It's just a part of me. You require evidence? I am happy to oblige.
I just ordered a book through the inter-library loan service called An Amish Garden: A Year in the Life of an Amish Garden. Yeah, I sure did. And I am SO EXCITED to read it and SO BUMMED that it's so new it doesn't even have a proper listing in the library system yet and I have to wait for it. But I'm first on the list when it's available to be checked out!
Lame? Without doubt.
You're still harboring hope that I might not be so lame as I appear on the surface? Well then, let me dash those hopes by telling you that I have been anxiously awaiting the time when the local garden center place puts all their hot weather seedlings out for purchase. Because of the frost we had this week, they've been keeping the tomatoes and peppers and basil and whatnot safe in the greenhouses. But I called today and they said the tomatoes were out.
And so I immediately bribed Cubby with ice cream from the ice cream stand next door to the garden center so I could go buy my paste tomato plants (I never start these from seed myself) and jalapeno plants. Yup. Sugar rush for my kid just so I could get even more tomato plants.
Whatever. He thought it was awesome he got to eat some strawberry ice cream and I thought it was awesome I have more seedlings to plant. Charlie didn't get to do anything particularly awesome, but that's the way it is when you're ten months old.
I haven't put the new plants in the ground yet, but I will sometime in the next few days. Then I will have 25 tomato plants in the garden and you know what that means: The Tomato Crazy is SO ON.
Lame? Yeah. But I'm okay with it.
Thursday, May 16, 2013
Wednesday, May 15, 2013
Excess Lumber
A. has recently started taking various trees to this custom sawmill guy he found. The guy will cut wood to whatever specification required--hence the, uh, "custom" part--for a very reasonable price. Since the trees are free thanks to the generosity of our very nice neighbors, he can get some amazing boards, beams, and whatever else he wants for not much cash.
And that's why he has spare locust boards around to build crazy shit like this:
And that's why he has spare locust boards around to build crazy shit like this:
Yup.
That's a hand-operated crane. He saw something like it in some random book about farming printed in the latter part of the 19th century and decided to build one. Really, who wouldn't?
Right. NO ONE WOULD. Except A.
The stated purpose for the thing was to rip out this stump that's been languishing in the ground for about a year now. That's what A. claimed, anyway, but really, he just wanted to build a hand-operated crane. So he did. And it worked.
There are many adjectives that can be applied to my husband, but boring is definitely not one of them.
Monday, May 13, 2013
Braced
We have a freeze warning in effect--27 degrees tonight, according to the not-very-accurate weather forecasters.
It didn't get out of the forties today, and A. decided around 2 p.m. that he couldn't stand it anymore and he fired up the woodstove.
I guess I arranged the dining room in its summer configuration too early.
The only vulnerable plants in the garden right now are the twelve tomatoes I planted a week or so ago. They all have coffee cans around them to repel the cutworms, so I just went out and covered the coffee cans quite fashionably with some of the enormous supply of nasty old t-shirts discarded by A. and me. One shirt dropped over each can. It's very fetching.
And now it probably won't even freeze, but whatever. If it does, the tomatoes are appropriately dressed for the weather and we have the woodstove going.
Bring it.
It didn't get out of the forties today, and A. decided around 2 p.m. that he couldn't stand it anymore and he fired up the woodstove.
I guess I arranged the dining room in its summer configuration too early.
The only vulnerable plants in the garden right now are the twelve tomatoes I planted a week or so ago. They all have coffee cans around them to repel the cutworms, so I just went out and covered the coffee cans quite fashionably with some of the enormous supply of nasty old t-shirts discarded by A. and me. One shirt dropped over each can. It's very fetching.
And now it probably won't even freeze, but whatever. If it does, the tomatoes are appropriately dressed for the weather and we have the woodstove going.
Bring it.
Sunday, May 12, 2013
Forget Brunch
Who wants inferior scrambled eggs and limp bacon to celebrate Mother's Day? Not me. I have better eggs and bacon at home, and besides, what I really want to do today is can potatoes.
Yup. That's what I said.
See, we always end up with way too many seed potatoes. We never plant them all, and they get all withered and too sprouted before we can eat the rest. A couple of years ago, it occurred to me that potatoes can actually be canned. I had never done it, but the prospect of having already-prepped potatoes is very appealing. Especially in the heat of our awful (un-air-conditioned) summer, when we have meat on the grill and plenty of vegetables from the garden, but I can't bear the thought of boiling water to cook potatoes or rice or whatever.
Good plan! Let's can the extra seed potatoes! Except they have to be pressure canned, which takes awhile, as does the peeling and pre-cooking before the potatoes are put in the jars. And last year at this time I was quite pregnant and in no mood for extra food processing.
So I never did it.
I've been talking about doing it this year for the past few weeks. But once again, finding the time to do it without it keeping me up until way past nine o'clock at night has been a challenge.
When A. asked what I wanted to do for Mother's Day, I told him I wanted to work in the garden without interference. But now it's blowing a gale outside and our forecast is calling for well below freezing tomorrow night, so that's a no go on planting tomatoes and basil. My second choice was canning potatoes.
I know. I'm totally crazy. It's okay.
Happy Mother's Day to all the active-duty and retired* mothers out there. Here's hoping your day is filled with whatever makes you happy.
* Although it is a great truth of motherhood that there is no retirement. Just ask my own mother, who still spends hours patiently listening to me talk and complain, albeit now via long-distance phone calls. Happy Mother's Day particularly to my own mother, who is, without doubt, a truly amazing mom.
Yup. That's what I said.
See, we always end up with way too many seed potatoes. We never plant them all, and they get all withered and too sprouted before we can eat the rest. A couple of years ago, it occurred to me that potatoes can actually be canned. I had never done it, but the prospect of having already-prepped potatoes is very appealing. Especially in the heat of our awful (un-air-conditioned) summer, when we have meat on the grill and plenty of vegetables from the garden, but I can't bear the thought of boiling water to cook potatoes or rice or whatever.
Good plan! Let's can the extra seed potatoes! Except they have to be pressure canned, which takes awhile, as does the peeling and pre-cooking before the potatoes are put in the jars. And last year at this time I was quite pregnant and in no mood for extra food processing.
So I never did it.
I've been talking about doing it this year for the past few weeks. But once again, finding the time to do it without it keeping me up until way past nine o'clock at night has been a challenge.
When A. asked what I wanted to do for Mother's Day, I told him I wanted to work in the garden without interference. But now it's blowing a gale outside and our forecast is calling for well below freezing tomorrow night, so that's a no go on planting tomatoes and basil. My second choice was canning potatoes.
I know. I'm totally crazy. It's okay.
Happy Mother's Day to all the active-duty and retired* mothers out there. Here's hoping your day is filled with whatever makes you happy.
* Although it is a great truth of motherhood that there is no retirement. Just ask my own mother, who still spends hours patiently listening to me talk and complain, albeit now via long-distance phone calls. Happy Mother's Day particularly to my own mother, who is, without doubt, a truly amazing mom.
Friday, May 10, 2013
Regicide
When I told you about our new Welsummer rooster, a couple of you mentioned your own unpleasant experiences with Welsummer roosters. The exact word used, in fact, was "jerk."
Ours wasn't a jerk. He was a complete asshole.
First he flew at A., who promptly thrashed him in the hopes that would teach him a lesson.
Then he jumped at the MiL, who chased him off with the help of the dogs.
At this point, I told A. the rooster was going to have to go. He was obviously too chuffy for his own good. Or rather, for MY good.
And then he attacked Cubby in the dog pen, spurring Cubby (slightly) on the back before I could chase him off by whacking him with the shepherd's crook. I had to hit him hard multiple times to get him to back off.
A. cut off his head today. I plucked him, A. eviscerated him, and he's going to be our Mother's Day dinner. That'll learn the bastard.
Spurring my son was the wrong move for him, obviously. Bet he'll taste good, though.
You tried to tell me. And so I will now add my warnings to yours: Avoid the Welsummer rooster. Unless you're a fan of aggressive assholes.
Ours wasn't a jerk. He was a complete asshole.
First he flew at A., who promptly thrashed him in the hopes that would teach him a lesson.
Then he jumped at the MiL, who chased him off with the help of the dogs.
At this point, I told A. the rooster was going to have to go. He was obviously too chuffy for his own good. Or rather, for MY good.
And then he attacked Cubby in the dog pen, spurring Cubby (slightly) on the back before I could chase him off by whacking him with the shepherd's crook. I had to hit him hard multiple times to get him to back off.
A. cut off his head today. I plucked him, A. eviscerated him, and he's going to be our Mother's Day dinner. That'll learn the bastard.
Spurring my son was the wrong move for him, obviously. Bet he'll taste good, though.
You tried to tell me. And so I will now add my warnings to yours: Avoid the Welsummer rooster. Unless you're a fan of aggressive assholes.
Thursday, May 9, 2013
Gross, Grosser, and Grossest
Yesterday when I lifted up the garden cloth to check on the (non-existent, dammit) germination of my carrot and beet seeds, I nearly had a heart attack when I saw a dead snake glaring up at me. It was just a garter snake or something--we don't have poisonous snakes here--but its mouth was wide open and it looked for all the world as if it were about to strike.
Except it had been dead for awhile and baking under that cloth, so it was quite dry and definitely dead. No idea why it died under there. I chucked it over the fence, thinking maybe the chickens would eat it. They did not, and I was startled anew every time I walked by the damn thing on the way to the garden. I finally threw it in the gully today.
That's gross.
A. is even now filleting a dozen or so small perch he caught with Cubby in the lake today. No greater love hath a father than to fillet multiple tiny fish for his son. I was sitting out there keeping him company as the darkness fell on the nicely rain-dampened property when I noticed an enormous worm coming up out of a crack between the stones of the patio. Then I saw more and more night crawlers squirming up out of the cracks, like some kind of science fiction movie.
That's grosser.
Just as A. had started his long filleting job, I walked out on the patio and saw a small creature in the flower bed under the magnolia tree not ten feet from where he was standing. I thought it was a baby woodchuck or something, but it wasn't acting wild. It was just kind of wandering around slowly and pointlessly, despite the two humans and three dogs in the near vicinity.
I brought it to A.'s attention, asking him if it was a baby woodchuck. He was about to set Otty on it (his preferred method of despatch for varmints, you may recall) when he realized it was a poisoned rat. So I brought the dogs inside and A. thumped the rat with a shovel till it was dead.
That is OH MY GOD THE GROSSEST.
P.S. I wrote this last night, but then our Internet connection wasn't working so I couldn't post it. Now I'm too lazy to go through and change it all to the past tense, so there you are.
Except it had been dead for awhile and baking under that cloth, so it was quite dry and definitely dead. No idea why it died under there. I chucked it over the fence, thinking maybe the chickens would eat it. They did not, and I was startled anew every time I walked by the damn thing on the way to the garden. I finally threw it in the gully today.
That's gross.
A. is even now filleting a dozen or so small perch he caught with Cubby in the lake today. No greater love hath a father than to fillet multiple tiny fish for his son. I was sitting out there keeping him company as the darkness fell on the nicely rain-dampened property when I noticed an enormous worm coming up out of a crack between the stones of the patio. Then I saw more and more night crawlers squirming up out of the cracks, like some kind of science fiction movie.
That's grosser.
Just as A. had started his long filleting job, I walked out on the patio and saw a small creature in the flower bed under the magnolia tree not ten feet from where he was standing. I thought it was a baby woodchuck or something, but it wasn't acting wild. It was just kind of wandering around slowly and pointlessly, despite the two humans and three dogs in the near vicinity.
I brought it to A.'s attention, asking him if it was a baby woodchuck. He was about to set Otty on it (his preferred method of despatch for varmints, you may recall) when he realized it was a poisoned rat. So I brought the dogs inside and A. thumped the rat with a shovel till it was dead.
That is OH MY GOD THE GROSSEST.
P.S. I wrote this last night, but then our Internet connection wasn't working so I couldn't post it. Now I'm too lazy to go through and change it all to the past tense, so there you are.
Monday, May 6, 2013
The Good with the Bad
Yesterday was the fifth of May. In case you didn't know. The fifth of May is not just the fifth of May for those of us who look for any excuse to eat guacamole. It's Cinco de Mayo. And unlike the first Cinco de Mayo we celebrated at Blackrock, it was unseasonably warm and sunny yesterday.
A sunny, warm Cinco de Mayo? We know what that means: frozen margaritas for all!
You know how to make good frozen margaritas? Lemme tell you how I make good frozen margaritas. Limeade. Yup, the frozen stuff in a can from the supermarket. Limeade plus triple sec plus tequila plus lots of ice in a blender and that's one delicious margarita.
We didn't have any limeade on hand, but we did have LOTS of limes, so I squeezed and squeezed and squeeeezed some more, until my hands were tired and there was enough lime juice in the blender. Then, instead of making simple syrup, I dumped in the remains of some peach syrup left from thawing frozen peaches.
Turns out the only thing better than frozen margaritas on a sunny Cinco de Mayo evening is peach frozen margaritas on a sunny Cinco de Mayo evening. DAMN THAT'S GOOD.
Then we ate guacamole and salsa and chips and chili and roasted squash, with Mr. Jason as our dinner guest. He used to live in Arizona too, so he gets Cinco de Mayo. Also, he wanted to go fishing on the glassy-calm lake in the canoe with A. and Cubby.
So after dinner, they set out to troll in the canoe. I did a million dishes and then sat on the porch reading for awhile and admiring the astonishing sunset. Around eight, I went down to the beach to wave them in, since it was already past Cubby's bedtime. They were nowhere in sight. And they didn't appear until the sun was down and it was almost dark, WAAAAY past Cubby's bedtime. They had caught a few perch, and just as I was starting to bring Cubby up to the house for bed, Mr. Jason caught a pretty big pickerel from our dock.
That's a good day.
Unfortunately, the good day was followed by a not-good night with Charlie after I got to bed too late myself. And that not-good night was in turn followed by a painfully early morning, with both kids up and cranky at 5:30 a.m.
So I spent today so damn tired I felt woozy. But you know, we all take the good with the bad. And yesterday was good.
I'll take it.
A sunny, warm Cinco de Mayo? We know what that means: frozen margaritas for all!
You know how to make good frozen margaritas? Lemme tell you how I make good frozen margaritas. Limeade. Yup, the frozen stuff in a can from the supermarket. Limeade plus triple sec plus tequila plus lots of ice in a blender and that's one delicious margarita.
We didn't have any limeade on hand, but we did have LOTS of limes, so I squeezed and squeezed and squeeeezed some more, until my hands were tired and there was enough lime juice in the blender. Then, instead of making simple syrup, I dumped in the remains of some peach syrup left from thawing frozen peaches.
Turns out the only thing better than frozen margaritas on a sunny Cinco de Mayo evening is peach frozen margaritas on a sunny Cinco de Mayo evening. DAMN THAT'S GOOD.
Then we ate guacamole and salsa and chips and chili and roasted squash, with Mr. Jason as our dinner guest. He used to live in Arizona too, so he gets Cinco de Mayo. Also, he wanted to go fishing on the glassy-calm lake in the canoe with A. and Cubby.
So after dinner, they set out to troll in the canoe. I did a million dishes and then sat on the porch reading for awhile and admiring the astonishing sunset. Around eight, I went down to the beach to wave them in, since it was already past Cubby's bedtime. They were nowhere in sight. And they didn't appear until the sun was down and it was almost dark, WAAAAY past Cubby's bedtime. They had caught a few perch, and just as I was starting to bring Cubby up to the house for bed, Mr. Jason caught a pretty big pickerel from our dock.
That's a good day.
Unfortunately, the good day was followed by a not-good night with Charlie after I got to bed too late myself. And that not-good night was in turn followed by a painfully early morning, with both kids up and cranky at 5:30 a.m.
So I spent today so damn tired I felt woozy. But you know, we all take the good with the bad. And yesterday was good.
I'll take it.
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