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.

Things That Go Cough In the Night

Elecampagne Plant

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.

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.

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 might be considered "summer"...is yielding sky high mold counts. So I'm breaking out all of my big guns to deal.

Our first line of defense is a neti pot. 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 is really pretty good about putting up with my whack-job remedies.

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.




Mullein

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.



Coltsfoot*

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.

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.



Elecampagne Flower

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.

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.


*Peterson's Field Guide to Medicinal Plants and Herbs has this to say about coltsfoot:
"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

Chickens Coming Home To Roost

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 really 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!

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 do 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.

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.

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 that plan.

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.

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.

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.

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 must have been watching. It was a popcorn-worthy event. Or sorghum 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.

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.

Chocolate Chip Bean Flour Cookies

1/2 cup palm shortening
1 tsp salt
1/2-1 cup maple syrup
2 tsp. vanilla
2 eggs
1 tsp. guar gum
1 tsp. baking soda
1/4 cup tapioca starch
1/4 cup potato starch
1 1/2 - 2 cups cup bean flour
1 cup Enjoy Life chocolate chips

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?

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.

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.

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 unnecessary setbacks because I'd not yet learned to wait. But it's happening, though. All the chickens are coming home to roost.

I'm stalking bananas next.

Redeeming the Bread

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...

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.

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 possible 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?

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.

Redemption Muffins

2 cups of flopped bread dough
1 cup pear butter or apple sauce
1 cup dry quinoa flakes
2 t cinnamon
1 T vinegar
1 t baking soda

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.

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 cane vinegar, 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.

Mix ingredients and pour into muffin molds, baking at 350* for 30 minutes.

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...