tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29448839258176323312024-02-20T10:42:15.680-05:00Everything Free EatingA "Breatharian's" Journey: The art of eating well while eliminating entire food groupsLoztnaustenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17629800078798930455noreply@blogger.comBlogger117125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2944883925817632331.post-58549367127796198222011-01-07T16:28:00.003-05:002011-01-07T16:32:23.629-05:00Grocery Shopping 2011<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://summertomato.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/01/Real-Food-Flowchart-2.png"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 409px; height: 750px;" src="http://summertomato.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/01/Real-Food-Flowchart-2.png" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Thanks to Michaela Dunn Leaper for Facebooking <a href="http://www.huffingtonpost.com/darya-pino/is-it-real-food-flowchart_b_805406.html">this</a>! Thanks to Darya Pino for saying so succinctly what we've all been saying for years!Loztnaustenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17629800078798930455noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2944883925817632331.post-73076797109500092962010-12-13T15:16:00.001-05:002010-12-13T15:16:24.781-05:00<object width="480" height="385"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/DlG1nmVBwlU?fs=1&hl=en_US"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/DlG1nmVBwlU?fs=1&hl=en_US" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"></embed></object>Loztnaustenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17629800078798930455noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2944883925817632331.post-58433991733098625912010-04-30T09:37:00.003-04:002010-05-11T13:02:36.753-04:00Pat-a-Cake<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3nC287Y7em4xetTB0uv66oR7UBIBjw9UasKMFPVsUwJysK7mHXjC1TgnKQ_sCWQLbmZ5teK0xQTDAGe-TVuKUeeeyTyqr7q1b0G6Z8UT3EY4pRFyHN51usn5kDCQ9VMHVlalwma3bkos/s1600/sourdoughpretzels.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3nC287Y7em4xetTB0uv66oR7UBIBjw9UasKMFPVsUwJysK7mHXjC1TgnKQ_sCWQLbmZ5teK0xQTDAGe-TVuKUeeeyTyqr7q1b0G6Z8UT3EY4pRFyHN51usn5kDCQ9VMHVlalwma3bkos/s320/sourdoughpretzels.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5470053359968106562" border="0" /></a><br />One of the joys of parenthood is being able to compare the cute things that they say and do. And with three of them, I live in a target rich environment. I try to keep track of these little stories. If not for my own amusement, I figure they'll provide pocket money for me in the future. There's money to be made in extortion, after all...<br /><br />Recently, I had Bug and Princess in the car with me while Dog was at Drama practice. We'd had several days of torrential rain and we had to pick up Tool Guy from work, since the rain was preventing him from riding The Bike. Getting into the car, there was a slight squabble over who was going to sit on which side. Sigh. Some days I miss my Soccer Mom Van. Fortunately, this was quickly soothed over as we began to be on the lookout for the spontaneous freshets and rivulets appearing down the hillsides. At one curve, Bug burst out into an impressed roar--we're working on volume modulation with this one--at the gusher that was cascading out of a hillside culvert. Princess was quite crestfallen that she wasn't sitting at such an angle as to be able to see this impressive wonder of nature. Bug sanctimoniously informed her that this was precisely the reason why he'd wanted to sit on this particular side of the car. After an extended period of silence, she primly replied, "That can't be true, Bug...you had no way of knowing that we were going to see that!" She'll be a match for any telemarketer, that's for sure.<br /><br />The Hostess caught up with me in Nitty Gritty Cooking Class the other day to compare notes on tortillas. Her family thinks the bean flour tortillas rock, too. She started chuckling when she told me that she had to share One of Those stories with me...a tortilla story.<br /><br />The plan for the evening meal was tortillas. The family had returned home from a strenuous hike and Mrs. Hostess felt the need to lie down before beginning to get dinner ready. The tortilla dough was prepped up and ready to be made up. Her youngest son, a six year old who looks like Johnny Whitaker but for the curls and has all of the energy of Tom Sawyer, volunteered to help roll the tortilla dough into balls while Mrs. Hostess rested for a half an hour. Seemed like a reasonable request, so she agreed and went to lie down. From time to time, Johnny would come in and regale her with his efforts, which included a rather credible penguin. He nodded when she reminded him that these would be flattened shortly and went back to his endeavors.<br /><br />She tells how the family gathered around the table after she'd made up the tortillas and began to dig in with relish, tortillas being a popular menu item. Biting in, however, the consensus was that these tortillas were somehow just not quite as yummy as past tortillas. Rather tough, in fact. Trying to pin down the variable, the new tortilla press was the first suspect. Was there some indefinable contribution that hand rolling them possessed that a press did not? She was beginning to regret the investment.<br /><br />Then her father piped up with a previously unsuspected and uncontrolled--the word having multiple meanings here--variable. It seems that Johnny had been quite enthusiastic in his dinner preparation efforts. The separating the dough into balls hadn't quite scratched his artistic efforts sufficiently and neither had penguins. While everyone else was otherwise engaged, Grandpa lounged on the couch, observing these machinations...apparently with no little amusement and absolutely no intervention. Johnny, it seems, waxed quite creative and discovered that dough not only made penguins, but entire arm-casts as well. The additional squick factor being that he had a still healing war wound from an argument lost with a bicycle a few days prior. The older siblings were horrified, while Mrs. Hostess and another sibling dissolved into tears of helpless laughter. Which horrified the older siblings further, since Johnny would undoubtedly interpret this as endorsement and reach for new heights of food malfeasance.<br /><br />Mr. Hostess asked Johnny if he had, at any time, dropped the dough. He gravely confirmed the additional transgression, but qualified it with the assurance that an older sister had recently swept the floors, making this okay. Heh.<br /><br />Those of us standing in the kitchen while Mrs. Hostess spun out this tale were equally entertained by this story. Johnny, meandering through to gym class, found himself ambushed by entering in on the tale end of the telling. Mrs. Hostess turned to him and asked if he wanted to add his own details. With an expression somewhere between annoyance and disgust, he retreated down the hall, pursued by peals of maternal merriment as we moms in the kitchen collapsed into gales of helpless giggles. Really, you can dress us up...<br /><br />I decided to harness this enthusiasm for playing with clay that I find in my own offspring. Modeling clay will often assuage this primal drive, since they don't care for the texture of homemade gf play dough and I don't care for the price of hypo-allergenic commercial ones. Recently, we were discussing as a family what foods we missed most in this Everything Free journey. With all the options still open to us, I'm 99.9% content. The only thing that I miss is pretzels. The commercial replacements are tolerable, but replete with soy and/or corn. So I decided to try my hand...and Hobbit hands...at sourdough pretzels.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">Sourdough Pretzels</span><br /><br />The first few attempts at this revealed that this is going to be a work in progress. Lots of variables in this one: rise time, boiling time, baking time, and, not the least, thickness which is extremely variable, particularly when drafting "help."<br /><br />2 cups <a href="http://everythingfreeeating.blogspot.com/2008/02/breatharian-revisited.html">sourdough starter</a><br />1 1/2 cups potato starch flour<br />1 tsp. guar gum<br />2 T olive oil<br />1 tsp. salt<br />1/4 cup flax meal (opt.)<br />Granular or kosher salt for sprinkling<br /><br />Using a dough hook, mix/knead all of the ingredients until a solid dough. It will be rather tacky, so olive oil on the hands while rolling these into shapes is helpful. Pull off a hunk and gently roll out into dough "pencils." Thicker shapes will be chewier and thinner will be crispier. On lightly greased baking sheets, allow the pretzels to rise for a few hours. They will begin to dry out and stiffen, which will allow for easier handling during the next steps.<br /><br />In a large pot or dutch oven, bring a couple of quarts of water to boil. Using an egg turner, gently remove the pretzels from the sheets and drop into boiling water, a few at a time. Allow to boil for 30-60 seconds and fish out with a strainer. Return to greased baking sheets and sprinkle with salt, if desired.<br /><br />Bake for 30-45 minutes at 350*, depending on desired texture.<br /><br />I'm learning, as I delegate more to the Hobbits, that I have to surrender some standards and expectations--at least momentarily!--to allow them to develop their own skills and senses of accomplishment. Even if it means tortilla arm-casts...Loztnaustenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17629800078798930455noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2944883925817632331.post-71961445718318782562010-04-16T07:51:00.000-04:002010-04-23T13:09:51.130-04:00Salad Days<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1GrXJF2th2B25XinrinHK49mSud-MfUFx_FFTRaPvp3BXDyHSIGoN1hvYZstHA3fvb3V6QmyBzoFrrrv1SkHxob8JSWTnNqcO2OVPMV7h4E-t_JLPBQ3ZPqXOPge1lZ4dgjRi8lsHtTs/s1600/saladdays3.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1GrXJF2th2B25XinrinHK49mSud-MfUFx_FFTRaPvp3BXDyHSIGoN1hvYZstHA3fvb3V6QmyBzoFrrrv1SkHxob8JSWTnNqcO2OVPMV7h4E-t_JLPBQ3ZPqXOPge1lZ4dgjRi8lsHtTs/s320/saladdays3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5463379438543433250" border="0" /></a><br /><br />All signs of blizzard long past, my plant friends are returning to visit again. Princess and I have meandered hand-in-hand around the yard and the neighborhood, looking for them. I don't think I've ever been so grateful for a springtime.<br /><br />After two consecutive years of gardening disaster, I and my pantry are quite ready for a bumper year, thankyouverymuch. I continue to refine my favorites for planting. Still playing with Siberian strains of tomatoes to see if their yields and growing season will give me a leg up on the varieties from Southern hemispheres. Which doesn't mean I'm not hedging my bets. There's room for the handy-dandy hybrids that are tried and true. And delicious. There are plenty of arugula and deer tongue lettuce representing this year. I never got around to saving seeds when everything bolted last fall. Then I never got around to tilling, something that I'm trying to break myself of anyway. I'm enjoying the blessings of my neglect. Also I've decided to yield place to anything that volunteers. Even volunteer dandelion.<br /><br />With spring in the air, herbal studies have taken on a new earnestness. During the wintertime, we were using the fruits of the summer and applying what we've learned, but with the expression of new yields, we have an opportunity to try new things and grow new things that we regretted not having explored the previous year. The first herbal studies group focused on dandelions and the first wild greens of spring. The group leader tasked everyone with bringing a dandelion dish to the class. She asked me what I had planned on bringing. "Um...kimbop?" It's my favorite pot luck dish and never fails to please. I never have left-overs. I meditated for a minute or two, then recollected that my kimbop tutor had always included spinach in her particular recipe. Hmmm...spinach...dandelion. Yep. That'll sub. I'll bet I'm the first person ever to make dandelion kimbop. Close your eyes, SMK.<br /><br />We talked about dandelion and the terrific stuff it does for the liver, the lymphatic system, and as a diuretic. This is a fortunate serendipity, since Tool Guy has had some unhappy swelling in one of his feet that hasn't explained itself to his doctor, despite extensive testing. Can't think of many gardeners who celebrate having dandelion popping up in their greenhouses, but I'm one of them. It seems that chickweed, my latest favorite herb for lung support, also sparkles as a diuretic.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvqQrOYxQTlm4T7jJ2uI0PsNbSVGn9wdYDqhT5p5jMMUjvEkIJWI4j_R_TBCCohxDhS3viDnktqE5w_yy8usUShtVl2Tr_0SWB_HgZ1oXado4jT0Io1oTHbb0p7JoKGK_pMf4dvquax-I/s1600/chickweed.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvqQrOYxQTlm4T7jJ2uI0PsNbSVGn9wdYDqhT5p5jMMUjvEkIJWI4j_R_TBCCohxDhS3viDnktqE5w_yy8usUShtVl2Tr_0SWB_HgZ1oXado4jT0Io1oTHbb0p7JoKGK_pMf4dvquax-I/s320/chickweed.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5463369699098014322" border="0" /></a><br />Ditto on <a href="http://www.pfaf.org/database/plants.php?Viola+odorata">sweet violets</a>.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL1MUAvGPKsMQSZMu6l0vOZqBzNbkZTDdM4lGw26xK5BJwOw6dBuoZvVM2VRHhUYqET2GhnKlz9SMV5w7Bq0vLDb7G1b9UAYCTJND2LGnOO3lI0vmc56BHlMQSg31omFgTldKy8ouvvX8/s1600/sweetviolet.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL1MUAvGPKsMQSZMu6l0vOZqBzNbkZTDdM4lGw26xK5BJwOw6dBuoZvVM2VRHhUYqET2GhnKlz9SMV5w7Bq0vLDb7G1b9UAYCTJND2LGnOO3lI0vmc56BHlMQSg31omFgTldKy8ouvvX8/s320/sweetviolet.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5463377469162914962" border="0" /></a><br />Sheep sorrel is another mild diuretic.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPsNIiaode-eV_EcukHLzZ4lIgs4uh1qeZnxBxb-70K7ZtuhxSPJmm3W12NrKnPjF1QGd51F-3aEO0ZsPslmqQNLeE2wOiaSSfHpVlHdi0R3GbOr5h8D6vVa18r0M6Xam4vFflySDz3co/s1600/sheepsorrel.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPsNIiaode-eV_EcukHLzZ4lIgs4uh1qeZnxBxb-70K7ZtuhxSPJmm3W12NrKnPjF1QGd51F-3aEO0ZsPslmqQNLeE2wOiaSSfHpVlHdi0R3GbOr5h8D6vVa18r0M6Xam4vFflySDz3co/s320/sheepsorrel.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5463369691839344338" border="0" /></a> And guess what all grows in my yard? I never cease to be amazed at the reckless and extravagant abundance that is to be found just outside my door. See how much I have to be thankful for?<br /><br />I have another ubiquitous friend invading my faltering asparagus bed which I've identified as garlic mustard. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinnq8U9d9D_UITlPHKCLUWyG6rTuPg8QfocqFArgXr_Jg00CXTejMY4OQ1vivFYF7eQU0iwXIOCoVNs0EsfNjarsygB-t1TwwDCXWWw7PAulTpKpCkSZqXkxeIRcfn9TQPTaBXzyT4Uzc/s1600/garlicmustard.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinnq8U9d9D_UITlPHKCLUWyG6rTuPg8QfocqFArgXr_Jg00CXTejMY4OQ1vivFYF7eQU0iwXIOCoVNs0EsfNjarsygB-t1TwwDCXWWw7PAulTpKpCkSZqXkxeIRcfn9TQPTaBXzyT4Uzc/s320/garlicmustard.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5463372070911971106" border="0" /></a> It's considered an invasive and noxious weed, which I've come to interpret as meaning, "We don't have a clue how to use it and the deer won't eat it." But in fresh salad, it has a terrific mild garlicky taste--without the garlic drawbacks. I've found references to the root being a horseradish substitute, something that bears future exploration...<br /><br />Fresh is almost always best, so we're plunging into the salad days of spring. In order to make these oddities more acceptable to Philistinian palates, a salad dressing is required. Something light, yet compatible with the somewhat bitter and sharp flavors of the unusual greens. A while back, a foodie friend had made an off-hand comment about using orange juice in salad dressing and this sounded like just the salad to try it on.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">Orange and Olive Oil Dressing</span><br /><br />1/2 cup orange juice, best freshly juiced<br />3/4 cup extra virgin olive oil<br />1/2 tsp. Real Salt<br />1 tsp. dried basil<br />1 tsp. maple syrup<br />1/2 tsp. dried dill<br />3 grinds of whole peppercorn<br /><br />Run all ingredients through a thorough blend in food processor or blender. Best served at room temperature. Not only does this make a wonderful salad dressing, but also serves as a terrific sauce over fish.<br /><br />Intrepidly, I took to the yard with basket and scissors in hand. I'm sure I cut quite the figure. I've come to imagine that my neighbors have either given up trying to figure out what I'm doing or avail themselves of a front row and provide themselves with a tasty snack to sustain them during the morning's entertainment. When Tool Guy came home, I pointed out the separate containers of washed and chilled greens for his delight and delectation. He was duly impressed. He turned to my mother and said, "Most families throw their lawn clippings on the compost pile. We eat them." See what I mean? Philistine. But he's going to eat his words. Every. Single. One. With salad dressing.Loztnaustenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17629800078798930455noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2944883925817632331.post-14449988172260839092010-04-02T12:00:00.006-04:002010-04-09T13:23:42.419-04:00Tell Me A Story...<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh822BM-56TEg7Rojr2tOsdfeUWK0jDbSX2LNO5spQa6UVxuehEOz7C3xWGE8TZUvJKVmaCCJcnDM2_KayZfDLXdTF0umm0zArdoe5FPBhyphenhyphen5ytClHrpzyOzMyqpWleHCpT3OZaMQldAiX8/s1600/buckwheatkasha.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh822BM-56TEg7Rojr2tOsdfeUWK0jDbSX2LNO5spQa6UVxuehEOz7C3xWGE8TZUvJKVmaCCJcnDM2_KayZfDLXdTF0umm0zArdoe5FPBhyphenhyphen5ytClHrpzyOzMyqpWleHCpT3OZaMQldAiX8/s320/buckwheatkasha.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5458171231679263026" border="0" /></a><br />Nothing like the first fragrances of spring to inspire the creative juices. The fresh breezes and warm sunshine have everyone clamoring for water gun fights. Kill joy that I am, I'm making them wait until the breezes are a little less, um, <span style="font-style: italic;">fresh</span> for that to happen. I am Mother, hear me kill...joy.<br /><br />Along with spring breezes comes spring cleaning. Yeah. More kill joy stuff. That water fight is starting to sound better all of the time. But when one lives with Hobbits in a Hobbit-sized hole, one must be stringent in the discipline of one's use of space. And so begins the biennial task of cleaning, dejunking, and reorganizing and reuse of space. Not to be confused with the <span style="font-style: italic;">daily</span> task of cleaning, dejunking, and reogranizing and reuse of space. I'm considering hiring St. George for this task. You know the guy. The dragon-slayer? All I'm saying is that I hold myself indemnified regarding what's in my basement...<br /><br />This spring, in the midst of the <a href="http://www.flylady.net/pages/flyinglessons_decluttertips.asp">27 Fling Boogie</a>, Dog unearthed a blank bound book. His eyes gleamed. I know that feeling. The call of the blank pages. The crisp edges of a professionally bound book. Oh, the possibilities...<br /><br />He petitioned for custody and was awarded sole care of the treasure. I haven't been able to pry him out of its pages ever since. Much to the annoyance of Tool Guy, who is dragging Dog through the final laps of the final book in that dreaded, terrible, horrible, no-good, very bad curriculum that they chose. Can't say I blame him. I'd take a blank book over that any day and twice on Sunday.<br /><br />He's doing a surprisingly good job at dialog and plot flow. The chapters are a bit brief, but the story is rather credible. For science fiction. Every day or so, we get to hear the newest twist of the harrowing tales of the anti-hero who still hasn't figured out what he needs to do in order to stop the spiral of catastrophe as it spins recklessly out of control. I'm a little piqued, however, since he scorned my title suggestion: <span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">The Perils of Pauline</span>. Philistine.<br /><br />Bug was similarly inspired and has launched into his own adventure series. He almost got bogged down in spelling and mechanical technicalities, but I encouraged him to ignore such trivia and let his imagination run wild. And run wild it has. It was endearing to hear him describing his story and apologize for the brevity of his chapters, but amended his statement by assuring the listener that they would get longer, since he had some ideas for reworking them.<br /><br />Good job we subscribed to unlimited long-distance because the grandparents aren't to be neglected in the sharing of these flights of fancy in a style entirely new. In daily installment. None of this Dickensonian wait for the next week's issue to hit the press! We live in the communication age, right? Grandmere et Grandpere are, of course, duly appreciative and encouraging. (I think Bill Cosby had it right, though; these are old people who are getting ready to die. They're polishing their halos.) I probably need to slip them some chocolate.<br /><br />For my own part, I'm turning my creative bents toward playing with buckwheat some more. I decided to try a dish that I first sampled in my herbal apprenticeship. It's a simple kasha recipe. When I asked for the recipe, the chef replied that it was the one that came on the box. Weeeeell, I'm the one who buys such things in twenty-five pound bags. Quelle dommage. I decided to play with it and figured that anything worth cooking was worth sprouting before cooking. So I did.<br /><br />Sprouting is very simple. Soak groats for about an hour or so. Empty groats into colander and rinse thoroughly, allowing to drain. I usually leave the groats in the colander until sprouted, rinsing four to five times a day. As I said, they tend to be very viscous, so they need to be completely rinsed every time. They'll be ready in 2-3 days. The amount of sprouts this recipe calls for is about 1 1/3 cups raw groats.<br /><span style="font-style: italic;"><br />Buckwheat Kasha<span style="font-weight: bold;"></span></span><br /><br />2 cups sprouted buckwheat groats<br />2-2 1/2 cups water or broth<br />1/2 tsp. salt (or less if using salted broth)<br />1/2 cup diced shitake mushrooms<br />1 T olive oil<br /><br />In cast iron skillet, dry roast groats until brown. In heavy sauce pan, bring broth or water/salt to a boil and add oil and groats. Simmer on low for 10 minutes or until water is absorbed. Cover and allow to steam for another 10 minutes or so.<br /><br />As a newly-minted seven year-old, Princess is not to be left behind in all of this composition. She's dragged out a few notebooks and began copying a book. Then she began working on an original piece herself. It's rather amusing--though I'm not sure she means it to be so--and largely involves a boy and girl on adventures in which the dialogue is characterized not by "he said/she said," but the two of them "shouting" to each other. I imagine this is to lend excitement and suspense to the tale. Amazing what dramatic tension one can conjure from detecting the owner of a wayward kite. Oh, to be seven again...<br /><br />Her best works, though, are the stories she tells me when I'm brushing out her very, very long hair. It's never been cut and is almost down to her knees now. That's right; I'm raising Crystal Gayle. So everyday, we brush out her old braid and plait a new one. There's always a surly collection of knots in one particular spot. Tender-headed, she has dubbed this snarl "Mr. Big Knot." As I brush her hair, she tells me about the exploits and derring-do of Mr. and Mrs. Big Knot. As I work my way down to the lower reaches of her hair that aren't so stubborn, we only encounter the less aggressive knots that are easier to defeat. She has deemed these Mr. Big Knot's "minions." Minions. I ask you.<br /><br />Drowning in <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Juvenilia">juvenilia</a>. It's time for Tool Guy and Bug to build us some more book cases...Loztnaustenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17629800078798930455noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2944883925817632331.post-58770007426797364432010-03-19T19:50:00.007-04:002010-03-27T12:31:52.620-04:00Here Comes the Sun<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinyM9V7QiyoznNss94OREriLE7cdmzwFKeaTnY8cGgkJvPX9rYd8ufVnGfRtquLOVUTuY5-wRD4ciAfuXjZ3_R2xtoBUdgnTxO9az0tTesKBqLsDqHn7S5SSCSAnTuwIxoAr0VKIT629g/s1600-h/fivespicebeef2.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinyM9V7QiyoznNss94OREriLE7cdmzwFKeaTnY8cGgkJvPX9rYd8ufVnGfRtquLOVUTuY5-wRD4ciAfuXjZ3_R2xtoBUdgnTxO9az0tTesKBqLsDqHn7S5SSCSAnTuwIxoAr0VKIT629g/s320/fivespicebeef2.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5438878801300722002" border="0" /></a><br /><br />No groundhog on the menu this week. He's been given a reprieve. The sun came out. We were supposed to have a dissection class, but one of the participant's family had a bout with some bug and wouldn't be able to make it. With all of the golden glow lighting up the landscape, the remaining participants made sympathetic noises, told the stricken how sorry we were for their illness, and, of course, we would not even <span style="font-style: italic;">imagine</span> proceeding with the next portion of our studies until everyone was fit for duty. It was a huge sacrifice. But that's what you do for friends, right?<br /><br />The snow is gone and our propane delivery person managed to slog his way through the soggy tundra to fill our tanks. It does the heart good to see such dedicated personnel, doesn't it? And who says that good help is hard to find these days? It was amazing to see how quickly the extensive footage of snow disappeared, leaving the layer of detritus that its weight brought down. The sides of the road are invisible under the fractured boughs along the berm. It's been so warm, in fact, that the friend of mine, whose sons make maple syrup, has been praying for colder nights. It seems the recipe for good sap flow is warm, sunny days and nippy nights. The weather does seem unseasonably mild, particularly after the ferocious snow storm.<br /><br />While it is unusual for it to be this warm at this time of year, I couldn't resist the call to go out and play in the mud. St. Paddy's Day has become my traditional Starts Day, so I schlepped down to the cellar and pulled out my trays and markers, beginning my gardening journal for the year. I soaked my seeds, wadded up in saturated paper towel bundles, softening them up for the planting. Some wise gardening soul shared that her favorite trick to optimize her efforts is to do this and actually sprout the seeds. This way she only plants what seeds have demonstrated viability, so as not to waste time or space on a seed that won't be doing anything. Sounds like a plan.<br /><br />This took an amazingly short period of time make pots, fill trays, and whip through all of my starts. The Hobbits dipped their fingers into the project and helped, so we were done in short order. And still there was more sun. And 70*... No way was I staying inside.<br /><br />This is the year that I'm going to begin my herb garden, which shall be an entirely separate entity from my vegetable garden. I realized last year that if I start "tucking in" this herb and that herb, I would pretty soon have no room left for vegetables. Herb gardening, it seems, is much like any other gardening. You start out thinking that <span style="font-style: italic;">you</span> are doing the garden, but after a short span of time, the <span style="font-style: italic;">garden</span> is doing you. Herbs are no exception. So I figured that I needed to make space for the horseradish, the comfrey, the sage, the rugosa, the echinachea, the gumweed, the lomatium, the goldenseal, the, the, the...okay, all the other stuff that I feel that I just <span style="font-style: italic;">have</span> to have in order to find fulfillment in the universe. Bottom line: no room with the tomatoes. Yeah, and I only have 36 of those started. For a 20 x 10 greenhouse. I know, I know...good luck with that plan.<br /><br />After I paced it off, laid down marker rocks, and spread the bag of lime over the fallow ground, the sun was still shining. No way was I going to go indoors. Facebook and all of my lists would just have to wait. Besides, I need my Vitamin D. The compost pile called to me. It has been sitting there for at least two years, since I've been in a snit over my garden failure of year before last. Not to be confused with last year's garden failure. What can I say? I'm a glutton for punishment. Third time pays for all.<br /><br />So I rounded up one trashcan, two big buckets, and three Hobbits to haul wagon loads of this mature, black compost up a hill and begin layering it over the newly lain lime. I grabbed my shovel and stabbed into the loamy pile. And felt the reverberations up my arms and into my spine. And muttered imprecations at the rock that had found its way into my compost pile. This is not a totally unanticipated occurrence. I have to dig rocks out of the yard every spring that sprout up as liberally as the plantain. I moved over a foot or two and stabbed again. Another imprecation. Another rock. By the third stab, I was beginning to sense a pattern here and scraped off a thin layer of compost to discover that the pile was frozen. I did some mental math and realized that I'd never assayed the outside portion of gardening this early in the year. Mature compost piles freeze. Who knew? Hey, I'm from Louisiana, remember?<br /><br />Undaunted, I turned to Dog and sent him after the pick axe. Yeah. You heard that right. Pick axe. Hey, the sun was still shining and time's a-wastin'. He came back in short order and we all resumed work. I taught them the lyrics to "You Load Sixteen Tons" while I hewed away at the compost pile, filled the buckets which they used to fill the trashcan, and we all muscled up the hill for the dump. It only took us two days to move a compost pile the size of a VW. No doubt we provided ample entertainment to our neighbors as we carried slabs of frozen compost--the freeze was only a layer on the top--to the garden site and played at discus tosses. The Olympics may be over, but the spirit lives on.<br /><br />As winter is winding down, I find that I'm still in love with the warming herbs. Hey, these 70* days aren't going to last. There's got to be at least one or two more snowfalls and several hard frosts before the shouting. Since I laid in a generous supply of what I needed to make chai tea, the smells reminded me of an old favorite Chinese food recipe: five spice stir-fry. I had an antique bottle of the five spice powder haunting the back of my cupboard. When I say antique, I'm not referring to the bottle, but to the spices. God only knows how old this bottle was, but I think we moved here with it. Nine years ago. Don't look at me like that. It's all I can do to keep the clothes closets rotated for each appropriate season. But with a fresh supply of The Real Thing spices ready to hand, I decided to take the idea of Five Spice Powder and make something like a Five Spice Infusion. So here's what I did.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">Five Spice Beef Stir-fry</span><br /><br />Five spice infusion:<br /><br />2 star anise pods<br />2 cinnamon sticks<br />12 whole cloves<br />1 tsp. whole fennel<br />1 tsp. whole peppercorns<br />1 quart of water<br /><br />Early in the day or the day before, pour water into heavy sauce pan and bring to a boil. Add all of the spices and lower heat to a slow simmer. Cover, allowing to simmer for about 20 minutes before removing from heat. Leave covered and allow to infuse for 2-4 hours. Strain out spices and reserve infusion to make sauce just before serving.<br /><br />Stir Fry:<br /><br />1 pound beef steak, thin sliced - I usually freeze the steak and then partially thaw, running the meat through the slicing blade on my mandolin. This is usually marinated overnight in a solution of wheat-free tamari sauce and water.<br />1 bunch green onions, sliced<br />1-2 cloves garlic, minced<br />4 whole carrots, bias sliced<br />1 cup broccoli, separated into small pieces<br />3 celery stalks, bias sliced<br />1 cup mushrooms, sliced<br />Lard or coconut oil for stir-frying<br />1-2 T Sesame oil for flavoring<br />3-4 T Wheat-free tamari for sauce<br />2-3 T tapioca starch<br /><br />In a wok over high heat, melt lard or coconut oil (approximately 1-2 tablespoons) and add onions, garlic, and carrots. Stir fry carrots for 3-5 minutes before adding chopped broccoli. Stir fry another 3-5 minutes before adding celery slices. After about three minutes or when vegetables are cooked to taste, remove the entire contents of the wok to another container. (While these ingredients are cooking, drain marinating meat in a colander.) In the wok, melt another tablespoon or so of oil and add mushrooms with a dollop of wheat-free tamari sauce. Stir fry mushrooms until cooked and add the wok contents to the already cooked vegetables. Pour a couple of tablespoons of sesame oil into the cooked ingredients and stir. Add more oil to the wok and stir fry the drained beef strips until cooked to preference. Drain the cooked meat, discarding the liquid, and return all of the cooked ingredients to the wok.<br /><br />In a heavy sauce pan, pour five spice infusion, less one cup, and wheat-free tamari sauce and bring to a boil. In the reserved one cup of five spice infusion (which should not be warm--cold is good, actually), stir in tapioca starch until dissolved. Add the infusion and dissolved tapioca starch to the boiling pot and stir continually until the sauce has thickened and the milky appearance has become more translucent. Pour sauce over stir-fry and stir until all of the pieces are completely coated.<br /><br />Serve hot over steamed rice.<br /><br />Our sunny days have disappeared in a deluge of flood warnings. I remain unperturbed, however. I got my peas in the ground in the greenhouse. Which is an improvement on last year, when I missed the pea planting opportunity altogether. While I was at it, I decided to put down some broccoli and cucumbers, too. Hey, let's garden dangerously. If they don't make it, I still have time to start some more, right? Meanwhile, I've started a new compost pile, since the old one has now surrendered its space and is gone. I'm feeling all kinds of virtuous about getting it done so early.<br /><br />Marilyn Monroe was wrong. <span style="font-style: italic;">Pickaxes</span> are a girl's best friend.Loztnaustenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17629800078798930455noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2944883925817632331.post-16297878940805104242010-03-05T10:40:00.001-05:002010-03-07T15:51:16.321-05:00The Great White North<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQ5ijXXErHjkb9oZ-yHWzDIWGPotx3IOyxlQjnoq708o-H6PUXNQq8ifu73yVcu0U0EBYkNXscwCVuUetI1bxEsPCSirZIpi9TLY-3PY1kaM-mdBmweNocwj5R_Q14SXBckT-Gz827ChY/s1600-h/egglessbread3.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQ5ijXXErHjkb9oZ-yHWzDIWGPotx3IOyxlQjnoq708o-H6PUXNQq8ifu73yVcu0U0EBYkNXscwCVuUetI1bxEsPCSirZIpi9TLY-3PY1kaM-mdBmweNocwj5R_Q14SXBckT-Gz827ChY/s320/egglessbread3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5445859785516692738" border="0" /></a><br /><br />A friend of mine says she's going hunting. She's cleaning her rifle. She's loaded for...groundhog. Yeah. That's right. Groundhog. Particularly the one who lives in the climate-controlled environment enjoying all of the amenities of life while the rest of us are slogging out the dregs of winter. Keep your head down, Phil. That's all I'm sayin'.<br /><br />I can't say that our week began with the most auspicious preparations. A power outage the previous week had revealed that our generator, serviced over the summer, wasn't actually as ready as we had hoped. Fortunately, it had only been of a short duration and since we'd had no other outages this winter, there probably wasn't anything to be concerned over. The utility company had been ruthless in their pruning efforts this past summer, as the misshapen and mutilated trees lining the local rural roads could attest. Trees intrepid enough to grow within the easement parameters were hacked, hewn, and even hawed to almost shrub-like proportions. Yep. The power people were set. Right? Riiiight. And so we hoped that their readiness would compensate for our own rather shakiness in that department. I mean, <span style="font-style: italic;">you</span> try finding service for a generator this time of year. Pick a number and stand in line.<br /><br />I spent the first of the week in a flurry of activity, because before the end of Tuesday afternoon, there were goosefeather snowflakes wafting their way down to settle on the solidified masses of previous snowfalls. We had planned a winter outing that morning, but I canceled so that way I wouldn't have to pick up Tool Guy from work. I had no intentions of making anymore <a href="http://everythingfreeeating.blogspot.com/2009/01/tis-season.html">uphill hikes in heavy snowfall</a> to collect him. Been there, done that, bought the sweatshirt. And, indeed, when Tool Guy came home, stomping in out of the snow, he affirmed that, like <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Princess_on_the_Glass_Hill">the Princess on the Glass Hill</a>, it was possible to come down, but impossible to go up. Then the power went out. With a futzy generator. Greeeeeeat. Just great. Fortunately, dinner was five minutes away from hitting the table and so we had a warm meal for dinner. Given how the week would go, this was being thankful for large favors.<br /><br />The Hobbits were all troupers. Nay, they were excited. They always celebrate occasions that are marked by lighting the hurricane lamp that has followed us from Louisiana. Something romantic and adventurous about the soft, warm glow. And smoking wick. Yeah, I'm still working on the knack of trimming it properly. Where's Jane Austen when you need her? Nonetheless, we circled around the table after dinner and resumed work on lessons and reading. Everyone was feeling quite Little House on the Prairie-ish. We had to flip a coin to see who had the honor of blowing out the lamp. Yeah. I know. Gotta get these kids out more often.<br /><br />When I woke up at 4 am and the staring red light on our smoke detector wasn't glaring down at me, I knew that we were in for more than just an inconvenience. I looked out the window and saw the relentlessly gentle parade of flakes continue to come down. Buckle your seatbelts, passengers...<br /><br />In the morning, Tool Guy decided that it was worthwhile to argue further with the generator and he was able to persuade it to be of his way of thinking. Happy day! Heat. Hot showers. Sanitary sanitation opportunities. Hot food. Cold refrigerators. A man who can coax a generator to start is a man of inestimable charm. Think I'll keep him around a while. I immediately filled up several storage buckets full of water in case his persuasive powers didn't hold. I've decided that among the canning activities in which I will indulge this summer, not the least of these shall include canning water. Yep. That's right. Water. If I'm going to have extra jars taking up space down in the basement, the least they can do is haul their weight by keeping us stocked with water in the future event that the choke on our generator decides to resume its recalcitrance. Besides, I want to be able to flush, okay?<br /><br />Did I mention that I had a co-op order to coordinate during this week? Yeah. No stress there. Because even with power from the generator, when cable is down, cable is down. Needless to say, when, thirty-six hours later, the power came back on, I flew into action. I spent the morning catching up on phone calls, ordering, email, as well as grinding flour, setting up bread, and anticipating whatever else we might need. The forecast was predicting another front of snow. As it turned out, I had exactly twelve hours to get everything that I needed done done and then, like clockwork, the power went down again. Tool Guy turned to me and inquired about the prospects of relocating South. I asked him if that meant that I wouldn't be able to go grocery shopping in the morning. Nope. My week certainly wasn't going according to plan.<br /><br />It's nice to know that there are some things that can come together even in sticky spots. We might have been low on coffee and cream--which might be characterized as a state of emergency in its own right--but we had plenty of everything else, despite an inability to get to the grocery store. Our storage shelves had a sufficiency of whatever we needed to get us through the tight places. Even bread baking went on as usual. Speaking of which, I've been playing around with making my bread egg-free. A few people asked me if it was possible. And I'll be honest...I'd never considered it, throwing as many eggs as was rational at the bread recipe in a desperate bid to have it succeed the first time. Which it did. And, for one who claims to cook dangerously, I had never worked up the nerve to leave them out and have it potentially flop. But when our egg supply disappeared, I had a greater incentive to see if it was possible. Guess what? It is. So for those who asked, here's the egg-free bread. My baking pans hold about four cups of dough, so the recipe is sized accordingly. Your needs may vary.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">Everything (Including Egg) Free Sourdough Bread</span><br /><br />These days, I'm making my starter with a blend that looks roughly like this:<br /><br />1/3 cup adzuki bean flour<br />1 cup buckwheat flour<br />1 cup red quinoa flour<br />1 cup millet flour<br />2/3 cup rice flour<br /><br />I measure heaping cups of these, because I want there to be a little starter left over to help feed the next generation. As I've mentioned before, teff or fenugreek makes a great lactobacilli magnet if your starter needs to be perked up or restarted.<br /><br /><br />4 cups <a href="http://everythingfreeeating.blogspot.com/2007/03/were-breatharians.html">sourdough starter</a><br />1/4 cup olive oil<br />1/4 cup flax seed meal (opt.)<br />1/4 cup tapioca starch<br />1/4 cup potato starch<br />1 tsp. salt<br />3 tsp. guar gum<br /><br />Mix ingredients together, bringing up to high speed once the batter and dry ingredients are incorporated. "Knead" for about five minutes. The consistency needs to be something between toothpaste and cake batter, so add water or a couple of tablespoons of flour as necessary to achieve this. Pour batter into pans lined with baking parchment. I've gotten quite addicted to the ability <a href="http://everythingfreeeating.blogspot.com/2008/02/breatharian-revisited.html">to pop the bread pans into the refrigerator and let them rise until I feel like baking them</a>. To prevent a skin from forming on the surface of the breads, I lay a sheet of plastic wrap or baking parchment over the top before storing in the fridge and then peel off when I'm ready to put them in the oven. Bake at 350* for approximately 1.5 hours or until done. When baked, pop out of pan and onto cooling rack, waiting until completely cooled to cut.<br /><br />The Hobbits have pronounced this to be my best bread ever. Yeah, I know. You've unearthed my secret. I keep them on such a short leash that anything new I do feels like an improvement. I have to say that I'm pretty fond of it, too, though. Prolly 'cause I keep myself on the same short leash. At any rate, when I let it rise sufficiently--and therein lies the art of it...how much is high enough without the bread collapsing--I get this towering loaf of bread that doesn't need the lift from eggs to make it lofty. For the egg-free folk, enjoy!<br /><br />Bread in hand, we were well-provided for. In spite of twenty-four hours without government snow removal and an inability to achieve the roads to go anywhere, our widow's cruse of gasoline held out--with a bit of judicious rationing--until the power came back on almost forty-eight hours later. Which was two days before some of our other neighbors regained grid connectivity, Lord love 'em.<br /><br />Secure provisions are reassuring when you have snow encroaching on your window sashes. Or the handrail on your entry stairs. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwJJFuAxub6Hs2PSeYuTPjVsF5I2LKfyz88ZLeTOWONslF_asQaqrb9dj_FHjx76GMoXwL_5iH4Qbkx9q0x4Aaxm88OGQYb0n9-enr5Dich7xxNCtQbk_13ZmBYrRMsOyUY3X4e77ELwY/s1600-h/blizzardsteps2.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwJJFuAxub6Hs2PSeYuTPjVsF5I2LKfyz88ZLeTOWONslF_asQaqrb9dj_FHjx76GMoXwL_5iH4Qbkx9q0x4Aaxm88OGQYb0n9-enr5Dich7xxNCtQbk_13ZmBYrRMsOyUY3X4e77ELwY/s320/blizzardsteps2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5445977979002238802" border="0" /></a>This isn't for the faint of heart. The propane delivery person announced himself "too old for this" and refused to return until there was a cleared path to the backyard. Yeah...<span style="font-style: italic;">that'</span>s gonna happen... <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbe-ZKc9AiZ4rAUm2lKIwTm19iQgyMOdoQjgHH_xqZVkkl4llgKh4EJvchOxvKx6vRczGFhKdu3ZuiPOHZazjhjH12vhGHkx5E8L4dEg4EAxMpIQh_J2ao305KOi76ubeCW325c-xbpYo/s1600-h/blizzardsteps2010.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbe-ZKc9AiZ4rAUm2lKIwTm19iQgyMOdoQjgHH_xqZVkkl4llgKh4EJvchOxvKx6vRczGFhKdu3ZuiPOHZazjhjH12vhGHkx5E8L4dEg4EAxMpIQh_J2ao305KOi76ubeCW325c-xbpYo/s320/blizzardsteps2010.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5445977975273372018" border="0" /></a>My die-hard neighbor, who has relationships with his walk-behind snowblowers that looks like other men's relationships with their classic cars, threw in the scarf and hired a back-hoe to clear his driveways.<br /><br />The blizzard of 2010 will be something that the Hobbits will talk about when they are our age. They'll tell about the "roughing it" and the igloos they constructed--Princess has quite an architectural bent--and the tunnels they burrowed through the yard. When I was her age, we had two inches of snow and, in Louisiana, it left the same kind of impression as the footage does now.<br /><br />Meanwhile, as I'm digging out from under, I'm also digging around for groundhog recipes.<br /><br />They're gluten-free, right?Loztnaustenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17629800078798930455noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2944883925817632331.post-89288622649653153552010-02-05T10:11:00.011-05:002010-02-08T14:10:26.246-05:00De Ja Vu<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg27qDxIsUDcLhgEAk4X4rXsggQWq63UFaXYpW3allyK7VghnYWcVIkRTFlnZ6YmHoxTULvOz7gpcFrxgDOUdyO_KmncSlwiS21R1Up7GuGA-bkCg_Vj6Nzi_mzM5DvwbUQHD5kMYZA0YI/s1600-h/crackerjills.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg27qDxIsUDcLhgEAk4X4rXsggQWq63UFaXYpW3allyK7VghnYWcVIkRTFlnZ6YmHoxTULvOz7gpcFrxgDOUdyO_KmncSlwiS21R1Up7GuGA-bkCg_Vj6Nzi_mzM5DvwbUQHD5kMYZA0YI/s320/crackerjills.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5435948708345623202" border="0" /></a><br />This is always the most difficult time of year. The hackneyed complaints about cabin fever set in and the Hobbits are invariably bouncing off of the walls, but trenchant in their resistance to take the energy outside. By now, the romance of the fresh fallen snow has been stomped into pockmarks across the yard and so has the <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">exhilaration</span> of sledding. Even Bug's forays into converting his saucer sled into a snowboard has lost its shine.<br /><br />And homeschooling. Picture me with a hag-ridden expression and ragged wisps of hair tufting a gleaming scalp. This is the time of year where the curriculum has lost its shine and everyone wants the year To Be Done. Tool Guy and Dog started the year with high hopes. They had collaborated on the purchase of a "school in a box" kind of curriculum and had, apparently, polled the masses with a product satisfaction survey, receiving very positive feedback. They must have found the very one consumer who liked the wooden material, since everyone that <span style="font-style: italic;">I</span> asked actually shuddered at the mere mention of the books. Literally. I reasoned with the guys that it was not for naught that I found unopened boxes of this curriculum on the exchange table, free for the taking. Collecting dust. Sun-faded. But nobody listens. So Dog and Tool Guy are slogging their way through the remainder of the material, with Tool Guy dragging comprehension from Dog, piece by piece. They flirted with chucking the whole package and switching to more lively material, but decided that slogging was less work than catching up. Live and learn.<br /><br />Bug is also bogging down. Before I whinge, I have to hand it to Bug that he has made<span style="font-style: italic;"> enormous</span> strides. I was listening to him during family time, reading from the teenage <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">NIV</span> with such ease and facility that I couldn't believe this was the same child who was stumbling over the easy readers just a year ago. But math? (See? It's even a four-letter word.) Not that math at his level is particularly hard, but it is when Someone (insert meaningful, pointed glance at a certain furry-footed shortling) is resisting the discipline of memorizing the times tables. Yeah, we've done the whole grouping/counting bears/multiplication-is-just-fast-addition theoretical exercises and he gets it. But there's nothing that replaces the actual instant recall and facile command of the multiplication tables. I'd given him a variety of tools with which to master the facts and left him to it. It wasn't met with cries of delight. By the time we got to this mid-point, it became clear that we weren't going further until he muscled his way through the memorization exercise. I had to get draconian, but he got there. It's been a rough couple of weeks. <br /><br />Princess mostly flies through her stuff. Oh, she puts on airs and pretends that this is difficult. After all, she has the wailing and gnashing of teeth around her and we are nothing if not creatures of imitation, but the reality is that this stuff is a cakewalk for her. She makes me look good, but I didn't have anything to do with this. My first grader has set a goal for herself that she will read through the Magic Tree House series and she's been doing it at the rate of a book every day or so. Her main complaint at this point is the slowness of the library system to produce next book in the series--"Because, Mom, it's frustrating to not read them in order!" This loses a lot when you can't see the earnest expression and the accompanying gestures. I try not to smile too openly.<br /><br />School matters aren't truly a vexation for Princess, but in recent months I've begun noticing some unhappy symptoms of a different nature. Quite a sinking feeling, since Princess has been my "golden child"--the one with whom I did Everything Right. Home birth. Breastfed. Gluten/casein free since before birth. Growing up with bone broth, fermented foods, and everything free. Everything augured well for her to sail through childhood without any digestive hitches. I only anticipated dealing with teenage mutinies when this dietary stuff started making them feel too different. Alas, no.<br /><br />A few months ago, I noticed that she'd become much more emotionally fragile. Irrational. Then the Shoe Problem popped up. Shoes that had been perfectly acceptable--nay!--<span style="font-style: italic;">favorites</span> suddenly became intolerable. At first, I thought she'd just outgrown those, but when I replaced them with the next size up, the problem persisted. And when I insisted on her accepting the shoes anyway, the frustration was displaced to the velcro. I personally have now developed a rash reaction to the sound of velcro ripping. I think there's probably even an IgE rast for it. This is due to the long and daily sessions of fastening and unfastening and refastening the velcro repeatedly on the shoes to get the tension Just Right. And when one shoe was Just Right, the other shoe's tension had to be the same exact Just Right as the other. Or the process had to be repeated again. And again. Did I mention repeatedly? And socks. Don't get me started on seams on socks that must be aligned with the ley lines in England at the same time as the Nazca lines of Peru. Just. Don't.<br /><br />At this point I began having flashbacks to when Dog was a toddler. The sun was too bright. And none of the clothes felt right. All manner of sensory disagreements. It's amazing how easy it is to forget these things. Well, probably not forget. Rather say that it is easy to shove those memories to the back of the closet. Life has become too normal for us. These days, when Dog asks why he can't wear sweats to church, it is more about the teenage stuff than it is about sensory integration issues. Reluctantly, I faced the presentation of these dynamics with the digestive upsets she was experiencing and accepted that there's some food stuff going on with her. Sigh.<br /><br />Before diving hog wild into testing, I've decided to do some judicious pruning to see if we can address this first with a bit of deduction. Beans was the most recent addition to the diet and although the boys are showing absolutely no problems to the daily inclusion of this in their food, it was the first suspect for Princess' reactions. This was discouraging to her, though she took it in good grace. She's well used to discussions about pulling food, though this is one of the few times it actually applied to her. While I continue to make a bean bread multi-grain blend for the boys, I'm making a bean-free version for her along with theirs. She's particularly mourning the absence of <a href="http://everythingfreeeating.blogspot.com/2008/08/stocking-up.html">toasted garbanzo beans</a>. I started wracking my brains for a comparable snack for her to enjoy. Something like honey-roasted nuts for the nut-free.<br /><br />Buckwheat is my current new Favorite Thing. I'm exploring the different things that I can do with it. It's a dominant flavor in my current bread combo. It's got a viscosity to it that makes me think of gluten, even though its gluten-free, name notwithstanding, so I'm watching to see if it improves the texture of the bread as well as adding more nutrients. There are tons of papers out there where other people in lab situations are playing with the viscous potential of buckwheat. Why should they have all the fun? I've started playing with sprouting it, too. Sprouts up nicely and quickly, though that viscous thing is evident in the first day or so of sprouting, requiring particular attention in thorough rinsing. The nice thing about sprouting, aside from the obvious advantages of sprouting in and of itself, is that the sprouting eliminates that stickiness from the process when one goes about toasting the grains.<br /><br />The Nitty Gritty Cooking class was playing with caramel corn using honey and butter, so duly inspired, I decided to extend the application to buckwheat. Princess loved the resulting crunchy, nutty-tasting snack. Kinda made me think of the old maids in those stale boxes of sticky treats that we mostly ripped open for the prize inside rather than the treat itself.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">Cracker </span><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;" class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Jills</span><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"> </span>(<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Caramel</span> Buckwheat)<br /><br />4 cups sprouted buckwheat<br />2 T ghee or coconut oil<br />1/2 cup honey<br /><br />Toast in oven at 350* until nicely browned and no longer damp, stirring from time to time to allow for even toasting. In a heavy saucepan over a low temperature, melt ghee and honey, stirring to mix as thoroughly as possible. Pour over buckwheat and stir to completely coat. In tray or cookie sheet covered with a silicone mat or baking parchment, spread the buckwheat out as thinly and evenly as possible. Return to oven and toast for 10-20 minutes. As it cools, the crunch will emerge. This is one snack that was greeted with cries of delight. It makes a great finger food snack or a nifty breakfast cereal.<br /><br />No magic bullets for Princess yet. Ramping up the bone broth and the coconut milk kefir and all things fermented. She's taking enzymes with meals, which seems to be helping. I'm giving bentonite clay a toss, too.<br /><br />And I'm knitting again. Socks. The kind with no seams at the toes.Loztnaustenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17629800078798930455noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2944883925817632331.post-87939957283664079822010-01-22T08:07:00.007-05:002012-01-17T10:25:51.632-05:00Living Well Is The Best<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaoUkATJ52-TLlXqXSt_dxyGcBPiLuAJbIsEJ82WNVIjxUdavOOFgxLV0uJI5elZsidqttgdAEuNlKQvH4IrU_QK-cs7uTVeGNYcBiBF3cBU_lzUtMtcx7Z56ouwAtJFSWsRwsQBtrIs4/s1600-h/chaitea.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5429197562786067778" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaoUkATJ52-TLlXqXSt_dxyGcBPiLuAJbIsEJ82WNVIjxUdavOOFgxLV0uJI5elZsidqttgdAEuNlKQvH4IrU_QK-cs7uTVeGNYcBiBF3cBU_lzUtMtcx7Z56ouwAtJFSWsRwsQBtrIs4/s320/chaitea.JPG" style="cursor: pointer; height: 240px; width: 320px;" /></a><br />
What's that expression? "Living well is the best revenge?" My spin on it is "living healthy is the best reward." I'll be honest, though, that it has taken a long time for us to reach the reward stage. Remember? I'm the unprofitable servant...I've only done what is required of me. I'll admit that most of this journey has been spent running from a stick of sufficient magnitude to make the effort worthwhile rather than the enticement of a theoretical carrot. I admire people who have the self-discipline to persevere and discipline themselves on that idea of a pay-off in the far-flung future. Shamefacedly, I admit that I'm not one of those. Stick, me. Big stick. Big, big stick.<br />
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Our journey was supposed to be only one of four to six months, but has extended to eight years now and still counting. We have a couple stubborn outlying foods that still evade our grasp, but we're getting there. These extended years, though, have afforded me the opportunity to begin to enjoy the carrot phase of the journey while still grappling with the stick aspects.<br />
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Tool Guy is the a shining example of what "clean living" will do. His weight was ballooning, as is typical with the men in his family, until he decided to low carb a dozen years ago. In was an inadvertent diagnosis because the carbs he found most dispensable was bread. After we stumbled into our familial gluten intolerance diagnosis, we were able to connect the dots and realize <span style="font-style: italic;">why</span> he responded so well to a low carb diet. Since going gluten free, he has resumed carb consumption without any particular attention or regulation to his diet. And excepting when sugar allures, he is able to maintain a stable weight that isn't far from his low carb ideal. And those annoying eczematic rashes on his feet have mysteriously disappeared, never to return. Without any medical assistance. Ditto on those troublesome ear infections that responded only to aggressive irrigation with Betadyne solution. But those improvements took a long time to surface.<br />
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Some improvements don't take so long to manifest themselves. Tool Guy's dad, Pop, visited with us over the holidays. He arrived from sunny Florida, announcing that felt as if he'd aged ten years in the last few months and he moved as if, indeed, he had. The airlines, while very tardy in their scheduling, were at least very prompt in providing a much-needed wheelchair to portage him from terminal to terminal in a timely fashion. Bless his heart, his ditty bag bulged with thirteen different medications. No, not thirteen pills to take daily. Thirteen different medications that required multiple doses a day. Blerg.<br />
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During his visit, he reconciled himself to eating what we eat with a minimum of greasy-spoon diner runs. During one conversation, he asked me what was good for arthritis. As it happened, I had some black cherry concentrate in the pantry, since the Hobbits like it to flavor their smoothies, and it became part of his daily routine to have a tablespoon in a cup of water. Within only a few days, he demonstrated how he was able to flex his fingers, effortlessly and painlessly.<br />
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Consequently, I started poking around to find what other things might help reduce arthritic inflammation and make him more comfortable. There were a few truncated references to Chinese Star Anise seed pods and bells started going off.<br />
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Tool Guy had recently gifted me with a french press coffee maker that I haven't been using to make coffee. I've been using it to make herbal teas, since the press is equally lovely for straining out the herbals as it is for coffee grounds. And the Hobbit favorite is Chai Tea. They used to have to put up with the bagged chai from the grocery store until I was given a recipe for The Real Thing. Definitely met with cries of delight and the more I read on the constituent herbs, the more healthy it is appearing. In addition to reputed benefits for arthritis, Star Anise is the food source for Tamiflu. Cinnamon is in good reputation for diabetics and high blood pressure. Ginger, as I learned this past summer, has a wealth of goodies, just waiting to burst upon us. And the bonus? It tastes good. And isn't it great to be able to juggle things around so that they are safe for us, good for us, and dance on the tastebuds?<br />
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I pinched as many pennies as I could to get all of these ingredients in bulk and as fresh as possible. It was well worth the sacrifice. After tweaking the recipe to suit highly specific Hobbit tastes--Hey, I personally happen to <span style="font-style: italic;">like</span> a heavy cinnamon overtone, but, whatever--they have been clamoring for it on a regular basis. I imagine that this will be just as popular during the summer season as it has been during the cold and flu season.<br />
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Chai Tea, adapted from a recipe by Aleese Cody, <a href="http://www.aleesecody.com/">Help's On the Way</a><br />
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1 quart water<br />
1 cinnamon stick<br />
1 tsp dried ginger root<br />
1 star anise pod<br />
10 whole peppercorns<br />
1/4 tsp. decorticated cardamom<br />
1/4 tsp. whole coriander<br />
1/4 tsp. whole cloves<br />
1/2 whole vanilla bean or 1 dropperful of vanilla extract<br />
1 tea bag<br />
<br />
Combine ingredients except for tea and bring to a simmer for about 20 minutes. Cover and allow to steep for another 20 minutes, dropping the tea bag in during the last 5 minutes of the steep. Strain out spices and serve. Flavoring options favored by Hobbits include stevia and coconut milk. A tsp. of cocoa powder was trialed, but didn't pass the taste test. Your mileage may vary.<br />
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When Pop left, he was able to bend completely down and pick up anything that he may drop on the floor. And put on his own socks without a struggle. Something that was extremely difficult for him when he first arrived. On the return flight home, after two weeks in the extreme colds that New England is so generous with, he spurned the use of the wheel-chair, striding to his terminals alongside Tool Guy, who accompanied him to see him off. He plans on scaring up some black cherry concentrate.<br />
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Eating everything free isn't just about avoiding allergens, it's about eating well, enjoying the food, enjoying life. Living well. Pop has discovered that living free has freed him up from the bondage of the pharmaceutical. He left, down to only two medications. His blood pressure, his doctor tells him, is the lowest it has been in many, many years. Without medication. How's that for everything free? Let your food be your medicine and your medicine your food.<br />
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Living well is the best...revenge?...reward? Whatever. Living well is simply the best.Loztnaustenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17629800078798930455noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2944883925817632331.post-37368988163771869452010-01-08T08:48:00.015-05:002010-01-08T13:41:21.634-05:00Old Man Winter<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhT3B1pQbTyo83jd_75mybWb5OT9srUV_564ffeVqkVr2p7tnp_32JkZkTEmU5OmecG7UbM6aGChiTibRppVOEun80p-QI_EBIXIZznReYef7fnKjqZCTNAF4YdRxSvvHc1Aj2bVLzGQQc/s1600-h/salve2009a.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhT3B1pQbTyo83jd_75mybWb5OT9srUV_564ffeVqkVr2p7tnp_32JkZkTEmU5OmecG7UbM6aGChiTibRppVOEun80p-QI_EBIXIZznReYef7fnKjqZCTNAF4YdRxSvvHc1Aj2bVLzGQQc/s320/salve2009a.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5424431197416419794" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Winter has taken its time getting here. We barely had snow for Christmas. The blizzard that socked the seaboard sniffed at our feet and ran south to christen everyone in that direction. But when Old Man Winter decided to arrive, he did it with quite the flourish. We had a week of howling...and I am not using a hyperbolic metaphor when I say "howling"...winds to make things "interesting" for us. Blasts of 30 mph winds sustained themselves for over a week. Everyone was comparing notes on how many times the winds woke them in the night. Tool Guy and I were comparing notes on what new location in the house was exhibiting drafts and we were regretting not being more extensive with our weatherstripping of this past summer. I shared a bed with Princess over the holidays because we had surrendered the master bedroom to guests for the month of December. During our "sleepovers," my feet would hang over the end of her mattress and act as lure for any stray draft that may have wandered in. I think I got frost bite. It was definite incentive for me to finish those black socks that I began in February of last year.<br /><br />The coup <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">de</span> grace was when I went up into the attic to start returning the Christmas decorations to their storage places. And noticed that there was more visibility and sunlight...um...sunlight? in our attic. The high, sustained winds had trashed the attic fan and the hood was completely gone. Oh. <span style="font-style: italic;">That</span> was the fragments of something that we had noticed out in the yard, but everyone was too wimpy to brace the winds and go find out what it was. Bug's theory was that it was a crashed flying saucer. Well. <span style="font-style: italic;">Almost</span>. It might not explain the alien abductions, but it definitely explained the mysterious drafts that the house had begun to manifest. No need for a ghost buster here.<br /><br />True to form, this discovery happened on...yep...a weekend. You knew that, right? We consoled ourselves that the 22" hole in our roof didn't coincide with any rain in the forecast. One of the consolations of 12* weather. One of the few. Tool Guy covered the hole from the interior with a spare sheet of <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">plexi</span>-glass and we ferreted around for someone willing to mush out to our remote waste of frozen Shire tundra and climb on our roof to fix this. One insurance adjuster and three visits later, we are the proud possessors of a <span style="font-style: italic;">low-profile</span> (I'm beginning to appreciate the value of this characteristic) attic vent. And it is snowing.<br /><br />The weather definitely has Tool Guy down. As a child of the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Chicagoland</span>, he has none of my romantic notions regarding snowfall. While I saw only two snowfalls of any moment in the bayous of Louisiana, he slogged through masses of this every year in his <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">suburbian</span> neighborhood--"lake effect," you know--and the childhood memories of such aren't of the cherished sort. Ours was not the generation of parents who drove children to the bus stop and sat, expanding their carbon footprint with a running motor to warm the car, until the bus stop arrived and the children dashed from warm car to warm bus to warm school. Nope. Ours was the one that said, "Bundle up, it's cold out there!" as we walked out the door, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">solitarily</span>, to take on the quarter mile walk and the twenty minute wait at the stop. It was frigid enough in the swamps of the South. Bus stop huddles in <span style="font-style: italic;">this</span> weather would <span style="font-style: italic;">certainly</span> warp my view of New England winters. As it is, I'm free to enjoy my pink-hazed romance with the piles and billows that grace us without the jaundice of too much reality interfering. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">Heh</span>.<br /><br />This year, particularly, Tool Guy is grousing about the snow. He wants his motorcycle. The junkie and his crack. What can I say? He heatedly justifies this fervid attachment by expounding on how therapeutic riding is for his back. (You see what they do? Desperate justifications...) I nod. He continues to describe the relief. I nod. He waxes eloquent on the sense of well-being sustained riding provides. I nod. He gives up in disgust, muttering how I just don't understand. I nod. Poor guy. He is, however, hobbling around like a stiff old man, just a mite older than he actually is. So I took pity on him.<br /><br />Mrs. Hostess (of <a href="http://everythingfreeeating.blogspot.com/2009/10/nitty-gritty-cooking.html"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">Nitty</span>-Gritty Cooking</a> fame) is enjoying dabbling along with me into all things herbal. She came home from a visit out to Ohio this past summer with a salve that she declared the best thing since sliced bread...everything free bread even. She explained to me how she'd injured herself during the visit and had discovered this salve provided by an Amish farmer. Application of this salve had resolved the injury in an amazingly short period of time. The ingredients? <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">Comfrey</span> and chickweed. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">Et</span> voila. Herbs that are readily on hand here.<br /><br />We started our oil extraction immediately and when the leaves began to fall, we were ready to make the salve. We had planned that this would be our first venture into making a salve, myself heretofore being too lazy to make any of the herbal oils I've done in the past into an actual salve, but we decided that we'd try it together and planned a "salve party" at some point. However, A Series of Unfortunate Events conspired to prevent our party and the autumn wasted away before we got to it. And a few weeks after the bike's entry into hibernation, Tool Guy had commenced hobbling. Time to commence with the salve.<br /><br />I'm beginning to understand the maddening vagaries of the herbalists whom I've been soliciting for wisdom. When one is accustomed to specific measurements, it sounds very elusive to hear things like "stuff a bunch into a jar." It grates on our Western sensibilities. But there it is.<br /><br />I--forgive me--stuffed a bunch of <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">comfrey</span> leaf and chickweed in relatively equal amounts (how's that for specificity, eh?) into a quart jar and covered with olive oil. The plant matter need to be completely covered with oil, packed densely enough to have a substantial amount of herb in the oil, but not so tight as to prevent the circulation of the oil through the plant matter. A favorite trick of mine is to vacuum seal the jar with my Food Saver. As the vacuum seal is taking effect, the air bubbles rise from out of the leaves and oil and the leaves, particularly when fresh, will visibly darken. Goody!<br /><br />Leave this jar in a handy, reachsome place, but out of the sun, for 4-6 weeks. When you walk by, shake it. Alcohol tinctures work on this same principle, but they are easier to shake. Shaking an oil extract is more like playing with a lava lamp and you have to give it a bit more of your time and attention than a tincture. If you have Hobbits running around who would be fascinated with the process and not so fascinated as to want to open the jar, you may want to recruit them. This has inspired not a few in-depth conversations that expanded into actual instructional sessions. Bug and Princess particularly have become adept at identifying plants and their uses from such spontaneous conversations.<br /><br />An herbalist mentor of mine says that when making an extract or tincture this way, 80% of the virtue of the plant has been imparted to the liquid or "<a href="http://www.yourdictionary.com/menstruum"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">menstrum</span></a>" after only two weeks. The remaining two to four weeks will net you the last 20% of what the plant has to offer. This is useful to know when one is in a hurry for the final product.<br /><br />To decant the preparation, pour into a cheesecloth lined strainer. After the excess oil has run through, bundle up the herbs into the cheesecloth and squeeze aggressively. I'm actually drooling over a machine that will press this for me, but the price renders it a hopeless romance. Sigh. Ah, well. The strained oil is then the essence of your medicine.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Aches and Pains Salve</span></span><br /><br />Beeswax<br />Herbal Oil<br />Rosemary Essential Oil (opt) or <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">Benzoin</span> Tincture (opt) for preservation<br />Fragrance oils, if desired<br />Salve jars, prepared and ready ahead of time<br /><br />Measure out the desired amount of herbal oil. The ratio of beeswax to oil is approximately 1 T to 1 C, more or less depending on how soft you want your salve to be for usage. I tended toward a stiffer salve; your preferences may vary. In a double boiler, I melted the wax. I'm not sure if I regret using my double boiler. It melted wonderfully well without the requisite hovering that characterized the salve session in my herbal classes, but it did leave wax residue in the ring around the waist of the pot that required a not insubstantial amount of elbow grease to remove.<br /><br />Oh, and a word on wax. In an effusion of enthusiasm, I bought a fragrant chunk of beeswax and romanced it for quite some time before I breached the wrapping. I was quite in love with this brick. Until I needed to melt it. Wax, despite its ductile reputation in candles, is actually a very hard substance and requires aggressive...hm..."downsizing" to expedite the melting process. Unromantic hacking away at the boulder was necessary--and a bit risky--if not to say messy. For the more discriminating salve-maker, <a href="http://www.frontiercoop.com/products.php?ct=hchb&cn=Beeswax">wax beads</a> are available that render this a less muscular and more genteel activity. And they melt faster. '<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">Nuff</span> said.<br /><br />While the wax was melting, I gently heated the medicinal oil so that I would be able to mix the two without the wax immediately setting up upon contact with the cooler oil. Turning off all heat, I combined the two and added about 10 drops of Rosemary <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13">EO</span>. Any fragrance oils would be added at this point. Rosemary is a relatively popular food additive and when you see "natural preservatives" on food labels, you can bank on it that it is probably rosemary. The herbalist I studied with recommends a few drops of <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14">Benzoin</span> tincture for the purpose (which I didn't have on hand) and another herbalist recommends a capsule of Vitamin E oil. I opted not to use this since most Vitamin E caps are based on wheat or soy. Besides, I had a sneaking suspicion this salve wouldn't last long enough to go rancid, so I decided to experiment with the Rosemary EO.<br /><br />Stirring the ingredients together before the whole can congeal, pour them into the waiting salve jars, being careful about drips and spills. Allow to cool--a dimple will form in the surface of the salve--and then cover. Label with ingredients and date and store in a cool, dry place.<br /><br />I waited until Tool Guy began to worry about the status of his back. "One bend away from it going out," was how he phrased it and I presented him with my finished product. That night, he anointed his back and went to bed in his favorite spot. The next morning, the hobble was noticeably absent and he didn't feel as if he were on the brink of the precipice anymore.<br /><br />Yeah, it ain't his bike. But it beats codeine.Loztnaustenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17629800078798930455noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2944883925817632331.post-12035374304424943942009-11-27T13:25:00.008-05:002009-12-01T22:05:10.686-05:00Come, Ye Thankful People<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEVtjm2FWFk3mFjwGitGPRtC-Rn-QA30tbrzUhB_OEL__UYuHVJtTbBDhjACkrYOIGIyE-BJLrJvOb4DEetlJnReQE5IoIpWTGvItuJ8FXxRuyzPe8mYCEnvWbxiJlNKB45ZevyIT48RM/s1600/frypie2.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEVtjm2FWFk3mFjwGitGPRtC-Rn-QA30tbrzUhB_OEL__UYuHVJtTbBDhjACkrYOIGIyE-BJLrJvOb4DEetlJnReQE5IoIpWTGvItuJ8FXxRuyzPe8mYCEnvWbxiJlNKB45ZevyIT48RM/s320/frypie2.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5410336754166613970" border="0"></a><br /><br />It's the tradition of the season to enumerate the things we are thankful for and look back reflectively over the year. And Breatharian, we have<font size="4"><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"> so</span></font> much to be thankful for. The garden wasn't what I had hoped for, but we had abundance in other areas. The fields and friends provided us with the herbs and medicines that we would need for this sickly season. There's been enough of what I foraged and put by to meet our needs, as well as share. While we were sick, there was elderberry and elecampane and ginger and such enough to take care of everyone. Even Tool Guy submitted to my ministrations, though he was much more...erm..."vocal" about the taste of the tinctures than the Hobbits. Inured and acquiescent to the things I demand of them, they merely produce delicate shudders, chase it with something yummy, and then get on with their day. When the cough started to settle into his lungs and remind him of The Plague, he asked me to start lining him up for the noxious nostrums with which I badger the Hobbits. He affirms that angelica is probably the nastiest medicament that has ever crossed his lips, albeit the most effective. The coughing is almost gone. The Flu Fairy came and went and we are recovered, unscathed by the visit. Much to be thankful for.<br /><br />This year was the year I dedicated myself to the pursuit of herbs. An opportunity for formalized instruction and experience opened up a floodgate of information and exploration. I've never known seven months to fly by so quickly. My 25th wedding anniversary gift. Thankful for the apprenticeship. And the twenty-five years.<br /><br />The Hobbits thrive and mature and astonish us with the amazing things they think of and say. As I scroll back through previous years, the years we spent in The Abyss, it comes home to me how normal our life has become, even if perhaps other people don't look in on us and see normality there. Only when there are stray infractions do we have to deal with extended sturm and drang dramas over the way a pair of socks fit--or don't. Or the way a pair of shoes fit--or don't. Or any other instance in where the planet seems inappropriately aligned with the universe. Things we used to deal with daily, even hourly. There's very little that I wouldn't do to achieve this level of serenity. So <span style="font-weight: bold;">very</span> much to be thankful for.<br /><br />Bug continues to explore his enthusiasm for art. His current focus is on perspective drawing. He was barely satisfied with the sixteen books that I schlepped home from the library on the subject. The librarian and I agreed that our family needs a dedicated shelf on the reserve stacks. Princess has become an avid reader, which adds to the groaning weight on those stacks. We're getting ready to invent a bogus family member or five so that we can add more cards to our collection. Twelve holds and fifty books per card times five for three weeks at a time is hardly enough for a house full of bibliophiles. I remember a day when I worried about Bug ever being able to read fluently, let alone for enjoyment. I remember the anxious trips to the speech therapist and the inch-by-inch grasp of phonics. Now he reads as voraciously as the rest of us. Dog and I are plowing through the list of required reading for his Literature class this year and it raises the opportunities for some interesting discussions. Ever so thankful for these blessings.<br /><br />There are pickles in the fridge because a friend shared the abundance of her garden, which flourished in a state of benign neglect this summer. She also shared the abundance of some pear trees within her stewardship. Since we still have a bounty of canned pears in our basement which still come up to visit us in the form of <a href="http://everythingfreeeating.blogspot.com/2007/03/year-of-cooking-dangerously.html">pear butter muffins</a>, I decided to do something different with these. Mom and I were talking about how the Hobbits had enjoyed the cherry pie I'd made, when she suggested an idea from my grandmother, who made these as a great treat for the family.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">Fry Pie</span><br /><br /><a href="http://everythingfreeeating.blogspot.com/2008/09/kindness-of-strangers_26.html">Gluten-free pie crust</a><br />Approximately 4 cups pears, peeled, cored, and sliced<br />1/2 cup water<br />4 T maple syrup, vegetable glycerin, or sweetener of choice<br />2 t cinnamon<br />3 T tapioca starch<br />1 lb lard or palm shortening<br /><br />In heavy sauce pan, cook pears with cinnamon and sweeteners until soft. Dissolve tapioca starch into water and pour over cooked pears, heating until tapioca starch is thoroughly cooked and is opaque and thickened. Allow to cool. (The crust tends to be harder to handle and disintegrate when filling is warm.) Assemble pie crust ingredients. With a ball slightly smaller than a fist, roll out crust between two sheets of wax paper to about the size of a small plate. Removing the top sheet of paper, place a dollop of pear filling (1-2 T) in the center and fold the bottom sheet of wax paper over in order to close the crust. Pulling away the bottom sheet from half of the crust, bring the edges of the top and bottom crust together and gently roll up until edges come into contact with the filling. Gently flute edges with fingers or fork.<br /><br />Heat lard or shortening sufficiently for deep frying. Picking up the pie still in the sheet, roll it onto a spatula large enough to support it. Very. Carefully. To. Avoid. Splashing. Roll the pie on the spatula into the heated oil. Fry for three minutes or until crust is brown. Remove from oil and allow to drain for a minute before placing in plate. Can be sprinkled with powdered sugar or maple sugar while still warm.<br /><br />The Hobbits were ever so grateful for these! Even Dog, who swears he doesn't care for pears and originally didn't want to eat any. It was fortunate that I'd made "extra" because after he caught the tendrils of steam rising from the plate, he decided they might be worth trying. By the way, "worth trying" = instantaneous evaporation. Bug and Princess inhaled theirs. They might have tasted it somewhere in the process, but I'm not sure. Heh.<br /><br />Doing without foods certainly makes one thankful for their return. This year, we reintroduced walnuts and--except for Princess--all manner of beans successfully. I think that in all of these Breatharian years, the thing that I've gained that is so precious, but so unexpected, is an attitude of thanksgiving. Struggling through this journey has changed me in ways that I never anticipated and even now cannot fully articulate. But as I sit and ponder it, the most compelling emotion I feel is gratitude. Gratitude for relentless generosity, support, for mercy, and for grace. As much as it has harrowed and winnowed me, I'm thankful to have gone through it all and wouldn't have missed it for the world.<br /><br />I'm thankful.Loztnaustenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17629800078798930455noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2944883925817632331.post-45512572234439012212009-11-13T13:38:00.014-05:002009-11-16T20:21:23.346-05:00La Grippe or "Postcards From the Hankie's Edge"<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMeHX-y-JNF9iF4YORjK2Nm-4NwwgpqYR7JpjPefEsurayY4hJq80rT3_itmn5MM4FGYZTQevwp6zEhOTjcoV7ZgGGmV-lRcD1QuQ-COJurFwD8DAu9A5Xp97ZjSW4BybtbgimHCuQRFA/s1600/fermented+ginger.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMeHX-y-JNF9iF4YORjK2Nm-4NwwgpqYR7JpjPefEsurayY4hJq80rT3_itmn5MM4FGYZTQevwp6zEhOTjcoV7ZgGGmV-lRcD1QuQ-COJurFwD8DAu9A5Xp97ZjSW4BybtbgimHCuQRFA/s320/fermented+ginger.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5404778524213048706" border="0" /></a><br />It had to happen, right? It <b>is</b>, after all, an epidemic. We now consider ourselves officially epidemicked. Princess led the way, as is appropriate for royalty. It was heralded with a barking cough, quickly followed by a fever of 104.6. Bug, always a camp follower, wasn't far behind. Dog remained the stubborn outlier for a while, but eventually succumbed to peer pressure and decided to follow suit.<br /><br />Once again, I'm hanging out our "plague" sign and quarantining us. The kitchen has gone into overdrive, making cough syrup, elderberry syrup, bone broth, and other such stuffs to soothe, satisfy, and otherwise stimulate the unwell. I'm pillaging my stores of elderberry, barberry, rosehips and assorted herbal matter. Tool Guy continually sniffs the air when he comes home, not sure if he is smelling dinner or medicine. The neighbors wonder at my frequent trips to the white pines in the yard as I jump for ever-higher branches, to strip off needles. What do I live for, but to be entertainment, no? Tool Guy is making sly comments about Marie Laveau and gris-gris. Philistine.<br /><br />It is exceedingly hard to doctor by proxy and most of my dosing the Hobbits has been based on reading and the feedback they give me, both symptomatically and descriptively. Princess has gotten impatient with my queries about exactly where the irritation inspiring that cough is coming from. "I don't know how to explain it to you," she stated truculently. Sigh. I'm sure that this will be fuel for therapy down the road someday.<br /><br />Happy day. I get to try all of this out on myself. The Flu Fairy came to visit yet again and I've been blessed. I haven't been ill-prepared, but I'm not best-prepared either; there were quite a few other things I'd wanted to have ready before coming to this. Still I've got enough tricks in my repertoire to at least do something besides lay there in a stupor.<br /><br />So here's what I've found that works:<br /><br />Elderberry is definitely wonderful. Something about the glistening liquid jewel tones pouring from the bottle is as reassuring as the thick sweet taste that coats the throat going down.<br /><br />Andrographis continues to shine as an immune support. Gotta be right there in the cabinet next to the echinachea and astragalus.<br /><br />Elecampane tincture helps to keep the congestion from building. Toward the end of our confinement, I dipped into the angelica that was maturing, to help ease the coughs. I think this one is going to be a staple in my cabinet, too.<br /><br />Clary Sage and Red Thyme essential oils are definitely useful in damping down night time coughs.<br /><br />Ginger continues to shine as my new favorite herb. Just prior to the onset of La Grippe, I decanted the herbs that I'd been researching while Dog was sick as a dog and had begun maturing. Ginger tincture was among the lot and, blessedly, I'd put up quite a lot of it, which freed me to use it without regard for supply.<br /><br />I found that I wanted ginger tincture at my bedside so that when I woke up coughing in the night, a couple of droppers (approximately 30 ml) eased things sufficiently for me to return to sleep. This, paired with the essential oils, allowed me a reasonably restful night. Princess is right, though. It <span style="font-style: italic;">does</span> burn all the way down. Heh.<br /><br />And all of this has accelerated another bout of experimentation. My herbal mentor quoted Rosemary Gladstar as telling a story about going overseas to study with an herbal guru. The first two weeks of the study required absolute silence after which she would be allowed to ask one question. She spent the two weeks wondering what she would ask. What popped out of her mouth isn't what she had anticipated, but I'm glad it was the question she asked: "What is your favorite thing for lungs?" The answer? Juice up ginger, bury it for three months and let it ferment.<br /><br />While the herbal class discussed this remedy, I began to envision what this project would look like. I immediately decided that an unglazed earthenware vessel was the container of choice. Why bury something unless it was to share the biota of the soil with the ferment? Like traditional kimchi. The Herbalist suggested that if I were going to do this, try one in a glass jar and one in the earthenware and see if the resulting ferments were appreciably different. Sounds like a plan.<br /><br />Juicing ginger is a bit more of a muscular activity than juicing, say, grapes, but pretty soon, I was watching a chartreuse river flow from the mouth of the juicer into the jar. I divvied the yield up between the glass jar and the pottery. Given that ferments produce expanding gasses, I endeavored to keep the glass jar's lid as loose as possible to prevent subterranean explosions. I contemplated sealing the pottery with bee's wax, but opted out.<br /><br />I dug up a likely spot in our woods--"likely" being any place that is more earth than rock--and buried the experiments. I put a rock marker on the spot, knowing that ginko might not help me remember the place on my own. The neighbors probably thought I was burying a pet. Oh, the things that they don't know...<br /><br />Next postcard in three months.Loztnaustenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17629800078798930455noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2944883925817632331.post-91593037748347059702009-10-30T11:02:00.000-04:002009-11-01T15:09:29.195-05:00Nitty-Gritty Cooking<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJWOJLHs7DPJJBICNsOZ6KtzgSHBCMQ6J9vATkDPyU7Nr9hur2F0TiopvAxLrIHoDlfhqv-jonCnjTSKfrphDvDXRVXm1LbmqcbyYDLagT3BvE6uPuhsxC6Bm9Sq4DCeOJwmefwnAPAtM/s1600-h/potatosoup2.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJWOJLHs7DPJJBICNsOZ6KtzgSHBCMQ6J9vATkDPyU7Nr9hur2F0TiopvAxLrIHoDlfhqv-jonCnjTSKfrphDvDXRVXm1LbmqcbyYDLagT3BvE6uPuhsxC6Bm9Sq4DCeOJwmefwnAPAtM/s320/potatosoup2.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5399224817469846546" /></a><br />Have I mentioned how much I love our homeschooling group? It's pretty impressive. A carefully balanced blend of the academic, enrichment, practical, and social. In years past, I'll admit that we were more attracted to the social aspect of it. As the Hobbits have aged, I'm appreciating the academic and enrichment. Dog is in a format writing class that assists me with another pair of eyes to critique his burgeoning writing skills. And as a child who has always loved an audience, Drama is quite acceptable to him. Bug is exploring his creative bents under the tutelage of a local professional artist. It's rather exciting to watch this part of him unfurl and his self-confidence blossom. His struggling reading skills have been rocketed ahead by the patient assistance of Party Planner's phonics class. Princess has similarly benefited from this class, even though it was a couple of years ahead of her age level when she first began last year. With a bit of scaffolding, she participated and is now an independent reader. At six. The other day, she looked at a brown bottle on the table and asked me what a "supplement fact" was. See why I love these people?<br /><br />Geeks of a feather. One of the moms decided that Home Ec classes teaching "a box of this and a can of that" just weren't cutting it. Not good nutrition and not good economics. When our class planning session met, she announced that, pending interest, she planned on teaching a "Nitty-Gritty Cooking Class" with the idea that the students would learn basic recipes that a home manager would be able to produce from memory as a staple dish in the diet. Her syllabus was logical, comprehensive, formed a good foundation for these young men and women in the class. Dog mourned his inability to participate in the class, since, of course, it would be rife with wheat flour and other contact reactives.<br /><br />Over the weeks, we've watched simple and delicious--if the damp, curling aromas that drifted past our noses were any indication--recipes roll out of the kitchen. She even organized this to such a degree that the products of the class each week will, at the end of the afternoon and after the completion of the organized activities, go on a communal table where we loosely congregate to socialize. See? We do manage to socialize our children...and ourselves, as well. Each serving is $1 and almost nothing has been left over.<br /><br />This past week, I twitted her that I "had aught against her." As buying club coordinator, upon request, I purchase organic junk food for a snack box from which people can purchase such healthy things as zbars and Barb's cheese puffs, washed down with Spritzers. Since the advent of her class, the disappearance of these tepid offerings have come to a screeching halt. Heh. We homeschoolers are raising no fools.<br /><br />With the entrance of cold weather--cha', it's already snowed here in the Shire--soups, stews, and casseroules are more on our minds. Last week's Nitty Gritty Cooking class was potato soup. That was my mother-in-love's favorite. I happened to be free that hour and watched as the teenagers peeled and chopped potatoes, onions, et al while the Hostess discoursed on the advantages of scratch food--such as the flexibility to make it your way each time--the importance of tasting as you go, and how changing the timing of adding ingredients will change the nuances of the dish. I whipped out a napkin--the only piece of paper I had to hand--and began jotting down all of the ingredients the class was tossing in. They listened as she and I discussed between us the merits, advantages, and disadvantages of various fats and flours that could be juggled to create the roux. My napkin became quite a crowded scribble of ideas.<br /><br />At the end of the afternoon, the five quart brimming pot hit the table with the stack of bowls and spoons beside the contribution basket. In less than five minutes the pot was empty. I kid you not. Eat your heart out, Barb.<br /><br />The next day was shopping day and I came home with forty pounds of potatoes. When I cleared a path through the kitchen to start chopping, Dog pulled up a knife and cutting board and began assisting. The Klondikes were buttery soft. We chatted while chopping, discussing flour options for the roux. I was leaning toward millet, but gf flours tend toward grainy textures. Tapioca makes pretty good sauces, but tends toward too much viscosity. My eyes landed on my potato starch container. Potato soup. Potato starch. Score.<br /><br />This is what Dog and I came up with. More or less.<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;"><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Everything Free Potato Soup</span></span><br /><br />6 medium sized potatoes, diced<br />1 bunch of green onions, sliced<br />1 quart bone broth<br />1 bay leaf (opt)<br />1 sheet of kombu (opt...I'm always looking for ways to guerrilla in seaweed!)<br />4 T ghee or favorite oil<br />1/2 cup potato starch flour<br />1/2 cup coconut milk<br /><br />In soup pot, simmer onions, bay leaf, and kombu while chopping potatoes and making roux. To make the roux, melt ghee or pour oil into cast iron skillet on medium low heat. Add potato starch flour and stir. This is going to be a "blonde roux," so cook it for about 12 minutes or so, stirring continually. Dog particularly enjoyed this part, which was fine with me, since making roux isn't my favorite kitchen project. After the bay and kombu has been well hydrated and has shared their goodness with the broth, cook potatoes until almost done. Add roux and coconut milk to soup and stir until fully incorporated, but not so much that the potatoes lose their integrity. Turn off heat and allow ambient temperature to finish cooking potatoes.<br /><br />All of the Hobbits agreed that this was one spectacular batch of soup. Tool Guy pronounced it better than the chicken soup. And better than his mom's potato soup. High praise, indeed! Bug was a bit cool in his evaluation, but politely ate it. We're working on the "eat what's in front of you without complaint" thing. He's getting there. Princess couldn't eat enough, though, coming back for thirds and fourths. She told me later, "You never have to ask if I want potato soup." That works.<br /><br />Dog is now particularly partial to this soup, having had a large hand in not only cooking it, but in creating it. When we were finished, I looked at him and announced, "Well. You just had your Nitty-Gritty Cooking Class!" He grinned. After we did the taste test, he said to me, "I think this one is better than Mrs. Hostess' soup." Lowering his voice conspiratorially, he assured me that he wouldn't repeat that within her hearing. Heh. It is fortunate that he feels this way about the soup, since this is, perforce, our road.<br /><br />I repeated his ingenuous comment to her, knowing it would make her laugh. It did.Loztnaustenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17629800078798930455noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2944883925817632331.post-82805936933820848672009-10-02T07:57:00.039-04:002009-10-03T13:50:10.721-04:00His Bark is Worse<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjoCm-GQWePXoeXoxeDHlWey1K0B25cvEPWQx2MYyKeMWJakcIz4-9bQh6EwPJTh2cfZ69sDBsY-d9zcAqMRpzE0wohclUKT9g-svKdWo_gToheBx_ceplnBIEXevvZPg3fb4GPAN00Nw/s1600-h/medicinalsyrups.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjoCm-GQWePXoeXoxeDHlWey1K0B25cvEPWQx2MYyKeMWJakcIz4-9bQh6EwPJTh2cfZ69sDBsY-d9zcAqMRpzE0wohclUKT9g-svKdWo_gToheBx_ceplnBIEXevvZPg3fb4GPAN00Nw/s320/medicinalsyrups.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5388432373471919266" /></a><br />Coughing appears to have become a seasonal sport. Dog has applied for Olympic consideration in the activity. Bug, as younger siblings are wont to do, has shown a reluctance to be left behind and has joined in the bark-fest. As I was dialing our doctor's number, I looked at the date on the inhaler in my hand and realized that it was exactly a year ago that we'd been in this exact same fix, looking for the exact same solution. Clearly this isn't going to be a one-off situation. When I asked our doctor what to do to avoid these respiratory infections, he glanced at Dog's chart and shrugged, "He has seasonal allergies, doesn't he?" as if that explained and dismissed it all in one fell swoop.<br /><br />I realized that once again I was reading the menu at McDonald's and hoping to find Chinese food there. I walked out of the office with a handful of prescriptions--that included steroids this time--and a deeper resolve to find a way to avoid doing this again every year. I was bemoaning to Tool Guy that I appear to be constitutionally incapable of being satisfied with mainstream solutions, but upon reflection, I concluded that I wasn't necessarily a wild-eyed, radical, jerk-knee reactor. Regular dosing of antihistamines such as diphenhydramine and cromolyn sodium have reduced the difficulty, but not eliminated it and didn't help us avoid the ultimate infection anyway. Even loratadine was momentarily helpful, but eventually disappointing.<br /><br />Limbering up my Google-fu, I dove into the internet to gather a consensus of what would be effective treatments for this kind of infection and what would prevent it from occurring in the first place. My first big gun suggestion came from someone who was asthma-free for the first time in years. She'd taken <a href=" http://www.herbs2000.com/herbs/herbs_andrographis.htm">andrographis</a> upon a <a href="http://nccam.nih.gov/health/whatiscam/overview.htm">CAM</a> doctor's recommendation of it as an alternative to echinachea for colds and found that she was so asthma-free that she's not needed to use any of her conventional asthma medications this year. Turns out that andrographis is <a href="http://www.vitaminherbuniversity.com/topic.asp?categoryid=4&topicid=1048">much more</a> than just an option for ameliorating colds:<br /><ul><br /><li>Scientific Name: Andrographis paniculata (Burm.f) Nees<br /><li>Family: Acanthaceae<br /><li>Other Common Name: Andrographis, Chuan Xin Lian, Kalmegh (Bengali, Hindi), King of Bitters.<br /><li>Andrographis, is a shrub that is found throughout India and other Asian countries. It is sometimes referred to as “Indian echinacea”.<br /><li>Andrographis contains, as its primary chemical constituents, diterpenoid lactones (andrographolides), paniculides, farnesols and flavonoids<br /><li><span style="font-weight:bold;">Andrographis was used historically in the Indian flu epidemic in 1919, during which it was credited with reversing the spread of the disease.</span><br /></ul><br />Impressive, no? I made it my business to get my hands on <a href="http://www.seedvendor.com/">some</a>. It's going to be a "must have" herb for my garden in the spring, I can tell you. And not only is it good for respiratory stuff, as a bitter, it's good for digestive things, too.<br /><br />At this point, I knew that my windfall of elderberry was not for nothing and poked around for applications. Kami McBride offered an <a href="http://www.livingawareness.com/pdf/HealthArticles/HerbalCoughSyrups.pdf">obliging recipe</a>. I tweaked it for the items that I had on hand, namely elderberry, pine needles, and rose hips. My neighbor had happened to notice me low-crawling around my yard and the neighborhood for plant matter and approached me with an offer: "Would you be interested in rose hips?" he asked. Would I! Here I'd thought that he had a persimmon bush that bristled with all of those little orange fruits. Nope. Rose hips. Does it get any better than that? The white pine in my back yard didn't mind yielding a few of their needles and I had just stocked up on a large jar of local honey. (Yes, Virginia, there do exist beekeepers who don't feed their hives with high fructose corn syrup!) The rest of Kami's ingredients I just ignored and set about making up the syrup.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;"><span style="font-style:italic;">Elderberry Syrup</span></span><br /><ul><br /><li>6 cups water<br /><li>3 tablespoons elderberry<br /><li>2 tablespoons pine needles (Okay, I'm not gonna lie to you. I grabbed a handful off of the tree and threw it in because I'm too lazy to snip up a bunch of pine needles and measure them out by the spoonful, all right?)<br /><li>2 tablespoons of rose hips (Ditto on the rose hips. A handful.)<br /><li>2 tablespoons of raw honey, added to the syrup after it is cooled. (Don't want to lose all of the raw honey goodness, right?)<br /></ul><br />In a stainless steel or glass saucepan, add all ingredients, except the honey and simmer for fifteen minutes. Turn off heat and cover, letting the ingredients infuse for a few hours. Later, strain out plant matter and return liquid to saucepan. On simmer burner or with a diffuser, allow liquid to simmer without boiling until the amount is reduced to half. Let cool and add honey. Two tablespoons, three times a day.<br /><br />My next big gun herbal idea was ginger. Ginger, upon closer examination, yields some very promising potential for <a href="http://www.herbalremediesinfo.com/Ginger.html">lung support</a>. "Ginger also decreases the activity of plate-activating factor (PAF), a clotting agent that creates the clot that can result in heart attack of stroke. Ginger's ability to reduce PAF activity also makes the herb effective against allergies and asthma." There was a bag at the local HFS waiting for me to pick up from the previous vegetable co-op order and I kept forgetting to go and get it. What can I say? I've been forgetting to take my gingko. I had earmarked these for pickling for <a href="http://everythingfreeeating.blogspot.com/2007/04/some-things-i-do-for-me.html">kimbop</a>, but this was more timely.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;"><span style="font-style:italic;">Ginger Syrup</span></span><br /><br />1 ounce fresh ginger, sliced <br />1 pint water<br /><br />Similarly to Kami's instructions, I put the ginger into boiling water and simmered for about 20 minutes. Turning off the heat, I then covered the pot and let it steep overnight, since roots and bark are sturdier plant materials than berries. After steeping, I strained out the root and reduced the liquid by half, adding raw honey when cooled. Two tablespoons, three times a day or when they started coughing.<br /><br />Fenugreek and anise seeds came up frequently in searches as effective against coughs. As those were also readily on hand, I added them to my arsenal, preparing them in the same ratios as the ginger. Seeds are more delicate than roots or leaves and so are not simmered, but merely steeped for 20 minutes before straining out. Decoct the liquid as usual and add honey when cooled.<br /><br />If honey is off the menu, these can be sweetened for the palate with whatever is acceptable, whether glycerin or stevia or the like. Syrups such as these will last a week in the fridge with honey. An alcohol, such as vodka or brandy, will preserve it longer. If freezing is necessary, separate it into smaller amounts so that these can be thawed in more usable batches.<br /><br />Anise and fenugreek didn't disturb the Hobbit tranquility much, but the elderberry syrup didn't match commercial varieties for comestibility in their opinion. Quelle domage. They took it anyway. Heh. Ginger was decidedly no contender for favorite status, since it "burned all the way down." Hmmm...must be that PAF activity thing. Nonetheless, coughs are almost gone and breathing is decidedly improved. Even Doctor McDonald would be happy with that outcome.Loztnaustenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17629800078798930455noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2944883925817632331.post-25683088970220993822009-09-18T15:10:00.000-04:002009-09-20T22:49:07.386-04:00I Sent You a Patrol Car, a Boat, and a Helicopter<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD0DUmyBiJO2o9K7FPW4IZwXg0BjkYnn9Jkpu8znxecAo_UaZHrZV5AGk3LfoI54tCTuFEnMwy-1hIZ1p_rTSxqWjmvxY5c19C1aa2swvBWwkVEIHUD0deNEzW5ncSdCrrd_y9eUMTGbE/s1600-h/eyepillows.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD0DUmyBiJO2o9K7FPW4IZwXg0BjkYnn9Jkpu8znxecAo_UaZHrZV5AGk3LfoI54tCTuFEnMwy-1hIZ1p_rTSxqWjmvxY5c19C1aa2swvBWwkVEIHUD0deNEzW5ncSdCrrd_y9eUMTGbE/s320/eyepillows.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5381830752527821826" /></a><br />The Summer That Wasn't is losing even that specious hold it barely possessed on the season and leaves begin to slip from the trees. These leaves were already beginning to turn their coats at the end of July. Makes you wonder what kind of winter it will be.<br /><br />Tool Guy has been planning a road trip for a few weeks now. His mother is feeling poorly and he'd like to jaunt down to see her. Logistically, it works better if he goes alone. Prior to now, the single vehicle family factor has been a hurdle. Since he got his new set of wheels, which he calls "ambrosia for the back," he has begun to imagine that he could do this on his Harley. Not a few machinations have been in the works to finesse this possibility into a plan. Biking buddies have offered and then rescinded. Planning routes, plotting possibilities, preparing the bike.<br /><br />I decided to send a care package to my mother-in-love, Claudia, along with him. In my herbal apprenticeship, one of our projects was assembling herbal eye-pillows. The combination that The Herbalist had collated was dried roses, lavender (calming), sassafras bark (earthiness), rosemary (remembrance), and mugwort (sweetens dreams) that we harvested, weighted down with rice or flax seeds. She brought out a selection of shimmery silks and I settled on the pink one. Princess pink. Guess who sleeps with that one? And reports that her frequent nightmares have gone! As we sat, stitching up the fabric envelopes, one of the other apprentices shared that during her chemo recovery, she had been gifted with a similar sort of pillow and it was the most comforting thing she possessed. On days when she was totally wasted by the treatments, she said she would curl up on the couch around this pillow. Sounded like something for Claudia.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Herbal Eye Pillow<span style="font-style:italic;"></span></span><br /><br />2 T dried lavender<br />2 T dried roses<br />1 T dried rosemary<br />1/2 t sassafras bark<br />2 stem's of mugwort, dried, destemmed, and crushed<br />1 cup white rice<br /><br />Pick a tactilely satisfying fabric cut into rectangle per personal measurements: Measure the distance from one temple to the other. This will be the length. Measure from the bridge of the nose to just above the browridge. This will be the width. Mark these measurements on a piece of fabric, doubled over and cut out. With right sides, together, stitch the open sides, leaving an end open for filling. <br /><br />Mix together the herbals and pour into the open end. A canning funnel is particularly useful in this application, especially if you're mass-producing these. Close the end, tucking the raw edges under and stitch closed. Sweet dreams! I decided that my sister-in-love needed one, too.<br /><br />A co-worker approached Tool Guy with an offer to use a spare car. He felt a bit nervous about the idea of Tool Guy tooling across the country on a bike by himself, Harley and all notwithstanding. Tool Guy was appreciative of the offer, but declined. He was a bit nervous about the whole road-trip-bike prospect, but determined. Mostly just keeping an eye on the weather.<br /><br />Well, he was a bit nervous about the weather, too. Rainy as it has been, he wasn't elated at the prospect of three days on the road in the rain. The forecast has been less than auspicious. Growing up in Louisiana, there's more rain than sunshine and hurricanes and floods are as humdrum there as earthquakes are in Los Angeles. Ho-hum. I remember that old joke I'd heard growing up:<br /><br />After a frenetic week of hysterical meteorological predictions for a Category Three hurricane, the first of the dreaded raindrops began. The police sent out patrol cars stop house by house and encourage people to leave. One good old boy greeted the officer with sanguine optimism. "Mais, no. Ah grew up here. Mah daddy grew up here. His daddy grew up here. Dah Lord's gonna take care o' me. I done ax Him." Nothing the officer could say would dissuade him.<br /><br />As torrential rains fell, the bayous began to rise and lap at the steps of people's homes. Police patrols in boats went around collecting the previously reluctant and assisting them to shelter. Once again, the insistent good old boy maintained that he was going to stay put and that <span style="font-weight:bold;">God</span> was going to save him.<br /><br />The water levels grew higher and higher, so before long, the persistent hold-out had taken to his roof to wait. At this point, a rescue helicopter came around, throwing down a rope ladder and bull-horning to him to climb up. He shook his head and insisted that God would save him, thank you very much.<br /><br />Sadly, the man succumbed to the forces of nature and found himself in Heaven. He gazed reproachfully at God and ask why He had not saved him. God levelly returned his gaze and said, "I sent a patrol car, a boat, and a helicopter. What more did you want?"<br /><br />A week before the trip, Tool Guy was chatting and sharing his plans for his trip with our pastor. The next day, he got a phone call from the pastor, who indicated that he'd not felt at peace with the idea of Tool Guy harleying across country and knew of a car that would be available to use if he was interested.<br /><br />Not for nothing have we been married twenty-five years, because when Tool Guy called me to report this development, we had an immediate brain-share. We each shouted out the punch line of the aforementioned joke together and laughed. "I'm not waiting for the helicopter," he said. "I'm taking the car."<br /><br />Halfway through his trip, Tool Guy called home on his spanking new Tracfone. When he got into Georgia, the sky opened up and it rained bullets. Nope. Not waiting for that helicopter.Loztnaustenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17629800078798930455noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2944883925817632331.post-59492461554065100202009-09-04T15:25:00.012-04:002009-09-07T11:57:08.214-04:00When Your Hand Finds to Do Hard Things<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyjfW3LJ2MU7YC4Ef1ByJDDk1fXS4LJ0WHNzhdtwZPhb2yE-oMWSxVHSvjAc1jzOwEaKpQ81_0JFmiVqSF8wE7rsWFty5A85LsU9ZTVhfcLv8VbwWhwHt7yR0NYcOqBtCQTkr_pxUnKAc/s1600-h/blackberry+cobbler.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyjfW3LJ2MU7YC4Ef1ByJDDk1fXS4LJ0WHNzhdtwZPhb2yE-oMWSxVHSvjAc1jzOwEaKpQ81_0JFmiVqSF8wE7rsWFty5A85LsU9ZTVhfcLv8VbwWhwHt7yR0NYcOqBtCQTkr_pxUnKAc/s320/blackberry+cobbler.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5378753123634831826" /></a><br />It hasn't been a gardening year, but it certainly has been a foraging year. I'm learning that when something is available in abundance, lay some by, because next year may not be so extravagant. Last year, it was impossible to see the horizon for the poles of mullein obtruding themselves upon the vista. I dehydrated leaves and gathered the flowers, until I felt absolutely obsessive. This year, there has been only sporatic, lonely plants claiming the occasional attention in the occasional meadow. I'm not despairing, though, knowing I'm covered on that front because of last year's surplus.<br /><br />One of this year's foraging finds was blackberries. What a blast from my past! As I was pouring the fruits of our collective labors into the baking dish, the aroma of hot blackberries dragged me back into my childhood and I started to recount...again...to the Hobbits about what blackberry pickings were like where I grew up.<br /><br />I come from a make-it-do family. My grandparents survived the Depression on a farm in the South and, even afterwards, a farm isn't a place of affluence. My own childhood was hedged by strict economy and sweat equity. A foraging friend and I were discussing hunting (which my Dad did annually) and fishing and the potential for local game in these areas. It reminded me of summer Louisiana afternoons, when we would load up into our Buick Century, with buckets, nets, and, um, scrap chicken parts. How's that for an idyllic summer interlude? Ah, but wait. Not far down the road, the Intercoastal Canal brought tides inland and even the roadside ditches were home to countless blue crab. When I was Princess' age, I was adept at dangling a chicken neck on a string to entice a crab's attention, only to swoop it up with the net. Many a dish of crab etouffee over many a summer. Gourmet cuisine on a shoestring. Literally.<br /><br />Blackberry foraging was another summer outing. My hometown was host to a then-defunct military base, that, at the time, had left miles of runway to crumble, surrounding by miles of waste fields. Fields quickly overrun with blackberry brambles. Being public property, the blackberries were finders-keepers to any intrepid individual who was willing to wade out and collect them. I have memories of enamel canning bath pots and every imaginable container from our kitchen collected into the back of that Century, while we piled in with long sleeves and pants, ready to bring home that black gold and not stopping until every monstrous container overflowed. We reckoned the stickers...and the week-long recovery from chiggers...to be a small price to pay for a year's supply of blackberries, canned or frozen.<br /><br />This year, a dear friend, constitutionally unable to keep such an embarrassment of riches to herself, called me up to make a date to show me where she had found an incredible score of blackberries...which was also where she "thought" there were some elderberry bushes. She was right on both counts. We spent the next two months tag-teaming on tripping out to the field and collecting whatever was ripe of both types of berries.<br /><br />This was a new experience for the Hobbits. They've become somewhat accustomed to my vagaries...my tendency to come to a screeching halt on the shoulder of the road, because I spotted some stand of plants that I've just developed an affinity for, the fact that I now always carry a backpack with two field guides, a pair of snips, gardening gloves, and a jeweler's loupe (for more exacting plant identification, doncha know?), and my total addiction to the smell of freshly harvested mugwort. But most of my passions don't require much in the way of physical discomfort for them. So when my friend and I waded into the briar patch to reach the more shy and recalcitrant of the berries, all three of them were rather disaffected with the process. The Hobbits are used to suffering of a sort, but it's more of mental endurance than a physical one. My friend encouraged them that it was good to do hard things. Dog had a harder time considering that the blackberries were worth the purchase price, but Bug threw himself into the task...if not into the brambles themselves.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;"><span style="font-style:italic;">Sourdough "Bisquick" Cobbler</span></span>...like Mom used to make...well, almost. <sub>(Thanks for the inspiration, Mom, and not just with the recipe, either!)</sub><br /><br />Berry Filling:<br /><br />3/4 cup water<br />2 T tapioca starch<br />1 quart berries<br />3/8 cup (6 T) maple syrup<br />2 T vegetable glycerin (if you want to bump up the sweet without bumping up the sugar)<br /><br />Dissolve tapioca in water. In large saucepan, bring to a boil and cook until thickened. Add berries and sweeteners, then heat through. Pour into 10x10 baking dish.<br /><br />Cobbler:<br /><br />1 cup <a href="http://everythingfreeeating.blogspot.com/2008/02/breatharian-revisited.html">sourdough starter</a><br />1 cup dehydrated potato flakes<br />2 T tapioca starch<br />2 T potato starch<br />1/2 t salt<br />1 t guar gum<br />1 T maple syrup<br />1/2 t baking soda<br />1 T vinegar<br />1 egg<br />2 T oil<br />Enough coconut milk for all of the liquid ingredients to equal 1 cup<br /><br />Measure out liquids into a bowl, add starter, then mix. Add remaining ingredients, except for the baking soda and vinegar and stir. Allow to sit while the oven is preheating to 425* to give the potato flakes time to rehydrate. When oven is heated, mix in baking soda and vinegar, and pour over the blackberry mixture. Place in oven and bake for 25-30 minutes or until crust is brown and crispy.<br /><br />After their first firey baptism into foraging til it hurts, the Hobbits took to the task with equanimity. Some days were rainy and we got wet. Some days were sunny and we were hot and thirsty. (Hint: This year, the rainy, wet days were more numerous than the hot and thirsty days!) We always got scratched. Good thing that last year was a bumper year for plantain, because this year hasn't been, but we've got enough salve to see us through another season and still managed to sooth the welts left by the briars. We didn't get any<span style="font-weight:bold;"></span> chiggers. I'm going to give the credit for that to my rockin' bug spray that I cobbled together from essential oils. At least, that was <span style="font-weight:bold;">one</span> less hard thing that we had to do while we foraged with our might...Loztnaustenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17629800078798930455noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2944883925817632331.post-59895733784355252742009-08-21T00:03:00.020-04:002009-08-21T08:27:26.164-04:00Whatsover Your Hand Finds to Do<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2b5r4BRxjYZaKw2Wg4EwRWcxkqG9Sbfot4D4ZVM-_1n_rSwjS5bYCOGwWBwLGJuOsE4yO0URCFfXY3cxQfTYcY9d9xO5vWGj-lQmDWYt9E6JZNgmFUs_k5iJN2ah6DrEqg0ja9zrufW8/s1600-h/elderberry.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2b5r4BRxjYZaKw2Wg4EwRWcxkqG9Sbfot4D4ZVM-_1n_rSwjS5bYCOGwWBwLGJuOsE4yO0URCFfXY3cxQfTYcY9d9xO5vWGj-lQmDWYt9E6JZNgmFUs_k5iJN2ah6DrEqg0ja9zrufW8/s320/elderberry.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5371403383968605954" border="0" /></a><br />Anyone got tomatoes? Yeah? Lucky dogs. This stretch of the Shire didn't fare well for tomatoes this year. Between the cool--did I say "cool"...nay, I meant to say <span style="font-style: italic;">"cold"</span>--temperatures all spring and summer, the rain and early late blight, not much is pinking up. Sigh. You know that you haven't had much in the way of sunshine when even your squash and cucumbers aren't plotting world domination. But, hey, mark it on your calendars...I harvested my first cuke today! There's so much rain that there's mold growing on the <span style="font-style: italic;">metal</span> items out in the yard. See why I call this the Pacific North East? All summer I planned to do the "wardrobe flip" thing where I clamber up to the attic and schlepp all of the warm weather clothes down and toss the winter stuff up there until we need it again. Didn't happen until August and almost didn't happen at all. I guess this has been a "summer optional" year?<br /><br />Tool Guy is equally frustrated. He bought a Harley Davidson Sportster "to go back and forth to work." If your Tool Guy comes home with this persuasive argument, run. Run like the wind. He <span style="font-style: italic;">does</span> have the advantage in the argument that the extra "running around" he is doing <span style="font-style: italic;">is</span> cheaper on gas. That has the virtue of being the truth. Fortunate for him. The frustration point is that in the eight years that we've lived here, this is the absolute wettest summer we've had. So he doesn't get to ride as often as he would wish. <a href="http://www.wordreference.com/fren/pauvre+petit">Pauvre petit cha'</a>... So on the near-mythical sunny day, he's generally to be found at the leading edge of a blur, leaving behind nothing but the rumble.<br /><br />I'm learning some valuable gardening lessons this year. I had planned for a "snap-back" year. Last year, I inadvertently sabotaged my garden. Then my greenhouse collapsed. I expected that I'd be able to sail into this spring and replenish my empty tomato sauce jars. Tool Guy even trekked up to the greenhouse manufacturer to pick up the replacement for me. I rubbed my hands together with glee and planned for great things.<br /><br />Alas, cheri, it was not meant to be. The cauliflower never sprouted. The broccoli took two tries before the starts came up. Ditto on most of the tomatoes. Only one of my pepper plants came up. The beans and cucumbers took three tries before they came up. I bent my head lower and persisted.<br /><br />We did get the greenhouse up and my starts did survive. But that's about all. I think I'm going to manage to harvest enough from each kind of vegetable that I planted to have seeds to plant next year. I unbent and visited the local farmer's market where I acquired twenty pounds of tomatoes. The newly minted jars of <a href="http://everythingfreeeating.blogspot.com/2008/05/breatharians-diary.html">ketchup</a> are cooling in my basement now. An expected blessing arrived in the form of a phone call from a friend inviting me to share in the bounty of <span style="font-style: italic;">her</span> garden. Cucumbers and beans galore! For the three days following our thankful swoop through her garden, Bug hovered over the ripening <a href="http://everythingfreeeating.blogspot.com/2007/07/good-things-from-garden.html">pickle</a> jars on the table, persistently asking if they were ready to eat. When I decanted those pickles, gratitude added an extra bit of flavor to the relish.<br /><br />She also called me to share--recklessly generous friend that she is--the location of an untapped berry range. And buried in the midst of the blackberry brambles peeked several persistent elderberry bushes. We tag teamed during the weeks of the ripening berries. This was the Hobbits first excursion in berrying and it was quite the lesson in persistence, endurance, fortitude, and delayed gratification. But they were troupers and endured the belated sunshine that finally decided to make August feel like August. Not having a garden to demand our time and energy, we were freed to forage and immerse ourselves in this unexpected boon. "Whatsoever your hand finds to do, do it with your might."*<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSUNHpDBqROUbDkvoYIERVjeFxHdtCaWECy5A0Z0lGTe2TRqACtpkAV3EiMudyyvN5GTQ1b5bLQT6EwOQYSBmgyyBpaSz879zLi7LOl8uqe2DYD8O6FBVfnWiyiU4n94VgujmyYpf1F9Y/s1600-h/elderberry2.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSUNHpDBqROUbDkvoYIERVjeFxHdtCaWECy5A0Z0lGTe2TRqACtpkAV3EiMudyyvN5GTQ1b5bLQT6EwOQYSBmgyyBpaSz879zLi7LOl8uqe2DYD8O6FBVfnWiyiU4n94VgujmyYpf1F9Y/s320/elderberry2.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5371403393838636466" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Neither my friend nor I having dealt with storing berries before, we discussed possible plans of attack. Syrup preparations appear to have a storage life of about six months and there was much more bounty than six months of the worst colds and flues would require. The next idea was to dry them. In the absence of detailed directions on line, I launched into a new episode of Dehydrating Dangerously. While I juggled racks in the oven, the impatient clusters that my overstuffed oven could not accommodate hung heavy like grapes from my pot rack, waiting their turns. I set the oven to 115* and made sure that there were trays under the dehydrating racks. Normally, I'm not that scrupulous, but elderberries will shrivel down to the dimensions of a flea. And with all this work, I begrudge any flea that escapes this circus!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSdo7ud9Ghm431GzIMQnptaivjSFNUghMTSBDoWuvpNaedXzI6cXSTActfN8pQvB7ZhXcQzxlNwzIqgkYks3I19DU1n3u-gs-DQie4dV7z1uW9SmmOkZ7_uz4atRvuX5j7AdxtBddCxag/s1600-h/elderberrybush.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSdo7ud9Ghm431GzIMQnptaivjSFNUghMTSBDoWuvpNaedXzI6cXSTActfN8pQvB7ZhXcQzxlNwzIqgkYks3I19DU1n3u-gs-DQie4dV7z1uW9SmmOkZ7_uz4atRvuX5j7AdxtBddCxag/s320/elderberrybush.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5371403401809304482" border="0" /></a><br /><br />And, of course, berries aren't about to be so obliging as to all dry at equal rates and equal degrees. Of course. And I harbor a horrifying vision of investing all of this work into drying all of this abundance, only later to find it riddled with pockets of mold because of an undetected imperfectly-dried berry. (I'm also hedging my bets by storing them in very small batches, paired up with silica packets.)<br /><br />Sorting through the dried berries fingerful by careful fingerful for the semi-dried is much like panning for gold and equally tedious. I'd recommend an audio book for this process, but the quality of the sound plunking on the bottom of the china bowl became a part of the diagnostic process. A plink is dry, but a plunk goes back into the oven.<br /><br />So this process does give the mind wide scope for finding subjects of meditation. When doing this, come prepared to think. One of the things I mediated on is that $16 a pound average rate for dried elderberries isn't really as dear as it first seems. Heh. It does, however, provide fodder for discussion with Hobbits about the concept of "sweat equity." I remember Sally Jesse Raphael, when she only had a radio program, sharing her evaluation process: what do you have more of? Time or money? Mostly the answer has been "time," though I have come to the conclusion that, these days, it may be running neck and neck. Still, the idea that I'm putting up food and medicine that I can reach back to even as far out as a few years from now gives me the motivation to press on and bury my hands deeply and enthusiastically in whatsoever they find to do. Even the unexpected. On second thought, <span style="font-style:italic;">particularly</span> the unexpected.<br /><br />*<sub>Ecclesiastes 9:10</sub>Loztnaustenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17629800078798930455noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2944883925817632331.post-562166034830206892009-08-07T15:22:00.007-04:002009-08-09T15:50:37.453-04:00...Back Again<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdC_epDC3J1-gwbTyhjkcFHqHQh3N5fUIdXsbFXYMgod6Y3AFs9aaOpzEGMR5BZgGldzOPmdRcSAZ6KtxR_QYDVYr59Wzg4AihG02dzrsMX9lgrsE3N7lN2_dFcmYu93JKxanM4x45CXs/s1600-h/cremebrulee.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdC_epDC3J1-gwbTyhjkcFHqHQh3N5fUIdXsbFXYMgod6Y3AFs9aaOpzEGMR5BZgGldzOPmdRcSAZ6KtxR_QYDVYr59Wzg4AihG02dzrsMX9lgrsE3N7lN2_dFcmYu93JKxanM4x45CXs/s320/cremebrulee.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5364732947916854946" border="0" /></a><br /><br />The vacations of my childhood always began in the mystical, pre-dawn hours of the morning. To this day, setting out on the road before sunrise lends a nascent thrill to even the must mundane chore. This has rubbed off onto the Hobbits. Bug, my dawdler, will even put some steam into his morning routine if he thinks that doing so will get us on the road before the sky begins to lighten.<br /><br />I remember rolling out of bed very shortly after pulling up the covers to sleep. It wasn't that we had such a tight schedule to meet that we would leave so early, but that my parents--my mother in particular--couldn't sleep for the excitement of the outing. This sort of thing seems to be generationally contagious. We had no difficulty wrangling everyone--a task I frequently refer to as "herding cats"--into their seat and we were off.<br /><br />Too Guy was our cruise director, having planned this entire outing. I nestled into my pillows and promptly went back to sleep, the familiar profiles of this neck of the Shire having exhausted its charms for me. The Hobbits dove into some backseat vidoes, breaking a long, parentally-imposed media fast. No "are we there yets?" here. Heh.<br /><br />Everyone was suitably impressed when we drove up to our accommodations. The Hobbits swarmed the playscape while I donned decontam gear and tackled the kitchenette. The toaster was the first prisoner of war to be confined to the upper reaches of the cabinetry and I sandblasted the counter top. I washed all of the remaining contents of the cabinets and hung up the Certificate of Inspection. We were in business. A quick pot of pasta and a bottle top opener and...et voila...dinner is served!<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9Z5KuQgPHtXPP2PXVprzUWal4wTovu8bsN6CdWWlV8hYYz3tR6UlfZFxwdYrvwAilpx_xB9RwGgJo_2ued-itxc9uUah2n4GPLACoDYQjFCwuHuxwVVs5CNZX4UTpUncKH6fPEXpqnN0/s1600-h/barharbor7.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9Z5KuQgPHtXPP2PXVprzUWal4wTovu8bsN6CdWWlV8hYYz3tR6UlfZFxwdYrvwAilpx_xB9RwGgJo_2ued-itxc9uUah2n4GPLACoDYQjFCwuHuxwVVs5CNZX4UTpUncKH6fPEXpqnN0/s320/barharbor7.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5364726503874262690" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Is there any vacation attraction that can rival the lure of a swimming pool? All of Bar Harbor spread before us--or at least a nice chunk of shoreline--and these Philistines want to swim in the pool. What can I tell you? I try. I really do. While they were distracted by the possibilities of cannonballs, Tool Guy played lifeguard and shooed me away to indulge in some "me" time. I slunk away to the Jack Russell Steakhouse, beckoning me from across the street. They never missed me.<br /><br />Dining out alone can be like slow dancing by yourself: a bit awkward and self-concious. So I brought my own dinner companion. A book. I presented myself to the hostess, anticipating "a booth, in the back, in the corner, in the dark." What I got was the garret at the top of the stairs. All to myself. Is there any felicity in the world equal to this? I admired the original woodwork, the eyebrow windows, authentic glazing and interior plaster work finished in a singular shade of glistening orange. Funky, but it worked.<br /><br />Not much on the menu was gluten free, but hey, does one come to Bar Harbor for aught other reason than to eat lobster? So I ordered fries as an appetizer--and didn't ask what they were fried in--followed by grilled asparagus and lobster with butter. And solitude. Sheer bliss.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUgE-Jiyaw_16iAOXLMezl-q7i4Pq9LZQl8AYHOpWu_E4J1MI2hEDM6JarIt4GpeBDZ_S2gR54-VcXQF2L_bzVLGkplSqIgLpCYz6f_MzW7YVDaYPtt4S7y9Eb2nsCpZ67LdroaOY8D-A/s1600-h/barharbor6.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUgE-Jiyaw_16iAOXLMezl-q7i4Pq9LZQl8AYHOpWu_E4J1MI2hEDM6JarIt4GpeBDZ_S2gR54-VcXQF2L_bzVLGkplSqIgLpCYz6f_MzW7YVDaYPtt4S7y9Eb2nsCpZ67LdroaOY8D-A/s320/barharbor6.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5364722950411905762" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Back at the room, Tool Guy and I tag teamed. While he went to the Jack Russell and duplicated my order, much to the amusement of Adam, our server, I took the Hobbits on an expedition to scale the not-insubstantial shoreline rocks. We scrambled over monstrous boulders, foraged for mussel shells and vacated crab exo-skeletons, and examined the bladderwrack that ebb tide had exposed. Too cool.<br /><br />The next two days were crammed with a sailing cruise, window shopping, and hiking in <a href="http://www.nps.gov/acad/">Acadia National Park</a>. The Hobbits tumbled into bed, sun-pinked and satiated. At night, when the fog would roll in, we would briefly rouse at the low tones of an incoming fog horn. Yep. We're in Maine.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYyQgf-HQ3xKd2rjVGSOyf5_xZWE-IL0ztMF2lmmS5SU2b67OPItEibgmz430XJeFYBrpVnIRV6ZgT5iEOhW0wn2fX6Pe5CIK4FAhjGpbUQY5aF8A_uzTxp38nEZ3332v3xGfq_mZuXUQ/s1600-h/barharbor5.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYyQgf-HQ3xKd2rjVGSOyf5_xZWE-IL0ztMF2lmmS5SU2b67OPItEibgmz430XJeFYBrpVnIRV6ZgT5iEOhW0wn2fX6Pe5CIK4FAhjGpbUQY5aF8A_uzTxp38nEZ3332v3xGfq_mZuXUQ/s320/barharbor5.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5364722565157765810" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br />My farewell dinner at the Jack Russell felt as if it needed a crowning finish. The only gluten free item for dessert was creme brulee. Mmmmm. Don't mind if I do. The first bite infused me with the inspiration for my next the inspiration for my next expedition into Cooking Dangerously.<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;"><span style="font-weight:bold;">Casein Free Creme Brulee</span></span><br /><br />8 egg yolks<br />1 cup thick coconut milk/coconut cream<br />3 tsp. maple sugar sugar<br />2 T vanilla extract<br />Maple sugar for sprinkling<br /><br />Heat sugar and coconut milk/cream to boiling in heavy sauce pan. Add vanilla extract to eggs and gently incorporate. When the coconut cream is boiling, pour a small amount into the eggs to "temper" them, stirring continually. When the eggs have mixed with the coconut milk/cream, pour the rest of the hot milk into the mixture. Now pour into ramekins or molds and place in a chaffing dish or, for those on a Lobelia Baggins budget, a cake pan. Since my life is lacking in the politer refinements of polished society such as ramekins, I opted to use silicone muffin forms as the container in which to make the creme brulee. Fill the dish or pan with boiling water to about halfway up the mold/ramekin. Place the entire assembly into a 325* oven and bake for 15-20 minutes or until center is almost set. When cooked, remove to a clear surface and sprinkle maple sugar over the tops. Return to the oven, now set on broil at 500*. Keeping a close eye for carmelizing--in my kitchen that would be called "smoking"--let broil for 5-7 minutes or until desired degree of lava has been achieved. Brace yourself for the oooooohs and aaaaaaahs.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPZ51CwYsXvj0NrnxcKsbmNk18hK_D7EYtHHUFv6vf9FOe34r6u61arF3l18lsjseLW78sL8-Ho4iVxITe8BerOe8bSMvYmCi4vYm61om-Kj8LlAKUOMeZ9XsHqDFcJKWz0x3lBq1vu0M/s1600-h/wildroses.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPZ51CwYsXvj0NrnxcKsbmNk18hK_D7EYtHHUFv6vf9FOe34r6u61arF3l18lsjseLW78sL8-Ho4iVxITe8BerOe8bSMvYmCi4vYm61om-Kj8LlAKUOMeZ9XsHqDFcJKWz0x3lBq1vu0M/s320/wildroses.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5368043131908392738" border="0" /></a><br /><br />As a vacation, it was, as all vacations are, too short. The Hobbits brought home from sand from Ogunquit's beach; I refrained from doing any foraging in Acadia, a feat that I want recognition for. The wild roses were extraordinarily tempting. (Does anyone know of a commercial source for these?) Lots of memories. Princess declared it to be her best vacation. Fortunate, that, especially being her only one.<br /><br />Here's to the next one!Loztnaustenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17629800078798930455noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2944883925817632331.post-36388923362524236312009-07-24T12:29:00.029-04:002009-07-24T19:34:30.759-04:00There and...<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnbjGiTaPGZDFwGmEyME41izUSm-WT5UfL3FcxuIvsJJDLRd2gmCtiouLFzQdPSVOAcQilHsmahdanWv9Im1D3_K7fKoeCTyEQ8xBAqfCp-kIKOeaT5HcDF6O11YIqvQJ_MfQx-haFsHg/s1600-h/roadfood.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnbjGiTaPGZDFwGmEyME41izUSm-WT5UfL3FcxuIvsJJDLRd2gmCtiouLFzQdPSVOAcQilHsmahdanWv9Im1D3_K7fKoeCTyEQ8xBAqfCp-kIKOeaT5HcDF6O11YIqvQJ_MfQx-haFsHg/s320/roadfood.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5361324246997685394" border="0"></a><br /><br />Tool Guy and I used to have itchy feet. We moved all of the time and when there was nothing else pressing, between moves, we hopped into the Plymouth Fury we'd christened "Polly" and explored the back roads. Indiana certainly has plenty of those. We'd head off on vacations that included mountain biking in Colorado and white water rafting in North Carolina. "Paddle or die."<br /><br />Post-Hobbit, the scenery has been less varied. Just after settling in the Shire, we popped up to see what the rave over Maine was about and dipped our toes into what Ogunquit had to offer...which, in October, was rather modest, but it was a nice outing. After the food pyramid collapsed on us and Princess sent notice that she'd be inviting herself into our family, we stuck much closer to home. Actually, I crawled down the Hobbit hole and slammed the door behind me, Bilbo/Peter Jackson-fashion, shrieking, "No, thank you! We don't want any more visitors, well-wishers, or distant family relations!" Contemplating the prospect of traveling under our limitations made my mind slam shut with similar force. Doubtless there are folks who have mastered such limitations and traveled successfully, but I must admit that the knack of it has heretofore escaped me.<br /><br />So instead of birthday parties, Tool Guy planned individual outings for each of the Hobbits on their birthday...things that would appeal to their unique personalities and interests. Dog took a plane ride--and piloted it for a while, he will be quick to inform you--and a cruise on an oceanographic vessel where the visitors assisted in collecting data. Bug took a historic train ride, a quick cruise around the bay on a sloop, and a visit to a coal mine. We're trying to get Princess to expand her interests outside of Build-a-Bear, but so far, her passion for animals is theoretical. In real life, they terrify her. We're working on it. Each birthday, the celebrated pair would head out the door to the intended expedition, armed with food stuffs such as<a href="http://everythingfreeeating.blogspot.com/2007/04/time.html"> chicken strips</a> and <a href="http://everythingfreeeating.blogspot.com/2007/05/my-village.html">shoestring fries</a>, which have been favorites in our kitchen for longer than I would have imagined possible, and would dive into the day with relish.<br /><br />As the Hobbits have gotten older and our food choices expanded, we began to contemplate the possibility of more distant horizons. This year, Tool Guy decided to lump all of the birthday outings into one vacation. A small one, but an official vacation nonetheless. I began to imagine that this might<font style="font-style: italic;"> just</font> be do-able. Proximity and prospect made Maine again an appealing choice. A room with a kitchen made it a possible one. After he'd made the reservations, I began my meditations.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm6B1ManSel0WtP9ggKec-CcVDsZxoq1SFxnccRu3SQzHFWHu-Ndro13DvEwjy__3pOnmrO_bAR64pVc7K2bl2bxmYCZ_ToGu0t-oEwUc1Lrp7vqIviD1Y53Q3ilKSmF5C0rgf9OEOCEA/s1600-h/barharbor3.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm6B1ManSel0WtP9ggKec-CcVDsZxoq1SFxnccRu3SQzHFWHu-Ndro13DvEwjy__3pOnmrO_bAR64pVc7K2bl2bxmYCZ_ToGu0t-oEwUc1Lrp7vqIviD1Y53Q3ilKSmF5C0rgf9OEOCEA/s320/barharbor3.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5362067381368413330" border="0"></a><br /><br />Jerky was the obvious choice for travel food, but Hobbits do not live by jerky alone and need other food stuff to "fill in the corners." I considered our options, how to transport, how to prepare, and what was portable and possible. For months before our trip, I kept a weather eye out for sales on beef, snatching up the good buys on roasts and other cuts that would slice nicely, dividing them up into handy portions and freezing. I also started ramping up my supply of <a href="http://everythingfreeeating.blogspot.com/2007/08/lions-and-tigers-and-bearsoh-my.html">kombucha</a> down in the basement. About a month before departure date, I began the marinading and dehydrating process. Knowing that the flavor goes a bit stale after a week or so even if the meat itself is still good, I decided to vacuum seal the finished jerky into mason jars and freeze them until the departure date. This worked out rather satisfactorily. I planned that this would be the bulk of our road food coming back home. For traveling out, I decided fry up the ever-faithful chicken strips and have a handy loaf of bread with <a href="http://www.hormelnatural.com/products_deli.html">Hormel Natural roast beef</a>, the only lunch meat that I've found corn-free. (The roast beef is the <font style="font-style: italic;">only</font> Hormel Natural that is corn-free.) Slowly, I started constructing a plan to cover my bases.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrr-bFYrpTzSDmQF4HyNNmRg3ZmLthyDbCXKC1Frh2qvvWKQ_TAS7dglTT4EHeC2T933MQ_coxK3kQIHnvaNgYsunVo-jHGV4dnfvx_nrHAynhDIicENysTjYCBLmOo6M_azDerVHkjXc/s1600-h/barharbor.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrr-bFYrpTzSDmQF4HyNNmRg3ZmLthyDbCXKC1Frh2qvvWKQ_TAS7dglTT4EHeC2T933MQ_coxK3kQIHnvaNgYsunVo-jHGV4dnfvx_nrHAynhDIicENysTjYCBLmOo6M_azDerVHkjXc/s320/barharbor.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5362069232262566818" border="0"></a><br /><br />Tool Guy was of a mind that we should go shopping after arrival and make up meals in the room. It initially sounded reasonable, but as I meditated, I became increasingly uncomfortable with that plan. Too many uncontrolled variables. And, yeah, I'm a control freak. That sound you hear is my mind, once again, slamming shut. His perspective was that he didn't want to make any "extra work" for me. Heh. Naive lad. I opted for Plan B, which was to pick foods that would be can-able and reheat them upon arrival. No worries about ingredients, temperature and portability there. It isn't optimal food, but at least it is food food and can sustain us in a tight spot. Besides, I'd rather do my work upfront and not spend precious vacation time sussing out safe food sources and cooking.<br /><br />Now one would think that Hobbits of such constricted food choices would celebrate over whatever is available to them. Unfortunately, that is not our reality. All of the stuff I blog about is stuff that gets eaten here; the rub is that there is very little that all three of them want to eat universally. At the same time. That I can transport. We narrowed down our very narrow choices to two: chili and chicken noodle soup. Dog and Tool Guy are always up for a bowl of chili and the rest of us feel the same way about chicken noodle soup. Which is just enough for a two-day trip.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-FFtr38asBRplRI-q1WJoSKcIvqzlwMxNABnLeUxmU0mq1B-JoJg4OznQdqk61FZTJSYkfLI6EG6FJmij3NpNkIyqiD6mqgCTuCifjD2_-Z0aZl7vvWv8kty7o_xfOt0cmfFbSw4RBlc/s1600-h/barharbor2.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-FFtr38asBRplRI-q1WJoSKcIvqzlwMxNABnLeUxmU0mq1B-JoJg4OznQdqk61FZTJSYkfLI6EG6FJmij3NpNkIyqiD6mqgCTuCifjD2_-Z0aZl7vvWv8kty7o_xfOt0cmfFbSw4RBlc/s320/barharbor2.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5362096047805761362" border="0"></a><br /><br />The only nervous-making prospect of the whole canning expedition is that I've never canned meat before. It was rather a leap of faith. I pored over the canner manufacturer's instructions, <font style="font-style: italic;">Stocking Up</font>, and <font style="font-style: italic;">The Ball Blue Book</font> on canning. Repeatedly. Tool Guy rolled up his sleeves and made a couple of huge batches of chili, which canned up to perfection. We were all hovering over the bubbling jars, wiping the steam from our glasses, and listening for the metallic pops. I think I was holding my breath. All of them sealed beautifully. The Canning Gurus would've been proud.<br /><br />The chicken noodle soup took a bit more thought, since I'm not a huge fan of canned vegetables. That's actually a major understatement. It was quite easy to sell me on the principles of fermented vegetables, since I don't think it is possible to convince me to voluntarily eat canned vegetables. The few experiments I made in that direction, with the exception of tomato sauce, ended up being stealthed into chili. Keep that under your hat, though...no one here is aware of this little tidbit and the less said on that, the better. In the end, I decided to keep the canned ingredients to a minimum: just the meat and veggies. The pasta came along with us in the bag, boiling up fresh pasta with each meal and adding it to the reheated soup at the last minute. I seasoned and boiled the chicken as usual, keeping the cut vegetables aside. After the meat was cooked, I deboned the chicken, returning it to the broth with the uncooked vegetables. I canned both the chili and the soup according the the manufacturer's canning instructions for meat. I was a bit disappointed that two of my chicken soup jars never popped, but that did give us the chance to see how our final successful product turned out before we were past the point of no return. Amazingly, the vegetables weren't mushy and there was surprisingly little savor lost. However, if I do this again, Philistine that I am, I probably would add a touch more salt.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8gcE2xNFbraKyy-cQIDTMKihRnf1jvrsocDHISMPTPXPKijGn9a9QTbG0vAGU32jNtK1vt7DbKehcN20HzaOK8_RB7rQDyA3gl4ZlYieyQ50nk61D32ftswS1ggXseN9fTf-e7-yK0Xg/s1600-h/barharbor4.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8gcE2xNFbraKyy-cQIDTMKihRnf1jvrsocDHISMPTPXPKijGn9a9QTbG0vAGU32jNtK1vt7DbKehcN20HzaOK8_RB7rQDyA3gl4ZlYieyQ50nk61D32ftswS1ggXseN9fTf-e7-yK0Xg/s320/barharbor4.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5362113904763198002" border="0"></a><br /><br />When we packed up the trunk of our Malibu, we had only two suitcases--and I promised Tool Guy that I wouldn't mention that one was his while the other held everything else for everyone else...he's admonished me in the past that I tend to overpack...ahem--and the rest was, you'll not be surprised, food. The jerky, chili, and soup filled two boxes, while the rest of our dry food stuff and cooking paraphernalia consumed the remaining space. We were able--just--to close the trunk and cram ourselves into the intimate quarters of our little car, while my very own Mr. Sulu plugged in his spanking new Garmin and programmed the coordinates.<br /><br />On the road again.Loztnaustenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17629800078798930455noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2944883925817632331.post-54261275463968382602009-07-10T08:45:00.010-04:002009-07-10T20:20:45.666-04:00Things That Go Cough In the Night<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXFomYxH-HAXhi7qW_ewQAvZzsEMaNTtqry1U4bwP01iXGkXvan8FeffAkwj8f9yMNqvS9R_o-xSJwMN_Re1iwa0AU2XIDk2vRoPqOBEe1FM99HuTqJ0fCnGZU9uGYPPCHqnR2-6kR1GM/s1600-h/elecampagneplant.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXFomYxH-HAXhi7qW_ewQAvZzsEMaNTtqry1U4bwP01iXGkXvan8FeffAkwj8f9yMNqvS9R_o-xSJwMN_Re1iwa0AU2XIDk2vRoPqOBEe1FM99HuTqJ0fCnGZU9uGYPPCHqnR2-6kR1GM/s320/elecampagneplant.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5356978977445873554" /></a><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;"><br />Elecampagne Plant</span><br /><br />He never has been a cooperative child. Even before he was born, Dog refused to change his presentation to accommodate me and the OB. In a stubborn transverse position the entire final trimester, the best compromise he would yield was a single footling breech. He's been digging his heels in ever since.<br /><br />We've been fighting Dog's cough off and on for over a year now. Tried lots of stuff, including pulling the passionately favorite ghee, thinking that the dairy was a contributing factor. For once, though, it wasn't a food issue. Go figure. Getting rid of that musty-smelling mattress did improve breathing conditions for the remainder of the winter. Bug and Tool Guy are sequestered in the shop, cranking out a bunk bed set reminiscent of Stone Henge to replace the former sleeping arrangements.<br /><br />However, we are now in the height of pollen season. My email inbox is daily peppered with pollen reports of maximum measures of oak, hickory, birch, grass and other delectables which have left their yellow evidence sprinkled over every conceivable surface. When pollen counts aren't spiking, this very chilly, damp...I believe the season <span style="font-style:italic;">might</span> be considered "summer"...is yielding sky high mold counts. So I'm breaking out all of my big guns to deal.<br /><br />Our first line of defense is a <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j8sDIbRAXlg">neti pot</a>. This cute little pot hasn't been welcomed as a best friend among the Hobbits, but application three times a day has certainly reduced the nightly wheezing and coughing. For such an intransigent child, Dog <span style="font-style:italic;">is</span> really pretty good about putting up with my whack-job remedies.<br /><br />This is the season to forage and what I'm looking for grows in abundance where we live. A few plants that are historically used for coughs are mullein, elecampagne, and coltsfoot. The Herbalist says these are her "go-to" plants for lung complaint.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNTs9_T74lfPndSTd-Ydjw4CGEEUARPgRjspnCuUPHxIf9Ixm4c2mjokxKrQniC9WfX8aCnf7mvFOkj7dM8Zhnt63ys0rt2yMxY-mCFnE88uIhdz21S-UP_U1fTNV6dgQmeqXHWspjEEo/s1600-h/mulleinplant.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNTs9_T74lfPndSTd-Ydjw4CGEEUARPgRjspnCuUPHxIf9Ixm4c2mjokxKrQniC9WfX8aCnf7mvFOkj7dM8Zhnt63ys0rt2yMxY-mCFnE88uIhdz21S-UP_U1fTNV6dgQmeqXHWspjEEo/s320/mulleinplant.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5356975179479314290" /></a><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;"><br /><br />Mullein</span><br /><br />Foraging can be a relaxing outing, but when one is on a mission and there's mileage to be covered, many hands make light work. One sunny (rare, this year) afternoon, the four of us set off with totes in one hand and clippers in another in search of some off-road infestations of coltsfoot and mullein. A bit of land that fell to the ax of tax arrears has just opened up to public access for fishing in our neighborhood "kill" (shirespeak for "creek"). Rich pickings there, not only in coltsfoot, but also mullein. Off the road yet. It's always recommended to try to harvest plants that live at least eight feet off of any roadway, in order to avoid any toxins that the plants may absorb from proximity to passing vehicles. Score! I'll be watching for these mullein plants to be flowering soon. Earache season will be here before we know it and it never hurts to plan ahead.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-1cttMQ3j16TMXOVJKoOOAgwFeH_Nm5V9_aecrR2KK0tmjERjLYKP93gGZ1RUf9WSLudWa1tj0R9e3frghgb03yVY9uLk5hAMuGIlpBrxyLHMRqBCVDAOYJ598CkDSBuETJXlcVTSuCw/s1600-h/coltsfoot.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-1cttMQ3j16TMXOVJKoOOAgwFeH_Nm5V9_aecrR2KK0tmjERjLYKP93gGZ1RUf9WSLudWa1tj0R9e3frghgb03yVY9uLk5hAMuGIlpBrxyLHMRqBCVDAOYJ598CkDSBuETJXlcVTSuCw/s320/coltsfoot.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5356979680615938786" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Coltsfoot</span>*<br /><br />As we clipped, Bug began to unpack his own personal recollections of herb lore, surprising me with the amount of information he'd retained. Things I either didn't remember telling him or assumed he never processed. Astonishing, since this is the child whose lowest scoring domains are in listening skills. Guess it requires the right motivator.<br /><br />Eager and enthusiastic hands make light work of filling our bags. The dehydration process didn't finish quite so quickly, but at the end of three days, the yield was such that I felt we'd collected enough. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE0KJZjh_nP_F0LlVaphCTPWq6TjrN90P03KMBlvK0rbTmfsjIW1Om_M0hihYd5Tq9CavLMGyQuYB6aP21m1WcmJkXcloxgYf-xszL0Mio6G11lwVz6a2ZSU8f4TYDRx2QLNoX67PZHQw/s1600-h/elecampagneflower.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE0KJZjh_nP_F0LlVaphCTPWq6TjrN90P03KMBlvK0rbTmfsjIW1Om_M0hihYd5Tq9CavLMGyQuYB6aP21m1WcmJkXcloxgYf-xszL0Mio6G11lwVz6a2ZSU8f4TYDRx2QLNoX67PZHQw/s320/elecampagneflower.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5356148128046980306" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Elecampagne Flower</span><br /><br />Elecampagne is another big gun for respiratory difficulties. It rocks for things like pneumonia, bronchitis, and this coughing that is plaguing Dog. It certainly helps to clear up the gunk that clogs his lungs. This is one that has to be harvested in the fall after the second hard frost, since the tincture is made from the roots.<br /><br />Every day, we check the pollen and mold counts the way some folks check their stock portfolios. So far, no single remedy is the silver bullet for us, but a combination of applications...and some cooperation from the "participant" and all of us, Dog not the least, are breathing easier and sleeping better at night.<br /><br /><font size="1" face="Times"><br />*Peterson's Field Guide to Medicinal Plants and Herbs has this to say about coltsfoot:<br />"Contains traces of liver-affecting pyrrolizidine alkaloids; potentially toxic in large doses. In Germany, use is limited to 4 to 6 weeks per year, except under advice of a physician." p. 147</font>Loztnaustenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17629800078798930455noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2944883925817632331.post-81909257637429334692009-06-26T08:00:00.011-04:002009-06-26T12:48:21.220-04:00Chickens Coming Home To Roost<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXGtLrOy2Yav9flvEo9Hi3UNomRo5gn9hYLvH42NMMdfoCC9yYIT7QNL8i2M6OpKta-V8zSGSfXhHN9k8z3CqtVMeg_sH31TnOuuq31gqdeE0HcEbwe6xnQ2rAN0JYYrskfbcBOZAFkBY/s1600-h/beancookies2.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXGtLrOy2Yav9flvEo9Hi3UNomRo5gn9hYLvH42NMMdfoCC9yYIT7QNL8i2M6OpKta-V8zSGSfXhHN9k8z3CqtVMeg_sH31TnOuuq31gqdeE0HcEbwe6xnQ2rAN0JYYrskfbcBOZAFkBY/s320/beancookies2.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5351352802557306738" /></a><br />Well, tie it up with a bow. The school year has ended. Whew. This has been the most mad six weeks that I can remember for any stretch of time. An extra co-op delivery sandwiched in between the Stanford for the older Hobbits, as well as a research paper/Science Fair project for Dog. But when your child tells you that he wants to volunteer to do extra work, one can hardly refuse, no? Actually, it was the display that he had <span style="font-style:italic;">really</span> volunteered to do...or at least volunteered Tool Guy's help on it. By the time, I realized what had happened, they were quite committed to the accomplishing the of display and so Dog, by default, was committed to the research paper. He knuckled down with surprising cooperation--repaying the cost of display supplies looming over his head--to the completion of the paper. His first. With very little involvement in the actual writing of the paper from me. I just held his hand during the research portion of the project and helped him conform to the assigned format. The rest, he did himself. And brought home the Gold for his age group. Attaboy!<br /><br />Bug's Stanford shows that he has taken tremendous strides forward in his reading and language skills...areas in which he has struggled in the past. Woohoo! I guess Raymond Moore is right. Better late than early. Some boys <span style="font-style:italic;">do</span> advance better at eight years of age than before. I'm hoping the same applies to math word problem skills, because that's this year's area of greatest challenge. We've been using Singapore math, but if anyone has any suggestions or resources for beefing up word problem skills, holler at me! I'll also entertain feedback from anyone who wants to feed my internal mantra that this will come with time, like the reading did. Tool Guy thinks more time in the shop is the answer. Heh.<br /><br />Princess began the year as a kindergartener who had a rudimentary grasp of the initial phonics rules and ended the year as a first grader who is also a reader and writer. We continually find little love notes tucked in out of the way corners around the house. Cute beyond words.<br /><br />In the past, I have noticed the propensity of peer-mothers to, upon the entrance of their youngest into first grade, cast about for someone/thing new to mother. If they have decided that they are past the age of continual conception, most turn to the option of mothering something even shorter and furrier than Hobbits. A dog. Or a cat. Something I swore I'd never do. Now that the Hobbits are reasonably house-broken--having successfully broken the house--I swore I'd enjoy the languorous, sybaritic luxury afforded by my surfeit of spare time. Yeah. Right. Good luck with <span style="font-style:italic;">that</span> plan.<br /><br />Well, to my credit, it isn't a dog. Or a cat. I got chickens. That was my twenty-fifth anniversary gift, remember...a chicken tractor. Tool Guy brought them home to me from where they had been boarding at a friend's house until we were ready to receive them. They were more or less agreeable about coming. Except for one. Tool Guy said when they caught her, she'd "screamed like a woman." He's still trying to explain away that comment. Trust me.<br /><br />The girls settled into the routine of our yard, trundling about the property in the tractor and nesting in their roost quite naturally. The Hobbits decided to name each of them, which I allowed, since these are going to be egg birds and not soup birds. The Wyondottes are called, respectively, Polka and Dot. We haven't been able to differentiate which is which. The other two are white, with one of them having neck and tail markings. The white one was christened "Snow" by the Hobbits, but I still refer to her as "Luci-" due to her...um...cunning wiles.<br /><br />Luci has decided that she's the alpha bird. Having already expressed her aforementioned reluctance to relocate, she has concluded that as opportunity presents itself, she plans to avail herself of the relative roominess of our acreage, irrespective of anyone else's thoughts or wishes on the matter. The first time she flew the coop, I think she startled herself and so stuck close enough to her flock mates that after an hour or so, she was nestled next to the tractor, clawing wistfully at the wire. Her bid for independence, when I pursued her, was rather half-hearted and I was quickly able to recapture her.<br /><br />Her second excursion revealed a more footloose and fancy-free Luci. Her hour of liberty was about ten o'clock in the morning and she planned to make the most of her day. None of the usual coaxings, baitings, pleadings, or corrallings could persuade her. I can only image what the neighbors were thinking, as they <span style="font-style:italic;">must</span> have been watching. It was a popcorn-worthy event. Or <a href="http://everythingfreeeating.blogspot.com/2007/07/dog-days-of-summer.html">sorghum</a> for the corn-sensitive. She successfully avoided the team of Hobbits and adults trying to secure her. Scoffed at any food offerings. Distained to flee to the box trap someone so cunningly devised. Tool Guy thought a blanket as a net would work, but that spooked even the more docile hens who had decided to stay at home. Dad thought a bamboo garden rake would work to pin her down, but she skittered away with raucous and reproachful cackles that echoed off of the hemlocks that make up our woods. Eventually, I threw up my hands and announced that we'd wait for sunset time when she would naturally decide that she needed to be in her roost.<br /><br />Nothing wrong here that a batch of cookies wouldn't cure, no? With patient and continual doses of "a tincture of time," the Hobbits continue to gradually gain lost ground. Beans have been unequivocally reintroduced. This addition to the diet was strangely not met with the same cries of delight that accompanied chocolate. I can hear what you're saying. Go figure. Being the untrustworthy and deceitful parent that I am, I never shirk at an opportunity to engage in guerrilla nutrition. Hence, bean flour cookies.<br /><span style="font-weight:bold;"><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Chocolate Chip Bean Flour Cookies</span></span><br /><br />1/2 cup palm shortening<br />1 tsp salt<br />1/2-1 cup maple syrup<br />2 tsp. vanilla<br />2 eggs<br />1 tsp. guar gum<br />1 tsp. baking soda<br />1/4 cup tapioca starch<br />1/4 cup potato starch<br />1 1/2 - 2 cups cup bean flour <br />1 cup <a href="http://www.enjoylifefoods.com/our_foods/chocolate_chips.html">Enjoy Life chocolate chips</a><br /><br />Garbanzo beans usually figure largely in my bean flour blends, but I've abandoned the favored fava beans of Bette Hagman's "garfava flour" fame for my own combination of adzuki beans and garbanzo which I call "gadzuki flour." Yeah, I know. As Mrs. Weston put it, "all...people will have their little whims." So humor me, okay?<br /><br />Cream shortening together with the syrup, vanilla, and eggs, mixing in the remaining ingredients, except the chocolate chips, which are best incorporated with hand stirring. Roll into balls and flatten with a plate or cup bottom. (I find that sandwiching between baking parchment or silicone mats assist in this process.) Bake at 350* for 10-12 minutes or until desire consistency.<br /><br />As the sun started setting, I ventured out into the yard to see if Luci could be persuaded to submit. She'd spent most of the previous hour looking for her own way into the tractor. (By the way, leaving an opening for her to access at her own leisure only allowed Polka to emerge, giving us yet another refugee to regain. Fortunately, she did it with a better grace than Luci.) When Luci started fluttering and poking around the elevated hutch of the tractor, I judged it might be time. I circled the tractor while she walked the ridgepole of the roof, Anne Shirley-style. She wanted nothing to do with my help, silly git. I waited until she turned her back to scope out another angle before I reached up, finally grabbing one of her legs with success. I'll leave the shrieks of indignation and wounded dignity to your imagination. Not much that you could conjure up would fall short of the reality. But she'd come home to roost at last.<br /><br />I spent the first couple of years of our food journey chasing the intolerances around, hoping to pin them down and to be able to put them where I wanted them. That wasn't any more successful than chasing Luci. We had <a href="http://everythingfreeeating.blogspot.com/2007/04/ive-taken-scunner.html">unnecessary setbacks</a> because I'd not yet learned to wait. But it's happening, though. All the chickens are coming home to roost.<br /><br />I'm stalking bananas next.Loztnaustenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17629800078798930455noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2944883925817632331.post-50991493596627988962009-06-12T16:27:00.000-04:002009-06-16T20:34:44.584-04:00Redeeming the Bread<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGBqZLfJ5ZNTWdWA9he8EC0wETyoes7ipMuPjL0Bwm1LbHu_q-Fx75hsdLJb4AW-XKgcF-HaeD5l7LWmbnw4EHV138jAv4VroGEjgh8CFIUMLu7Q6cVaQh7PAobZtRzFRhO60p7HAMY4w/s1600-h/redemptionmuffins.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGBqZLfJ5ZNTWdWA9he8EC0wETyoes7ipMuPjL0Bwm1LbHu_q-Fx75hsdLJb4AW-XKgcF-HaeD5l7LWmbnw4EHV138jAv4VroGEjgh8CFIUMLu7Q6cVaQh7PAobZtRzFRhO60p7HAMY4w/s320/redemptionmuffins.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5348076473069343346" /></a><br />Bug's favorite excuse is "I got distracted." While he's a highly distractible sort of Hobbit, it does get old after a bit. It's sort of a contagious variety of excuse, since I'm hearing it from other members of the clan besides Bug. Tool Guy trots it out from time to time, to my cynical sneers. Oh, the hubris...<br /><br />Sunday mornings are not an oasis of quiet and reflection in the midst of a hurly-burly week. As much as it pains me and as it is humbling to admit, Sunday mornings = stress in this Hobbit hole. Two hours is barely sufficient time to organize and corral five people out of the house in a tranquil and pacifistic manner. That's what the commute is for...regrouping and refocusing after the mad dash out the door. It's like herding cats.<br /><br />I really should know better than to try and squeeze in any other activity than the ones required to get us out the door for the morning. I really should. It should be enough to feed and dress everyone, organize snacks, collect up textbooks, music materials, and sermon notes. Watching us leave must look like a troupe of Hobbits breaking bivouac. But for some reason or another, it seemed like a reasonable, rational, nay, even <span style="font-style:italic;">possible</span> goal to get a loaf of bread going in the morning before we left. The theory was that if I set the bread to rising--my starter is sluggish of late and needs more rise time than previous--when I first got up, I could set the timer for the rest of the rise, the oven would turn on, bake the bread, then turn off, patiently waiting for our return home a few hours later. It makes a nice theory, doesn't it?<br /><br />Half way down the road, it came to me that I'd never set the timer. Nothing for it but to sit in the passenger's seat and fume over the wasted product. Okay. Breathe deep. The rest of the drive involved my mind furiously shifting through ways to salvage the situation. <br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;"><span style="font-weight:bold;">Redemption Muffins</span><br /></span><br />2 cups of flopped <a href="http://everythingfreeeating.blogspot.com/2008/02/breatharian-revisited.html">bread dough</a><br />1 cup <a href="http://everythingfreeeating.blogspot.com/2007/10/thanksgiving-comes-in-october-for-us.html">pear butter</a> or apple sauce<br />1 cup dry quinoa flakes<br />2 t cinnamon<br />1 T vinegar<br />1 t baking soda<br /><br />When I got home the dough, nestled in its 100* oven, had risen and fallen with a lovely layer of froth over the top. It was quite liquid, too. Hence, the addition of dry quinoa flakes. This may appear an arbitrary ingredient to add and, indeed, it is. The theory was that the dry flakes would soak up the extra moisture. Besides, the flakes were part of a cereal that the Hobbits swore that they loved, but really what they loved was to pick the dried mangoes and strawberries out and leave the hideously expensive quinoa flakes behind with a sneer. Soooo. One cup of dry quinoa flakes it is.<br /><br />I think that I now passionately adore vinegar and baking soda as a rising agent, since stumbling across a cake recipe recently that called for this combination. Betty Crocker look out. So I now use it instead of the much pricier cream of tartar. But just to keep things interesting, I've taken to using <a href="http://store.pinoygrocery.com/se-20133.html">cane vinegar</a>, courtesy of our local international grocery store, since it has a sweeter and more mild taste than other vinegars and is a more palatable addition to dessert breads.<br /><br />Mix ingredients and pour into muffin molds, baking at 350* for 30 minutes.<br /><br />Dog, who has of late turned his nose up at such humble offerings as pear butter muffins, inhaled these and declared them the best he's ever tried. Figures. Now I have to go and engineer a deliberate mistake...Loztnaustenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17629800078798930455noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2944883925817632331.post-85960023199132885882009-05-29T12:11:00.002-04:002009-06-05T10:18:54.312-04:00The Unkind Cut<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi19ComNOfmc_C_BqH-aTP-DUQ3mhGw7ak5QhwB3LrhMnsOxCSv1JseudSxy6-ZV7vvUkZ_q20ryPJl4oXqEfOrUkQ4InOSrnOT2xk_ReaNqQmdJaeqBnB3VV1CsNQBUgEdNA3TZqpAvS4/s1600-h/cutbugle2.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi19ComNOfmc_C_BqH-aTP-DUQ3mhGw7ak5QhwB3LrhMnsOxCSv1JseudSxy6-ZV7vvUkZ_q20ryPJl4oXqEfOrUkQ4InOSrnOT2xk_ReaNqQmdJaeqBnB3VV1CsNQBUgEdNA3TZqpAvS4/s320/cutbugle2.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5343506689364621826" /></a><br /><br />One of the Herbalist's favorite axioms is "herbs grow most where they are needed most." And it is an interesting proposition. I mentioned earlier that I've identified a large stand of blue bugle in my back yard and smaller clumps scattered across the rest of our property. I even poked Tool Guy about it, since it has been labeled the "carpenter's herb," being hemostyptic in nature. This was simply whistling in the dark on my part, because in the seven years since he has resumed wood working, he's never. ever. cut himself. Now, me on the other hand...well, I <span style="font-style:italic;">do</span> talk about cooking dangerously, don't I?<br /><br />Less than a week after identifying bugle and discovering its purpose, I had the quintessential opportunity to field test its efficacy. There I was. In the kitchen. A banded bunch of green onions in my hand. A very sharp knife. Let me say in my defense that at least I had the blade pointing upward and I was cutting away from myself. Alright, alright, but at least I feel slightly less stupid, okay?<br /><br />As I wrapped up the cut and watched it rapidly soak the bandage without any indication of abating, I dizzily chanted to myself that I didn't want to go to Urgent Care at that particular moment. Somewhere in my scattered wits, the remembrance of bugle floated to the surface and I dashed out of the back door and onto the lawn to snatch up a couple of leaves. I stuffed them in my mouth, munched them into a macerated paste and peeled open the bandage, plastering the pulp in place and resealing the bandage. Two minutes later, the bleeding had stopped completely. It wasn't even hurting. Cross my heart and hope to die. That night, I applied a couple of plantain leaves to the cut for the <a href="http://www.medicinechest.info/articles/21">astringent and antiseptic properties</a>. In the morning, I was able to abandon the bandage altogether.<br /><br />It was rather interesting that within a few days of this experience, I was settled in the bedroom, doing some studying when Tool Guy called to me with a strained note in his voice. When I answered, he told me that he needed me to drive him to Urgent Care. I darted into the bathroom where he was sluicing out a vicious cut where he'd been momentarily distracted and lost an argument with his miter saw. Fortunately, it wasn't his band saw or he would have lost more than the argument. Once again, I made a mad dash for the bugle patch, followed closely by Hobbits who were eager to assist me in the collection. Once again, it performed as previously, though his cut was much worse than mine. Whew.<br /><br />I've certainly decided that, since cuts are not a seasonal hazard, bugle needs to have a place in our medicine cabinet. Toward this end, I gathered up runners of it with the leaves still attached rather than snipping off individual leaves. These I dried on racks in my oven, set on 100*. After drying, I store the leaves in a mason jar, vacuum sealed with a packet of desiccate inside.<br /><br />Both of our war wounds are healing up nicely. Tool Guy is still accommodating himself to the green stores that are filling our medicine cabinet these days. After the bugle application, he insisted on scrubbing out his wound with commercial antiseptics and plaster on antibiotic-impregnated bandages. I'm trying not to be smug about the fact that his cut isn't healing quiiiiiite as cleanly as mine. When I pointed this out to him, he told me to talk to the hand. The uncut one. Heh.Loztnaustenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17629800078798930455noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2944883925817632331.post-16010456285019210482009-05-15T12:31:00.000-04:002009-05-15T17:31:43.780-04:00The World In My Own Back Yard Redux<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGHvyMMFHUFLtCAMZ1HZYTCaDqskVIOThRVpvbRfSbFZBHDk1ENMRrELpJuBUf7iAU5o_kRrVhiorkscw0UJKHLCEUAiMhIksyI_1EEmNE4MSyI36FYkr62TZkC2gT0ejwR7qCtUQRf5g/s1600-h/burdocksyrup.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGHvyMMFHUFLtCAMZ1HZYTCaDqskVIOThRVpvbRfSbFZBHDk1ENMRrELpJuBUf7iAU5o_kRrVhiorkscw0UJKHLCEUAiMhIksyI_1EEmNE4MSyI36FYkr62TZkC2gT0ejwR7qCtUQRf5g/s320/burdocksyrup.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5336062374107316498" /></a><br />I think that it has finally decided to be Spring. Every year, the cusp between Winter and Spring feels like it drags out interminably. Although old-timers auger a hard, dry summer from the signs they see before them, it doesn't look that way from my back deck. I've had to bring my soggy, struggling starts in more often from the rain than from the frost. This spring has afforded me ample opportunity to confirm that veteran remedy for soil fungus: cinnamon. I think that after watching me grab the cinnamon shaker and billow fragrant brown clouds over my sickening starts that the Hobbits shall be surprised at nothing I do. My starts are thriving, though. So there.<br /><br />I'm always amazed at what powerful solutions we have at hand to us, should we choose to avail ourselves of them. At least, as long as we have knowledge of them. Which is why I've so avidly wanted to take an herbal class.<br /><br />Yes, I have plantain oil, which does marvelous things for diaper-rashy bottoms...or for the tweener who somehow <span style="font-style:italic;">must</span> tangle with poison ivy every year. The property's administration practically razed the area around Dog's favorite haunt in an attempt to eradicate it. Dog still found some. The dried mullein leaves found use this winter and I think I have found renewed confidence toward putting the coltsfoot I harvested to use. We even had an ear infection or two that felt the gratitude of mullein oil and a heated rice bag. Comfort herbs, if you will. But I'm coming to the end of my own personal resources.<br /><br />So when Tool Guy and I were discussing twenty-fifth wedding anniversary plans, he was a little taken aback by my wishes. He had a weekend in The City planned. I had a chicken tractor in mind. He was thinking ritzy dinners in hotels with hyphenated names. I was thinking about herbal classes. I guess his willingness toward extravagant romantic gestures, poor guy, is wasted on me, the eternal pragmatist. Still, he's happy to make me happy, so when green things started elbowing their way to the surface, I set off on a Saturday with my notebook, backpack, and a tray of <a href="http://everythingfreeeating.blogspot.com/2007/04/some-things-i-do-for-me.html">kimbop</a>. The first class of the season.<br /><br />We sat in the grass under a fitfully sunny sky that tried to ward off the chill from the wind and opened our <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Newcombs-Wildflower-Guide-Lawrence-Newcomb/dp/0316604429">Newcomb's Guides</a>. The Herbalist had selected a plant that grew proliferately among the grass for us to cut our teeth on identifying. She even passed out magnifying glasses and a jeweler's loupe for us to get up close and personal. I felt a disproportionate and ridiculous sense of accomplishment when I was able to identify the <a href="http://www.botanical.com/botanical/mgmh/b/buglec82.html">blue bugle</a>. Clearly, I need to get out more.<br /><br /> <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgF1RmaaEcCb_MxFN2k8vmLkH4Tfua6bVdHt1EnlqbCdEo_L0YXRr46Mj8Whuix73VswwzJtu9gee1zjGS1aygHPqPpbLzsXHRKtiUUbVy6cKO12yyxsCCbYUQSm2OuL7r44sKojMg_7Yo/s1600-h/bugle.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgF1RmaaEcCb_MxFN2k8vmLkH4Tfua6bVdHt1EnlqbCdEo_L0YXRr46Mj8Whuix73VswwzJtu9gee1zjGS1aygHPqPpbLzsXHRKtiUUbVy6cKO12yyxsCCbYUQSm2OuL7r44sKojMg_7Yo/s320/bugle.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5335420540952828050" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Word is that bugle is called the "carpenter's herb" for its ability to stem bleeding. I guess there's some wisdom in the doctrine that herbs grow where they are needed...eh, Tool Guy?<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7vM8kOOqrhlHOJPTQSHaHEsYH8X6e938jFfv7vbz79D2vLEnIZrOvX02xghy3tvH9LeSqwx7ZX3lcNa65kvgelukIfb0n0uwPOe-46yRa7csktKWCxniyh5egc2htmAMXU6CCMBBSW7c/s1600-h/bugle3.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7vM8kOOqrhlHOJPTQSHaHEsYH8X6e938jFfv7vbz79D2vLEnIZrOvX02xghy3tvH9LeSqwx7ZX3lcNa65kvgelukIfb0n0uwPOe-46yRa7csktKWCxniyh5egc2htmAMXU6CCMBBSW7c/s320/bugle3.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5335424307452832290" /></a><br /><br /><br />One of my classmates identified the <a href="http://www.botanical.com/botanical/mgmh/i/ivygro16.html">ground ivy or gill-over-the-ground</a>, a plant which carries the reputation as being helpful with lead paint exposures. That's certainly a plant idea to keep on the back burner in these days of heavy metal toxicity, no?<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJtP2tJGRFEPkSON6ocZvVKcPpcog_LW3LZ61yyx1J4ktLaB_nHOAetmFSASQruaqDvXtR10MINnFbqBBSDOHV4bht2ko13sJiNZOAeWsO8lAdllfLctdQr3QoZ0Wrmh7DIkMBZRs_bEM/s1600-h/groundivy.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJtP2tJGRFEPkSON6ocZvVKcPpcog_LW3LZ61yyx1J4ktLaB_nHOAetmFSASQruaqDvXtR10MINnFbqBBSDOHV4bht2ko13sJiNZOAeWsO8lAdllfLctdQr3QoZ0Wrmh7DIkMBZRs_bEM/s320/groundivy.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5335421337003614754" border="0" /></a><br /><br />I brought a few runners home with me and looked for a likely spot in my own yard in which to encourage them. After scratching out a place in a location that looked similar to the place where they were thriving in The Herbalist's yard, I started examining the leaves of surrounding hopefuls pushing up and--guess what?--I had transplanted some ground ivy in amongst...ground ivy. While that doesn't speak well for my identification skills, I can at least console myself that I have good instincts for where something may grow. I guess... Heh.<br /><br />Each class has a lecture--this one was on the digestive system and, thankfully, she glossed through it very quickly in deference to those of us who have an intimate acquaintance with that particular system--as well as a project. One of our projects of the day was taking an infusion of <a href="http://www.botanical.com/botanical/mgmh/b/burdoc87.html">burdock</a>, decocting it and then making a syrup with it. Burdock is a good tonic-all and is a traditional herb for spring cleansing along with others like dandelion.<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;"><span style="font-weight:bold;">Burdock Tonic</span></span><br /><br />1 oz. burdock<br />1 pint water<br />Stainless steel, glass, or enamel pot<br /><br />Add water and burdock to the pot and bring to a boil, then simmering on low for 15-20 minutes. Remove from heat. Cover to prevent any essential oils from escaping and allow to steep overnight. Strain product from the liquid and return liquid to pot. Gently simmer until the amount of liquid is reduced by half. This decoction can then be stored in the refrigerator for a week when sweetened with honey. A splash of brandy (haven't yet vetted brandy out for corn-safety) will preserve it longer. For longer term storage, separate it into halves and freeze the unused portion.<br /><br />I came home that day with a pinker face, thanks to the sun, a fuller notebook, a sense of exhilaration and empowerment. And two lemon balm plants and a valerian root plant. I've got a spot selected in the yard that I'm going to <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Lasagna-Gardening-Layering-Bountiful-Gardens/dp/0875969623">lasagna</a> into an herb garden next year. I'm already looking forward to the next class and plotting what dish I'm bringing to the class pot luck. We're talking about doing a recipe book of our collected contributions at the end of the year. Cool deal. Talking food and herbs. Does it get any better than that?<br /><br />Oh, and about that recurrent poison ivy? The Herbalist posits that poison ivy proliferates in disturbed areas...kind of a defense mechanism that says "Keep Out." That eradication attempt? Just made things worse. Given Dog's record, that makes it time to hit the yard for more stock-up stuff!Loztnaustenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17629800078798930455noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2944883925817632331.post-49796913159176866372009-05-01T08:00:00.018-04:002009-05-01T12:24:37.282-04:00Bug the Builder...Yes, We Can!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpIwraeH6qY-X1wfwabaJAFwrwrMxf9abcF1hQLHt4GgpGpfmFGazTbDvBQMH06vqCYdhRcr0FFjjceZqxEzklrTAkJOqEdeuKAvLi0skEE7QoBLgANn1ZSiTudlDuz1EptD9e-2B8rL4/s1600-h/granolabar.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpIwraeH6qY-X1wfwabaJAFwrwrMxf9abcF1hQLHt4GgpGpfmFGazTbDvBQMH06vqCYdhRcr0FFjjceZqxEzklrTAkJOqEdeuKAvLi0skEE7QoBLgANn1ZSiTudlDuz1EptD9e-2B8rL4/s320/granolabar.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5329877297936914194" /></a><br />It's funny how small things can be pivotal. How many parents have wrestled with their child over math lessons or homework to the tune of the plaintive cry of, "When will I <span style="font-style:italic;">ever</span> need this?" Bug, at the advanced age of...um...eight, has succumbed to this syndrome while doing those quadratic equations the rest of us know as addition, subtraction, multiplication, and division. Sigh. At this rate, I expect I'll hear the same from Princess in another month or two...<br /><br />When his attitude became increasingly truculent, I decided that we needed some practical application and enlisted the services of Tool Guy. And truly, woodworking experience utilizes all of the functional math embodied in most third grade curricula. He obliged me, as he does in most all things.<br /><br />Amazingly, this child who had heretofore shown no passion for anything other than videos and computer games (I do not count myself among those parents who see a budding Spielburg or Gates in such juvenile passions) developed an immediate affinity for woodworking. Now this is an avocation I'm thrilled to see him sink his teeth into. I'd much rather he wax on to strangers about the <a href="http://www.answers.com/topic/kerf">kerf</a> of a blade than what level he acquired in even such as Math Blaster.<br /><br />For his first project, he and Tool Guy settled on a bedside table in my honor, considering that a piano bench overflowing with my audiobooks, earbuds, and other multi-media accoutrement such as accompanies my night-time knitting excursions needs some help. Tool Guy did the <a href="http://homerenovations.about.com/od/toolsbuildingmaterials/a/artripwood.htm">ripping</a>, but Bug did the rest. The centerpiece tool to this entire project was a commercial <a href="http://www.thefreedictionary.com/jig">jig</a>--doncha just love all of the lingo? Just wait until I start elaborating on <a href="http://www.google.com/imgres?imgurl=http://www.kennebectimberframing.com/images/joinery/Housed-Mortise-Tenon-with-reduction.jpg&imgrefurl=http://www.kennebectimberframing.com/timber-frames/joinery&h=443&w=500&sz=48&tbnid=FKosyaOESCvSzM::&tbnh=115&tbnw=130&prev=/images%3Fq%3Dmortis%2Band%2Btenon%2Bimage&hl=en&usg=__63XNsXrrm1L-rbGFmG46vD5zU0w=&ei=jYn3SbfXOaONtgef7JG6Dw&sa=X&oi=image_result&resnum=1&ct=image">mortises and tenons</a>--which produces a superior assembly, both in strength and ease of execution. Within a surprisingly short period of time, Bug proudly presented me with a night stand that he had designed. Tool Guy assisted in dimensioning, but Bug's rough sketch of what he wanted still graces the wall of Tool Guy's shop. Bug sanded, assembled, stained, and shellacked this table. Amazing.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTnw6gvqbxXqfBMYAgVn0CwRvRwjLblztovoEWigs_Snc52ZOTE0z6ZnoeIflMke68CxnVBajTHo05b-6xq8I-NteBc_TLTF4a-d4P6poQvQojbKaCnargPUI_X9jKjmgEXbWtU9SE6A8/s1600-h/bugstable.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTnw6gvqbxXqfBMYAgVn0CwRvRwjLblztovoEWigs_Snc52ZOTE0z6ZnoeIflMke68CxnVBajTHo05b-6xq8I-NteBc_TLTF4a-d4P6poQvQojbKaCnargPUI_X9jKjmgEXbWtU9SE6A8/s320/bugstable.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5330890143766932514" /></a><br /><br />And when, proud papa that he is, Tool Guy flashed pictures of this table around as if it were Bug's baby pictures, Bug received his first commission to produce some bedroom furniture at some point for one of the mom's in our homeschooling co-op. Tool Guy and Bug were both so buoyant about its success that they decided to write to the jig manufacturer and wax enthusiastic about its merits and applaud them for marketing such a useful and efficient tool that even an eight year old could use to build quality furniture.<br /><br />The response was surprising. On Thursday evening after trudging in late from a long day of homeschooling co-op, we were greeted at the door by a UPS package. I twitted Tool Guy, Mr. UPS-At-My-Door-Everyday, yet again for yet another internet order from his favorite jig company, but he declared himself innocent. And indeed, he was innocent. <span style="font-style:italic;">This</span> time...don't kid yourself. The package turned out to include a warm letter of thanks for Bug's initial letter and pictures of his project. The letter asked that Bug consider building another project using the tool kit in the package, which was their latest incarnation of Tool Guy's favorite jig, and document the project for them.<br /><br />The pair were beside themselves with excitement and acceded to my suggestion that we needed a new medicine cabinet for the bathroom and the project began in earnest. Meanwhile, the company PR rep was not idle. Shortly after the cabinet was finished and the last pictures and video clips were sent off to them, we received a phone call from the local paper wanting to schedule an interview with Bug. Heady stuff for an eight year old, no?<br /><br />In addition to teaching Bug lessons about addition et al, this project has taught him a multitude of other things. Craftsmanship, creativity, a sense of self-confidence, and self-sufficiency. I want my children to learn that they can do whatever they set their minds to and not remain at the mercy of what the market provides. I think it was Bug who, when I was applying make-up one day and commented that I was almost out of a particular cosmetic, responded with, "Guess you'll have to make some more." Heh. But that's really the message that I want them to carry. If they can dream it, they can make it.<br /><br />They can even make it if someone else dreams it. (Just don't sell it, alright?) One of the banes of Breatharian eating is the expense. Even the commercial preparations that are compliant with the diet are hideously...nay, exorbitantly...dare I say, usuriously expensive. Granny discovered this when she volunteered to underwrite providing the Hobbits with such commercial treats as they could have. She failed to reckon with the rising cost of food and the rising amount of such food that the Hobbits could consume. Quickly she cried, "Uncle!" and agreed to underwrite the ingredient purchases if I would do some cooking dangerously and reverse engineer the treat. It was an immediate hit. It has been requested to be part of our travel package when we do a road trip later this summer.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;"><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Grainless Granola Bars</span></span><br /><br />Base "dough"<br /><br />1/2 cup baking or whole dates<br />1/2 cup raisins<br />1/4 cup amaranth<br />1 T maple syrup<br />1/4 tsp. salt<br />1 cup seeds or chopped nuts (pumpkin seed and sunflower seed pictured)<br /><br />Run ingredients through food processor or blender until blend incorporates into a ball.<br /><br />Into the base dough, press 1 cup total of pumpkin, sunflower, sesame seed, walnuts, pecans, or any preferred seed/nut or any combination thereof. Princess is inclined to a pumpkin/sunflower seed combination, while Dog and Bug favor walnut. The seeds/nuts can be pressed into the dough with a fork or scraper, but I decided to let my machines to the muscle and used the dough hook on my Kitchen Aid. When the seeds/nuts are fully incorporated into the base dough, pull off approximately 1-2 T of the mixture and press into the bottom of a muffin form. This amount of ingredients yields about 12 granola bars. Alternatively, press the whole mixture into a pan and slice into bars.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLMF2DZvENH5nJnePhIlLOo1-U7dpIqUrraQzuu_AMloKXLV5HUFeAjVs_9YO5-b_iTD5MSSGMIIsnfQkuR_lqTl3Qn1A4hAnwCQP2t4JJvSBt9WRv4ZwtehsIRFTC7IChkZ40CKIOG04/s1600-h/bugthebuilder.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 216px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLMF2DZvENH5nJnePhIlLOo1-U7dpIqUrraQzuu_AMloKXLV5HUFeAjVs_9YO5-b_iTD5MSSGMIIsnfQkuR_lqTl3Qn1A4hAnwCQP2t4JJvSBt9WRv4ZwtehsIRFTC7IChkZ40CKIOG04/s320/bugthebuilder.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5324349443578429442" /></a><br /><br />Bug told the reporters, "I like it. And I'm good at it." On such things hinge significant things...a sense of math, a sense of accomplishment, and a sense of direction. And quality time with Dad. Doesn't get much better than that.Loztnaustenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17629800078798930455noreply@blogger.com8