Just Desserts

I saw this recipe the other day and decided to try them. I call them Gobbits as in just gob it on your thighs. They are easy to make. Simply get a box of your favorite brownie mix (I get Duncan Hines Dark Fudge) and mix according to directions. Butter the muffin tin and place some of the mixture in each one. It will make twelve . Push the batter up the sides of the tin and leave an indention in the middle of each. Make your favorite chocolate chip cookie recipe and place a tablespoon of dough into the brownie and press down slightly. Bake approx. 30 minutes. Serve warm with whipped cream or Blue Belle Homemade Vanilla ice cream.

Next time I make these, I will add more cookie dough to it. The brownie sort of overwhelmed the cookie part. I am also going to try a cream cheese filling for a cheesecake brownie. Super Gobbits!

When Whippoorwills Call

I heard a whippoorwill this eve. The first this year. I don't know where they go in winter. I love to hear them with their three distinct whistles. Many songs laud the whippoorwill's call - too many in fact to list here. There are also many early native American legends about the whippoorwill. The Omaha's believed its song was an omen of death while the Ute's thought the whippoorwill was a god of the night. There were also early American legends surrounding the bird. Washington Irving mentions it in THE LEGEND OF SLEEPY HOLLOW. One New England legend says the Whippoorwill can sense a soul departing and can capture it as it flees. Who knew? For Earth Day, we should know that this bird is becoming endangered and/or threatened by habitat destruction, predation by feral cat and dog populations and insecticides. They are ground dwellers; build their nests on the ground and you rarely see them - just hear that lonesome whippoorwill...





photo by J.W. Dingel

Sometimes Your The Windshield, Sometimes Your The Bug

What started out as a bucolic spring afternoon, progressed with me upended in chicken shit and broken eggs at the barn. I'd collected the eggs and looked around the hay bales for some stragglers who like to try and trick me and hide their eggs in the goose's nest. I climbed and raided said nest, then began to descend and got snared by fence wire used to hold the hay bales together. As I flew chickenlike through the air, the eggs went flying and my feelings were hurt, not to mention my neck has a crook in it now. So no eggy recipe today. Hope I can turn my head tomorrow. Got to plant the rest of my strawberries. Happy birthday to my dear friend Mary Kay. She's the best egg of all.

SPRING GARDENING

It's that time again! There is an old belief that eating the first asparagus of spring will bring good luck. Yesterday, I did gather a handful of spears and fixed them for supper. I didn't Julia Child it, nor use my silver asparagus tongs. I simply tossed the spears with olive oil, 2 cloves of sliced garlic and a sprinkling of salt. Then, I grated a Spanish Parmesan cheese on top (this cheese is less salty and a little softer than parmesano reggiano). Here's the good part. I did all this on a paper plate and covered it with another one and cooked it in the microwave for 1 minute and 45 seconds. Atop a pile of sticky sprouted brown rice, it was so good, and easy. I'll have to see if the luck legend pans out. I need all I can get right now. However, on the other hand, I guess if I'm still kicking, then perhaps that is luck enough... Anyway, asparagus grows so fast that I'm going to be freezing lots of it in the coming days. Anybody have a good recipe out there?

Come On Down To The Farm

YAHOO! We've been busy lately, working on our new B & B. Can't wait to book you. Really, this is the funniest photo. I just had to show you. Jayme, at the Coop Keeper posted this a few weeks ago and I had to share it with you. We seem to have a lot of these types of residences in this part of the state. This one is hillbilly heaven, I'm sure, or, perhaps a hillbilly highrise. Eat your hearts out New York City. Is that a water attraction I see - and a greenhouse? On second thought, this is the perfect for the family; a room of one's own for everyone. This would never work though in OK. The high winds and/or tornadoes would make piles of rubble out of it.

FAR OUT

The only thing 'my old man" had when I met him, were these old rock posters from the 1960's. As his 'old lady' (and I really am now), this was the year that I finally had them framed. Only 40 years after the fact. These concerts were held in San Francisco at the Avalon Ballroom - a big deal in its day. Big Brother and the Holding Company held many concerts there and was the group that played with Janis Joplin before she went out on her own. Some others were Jefferson Airplane, the Greatful Dead, Canned Heat, among other big names of the day. I'm feeling a little politically incorrect tonight. Back then, my old man and I were hippies. Do any of you remember the 60's? It is said if you remember the 60's, you weren't there...Boy, how things have changed.

Woodstock was more than a concert: it was a movement toward a new America (or so they said). We burned our bras. Brought about the end to the horrible Vietnam war. New words were coined by the Woodstock generation; far out, peace, out of sight, wigged out, munchies, doobies, trippin', truckin', orange sunshine... It really was a new age.

The Stones were my favorite band. Liked the Doors too. They said the 60's died after the Stone's concert at Altamont, when Hell's Angels, protecting the stage, killed a concertgoer; an end to the hippie Woodstock generation and their mantra, peace and love. Those days were long ago and far away. A toast to all of us that made it out alive. Like the words from the Greatful Dead song said, "what a long, strange trip its been."

LUCK OF THE IRISH

Though not a shamrock, this four leaf clover deserves a wish today. "A wish is a prayer," the old saying goes. So, may the wind always be at your back, may the road rise to meet you, always take the high road (I think that's Scottish, oh well), and may the luck of the Irish be with you. I don't know much about Irish, but in their honor, I think I'll make an Irish Soda Bread today.

Fun At The Farm

Bella came down for a fun day at Nonna and Poppa T.'s farm. She is fearless and hung on to the eggs she gathered. Odette the horse, enjoyed carrots and the chickens and geese got bread. Bella wanted to take the bread out to them. Baby brother Oliver is too little to enjoy the outdoor fun, but just wait a few more months.

Vintage Madonna Print

Isn't this a pretty interpretation of the Madonna? A young woman seated with a book; a small village past her in the distance. The period of her clothing, seated on a rag or hooked rug, is reminiscent to me of a pioneer Madonna. This print was originally painted by a German artist so I guess maybe her clothes are from the time it was painted in Germany. Just thought you'd like to see it. It is different. It's for sale in my etsy shop. I might like to keep it but for the need in this period of my life to simplify, clean out, I'm not sure, whatever.

Things That Go Boomp

This mantis is praying before his meal. Mantis's, Mantii? I don't know the plural. These insects kind of creep me out; I am sure they can rotate their head more than 180 degrees while their body remains perfectly still. In fact, the only time you see them move is when they are spinning their head or slowly climbing. They don't scare easily, but they can sure fly (as long as it's not at me). Kind of pretty. Reminds me of the old Irish ditty or blessing.

From the gillies and the ghosties,

to the long-legged beasties,

and things that go bump in the night...

A Prayer For Maria

One of my blogging friends, Maria Xi, is a teacher who lives in Santiago, Chile. She was supposed to go into the hospital today, the day of the earthquake, to deliver her first baby, Ines. She was going to be induced. Let's all ask that she and her baby girl and family will be safe and comforted.

Spring, Sprang, Sprung

There is one thing I do with my eggs - egg vases. These are last years wild jonquils which are now up but have yet to open. You can also use them for seedling starters. Just rinse and fill with peat moss and seeds and keep wet till they sprout. Also, prick a hole in the bottom of the egg so you won't get dampening off (the sprouts will shrivel up and die from too much water). Leave them sitting in the carton for easier handling. Carefully crush shell for planting; good source of calcium for the plant.

Mmmmm Snails

Just pretend there is a snail pie in there somewhere. In jolly old England, the hodmandod was a shell snail: I guess as opposed to a slug. Popular with aristocrats and paupers alike, the snail in a shell was a popular foodstuff. In Cornwall, there was a popular dance called the Snail's Creep and Cornish miners considered snails lucky - wished upon them. Recipes included "ragout of fatted snail" and I guess it tastes like chicken since one was called "chickens not two hours from the shell." Here is one recipe from the 1600's:

With our sharp weapons we shal thee fray
And take the castill that thou liest in;
And in a dish, with onyons and peper,
We shall thee dresse with strong vynegars.

P S ~ I'm sure I would love them if I had eaten them growing up. I do love seafood even though reared a landlubber, but I won't be eating any sea urchin eggs, or whale or dolphin, or swordfish, nor sharkfin soup.....Just don't want to insult any of my dear tens of followers. The part I love the best is the olde recipe which actually sounds like a snail salad. Crrrunch!

EGGS

The incredible, edible egg. A report this week called them wonder food for our aging bodies. Though snow is still aground in the shadows and the goldfish pond is covered in ice, I gather more eggs than I know what to do with. If I bake, I want to eat it all. I did sell a few dozen, but they are not organic. The feed the chickens eat has to be organic and that would cost a fortune. The yolks are a deep orange though and I like to think they are healthier than the pale lemony yellow ones from the store. Always buy cage free or free range. The others are cruelly raised.

A River Runs Through It Redux

I forgot to include this Woolybooger in my previous post. This is an old fly fishing lure I have and it's a woolybooger. Made from red hairs underneath a deer tail, my guess is that is resembles a bug of some sort. This girl grew up catching fish at the lake or the ocean. I have never fly fished. It looks like too much work and too cold. I'd rather play around in the water and watch my cork. I do love to fish though. Following is the Wordsworth piece I loved so much from Ode: Intimations on Immortality.

What though the radiance which was once so bright, be taken now forever from our sight.
Though nothing can bring back the hour of splendor in the grass, of glory in the flower,
we will grieve not, rather find strength in what remains behind;
In the primal sympathy
What having been must ever be;
In the soothing thoughts that spring out of human suffering;
In the faith that looks through death and in the years that bring the philosophic mind.
Thanks to the human heart by which we live, thanks to its tenderness, its joy, and fears.
To me the meanest (smallest) flower that blows can give thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears.

A River Runs Through It

I was blown away by this movie for some reason. This scene in particular moved me beyond words. Brad Pitt is my favorite actor and did not disappoint in this movie. And yet, this is the scene I remember to this day. The quoting of Wordsworth's Ode: Intimations on Immortality (Don't quote me on the title, I can't find my notes) between father and son just blew me away. Subsequently, I memorized Wordworth's ODE and it was the first time I realized how old I had gotten. In earlier times I could memorize anything; I've even been asked if I have a photographic memory (no). It took me a long time to memorize this work, I shall not say more. Since then, I have memorized more works. The Road Not Taken by Frost, more Wordsworth, C.S. Lewis... Anyway, this movie is worth a watch again if you haven't seen it in a while.

NATIVE AMERICAN COLLECTIBLES

As I told you, I have always kept my Native Americana in as much as I would sell anything else for the right price. This possible bag is Plains Indian, probably southern, and I think Apache. The bead work is lightening and a raincloud. This is just what I remember from researching, but it has been so long ago, I'd love to hear from someone elses' knowledge about it.

A few beaded items. Notice the watch fob with the red, white and blue flag. Also, necklaces, most of it plains and done for the tourist trade after relocation.

Whoops, I'm not sure how this happened.

These are interesting in that I haven't seen them before. They are probably Muscogee Creek nation and I don't know the name of them, but they were made from clay and decorated by each owner. That is how they told their thingamajigs apart. They were placed over a long piece of wood and rubbed up and down to shape their arrows.

This is a teeny hand sewn doll about an inch in length.

The three dolls on the left are plains and the one on the right is southwest, probably Navajo for the tourist trade. The bone on the left has been broken off something. There is wood in the middle of it. I think it is a game piece of some kind. Notice the white plains doll with beaded necklace and belt and the Navajo doll's squash blossom necklace. The plains doll on the left has horse hair, the white one has some kind of heavy thread and the Navajo has real hair. I'll show you some Native American jewelry in another post.

PASSING

I just recently learned of the passing of a beloved artist and writer. Stephen Huneck died on January 7th of a self-inflicted gunshot wound. He had been depressed and despondent; he feared he might lose his mountaintop farm home and studios, dubbed Dog Mountain, over the recent economic downturn. The Dog Chapel, which has been featured in many publications, was built to honor his own Sally, a Labrador. Inside the chapel, visitors have left notes and pictures of their own beloved pets.

I guess I am surprised by his passing and sad. One would think that by 60 years of age, you'd finally have it down enough that you wouldn't resort to killing yourself over life's disappointments. I guess not. The reality is, depression is lethal sometimes. Stephen's art and contributions will be missed.

A HORSE IS A HORSE

A horse is a horse, unless it's a Choctaw or Cherokee horse. Only 200 horses of these strains remain. Half a millennium ago, Spanish conquistadors brought horses to North America. Horses had been extinct in North America for 10,000 years. After the Spaniards began establishing colonies, they banned the native peoples from owning and even riding horses. That would have been the end of story, except many of the horses escaped into the wild where Indians found and tamed them. The rest is history but for the new challenge: surviving in the modern world.

In steps the American Livestock Breeds Conservancy (ALBC). For centuries, the Spanish Colonial horses were the most common type of horse throughout the Southeast and regions west of the Mississippi. But in the mid-late 1800's, almost all Spanish stocks were crossbred with or replaced by horses like thoroughbreds, riding horses and draft horses. The Spanish Colonial horse was nearly extinct by 1950. ALBC advisor, Phillip Sponenberg, DVM, has researched and written extensively about both the Choctaw and Cherokee strains. "Besides being an important part of American history, their genes are irreplaceable. Red Road Farm in Morrisville, VT, has a Choctaw horse breeding program and a horse sponsorship program. The ALBC, in Pittsboro, NC has info and the Southwest Spanish Mustang Assoc. has extensive info on the breed.

And, this beautiful specimen, whinnies and comes running to my back fence whenever she sees me outside. No, she's not mine, but I feed her carrots, oats and apples.

PSSST

We've had temperatures in the 60's for the last few days, thank you Lord, and guess what I've been hearing at the farm? Yes, peepers. The cats even brought a one inch specimen in my kitchen yesterday. Also, a bee was buzzing me in the flower beds. I think Mother Nature is telling the creatures to get busy, gather, spring is coming. Yahoo!

HAIKU CHICKEN

The small gray rooster
Claims the red hen for himself
Cluck, clucking, clucked.


This guy's a whopper - at least 2' tall, a long and lean Araucana. This is the breed that lays colored eggs.

Big, fat Barred Rock boy. He'll be runnin' the show before long.

The first time out of the pen. The little gray rooster is hardly bigger than a robin. I think he's my favorite. I dare not name him or the coyotes or barn cats will eat him.

And all from these teeny chicks I bought last fall. Got my first eggs this week. Oh no! Means I have to clean out the chicken house (the worst job in my world).

EGGS

When I was small, I had a thing for bird's nests and their little eggs. Curious wild child that I was, I roamed the countryside, climbing into treetops as far as the tree limbs would allow me. Why was I so enamored of eggs? I don't know. As you can see, I still am. Clockwise from left, an ostrich egg, an emu, goose, chicken, banty chicken, quail, and in my sculpted hand, three little eggs I found on the ground and don't know the breed. I also collect nests I find here and there, but only after they have been abandoned.

BASSACKWARDS

You know that old saw about not getting kids or animals to cooperate....

Well, this guy was definitely bent over, shakin' a tail feather, at the barn. He finally decided to cooperate.

NATIVE AMERICAN MEDICINE BAG

During my 'treasure hunts', I come across many things that speak to me one way or another. This is a native American medicine bag, used much like a Christian sacrament, as a symbol or token. Once a brilliant blue, the silk has faded over the years. It is tied with deer hide. Of course I had to peek inside. Pandora had nothing on me. Anyway, it contains plant materials; nothing I could make out as to what the plants were though I did discern a dried up flower in the mix.

I had a friend once whose step-father was a full-blood Choctaw Indian. Marla said he was always making bags and tokens and stashing them places like under the couch cushions, the bed, etc. He supposedly would pull hair from her hairbrush and wrap it around a bone. She wasn't sure what else he would do, but she thought he made the bags to keep them healthy. In OK, we have hot, dry summers and Marla said she had seen him down on his knees in a dry creek bed. He would cup dirt in his raised hands, chanting. He said it would rain. It usually did.