MacGyver Camping

For our anniversary this year, we decided to go "primitive" camping...also known as back-country camping or trail camping. I, however, refer to it as "MacGyver camping." You might be asking yourself "why?" Well, I live with a former boyscout/outdoor enthusiast, who enjoys relishing in the satisfaction that he can start a fire with damp wood, some pocket lint, and a magnifying glass. Although I am highly impressed with his survival abilities, I also praise the invention of matches and butane lighters. Sure, I grew up doing outdoorsy things...but camping with dad always included propane campstoves and a reserve pack of hotdogs. You could say my camping experiences as a kid were less like MacGyver camping and more like A-Team camping...you know, camping with multiple gadgets and several backup supplies.

This year, we chose Frozen Head State Park in Wartburg, TN for our camping trip. In addition to the various trails and family-friendly atmosphere, I highly enjoyed the cleanliness of and access to the bathhouses, public-access spigots, and the proximity of Oak Ridge, TN (especially on the day we got rained out of our tent). All in all, I can't complain about MacGyver camping--no serious tramas, animal attacks, or moments of fearing for my well-being. And, in comparison to previous anniversary adventures nothing major happened outside of a roaming, ravenous raccoon that found our trash the 3rd night and the occasional snake sunning itself in the middle of the trail (no worries Mom, just garden snakes...or so I'm telling myself!).

So, in honor of our first anniversary not spent in the Emergency Room, lost on the Massachusetts Turnpike, undergoing emergency tooth extractions, or surviving an ice storm in a rickety cabin, here are some pictures of my first attempt at back-county camping, A-Team style!

Churning my own butter

Throughout the numerous "learning experiences" I've had thus far in doing things from scratch, I've always prefaced my stories to others with the remark "I'm not about to churn my own butter." Well, I guess I have now officially reneged on that statement as I have just churned my first batch of butter!

Although I greatly enjoy the satisfaction and end results of experimenting in old-fashioned country living, there are quite a number of modern day conveniences I am not able to give up just yet (or ever, really). To name a few (and in no specific order) indoor plumbing, electricity, Colgate toothpaste, pasteurized milk. clothing...etc...I really could go on like this for a while.

Seeing as A) we don't have the yard space, B) it would freak the dog out, C)I already get up way too early in the mornings, and D) I'm just not that into living the full pioneer life; we do not own livestock. Thus, limiting the extent of my country living endeavors. Yet, just when I think my quest for country life is drawing to a close--the seas part, the stars align, heck hath frozen, the pigs fly--I have a stroke of genius. I can't take all the credit as a good friend from New Hampshire actually told me about this one.

The days of lacking livestock and impeding my country living are over as I have discovered the ability to churn my own butter! You might not be as excited as I am about this discovery if you are native to North Carolina, but in Florida we did not make butter in 5th grade Science class (we attempted to make yogurt which always turned out badly!). Sure, getting fresh milk from the moo-cows would be pure country living, but as cows not only freak me out as well as the dog, we'll have to settle for semi-country life here.

To make fresh, unsalted sweet cream butter, you'll need whipping cream (heavy or regular) and a jar with a good fitting lid, preferably a glass jar, but definitely don't skimp on the good fitting lid! Yep, that's it...oh, and one set of heavy duty, super power, 25 RPMs set of arms for the shaking. Although, if you lack upper body strength and the ability to do even one pull up, making butter might help in this situation...hey, Chuck Norris had to start somewhere!


Fill the glass jar 1/2 way with the cream and tighten the lid. Shake for roughly 10 minutes. As you shake, the cream will get thicker and harder to shake about--congratulations, you've just made Whipped Cream! The cream will coat the walls of the jar and you won't be able to see much of anything. Continue shaking for another 10-15 minutes and just when you think your arms might fall off, you'll hear a sloshing sound and the walls of the jar will start to clear. In the blink of an eye, the cream will separate from the buttermilk and you will have a big glob of light yellow stuff in the jar--that's the butter! I continue shaking for another 1 minute or so to get the last of the buttermilk out of the cream blob. Remove the lid and pour the buttermilk into another container. You can use this to make buttermilk biscuits or pancakes or you can freeze it for later use. With the butter still in the jar, run cold water over it to wash away excess buttermilk. I wash the butter until the water runs clear...otherwise leftover buttermilk will cause the butter to spoil later. Viola, you have butter--you can store it in a ziploc bag or plastic container or wrap it in waxpaper.

TIPS

• If you prefer salted butter, you can mix salt to taste before packaging it
• It's easiest to use heavy cream that has warmed to room temperature, decreasing the overall shaking time (which I learned after a few too many rounds of buttermaking)
• The butter will always taste better if you have homemade bread to spred it on...although I recommend not doing this when you're hungry--the loaf just disappears that much faster!
• Even if you drop some butter or spill buttermilk onto the kitchen floor, I've found a Golden Retriever mix canine is the easiest (and quickest) way to remove the mess

Et tu, Brute?

This year's Gas Garden has fared quite well in some regards and quite poorly in others. The idea of growing vegetables (having never done so before) started last year when I thought "how hard could it be to grow some tomatoes?," the price of produce skyrocketed parallel with the prices of oil, and an overwhelming feeling of wanting to actually make something/grow something from scratch. However, as I am and will always be a city girl, my gas garden has been confined to containers on the back porch. All those in favor of kneeling on the hard clay ground, using a pick axe instead of a shovel, and spending more than 1 hour actually planting? Yeah, I didn't think you'd like that either. So, thanks to the local big box store, the Gas Garden lived in a variety of colors and sizes of 2-3 gallon containers.

Overall the garden did quite well in the containers on the back deck. Again, I overloaded the garden with a variety of tomato plants but thanks to figuring out the water-bath canner, I can enjoy them year-round. On the sad side, my cukes, beans, and peppers gave a first good go-around, but then pooped out pretty early in the season. Oh well, at least there's a Farmer's Market nearby!!

This year's garden results confirmed what I had been toying with this season...actually planting in the ground. I know, I know, what's the big deal? Well, for this this city/lazy/impulsive girl it should make for an interesting gardening season.

Guess I should start reading up!

Larry, Moe, and Curly

August.
Saturday.
94 degree heat.
65% humidity.
60% chance of rain.

So, what would a normal North Carolinian be doing on a day such as this? That's correct--mowing the yard--it's the perfect storm! As the grass in our backyard had once again reached Amazon-level height and the magic mowing garden gnomes seemed to have passed us by, this past Saturday I set out to mow the yard (it really is a good exercise if you want to sweat off some calories). So, I'm moseying along and almost done with the back when I look down and see a huge pile of gray fur. Thinking "weird, our dog has brown fur," I grabbed the nearest stick and started to move the fur around. To my surprise I stumbled upon a borough of 3 baby rabbits (actually thought they were chipmunks). Not wanting to scare off Momma Bunny, we carefully covered the nest back and devised a plan to see if the nest was truly abandoned. Thanks to a quick Google search we found that nursing rabbits return to their nest once every 24 hours and usually at night (between Midnight and 5am as to not draw attention to her nest). Relying on a stealth move from a James Bond movie, we placed a small piece of string over the nest. If the string was moved the next day, then Momma Bunny is still nursing her young. To our disappointment and fear, the string had not moved and we assumed adoption.
With a bit more internet research, we found we can nurse them until they're old enough and big enough to be released into the wild. Feeding them has been my favorite so far. Larry, Moe, and Curly dine on Kitten Replacement Milk (basically small mammal formula) served slightly warmed in a nursing bottle. We have deduced that they are at least 10 days old, are *definitely* boy bunnies, and we definitely have the runt, Jan Brady, and dominant personalities.

After more advanced internet research, we deduced the following information (certainly stuff I never learned in 8th grade Science class):

• baby rabbits open their eyes when they are 10 days old
• they can begin to wean from the mother/nursing bottle around day 14
• at which point you can feed them shredded carrots and alfalfa sprouts
• wild rabbits cannot be domesticated
  
• need to be released back into the wild within 4-6 weeks after birth
• if they are not released in 4-6 weeks of birth, they become aggressive

So, having discussed the above information at length, we located the National Wildlife Rehabilitation Association and chose two well-qualified foster parents for Larry, Moe, and Curly. After another 3 weeks at their foster home, Larry, Moe, and Curly will be released back into the wild somewhere in Clemmons. Although only members of our family for a short time period, they have certainly made an impact on our household...imagine an 85 pound pooch afraid of three 4oz. bunnies!

"IT'S ALIVE!"

So, due to either
1) great gardening skills, careful attention to soil moisture, and timely Miracle-Grow feedings
OR
2) sheer dumb-luck and laziness to actually pay any attention to it's growth and nutritional needs

Ferdinand, the Fig Tree, is alive...and actually growing!!

You Can't Just Eyeball It!

In middle school you typically get labeled as either a Daddy's Girl or a Momma's Boy. Well, I like to think of myself as a hybrid. I feel I grew up inheriting my dad's creativity, book smarts, and thrive for outdoor adventures and my mom's sense of the practical/logical, common sense, and thirst for fun and humor in life. I enjoy camping, hiking, and fishing but also want to wear dresses and window shop (of course not concurrently). I feel like I'm a pretty well-rounded individual; sometimes quirky, but overall well-rounded. So I'm a bit taken aback in the way I handle projects around the house. For example, painting the bathroom, hanging pictures, recovering the glider chair, and my amateur attempt at dress making have all lacked the above mentioned qualities I treasure. It seems like the practical and logical trait disappears into some mental black hole whenever a new project presents itself.

My husband is a man of the "measure twice, cut once" rule whereas I tend to stem from the "I think it's plumb/level/15 and 3/8 of an inch/5 and 1/2 cups"...I like to guesstimate. It's not that I'm lazy or lack the skill to read a measuring tape,t-square, or plumb-line, I just get so excited to start a project that I want to jump right in! And, while this lackadaisical attitude to prep work has often spilled over into the realm of cutting timber, basic home repair, and baking bread, it has certainly met it's match with canning!

I'm not quite sure where the desire to can came from, how I knew what tools I would need, or the courage to actually try to can, but somehow I wound up buying a half bushel of peaches from the local farmer's market, dusting off my once-used water bath canner and set to work. To can peaches, you typically make a syrup to pour over the fruit before canning...and by syrup, I mean dissolving a mess of sugar in a wee bit of water (since I'm living with Jack Sprat, we had to make heavy syrup). One might think that the planning, measuring, and attention to detail in canning would end with the syrup phase...oh, contraire!

• First, you have to figure out how many pounds of peaches you need for the X amount of jars you want to yield. And, of course, there's not just one size jar--do you want half pints, pints, or quarts/regular mouth or wide mouth/Kerr or Mason?

• Second, you have to convert "a half bushel" into pounds, which means you've got to dust off your kitchen scale, weigh a peach to get a rough estimate, and then do some pretty complicated mathematical equations where 3 peaches equaled 2 pounds and 2 pounds per pint jar would yield roughly 10 pint jars.

• Third, once you wash, peel, de-pit, slice, and soak the peaches in a bath of water and lemon juice (to prevent discoloration) you tend to loose sight of what 2 pounds of peaches looks like and start to just stuff the jars.

• Fourth, once you've got the "somewhere near 2 pounds" of peaches in the jars you've got to cover them with the heavy syrup. And, if the recipe was supposed to make 5 1/2 cups of syrup and it takes 1/2 cup of syrup per jar...mid-canning is not the time to figure out that you didn't make enough to begin with.

Sure, canning is time and energy exhaustive. It's hot, tiring, and mentally draining. You'd rather be fishing, camping, shopping, milking a goat, anything else. If you don't set aside all necessary tools at the beginning of the process your kitchen tends to resemble London after the Blitzkrieg and your dog is cowering in the corner. But, at the end of the day, the rewards of fresh home-made canned goods, refreshing your 6th grade math skills you said you'd never need to use in life, and the overwhelming sense of accomplishment in not blowing up your house in the process is well worth the effort.

Buns in the Oven

(literally, NOT figuratively speaking)

Every now and then I get what I call "Betty Crocker moments." These usually entail a strong desire to bake something from scratch, thus satisfying my thirst for self-sufficiency and having that generally good feeling of accomplishing something on my own. This past weekend, my Betty Crocker moment took the form of bread. Now, I've baked bread from scratch before...in fact, I've baked several doughy things from scratch before, if you consider opening a can of biscuits or defrosting some Texas Toast...that entailed actually preheating an oven! However, if your definition of "from scratch" means actually starting with flour, yeast, and water, and actually producing some edible, then I really haven't. Until 2004--during Graduate School, part 1. My husband turned me onto the idea of baking bread in the midst of studying for my comprehensive exam; an exam where you basically write everything you know about American History on a legal pad within the 8-hour time limit. Needless to say, tres stressful!

Why would I take on bread-making, having never done so before and lacking all materials to do so, during such a hectic period in my life? Well, I found bread-making to be quite relaxing and alleviated some of the stress I felt trapped under. You know how people tell you to picture the audience naked if you have stage fright? Well, if you ever feel like tracking down a lifelike voodoo doll of a professor, kneading dough is the next best thing!

Soon, I found myself baking bread almost every weekend. Yeah it took a few hours on my weekend, but it was so good to have fresh baked bread...not to mention in a studio apartment, a great way to freshen the air! The only problem of bread-making at the time was I quickly found myself relying on bread-making as my means of releasing stress...meaning, loaves and loaves of bread. Since one recipe typically yields 2 loaves, I quickly found myself overwhelmed with yummy, baked goodness. I started freezing the second loaf, which quickly led to dolling out to neighbors and friends, and eventually morphed into finding other recipes that require bread (there really aren't that many one can prepare in a studio apartment's kitchenette). So, needless to say, I stopped baking bread and filled my stress-relieving void with crocheting...until now!

After finishing my MLS, a lot of people have asked me if I've found more free time since I don't have homework, papers, or research to do. Well, yes and no. Now instead of writing a paper on a Saturday, I now work on revamping my resume. So, I've taken up baking bread again. After dusting off the old cookbook, discovering a new, super rising active yeast, and replacing the missing bread pans, I'm back baby! Betty Crocker moments--bring it on!!