Punkin Season

No, I am not in New York. I know everyone is in New York. Life has been so awfully real in the last few years that Rhinebeck hasn't been what it once was for me. In the very beginning, it was Meg and Gene in sweaters I had knit for them, Dan dragged along for the ride, and a few barns and a couple of tents of things I had never seen before. There were no crowds, no lines, and it was a small slice of heaven for me, really. I am at my core a simple person with simple values who prizes small and undiscovered above all. That was a long time ago, before books, weddings, and grandbabies. Maybe next year, or maybe not - it depends on when this next book launches, I think.

But it is still autumn in New England - my New England, the one I've known since I was a pup. The colors change, the tourists come and take a gander, and clog up route 91 with their craning necks and indecisive speeds. Should we go fast? Should we go slow? Or can we just not make up our minds?

This week I spent a fair amount of time just being "in" autumn, as I prefer to know it. Girl and I went for apples in a local hill town, and made a splendid apple butter. I bought sweet pie pumpkins. I shredded and pounded ten pounds of cabbage into the Harsch for future sauerkraut. Tonight I chopped up an apple, added some extras, and stuffed a pumpkin. I am calling it dessert. Want to see?

Now, want to know what's in it? Ok, I'll tell you.

First, cut the top off of a tiny sweet pumpkin or two, and hull it/them with their tops. Then combine the following in a small bowl:

1 tart apple, cored and chopped
2T brown raisins
1 quite small sweet potato, peeled and chopped (about a half a cup when all's said and done)
2T brown sugar
1/4 cup apple butter (substitute 1/4 cup of applesauce plus a bit each of cardamon, cinnamon, clove and allspice)
2T butter cut into small pieces

Oil the outside of the pumpkin, including the top, with your choice of high-temperature oil (I chose peanut). Fill with the apple mixture, packing a bit as you go. Leftovers here went into a buttered custard cup to cook, but you can do what you will with them, if there are any. Place the top on the oiled, filled fruit and roast in a 375 degree oven for about an hour, or until the side of the pumpkin is easily pierced with a fork. Remove from the oven and allow to cool a bit - so it is still warm, but not too hot for what comes next!

Scoop some of the pumpkin stuffing and a bit of pumpkin meat into a dessert bowl. Top with rich, creamy premium vanilla ice cream. EAT ALL OF IT!

Happy Harvest, and may God smile on you as much as He's smiling on me!

Seeing is Believing

Well. I almost have a heckuva kitchen. You may remember that I had this kitchen about 15 months ago:

(Be aware: if I come to look at your house and I eventually buy it, I will post pictures from various showings on my blog, with all your stuff in them. Also if you look at a house with that many microwaves and toaster ovens? CHECK THE MAJOR APPLIANCES!)

What is not evident in the images is that the wood was in horrible condition in many places, rotted in some, worn beyond repair in others. The appliances, original to the house, were not great - although they did turn on and off - and sometimes without anyone pushing a button or turning a knob. The cabinets were not really functional for modern living, and certainly not for a cook. I think that this kitchen was a bit of a space age, TV dinner sort of a thing really. But I don't live that way, and for me this kitchen was just really intolerable. Kitchen snob: I am it!

Then I had this kitchen which I felt I had for entirely too long:

Then very (very) briefly I had this kitchen:

And then this kitchen:

which turned out to be a big old failed attempt to retain some of kitchen one in a misguided attempt to save money and resources.

Last but not least, I had this kitchen:

Definitely not a big favorite, except that it paved the way for the kitchen I have now. Because now I have a totally different kitchen, which is not quite yet ready for a full reveal. But trust me, it's amazing!

I have also had, for a long time now, a microwave cabinet of forgotten origin. You see it up there in a fair number of those images. I remember that it cost me all of about $100, and I know I bought it specifically for use in our old-old house during our kitchen remodel there. Thanks to a slick real estate deal I was able to double my money on a piece of land by selling it back to the original owner for twice the price I paid. Long story - just never sell a piece of land you think you might be attached to, or you'll find yourself buying it back for a lot of money. Anyway, I used the profit to invest in our old-old house - I had both kitchen and bath completely redone. At the time we still had kids at home, and we lived for a few weeks out of this microwave cabinet. It housed a microwave (who saw that coming?), toaster, and coffee pot along with lots of paper plates and utensils, bread, and peanut butter. And coffee. Lots of coffee.

Since then it's served us around the house(s) in a variety of ways. It has been used to hold video game systems along side it's junior sibling - who is identical in all but size. It has housed craft supplies. It was used by Mr. W to hold his cycling DVD's and two small televisions for when he rode on his bike trainer in the basement. It eventually became the island in my 1950's kitchen nightmare, and then most recently was again put into use as part of a temporary kitchen during this latest kitchen update.

I have loved it's usefulness, but it's appearance has left me pretty flat for some time now. I preferred it hidden in finished basements or craft rooms. It's junior sibling, for example, holds my primary sewing machine so that I can sew while standing up - a boon for ye old sciatic nerve problem. Out of public view, it does not offend. But in public view...well, I guess maybe I am just over it. Love, love the butcher block top, but over the unfinished exterior and the big blocky handles and drawer pull. So I decided that in order to continue to use it in the new kitchen (it makes a great island!) it would need a serious face lift. Initially I tried staining it the same color as the cabinets, which proved to be a hideous fail. The color wasn't a match at all and - worst of all - the stain clashed pretty violently with the aged and heavily treated butcher block top.

I started with a splotchy and brush-stroke-laden coat of the gray paint I'd used previously on the old cabinets we tried to salvage - Benjamin Moore Satin Impervo. I liked that color a lot - I think it's a Martha color, Chinchilla, which handily can be dumped into any Ben Moore paint. The neutrality of it would, I thought, work well in the kitchen again. Then I distressed the gray with a series of power and hand tools. Specifically, I beat the hell out of it with, in no particular order: a pair of scissors, an ax, a wire bristle brush, and my little DeWalt random orbit sander. Then I covered the whole thing with a brown glaze using a sample of brown paint left from Girl's wedding birdhouses and a jar of Martha Stewart glaze. I brushed that with a Martha Stewart wavy graining brush, being sure to go out of my way to get as much effect and odd layering as possible, but no waving. I just wanted the brush strokes and the removal of excess that this tool offered. Once that dried I coated the whole thing with Zar Ultra Max waterborne polyurethane; another leftover from a previous project. Waste not, want not!

And now I love it. I wish the butcher block was squared and not rounded. That's my only complaint.

It's neutral, distressed, abused, and has me written all over it. I love the rudely and roughly filled holes, the sand marks, the chips from the ax, and the lovely uneven brown glaze.

In the middle of this amazing new kitchen, surrounded by perfect cabinets and pristine flooring and appliances, it somehow fits right in. Just don't look too closely at the underside of that butcher block. I may have gone a little nutty...

Now, to find perfect knobs and pulls. Ideally I want something salvaged and old, maybe from a dresser, and with that in mind I stopped in at Fat Chance today on my way home from the Depot (where I procured a host of items ranging from silicone caulk to one ivy plant for that rejuvenated Crock Pot that works and still has it's cord but for now I've decided is a planter and is that a run-on sentence or what?):

I didn't find knobs. But I did find things to amuse me:

An adorable copper fondue set! It has forks, and even an old Sterno ad tucked inside.

Bunnies! Primitive bunnies missing body parts but needing love.

The new kitchen counter top doesn't come for days and days. Between now and then I can work on a book,  install the dishwasher, plan a baby shower, and make some newborn diapers for said baby. And try not to count the minutes before I can give you a tour of the whole kitchen, and explain how, on a budget resembling a shoestring, I managed to get a whole new kitchen in a matter of about 5 weeks. It's a good story, I promise!

Bed of Nails

Spent the morning tangoing with this... :

 (I did this one all by myself!)

which turned out to be the easy version of this... :

(I did not do this one by myself!)

a sheet of plywood sub-floor with enough nails to hold down a double wide in a tornado. The whole floor looked like this - nails, nails, nails, everywhere nails, in all shapes and sizes and styles and types. Everywhere. Nails. Mr. Wonderful pried the sheets up a little at a time, and I grabbed pieces as they came loose and held tension on them as high as I could from the sub-sub-floor so he could better position the pry bar for another round of tug o' war. As each sheet came slowly and gradually up, I found myself grappling to find a place to put my hands that didn't involve nails - hard to do when the nail-side is down, and my eyeballs are up. Once a sheet was free we carried it out of the house. Then it was lather, rinse, repeat until all sub-floor was removed.

We had visions of the "bed-of-nails-mouse-trap-effect" (use your imagination) described by a contractor friend, but managed to avoid it (Thank you, Father!). The most interesting moment came when I was holding tension on a sheet while Mr. W. pried on the opposite side. It was a tricky one; oddly shaped and resistant, so he told me to "go ahead and let it down" for a minute so we could rest and regroup - which I would have cheerfully done, because they are not easy to hold up when the forces of a million-billion nails (in a million-billion shapes and sizes and types...) are pulling them back to earth. But I couldn't let go without risking a partial mouse trap effect from knee to foot. Two of the nails had become stuck through my jeans, and had been scraping my leg with every movement. I hadn't mentioned it because I thought we'd have the sheet up and out in a few more tugs of the pry bar. One slip and I would have had nails embedded in my thighs just above the knee. Mr. W. was himself on the other side of the sheet of ply in such a way that he could not come around to assist. Eventually I managed to extract the denim from the nails, and let the sheet down for a minute before we resumed. Certainly an experience to add to the list of experiences we had at our first house (aka "hell house") and the new list we've begun compiling here. Based on the number of nails first in the cabinets and now in the sub-floor, Mr. W. has taken to calling it "Zombie Apocalypse House", as in "the builder thought one was coming any day, and wanted to be prepared".

Then we did some other little bits, much cleaning, and some temporary taping in of fixtures for visual support as we move through this. It's better to decide now that those recessed cans over the breakfast bar should be a little further back than to realize it after they're installed!

We won, in the end. And to reward ourselves we went to the fair for supper. Because nothing says "balanced diet" like real, skin-on french fries with vinegar and salt and ketchup, kettle corn, and lemonade, consumed while watching people, rides, and horse pulls. The sad part is that I did this - stuffed my freezer full of healthy meals so we would not end up living on popcorn until our kitchen is done.

(speaking of apocalypse...how long do I think this kitchen will take, anyway?)

But who can resist the excuse of no kitchen to trot off to a fair and eat garbage for an evening? Between raw dog food and freshly killed chicken for people and meals ready to thaw and eat, I am officially declaring myself done with tomatoes. See this? Going to the chickens, every last fruit (excluding the corn), first thing in the morning.

I am completely out of freezer space. There's bags and bags of the things already in there, taking up space. They should be canned and processed and in the basement in tidy jars by now. But with an incomplete kitchen, that isn't going to happen until months from now. Frustrating, but it's just the way things will be. The fridge is stuffed with pickles (can't can those right now either) or I suppose I could make a whopping huge batch of salsa or something. Shame, but just the way it is. Figures that I have a bumper crop and no kitchen available.

Tomorrow I swim, leaving Mr. W here to finish off some kitchen things, and it may be the last swim for a week or two. On Monday things begin in earnest. Electricians and plumbers and cabinet deliveries, oh my! This means no kitchen, more or less at all, for the duration. As of tomorrow, dishes get done in the leaky bathtub on the other side of the house. Pray for me. I think I am gonna need it!

Blame it on the Rain

It's raining today, and I am trapped (?) inside. It's been very busy here this past week from lots of produce needing to be put up (without canning since there's no kitchen to speak of), to fabric emergencies (yes, they can happen!), to my relentless need for swim time. Refrigerator pickles, frozen tomatoes, and Eggplant Lasagna, oh my!

We slept badly last night, so slept in late this morning. I blame Yoshi. At around 3 am he woke abruptly when loud rumbles of thunder invaded his peaceful slumber, the poor darling. Never one to keep things to himself, he shared the news with a series of sharp barks and some rumbling of his own. Gene seemed to recover quickly, but I tossed and turned. And it'd taken forever to fall asleep in the first place.

'Sleeping in' here usually means 7:00 or 7:30, but this morning the dogs let us lay there until 8. I think the cloudy morning let time sneak up on them. I crawled forth from my bed craving a fried egg in the worst way. My feathered friends are pretty useless right now - the 'babies' are still not quite old enough to lay eggs, and the two older girls only spit out one egg every few days - not enough for reliable food stuffs. As a result I have been getting eggs from friends; friends with 12 kids who just inherited a farm and are now stretching their agricultural wings in more open spaces than ever before. Their garden is huge, they have a lovely flock of 50 layers, Barred Rocks, and they're hoping to add pigs or a cow next spring.

When your eggs come from a fledgling farm with 12 kids, you can get great surprises in your cartons. First, you might get someone's stash of double-yolkers, as a thank-you for services rendered - I took one of the boys for his drivers' test a week or so ago. Second, you get happy eggs. I mean REALLY happy eggs!

I smiled all through breakfast.

When I reduced the kitchen I managed to pack all the skillets. Don't ask me how I did this, because I really don't know. In a pinch last week making lunch for a friend I ran to the attic and retrieved one to make quesadillas. The good news, at least from the perspective of the egg-craving maniac I had become in the moment, is that I hadn't managed to get off my rounded duff and get the skillet back upstairs. So eggs it was - his n' hers.

I leave you to determine which belongs to whom. It may help you to know what's on the plates. To the right we have a large pile of braised spinach, half of a tomato, sliced, and one double yolked farm egg. On the left there's a leftover brat, sliced and fried, two eggs over medium, and "some kinda garnish..."

It was a nice and peaceful breakfast, which should have led me to believe something was coming. Nothing can be as easy as breakfast was today without some payment due at a later time. And that time came.

I stopped at my father's to grab Girl - Gerbil is doing some outdoor work for my dad on weekends. Keeps both of them out of trouble. We were heading to New Hampshire to a place called Fat Chance, which is one of my favorite places on earth, most of the time. Today was no exception. I found the perfect (if modern) pie safe there on Thursday but it had been sold to a dealer before I arrived (Reflections Country Collections in Winchendon, MA). I was shopping with a friend, and we were very excited over the piece. We didn't know it was sold, and were taking pictures to email to Mr. W for his approval when someone let us know it wasn't available. I was kind of sad. I'd been planning on buying some kind of pantry cabinet from Ikea to put on one wall of the kitchen, and the discovery of this pie safe meant something with a little more character instead. But I swallowed my disappointment as best I could. And then the very nice man suggested that maybe I could call these dealers and maybe work something out. And then the very nice lady (Nancy O'Conner of Handweaving by Nancy, in case you need any handwoven shawls or scarves for gifts this holiday season) who was twisting scarf fringe inside while tending the counter said the same thing. She sent me their information via Facebook, and I figured nothing ventured, nothing gained, right? So I asked them if we could make a deal.

And they said YES! I paid more than they paid, which I expected, but less than if they'd had to drag it back to Winchendon and clean it up for their showroom floor. And less than if I had to buy a new one and have it finished or finish it myself And I was very, very happy. It's not a small object by any means, but I was sure it would fit in my Rav, so I declined my father's offer of his truck for transport. I picked up Girl and we headed north to the wonderful world of pie safes, antique sewing tables, and barns full of books for a quarter (for such Fat Chance is) with plans to retrieve the furniture before heading deeper into New Hampshire for shopping. About a half an hour later we were headed south in an empty Rav. There was just no way the pie safe would fit. Adding insult to injury it was only off by a couple of inches; just barely too wide to fit. I called Mr. Wonderful. I think I sounded slightly - or possibly overwhelmingly - desperate. I don't know what it is about new furniture that can drive me to this kind of pathetic madness. It's like I become obsessed and MUST have the new thing NOW, and nothing short of NOW will do. Someone will sneak in and steal it? Someone will sell it a second time? I don't know. I just get all nervous and obnoxious and demanding (because I am not the rest of the time? Really?). Anyway, Mr. W agreed to meet me at my father's house, follow me back to New Hampshire in Dad's truck, retrieve the pie safe for delivery to our house, thereby allowing Girl and I to continue on our shopping trip.

When we got back to the house I immediately insisted it be moved inside, cleaned, and filled with items formerly in residence in the odd-pantry-closet in my kitchen - a closet that soon will be converted into something truly useful and logical - a coat and broom closet with shelves at the back to hide all those things you only use once a year but can't bear to part with, like Christmas platters and the big griddle!

And when the kitchen is finally done, against the entry wall will rest this - stuffed to the brim with essentials (and not a single pie!) like oats and black beans and raisins... and Teddy peanut butter in big tubs for filling the dog's Kong toys. Yoshi seems to think he needs a little something out of there now...

I have been obsessed lately with place mats and other things quilty. I made these recently. It started with the two nearest the dog and expanded from there.

And there's backs and batts cut out in my room to make four more Christmas ones, although maybe not all with that same tree motif. The trees are leftover from a table runner project I started last year and just finished. I got the idea from this Missouri Quilt Company video. I love Jenny's videos!



The others are scrappy place mats of my own design (if you can call it that) using leftovers from a quilt I never finished in the 1990's. I am going to teach Girl how to make them. I was thinking about doing a tutorial here on the blog, maybe a step-by-step, as I teach her what I do to make place mats. Then EVERYONE can make them! They are super easy, and use up lots of scraps and leftovers from previous projects.

For now I am going to go sit quietly, sip some cool water, maybe watch a movie and be grateful for the rain that's stopping me cold for a few hours. It's good to stop and sniff the roses now and then.

It Starts So Simply

Take Mr. W, for example. The man just wanted a nap. He come home from a hard day at the salt mines (nuclear plant, same thing) and just wants a little rest.

The boys miss their Daddy when he's gone all day, so they hop up for a snuggle. It's all sweet and happy and innocent.

But then it starts to change.

And before you know it there's a totally out-of-control melee in the middle of the bed, and poor Mr. W's nap has turned into a fit of grins and giggles as the boys completely lose it.

A free for all. All we really needed was the cat to make it complete, but he seemed to want nothing to do with the insanity.

Before you know it, they've worn themselves out, and it's back to normal - cuddle bug Bradley and aloof cat-like Yoshi on alert at the foot of the bed, watching out the window for squirrels and birds - lest they disturb daddy's peace and quiet, perhaps?

It's been that way with the kitchen project, too. 

One small thing starts off an avalanche of changes; some good, some bad, and all happening regardless of whatever brilliant plans we might have had in the beginning. And that's okay by me. God has a plan. I probably should have fewer, since His seem to work out better than mine. 

We've been here before, and it will all work out, and in the end it will be amazing. In fact, it's looking like it's going to be even MORE amazing than we'd anticipated! See, yet another reason why I should just stop making all these grand plans! I will miss these guys, my knotty pine pets. But it will be worth it in the end - you'll see!

I've been knitting a bit in my spare moments - those moments not consumed with kitchen design and swimming and dogs and planning my next book (What?!? Another book? Yes! Another book, but not for a year and a half, so no point in getting too excited just now!). A while ago we had an announcement of a most delightful nature presented to us in the most enjoyable way. In a kitchen full of people I love, just hanging out together and enjoying each other's company, I was handed an envelope and asked to open it and - if I could find the time - maybe make "some things" for the folks who handed me the envelope. "We don't need them right away - but in a few months..." they said. 

Can you guess what it might be, other than "stuff on my cat"? I'll give you a hint. The item on that cat is made from this pattern. (I used Northampton Bulky, if you're curious - one of my favorites, lots of good colors for this project, and snuggly warm to boot) And when I am done with this little project, I need to knit one of these - or maybe two, in case one gets lost? As Kathy pointed out, lost things of this nature can be catastrophic if there's attachment. So two of those, don't you agree? But identical to one another, just in case.

Today I got a special box from Meyer Hatchery. Seven little boys, all soft and fat and warm.

 

(browninsh Buff Brahmas, yellow Delawares and one big question mark in back)

Loud little peeping poop machines, really, but they are lovely to behold when tiny and wee. One is a bit of a non-performer and I don't think he will last the day. But that's par for the course, and I am not deterred. By fall I will be able to add roosters to my flock, and that makes me VERY happy!

I am so excited about the future and about life right now; watching things unfold and grow and happen around us and in front of us and to us. It's a pretty wonderful world, really! 

Oh, Bother

Most people who get a whole batch of hens by accident are happy. Not me!

When I ordered the layers this year I wanted some boys. I didn't want more than 15 hens going into winter. I don't want to feed them, and I don't have an egg market without a 40 minute drive, and I don't want to commit to driving 40 minutes once a week. I love my old customers, but the cost of gas and time just didn't level out against the number of eggs I could sell and the cost of grain. I needed to either get bigger, or get smaller. I choose smaller. But now here I am, and here's what I've got...girls. Lots and lots of girls.

I ordered 25 birds, straight run (which means boys and girls mixed), from Meyer Hatchery. I planned to keep one or two full sized roosters. I like having roosters around - they keep the hens happy and they provide valuable defense.  I ordered their "rare breed" assortment. When the birds started to grow I was a little surprised to discover that they considered Easter Eggers to be "rare". In fact, a closer look at their "rare" list indicates that I got, well, taken frankly. A lot of the birds on their "rare" list aren't particularly rare, and of course I got mostly common birds that I could get anywhere. But that's my fault - I didn't really read closely when I ordered.

What I did very closely note was the gender of the birds I ordered. I do know that I ordered straight run, and that straight run generally means about half roosters. But...unless something changes VERY soon it looks like I have maybe 3 roosters. How do I know? Two of the birds are crowing - a White Crested Black Polish, and this Buttercup - which is a horrible breed for New England's harsh winters with their eventually big floppy cup-shaped comb, so he's got to go. That's his "wife" behind him for comparison. By 16 weeks, there should be some clear differences between the boys and the girls, as you can see.

Not a peep from anyone else. One white bird, all snowy white with a big tall tail that appears to be a Leghorn (rare? White Leghorns? Really??) occasionally stretches it's head up like it's considering a crow, but it doesn't make a peep. Saddle feathers? None. Big red combs? Nada. Cape? Sickle tail? Color differences? Zip and zilch and nuttin'.

This messes me up. It messes with my plan. It damages my program. I am less than amused. Even if I could get some boys at this late date, I have to grow them out - which means I have to feed them AND all these blessed hens! I could cull - and probably will - all of the cute, charming, pretty birds, which is exactly what I did not want to do. I wanted some color. Now I will have to choose between the cuties and the actual producers - and faced with that choice, the farmer that lives in my brain kicks in and screams "KILL THE USELESS ONES!". I could re-home them - but having spent all that time, effort and MONEY rearing them, I at least want dinner out of the deal!

So, a hard lesson learned. Although we have had decent luck with Meyer until now, unless they can find a way to make me feel better about this, I'll have to find a new place to shop for baby birds come spring. Someone with Buff Brahams and Delwares, since apparently I have a TON of them - all girls! Most disappointing - I have recommended Meyer to a lot of people, and now I need to eat my words. Between the big losses of the meat birds, and this gender debacle, I can't recommend them now.

In other news, we've been working hard on our DIY kitchen makeover. The decision to paint all of the knotty pine cabinets was made rather abruptly one evening. Within a day or so I had convinced Gene, and forward we went with the project.

A lot of those young whippersnapper bloggers seem to think this is a "weekend project" Well, more power to them. Me, I am an old DIY-er from way back. I know that preparation is critical. I know that every extra minute spent sanding will reward me ten fold when the project is done. I know that every fume I inhale from a couple of coats of creepy chemical primer is well worth it.

And so I take my time, as much as I can. The hardest thing so far was covering up this guy or girl. I think girl. Vixen, I think, really.

 At first I actually outlined her with primer, giving her ears and a pointy nose. But in the end I did the grown up thing and primed right over her beautiful face. I'll always have the picture, right?

And last? MEET BRADLEY!

I don't think I introduced him here, although Yoshi mentioned him a while back.

Bradley is a 5 year old Golden Retriever, and we are thoroughly smitten - even Yoshi. He likes this brother. They get into trouble together, and raise all sorts of Cain. Observe:

They rough house just like normal dogs, and they eat raw food. Bradley came to us on a raw diet, and Yoshi decided it was only fair if he converted to raw so Bradley would not be disrupted.

Chicken, duck, beef, lamb and vegetables, with some eggs and yogurt now and then - they love it all.

And I love all of them. I am not sure what we were doing before Bradley came to us, but it wasn't as cool as this is!

Sweet Summertime

Here's the bullet - this summer really is a lovely one.

It's hot, which stinks. It rained a lot, and now there are a lot of mosquitoes, which also stinks. But here's the good news...

We have this amazing blessed life. We are really so blessed. Right now, in this moment, we are alive. We are here with the people we love. That is so huge. Doesn't get any better. Plus - 

The garden here grows like weeds. 

In fact, just about everything we drop in the ground just gets up and running, flowering and growing, with very little attention from me. I love that.

Meat grows well here, too, if a little more slowly than the last batch of Cornish Crosses. Freedom Rangers rock - they don't drop like flies in the heat, and they go outside on purpose to play. Today they are hovering near their fan, but occasionally a few will venture out into the heat in their fancy new yard. They are sucking down water like it's nothing. I'd get them an AC, but that seems extreme for food.

Third, batik scraps make excellent clothing. I also made a seersucker dress using the same pattern (Simplicity 2373, minus bias tape trim, which I got for a buck recently). It is too hot for clothing to touch my skin - unless it's light and cotton! 

Fourth, this is SALAD SEASON!  I’ve been trying some new-to-me salads out this week – perfect timing. I make a lot of modifications to recipes I find on the internet, or I create things all on my very own. Anything to avoid heating up my kitchen.

There’s a Chickpea Salad that I created out of my very own head after tasting something sort of similar when my father was in the hospital. I like mine better, of course. Recipe at the bottom of the post.

Then this Shredded Brussels Sprouts Salad – you may note that there is bacon in this, on the blog of the woman who says she does not eat pork? Well, I am not the only person who lives in this house, and some other residents like bacon. This is locally raised bacon from Wells Tavern Farm. It comes pretty dear, but their pork is the only pork I will allow in the house. I left out the kale on this one and went with just sprouts, which I happened to get a deal on. 

This is a new one for me - a lovely Lemon Green Bean and feta salad – delicious! I left out the agave, and used oregano from outside my front door.

And this Quinoa Salad with Apricots and (NOT) Pistachios? Love it. But with pepitas, not pistachios. And I was out of mirin, so I used pomegranate molasses. And I left out the mint and the paprika.

Fifth, I was all ready to head out on an airplane to fetch home a tiny baby BooBoo (a girl BooBoo I thought), but then God (you can call it what you want, for me it's God) stepped in and handed us Bradley.

And Bradley is amazing. He's clever, obedient, loving, and about as loyal as... well... as loyal as Yoshi. If you have food, you are his best friend. If you have head rubs, you are his best friend. If you have a frisbee, a ball, or a swimming pool? You are TOTALLY his best friend! But he's all dog, like a dog should be. Head on your knee, soaking wet and muddy paws all over my car, chasing the cotton-tailed bunny around the chicken house three times before you can catch him DOG. And we adore him. At six o'clock this morning my bedroom erupted in bedlam - the joyful sound of two dogs playing riotously. There they were - the snotty, spoiled Shiba and the down and dirty All-American Golden Retriever - bowing, jumping, leaping as if they'd been brothers forever. He's the yin to the yang. Or the yang to the yin. Either way, he's the balance point.

He is not a dog I would have chosen. I said that to my vet. I generally avoid adult dogs as re-home/rescue prospects. They can come with so many issues. Bradley either has no issues, or he has issues that so totally fit in our family that they just blend in with all of our issues and make one big happy issue. I also never choose widely and easily available breeds. I also avoid any breed that has ever starred in a movie. Yup. Now you know. I am a total dog snob. Mongrels can be awesome, and if the right one came along we'd be buds for life. But in lieu of the perfect mutt, I choose purebreds, and I choose them carefully. I usually do a ton of research, match personalities against our own and against any dogs we have in the home, and make a choice that benefits everyone. Because I am, as we all know, TOTALLY in charge of the WHOLE WORLD, and this is THE most effective way to exert my all-knowing POWER over...

Oh, sorry. Where was I? Oh yeah. So. It turns out that my "all-knowing amazing" skill at dog selection? It wasn't necessary. Because God gave us Bradley. I was looking in the wrong direction.

Truth is, I do not have the time or energy or mental fortitude to handle a puppy right now. At least not the way I do puppy - have you seen my dog's blog? Puppy here is a total focus, 24/7/365, lifestyle thing. It lasts for about 12 months or more depending on the dog - in the case of a big dog, it's usually more. I would have thrown myself in, and done it, too. But it wasn't what we needed right now.

My vet said I got very, very lucky. My vet said "He's amazing". My vet said "It's not about who they are on the outside. It's about who they are on the inside." My vet is smarter than I am. 

Thank God for grace and gut. I knew the minute I saw him, spinning in circles in the front yard of his former home, with Yoshi obnoxiously growling and snapping under him, that he was ours. I went with that gut feeling, and we agreed to a sleepover to see how things went. Twelve hours later I wouldn't have let him go back for anything. Two weeks in, and he and Yoshi are raising hell around my bed at six in the morning - roughhousing, playing, living - and all I can think is "What did we do before Bradley came here?"

Look around you, take a long deep breath and breathe it all in. It's summer. It won't last forever, and it doesn't have to. Tomorrow can take care of itself. Be in the now, because that's where it's at my friends. Now is where it's at.

MMO's Summer Chickpea Salad

1 big (29 oz) can of chickpeas (or 4 cups rehydrated, cooked chickpeas)

1 bunch scallion, chopped fine

1 red pepper, chopped fine

½ cup dried cranberries

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¼ cup extra virgin olive oil

2 tablespoons red wine vinegar

2 teaspoons cumin

1 tablespoon parsley

Kosher salt

Fresh ground pepper

Combine last 6 ingredients in large bowl. You can be fussy and start with the acid and spices and then add the oil slowly, whisking to emulsify, or you can just dump and mix. I've done both and it tasted the same either way! Add drained and rinsed or cooled and rinsed beans, scallions, red pepper and cranberries. Mix well and eat - although it's better a few hours later!