It's been more than a year since I had a full-blown migraine, or I should say one that I wasn't able to head off at the pass before it got bad enough to make me wish I hadn't gotten out of bed that day.
I woke up with a headache; that's typically how they start for me. If I'm smart and take two Tylenol right away, often times it stays a dull roar all day. Today I was busy with work stuff, and chose to ignore the headache. It stayed a dull roar most of the morning. I had coffee like always, and some raspberries for breakfast.
Then WHAM, the headache went from a dull roar to a gut-clenching, soul-killing, head-throbbing, make me want to puke kind of pain that I had almost forgotten about. It happened so fast I literally got on a conference call and bowed out immediately, saying I was ill.
I finally took the Tylenol, but it was already too late. My migraines include a runny nose, sneezing, diarrhea, nausea, and vomiting. Sometimes a hot shower helps, even though it's contrary to what the physiology of a migraine is. A migraine supposedly results from dilated blood vessels; they get big and set off the pain. And cold will shrink the blood vessels; heat will expand them.
Yet for years, a hot shower with the water directed at the back of my head has brought relief, along with breathing in eucalyptus and peppermint essential oil while in the steam. Not so today. I took two hot showers, with vomiting in between, and pacing the floor in between that. I'm not one that can lay down in a dark room with a migraine - it makes the pain worse, so I have to sit up or stand up for the worst of it. But past history has shown me that the vomiting signals the end or nearly the end. I was finally able to lay down propped up on 4 pillows and wait it out. With my eyes closed I could see shapes like an old fashioned kaleidoscope, all silvery and moving together.
I finally dozed off, and when I next opened my eyes, sweet relief. I'm never more thankful for feeling normal (well, mostly normal) than after a bad migraine. I feel shaky, out of it, still with little appetite, and a bit headachy, but compared to what it was like just a couple of hours ago, I'll take it!
Thursday, August 28, 2014
Sunday, August 24, 2014
Tomato Tomahto
Last week I was too late - a lady bought the bushel of Roma tomatoes just as I got in line at my favorite Farmer's Market vendor, Lida Farm. And oh, did she gloat!
So this week I got there early, and was the first person in line; in fact the booth wasn't even set up yet, so I "helped" display the peppers, cukes, cherry tomatoes, kale, beets, corn, and assorted other beauties. I saw the bushel of Romas behind the table and told Ryan (the farmer) that I'd take 'em all. He thought that it was about 25 pounds, but having experience carrying 30 and 40 pound containers of cat litter, I think it was closer to 30 pounds.
He also had some yellow Romas - I couldn't resist those either, but stopped at 2 quarts. And took two ginormous red onions, a dozen jalapenos, a bunch of basil, and a dozen ears of corn.
So what does one do with 30 pounds of tomatoes?
First up - dehydrating. I took the yellow Romas and some of the little red Romas and cut them in half and put them skin side down in the dehydrator. These babies were juicy; I cooked 'em 12 hours yesterday and only some are ready. Once dry, they'll be vacuum packed and frozen for the long journey back to Texas. To use, I'll pour boiling water over them and let them reconstitute for about 30 minutes, then use them for pasta, stews, bruschetta, etc.
Next up, I made a batch of basil garlic tomato sauce for the canner. I can see throwing some meatballs in this sauce and slow cooking it all day.
I still have two large bowls of tomatoes left, so today I'll can some in their own juice, and also make some salsa. I don't have any cilantro, and I'm feeling very lazy today, so I might wait until tomorrow after I can get to the store. Since I'll likely be giving all the salsa away, I'll use cilantro even though I can't stand the stuff (apparently I'm genetically special in that regard, as was Julia Child).
I also have a few tomato plants of my own. The Cherokee Purples are gorgeous and so sweet! And with the cukes I have growing up a small trellis, I made a delicious and simple salad Friday night.
I added feta cheese just before serving. The vinaigrette was olive oil and red wine vinegar, with salt, pepper, and a little za'atar thrown in. Za'atar is a Lebanese spice mix of thyme, sumac, and toasted sesame seeds, which I can't seem to get enough of. Order it from Amazon.com since you're unlikely to find it in a grocery store around here. It's also the traditional topping for Labneh, which is nothing but regular yogurt with some salt added that's been strained in cheesecloth for a couple of days until it's the texture of cream cheese, but oh so much better tasting (and better for you). Top the labneh with extra virgin olive oil and za'atar and eat with Pita bread, veggies, or chips.
So this week I got there early, and was the first person in line; in fact the booth wasn't even set up yet, so I "helped" display the peppers, cukes, cherry tomatoes, kale, beets, corn, and assorted other beauties. I saw the bushel of Romas behind the table and told Ryan (the farmer) that I'd take 'em all. He thought that it was about 25 pounds, but having experience carrying 30 and 40 pound containers of cat litter, I think it was closer to 30 pounds.
He also had some yellow Romas - I couldn't resist those either, but stopped at 2 quarts. And took two ginormous red onions, a dozen jalapenos, a bunch of basil, and a dozen ears of corn.
So what does one do with 30 pounds of tomatoes?
First up - dehydrating. I took the yellow Romas and some of the little red Romas and cut them in half and put them skin side down in the dehydrator. These babies were juicy; I cooked 'em 12 hours yesterday and only some are ready. Once dry, they'll be vacuum packed and frozen for the long journey back to Texas. To use, I'll pour boiling water over them and let them reconstitute for about 30 minutes, then use them for pasta, stews, bruschetta, etc.
Next up, I made a batch of basil garlic tomato sauce for the canner. I can see throwing some meatballs in this sauce and slow cooking it all day.
I still have two large bowls of tomatoes left, so today I'll can some in their own juice, and also make some salsa. I don't have any cilantro, and I'm feeling very lazy today, so I might wait until tomorrow after I can get to the store. Since I'll likely be giving all the salsa away, I'll use cilantro even though I can't stand the stuff (apparently I'm genetically special in that regard, as was Julia Child).
I also have a few tomato plants of my own. The Cherokee Purples are gorgeous and so sweet! And with the cukes I have growing up a small trellis, I made a delicious and simple salad Friday night.
Tuesday, August 19, 2014
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!
Tuesday, July 22, 2014
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.
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.
Friday, July 11, 2014
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.
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.
Wednesday, June 11, 2014
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.
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.
Sunday, June 8, 2014
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...
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...
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