

       “Urf?” I whimper.

“Mom? Mom, are you awake?” he asks. Silly boy, I think. I’m vertical and clutching the phone two hours earlier than usual and haven’t had my coffee.

“Yeah,” I sigh. ”I’m up. C’mon out.”

I start the coffee and grab some dog snacks. My first job is to keep Bear-Dog quiet. I see the lights of the truck turn into the drive and I leap (stumble) to the door with snacks. I’m astounded at the decibels Bear can produce; deep, booming barks that originate from his toenails.

The deer will scatter if he gets started, so I stand next to him on the porch, garbed in my ratty sleep shirt, stuffing him with treats. Truck parked, the boys and grandkid of the day check in, exchange the news, and steal off to the deer blind. I stuff seventy pounds of protesting dog into his crate. He thinks our morning walk is starting early, rateand takes the hunkered down stance of dog-stubborn. He follows the handful of treats I toss into the crate and I slam the door shut. I drape an army blanket over it and tell Bear to hush, wishing I had my own crate and blanket; yearning to retreat back to bed.

Coffee is ready, so I pour an extra-large cup and search for something besides infomercials on TV at 4:30 in the a.m. Yeah, right! I can’t go back to bed; my work is not done. Cats draped over my legs and shoulder, I sip java in my recliner while I wait for the flash of light from the deer blind. The light signals a grandchild on the way to the house.  Back out to the porch to silence the dog again.

Grandson “Spud” is an active child, and the hunters need a break from what my husband refers to as a reprise of “Sponge Bob’s Greatest Hits.” Bless a talker. We select a movie and Spud entertains me with family tales his father wishes he’d left untold. Always infothe child; he’s quite rmative and very entertaining!

When Spud gets bored with his Nana, I call his dad’s cell phone to tell him Spud is on the way back to the deer blind. Later in the morning after the deer bed down, the hunters return to the house to share leftover baggie omelets and blow by blow descriptions of the day’s “hunt.” By this point I’m totally awake.

We repeat every weekend as necessary, until someone gets a deer.  Earlier would be best, or I’ll have to drag myself from the bed every weekend for the rest of the season. I’ve found nothing is as determined as a deer-less hunter, but Momma needs her sleep!

 

Update/Funding

Whew! It's sweltering out, but a cool front is on the way, then we'll only be in the 90's! The garden is slowed,but planted some chard seeds this A.M. Next to seed is broccoli and cauliflower.

Found out about a funding website at the last writer's meeting.  Using it to try to raise some tax money we owe.  If you like, go to indie and check out our campaign: Save Seniors' Farm.



http://www.indiegogo.com/SaveSeniorsFarm?a=1016059.  Let me know how I can improve the campaign, if you would. Things have been a bear lately with Art's diagnosis of prostate cancer, treatment, and our lowered summer income with higher summer utilities.

Still, we keep up our spirits and work on our problems. Have some stuff at a resale shop, and are working up a load of scrap metal. Making more jam this weekend when it cools off.

Our produce and jam sales were the best ever at Brazos Writer's last week. Thanks, folks! Enjoy your products and know the money went to good use: another tax payment made.

Spouses Diet—Results Vary    

          A stringent diet is just what the doctor ordered—a protein sparing fast for my husband and me with most of the “food” available at our clinic. Shakes, cereal, main dishes, soups and eggs come in foil envelopes to be mixed with water and consumed. One diet frozen dinner allowed a day. Good thing the product line includes bars and chips now, or the past two months might have been a whole lot more boring. Truth told this diet works: Art has lost nearly 50 pounds, and I’ve lost 25. Some days though, it’s tough not to grab something not on the list.

          One evening as I sat down to the computer, I smelled something familiar wafting along in the air. PEANUT BUTTER! Someone was eating peanut butter! My eyes shifted to my husband, spoon in mouth, and an odd expression on his face. Ever seen a grown man try to look innocent when he wasn’t? That’s the look.

          “Cheater!” I shrilled.

          “MMMMGPH!” he replied. A man who eats peanut butter by the spoonful should not try to communicate with his mouth stuck together. I went to the kitchen, got a spoon, and dug in the jar. Just one small spoonful, I thought.  Later I felt guilt, but it was too late. I had swallowed. His weight loss for the week was six pounds, mine was barely two pounds. Who says cheaters don’t prosper?

          Our trip to the grocery store last week began as any other. We each had our list and began to shop. As I rounded the corner to look for my mate, I spied him leaving the Deli. He didn’t see me. He sat down and took a big bite of a fried chicken leg! I zoomed toward the dining area, beeping the horn on the electric cart. Again the guilty look crept over Art’s face as I screeched to a halt. He tried to hide behind a store circular to finish, but he was laughing so hard he could barely chew or swallow. Somehow he managed to finish the chicken leg as I stared. How much weight did he loose that week? Another six pounds! I lost one-and-a-half pounds, even forgoing the fried chicken. Where is the justice in that?

          After the weigh in, we stopped at a roadside stand to buy a huge watermelon.  It disappeared in four days. Watermelon in quantity isn’t on the diet. Watermelon isn’t protein, so it’s not allowed. I ate melon with gusto, but I couldn’t match Art’s dedication to that juicy fruit. I couldn’t wait for the next week’s weigh-in. What would my results be?

         Stepping onto the digital scale, I took a double-take! I lost three pounds!  Himself lost his customary six pounds. Perhaps there’s something to Art’s “Have a Treat” philosophy, or maybe watermelon just doesn’t hang around in the system long. Should I try a fried chicken leg next? I’m thinking not—fried chicken is probably the first step on the road to… cheesecake.

                                                                                                                                            

      

Scorched Earth Policy Courtesy of the Electric Company

            The past two years have been a running battle with our electric provider. The front line is the right-of-way running through our farm. On a small section of this access there are/were dewberry canes, two pear trees and an ornamental plum tree.  The old man who owned the property previously planted them there around 1995. We purchased the farm in 2000.  2012 rolled along, and the plum and the dewberries are still there, but are dead, dead, dead. The pears survive, but require vigilance. Why did these plants suddenly become offensive starting in 2010?

            The first visit of or provider’s work crew occurred when we were off  property. We came home to crew-cut pear and plum trees. Shock and outrage followed, but not surprise, as the crew manning the saw on the extensible pole truck finished trimming along the wires fronting the road the day before. Why take a third of our trees’ top growth, “cutting” the fruit production severely? Regulations require branches trimmed back six feet from the wires, not ten feet! Damage done is done when pruning, and there’s little recourse on issues on the right-of-way. Not even when the tent caterpillars the crew brought from another location hatched out and festooned the plum tree and one pear tree with their tell-tale tent-like webs. The only cure is to cut off the branches infected and burn them.  More loss.

            Last year the butchers returned, stealthily creeping up the right-of-way from the neighbors¸ toting pruners and loppers. To my delight, our dog saw them and barked thunderously.  Hah! You thought you could sneak by us this time? I thought. From the foot of the porch I yelled, “STOP!” as the first pearbbranch fell. Startled, the culprit turned to face me. “Wait for my husband!” I shouted.

            Robe flying and slippers slapping (it was very early), hubby rounded the corner of the house, and cut loose with his own barking. Phone clutched tightly in his fist, he called their supervisor. They quit eying our trees, and ambled down the right-of-way to their next victims. We should have known they retreated too easily.

           Next morning the hairy intruder alarm sounded again. Scrambling for shoes and glasses, I stumbled to the living room and shoved the curtain aside. Villains! Villains carrying a sprayer, fanning it along the row of dewberry bushes! What were they thinking? Dewberries never get within six feet of the wires; three or four foot long canes are the most they can do!  Another irate phone call resulted in a personal visit from the supervisor and a promise to quit spraying. Notice nothing was said about sawing, pruning, clipping or any other cutting words in relation to our trees.

            Somehow the pear trees survived the chemical attack. The spray eventually killed the ornamental plum tree, its roots entwined with those of the dewberries mercilessly covered with toxic chemicals. I’ll miss her frilly pink spring dress, and the succulent dewberries that surrounded her. Someone needs to remove the skeletons.



 Don’t worry, guys, I’ll be waiting. You may have “rights”, but I have my “ways.” We’ll talk next time you visit.

Back Once Again

It has been awhile, I'll agree. Things are back on track, so here we go!

Automated Phone Systems – Machine War (text to be published in  the Marlin Democrat)

          When I sat down to write this article, my computer came up with the dreaded blue screen: no C-drive detected. I felt like I’d been dropped into one of the “Terminator” movies. The machines were out to get me. I had to deal directly with the dreaded auto-system in order to speak with a human minion of the machines.

            I dialed the toll free number, and began the auto-sorting.

My problem? “None of these,” I said.

My express service number? “On the back of the computer,” it prompted, “Say the number or enter.”  I repeated the ten digits.

“Please hold for a representative,” the machine ordered. The phone rang once followed by the empty sound of a lost connection. I thought some words, but I didn’t say them.  I hung up and dialed again to repeat the process, hoping for a better result.

The second call netted me a young man in India, the rumbling sound of other calls from folk at the mercy of their machines in the background. After 20 minutes I had a C-drive again. I think the machines want to build a false sense of security in me, so I’ll abandon this article. I am not fooled.

Want to get information on an account, or pay a bill by phone? Yes, I know I can do this by computer. I’ve tangled with the machines before to my sorrow. Machines have suckered businesses into the battle against humanity using these phone and computerized systems to increase efficiency and save money. I yearn for the voice of a live person, even if they owe allegiance to the machines. I hope for human sympathy, and punch “O” over and over and over. Sometimes a machine error allows contact with a biological entity.

I call the doctor’s office at our large clinic. The first thing I get is a machine. It wants information, and if it doesn’t get it, I won’t get the appointment I want, either! It requires a phone number and address, the better to keep track of you. I’m not paranoid, really! Don’t forget the patient’s birth date and insurance.

I wanted to talk to the nurse. Of course the machine won’t let you speak with her; you must leave a message. The machine dictates the data needed, some of which I’ve already given. Do it! The machine insists on it all, or the nurse will not call. Last name, first name, birth date of patient, insurance, doctor, reason for calling, call-back number … all given in a staccato manner, barely a pause…Aiee! What was that last one? What number do you press for a repeat? I punch “O” hoping the system will let me speak to something breathing. Sadly, I must go through the system again.

 I’m about to e-mail this column if the machines permit. If you don’t hear from me in a few days, please send help. The machines want to keep their secrets, and hold all of us at their mercy. I’ll keep typing as long as I can….

Seed Catalog Conspiracy

Have the spring garden catalogs caught your eye?  When they arrive, I pore over them for hours checking for old favorites and reading about new varieties. There’s a hidden problem in all this bounty; I think of it as the Great Seed Catalog Conspiracy.

            I sit with four catalogs and map my strategy to save money on shipping and handling charges. A gardener can’t find all the seeds they need from one company, so the shipping charges add up as folks seek the perfect seeds for the best garden ever.

            The dark green patty pan squash seeds are available solely from Company A. The variety grows best at HomePlace, so I will have them. Who in their right mind wants to pay $4.95 S&H for a $1.95 seed packet? I search through the pages and add three other packages of vegetable seeds. Why not get more? I need a pumpkin variety not carried by Company A.

             I want to get seeds for the “thin hulled seed” pumpkins we grew last year. Company B needs $5.95 for shipping on orders up to $9.95. Seed cost: $3.25. I am not paying the larger S&H without getting my money’s worth, so I carefully add extra packets I need to the order, not to exceed the order limit and pay extra charges.

 On to search the catalog from Company C; they have seeds for a tomato advertised to “…reach up to six pounds!” How can I pass that up! I probably need to add the book on growing giant tomatoes, too. I could get up to $24.99 in other merchandise for $4.95 shipping, but this company limits it selection, cutting out a lot of things I want.

            Catalog D hits the trashcan with a resounding clang! Do I want to shell out $7.50 this year to ship an order no matter how small? I don’t care about the insurance included. I’ve never lost an order in shipping. I’ve been a customer of this company for ten years, but they’ve developed a talent for discontinuing the seeds I like best. Add in the extra cost and I’m severely offended!

             I’ve racked up $15.85 in shipping and handling. The penny-pincher hiding in my heart wants to revolt. Why can’t a person order from a single catalog and get what they want?  I think seed companies conspire in planning their catalogs just to catch stubborn folk like me.

Good Luck for the New Year

Grab that grocery cart and let’s head down those aisles! It’s time to get some groceries to ensure a lucky 2012. Considering the year 2011, you may want to eat more than the usual black-eyed peas!

Greens are an excellent choice if you want more money than last year. Greens resemble folding cash, so grab some collard greens or cabbage for a bountiful New Year. Sauerkraut counts, but my husband won’t eat it no matter how much money it may bring. I guess I’ll have to eat his share.

Rolling on, don’t forget some fish. The scales represent coins, and schools of fish indicate abundance. Swimming forward, fish, indicate progress. Some folks with German backgrounds eat herring, the questionable highlight of my childhood New Years Eve. Pickled creamed herring had to be one of the luckiest foods; I felt lucky I could eat just one piece and hold it down. Instead, pass the shrimp, they’re just as lucky and easier to consume.

Fruit is on the list, too. Twelve grapes, one for each stroke of the clock, are eaten in Spain. Each grape represents a month. If you munch down on “February” and it’s bitter, watch out for that month in the coming year. Pomegranates symbolize fertility and abundance in the Mediterranean countries. You are totally responsible for the results if you take the pomegranate home with you!

Want long life? Eat some noodles, but slurp each noodle completely into your mouth before chewing. For the most luck, eat grains like quinoa, barley or rice! Chinese dumplings must be eaten without counting or you’ll face scarcity in the coming year.

Pork is high on our New Year’s list. Pigs are round (for prosperity) and root forward. Avoid chicken or turkey. They scratch backward, and your luck will fly away with their feathers. Besides, who wants to scratch for a living? Bring on the ham and pork roast instead.

Ring shaped cakes represent wholeness and completion of a full year’s cycle. I’m sure doughnuts count for this one. Buy a large assortment to please every member of your family. Whether you serve donuts or a full size bundt cake, you’ll ensure a sweet new year.

Lentils represent coins, as do black-eyed peas. I’ve always thought lentils were more coin-ish in shape than the peas. In Italy, you’ll find lentils in a soup or stew sometimes with sausage for good fortune in the coming year.

Cart full, proceed to the checkout, dish out some folding green, and haul your lucky groceries home. Prepare them with love and hope. Share them with those you love. Good luck and prosperity to you and yours for 2012.

Cleavage wrinkles? Frightening New Aging Problem

Wrinkles on your face? Saggy skin under your chin? Now there’s another area of concern: cleavage wrinkles. Thanks to the Doctor Oz Show we can know the truth, and seek the cure.

When the segment was announced, I immediately did a quick survey under my T-shirt. Wow! No wrinkles evident, but I waited breathlessly for more information. Just because I have no cleavage wrinkles now, doesn’t mean I might not get some later on. I must know more!
 
Cleavage marring wrinkles can occur as early as age 40, and are the bane of the average to highly endowed woman. What causes them? Sleeping on your back or sides is the culprit. I sneaked another peek down my shirt to double-check. My penchant for sleeping face down must have paid off!

Before you tuck pillows under your arms and risk possible suffocation sleeping face down, know there’s a simple cure. Wish I could remember what the thing was called; I must be having a senior moment. Let’s call it the “Freedom Organizer”! Dr. Oz picked a volunteer from the audience to model the device.

Violet Volunteer strapped on a bra-like item—without the cups—over her sweater. Snuggled between her “girls”, a small pillow filled the space prone to stretching from sleeping on one’s sides. I imagine the parts encircling her mammaries would discourage slippage when sleeping on the back in most cases. The generously blessed might suffer some slippage, but the extremely endowed could experience a breast-slide sleeping in this lingerie/harness.

Want to save $56.00, fight cleavage wrinkles, and not frighten your bed-mate?  Try a sleep bra or jogging bra if you worry over this problem. Frankly I’m a bit old fashioned; after a certain age sporting the cleavage is a dicey proposition at best.

Seriously, I must thank Dr. Oz for his work in the area of women’s health. His entertaining show also offers life-saving information for people of all ages and genders.

The “cleavage” segment of the September 29, 2011, program certainly improved my health. One look at the anti-wrinkle device Violet sported caused a fit of giggles releasing a flood of endorphins into my system. Thank you, Doctor!

Drought Update

I've stopped counting the days without rain. I think I remember some in early May, but it might have been April.


Oaks are drying, dying and falling. Major fires are burning thousands of Texas acres, and thousands of homes. Happily none of the fires have threatened us so far (knocking on wood).


I'm glad we don't have horses or cows. It's hard enough to keep the gardens alive and take care of the chickens, duck and rabbits. We've lost 8 rabbits since July due to heat. The chickens walk around holding their wings away from their bodies and gaping their beaks to try to cool off. One day they looked so desperate, I sprayed them down with the water hose.


Art and Matthew processed 7 rabbits this week. Trying to get the feed bill down. The cheapest rabbit food is over $10 for 50 pounds, which maybe feeds them a week. There's precious little weeds and fresh grass to harvest and feed. Chicken feed has doubled in price. They get so excited when I give them a few chard leaves from the garden, then look accusingly at me when it's gone. Hay prices have doubled, too. We'll need some for winter and nest boxes in the fall.


The weather has cooled to stretches of days in the mere 90's. It feels almost cool to me. There's been thunder, but only a breif spit of rain, not enough to register in the rain gauge. Not enough to dampen anything.


Please, send us rain.

You’ve got to admire a 71 year old man who traveled alone across all 254 counties in Texas riding a Harley Road King. More amazing, he completed this ride between stints of contract work. He began his feat in 2009 and finished with Milam County on August 17, 2011, this past Wednesday. My son met J.D. Massingill taking a break on the roadside, and brought him to our farm in Falls County for a cool drink and a little AC while he talked about his journey.



Mr. Massingill has been to Marlin and Falls County before. From 1970 to 1980 he worked for Tom’s Snacks in Waco, and Marlin was a regular part of his route. The day we met him, he was traveling through Falls County headed to his home in Farmer’s Branch, Texas.

He was traveling to a motorcycle rally in Daytona, when the rain on his route changed his mind. He decided to see places he’d never seen before, and make his ride across Texas. He used a1997 Road King Police bike to begin his Texas ride, and finished with a gleaming 2006 Harley of the same model.

A road map was his constant companion, but not always his friend. A few times when he referred to the map, found he’d missed a county and had to backtrack. Once in the panhandle he had to ride back 150 miles to catch a county he missed. After he returned from a stint on the road, he’d color in the counties he’d completed on a map posted on his wall. One of his best days was 400 miles and 28 counties, a lot to shade in!

J.D. mentioned riding through all of the United States in 2007, spending the nights in a sleeping bag at campsites along the way. On this Texas trip he used motel rooms for the night for their amenities. He especially enjoyed the air conditioning after a day of riding in heavy clothes and helmet in our record breaking heat. He liked riding alone because he’s a slow starter in the mornings and needed his coffee. A quick tidy-up of his room competed, he’d be off on his bike again.

Before he left, I asked him what was next; he thought he might travel all the counties of New Mexico or maybe Oklahoma. When I wished him “Happy Trails!” his face split into a wide grin. Obviously he’s a man who enjoys cruising the road on his Harley.

The Summer of Jars -- Emergency Prepardness

Found some old Mason jars in storage along with some attractive antique food jars. Back in the day the manufacturers went the extra mile to decorate the glass jars containing food. Today's jars, not so much.

As  matter of fact, there seems to be another problem with today's canning jars -- they seem to be a bit smaller than the old ones. The canning recipes don't quite fit the jars. The jar dinner recipes have required a bit of tamping down to fit.

Recipes from the "jar" cookie book have not fit in all cases. Especially the chocolate chocolate chip one. Layering in the ingredients, by the time I got to the chips, there was no room at all left in the jar. Good recipe, but problematical. I'll need to find some slightly-larger-than-a-quart jars.
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Ordered more freeze dried veggies from Honeyville Farms. Friend Maggie has gone in on the order, too. This time I'm trying the potato slices, she's trying the mixed vege, and we're splitting mushrooms and dried onions. These products are so good I use them as additions to everyday cooking out here in the boonies, when I run out of something. Next month I plan on getting the peas and carrots, and maybe the tomato powder.
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Drought continues unabated; the weeds even crunch under my feet. 58 days of 100+ weather, 36 days in a row. Did manage to pick a watermelon the deer didn't get to first. It was slightly underripe, but good. Leaving out water for wild birds, thinking about leaving some out for deer, too.

Please, let it rain.

If You're Having Trouble Commenting Here...

Several people have complained they can't comment here. If you're having trouble, would you please e-mail me? I need to get a picture of what might be wrong.

Thanks,
Helene

More Emergency Prepapedeness Info

 A quick critique of my Honeyville Farms freeze dried vegetables order:
The mushrooms are excellent. I'll definitely get more. I use them in everyday cooking, too.
Potato dices are the best value for your money in terms of the weight of the #10 can. The dices are very small, like hash browns. Good for soups, breakfast, or casserole toppings. I'll try the slices next time to put in casseroles instead.
Celery and chopped green onions are great in jar dinners and everyday cooking. Lots and lots of onions in a quantity that will probably last forever!
                       ***                    ***                     ***
Sweating over a hot stove canning for the EP Pantry:

Pickled jalapenos, both red and green  2 pts.
Large sliced hamburger dill pickles      3 pts.
Mixed veggies-- okra, zucchini, and a few cucumbers  1 pt.

Okra-- tasty and pretty, too

Fighting the grasshoppers for veggies during this drought has affected the yield in the garden, so I'm doing small batches. The okra is still too slow producing to do full jars, so I did a  mix just to get some okra pickled.

I've learned to keep extra veggies nearby when pickling. I ran short of cucumbers and had to go back to the garden in the middle of packing the jars to get more. Good thing the pickling process is more forgiving than making jam or jellies. The whole house smelled like pickles for six hours. Good thing I like pickles. Sadly, Hubby doesn't like them.

Emergency Prep. Recipes--cont'd

Whether your emergency is a collapsing economy, your spouse's boss coming to dinner, or an overfilled day of errands , it pays to be prepared!

We've eaten some of the prepared emergency dinners on our shelf this summer, and I'm working on modifications of some of the recipes. Some were just too salty! I've branched out to modifying regular recipes for on-the-shelf storage. Here's my latest venture into Mexican cuisine in a jar:

Quick Chi-Rab Mole
(if you're new here, this means recipe works with chicken or rabbit)



My recope looks redder due to tomato sauce

 Combine in a small baggie:

2 TBL. dried onion flakes
1 1/2 tsp. chili powder
1/2 tsp. cumin
1/2 tsp. oregano
2 tsp. cocoa powder
2 tsp. garlic powder

Layer in Jar:
1 cup uncooked rice
1-8oz. can tomato sauce
1-4 1/2 oz can diced green chilis
spice bag above
Close and label jar with name and directions

Additional ingredients needed: 2 TBL peanut butter
                                           2 c. water
Directions:

Combine spices with tomato sauce, peanut butter and green chilis.
Stir in 1 # shredded cooked chicken or rabbit. Simmer on stove top 20-30 minutes. Prepare rice with 2 cups water.

Serve mole over rice.

Optional:
* add 1can black beans to mole mixture before simmering
                            or
* serve in tortillas instead of over rice
                  
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I ordered dried bulk food from Honeyville Farms this month and am very pleased. Their shipping and handling fee is only $4.99, no matter how much you buy, and the order arrived in four days!

"So long, Ready Store!"

Post Garage Sale

I think I've finally recovered from last weekend's garage sale. All that beautiful folding green certainly helped. Made a few good trades, too! Got an air popper for a rice steamer, and a 6' tall shelf for a handmade quilted Christmas wreath.

Mornings were tolerable, but afternoons of 102 to 104F were a bit much. Drank so much water I thought my eyes would swim. Art went on a lunch run every day to Subway, so lunch was easy.




Not our hoard, just an example!

 

You'd all be so proud of Art and I. We sent most of the remaining "stuff" to a hospice resale shop. Thanks to our new friend Maggie D for taking that load there for us.

No more sorting through shipping containers until October when we prepare for the next garage sale. For now afternoons will find me inside under the zephyr breezes of the AC!

Scuttling Across the Desk...

Minding my own business, pricing things online for the upcoming garage sale, I threw myself violently away from the keyboard this morning.

 I found myself facing a bark scorpion heading for the mouse pad. I've been stung before and didn't want a repeat. Burning pain for hours, and nothing seems to help.

Yesterday I'd been congratulating myself at the lack of scorpions finding their way into the house. See if I do that again!

Art jumped up and dispatched it with the butt end of the 9 volt flashlight. "Crunch-Squish" and it was done!

I think the senior indoor cat was miffed; he loves those hot and spicy snacks. Usually he finds them, eats them, and spends a day or two with a swollen muzzle. I never understood his fascination with the nasty creatures. Maybe it's the challenge?

As for me? Crush-Kill-Destroy! Better yet, leave the scene and have someone else take care of it.

New Cultural Experience

It's a wonder I've made it to 61 and never participated in a garage sale. I'll fix that this coming weekend. Maggie is holding one and Art and I are helping.

Today we spent two hours sorting through barely half of the 20' shipping container near the driveway. Amazing how many treasures we've accumulated since 1990 together, and on our own before we met. Finally able to let some of that stuff go. Making room to store things actually on the shelves! The extra cash will be welcome.
                                   ***                    ***              ***

I am pleasantly surprised how quickly the Texas Dept. of Transportation sent me a replacement title for my old Ford Festiva. I sent off all the required papers less than a week ago!

 A good servant, that car. I drove it until it died,  we graffiti'ed it, then shot it up at the "Cops and Robbers" shooting workshop we held more than a year ago. It taught writers not to hide their characters behind a car and hope they'll be safe. We'll take it across the scales at the recycling plant for cash. I hope its next incarnation is a happy one.

Still trying to get rid of the remains of the Buick Skylark. It's door-less, hoodless and trunkless. those parts have already gone across the scale. Impossible to get the title on it straightened out; I'm sure it was headed to Mexico before we bought it. "Title, Senor? We don't need a title!"

Never buy a car when you're desperate, is my advice. Too bad I can't follow it. Skylark gave up the ghost 18 months after we bought it. It's been sitting in the woods, awaiting the final recycling. How to get it in smaller pieces is the question. Hmmmmm....

What's Good About a Drought?/ Updates

I asked myself this question as I slathered on sunblock, preparing to do chores outside. I looked at the can of "Off" and it flashed into my mind. What's good? Fewer MOSQUITOES! I don't have to spray myself with bug-spray!

Mosquitoes adore my taste, and flock to me. Some bug sprays are simply a condiment to improve my taste! They ignore my hubby, Art, and circle me singing their keening song.

They used to lurk in the shade under the oaks, in clumps of grass, and laid eggs in any available water to propagate. Easy to keep water dumped out of potential nurseries this year.

 
The bites itched, the possibility of encephalitis or West Nile disease was unnerving. I do my chores faster without crazy-woman mosquito swatting breaks. A definite plus in this blistering heat.

                      ***               ***              ***
Updates:

Rabbit herd down to 37-- meat in freezer

Pears ripened two months early, only the size of ping pong balls or a few like tennis balls.

Grasshoppers eating everything in sight -- even the jalapenos!

I'm writing a column for a local paper. Have done three so far.

Saw "Green Lantern" and enjoyed it. Waiting for sequel; you know it's coming!

Enjoying Janet Evanovich's "Smokin' Seventeen" on audio book. I always enjoy a giggle at the antics of Stephanie, Lula, and my favorite: Grandma Mazur! My sister finished the print version in one day.

Feeling cheerful. More than enough to do to keep busy. Life's good.