I Sent You a Patrol Car, a Boat, and a Helicopter

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.

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 Biking buddies have offered and then rescinded.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.

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.

Herbal Eye Pillow

2 T dried lavender
2 T dried roses
1 T dried rosemary
1/2 t sassafras bark
2 stem's of mugwort, dried, destemmed, and crushed
1 cup white rice

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.

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.

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.

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:

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.

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 God was going to save him.

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.

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?"

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.

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."

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.

There and...

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."

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.

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 chicken strips and shoestring fries, which have been favorites in our kitchen for longer than I would have imagined possible, and would dive into the day with relish.

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 just 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.



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 kombucha 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 Hormel Natural roast beef, the only lunch meat that I've found corn-free. (The roast beef is the only Hormel Natural that is corn-free.) Slowly, I started constructing a plan to cover my bases.



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.

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.



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, Stocking Up, and The Ball Blue Book 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.

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.



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.

On the road again.