Preserving My Summer

I am a curious cook and love this time of year, when my gardens and the Farmer's Market overflows with fresh produce.  Yesterday I made wild rice (grown here in Minnesota), pattypan squash, and apple sauteed with baby kale and it was surprisingly good.  

I've made Caprese salad for the neighbors with my beautiful Cherokee Purple heirloom tomatoes, and my cucumbers have made delightful salads as well as pickles (both dill and refrigerator).

To give you an idea of what I've preserved this summer:

Sauerkraut; plain, with caraway, and with celery seeds (3 batches)

Fermented kosher dills - 3 gallons

Fermented garlic

Strawberry Rhubarb jam

Meyer Lemon Marmalade

Blackberry Lime jam

Fermented dilly carrots

Fermented dilly beans

Fermented asparagus

Pickled jalapenos, Serrano, and Hungarian hot wax peppers

Pickled ginger

Pickled beets

Tomorrow I'm going to make rhubarb chutney, which I've made before.  It's a sweet, savory, chunky sauce just perfect for pairing with pork or chicken, or over a block of cream cheese.  I'm also going to make a savory pluot jam.  A pluot is a cross between a plum and an apricot.  This jam calls for honey, rosemary, balsamic vinegar and fresh chives.  

And the Farmer's Market is tomorrow, so I will probably get more beans and dill...

And frozen food - I invested in a Food Saver vacuum packing machine, and I wonder how I survived all these years without it!  I've frozen 18 ears of corn (blanched and cut off the cob), tons of rhubarb, fresh sage (who knew you could preserve it this way?), fresh chives, and even quartered heirloom tomatoes.  I was going to can the tomatoes, and still will when I get more, but I didn't have lemon juice at home and was too lazy to go back to the store.  

I've given away lots of my jars, but still have a lot to pack in my car for the drive to Texas in October.  I'm gonna have to ship everything except jars and frozen stuff, and even then there will barely be room for the cat!

Local Food, Charm, and Small Town Wonderfulness

All summer I've been wanting to make brined dill pickles.  You know, the kind that sit in a barrel in New York delis just waiting to be chosen to accompany that delicious Reuben sandwich on rye.

So at the local Farmer's Market, I asked several of the farmers for pickling cucumbers.  "Sorry, we don't focus on them", said one.  Another farmer said that they simply weren't worth the trouble, since you have to pick them sometimes twice a day to ensure they don't get too big.

So in desperation I went to the local grocery store, Central Market.  I knew they sold some local produce, and last week they even had boxes and boxes of peaches meant for canning.  A young lady, probably in her late teens or early 20's, was stocking grapes in the produce section, so I asked her about pickling cucumbers.

"We only have what's out on the shelves", was her first answer, and truthfully, the answer I expected from a (probably) low-paid employee of the local grocery store.

"Does no one can their own dill pickles anymore," I asked aloud.

"What size are you looking for", she responded.

So I pulled the package of cellophane wrapped, Canada produced "mini" cucumbers off the shelf to show her.  "About this size" I said.

"We have a farm that we get our cucumbers from - do you want me to pick some for you?"

"Central Market has a farm?" I asked.

"Yes, we have 40 acres 2 1/2 miles outside of Frazee."

"And you would personally go to this farm and pick the right size cucumbers for me?"

"Sure - how many do you want?"

"Wait, I want to make sure I understand.  You, the underpaid, teenage, employee of this store, will personally pick the cucumbers I need?"

Okay, I didn't say that exactly, but it's what I thought.  I asked for a bushel, and she said that she'd have them waiting for me in the back room on Wednesday.  We'd figure out the price when I picked them up.

So I offered her some free marketing advice.  Underneath some of the produce there was a small sign that said "home grown", indicating that it came from a local farm.  I knew that some local food was sold here simply from the fact of how it looked - not so perfect, a little dirtier than the mass-produced stuff on the shelves.

"What if you really advertised your local food.  Home grown could mean that it was grown in California.  Locally Grown is the key word to getting our attention, and it should be in big letters on the bins.  Better yet, a whole section of local grown produce to draw people in."

I figure the natives roll their eyes at me when I talk like this.  Local food isn't anything new here; it's just the same as it has been for a hundred years.  But a big population of Detroit Lakes in the summer months come from cities where our tomatoes are shiny and full of ethylene gas, which makes them look fabulous.  And they taste like sawdust.  And our cucumbers come shrink wrapped in packages.  And rhubarb is something people of heard of, but never eaten.

And our pickles come from Clausen, not from our kitchen.

For Winter Blues - Meditation on Summer

As always, summer is passing in a blur of sunshine, food, family, and fun.  We can always count on the lake water being warm enough to swim in around the 4th of July, and so we've been taking advantage of that fact.  Yesterday much of the lake was smooth and shiny and just begging for us to get in.

We're so used to our boating routine that we sometimes forget how cool we are, until someone new comes along to remind us.  Our new friend Bianca came out with us yesterday.  Bianca has been living in the U.S. for about 4 years, but is from the Netherlands.  Our "typical day on the boat" consists of slowing motoring along the shoreline oohing and aahing at the homes we'd someday like to own, followed by burgers and/or brats on the grill.  When it gets too hot we jump in the water to cool off.  And a special treat is to wash our hair in the lake to get the kind of shiny softness you just can't get from city water.

Sometimes, in the dead of winter, I pull out my summer memories as almost a meditation exercise.  I'll close my eyes and recall floating on my back in the lake, or standing near the shore letting the sunfish nibble on my toes and ankles.  Or just laying back on the boat with my face to the sun, where there are no bills to pay, no work to accomplish, and nothing to think about except the gratitude felt when a perfect day presents itself.

And even when it rains we manage to have fun!  Last night the showers rolled in, so a campfire was out.  Instead, we played cards at the kitchen table, ate Swedish Fish, and laughed until midnight.

Grace, The Mighty Mouse Hunter

Grace is about 16.  I say about because I adopted her as (I thought) a kitten in 1998.  Her Mom was a feral cat that I used to feed, and she brought at least two litters to my front porch when they were old enough.  Missy (Mom cat) would sometimes almost let me pet her, and she brought me a dead snake once as a gift, but she and her brood were pretty feral.  The cat I now call Grace was originally called Blackie because, well, she was black.  After putting food in the dish on the porch she followed me in the house one day, and the rest is history.

Since then, she's been an indoors-only cat (she did escape for 2 weeks once, but she came back).  I sometimes find lizards in the bathtub in my Winter Palace, and none of my cats ever bothered with them.  They were all spoiled, pampered, royal kitties who never had to hunt or gather their food.

Grace normally sleeps on my pillow or right next to me at night.  Last night she settled in, then left.  I fell sound asleep early and dreamed about fishing (who knows why; and this has nothing to do with the story anyway).  I awoke to her insistent whining and meowing, and thinking maybe she was hungry, got up at 10:30 pm and put more food in her bowl.  She sniffed at it, then went halfway into the living room and meowed some more.

I turned on the light in the kitchen to see what was going on, and there, in the middle of the floor, was a dead mouse.  I picked it up and threw it away (ewww), and praised Gracie for killing it.  I haven't seen even droppings in this camper for a couple of years, so I figured it was a fluke.

I turned off the light and went back to bed, but Grace kept whining.  I thought, "oh no, what if the mouse was poisoned and now she's ill"?  So I got back up and googled it.  She was still acting weird, but now she was acting weird with a purpose.

"There's a second mouse", I thought.

No way - impossible.  No mice in years and suddenly two in one night?   Another mouse laying on its back was in the same spot on the floor.  I bent down to pick it up to throw it away and it suddenly recovered its senses and ran.  Damn.  I went back to the computer and this time googled "mice in campers".

Out of the corner of my eye I saw movement.

"There it is!"

Grace didn't seem to see it, so I got a tupperware container, trapped it, and released it outside.

Grace was still patrolling the perimeter.

"There couldn't be three, could there?  Nah, I got the last one."

Leaving Grace to monitor the situation, I went back to bed.  At 3:30 a.m., Grace is in the bedroom pacing underneath the bed, whining.

"There are three", I thought.  Damn.

Turning the lights back on, I realize that she brought me this one, alive and squirming in her mouth.  She realized that there was no way I was going to be able to hunt and kill on my own, so she was attempting to teach me!  She dropped it at my feet and the mouse scrambled.  When I didn't give chase, she had to.  I heard occasional squeaks from behind the curtains as Grace stalked her prey.

When Grace temporarily lost sight of mouse #3, I went back to bed.  Again.

4:04 a.m. Grace is back in the bedroom - she caught it again.  And once again, she held it alive and dropped it in front of me.  I was able to catch it in Tupperware this time and release it outside.

Back inside, Grace seemed calmer.  So I went back to bed.  Again.

A little known fact - mid-June in Minnesota, the sun comes up, oh, around 4:30 a.m. or so.  The birds started singing soon after I hit the sheets.  My Mighty Mouse Hunter was sound asleep in her chair of course, resting up for another night of patrolling.  She seems pretty disgusted with me that I can't seem to catch on to what she's been patiently trying to teach me, but she'll keep trying anyway.

I've got one covered trap set up and 4 on order.  Once the rain quits I'll see if I can find where they're coming in - got a supply of steel wool to plug any holes, and "mouse repellent" too (mint).  Hopefully last night was a fluke, but I'm ready to go to war now.

Tonight, if I sleep (and that is doubtful), I'll dream of Grace dropping mouse after mouse on my slumbering body, trying to wake up my killer instinct so I won't starve.

Summertime...and the Living is Not Easy!

My Friday nights and Saturdays are full of fun, sun, family, food.  I'm not complaining!  Sundays though, people drift out of the campground back home so that they can mow their yard, do laundry, and get ready for the work week ahead.

Some Sundays I simply collapse with exhaustion, catch up on the TV shows I DVR'd during the week, and retreat from the world for awhile.  I am the classic introvert, and while I love people and having fun, they wear me out!

Today I was determined to cross off some of the items on my long to-do list.  I sprayed dandelions and thistles, put pesticide on the multitude of ant hills in my yard, harvested rhubarb, watered plants, weeded my gardens, and expanded my back garden to make easier to mow around.  That last task entailed hand cutting sod on ground that legend has used to be a rock quarry.

Some neighbors rode over to say hi on their bikes, and while we visited, a chipmunk ran to my feet, up my shoe and sat there for a minute.  My neighbors think I'm a chipmunk whisperer!

After they left, the same chippie came back and ran up my shoe again and then hung out around my feet for awhile.  I got some sunflower seeds, sat on the ground and waited.  He almost ate from my hand, but at the last moment scrambled up the shepherd's hook for the safer meal choice in the bird feeder.  It was a nice break to a back-breaking chore, and reminded me to be grateful for where I live.

I'm done with the yard chores now, and will start on the laundry and the dishes after I take the Tylenol for my aching back...

Decoration Day

The trees are leafing out, the grass is a vibrant green, and the dandelions are everywhere.  This weekend is the unofficial start of the summer season.  It's also traditionally a weekend of reflection and gratitude for the service our men and women have given for our country.

When I was a kid, it was called Decoration Day, and we would pile into the station wagon and drive to the old family cemetery in Oakes, ND so my Dad could clean up the gravesites and lay flowers.  The cemetery is on a hill, and we'd shriek with fear and delight when the car would tilt almost sideways, and I was certain that we'd start rolling down the hill.

There's another cemetery in Cassville, Wisconsin that holds the remains of many more McCartneys.  Orris McCartney was born in New York state in 1794 and was one of the pioneers of the upper Midwest, moving through first Illinois, and finally settling in Cassville.  A local historian in Cassville has researched my great great great grandad and said that the funeral procession went on for miles when Orris died.

We don't have a huge tradition of military service in my family.  My older brother served during Vietnam, but my father was denied, because, he said, flat feet.  Based on letters I found from his father written when Dad was in college, I think his parents thought that education was more important than the war.

Today, I think of my friends in Texas who lost their son in Afghanistan this year.  And I think of the serviceman that sat next to me on the plane that day.  He was close to my age, and saw me watching a TV show on my IPAD, saw the acronym TAPS on the screen, and started a conversation.

His family DID have a big military tradition.  His only child, a son, followed him into the service as soon as he was eligible.  The Dad had done 2 tours in Iraq, and expected to do more, and when his son was deployed to the Middle East, the family couldn't have been more proud.

Less than two weeks into his deployment, his only son was killed by an IED; a roadside bomb.  He left behind a young wife and a newborn.

This man on the plane was brave enough to tell me his story while crying through it.  This big, strong man with the graying crew cut sobbed as he told me about his son's funeral and memorial.  I never looked at a man in uniform the same way again.

Because of their service, I am able to enjoy summer in my beloved Minnesota.

Scarlet Tanager

Killdeer

Goldfinch

Indigo Bunting

Rose Breasted Grosbeak

Baltimore Oriole

Bully? Or Just Free Speech?

I'm quite active on a series of online forums that deal with weight loss, more specifically with weight loss surgery.  Right now, there are 4 common surgeries - RNY (gastric bypass), VSG (Vertical Sleeve Gastrectomy, which I had last May), DS (Duodenal Switch), and Lap Band (which I had 8 years ago).

There's also a general forum encompassing weight loss surgery in general, and a "secret" Rants and Raves board for off topic subjects.  I say secret because the terms of service for this site forbid you from mentioning its name.

Why keep it a secret?

The Rants and Raves board has a loyal following of regulars.  It's where you can swear, talk about anything, and blow off steam.  Unfortunately, it's also the place where the same group of people go to make fun of other posters on the other boards.  Lately, it's gotten really evil in my opinion.

There's a lady on the VSG board who just had surgery.  From the time she joined the forum, she would post probably 10 to 20 topics a day, some serious questions, others "fun" topics.  She was lonely, and wanted conversation.  Annoying?  Yes, but you can ignore the posts that annoy you.

She became quite the topic of conversation on Rants and Raves, with people calling her the "C" word, and others piling on.  They didn't like the fact that she was Christian, they didn't like her screen name, they didn't like her avatar.  Many of these regulars hadn't had VSG surgery, but they would surf the VSG board just for ammunition.  And felt totally free to bash posters asking a question that they felt was stupid.

Someone told one of the more regularly bashed posters about Rants and Raves, so she went there to defend herself.  The fighting escalated to the point where one person told her that if she didn't like what was being said, she should just kill herself.

 Now, this poster had just had VSG surgery and her gall bladder removed at the same time.  There were complications with her gall bladder removal, and she had just been discharged from the hospital after a 2-week stay, where things were touch and go.  Yes, the Rants and Raves regulars made fun of that too, saying that it was karma that caused her complications.

Another R&R regular posted a pic of a child's gravesite, where her brother was playing.  A real gravesite, and she thought that it was a funny topic.

And if ANYONE disagrees with one of the regulars, they accuse you of hormone dumping, as in "poor so-and-so, we should excuse their behavior; they're going through hormone dumping".

So the owners of the website are pulling the R&R board down effective Monday.  The regulars are very upset, saying that it's the only board that tells it like it is, and it's full of vets who only want to help.  And of course they're screaming free speech.

What do you think?  Does this fall under the free speech rights, or have they gone too far?  Do you have a right to make fun of emotionally fragile people because they're lonely, or asking a question that has been asked a million times before?  Do you have a right to tell someone to kill themselves because you don't agree with them?

I agree with the decision to pull down the board, by the way.  It won't stop these nasty people from replying to posts on the surgery boards, but at least now the worst of it won't be on public display.

I fully support your right to say anything you want, as long as it doesn't make someone feel threatened or fearful.  And apologies are great, but if you did the deed, you still need to pay the price.