GOING . . . GOING . . .

Here's a picture of our neighborhood taken recently from Mary Jane's backyard. As you can see, she has a fantastic view of the hills. She says when she moved here 20+ years ago,  there were very few houses. Our house is the yellow one to the left of center. And you can see that when I took the picture, the poplar tree by the driveway was still there.

 Mike planted that poplar when we moved here – ten years ago this coming fall – to provide instant shade. It did that – and then some. But other slow-growing trees have now grown to the point where they benefit us and this tree proved to be quite messy in the fall.

I was relieved when Ken said he would help Mike cut down the tree. If Ken doesn’t help, then I’m the assistant, and I’m not that good. Instead I baked cookies for the workers, a chore more suited to my talents. First step (above right) -- discussion ensues. 

Say, how do you work this thing anyway? (above left)

 

Now we're getting it. (right)

Hope we don't hit the neighbors house -- and we didn't. Well, we almost didn't. No harm done. Whew!

It wasn’t quite as warm as predicted – 59 instead of 64 – and fortunately they finished this project before it rained.

And now it's gone -- but not forgotten. There's still clean up to be done.

Other news: Our Gilbert neighbor called this afternoon to say that June's field sloughed into the lane and dammed it, which caused a wash-out. As we say here: It's always something. KW

SIGNS OF SPRING

Is it spring yet? We’re seeing highs at 60 and above. The forecast shows that temps over the next ten days will be in the 50s or low 60s with Saturday at 64. When Mike saw that he hastened to call Ken, and they made plans to remove the locust tree that is now overgrown and a nuisance. Trust me – it will be back, and that’s okay, too. This is not an area where trees grow easily.

Suddenly my winter coat is too warm and so is the quilt on the bed. Of course, that’s only temporary. We don’t put them away until after the Fourth of July.

 

I hear new bird voices every day. The crocus, just peeking through last week, are now pushing their buds through the soil. The dogs have spring fever and are harder to manage. And on Sunday, daylight saving time begins.

It might be another month before we visit the farm. The melting snow and the rain make mud, and that’s altogether worse than the snow. Still, I look forward to being where the dogs can play outside in a big yard without constant supervision. (Bess, especially, isn’t trustworthy.)

Sunday afternoon, Mike took Bess and Nellie on a hike, and it only takes once to reinforce a positive experience. The next afternoon Bess vocalized plenty to Mike as he sat at his desk. Just to be sure she didn’t need to go out, he opened the door. No, that wasn’t it. Back to the office they went where Bess continued to express her opinion about Mike’s lack of interest in her agenda. Nellie feigned disinterest but her eyes were open and occasionally her ear twitched.

“Not now -- I’m busy!” I heard Mike say.

“eee-ower,” Bess said. (Human syllables are inadequate to express canine language.)

Mike really didn’t want to take the dogs for a hike, so instead, we loaded them in the pick-up and headed up the Snake River beyond Asotin to look for a geocache which we didn’t find. Then we let the dogs out to run in the wildlife area. . .

. . .and that’s where we were when I took the pictures of the sun playing on the hills. So beautiful – so March. KW

  

TUDOR UPDATE: FIRST NIGHT (SORT OF)

Nick and Hallie have been working hard to get their outdated Tudor in shape so that they can move in. I'm following their progress from a distance. Here's the update Hallie sent today:

"We spent two nights--Friday and Saturday. We didn't get the shower up until late last night, so we haven't used the shower yet. We had to take baths, which was kind of hard with the crummy little low-flow faucet that was on there. The new faucet is great!

"I was a little worried about ghosts and critters, but the house is VERY quiet. It is hard work and it's disappointing and frustrating that progress is so slow. We had a good time in the, 'Gee isn't it going to be great when we're done?' kind of way. It's meaningful to do this ourselves and to be proud of it, but we're both sore and tired.

"Nick has been working at the house in the day--he's there now sanding away (he sent a photo text of him covered in dust saying 'almost done with sanding...'). I go there every day after work and he goes home if he has homework, but quite often he stays and works with me until 9 or 9:30."

[There's something about a renovation project that sparks the imagination, even as we might give thanks that it's them and not us.] 

POTATOES

Over at the resort, Hallie asked her Aunt Chris how to make hash browns. She knows better than to ask me -- her mother. At the age of nine I was chubbier than my mother liked and she asked a doctor to put me on a diet. At that time, fried foods were immediately dropped from the family diet, never to return. Among my food virtues, I eschew fried food. Among my food vices – well, you know.

Anyway, this isn’t exactly about hash browns, but it is about potatoes. My mother would slice potato into a frying pan, cook with a little onion, and when served, I remember the potatoes as delicious, but Mother never fixed them after the big diet began. Once I tried to fix potatoes this way after I was married with failing results. I never tried again.

Then I ran across a book some years back, Little Heathens: Hard Times and High Spirits on an Iowa Farm during the Great Depression, by Mildred Armstrong Kalish (Bantam Dell, 2007). I bless Mrs. Kalish for this book, which explains so many of my parents’ practices – just the way they managed life. In a chapter titled “Farm Food,” she included the following method for frying potatoes:

“In a large heavy-bottomed skillet – I recommend a cast-iron one – place two or three tablespoons of vegetable oil, heat to very hot, and add fresh, thinly sliced potatoes. Of course, on the farm we used tasty bacon fat. If you want to live dangerously, go ahead. Now sprinkle coarse salt and freshly ground black pepper on them. Stand by with a long-handled pancake turner. Don’t touch them until they are nicely browned on the bottom – about ten minutes. At this point, gently scoop the slices up and deposit them upside down into the skillet. When they are crisp and brown, serve immediately. These are a special treat.”

And there it was! -- Mother’s method of frying potatoes. And I agree with Mrs. Kalish – they were a special treat. I think the secret is to give them plenty of time to cook before turning. I suspect the bacon grease, which my parents also used in the ‘50s, is another secret.

We ate potatoes a lot as I grew up, most frequently boiled and mashed on one’s plate with butter, salt and pepper. I never boil a potato. Occasionally, Mother baked potatoes, which is my preferred method, and my dad boiled and mashed potatoes only for special occasions. Those were wonderful, too – real potatoes boiled and mashed smooth with real butter and perhaps a little cream. KW

ANOTHER MOVIE NIGHT

“Go see The Monuments Men,” said the message from Hallie. “Don’t read reviews, don’t talk to anyone. Just go see it.”

“But we’re watching the Olympics,” I wrote back. And I didn’t like to confess that we would be watching the Olympics for as long as they continued. We set the DVR to record each and every Olympics program, and with each day we were falling further behind.

Mike might have “fast forwarded” through the figure skating and ice dancing but tolerated it for my sake. On the other hand, I had to leave the room during “short track” speed skating which I found tedious to watch. In fact, I left the room quite a bit during the Olympics because I don’t celebrate the Olympic spirit when athletic endeavors might result in disability or even death. Athletics is one thing; taking deliberate chances is another. Also, as fascinating as races might be, I can’t remember the outcome, and that makes it a waste of time.

Anyway, Hallie followed-through on her suggestion the last week. “Have you seen The Monuments Men yet?” she queried.

“We’re still watching the Olympics,” I wrote back, hoping that I was keeping a certain tone of incredulity out of my voice.

 

Well, the Olympics have been over since last Sunday, but we still have programming to watch. I think we’re both tired of it, though. We’re beginning to watch other programs.

And last night, we did see The Monuments Men, which we enjoyed. Anytime the storyline is World War II, you know it will bring out issues and you’ll see the demise of characters you care for, but the theme of this movie was the importance of art to the history of a people and to civilization in general. The movie shows that much was saved through the efforts of a few men who cared. But, sadly, we know that so much was also displaced or destroyed.

By the way, there were about twenty cars in the theater parking lot and four of us watched this movie. I would not like to own this movie theater. We’re probably lucky that The Monuments Men was even shown in our community. KW

[The pictures depict the February sky over the last several weeks here in the Lewis-Clark Valley.]

CLEARING OUT

This winter I’ve been focused on clearing out – using up what’s on hand and replacing with fresh if need be. It’s amazing how things just sorta sit in the cupboard getting old, and it happens all through the house if I’m not on my toes.

Some things get old gracefully and it doesn’t matter if we hoard them. Case in point: candles. My mother was a candle hoarder and I guess I inherited that tendency from her. In fact, I still have some of her candles on the farm. I suspect Mother kept some candles as an emergency precaution against the time when she might be without electricity, and candles should always be part of our readiness plan. But rotation is good is every aspect of life, and this year I’m using my candles – tea candles, votive candles, pillars, tapers, jar candles, and decorative candles. I’ve made good progress in using up what I have on hand, and I will replace them.

Other things get old, too. My towels are rags before I part with them – likewise my sheets. Let’s not even talk about the underwear drawers. Then there’s Mike’s wardrobe. Identifying a box of rags in the attic years ago, Clint remarked that for Mike they would be everyday clothes.

More important is the food. I like to have staples on hand, but sometimes they stay on the shelf longer than I realize. This winter I’ve paid attention to expiration dates on cans and packages as I cook, and I’ve also researched my supplies and planned meals around goods that need to be used. I’ve combined partial packages of baking chips and dried fruits in cookies, and I’ve tossed a few things.

 

It’s amazing what gets old. I found a tube of toothpaste on the farm with an expiration of 2008. (I used it anyway – shhhhh.) But the winner is the jar of “IcyHot.”

Mike tweaked his back last week and when that happens, he asks me to massage it, and this time he made a new request – rub in IcyHot.

“I bet that stuff expired 25 years ago,” I said.

“1991,” he read from the bottom of the jar. We laughed –and used it anyway. He said he felt some “iciness” from it and my hand felt “icy,” but I suspect its effectiveness isn’t what it was prior to 1991. Yes, it’s on my grocery list. KW

[Photos: Nellie learned long ago that Mike drops Sugar Babies and peanuts on the floor in the pantry and volunteered to keep it clean. It's a job she performs at least once a day -- usually while I cook supper. If the pantry door is closed, she waits patiently for me to open it.]