FRIDAY AFTERNOON DEBACLE

Friday afternoon, Mike sauntered into the living room and inserted a new log into the little wood stove to keep the fire burning. Ordinarily we would expect no problem with that. We were getting ready to leave the house for a walk, but I was busy and we were delayed in leaving. It was a good thing, too, because the little stove commenced to smoke. A sudden windstorm was sending gusts hurtling down the chimney, and the resulting downdraft caused the fire to smolder. Smoke curled slowly but steadily through any crack it could find.

What to do, what to do?? First we yelled instructions at one another and then we propped open both the front and back doors. The little stove continued to belch smoke while the wind gusted wildly and . . . well, I digress to remind you that I’m not a good housekeeper, but that doesn’t mean that I wanted all this dirt in my house. Papers flew off the kitchen counter onto the floor while dirt and leaves hurtled across the floor.

 

“Can’t we put some paper in the stove and get the fire to burn?” I suggested.

“We could but I’m afraid to open the stove door,” Mike replied. “It will just put more smoke into the house.”

Really, at that point I couldn’t see that more smoke would matter. We already had plenty. About that time, the smoke alarm in the dining area went off, adding to the sense of urgency I was feeling.

Mike grabbed the ladder and climbed to the roof to see if he could shield the chimney and cause the stove to draw. That worked – and so I tossed some wadded newspaper into the stove to encourage the fire to burn and also added a small stick of wood. We were successful in our efforts to reverse the downdraft, and it was safe enough for Mike to come off the roof, but the wind had blown the ladder over, stranding him up there. I managed to replace it – difficult because of the wind.

And then it was time for Mike to go to the gym and so I took the dogs for their walk. Here are pictures of that day. KW

NO CAPTION NECESSARY

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