Now this could be the name of a basement band, but it’s not.
Yesterday the Jones boys, our summertime adventure companions, Andy and I went to get Chris from Becky Osborne’s dairy farm. Since 4 hours of hard soccer running wasn’t enough to tire him totally, he logged a few more hours helping Becky with afternoon chores. Afternoon chores on a dairy farm are a lot more strenuous than those in my kitchen or laundry room. Pulling out of the driveway, one of the boys/men spoke “coyote” and all eyes went searching to the large field across the road. Sure enough, a monster of a animal was making his way across the open field, trotting with all confidence and ease. Much discussion ensued, several cars passed, more talk, and more lapses in traffic than we left open to watch the coyote command the field.
I think we have a promotion here. Yelling “Roadkill!” while traveling with a bunch of boys is fun and crazy and rivets all eyes on the most disgusting carcass that passes in 3 seconds. Now we have men who watch in long silence, size up the opponent, admire its strength, and conclude “I could take him” with the same confidence as the coyote that owns the field.
for all of you who are not aware of the subject matter discussed in these last few posts you will have to check out our friends’ blog “seasons and blessings”.
to begin let me point out to Mr Collignon that if I indeed did place the bench behind his new car ( which I did not ) that I would not be feeling guilty at the time of my post yesterday. If i accidentally scratched his car then i would feel guilty. if it was my intention to do so ( which it was not and i did not,) that would mean my plan worked and i would be happy! And as to this business of putting myself on trial, it seems I am being accused of being a criminal hooligan and i felt it necessary to defend myself. one last thing, i find it interesting to say the least, that the only other member of the so called “rebuketion committee ” ( by the way Doug you spelled it wrong,) has moved to the other side of the world. ether it is some kind of witness protection program or he was just trying to get far away from a particular someone.Hmmmm.
After reading about my alleged crime of vandalizing our “friends’”, the Collignons new car I feel it necessary to defend myself in the manner typical of a wrongly accused teenager. Before I begin let me remind you that in this country I am innocent until proven guilty.
1st : After an attempt was made on my life by Mrs. Collignon for no apparent reason, it occurred to me that she must be harboring some other form of contempt against me and therefore it makes sense that her husband would try to frame me in the so called “accident”.
2nd : While it is true that I am a soccer player, the bench that I frequent is located on the opposite side of the field.
3rd : I too noticed the precarious placement of the bench and wondered why the otherwise peaceful Collignons would try to damage Rocketvan by setting such a dastardly trap.
And lastly, it would be impossible for me in my state of near perfection to premeditate such an evil crime against humanity.
Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I leave you to determine the true villain in this case.
Now, it may seem as if the family blog has settled down for a long winter’s nap, too, but this is not true. Summer is in full swing: gardens, goats, concerts, young men up early for farm work, college co-ed home for two weeks, birthdays, trips to Massachusetts, wedding thoughts, home made ice cream, setting up elderberry tinctures and peaches, a few new recipes, guitars, violins, running, coyotes and even yellow algae in the pool round out the summer schedule that is keeping everybody engaged in something, and most time most of us are doing something together. We are having a wonderful summer together and even have a camera full of photos to remember it with. Hopefully, I will remember how to move those photos from camera to computer to tell the rest of the story.
As a child, both sets of grandparents lived within 3 miles of one another, and we lived within 10 miles of them. Every holiday was spent with both, each home offering its traditions. I think all my siblings remember the homemade vanilla ice cream that Grammy & Grampy Dwight would offer after Christmas dinner. Not at Thanksgiving, as that was the holiday for pies, but Christmas. Which was held at 4 p.m. year after year. Accompanying the vanilla wonder was your choice of either chocolate or strawberry sauce. I remember Grammy walking around with her chocolate sauce server, pouring it directly onto your dish, and the Revere ware pan that warms the sauce to the right consistency. Two Yankees watching over the sauce always, always produced the right consistency. (I think I really won out, as when I moved to Cincinnati and started living on my own, Gram gave me the Rosebud Chintz china, in which the beloved vanilla ice cream was served. And she gave it with the expectation I would use it daily, and not just keep it packed away for fancy dinners that never came often enough.)
I say all that to say this…tonight we made Gram’s vanilla ice cream in preparation for Mom’s 75th birthday celebration on Sunday. Although the ice cream turned out absolutely delicious, it was not nearly as sweet as the connectedness I felt to people who loved us richly and well not so many years ago.
For the last few years a huge patch of stinging nettle has grown up around half of the pool deck. It is troublesome to the boys when they are night manoeuvring around the compound with their buddies . It is a crop I eye for drying and using in winter tinctures, as it it rich in vitamin C and magnesium, but I only eye it. It is not pleasant to harvest. Actually, it is unpleasant to harvest. It reaches out to scratch and itch unsuspecting kids who are heading to the garden and goats. Until today, it was an unwelcome guest.
Did you know a stalk of nettle can be laid on your counter top, or hung in your kitchen to dry, and the flies of summer will vacate? Today I was working with watermelon, cookie dough and turkey sandwiches and noticed our first batch summer flies landing. Chris brought me a 12″ piece of nettle, I placed it on the counter, and the flies clear out. Totally. Immediately. Surprisingly.
So nettle has been promoted to unwelcomed guest to a good neighbor, especially in time of need. And thanks to Chris for his hours of reading Outdoor Life magazines, which brought you and me this summer survival tip.
Yesterday a third chicken, White Setter, decided she must have a clutch of eggs and a nest over which to brood. She took up residency next to the Buff Orphington, and together they sat, silently, waiting through the hot coop on a hot day. One nest is due any day now, and White Setter has just begun her 21 day journey.
Last night, all the eggs were removed from White Setter, with us thinking “we do not need any more chicks!” and “we would like all those eggs!” Wearing elbow-length fire repellent gloves, Dale removed White Setter, took her eggs, and plopped her back down.
Also last night White Setter attempted to climb in her neighbor’s box, and brood over her neighbor’s eggs. Apparently, the mothering instinct is strong. She was most unwelcome and a lot of chicken warnings were issued.
So, White Setter has been reinstated in her nest with one beautiful brown egg, totally hers to guard and bring to fruition. And in 20 days, she will be rewarded.
While Donna was blueberry picking in Ancram us boys were enjoying nature on our own private islanad at Saranac Lake. A weekend of canoeing, campfires, beautiful scenery, and time with some of our favorite people; what could be better? The pictures tell the story.
While the boys are camping in Saranac Lake, I choose the remote destination of Ancram, New York for a similar retreat to the country. Since I am enjoying the solitude time, interspersed with a grocery store trip, or chat with the neighbors, I decided to make this remote destination the spot for blueberry picking. Ancram, population 1650, seemed a safe place to stay quiet, pleasantly engaged about the work of the day, interruptions few. The blueberry farm, down a quiet country road, was waiting for me in my torn up shorts, pinned up hair and old sneakers.
Imagine my surprise when even before I had turned into my parking space, I heard, “It’s Donna Blue! Good morning!” nice and loud and clear and happy. Some one obviously didn’t get the seclusion memo, but that was all fine, as it was Jeanine, Al and Aleida, three of the freshest faces one could meet.
Next time I plan on a quiet destination, I think NYC might work.
Cooking is energizing if you have some one to do it for, and someone to enjoy it with. Otherwise, cooking is pretty unnecessary.
Eating, although necessary, does not need to involve much cooking, as evidenced by my menu today. Breakfast: milk,egg, (both raw), maple syrup, cinnamon and vanilla in a blender. Zip. 10 minutes max start to finish. Lunch: open a box of soup, some green beans from the garden, a slice of bread, some cheese and half a carton of blueberries. No cooking here. Kombucha mid-afternoon, and now I’m looking at dinner . Perhaps garlic wonton soup and a pepsi from the local Chinese food joint. Pitiful.
How am I getting away with such abandonment of the kitchen? Dale and the boys are enjoying a camping adventure with the Angell men for a few days, and their rations are with them. I have three days of solitude, my primary companions being the cat, the goats and chickens. Since they live on cans of stuff, grain and hay, my kitchen requirements are light.