The Scouts

This year marks the hundredth year of boy scouting.  This may mean nothing to you.  Here, there is great excitement, as two of the old badges have been brought back for this year only.  Well, Bruce is excited...Alan nominally so.  Pioneering, anyone?

I didn't know when we signed Alan up for Cub Scouts six years ago that the Boy Scouts of America would creep so deeply into our lives.  We now have two scouts of the male variety selling popcorn with the desperate yearning of boys trying to reach the prize level which receives a marshmallow-shooting cross bow.  Come to think of it, that does sound pretty neat.  In past years, we have had the garage full of boxes upon boxes of popcorn waiting for pick-up by the harassed parents of fellow pack mates.  The sale of popcorn funds many scouting events, such as camping and museum visits, as well as supporting a program which sends popcorn to the troops overseas.  Ok, popcorn in the garage is not so bad when you put it that way.

What I love is to see my husband in his scout uniform. He has a great time.  He spent some years as the leader of the pack [That's right, MASTER of the Cubs], and was rewarded with a battery operated self-turning marshmallow roasting fork. He added another patch to his shirt the other night, very pleased with his handiwork.  This is quintessentially my guy: poking around, telling kid jokes, fostering, learning.  He gets every bit as much as the boys do out of the experience.

As for me, Sophia's first Daisy scout meeting is yet to be held...but beware when cookie season rolls around!

If you see a scout, please consider buying some popcorn!

Kate

Sausage and Apple Hand Pies

Well, handy!

Sausage and Apple Hand Pies

Brown one package sweet Italian sausage (casings removed) with one chopped red onion. Add three cups chopped apples.  Cook through.  I added a bit of salt, some savory, and a pinch of fennel seed.  Once this is cooked through, put about an eighth cup flour on, stir it in, then 1/2 cup of cider. Cook until mixture thickens.  Turn off heat, mix in 1 cup shredded cheddar cheese.  Let mixture cool.

I used three boxes of prepared pie crusts (6 crusts).  I have a circular cutter, but one could simply quarter them.  Put as much filling on as you can (this varies with the size of your crust), 1/4 cup or more.  Then dab a bit of water around the edges and either lay a second circle (rolled a bit larger) on top or bring the edges together and pinch shut.  Poke a few holes, brush with egg.  You can freeze them at this point or bake for 25-30 min. at 400. 

This is one of my favorite autumn dishes, despite the effort.  I usually make it at least once.  This year's batch, now resting comfortably in the freezer, is for Sophia's birthday picnic.   I'm always hoping that some will remain to send for the children's lunches (or hoard for my own), but this rarely happens. At least I'll get to enjoy them once!  I did run out of filling, so I used up the extra dough by spooning a bit of apple butter on, then layering some ham, sweet potato, and port wine cheese in.  That's for tonight.  yum!

Happy ...whatever!

Kate

Planning...but not for cows

Food.  Luscious blueberries, crisp apples, figs, strawberries, currants, filberts, mushrooms...I've made my wish list for the garden.  We'll have to pay yearly attention to the acid/alkaline levels, but I'm willing to do that in exchange for my own grocery store.  I spent quite a bit at Raintree Nursery the other day...most of the order will arrive next spring. Some will be here late in the month. 

Over the years, I've been getting more and more picky about what I want to feed my family.  Real food.  This morning, I drove up to Bennington to Russ and Lori Bryant's dairy.  It's a trip I make about once a week for raw milk. The first time we had it, my kids didn't like the taste. (Yes, there is a difference) But the next time, I took them to the farm and they met the cows and helped Russ hunt for a dozen eggs.  They petted the myriad farm cats.  Now they whine if I get a bit lazy and buy store milk.  They want milk from their cows, you see. 

I suffered from growing pains horribly as a child, and so does my little Sophia...unless she consumes raw milk every day.  The calcium is far more absorbable.  Raw milk also increases your body's ability to detoxify.  It is a definite motivator.  Cows are not on my wish list, however.  I am happy to support local small farmers when I can...and I don't think the local covenant allows ruminants. Not even the fully functional yet bizarrely tiny toy cows.  Cute little fellas, aren't they?

Comment if you love cows.

Kate

Apples

Mmmm...is any autumn complete without apples?  Each year, we go apple picking at Ditmar's Orchard just outside of Council Bluffs, IA.  http://www.ditmarsorchard.com/
We bump up to the orchard behind the huffing tractor, bags in hand. The children chatter, Bruce and I grin.

This year we had perfect weather: sunny but not too warm, late enough in the year to be free of insects.  Any day I get to climb an apple tree is a good day. I generally wander off, drunken with the heady apple scent that drifts across the orchard.  The trees are loaded, each one more enticing than the next--which one shall I choose next? I go deeper into the dappled light.

I am actually afraid of heights.  Not sure when that happened--I used to go ballooning with friends when I was a kid, but now a ferris wheel or the Skyfari fill me with fear.  Not so in a tree--any tree for that matter.  I creep up, taking care not to stress any branches, and feel utterly safe.  Once again in the bright sunlight, I reach for those delectable orbs--Pomona's bounty--hanging invariably just beyond my reach.

We return home with three large bags of apples, plus two bottles of wine.  They were waiting in the car for me as I was tasting the varied selections.  oops.

Two apple trees are heading to our home.  A small variety, called a compspur.  http://www.millernurseries.com/cart.php?m=product_detail&p=155
One red (for me) and a yellow (Bruce's favorite) will stand on either side of our front porch, petite enough for the kids to harvest. 
I can still head out to Ditmar's for some tree climbing-- I'll need cooking apples, after all.  And their wine. 

An apple a day--
Kate

The soil

From the garden journal...

Clay.  Tan, heavy, unyielding clay.  That is what surrounds my home.  I could pot with this stuff, were I a potter.  This used to be farmland. Black, loamy Nebraska soil blanketed this clay...before the developers came and removed all the topsoil.  I have to censor my thoughts on that one.  Pockets of good earth survive in back--oh! the rich smell of it! I could have grown Minute Rice in such soil!

I used my soil testing kit to check the dirt.  A pH of 7.  Depleted in nitrogen and phosphorus, 'adequate' potassium.  Hrumph.

One of my goals here is to minimize the use of chemicals.  Our house is very green--well insulated, heat pump, bamboo flooring.  And I want the garden to be an oasis that will never make me wonder.  I'm sure  the land saw many applications of fertilizer and herbicides and pesticides during its tenure as a Nebraska farm.  That was over fifteen years ago, though.  This lot held nothing but weeds and the trees out back until our house was built, so I think any chemical load is limited now.

Fixing the soil will be a challenge.

We planted fast growing evergreen thujas behind the inadequate spruces in back, digging large holes and adding copious amounts of organic compost and peat.  We moved some of the brown bushes from the front--one Wine and Roses Wigelia and one Ninebark.  I bought a hydrangea and planted it on the street side of the evergreens.  I want to enjoy the view as I drive by the house. 

I 'guerilla' gardened and planted a weeping willow across the creek. What's one more tree among hundreds?  I've always wanted one, there just isn't the right spot over here...

Mistake not the bend
of Willows arms for weeping--
she sways a soft dance.
           
Kate

The Inglenook

 Inglenook

This is the nook.  Many of the elements of the house were patterned after the work of Frank LLoyd Wright, and this is one of them.  In his early work, Wright (a father himself) often inserted these cozy spaces for family to gather in.  The distinctive trim work is also his design. 

It is a wonderful little space.  The house itself is large--3400 square feet.  The ceiling soars, the feel is expansive. I would be lost without the nook.  Adults will often ask what we use it for, but children always know.  Mine immediately brought pillows and blankets and books and cozied themselves in as if they had been there forever.  A good space for tea, scones, and a bit of Sherlock Holmes read aloud with a British accent. We'll get to that sometime.  Bruce and I used to have a Sherlock night regularly, BC (before children). Two out of three of them are still too squirmy for such an entertainment.

Kate's Ridiculously Easy Scones

2 cups Bisquick or Jiffy baking mix
1/2 cup milk
1/4 cup sugar, plus a bit more for sprinkling
1/2 cup dried currants, raisins, mini chocolate chips, or whatever else strikes your fancy.

Preheat your oven to 415 or so.  Mix the first three ingredients together first, then add your goodies.  [By the way, if you add nothing, this makes great shortcake.] Drop onto baking sheet or stone in heaping tablespoonfuls--should make 10-12 scones.  If you try to make them bigger, they won't cook through. Sprinkle with sugar and bake 10-12 minutes.  The peaks will be quite brown.  I poke at one and break off a bit to make sure it's cooked inside.  Cool on a wire rack.  Serve with butter or jam or a bit of whipped cream.

Now you know the secret of my bake sale successes.

Enjoy!

Kate 

from the garden journal

I bought a cheap composition book to fill with garden plans and dreams--thinking that in some future time, another owner of this house might find it and read the story of the garden. Here is an excerpt.
We moved in when the house was three years old. Little had been done to the yard--a few brown-toned bushes clustered across the front of the house and the lawn had the plugged look of doll's hair.  Five ash trees ran across the front and side edge of the property, but these had a sickly yellowish cast and were missing great swaths of foliage.  Four blue spruces had been planted at the rear--a possible attempt to provide both privacy and sound control..  These, too, struggled.
The house had been rented for two of its three years and stood empty for one, and I have it on good authority that the sprinkler system was used, but one certainly couldn't tell that from the state of the grounds.

We watered, added a bit of soap and iron, and were rewarded with a greener lawn.  The crabgrass was growing splendidly. The two ash trees at the front will have to go--victims of poor planting practices and borers.  Out tree guy thinks the rest can be saved.

I borrowed gardening catalogues and spent time at the library.  This garden will be planned, I tell myself. Planned, Kate.  Not--ooh, look at that pretty little tree which will eventually grow 70 feet tall--what small corner can I put it in?  Planned.

THE House

Note: This is a tale of home.  Homecoming, homemaking, homing in. Some entries are from previously-written journals in order to keep the timeline on track.  Thanks for reading!

I wanted this house to the point of obsession. Beautiful, stately, Frank Lloyd Wright-ish, no-other-house-in-the-world-like-it house. THE house.  Built by my friend, Jack Round ( reFramehomes.com) three years ago. It waited for us, I think. Creamy walls and crisp woodwork beckon the eye; a softly trickling fountain lures one to the inglenook. Our broken-in sofa seems somehow prouder here. It is a lovely place…and after nearly two months, not yet our home. My husband remarks upon this: "It 's like living in a hotel."

I reflect as I bring pitchers of water to my potted plants. We’ve basically unpacked. I baked: zucchini bread and one round, fragrant loaf of Sally Lunn. I cleaned, washed windows, put up art, sewed cushions.  We’ve made love here, in too few spaces (drat those inquisitive children), but…. where is the lack? I stop to weed by the front flower pot, enjoying the give of the soil. The bead of sweat trailing down my back feels good. This garden is needy.  Poor soil, thin grass, a few uninspired shrubs--perhaps my elegant house is embarrassed by her tattered garments. 

This may be the path to peace with this house.  A garden.  Hm...