insta-grits

Lucy and Ethel

2011-08-30T11:23:00.002-03:00

Casa de Pollo

Time to break out the overalls, straw hat, and boots...we're officially farmers! Nothing beats the taste of farm-fresh eggs so we figured we would give chicken farming a whirl. Here's how to have farm-fresh eggs in 3 easy steps.

1. Housing.

Since we're renting for now we didn't want to build a full-sized chicken coop and came across a pretty neat solution: the chicken tractor. The chicken tractor is sort of like a hen house on wheels--there is a large, open grazing area (well, open but with chicken wire covering) and a covered nesting box area. The chicken tractor had some serious benefits over the traditional hen house. 1) The open floor allows the chickens access to fresh grass--so they're semi-free range. 2) The chickens' "business" will help fertilize our lawn as we move it around the yard. 3) When our house sells and we move we only have to pack up the birds and haul away the tractor rather than dismantling an entire coop. 4) Our landlords were impressed that we could think up and build the tractor that they're considering one for their own yard.

Since we had a lot of spare lumber, shingles, and wheels just laying around we only had to purchase the chicken wire, hatch latch and paint: Reduce, Reuse, Recycle! After looking at some plans online, Joel set about constructing our chicken tractor and thus Casa de Pollo is born....all we needed now were the chickens.

Lucy and Ethel
Lucy (standing near the door-has more red "hair")
Ethel (in the nesting box-a little bald on top)

2. Chickens.

Yeah, just needed the chickens...a somewhat simple task in theory. In actuality, this step proved harder than building a chicken tractor and teaching the dog that it wasn't his new outdoor playpen. Chickens apparently don't "do well" if they're by themselves, so we needed at least a pair. Since it's only the Hubs and myself (and we don't eat eggs and bacon every morning) we certainly couldn't handle more than 2.

First option: purchasing from farm supply store in the Spring. There's apparently a minimum purchase requirement at most tractor & farm supply stores so seeing as we didn't have the space for 25 chicks, we had to look elsewhere. Next option: a friend with more chickens than he could shake a stick at. But, since he had a recent fox-chicken incident the "more chickens than he could shake a stick at" quickly dwindled to 3...all roosters. Last option: Craigslist. We found a local lady with all sorts of fowl, goats, and cattle who had 1) no minimum purchase and 2) female layers. So, long story short-- after 4 months, welcome to "Casa de Pollo" Lucy and Ethel.

3. Eggs.

isn't it cute!?!

Um, I don't really think there's any magical wisdom that I could impart about how to get eggs...we had Lucy and Ethel home for about an hour and we had our first egg. I guess it would be good to make sure that you have *female* chickens, use a layer formulated feed, and give them a nice cozy, warm area to pop 'em out!

Now...I'm off to find enough recipes that use eggs since we'll be averaging about a dozen a week!

I'm back...and I have gas!

2010-09-23T19:37:00.000-03:00

(HA! I knew that title would catch your attention)

First, I have to apologize for going MIA this summer--I had big plans to start up the Gas Garden again. I read an article about lazy gardening where instead of using containers, you can plant directly into a bag of soil. Apparently, the plastic deters weeds, controls moisture, and is less messy than digging in the ground...sounds like my cup of tea! But, alas, summer plan were quickly placed on the back burner due to, oh I don't know, job interview, packing, cleaning, moving, unpacking, starting new job, and putting house up for sale...you know, the typical stuff. So, yep, I've started a new job and moved to the mountains baby! And with that move has come some adjustments.

In addition to pretty much having the majority of our house in storage (until current home sells) and introducing our dog to the local native animals that like to frolic through the front yard (bunnies, deer, and our neighbor's roaming goat), I have had to adjust to cooking with gas. I've wanted a gas stove since I started canning...mainly for logistical reasons. See, the canner pot I have is roughly 2 times larger than the size of the burner, thus creating severe discolorations on the stovetop in addition to teetering haphazardly off the edge. And, heaven help me if there's some food substance or liquid I forget to wipe up before bringing the canner to a roaring boil...that's a caked on mess that even Mr. Clean couldn't get out. It seems like gas stoves are way cooler for canning--the burner covers sit up higher and it seems like all those chefs of Food Network recommend the ease of gas cooking. So, after the initial shock and worry about cooking over gas wore off (who hasn't heard of someone's eyelids getting burned off when igniting a gas stove!?) I set to the task of cooking my first meal over gas: chicken-in-rice with steamed vegetables. It may not sound super complicated or even worthy of Guy Fieri's attention, but one of my favorite meals growing up was chicken-in-rice...basically, you cook the chicken and cut it up, whip up some rice (preferably yellow rice) and mix them together...simple, but somehow super delicious.
Back to present day:

cook chicken, done.
steam vegetables, done.
cook rice, adventure begins.

Sure cooking on a gas stove has it's conveniences: better temperature control, less preheat time, even heat distribution, can still eat during power outages (and if you grew up in Florida, this one is a biggie). But, it also has it's disadvantages; namely usage by someone who has never used a gas stove before.
Imagine standing in a kitchen in front of a gas stove for the first time EVER. The dials are marked Lite/High/Off. Yep, that's it. No Med/MedHi/Low/Warm settings...just basically on, high, and off. You all know the basics of cooking rice (without an official Cuisinart Rice Cooker) right?

It should have gone like this:
boil water, stir in rice, return to a boil, cover, simmer 20 minutes, fluff with fork.

But what actually happened was this:
lite burner, turn to High, boil water, stir in rice, return to boil, cover, figure out how to simmer with only High setting, notice rice boiling over, lift pot handler so half pot remains on burner, boiling reduces, cover, stand over burner holding half pot on burner 20 minutes, uncover, fluff with fork, explain cooking process to husband while consuming yummy dinner, get laughed at by husband for weird manner of cooking rice, husband explains that dials aren't marked with Med/MedHi/Low settings but simply turn down dial to adjust flame height, ask husband why he didn't feel the need to share information since he grew up with gas stove, watch husband shrug, refrigerate leftovers, make husband clean up dishes.

Yeah, so when all those fancy cooking show hosts tell the audience that you can control the heat better with gas stoves versus electric, they should also show you how to actually adjust the bloomin' heat.

A Little Off The Top

2010-05-27T21:28:00.000-03:00

I started this blog with the thought of documenting my experiences with a semi-pioneer living (I say semi-pioneer because I still have some standards: electricity, indoor plumbing, modern medical attention) and how I typically learn my lessons "the hard way." So, I understand that the following post doesn't really fit with this concept. But, then again, it's my blog and I can do what I want!

I have grown to enjoy making things from scratch-I'm not sure why. I certainly didn't grow up doing these types of activities, but it gives me satisfaction and a sense of accomplishment. If given the option of making a pizza or calling Papa John's, I'd grab the flour, salt and tomatoes (no offense P.J.!). Instead of buying a new table, I'd head to Lowe's for a load of lumber (okay, so maybe I wouldn't make the table, but who can resist a trip to Lowe's??). So, it is will hesitance that I profess the deep love and wonderment I now have for our electric hedge trimmer!

Don't get me wrong; we have a pair of manual trimmers (basically giant-sized scissors for the outdoors) and enjoyed the fact that I could maintain my lawn without using electricity or fossil fuels...and, let's face it, manually clipping the hedges builds some mad upper body muscles! But, what was I to do when I couldn't locate the ginormous lawn shears?? Sure, I could have called a friend, my neighbor, or my brother. I could have paid for lawn service. I could have fenced in the property and gotten goats. I could not, however, let the hedges go one more day--this was an emergency hedging scenario! A few hedges were growing over the walkway, others were becoming summer homes for the neighborhood bunnies, and others had even sprouted arms and were nabbing passing children, birds, and small rodents! (Okay, that's an embellishment, but needed to illustrate desperation).

Thankfully, I remembered at some point in our early home ownership years we acquired an electric hedge trimmer. And, amazingly enough, I remembered where our 400,000 foot extension cord was stored (okay, more dramatic embellishment). So, needless to say, 15 minutes and 2 tired, shaky arms later--trimmed hedge bliss!

In conclusion, here are just a few things to keep in mind when using an electric hedge trimmer:

it is best to keep the extension cords behind you at all times.
if you have a tendency towards trimming hedges into geometric shapes, pick a shape before trimming (not halfway through).
Remember not only what geometrical shape you picked, but also what that shape is supposed to look like.
don't trim hedges at your own house if you're Type A or have perfectionist tendencies.
always know the safety features of the machine (as not knowing them could save you 10-20 minutes of frustration in turning the darned thing on!).

The Mighty Oak...

2010-05-18T20:59:00.003-03:00

Okay, well really The Mighty Cherry.

It's Spring here at the ole hacienda. The birds are chirping, the lawnmowers are humming, the flowers are blooming, the trees are pollinating, and the charcoal is charcoaling (or whatever charcoal does). After an unseasonably harsh winter it's a sight for sore, allergy-ridden eyes to glance over the front lawn and see the magic of Mother Nature in the form of new leaves on our trees.

We bought our house (and by "bought" I mean began the 30 year, 5.25% mortgage process) in the Spring of 2005. There wasn't much to the landscape of the yard then, save some boxwood hedges and a few lone saplings scattered around the edge of the porch (most likely the result of the digestive system of the neighborhood Morning Doves and not some genius landscaping design from HGTV). After a few years of forgetting the saplings existed, we were suddenly thrust into making a decision about their pending future when the American Cherry sapling was now taller than the porch railing and closely scaling the chimney. So, In late Spring or early Summer (it's a painfully repressed memory), we realized it was time to uproot and replant the Cherry and Red Maple saplings or suffer an unstable foundation once the root system got more out of control.

Fast forward to now-Spring 2010-I am thoroughly excited that both the Red Maple and American Cherry trees survived:

our inexperienced/unknowledgable transplanting efforts
the 5 1/2 month long Alaskan experience known as the "atypical winter for the Triad"
a severe deficiency of basic gardening, shrubbery, horticultural skills
and my lack of knowing when enough water was truly enough

I've never really had a green thumb and had come to the grips of reality that is plastic flower arrangements (let's just say that I am most likely the only person to ever kill a Spider Plant). So I am completely, absolutely, exclusively, greatly, collectively, altogether euphoric at the rebirth of our transplanted trees!

Phrases

2010-04-19T18:15:00.001-03:00

I'm a transplant North Carolinian; born and raised in Florida, I moved up here for college and could never quite force myself to leave the state (sorry Mom). Since the majority of the state of Florida is comprised of limestone and sand and as our house was surrounded by Oak, Hickory, and Pine trees we didn't really have much grass in the yard. Thus, I never had the opportunity to operate a lawnmower or really do any variation of yard work other than sweeping off the front walkway of pollen pods, hickory nut shells, and leaves. It wasn't until the Spring of 2005 that I found myself behind the mechanical monstrosity that is a lawn mower (a lawnmower is defined as the rotary blade, push type--not the riding mowers because that would weaken the emphasis of this posting). Because I was never properly introduced to lawn mowing, I jumped at the chance to mow our very own lawn! So, donned with my lawn-mowing-rose-colored glasses I made the deal with my husband that I was responsible for mowing, if he would take ownership of weeding, trimming, and edging. Oh, what stupid deals we make when glazed over with the blind excitement of being first-time home buyers.

I know that mowing a yard isn't really unique to "country living," but as I have to learn things the hard way to learn them, I felt it only appropriate. While mowing the lawn maybe part of the basics of home ownership, it is a skill yet to be mastered by me. So, in homage to my husband and testament to my continuing education of lawn care, here are the top15 phrases your husband doesn't want to hear while you're mowing the yard.

See, if we fenced in the property and got goats we wouldn't have to mow.
Hey! I think something just slithered across my foot.
Oh, so that's why I shouldn't mow in flip flops.
How can you call those weeds? They have pretty yellow flowers.
No, I didn't pick it up; I just mowed over it.
Is it supposed to sound like that?
I bet they didn't have to mow in the 1500s.
You mean we have to mow every weekend??
Is it supposed to burn like that?
Wait. I'm supposed to mow in a straight line?
Did you know yellow jackets make nests in the ground!?!
Hey look! The grass comes up to my knees!
Huh? I wonder what made that hole.
Is it supposed to smell like that?
Have you seen the toy Beau was playing with last week? Oh, never mind.

"IT'S ALIVE!"...nope, just kidding.

2010-04-15T14:40:00.004-03:00

Ferdinand the Fig Tree quietly passed during the Winter of 2009-2010 in his 10 gallon plastic container on the back porch after a short-lived existence of Miracle-Gro and faucet water.

Born somewhere in the local area, date/year unknown, to Pepe and Catarina Fig Tree, Ferdinand was an excellent example of "survival of the fittest" in his battle to withstand long periods of draught (brought on by forgetfulness of homeowners), miscalculations of Miracle-Gro to water ratios, and abandonment on the porch during multiple snow storms. During his short reign as "porch tree extraordinaire," Ferdinand went on to establish resting perches for local Cardinals, Robins, and Morning Doves as well as an intriguing and interesting plaything for Ferdinand's owner's dog. Ferdinand is not survived by anyone as he did not live long enough to sprout seedlings of his own. He will be missed by the two incompetent owners of the estate on which Ferdinand passed.

Funeral services will be held on Thursday, April 22 at homeowner's estate between the hours of 6am and 9am, when the local garbage disposal company passes through. In lieu of flowers, donations can be made to the National Organization for Better Education of Horticultural Needs to Inexperienced Wanna-Be Farmers.

never say never

2010-04-07T13:30:00.002-03:00

At some point in your life you have either said or heard the adage "never say never." When you say it to another, it usually occurs on instinct or an autopilot type of response. And sure, when you hear the phrase it probably goes in one ear and out the other (like telling my brother and I not to play with water guns in the house). Although I've certainly heard this phrase enough to make my ears bleed, it never really meant much to me until the moment I decided to make and can applesauce and apple butter.

I have a somewhat modest kitchen--it's cute and functional and is adequately proportioned for the size of our house. But for a homecanner it's a wee bit cramped. Therefore, counter and pantry space is prime real estate in my house; any device or decoration must then serve an extremely important function, be used often in preparing meals, or risk the Goodwill pile. And, sure I can call myself a pretty good cook-I like to experiment with flavors, foods, and spices. But, I've never really felt the need or use of a food processor before. Why invest in a costly small kitchen appliance that not only has a large counter-space footprint for my square footage, but also an appliance that is really superfluous if you have kitchen knives, a cheese grader/slicer, and some mixing bowls?? No electricity is needed and less parts to have to clean. Not really enjoying the task of washing dishes, I've always opted against purchasing a food processor for the sheer fact that I can more easily wash and store a paring knife than a bulky processor.

For the process of making applesauce and butter I ended up borrowing my neighbor's Cuisinart machine and sure, it made the process quicker and somewhat easier...but while using the appliance against my better judgment (desperately hoping I didn't break anything), I found myself secretly lusting for my own. I'm not adverse to the appliance at all; I just couldn't bring myself to purchase the thing for 2 or 3 uses a year. Also, I think it's neat that our predecessors used the old-fashioned food mill just fine to make their canned goods...but then I realized that they most likely had much more upper-body strength than me.

Oh boy, was I ever wrong! My awesome mom bought me a food processor for Christmas and I must say, I've totally changed my tune--I'm a food processor addict now. How did I *ever* prepare snacks and dinners before without this machine?!? Did you know that you can not only make your own guacamole and salsa in the flick of a switch, but also grate and shred cheese, grind peanut butter or coffee, and slice your own potatoes for baked chips? Oh my gosh!

Spring Awakening

2010-03-25T14:02:00.002-03:00

I have to say that my all time favorite season is Winter. In Florida, "winter" is usually a two week period in mid to late January and temperatures rarely dip below 55 degrees during the days. There was this freak storm once where we actually had an icy Christmas; all the neighborhood kids took turns sliding down our driveway in the recycling bin, and we crowed around the wood stove sipping hot chocolate. So, to actually be able to layer in chunky, soft sweaters, enjoy the utter silence of snow falling, and bask the almost Norman Rockwell-ish Christmas brings more joy to my heart than I could ever express. Now having made that declaration, I love Spring!
How can I resist the charms and wonders of a season where baby birds are learning to fly for the first time, the smells of charcoal briskets waft through the neighborhood, clothes drying on the line in the backyard, and spot daffodils sprouting up in the most peculiar locations?
...although while enjoying the ability read a book while sitting on the back porch basking in the sunlight, I noticed the grass is starting to get a wee bit high...I have a sneaking suspicion I'll need to mow this weekend (probably another reason to love winter).

Ahhhhhh, Brownies

2010-03-17T20:58:00.007-03:00

I like brownies. No, I love brownies. I love everything about brownies: the marriage of chocolate and cake, the dichotomy of the crispy top and gooey center, the aroma that wafts through the house, the feeling of comfort and home when you take your first bite. Through it all, my absolute favorite thing about brownies is actually making them from scratch. Yeah, sure, it's a lot of ingredients and measuring and mixing, but I love making brownies from scratch for this silly, simple reason. There's this magical moment towards the end where you've been mixing and stirring and mixing and stirring...with each pass of the spatula, flour and cocoa spontaneously burst from the bowl in little puffs of smoke. You stir some more and more flour and cocoa end up on your counter top than in the bowl. You've almost reached the point of throwing up your hands and driving to the local bakery for your brownie fix--it seems like the dry and wet ingredients will never mix; they're just not meant to amalgamate.
Just as you decide to throw in the towel, magic happens. All ingredients meld together in an enchanting glistening concoction of goo...and in 18-25 minutes you get to enjoy the fruits of your labor.

Cooking it, Old School

2010-02-12T18:56:00.007-04:00

I've started cooking with cast iron skillets.

You know those toys/tests doctors give children to test their motor skills and comprehension? Sure you do; the 'square object in the round hole' type of toy. Well, that's a perfect visual representation of my family's karmic lineage. I come from a long line of people who learn things the hard way. Now, that's not to say that my family is stubborn or unintelligent, mind you. I'm simply saying that I come from a long lineage of "try, try again"ers.

You see, I was the type of kid who knew upon examination that indeed the square block would not pass through the round hole...but I felt it my responsibility to illustrate exactly the depths to which the square block would not pass through the round opening by jamming the block halfway into the hole. This not only proved it to myself the immalleable quality of solid objects but, I felt, it also demonstrated to others my ability to persevere in the face of adversity. Of course, to others, this display came across more like my stubbornness and lack of understanding the common laws of physics. Some may think that we have bad luck or poor karma, but I like to think of it as our family's dedication to proving exactly why something doesn't work the way it should...sort of like a philosophical Mr. Wizard (man, that was a sweet show).

Therefore, it should come as no surprise to learn the reasoning behind my foray into the world of cooking with cast iron skillets: I recently went to my doctor's office for my annual physical and lab work. All operations are as normal...but I've been feeling fatigued, like 'going to bed at 8pm/eating scary leftovers in fridge' fatigued. I was concerned that I was anemic or something. Now, remembering that my family's history has never been a quiet one, and knowing that anemia would be too simple of an answer, I was informed that I could possibly have a rare Mediterranean blood disorder. Sure, I have Mediterranean branches in my family tree, but I'm like 1/1000 Mediterranean, some Corsican, but mainly Minorcan. You know, Minorca; that incredibly small island off the coast of Spain (there is a really cool history of Minorcan indentured servants in Spanish-controlled Florida in the 1770s, but I've digressed).

So back to this rare blood disorder: I have a correct number of red blood cells, but the actual size of my blood cells are smaller than normal. Think about it as a normal person's blood cells are the size of quarters where mine are the size of dimes...you need more dimes to equal $1. Rather than get iron shots or take additional medication, my doctor recommended switching to cooking with cast iron skillets.

Apparently, when you cook with cast iron skillets, the foods absorb iron from the skillet as it heats and cooks. Thinking that I'll try anything before having to shell out more of my deductible for monthly prescriptions, I thought I'd give this a whirl. I must say that cooking with cast iron has certainly raised my energy levels and I've greatly enjoyed cooking like they did "on the prairie" (minus cooking over the open hearth).

Benefits of cooking with cast iron include:

is an ideal heat conductor
heats evenly and consistently
is inexpensive
can immediately go from stove to oven
requires no special utensils (yes, you can use metal utensils!)
makes the most fantastic cornbread you'll ever taste

And, of course, while cooking with cast iron, I learned a few lessons along the way:

Cast iron skillets come in 2 varieties: pre-seasoned and non-seasoned (this is important for reasons below).
Even though you might have purchased a pre-seasoned skillet, it is in no way seasoned enough to cook an omelet or anything egg-coated (i.e. french toast, fish fillets)...it's just not pretty.
Even though you thought you purchased a pre-seasoned skillet, it's always best to season it again (as you just mistakenly purchased a non-seasoned skillet).
Cast iron skillets are solid pieces of forged iron and heat consistently...including the handles...potholders are your friend!
Once properly seasoned, cleaning only requires wiping it out with a slightly dampened paper towel...not submersing it in a sinkful of Dawn liquid detergent.
If you own a standard electric stove, it's always best to measure the size of your largest burner for an appropriated-sized skillet. Eye-balling the skillets in the store is not a good idea...bigger is not always better.

I've somehow offended the Canning gods

2010-01-19T18:06:00.000-04:00

If the availability of health and life insurance coverage were not only based on one's family medical history, age, and smoking status but also on one's personal hobbies and the ability to walk and chew gum, then I would be uninsurable.

I'm not a person who enjoys the thrill of hobbies such as base-jumping, hiking Mt. Everest, or even deep-sea fishing (I've seen Jaws and read Moby Dick)...so when I chose crochet, knitting, and home preserving-or canning-I thought I would be fairly safe from harm. Oh, man, was I wrong! In my most recent foray into canning, I chose what I thought was an easy, staple canning recipe: applesauce. Perhaps it is due to my uncanny ability to create accidents in a perfectly safe environment or the misalignment of the stars that preside over crafters and hobby-enthusiasts, but making and canning applesauce is an evil, evil process.

Needing 12 pounds of apples, I chose a variety of in-season apples to give the sauce a little flair. After sorting and washing Empire, Golden Delicious, and Granny Smith apples, I set to the tasks of coring, peeling, and quartering (at which point the reality of what 12 pounds of apples actually looks like set in...think in terms of what $1,000,000,000 would look like).

*Let me just put in a small side note to the inventor of the apple corer: I deeply appreciate your ingenuity with inventing the simplistic design and functionality of the apple corer; it's ease of use in coring 12 pounds of apples is certainly worth the space it takes up in my utensils drawer. Now had I only investing the extra $4.00 to buy the mechanical apple peeler/corer...oh well, lesson learned.

I breezed through coring, peeling, and quartering the Empire and Golden Delicious varieties...yet, the Granny Smith apples proved to be too much. Sure, they're great apples to use as pie filling, baked apples, and candied apples; but, the actual process of coring and then peeling a Granny Smith is a true test of grace under fire. Granny Smiths are revered for their firm textures, tartness, and the ability to not brown as quickly when exposed to air--basically a darned great apple for applesauce, yet troublesome when you've spent 25 minutes coring and peeling less firm apples and lack any level of upper body strength. Towards the end, I pretty much jammed the corer into the apple and smacked the apple against the cutting board until it went all the way through. Yes, probably not the best way to core a Granny Smith, but it worked and the dog wasn't too freaked out by the noise!

Having spent a combined 49 minutes washing, coring, peeling, and quartering 12 pounds of apples, the next steps involving simmering the quarters in a pot until they softened and then pureeing them in a food processor. Not only do Granny Smith apples prove to be challenging in the first steps of applesauce making, but they take an incredibly longer time to softened in step #3.

*Side note to my friend in the neighborhood: Thank you from the depths of my being for letting my borrow your food processor. I, unfortunately, discovered the hard way that a Magic Bullet and full sized blender are not quite suited for this task.
**Side, side note to my Mom: thanks for the food processor for Christmas--this will bound to inspire future postings.

Once I pureed the apples, mixed in the sugar, and let it bubble and boil, I thought the tough parts were behind me. I've already successfully canned peaches, spaghetti sauce, green beans, and apple butter. How could canning applesauce prove to be any different from previous cannings? Oh, was I in the canoe, going up creek, with the paddle floating in the opposite direction then! I overestimated the amount of water in the water bath canner needed to cover the jars, managed to mis-use the jar lifter device, realized that a wet potholder no longer protects against heat, and that this day's canning project not only stressed me out but the dog as well.

To make a long, long story short, here's a list of the reasons why I would be unisurable based on this hobby:
1) tennis elbow and possibly torn rotator cuff from coring apples
2) cut thumb from the peeler
3) 1st degree burns from the water bath canner
4) 1st degree burns from a wet potholder
5) pinched pinky from the jar lifter
6) bruised kneecap from doing the "this is freaking hot" dance in the middle of the kitchen

Of course, this all might have been avoided had I not just donated a pint of my finest O+ blood to the local chapter of the American Red Cross. Although, having successful made and canned applesauce while being a pint low has to speak volumes to my incredible canning abilities, right?!?

(or my sheer lack of common sense.)

'Twas 4 days before Christmas

2009-12-22T10:35:00.001-04:00

'Twas four days before Christmas and all through the town
not a person was driving; snow was on the ground.

The malls were all empty, the stores were all bare
in hopes that snow plows were soon to be there.

The dog was nestled all snug on his bed
while visions of Pupperoni danced in his head.

With hubby in his PJs, I turned out the light
as we snugged in for a long winter's night.

When out in the den the dog make such a clatter
that I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.

And what to my wondering eyes should I see
but the thermometer registering 24 degrees!

The moon on the breast of the new fallen snow
gave a luster of mid-day to the driveway below.

With the snow finally ending, so fluffy and thick
I knew in a moment I'd need the yard stick.

Fox 8 called for 2, ABC said it'd be 5
the yard stick kept sinking as it rose close to 9".

More rapid than eagles I flew to the shed
no time to buy eggs, milk, or a loaf of bread.

Now shovel, now brine, now salt and now sand,
clear the walk and drive of ice and snow so grand.

To the top of the porch, to the edge of the walk
now clear away, clear away, clear away the block.

And then in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
the crackling and breaking of of ice was proof.

As I drew my head up and was turning around
down the front porch snow came with a bound.

The snow encircled my head like a wreath
I shivered from my the edge of my toes to the enamel of my teeth.

I spoke not a word, but went straight to my work
shoveled the drive, then turned with a jerk,
and landed my bum on the patch of black ice
I sprang to my feet and decided this much would suffice.

With the walkway now shoveled, the drive de-iced
I have decided that snow blowers are not overpriced.

And my hubby exclaimed trying to cover his laugh with a cough,
that the novelty of shoveling snow will quickly wear off.

I have learned my lesson, Norman Rockwell never painted this
but at least I have a funny story on which now to reminisce.

MacGyver Camping

2009-11-19T20:33:00.001-04:00

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

2009-10-19T17:05:00.003-03:00

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?

2009-08-18T17:22:00.001-03:00

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

2009-08-04T18:52:00.003-03:00

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!"

2009-08-02T19:57:00.000-03:00

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!

2009-07-20T19:13:00.000-03:00

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

2009-06-29T16:10:00.006-03:00

(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!!

Beau Beau, I've a feeling we're not in Florida anymore

2009-06-10T21:09:00.009-03:00

There have been many indicators that North Carolina in no way mirrors my home state of Florida, but none as apparent as the soil. Florida is practically composed of limestone, sand, and peat and lies about 100 feet above sea level. So, the fact that the state hasn't completely sunk into the Atlantic and Gulf of Mexico is beyond my comprehension. With such a fertile, soft soil base, doing any sort of digging, planting, or landscaping was accomplished without much sweat (you only broke into a sweat from the humidity and heat). At some point in my high school years, we bought a bunch of Mexican Heather plants for the front garden area and in my summer boredom, I went to task with planting them without much effort--only a half a day's labor. With such an easy-going experience of planting, I assumed digging in the ground in NC would be similar. Now, I have always remembered the valuable lesson my 10th grade English teacher taught us...when you assume, it makes a (first 3 letters of assume) out of "u" and "me." Why did this lesson escape my mind at this critical moment then?? Why did I assume this experience would be the same??

Fast forward to last weekend. I bought this Morning Glory plant at the Master Gardener Plant Sale over a month ago and transplanted it into a huge decorative plastic container and had it positioned near the front door. I was hoping for an inviting, homey atmosphere. Unbeknownst to me, Morning Glories tend to have a mind of their own and latch on to anything not nailed down. As I watched this plant gradually attach itself to the rain spout and the front steps to the porch I didn't really think anything of it. However, when it attached itself to some nearby tall blades of grass, a signal went off, I should probably think about moving this before it goes nuts. If it can attach itself to a single blade of grass, what else would it latch onto? Since our neighborhood is filled with decorated mailboxes, the obvious permanent location was our mailbox. So, I got to work: dragged the plant down to the curb, dug out the shovel from the garage, and even thought enough to bring out some potting soil to mix with the clay. Little did I know what I would soon be getting myself into. Piedmont North Carolina soil in no way resembles the sandy, limestone land of my youth. It's clay; not just your run-of-the-mill red clay that's famous in Alabama (reference to My Cousin Vinny) or the dark brown mud-like consistency found in the Midwest...nope. NC clay is basically orange tinted cement with some granite and quartz rocks thrown in for the heck of annoyance. Now you may wonder if I have just exaggerated for dramatic effect; that would be a no, it's rocky. orange. cement. The only saving grace with this project is that we recently had a straight week of rain, so it was more like the consistency of the mud pies I made as a child.

An hour later (yes, a solid hour), physically exhausted, drenched in perspiration, and smelling quite ripe, I finally emerged triumphant. I stepped back to admire my hardwork, put my tools back in their proper location, and then speedily went inside for a gallon of ice-cold water, Tylenol, and the coldest, most relaxing shower I could make. I sure needed it; after a project that took 55 minutes for digging and 5 minutes for planting and cleanup, I certainly deserved something! So the lessons learned with this project (apparently I tend to learn things the hard way) include:

if you live in the Piedmont of North Carolina and are planting or thinking about planting in the ground, it's best to do so when you've had a week of monsoon-like rain

one should never assume that two completely different geographical and typographical locations will in any way mirror each other (or basically assume in general)

it's probably not a smart idea to wear flip flops while gardening that involves use of a rather large, somewhat rusted shovel (not that I got Tetanus, but best to be on the safe side)

and finally that,

Beau, Beau. I've a feeling we're not in Florida anymore!

As I used to say during High School...Cool Beans!!

2009-06-07T12:19:00.001-03:00

My gas garden expanded this year with the addition of 4 Blue Lake Bush Bean plants. As I was completely unaware of the varieties of beans available and my utter lack of using my library training to do background research before purchasing, I basically chose this variety on impulse. Much like our dog Beau, the bedroom curtains, and the majority of books lining the shelves in our house, I purchased this variety of bean solely based on appearance. Why, you might ask, would I not have relied on my library school training and done background research (or at least a quick Google search), consulted the local public library, or called the co-operative extension before heading to the greenhouse? Well, I'm 90% rational and 10% impulsive and it was just one of those days!! There's nothing wrong with this variety and I didn't overlook a more superior bean (although, yet again, don't quite know if there is a superior variety)--I just decided at the greenhouse that I wanted fresh green beans with dinner and potentially a huge crop to can this year.

Other than the home-grown, freshly-picked flavor, green beans are the best vegetable to grow. Why? Because as you wait for the tomatoes, peppers, and cucumbers to grow and ripen, you can harvest bush beans earlier, thus feeding the hunger for home-grown veggies! As if that isn't enough, you can also harvest them continually as not all the beans are ripe for picking at once. I recommend more than 4 plants if you have more than 2 people in your household...as the 12 beans I picked today will do nicely for our pork loin dinner, but certainly not enough to even begin to consider hauling out the canner! Of course, as I know nothing remotely related to the bean plant per person ratio or the average yield of a single bean plant, I may soon be up to my ears in beans...hey, Christmas presents!!

p.s. Why is it called "canning" when you preserve food by using glass jars? Sure, metal cans were first used by the French military during the Napoleonic wars, but tin canning didn't really take off until World War I. It should be called jarring. I guess I can use my super-duper research skills and find out!

p.p.s. I wanted to title this posting "beans beans, good for the heart" but my husband thought this title was more appropriate.

All in the Family

2009-05-29T11:30:00.001-03:00

Thanks to the early summer weather gracing the Triad, I had the opportunity to transplant the gas garden veggies into their containers. (To explain the gas garden, click here) This year I've decided to added a bean of some sort and found the Blue Lake Bush Bean to look good enough...not that I really shopped around for a good bean! So, this year's garden will potentially yield tomatoes, beans, cucumbers, and bell peppers. And, in keeping with my tradition of naming all the plants, I have the following:

Cherry Tomato:

Chester

Roma Tomatoes:

Senor

Marga

Rita

Salt

Brandywine Tomatoes:

Merlot

Pinot

German Johnson Tomatoes:

Bubba

Brutus

Blue Lake Bush Beans:

Pole

Long

Spike

String

Bell Peppers:

Bella (yellow)

El Capitan (green)

Cucumbers:

Prissy

Petunia

I am my father's daughter

2009-05-21T20:12:00.012-03:00

As I impatiently await harvesting the fruits of my labor (pun intended) from the gas garden and impending future posts thereof, I figured I should keep you entertained with a story.

It seems I've always had an affinity for ducks. I enjoy the graceful way they glide in the water, how the wiggle their tails and bob their heads under looking for food, or the chattery gibberish when dozens begin to quack at once. Perhaps my love of ducks stems from my love of Sesame Street and the Rubber Ducky song. Perhaps it's simply a fascination with water fowl movement. While these surely play into my enjoyment of ducks I think the biggest influence comes from my childhood. My dad, an avid member of Ducks Unlimited, frequently took us along to meetings, DU dinners, and Hunter Education safety meetings. So it was only natural that he took us along on the occasional duck hunt. Those were the best! We'd wake up around 2am, load up the truck and boat, make a scalding pot of hot chocolate, and head out to (according to my mom) "get the ducks when they yawn."

I never really got into the sport of duck hunting particularly...due to my age (and total lack of upper body strength required to hold a rifle) I was tasked with setting out the decoys, untangling the camouflage netting, and watching the sky for the first fly-over. Just before sunrise and a few minutes after our toes went completely numb, dad would break out the hot chocolate. Once the painful sensation of burning your tongue pasted, the hot chocolate signaled the start of duck hunting for the morning. My favorite thing to do while my dad and brother hunted was to try and sink the shell casings that bobbed on the water's surface with the b-b gun. It was challenging--not only having to hold and pump the gun for firing, but taking aim and sinking them before they sank on their own. In retrospect, I realized that probably wasn't the safest or most eco-friendly thing to do, but hey, it was fun and I was 12.

So in homage to these memories of weekends

past I have a small tribute on the top of my monitor at work. Thanks in part to a prank by a former co-worker and part decorations from a graduation cake...

I now "have all my ducks in a row."

(get it--ducks in a row! Ah, it's funny!)

Madame Librarian

2009-05-07T18:58:00.010-03:00

After two years of incalculable miles driven, numerous projects and papers, unknown gallons of coffee, and trying to balance work, life, and school I will officially have a Master of Library and Information Studies degree on May 15. This will be my second, and final, degree...

I have a Master in American History that I achieved straight out of college. Thankfully, I was a full-time, traditional graduate student--only multitasking writing a paper while cooking Ramen noodles. I remember very clearly one night, while sitting in Southern Appalachian History class, thinking about my classmates who had to multitask even more. How did these people do it?! How did my classmates work an 8-hour day, drive an hour or more to campus, sit in class for 3 hours, get back home, and still have time for homework before having to get ready for the next day's work? I was thankful to be a full-time student and part-time worker in the History department. At that time, I could not imagine myself in their position...until now. I realized that I was suddenly there. I look back on the past 2 years and am amazed at how I managed work, school, family, and life within a 24-hour day...I still can't figure it out...perhaps I've subconsciously blocked it from my memory. However I managed to do it, I'm thankful I'm finished and I think the secret to my success in completing the MLIS degree is hard work, group collaboration, and above all...humor! If you can't laugh through life, is it really worth the effort? I think not. So, in dedication to my fellow graduates and anymore currently searching for the light at the end of the LIS tunnel, the following is for you!

I Found the Drive (to the tune of "I Will Survive" by Gloria Gaynor)

First I was afraid, I was petrified
Thinking how could I ever do this a second time?
But I spent so many nights looking over syllabi
I brewed strong, learned how to chug along

And now I'm back, another degree
I just walked into Curry, earned an MLS for me
I should have done this the first time
I should have realized my dreams
If I'd known for just one second Librarians needed degrees

I'm going, gone, aced my last class
Not looking back now 'cause all my courses I have passed
Wasn't Cataloging the one who tried to make me go awry?
Did you think I'd quit? Did you think I'd storm out and cry?

Oh, no, not I, I've learned to thrive
Oh, as long as I evaluate, I'll know how to organize
I've got all the skills I need, I've got all the requirements for the degree
And I've got the drive, I feel alive, hey hey

It took all the strength I had not to rip apart
A.A.C.R.2 and its unhelpful charts
Why did I spend so many nights flipping through the printed shrine
when everything I needed is available online?

Now you see me, a recent grad
I'm not a mousy librarian with glasses and tacky plaid
And so you felt like stressing me out with MARC and LOC
But now I'm saving all my frustration, cataloging like a banshee

Come on now, go, walk out the door, take a look around now
'cause we don't have to come here anymore
Weren't you the one who tried to break me with Dewey Decimal?
Did you think I fell asleep? Did you think I didn't understand the rule?

Oh no, not I, I was alive
As long as I took notes and read articles, I know soon we'd take five,
I've got all my ducks in a row, a mortarboard I'll throw
And I will thrive, I've got the drive, I did survive.

Gas Garden Revival

2009-04-14T18:22:00.003-03:00

It's that time of year again...planting time! This weekend I am heading to Tanglewood park to partake of the annual Master Gardener plant sale.

"The Forsyth County Master Gardener Volunteers (MGV) is a program that helps support horticulture education in Forsyth County. It is a national program of trained volunteers who work in partnership with the local Cooperative Extension office to extend information throughout the county." (http://www.co.forsyth.nc.us/CES/volunteer.aspx)

Master gardeners are the best people to ask questions concerning landscaping/horticultural problems, common pests and insects, and growing habits of the area. Additionally, no matter how stupid or basic the question, they don't give you weird looks or talk in a manner that makes you feel like you're back in 2nd grade! (believe me, I've asked)

In addition to last year's collection of tomato, cucumber, and bell pepper plants I am hoping to add beans and peas to the gas garden. I've gotten all my containers dusted off, spiders out of the watering can, and properly tumbled the compost pile...all that's left is purchasing the seedlings(because I'm not skilled enough yet to start from seeds) and the official naming of the plants!!

And thanks to a co-worker, no, this isn't a picture of 3 sticks planted in a bucket of dirt...it's Ferdinand, the Fig Tree.

Dispatches from Mowing the Lawn

2009-04-06T08:52:00.016-03:00

It's officially Spring. And with the changing of the seasons come the budding of flowers, the pollinating of trees, de-rusting of the outdoor bar-b-q, and the gentle (yet deafening) hum of the neighborhood lawnmowers. Having thus been inspired to dust off the mower and tackle the amazon that is our backyard, I felt it appropriate to jot down a few helpful pointers for those who grew up having never mowed a yard before.

1) It's always a good idea to take a brief walk through of the yard and remove any of the following:

sticks and scrap wood pieces
screws (from recent fence mending)
plastic ware (from previous outdoor picnics)
tennis balls or other plastic dog toys
small rocks or pebbles (dug up by dog)
previous dog "businesses"
dog itself

2) Before extolling 15 minutes of effort, upper body strength, and frustration, trying to start the dormant mower you should always check the level of gasoline in the tank.

3) When the grass has successfully grown past the height of the mower due to a 9-day rainstorm, it's best to allow the grass to thoroughly dry before cutting.

4) If you are too impatient to fulfill suggestion #3, using a weed eater to trim the grass down first could shave roughly 36 minutes off the task of mowing (however, it will most likely add 36 minutes to the task of trimming).

5) As a followup to suggestion #1, one should never opt to wear shorts and flip-flops for either the walk through or mowing. It seems that snakes are attracted to high grass areas (don't worry Mom, it wasn't poisonous) and your skin becomes stained a shade of green another might mistake as gangrenous.

6) It would be a wise idea to prohibit the family dog from walking, running, and rolling in the wet grass clippings to prevent semi-permanent grass stains on the off-white carpet.

7) If the grass is in fact much higher than the mower, I found a gentle rocking motion is useful in cutting (although best to do when husband isn't around to witness mistreatment of the mower).

If followed, these suggestions can successfully shorten the time needed to mow the yard...as well as numerous sneering looks from your significant other.

Ah, the joys of Summer, home ownership, and yard maintenance!

Sad, isn't it?!

2009-01-27T21:59:00.007-04:00

Since we're in the throws of Winter, the Gas Garden is dormant, and crocheting a sweater is taking longer than imagined, I've been watching a fair share of Ace of Cakes on the Food Network. Duff, the owner, opened a cake company in Baltimore, MD after graduating pastry school. He hired a bunch of his friends, some with culinary skills, some with engineering skills. What emerges from his shop are some of the darn coolest cakes ever created; complete with moving parts, fire-breathing dragons, or smoking volcanoes.
Therefore, having been inspired by such creativity, I embarked on creating an ambulance cake for my husband's birthday...what I imagined and what actually materialized, though, are two completely different things. I baked a 9x13 inch cake, cut it in half, and planned to carve out a replica of the Guilford County EMS units. I imagined a front grill made of black liquorice, the Star of Life piped with blue icing, and red Twizzlers as the light bar. You may be asking then "so, what happened?" Well, I'm still not quite sure other than baking, I can do. Creating a replica of something shaped other than a square or round pan, I can't do. In the end, it's cake. It's chocolate cake with vanilla frosting; it's delicious no matter what it looked like. And, really when trying to figure out how this posting fits into the "country living" theme, I'm reminded that while this cake was a total bust in creativity, even Martha Stewart had to start somewhere!

Worth a thousand words

2008-11-18T18:32:00.013-04:00

**preface: unfortunately this posting does not concern country living, handicrafts, or learning life's lessons the hard way...I just couldn't resist sharing this**

In case you're wondering, why, yes that is a prescription for an antibiotic for our dog. The kicker is I had to get it filled at a human pharmacy (pause for light chuckles here). About two and a half weeks ago, I had to rush our pooch to the vet office for some, shall we say, discoloration on the lawn. After hitting rush-hour traffic, the line at the office, and a walk-in visit, Beau got diagnosed with a UTI. Of course, it wasn't this simple!

After hearing the symptoms and doing a general "once over" inspection the vet assistant said that we'll need to get a "sample" to test to be positive before prescribing medication. "Well, yeah, no problem!" A minute later, the assistant returned and handed me a long, white, plastic tray about 2 inches deep. Naturally, I asked "pardon me, but what am I supposed to do with this?" Well, they needed a sample, right? The assistant told me that I could take Beau outside and when he squats, shove the tray underneath and get the sample...any amount, just enough to test. SO...it's now 5:45pm and other pet parents are arriving to pick up their animals, small children meandering in the parking lot, and not to mention that the vet's office is off a major road in Winston. Here I am in the parking lot, shoving a tray under the dog anytime he looked like he was going to do his business. And, of course since Beau is a dog and must carefully select his "spot" I'm hastily walking around the parking lot and along the road impatiently waiting for him to make. Finally, I get a sample, they run it, and sure enough, he's got an infection and we leave with a special urinary health food and an antibiotic.

Flash forward two weeks for Beau's follow-up exam and the infection is still not resolved. After another round of tests and analysis (minus my sample collecting skills), Beau's got a different antibiotic to really kick this infection...although...the vet's office doesn't carry this type/brand antibiotic. Okay. Having thought the most embarrassing moment of this process has passed, I'm informed that I have to take this prescription to a human pharmacy to fill. Really?
Can't I just collect another sample instead of this humiliation?? So, I get up my courage, walk into the pharmacy, and lay down the prescription on the ledge. "Name, date of birth, sex, address?" Well, uh, "Beau, April something 2005, canine neutered male, and our house." After about 5 minutes of explanation and a stare from the pharmacy tech thinking this is a belated Halloween trick-or-treat or early April Fool's day prank, I leave with my dog's human antibiotic.

Now that it's turning colder...

2008-11-11T20:50:00.001-04:00

With the Gas Garden slowly dwindling down (1 tomato plant and 4 bell peppers are still thriving in the garage), the neighborhood leaves blowing in our yard, and the Christmas displays going up at Lowes and Target, I thought it's time to turn my hobby-attention to Wintertime activities. Last Winter I attempted to crochet my very first sweater. I found a simple, comfortable pattern, a cute yarn, and got to town! It went fairly quickly and despite it's incredible end weight, I think it looks great! Since then, I've crocheted 2 more sweaters: one quickly donated to Goodwill and the other just lacking being sewn together.

Now, since I learned to knit in August of this year and having successfully knitting a dish towel and 2 dish clothes what better Wintertime activity than to try my hand at knitting a sweater?? I've again found a simple pattern, cute (lightweight) yarn, and the appropriate needles. So, on with the knitting!!

...hopefully the finished project will look somewhat like this...

Long Live The Beast!

2008-10-31T13:58:00.009-03:00

About three weeks ago, on a Sunday evening around 6p.m., I was preparing dinner in the kitchen using basically the same tools, utensils, and devices that every 21st century, American home contains: a stove or oven, sink, toaster oven, refrigerator, and microwave. Okay, so I'm not using them all at once, but merely pointing out what we have to prepare meals with. I've got the veggies steaming on top the stove, the rolls are baking in the oven, and I'm just about to cook the meat portion of the dinner and realize, it's still frozen.

Now, there are apparently two schools of thought when it comes to defrosting frozen meat. One, and the only way I knew of until 4 years ago, is to place the frozen chunk of meat on a plate and stick it in the refrigerator overnight until properly thawed. The second, and I think a bit weirder, is to place it in the microwave and use the Auto-Defrost mode. Now, this is certainly a nifty idea when one has forgotten to thaw the meat overnight but I've never felt quite comfortable defrosting meat in the microwave (or using the microwave in general given our childhood experiences with microwaves, marshmallows, eggs, and platinum-rimmed dinnerware).

Back to my story: So, it's 6 p.m., stomach is growling, rolls are baking, so I decided to throw the frozen meat in the microwave to nuke it. Not even one second lapses and there's a loud buzz, click, then nothing...it's dead. Perhaps I tripped the circuit? Perhaps the fuse blew? Perhaps the socket burned out? Nope, the entire microwave has died...bit the dust...nevermore, nevermore...keeled over...passed on...joined the choir invisible...(well, you get the idea). So due to our busy schedules and out-of-town traveling we haven't been able to purchase a new one until now. It hasn't been too much of an inconvenience; it's passing has just required us to plan ahead for meals and discover new ways to reheat leftovers. This last one got me thinking and hence the topic of this blog (I like to make short stories long): since microwave ovens didn't really hit the stores until roughly the 1950s people have long lived without the convenience of microwaves and prepared and re-heated foods using the stove, oven, or fireplace. Popcorn was popped in a skillet or pot, tea heated in a kettle or percolator, burgers flamed-kissed over grills, and left-overs reheated in the oven or buffet steamer. So why when our microwave oven died did our mealtimes include more local take-out and Subway? Sure it stinks to have to dirty an entire 2-quart pot to reheat a serving of chili or a skillet to re-heat pork chops but really we should take more time to prepare our meals, thus adding to the overall experience of eating. It's not just eating so our bodies recharge, it should be about "the experience." Yeah, it may sound corny but in all my other hobbies I slow down to enjoy them, so why not with meals?!

[[[Of course we did get a new microwave this past weekend and I've thoroughly enjoyed every minute of using it so far]]]

An outdoor adventure

2008-09-29T20:47:00.012-03:00

For our anniversary this year, we decided that since we have had quite the eventful marriage so far, that this year's trip would be a quiet, simple camping trip (see below for a list of previous events/trips). After a quick trip to the dentist for an emergency tooth extraction, three teeth to be exact, we headed to Lake Keowee-Toxaway in South Carolina located in the mountains, just south of Asheville, NC. This is a gorgeous, relaxing state park if you're interested in leaving all the world behind and getting back to nature (bathhouse available). To be honest, I haven't camped since 1997 and I've found there are a couple of differences between camping with my dad, camping as an adult, my husband's idea of camping, and my standards of living while camping.

As a teenager, camping with my dad entailed a truckbed over packed with sleeping bags, tents, fishing poles, games, lanterns, a first aid kit and this massively large cooler stocked with hotdogs/eggs/bacon/Faygo soda. Camping trips with dad were always fun and sure to spark stories for years to come (especially trips to Ocean Pond, FL where alligators live in the lake!).
I have come to realize, though after this recent camping trip, that camping as an adult is quite different than camping with my dad and brother. When dad took us camping the only thing we were responsible for were our clothes and any toys/games we wanted to take with us. As an adult, I quickly realized one must begin the planning and packing process much sooner than the day before. There are so many details that I never thought as a kid...like needing to get a first aid kit together (since we're the definition of accident proneness), supplies for cooking and eating, knowing the local animals and potentially-poisonous insects, supplies for the tent, a menu that does not require a cooler...much more than clothes and Travel Scrabble!

Now, this trip also taught me some things I had not known about my husband and his relationship with the outdoors. The first, and most significant, is that my idea of camping and my husband's idea of camping are two totally opposite definitions! My idea of camping involves a campsite, a tent, a picnic table or camp chair, and a restroom (not required, but it makes the experience a little nicer). My husband's idea of camping can be thought of as MacGyver-Camping: a man, a pocket-knife, a fallen tree, and some rope (if vines are not indigenous to the area). Now, he was quite pleased with the chosen campsite and the few amenities it offered (like a central water tap, a bathhouse, and a fire pit) but would have preferred the trailside campsites (aka: primitive campsites/aka: extreme survivor campsites/aka: MacGyver campsites) that required a 4.5 mile hike uphill both ways and reliance on our hunting and gathering skills. Perhaps it is because he likes to watch Survivorman or being a Boy Scout or just the thrill of doing something from scratch...whatever this desire stems from I am thankful that he can start a fire in the midst of a rain storm using damp wood!

Finally, this camping trip rekindled my love of the outdoors and the connection one has with nature while camping. Sure, I had access to running water, a semi-warm shower each night, and the protection of Ranger Ray making his rounds every 5 hours. But, I got to enjoy the quiet, peaceful sounds of crickets and birds (and the squirrels who seemed really mad at each other), the ability to go to bed when I was tired and wake when I wasn't, and the silly sense of pride in knowing that I can cook over an open flame (considering my high level of accident proneness). Hopefully we can make this an annual event; an annual camping trip to rejuvenate and refresh our connection with nature; to get away from the grind of every-day work and life; to be so tired after a day of hiking that going to bed at 7:30pm isn't considered lame. If you haven't or don't normally camp, I highly recommend at least one trip. You may not like it, but you'll never know until you try!...and S'mores cooked over a campfire taste much better than those made using your stovetop burner or butane lighter...

Wedding Day: Hurricane Jeanne hit Florida and condensed our wedding plans into 45 minutes(we have more horror wedding stories, but those are for future blog posts)
1st Anniversary: Spent at home with the Flu and Domino's Pizza
2nd Anniversary: Spent 17 hours in car driving to Boston, Mass. after getting lost-thanks MapQuest!
3rd Anniversary: Spent a week in an 1800s log cabin in VA during a freak ice storm without central heat and loose chinking between the logs

A recent trip to the County

2008-09-01T18:34:00.034-03:00

My only experience with and understanding of the state of New York was a trip to New York City my freshman year of high school: the Broadway shows, Times Square at New Year's, FAO Swartz, and Central Park. Of course, you mention this to anyone living in New York outside of "the city" and you'll quickly learn that New York City is a place in and of itself and "that's not New York." On a recent trip to Central New York to visit my husband's family, I was immersed in the other New York, the true New York, the agricultural, rolling plains, mountain ranges, and lake effect snow New York. Apple orchards and corn and soybean fields galore!

Learned to can peaches

Toured the Sodus Bay Lighthouse & Museum on Lake Ontario

Went to the Heluva Good Cheese Factory

And visited the Great New York State Fair!

Yep, this is the cow jumping over the moon carved out of butter!

A Pepper Conundrum

2008-08-14T18:00:00.003-03:00

I've heard it from several people: "it's not a good year for peppers." What does this mean??

As this is my first time growing vegetables (or attempting to grow vegetables) perhaps I'm ill-informed or naive or skipped that chapter of the Complete Idiot's Guide to Edible Gardening but judging from the fact that I actually have peppers growing seems like it's a good year for peppers. Okay, sure, they're not up to grocery store standards and yeah, they are roughly the size of a small peach. But, I grew them. They're not rotten inside. And, since it's just my husband and myself, I think I've successfully grown a new variety of green peppers; the perfectly sized pepper for a serving of 2.

My final thought on green peppers (for this posting at least) is when can you tell the peppers are actually ready to be picked?! With tomatoes, they turn from green to red; blueberries turn from green to blue; strawberries turn from green to red...basically all the major fruits and vegetables turn from green to another color when they are ready for picking...all except for green peppers. I decided that when they are no longer getting any bigger and are starting to turn yellowish/red, they're done. Turned out, I can't be all that wrong--they were lovely in a spring salad mix and also roasted with new potatoes.

You say tomatoe...

2008-07-29T23:30:00.004-03:00

Have you ever seen a more perfect tomatoe?! I think not!
It tasted really good too!!

(Yeah, I'm one of the weird ones that spells Tomato with the 'e')

The Good, The Bad, and The Thunderstorm

2008-07-29T22:20:00.001-03:00

Well, I am once again sad to report the lose of another member of the Gas Garden family. Basil, the Basil Plant (named after John Cleese's character from Faulty Towers), was thrown from him lofty perch upon the grill by the torrential winds last Tuesday night's tornadic thunderstorm (did I make that dramatic enough?!). He will be deeply missed, seeing as I have finally checked out books from the Public Library system on how to dry and preserve herbs. While the Gas Garden could have done without the category-one-level winds it was quite nice that Mother Nature watered the garden for me. I haven't been over or under watering, adding too much sun, or messing with the soil content of the containers, but there's been something "off" about the plants. The little leaves were looking pale green/yellowish and droopy. I tried moving them to the other side of the deck to get less of the intensive afternoon sun, installing the Japanese Beetle bag thing to deter their devastation, and even periodically brought them into the screen porch area every other day to prevent sunburn (I think my dog got jealous of the attention to the plants rather than him!). But, after last Tuesday and Wednesday's storms it's nice to see they've perked up. Sometimes all they need is some TLC rain from Mother Nature!

Out with the old, in with the new

2008-07-16T17:27:00.000-03:00

Last Monday, I get home after a long day at work with no air conditioning in the Library to find the house...let's say, somewhat warm. As I am hooking up the harness to Beau and heading out for our nightly walk, our neighbors tell me that while they were grilling out, they noticed our air conditioner unit made a funny noise and then smoked. Now, this doesn't sound good from any angle and me being the "worst case senario" type of worrier, I immediately thought, well crap, we're going to need a whole new AC unit!

**digression moment** Did you know that Air Conditioner Units only live 10-12 years! One would think that with the cost of the systems they would last for at least 30 years or a nuclear explosion.

After a day of open windows, ceiling fans, and borrowed box fans I came to find out that the fan motor to our unit died, thus forcing the freon to backup in the compressor. The "funny noise" our neighbors heard would be a golf-ball sized hole blown out in the side of the compressor. Apparently compressors die because of one of three options: the compressor lead burns out, short circuits, or completely blows out. So, if we're going to break something in our house, the feeling is, better do it up right!

Turns out, we did have to replace the entire unit and it wasn't as painful as I thought it would be, given the state of the economy we're in and the rising cost of fuel, groceries, and energy (thankfully we don't have a heat pump system). So I must first give props and sincere thanks to the good Lord who helped cool our house last week with the nightly rain showers and President G. Bush for the Economic Stimulus checks...we have done our American duty by stimulating the A.C. Repair business.

Now, as this is a blog about "country living for a city girl" the question is how does this posting tie into country living? Well, in a roundabout way last week I was suddenly thrust back into my childhood growing up in Florida. I grew up in a typical 1950s, concrete block, Ranch-style house with no central heat or AC system. We did have air conditioning but only in certain rooms of the house with window units installed. These did really well in cooling off the house and the wood-burning stove and oil heater did just as well in Winter for heating. Then, like most colleges build in the 1800s, my dorm rooms also lacked central heat and air...I do have some interesting stories about Radiator Heat (those are for later). So, for the first 24 years of my life, I have never known the comforts, joys, or problems associated with central heat and air. So I was quite amazed with myself and my lack of adaptation to a week of open windows and box fans. Now, I'm not saying that country living requires one to forgo air conditioning or anything negative toward these inventions. It was just an enlightening experience to see how acclimated I have become to these conveniences in the past 4 years. I'm just saying that Laura Ingles never had to deal with her A. C. unit blowing up on The Prairie!

All in all, I guess it was a week that we saved on our energy bill, thus lessening our consumption of kilowatts, thus saving the environment (however small the contribution).

I must end this posting by dedicating it to my fellow co-workers who were also haunted and vandalized by the decrepit, aged, Compressor/Heat Pump explosions!

My sympathies and sweat stains are with you all.

I'm a Pepper, He's a Pepper, She's a Pepper, We're a Pepper...

2008-07-08T19:55:00.002-03:00

Don't you want to be a Pepper too?!
Okay, while I'm not exactly old enough to have seen the 1978 advertisement for Dr. Pepper on t.v., my mom sang the jingle enough for it to stick in my head all these years and I couldn't resist!

I know it may seem silly or juvenile to be excited about something as unostentatious (thank you thesaurus!) and small as a flower, but if you know me, you know I'm easily impressed with the simple things in life. For example, Bella, one of the 4 Bell Pepper plants has finally started to bloom...meaning, where there's a flower, there's a fruit! In beginning this container garden, I put much thought and planning into the size of the containers I needed, the type and quality of potting soil to purchase, and the total harvest of the number of plants I bought. Thinking back on this, I must say I'm quite impressed with my planning efforts since I'm not really the "measure twice, cut once" kinda gal. I like to jump into projects with both feet and guesstimate along the way...thus, I tend to learn the lessons the hard way. While I did take all these needs into consideration, I somewhat failed to consider or realize the difficulty involved in actually growing plants in containers as apposed to the ground. Now, perhaps vegetable plants are more hearty or persistent or it may be my shear dumb-luck, but I've never had success at growing annuals or perennials in containers (the spider plant doesn't count since it's practically indestructible). Container plants require more water, sun to shade ratio, and a little more TLC since you're growing organic matter in an inorganic environment. So, the fact that these plants have more than doubled in size and are now flowering and producing fruit my excitement can barely be explained. Of course I now also realize that with 4 pepper plants I may need to research freezing/canning bell peppers...good thing I'm working to be a librarian!

no more!

2008-06-24T19:10:00.002-03:00

I have a horticultural addiction. The first step to recovery is admitting I have a problem. My desire for fresh, homegrown tomatoes has taken over my free time, not to mention our back deck! The latest, and hopefully last, addition to the tomato section of my Gas Garden is Tony, the tiny tiger tomato plant (how's that for alliteration!). Now, I didn't name it Tony the Tiny Tiger myself--that honor goes to my gardening partner in crime. On a recent trip to the Farmer's Market, I took pity on a sad little tomato plant that, if not purchased by the close of business, would be thrown out. How could I pass this plant up with it's withered little leaves and droopy stems? Not to mention it was only three dollars and already had some fruits growing. And if I needed more justification for purchasing Tony, I found that I still had roughly one cubic foot of potting soil and one 1 gallon pot left in the shed--how many more signs did I need to make this right?! A little potting soil, sun, and rainwater later and Tony has certainly perked up and taken well to his new surroundings.
**random tomato fact**For those new to the variated types of tomato plants, this one is called a Tiny Tiger Tomato because 1) it produces small, or tiny, tomatoes and 2) the skins are striped red and orange.

So, I must decree that as of today, no more; I'm done, seat's taken, there's no room at the inn. I can no longer browse the vegetable section at Lowes, the plant area at the Farmer's Market, or any local plant sales in the neighborhood. I've promised my husband and made a pact with my gardening friend that there will be no more additions to the family. The Gas Garden is full (more like our deck has no more space for pots) so I must be content with the plants already thriving in the sun (and curiosity of our dog).

behold...

2008-06-18T10:08:00.005-03:00

...the fruits of my labor (pun totally intended). At some point in mid-April my husband and I decided to give growing vegetables a whirl without really knowing what we were in for. On a whim, we came across a tomato kit on clearance for $1 at a big-box store while getting our weekly groceries. The kit came complete with seeds, soil, container, and instructions for growing dwarf tomatoes right in your windowsill! Now, you should always read the instructions carefully before beginning any project but even more so when you're attempting something for the *very* first time...translation...it's not a good idea to put the soil in the container, dig one hole, and then dump all the seeds into the single hole. Tomato growing doesn't follow Darwin; it's not survival of the fittest but survival of all! One 1/2 gallon plastic container, as I quickly realized, will not support the growing needs and habits of about 20 tomato seedlings (which was somewhat left out of the instructions). Therefore, I cleaned the local store out of gallon containers, separated the seedlings, and successfully transplanted each single plant. What started off with the desire for a few homegrown tomatoes this year has grown quickly into a small container farm on our back porch. Having never grown anything before (and lasted this long without forgetting to water) I'm really excited to see the "fruits of my labor." I guess I'll have to find a good spaghetti sauce recipe that freezes well. Bring on the ascorbic acid and Tums!!

Next up, cucumbers and my attempt at making pickles.

soon-to-be firewood

2008-06-05T21:58:00.009-03:00

People might assume that growing up in Florida one would not require the use of heat, a winter coat, or thermal socks. However, there were several times during the year (mainly 3 weeks in late December/early January) that we needed to shut of the A.C., don a sweater, and fire up the heat. In our house, that meant Dad building a fire in the wood-burning stove in the living room. Now, there are several family stories that involve our wood-burning stove but that is another time, another post. I remember each Fall, as soon as firewood became available, Dad would have half of a cord of wood delivered to the house. By delivered, I mean, wood dumped in the driveway closest to the side door. So, I learned pretty early on how to properly stack firewood...which, yes, there is a proper way. I also remember how organized Dad was about stacking the wood outside and then building a proper, structured fire inside. First, shredded newspaper and kindling wood, then stacked/leaned dry logs on top, then another round of shredded newspaper. I was in charge of shredding the paper. His fires always seem to start on the first light of a match and stay lite well after the kindling and newspaper burned away. If found alone during college breaks, my fires always needed the aid of charcoal lighter fluid (which thinking back now was probably really stupid--sorry Mom). The point of this memory is that this was one condition my husband had during our months of house hunting...the house had to have a wood-burning fireplace. As luck would have it, we found a cute house recently built with vaulted ceilings, a wrap-around porch, and a wood-burning fireplace. The first year living here we mainly burnt Duraflame logs that were on sale at the store and scrap lumber we salvaged from the building site at the end of our housing development. Th e next year, we decided to order half a cord of firewood but quickly learned that this can become costly. Last year, we had the brilliant stroke of genius of going to a yard waste facility and scavenge for non-pine wood that we could chop ourselves. That wood lasted quite a long time which helped with the weird, long winter we had. This year, we're kicking it up a notch!
A few weeks ago we had some pretty nasty storms blow through our area along with the "Triad Tornadoes." These storms were useful on two levels. One being that I found our laundry room can seat 2 adults and 1 dog quite comfortably. The second being that one of our neighbors had some Tulip Poplar trees blow down...thankfully not on anyone's house, fence, or car. Once cut into 3 feet sections, we gratefully hauled 2 full trees over to our house and started stacking the sections. Come this Fall I will be enhancing the skill commonly seen on episodes of Little House on the Prairie of splitting wood...I'm assuming there is a proper way to do this seeing as the wood we had growing up always came split and seasoned. This wood is currently "seasoning"--i.e. drying out--and then it's on with doing things the way our ancestors did...we'll see how well this turns out in September!!

As Nature would have it UPDATE

2008-06-02T12:06:00.004-03:00

I'm very pleased to announce that Momma Robin who chose our rain gutter spout (and shedded dog's hair) to make her nest has 3 healthy baby birds. If you think the Monster Truck Rally or WWE crowds at the Lawrence Joel Veteran's Memorial Coliseum was loud, stop by our place between feedings! Even Beau, our Heinz 57 dog, has taken to running the other way when the chirping starts.

Newest additions to the family

2008-05-27T14:56:00.008-03:00

the Gas Garden Family, that is. After having mourned the loss of Stanley, the grape tomato plant and about 1 cubic foot of really good potting soil, I've decided to move on. Having gotten off early from work on Friday and not really wanting to spend my free time at home in front of the t.v., I stopped into a plant nursery to feed my new addiction of vegetable gardening. I am excited to report that in Stanley's memory, the Gas Garden family now includes Ramona, the Roma tomato, and Estelle, the Early Girl tomato. Both seem to haven taken well to their new surroundings, the other family members seem to be keeping the teasing down to a minimum, and I think they're "blossoming" into fine young tomatoes...get it?! get it?! blossoming, since tomatoes sprout blossoms and those turn into the fruits...I crack me up!

I also found that bamboo skewers make really good stakes for dwarf tomato and pepper plants.

Ah, the joys of home ownership

2008-05-24T21:18:00.007-03:00

Since I'm waiting on the first coat of paint to dry in the kitchen, I decided to blog about this experience. Okay, so painting isn't really a country thing but it's a task, like container gardening and crocheting, that I've had to learn based on a lack of prior expertise. When we first bought our house we decided to paint all the rooms before moving in our mega load of stuff. Of course, we waited until two days before moving to actually get paint, supplies, and begin the daunting task of painting a 3 bedroom, 2 bath house...thankfully it's really not that much square footage. After realizing pretty early on that one gallon of paint would not finish our kitchen, we took the paint can to the nearest big-box store to get the color matched...because we were too tired and too lazy to drive to the actual store where we first purchased the paint (mistake # 1). Since the paint matcher machine was off by one measly batrillionth of a squirt the new gallon of paint was not identical to the first gallon. Never to fail, my husband had the great idea to buy an empty 5 gallon bucket, mix the two gallons together, and paint the kitchen. It was a great idea and the two different gallons were pretty close in color--although if one gallon has too much brown pigment in it, it will always overtake the other pigments (mistake #2). well, 3 years later we still hate the color that came out of that 5 gallon bucket so I decided to re-paint the kitchen this Veterans' Day weekend.
Now, seeing at it's nearly 9pm and I've only gotten the primer and first coat of paint on the walls and it's still tacky I thought others who are undertaking the idea to paint might like some pointers.

#1 the easiest,quickest, and cleanest way to paint is to first board the dog
#2 you can store a wet paint roller to save for painting at a later date, but you should wrap it in plastic and put it in the fridge NOT the freezer
#3 the color samples you admire at the paint store ALWAYS look different in your home, especially if you use compact fluorescent light bulbs and have white cabinets and appliances
#4 always pick a day to paint that does not have a chance of heavy rain or conditions that allow opening of windows and doors
#5 Latex paint can be removed from the following: skin, fingernails, hair, wood/laminate floors, cabinets, countertops, back splashes, door frames, eyeglasses, windows, and a dog

as Nature would have it

2008-05-22T16:04:00.001-03:00

Living in Florida one eventually becomes acquainted with nature, meaning flora and fauna, in some respect. Contrary to popular belief, not all of Florida is sandy beach front property...we do have forests, marshes, and ranch land.
random Florida fact time: two fifths of Florida's terrain is used for pastureland and farming
Famous Florida flora includes Evergreen Pines, Palms, and Ligustrum (not really a tree, but most bushes qualify hieght-wise) and fauna include alligators, Gray squirrels, Deer, and Rattlesnakes. Now, living in the city limits I never saw an alligator creeping around the backyard but I did get to see the occasional Loggerhead Musk turtle and numerous squirrels...but I must say that I've definitely been in awe of the fauna found around Winston Salem, N.C., more specifically, our home. While we don't have any trees in our yard or our neighbor's yard, I'm impressed that Nature has chosen our abode to reveal the mysteries and wonders of Spring. While recently mowing the yard I kept noticing this bird that flew away from our house as I approached but would then lurk around the side yard until I passed. Upon further investigation, I discovered this! This momma Robin has chosen our humble, tree-less, landscaped-less home to build her nest. We're definitely steering clear of the area (and keeping our nosey pooch away) so she has the privacy she needs and doesn't neglect her eggs...we may even let the grass grow a little high on that side (sorry neighbors!) to protect her area. How cool though?!

Gas Garden Casualty

2008-05-21T19:11:00.015-03:00

I am sad to report that I've had my first Gas Garden casualty. Stanley, the grape tomato plant (yes, I've named my plants), will have to be "disposed of" this weekend. Four weeks ago I invested in a device that allows one to grow vine plants upside-down to eliminate the back-breaking, intensive work associated with gardening...perfect for an optimistic city girl with no prior farming experience. Overall, the contraption works perfectly and has made it quite easy to grow vine plants (although one could make the same thing using some burlap and twine for a lot less moola). **interesting side-note: no matter how you plant a plant, it will always right itself in order to face the sun**
Now, I'm not blaming the need to dispose of Stanley on this farming implement, but I may retire the device to the shed and continue to grow the rest of our Gas Garden in traditional containers and pots. As a city girl, quite fresh and aspirant to gardening and farming, I'm pretty sure Stanley is suffering from Southern Blight also known as Bacterial Wilt disease also known as (big words ahead) Sclerotium rolfsii.
It is apparently a common disease of tomato plants in the Southeastern region and I, of course, did not consult the Idiot's Guide to Vegetable Growing beforehand. Southern Blight, from what I read, is a fungus that attacks the stem of the plant and develops little pussy-bumps that begin at the soil line. Over time, Southern Blight kills the entire plant by starvation by basically preventing the plant from absorbing water. While this still sucks and I'm sad to have to get rid of it this weekend (because it can fastly infect surrounding plants) Basil, Minnie, Clyde, Bella, Oliver, and Percival are still fairing well.

one of my numerous hobbies...

2008-05-20T21:18:00.000-03:00

So, I crochet (pronounced crow-shay). Yeah, it may seem lame for a 28 year old but it really is relaxing and rewarding. It started freshman year of college when my roommate moved in with a friend down the hall and took the t.v. with her. I, lacking entertainment one Saturday night, wondered down to the dorm lounge and met a girl there crocheting and I was intrigued. It started off easy; my new friend taught me a double-crochet stitch and the basic square shape. I eventually managed to expand the square into rectangles, thus increasing my sphere of crocheting. Needless to say (but I will anyway) I have crocheted enough blankets, scarves, and potholders over the years to stretch from N.C. to Washington, D.C. Well, maybe not that far, but I have a lot. So, 8 years after learning how to crochet the basics, I've finally broadened my scope to include wearables...or as I call them, "anything but scarves."
My very first non-scarf crochet project was a sweater. I found some great fluffy, soft yarn at a local shop on sale so I couldn't pass it up. I found a pretty simple crew-neck pattern online and decided to give it a whirl. In total, the sweater turned out well--it fits, it looks decent, and it keeps me warm--so all in all, great first project! The only thing is, though, I didn't quite take into account the type of yarn I should have used before I started this project. First, although it's really fluffy and soft it made finding the stitches difficult with the fluffy bits. Second, you should always consider the weight of the yarn you're going to use in relation to what your crocheting or knitting and how you plan on wearing the item. I used a pretty heavily weighted yarn--while it keeps me toasty warm in the winter, I had to peel it off after 20 minutes at work. Now it could have been the heating in the building where I work since there seems to be a 10 to 20 degree difference between the 8 story building. But I think this sweater would be most appropriately worn if I were on vacation in New England during winter or having to retrieve hanging meat from a walk-in freezer.

My Gas Garden

2008-05-17T18:08:00.006-03:00

With the growing depletion of our environment, we've jumped on the "Going Green bandwagon" and are being more aware of our carbon footprint. At the homestead, we converted all lamps and ceiling fan lights to Compact Fluorescent Light bulbs, adjusted the thermostat temperature, bought reusable grocery bags, and installed an outdoor clothline to help lower our electricity usage. On the road, we map out driving routes to run errands, drive at a slower pace (posted speed limit), and are considering biodiesel in order to lower our waste of and use of gasoline.
So, you may now be wondering about the title of this posting then...Gas Garden. Well to make a short story long, I have two degrees in American History so through the college/grad school years I studied The Civil War and World War II A LOT. **side-note: those tend to be the big money-makers if you want to publish in history...but, I digressed** Apart from the mass loss of life and the toll on the fabric of the American society, I've always been interested in the social and cultural effects of both these wars. In addition to rationing food and clothing goods and bringing women in the public workplace, World War II is synonymous with Victory Gardens. Americans planted small vegetable gardens behind their homes, in windowboxes, and co-operative garden spaces all in effort to support the War Effort and simply survive. So, in response to the heightened price of crude oil and subsequent prices of food goods today, I've decided to plant a Gas Garden based on the victory gardens of the 1940s.
Now, since I am a transplant North Carolinian and come from the largest land-mass city in the nation, I'm not what you would call a "green-thumbed" gardener...I can pretty much only grow spider plants since they're practically indestructible. Additionally, unlike the sandy soil of Florida, I've been quickly introduced to the hard clay-like soil of the North Carolina Piedmont. Now, it may be that I'm just too lazy to till the soil and wait to plant crops traditionally next season or my shear impatience for fresh, homegrown veggies but I decided to plant my Gas Garden in pots and windowboxes. It started with one measly grape tomato and a basil plant. Now, I'm the proud windowbox-and-container-gardener-parent of the following:
Grape Tomatoes
Dwarf Tomatoes
Greek Basil
Oregano
Bush Crop Cucumber (apparently dwarf cukes)
Red/Yellow Bell Peppers
Curly Parsley
Regular Parsley

So far, the plants are all still living and I'm excited to report that there are 4 baby-grape tomatoes soaking up the sun. I'll post again later with plant updates.

If you have any tips on growing/harvesting/preserving any of the above, feel free to post a comment!!