Long ago, when Compost Happens was in its infancy, I nicknamed my family. Amigo is short for Amigo de Animales. He’s friend to animals, and they love to make friends with him.
These two are no exception.
Both Echo and Q want his attention.
Echo, on the right, is a service dog for Amigo’s friend. Q, a former breeder, is now a pet. Both are big, beautiful, and friendly as can be. This is the only picture that turned out; the others were all blurry as Echo and Q fought for Amigo’s attention.
I had this in my archives, so I looked it up in the hopes that my overabundance of pears would work in the recipe. I diced the ripe pears, pulled a container of strawberries out of the freezer, and then baked. The original recipe called for a can of fruit, so why not fresh? Why not, indeed; pears and strawberries made a perfect combination.
Quick and Easy Fruit Cobbler
1/2 stick butter
1 cup sugar
1 cup flour (or 1/2 cup all-purpose and 1/2 cup wheat flour)
1 1/2 tsps baking powder
1 cup milk
1 can canned fruit, undrained
1. Preheat oven to 350 F.
2. Melt butter in an 8×8 baking dish (can be done in the oven or microwave).
3. In a separate bowl, mix together sugar, flour, baking powder, and milk.
4. Pour batter over melted butter in baking dish.
5. Pour fruit over the batter.
6. Optional: For added crunch, crumble granola on top.
7. Bake for 45 minutes.
I did this list making task in May. Now it’s October, and the weather’s been lovely, so I’m out in the dirt after school or after supper before the sun goes down.
Let’s see: Done or Ta-Dah!
And to do:
And I suppose there is a list I could call keep on doing:
Got it? I think so. Good.
It’s happening again, dear readers. A coworker and close friend starts radiation today to treat breast cancer. She’s a very strong woman, and the entire office is throwing our moral support her way.
Remember the Lions of the Valley project? More than a few years have passed since The Lion King made its appearance in our fair city. Here is one example of creativity and caring. Another friend and coworker teamed up with another artist friend to decorate this fiberglass lion. The lion’s title is lengthy, but straight to the point: Breast Cancer Survivors: Not an Endangered Species.”
It’s now several years later, and the lion is still pink, I think. It’s been moved from its former sponsor to a hospital’s entrance, and the pictures have been painted over. I’m a little sad about that. It was the humanity of the design that made it work for me. But in any case, the lion still lives, and so do many multitudes of those who had breast cancer. Had. Past tense.
Did I mention that I know four of the women pictured on the lion? Eat your heart out, Jeff Probst — these women are the real survivors.
I’m bringing in tomatoes and peppers every day, but I’m still watering the plants left behind because they’re still producing (quite a bit of) fruit.
I’m pruning the tomato plants so the water and sun can go into the leaves and stems that are still growing and still producing. Meanwhile, I’m searching for a source that will sell me garlic bulbs to plant now. Now, I tell you. Not next May. And since no one in town seems to carry garlic for planting, I’m reduced to ordering online.
I’m also cleaning up some of the container gardening. The flowers are gone to that great compost bin, the potting soil is piled in a corner of the plot behind the garage, and the empty drawers that played host to impatiens all summer now sit under the mock cherry tree. If the drawers survive the winter, I’ll plant in them again. If they rot, they’ll go in the garbage.
We’re giving thought to getting a sunlamp for the herbs that winter indoors. There’s never enough sun, even though the shelves sit in a window bay with Southern exposure. The thyme and oregano struggle through the season until it’s time to put them out again in spring. Last year the thyme and rosemary didn’t make it; basil was hopeless. If we provide artificial lighting, we’ll have fresh herbs for cooking all winter and strong plants to move outside in the spring. Worthwhile, we think.
The office slash guest room is taking shape. We can almost use La Petite’s old closet as our own, thanks to purging for the August garage sale. We found a daybed at a reasonable price, and we may buy it later this week.
As long as the weather holds, I will keep at the garden tasks one week at a time. When the first true killing frost shows up in the forecast, any tomatoes large enough to ripen will come indoors. Now that, my friends, will be a picture to behold.
Readers, let me know. How are you handling the autumn season? Any plans for next spring, or is it too early?
Overheard:
“We’ve had a lot more severe weather than usual.”
“These storms have people in my neighborhood talking.”
“I’m planning on getting more self sufficient, little by little, until we’re off grid completely.”
“Every time we get one of these lengthy power outages, I want to put up more food and prepare for the worst.”
“Climate change? What climate change? It’s just environmental jihad.”
With the exception of the last one, all of these people were noticing climate change. None are my own quotes, no matter how much they sound like me. Most were my coworkers, in fact. We’ve all noticed the changing climate, and we’ve also noticed how the major events are changing people.
None of us are survivalists, radicals, preppers, or the so-called Environmental Jihad. Ahem, maybe we do resemble the last one. But seriously, peoples. One teacher talked about her neighborhood having a block party, the first in years – maybe the first ever. During the August storm, neighbors talked to neighbors and realized they didn’t spend enough time socializing with those who lived nearby. Her neighborhood decided to do something about it.
I, too, was reminded how much I like my neighbors. Despite the huge tree leaning on their house, they were turning on their camp stove and calling me over for coffee. I don’t think we’re up for a block party yet, though. Feelings still run high about the Lorax and her influence on the Powers That Be.
So while we’re on the subject, folks, take a look at the book Life As We Knew It. Apocalyptic rather than dystopian, it did put me in the survivalist frame of mind. How would we cope if suddenly the world changed?
On a positive note, I’ve been busy bartering. Yep, good old fashioned barter. I swapped dill seed for zucchini (yeah, yeah, I know she would have given away the zucchini no matter what) and in a similar vein, I swapped a handful of rhubarb for a bucket of pears.
Maybe you’re reading this ramble and asking, Daisy, what’s your point? I’ll toss it back to you: what changes have you made in your life and what changes have you noticed in others? If you wrote the “overheard” section at the top of the page, what have you overheard about climate change? And finally, how would you react?
Go! Pack! Go!
Last week we served Crab Louis salad in honor of Fishermen’s Wharf. Chuck also did his best to replicate a fancy flounder dish and found that flounder is simply not widely available in Wisconsin in the fall.
The Packers lost to San Francisco.
We had a wild week in between games with little time for research into foods of Washington, D.C., home of the team called the Redskins. We joked about serving pork. We suggested turkey. We attempted a play on words for fiscal cliff or gridlock. Finally, I did a search or two on my smart phone as we drove to visit La Petite in Lake Geneva.
We found the half-smoke. The half-smoke is a sausage served on a bun, covered in barbecue sauce, sometimes half pork and half beef and sometimes sliced in half lengthwise before cooking. It’s as close as D.C. comes to having its own indigenous food.
A stopover in East Troy took care of everything. We picked up a turkey pot pie at The Elegant Farmer and planned to cook it for Sunday lunch. A few miles down the road we bought our own travel lunch from a BBQ truck and found already cooked and seasoned sausages that looked perfect for our version of the Half-Smoke. A pot pie, a pound of sausage, a bag of ice, and our cooler, and we were in business.
We made it home from Lake Geneva Saturday night just in time to cook the half-smokes and listen to Prairie Home Companion on public radio. Sunday lunch, the turkey pot pie, was delicious. Bonus: it left several leftover pieces for lunches later this week.
But the best bonus: Green Bay beat Washington, 38-20.
Cincinnati, bring it on. We’ll be ready. We’ll serve – so, readers, what kind of foods do Cincinnati residents call their own? Help me out with suggestions, please. We Cheeseheads are hungry for another Super Bowl.
Originally posted in 2009. This year I didn’t plant zucchini, and I still have plenty. My coworker brought in a grocery bag full from her over-producing vines. I took two, and she offered more. Here’s the story of the Origins of Zucchinis.
Once upon a time, a very long time ago, about last May, there was a patch of dirt behind the garage. Mom dug in the dirt and called it Soil and planted many, many seeds. Then she watered, pulled out weeds, watered, pulled out weeds, and watched with pride as the many shades of green stems and leaves emerged from the ground. The stems and leaves and vines grew and grew until a forest grew all around and it became the place where the wild things are. Wait, that’s another story.
It was eventful along the way in that little patch of vegetables. A wood chuck paid a surprise visit. A rabbit squeezed inside through a small opening. Mom fixed the fence and hung old computer CDs to help scare away the critters, hoping all along that the bees would still come by to pollinate the squash blossoms. Pollinators, rumor has it, are not afraid of Windows 3.1.
What’s a squash blossom? Well, honey, it’s this flower: the one that magically changes into a baby zucchini if the birds and the bees stop by at the right time. Ahem. Let’s stop right there. There’s a fiddle tune called Squash Blossom Reel, I think. Let’s look for it tomorrow on YouTube.
Readers, if you haven’t been around long enough to recognize the Daisy Reality Show, here’s a brief introduction.
Daisy (yours truly) hosts a reality show at the O.K. Chorale. The director and her bumbling assistant keep the show on track and provide a running commentary off-screen.
Daisy: I’m baking cookies this afternoon. We have no snack foods worth eating. Well, few snack foods in the house. Peanuts, cashews, the makings for trail mix – that’s it.
Assistant: I see chips. What’s wrong with potato chips?
He had to ask, didn’t he?
Daisy: It’s like Michael Pollan says in his Food Rules: Eat food, not too much, mostly plants. In this case, I’m following his advice that whole foods are better than processed foods and junk food is okay in moderation when I make it myself.
Assistant (pretending to understand): Oh.
Daisy’s cell phone chirps, indicating a text message.
Daisy: Oh, it’s my daughter. She says:
So we were sitting at the fair eating ice cream and I spotted something terrifying — Paul Ryan.
Daisy (Laughing): That’s my daughter, a good progressive young woman! I’ll respond and tell her to run, run fast, run far in the other direction.
Director: Oh, I remember you were a volunteer for Obama last year. Was it really only a year ago?
Daisy (texting): It’s been a very full year. La Petite lives in Paul Ryan’s congressional district, and she took great pleasure in voting against him twice last November.
Assistant: She voted twice? Daisy’s phone chirps again.
Daisy: Here’s the next one!
I was walking towards him to document this with my camera and Audreykins followed. Her mom was all like, “No, nooooo! Don’t get too close!”
And then, after Daisy responds with “He didn’t try to talk to her, did he? Scary.”
No, I didn’t want to talk to him either, so I stayed my distance. Took a photo of people in line to greet him.
Assistant: Twice? Is that legal?
Daisy: She voted for his opposition in two different races — Congress and Vice President.
Assistant: Oh. Um — never mind. Oh.
Daisy: Back to cookies! Real food for snacks at the O.K. Chorale.
Director: Camera One, zoom in on the cookbook.
Daisy: The recipe is on my blog.
Director: Camera One, zoom in on the laptop on the kitchen counter.
Readers, with the exception of the reality show, this post is entirely true. Cookies can be a good snack, I looked up the recipe on a previous post of Compost Happens, and La Petite really did text me the conversation above. She was mixing work with pleasure by photographing the county fair and spending time there with her adorable cousin and family.
The setting: Chuck drove a television satellite truck to Kansas City for coverage of an NFL preseason game between the Packers and the Chiefs. Preseason, mind you. These games count for nothing.
Actual text message conversation:
Chuck:
Daisy responds:
Chuck replies:
A little later Chuck adds to the truck tally
At kickoff, Daisy comes back:
Chuck
Daisy (laughing):
Chuck:
closer to halftime, Chuck comments on the game itself.
Daisy, aghast at the thought:
Chuck reassures her:
So, readers, you want to see the media compound, don’t you? Or do you? Well, here it is.
Media Compound for GB at KC
Chuck’s description:
Here’s the cluster of production trailers and sat trucks. 2 trailers and 1 sat truck at bottom right are norm. 2 little trucks on far left with masts up are local stations. All other trailers and sat trucks are GB. Oh, and a small one for Telemundo. Or as one guard put it, “They’ve even got Tele-effing-moon doh here!”
The guard didn’t know that certain cable subscribers in Wisconsin are getting their preseason games from Telemundo because the regular station hasn’t settled its deal with the cable company. Cheesehead Nation, ever creative, has taken to watching their Packers in Spanish. Those who do not speak the language mute their TVs and listen to the radio broadcast instead. Telemundo’s ratings must be skyrocketing.
Call us Packer Nation, Cheesehead Nation, or a little bit crazy, we love our team. The score was disappointing, but due to the overwhelming media coverage, we didn’t miss a single green and gold moment.