A party, a list, and a recipe

I had a busy week (well, except for Thursday, which was the last blog post, so you know I'm lying) so it was with relief that I awoke on Friday morning and lay in bed long beyond the hour when I should have gone for a run or biked to the gym. It was a perfect summer's day, our best yet this year. So I sat on the deck, put my feet up, admired the sunshine, listened to the birds sing, and drank my healthy smoothie.

Yes'm, nothing like a pair of feet in some Keen flip-flops to add some class to a pretty back-yard picture!

Mid-morning, I picked up Thomy and Jeff and headed out to Bethany's house for Joshie's fifth birthday party. It was a low-key affair, only four non-family participants, but Jeff pulled a bashful.

He hid at the top of the stairs. 

Slowly, he descended, until he was on the bottom step.

And there he stayed, in varying degrees of concealment...

...until, at last, I jollied a smile out of him.

Even a promise of a cupcake and ice cream did not tempt him for some time.
He sneaked around the corner and under the piano.

Eventually, he warmed up and joined the rest of the Bedlamites and had a great time.

Did I get a photo of the birthday boy?

No, I did not.

I am a bad Nana.

Kenzie came home with me and was to stay until Monday, but alas, due to several misdemeanours on her part, which shall not be mentioned but did not come to light until she had left home, Mom said she had to go home today.

But never let it be said that we let the grass grow under our feet.

Kenzie was playing on my laptop in the evening and told me very gravely that she thought Miley Cyrus had killed Selena Gomez.

I don't think so, Kenz.

But look Nana, it's right here on Youtube.

So I Googled it and was able to reassure her that Miley had not killed Selena.

That there are many rumours on the internet so you have to be careful.

I'm still not sure she believed me.

A little later, she pipes up, Nana, does Google know everything?

Which, trust me, opened the door to a much bigger conversation!

Later, she informed me that she didn't like Justin Bieber because he had cheated on (insert name of teenage star here) with (some other teenage star).

Crikey. She's ten. I told her she wasn't even allowed to think about romance any more.

Then I found out her mom doesn't even let her go on Youtube.

Oops!

We stayed up late and watched Larkrise to Candleford on Friday, so slept in on Saturday.

We went for a run/scooter ride (I run, K rides a scooter) just before noon, which was far too hot so we came home after one long lap.

Then we made lists.

The girl needs to work on her penmanship, but don't you love how she adds things to the list after we've done them and then crosses them off?

I do that.

So we tri(p)mmed roses.

Yes we did.

And fertilized and watered them and weeded.

And then we came in the house and talked Jeff into vacuuming.

Check.

And we traded off pitting cherries and sweeping the kitchen.

Two quarts of pitted cherries in the freezer.

Check.

And we made cookies from a Marie Callendar mix.

Check.

And ate them.

And we thought about making cinnamon rolls but we were tired, so we went to Freddie's instead.

This is what Kenzie wanted to get:

Is any of it on sale, Kenz?

Nooo.

Then we're unlikely to get it.

So we got what was on sale, picked up a couple of movies, and came home.
Kenzie spent the rest of the evening watching what could be one of the world's worst movies.
Gnomeo and Juliet.
Give the girl a television and no sibling competition and she is in heaven.

This morning we arose early and made bagels before church.

If you've made it this far without falling asleep, you will be rewarded with the easiest and bestest bagel recipe ever. 

I was going to teach Kenzie how to make a loaf of bread in the breadmaker so that she could do it at home, 

but she learned how to make bagels instead.

And aren't they beautiful?

The original recipe is one that I've been making for about twenty years, but I simplified it and use the breadmaker to mix the dough.

Honey Wheat Bagels

Add to bread machine:

2 1/2c unbleached flour

1 1/2c wheat flour

2 tsp salt

2 1/2tsp yeast

2 tbs honey

1/2c water

1/2c milk

1 egg (see note at end of recipe)

3 tbs oil

Mix on the dough cycle, Dough should be stiff, not sticky at all. At the end of the cycle, divide dough into 12 pieces. Roll each into a rope shape and form into a circle, making sure to pinch the ends together well. Place on a cookie sheet (I love my Silpat) and let sit for about 15 minutes while you bring some water to boil in a large skillet. 

Preheat the oven to 375 degrees. 

Gently pop the bagels into the gently boiling water and cook for one minute on each side. Put the bagels back on the cookie sheet. Brush with egg wash and bake for 15 to 20 minutes, till lightly browned.

NOTE: Beat the egg lightly in a custard cup and add most of it to the machine. Add a little water to the remaining egg and mix well. Use as the egg wash.

Yum!

You will not believe how much more delicious these are than store-bought bagels.

And, no evil high-fructose corn syrup. Have you noticed how almost all bagels contain this now?

You can alter the recipe by using all white flour, adding cinnamon and raisins or cranberries and orange zest, or sprinkling with poppy or sesame seeds.

Now go.

Let your imagination run wild!

And no, we didn't make cinnamon rolls.

So Bethany, seeing as how Kenzie is grounded till Friday, why don't you put her to work making bagels?

The Slug Diaries

This morning, feeling sluggish because I had no reason to be otherwise, I stayed in bed until the last minute.

Then the piano student for whom I had arisen was a no-show.

So I meandered lazily onto the deck and decided to check on the size of my tomatoes.

Now, we have had a very cold and wet spring and summer in Oregon so far, as I have already mentioned. I am convinced that everything in my garden is going to ripen while Jeff and I are in England in late September. So, I figure a little positive reinforcement from moi cannot do any harm.

As I descended the single stair of the deck, I noticed the pile of sunflower seeds that are making a big mess beneath Jeff's bird feeders.

Self, I said to myself, you must remember to give Jeff a niggle about that tonight.

See, I try not to nag, so I niggle instead!

These are the biggest specimens so far and I gave them a pep talk.

Grow, little tomatoes, grow. 

Show your brothers and sisters how to do it.

Sadly, the other tomato plants are sporting only a few little runts like this.

I am happy to report that this plant, which is in the pot by the deck, has stopped dropping its flowers and is finally producing babies.

Come on, baby, grow. You can do it!

I took a peek at the grapes, which we pruned harshly this year. We had a bumper crop last year that was so sour I have to add as much sugar to the juice as is called for in Koolaid. Yuck! I thought it was because I had let them overproduce, but further research gave me the answer. I had pruned the excess growth off the vines quite religiously throughout the summer. Last summer was fairly cool too, so I thought it would allow the grapes to catch more sun and also get more nutrients from the roots.

WRONG!

Pruning the foliage had deprived the fruit of the energy they receive from photosynthesis. Thus, they did not get sweet. Boy, did I feel foolish when I figured it out!

I will make no such mistake again. Ever.

They are looking promising.

As I was standing by the crocosmia/nasturtium bed, a hummingbird flew up and started feasting on the nectar from the blossoms. The wee thing was only two feet away from me, so I stood stock-still, ruing the fact that I didn't have my camera in my hand. 

So there we were, me, motionless, and little hummingbird, flitting in and out of the flowers, perching on a crocosmia stalk with his tiny tongue flicking in and out of his beak, then back to harvesting, off to a grape vine for another rest, and finally, over the fence.

I was enraptured.

For this, I fill my garden with nectared flowers that might entice hummingbirds, and this year it seems I have succeeded. Almost every time we look outside there is one hovering at the penstemon or perching in the crepe myrtle. I never knew how much hummingbirds sat!

I reluctantly left the veggie garden and almost stepped on this little guy.

I looked at him.

He looked at me.

I stood ever so still.

He kept eating the sunflower seeds.

I skirted my way around the edge of the lawn and crept into the house to get my camera.

He eyed me cautiously but kept on eating.

I took a picture and was glad that something was eating the other-wise wasted seed.

Then Jeff came home and told me it's probable that the little blighter is the one who tipped all the seed onto the ground.

And I felt less empathetic towards the squirrel.

Ruminations on Armageddon and me

I just finished reading a book called The things That Keep Us Here, by Carla Buckley. 
I have been looking for some new authors to read, feeling a little ennui with my usual fare. This one looked enticing, as it proved to be. I read most of it in one sitting yesterday after church.               


It really made me think.


The premise is that a pandemic of avian flu takes hold of the world. About 40% of the population dies. The story follows the family of one of the researchers. Even though they were aware of the imminent danger, they were still very unprepared for the catastrophes that ensued when power and public services were lost, grocery store deliveries were sporadic, and anarchy became the norm.


The scenario is not unrealistic.


I'm known around these parts as the preparedness guru, but this book made me painfully cognizant of the holes in my arsenal. Even though I sit smugly at home when there is a storm warning, no running to BiMart for batteries and candles for me, thank you very much, there is still more to do to prepare for long-term survival.

• I still don't have a plan for water. In Oregon, I believe a high-quality water purifier is the answer. I need to get on that one.
• If anything happens in winter, we would have fuel for a couple of months, but I want to get an extra cord of firewood this year and buy some more large propane tanks. And keep them full.

• I need a shotgun and lots of ammo. People get crazy in emergencies and I want to be able to protect the ones I love. And all my stuff. Yes, all my stuff. I will share, but I will not have it taken from me by thugs.
• I need to really think through the kind of things we might need long-term that wouldn't be available in stores. Like Shoe Goo. Duct tape. Antibiotics. Vitamins. I wonder if pills last longer when they are vacuum-packed?

• We need to be more diligent about keeping our cars full of gas. I want to make sure that we could go pick up the kids if they needed us. Or get back home from wherever we are.
• We have absolutely no kind of generator and the thought of it is making me crazy.

This might sound a little farfetched to some of my readers, but, to me, preparedness is a mindset. Sure, it's full of long to-do lists, but as you get some of the items crossed off those lists, peace of mind gets a little closer. You have to live it, not just think guiltily it about once every month or two. 


So you see, all those innocuous posts about vegetable gardening, canning butter, grinding wheat, vacuum sealers, and stacks of toilet paper and pasta, have much deeper implications. I am really a right-wing, gun-totin' survivalist. 

And, if you're nice to me, I might take care of you when all hell breaks loose.

Lookin' a bit manic, aren't I?
Self-portraits are rarely flattering.

John Wayne, Johnny Cash, and...

...John Deere, of course!

Every time I see or hear "John Deere", I think of this song.

I love it!

Disclaimer: The photos are cowpucky. Have you tried taking photos of a parade from the third row back lately?

The best Independence Day parade around here is in St. Paul, which is a short country drive (or a medium bike ride) from our house. St. Paul is a tiny town that comes alive every year with the famous St. Paul Rodeo.

The population of St. Paul in 2009 was 449. It is named after the St. Paul Mission. The mission was founded in 1838 by Archbishop Blanchet, who ministered to the Catholic inhabitants of French Prairie. The Catholic Church in the middle of town was built in 1846 and is the oldest building in the Pacific Northwest. 

The rodeo is one of the biggest in America, offering prize money of over $500,000 and attracting almost a thousand competitors. The whole town gets involved, volunteering and making money.

The parade, which takes place on the morning of July 4th, is awesome and heavy on John Deere and patrotism.

Thomy and Jon, looking unimpressed by it all, as usual.

The two Jeffs, having a good time, as usual.

The best drumming group I have seen in a long time.

The Last Regiment Syncopated Drummers.

A Goth drumming band.

Some of the participants were more than a little scary.

I'm not lying, am I?

The guy with his hand up was somehow directing the group. 

I wish I could have watched them for more than the few seconds before they passed.

Awesome!

Of course, old Abe showed up. 
He's not one to miss a parade!

And there were horses galore.

Topped with sheriff-type people...

...and nattily dressed caballeros...

...and rodeo princesses, only for some reason I didn't get any photos of those...

Insert photo of rodeo princess here

...and pulling wagons.

And there was a lone miniature horse, who I just wanted to take home and eat.

Not literally, of course.

Oh, and don't forget the goats, who had stars upon thars.

There were classic cars galore...

...and some, um, not-so-classic cars.

There were enough American-made trucks to make any red-blooded cowboy happy for a millenium.

Oh yeah (in a deep, gruff, voice).

And.
This one.

Did I save the best till last?

You betcha.

Oo, I've been dying to say that all day!

John Deere.

The St.Paul farmers looove their John Deere.

Our houses are protected by the good Lord and a gun
And you might meet 'em both if you show up here not welcome son
Our necks are burnt, our roads are dirt and our trucks ain't clean
The dogs run lose, we smoke, we chew and fry everything
Out here, way out here


We won't take a dime if we ain't earned it
When it comes to weight brother we pull our own
If it's our backwoods way of livin' you're concerned with
You can leave us alone
We're about John Wayne, Johnny Cash and John Deere
Way out here

We got a fightin' side a mile wide but we pray for peace
'Cause it's mostly us that end up servin' overseas
If it was up to me I'd love to see this country run
Like it used to be, oughta be, just like it's done
Out here, way out here

Return to Silver Falls

It doesn't seem like over two years since this post, but it is indeed. 

The question begs, how many times can one blog about the same place before it becomes tedious?

Don't answer that, unless you can be complimentary.

You know, like Sue, it's always fascinating and amusing when you're writing about it.

The day before Sam and Charlie went back to California, we hiked the eight miles of Silver Falls State Park. There are ten spectacular waterfalls along the trail. The falls tumble over thick, basalt lava flows which rest on soft, older rock. Over time, erosion of the softer rock has created natural pathways behind the waterfalls, which feels like heaven on a hot day. Imagine being all sweaty and hot and tired, then walking into the deep shade behind a waterfall and feeling the misty spray on your face. 

Ahhhhh.

Last time Jeff and I hiked the trail it was late winter and a very different place. Branches were bare of leaves and the ground had very little green cover. This time the air resonated with the songs of birds and the understory was thick with vines and flowers and shrubs. 

This picture I love.

We were also being led by an active Marine, which doesn't leave much time for lolly-gagging. The pace was much faster than when my old Coastie leads the way. 
Less time for photos and nibbling on snacks.
I arose early on this fine Tuesday morning to make some healthy banana muffins, which sustained us on our quest. I didn't get many photos taken (see two lines above) so photos of my fellow hikers are few and far between.
So, Sam, there's this one, in which you look mean (even though you weren't, at all!) :

Or this one, contemplating the banana muffin:

Neither of which are very satisfactory, but it's all I've got to prove you were there!

It was a great day.

Well, half a day.

You know, Marine's pace and all. 

We were in and out in a little over three hours.

But it was gorgeous.

And I got to have the kids to myself for a spell, which was kinda nice after sharing them with all of their fans for the last two weeks.

And then we went home.

Pommes d'amour

The tomato is a member of the nightshade family, as Jon is fond of telling me, and is a berry fruit, even though we use it as a vegetable. It originated in South America (think Aztecs) and was taken back to Spain by the conquistadors. The Spanish very logically considered it to be poisonous, as are other nightshade plants. 

The history of the tomato has many twists and turns, which you can read here if you are curious. The French thought it was an aphrodisiac, hence the name pomme d'amour, or love apple. And in 1883, the US Congress levied a 10% tax on all imported vegetables and decided to reclassify the tomato as a vegetable. This was contested by a botanist in 1893, who argued that the tomato was a berry fruit. He lost his case and the tomato has been legally classified as a vegetable ever since. 

Kinda reminds me of the political shennanigans of today!

This year, I intend to have an awesome tomato crop. 

Because of our wet and cold spring, my tomato plants are growing profusely, but are weeks behind normal development. Which is a problem, because even in a good year we always end up with lots of green tomatoes at the end of the season.

Information accumulation seemed to be in order, so I did a Google and found a great website that pretty much tells all you need to know about growing your basic love apple. Apparently, staking or caging your tomato plants is good for more than keeping the slugs from eating the fruit. It also promotes larger fruit that ripen sooner, are more free of disease, and are easier to pick. 

Well, I know how to take a hint! I have bulldozed through my share of flimsy tomato cages that only last a season or two and topple to the ground at the first sign of actual ripening fruit. Being too cheap frugal to pay the exorbitant amounts of money that sturdier cages cost, I decided to make my own.

From salvaged materials.

So here are the wondrous results.

First, a little number that uses some old canopy poles that have, in past lives, been tripods for cucumbers and runner beans. Some old nylon cord that probably came from the same canopy completes the job.

This baby is constructed with small branches that I saved from the old mimosa tree. 

Plastic ties from nerf gun packaging tie the sticks together.

It's a bit rickety, but by the time Jeff pounded it into the ground, I think it will hold up.

It has a certain rustic charm, don't you think.

Another three-sided cage using the rest of the canopy poles. 

This one has wire instead of string. 

Apparently, we have a plethora of gardening wire.

I had to recruit Jeff for the last one, as a hammer and nails and saw were involved.

I used to wield a hammer with the best of them, but arthritis in my wrists and hands has turned me into a wimp.

So I smile nicely and cajole a little and thank him profusely.

Voila! A cage made of old fence wood for the straggly tomato plant that has been living in the shade of the overgrown kiwi vine. Which is now severely pruned, with strict instructions to produce fruit next year, or else!

Strangely, this plant is the only one that has yet produced any babies.

I bought this next specimen from the high school plant sale. Its tag stated that it would do well in a pot. The leaves and stems are unusually sturdy, so a single stake will do the trick on this one, I think. Unfortunately, the flowers keep dropping off, even though they set little tiny fruit. My research tells me that it could be from too much fertilizer or heat. It hasn't been terribly hot yet, so I'm hoping that my industrious fertilizing will be mitigated as some good watering dilutes the fertilizer.

Ah, the learning curve of an aspiring gardener.

So there you go.

Four-and-a-half tomato cages.

Cost: Nil. Zilch. Nada.

Satisfaction quotient: absurdly high.

My Dad would be so proud.