Each time I've walked through the kitchen today I've glanced at this bag on the counter and my cheeto-loving self thinks OPEN BAG OF CHEETOS YESSSS and a second later I remember with horror that it is not a bag of cheetos it is a bag of nasty pumpkin spice kit kats that my husband bought because he wanted to try them and because he is evil and then a small part of me dies inside not because my husband is evil but because I have no cheetos.
Nothing new to report, really. The week has been filled with mundane activities. Working. Housework. Designing houses. Making pumpkin bread. Binge-watching The Walking Dead. Harassing the family. Sleeping.
Designing houses? Yes indeed. Ever since I was a child I've enjoyed drawing floor plans for houses. I started by drawing the houses in the neighborhood where I grew up in White Bear Lake. Using graph paper, ruler and a sharp pencil I mapped out the plans for the houses I had visited. The Peterson's, the Metry's, the Moline's, everyone.
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| Beamus Bag Co. My grandfather is last on the right. |
My grandfather (the one whose dog tags I found) worked as a draftsman. He got a job in the 1930s with the Beamus Bag Company in Minneapolis. I think I might get my architectural leanings from him.
In the 1990s I bought my first home designer CD from Broderbund. I used it endlessly. A few years ago Hubby bought me the updated Home Designer software. I've spent many hours laying out the perfect building for the perfect situation. A simple country home for a family of four? Easy peasy. A studio loft apartment for a young urbanite? No problem. Multi-level condominiums with a bookstore and coffee shop? In a snap.
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| A simple small house |
It's one of the ways I unwind. Some people meditate, some people golf, some people drink. I design buildings.
My favorite designs are the bizarre ones. Putting houses in restored windmills, underground bunkers, pyramids and submarines. My current project is a multi-family unit that can survive a zombie apocalypse. Reinforced fencing, gun turrets, gardens, long term food storage, etc. Coincidentally, did I mention I've been watching The Walking Dead?
I've watched six of the ten seasons of the post-apocalyptic zombie TV series. However, I've decided to stop. It's not because of the violence and gore and horror -- I've gotten used to that. Believe it or not, it's become monotonous. The episodes have the same plot. The good guys (?) find a new place to rest. They meet a few decent people, but a lot of bad people. Bad people do bad things, good guys die but then fight back. Good guys move on to next spot. Rinse and repeat. Same old same old.
In the early seasons the producers put some emphasis on hope. But then they realized they couldn't keep making the show (and making money) if things actually got better. So, the whole 'hope' thing went away. Which may be true for a real zombie apocalypse, but that's not something I want to watch. I'd rather design houses.
So yeah, nothing really exciting to report. Not that making soup or planting garlic is exciting. But it is a break from the same old ordinary life. Fortunately, a same old zombie-free ordinary life.
Fast food night at O and E's apartment.
Everyone is happy and healthy. And I am grateful.
I have mentioned my maternal grandmother's recipe box a few times already, but I thought I'd share a picture of it. Just for posterity, you know.
Food is important to me. My vast waistline will confirm this. But beyond the sensory enjoyment of flavor and fullness, I enjoy food as a primary feature of life and culture. I love the emotive way it connects past, present and future. Obviously, our physical bodies can't live without it. But food, and the memories and feelings that surround it, nourishes our soul as well.
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| This is about half of my collection. |
Over the years I have amassed a large collection of cookbooks. I particularly enjoy historical cookbooks. I like learning about how food has impacted cultures around the world, and how culture has impacted food production and consumption. How food, or its absence, has affected the growth of civilizations.
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| Three of my favorites. |
I think historical cookbooks also appeal to my cold-war-child self. Gotta know how to grow and preserve like in ye olden times, in case the Russian nukes arrive. Which doesn't make a whole lot of sense, but that doesn't really matter to our subconscious now, does it?
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| On the left, a 1946 copy of Joy of Cooking. |
I also have my paternal grandmother's cookbooks. I took these after she passed away. I wished I had kept more of her things, but I was just 22 and didn't think so at the time. At least I had the foresight to keep these.
Just like any good cookbook, they are well-worn and filled with hand-written notes and recipes. Alas, I couldn't find the recipe for her infamous crescent rolls.
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| My older sister enjoyed drawing girls in dresses. |
They are also filled with something else. When I first opened them, I found a collection of carefully folded artwork from her grandchildren - my brother, two sisters and me.
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| Once on the bridge, you can never get off. |
Here is a particularly artistic rendering of the London Bridge from my older brother Bob, circa 1970. He may have drawn it from memory - my family lived in England from 1964 to 1971. The stationery shows the name of 'Charles H Tacoma', my great grandfather, who died in 1963.
Apparently my grandmother liked to keep family mementos as well.
We had a few light flurries yesterday, but those melted as soon as they hit the ground. Today the flakes are falling thick and quick.
There's already a few inches on the ground. We're forecast for 3-5 inches - just enough to turn everything white, temporarily. With warmer temps tomorrow, it won't stick around long.
The trees haven't lost all their leaves yet, which makes the snow especially pretty against the green and orange.
It's still technically autumn, but winter is knocking on the door.
Guess the book! Although the title of this post totally gives it away.
It's my old 'Joy of Cooking' cookbook, which I've had for nearly 30 years. Despite it having no photos, it is one of my favorite cookbooks. I do love photos in my cookbooks. But this book makes up for it in other ways. Very detailed, very basic instructions on how to cook almost everything. Well, almost everything that an American housewife in the 1930s would have thought of cooking.
'Joy of Cooking' has been through a number of editions over the decades. If you decide to get yourself a copy, make sure to get a sixth edition (1975) or earlier. The publishers removed a ton of info in the seventh edition (1997), and rewrote a lot of the original text. In my mind anything after the seventh edition is not worth its salt.
As you can see, my copy is well worn. I say it's the mark of a good cookbook - lots of stains, sticky pages and broken binding. That's how you can tell it's been used a lot. By a very messy cook.
Today I decided to make a large vat of split pea and ham soup. Enough for tonight's supper and for freezing a few quarts. My mom used to make this soup occasionally, although I'm not sure what recipe she used. When I first made it, I used the recipe from 'Joy of Cooking.' It turned out so well that I've never strayed since. I usually use a leftover ham bone, but this time I skipped the leftovers and started with a four-pound ham from the freezer.
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| Like most soups, it's fairly easy to make. |
Despite my greatest respect for Ms. Rombauer, I do take a few liberties with the recipe. I don't put the soup through a sieve, because I like leaving the hunks of carrots and celery intact. I don't chill and remove the fat, since I've already trimmed most of the fat from the ham and bone. I also add pieces of cooked ham toward the end. Okay, it appears I take a lot of liberties.
I usually don't bother binding the soup with butter and flour, because it seems like a lot of work for little reward. The soup tastes just as good without binding. Maybe I'd bother if I was serving the Queen, but not for just the fam.
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| I also skip the Jellied Pigs feet. Call me crazy. |
I've made so many recipes from this cookbook it's hard to remember them all. 'Joy of Cooking' is my go-to guide for making chicken or beef stock, pumpkin pie, biscuits, roast turkey, rice pudding, baked potatoes, apple crisp and pickled beets, to name a few. And, of course, split pea soup. Another great way to enjoy a cold autumn evening.
I worked at the park today, and just before 4:30 pm I made the mistake of checking the weather forecast. Tonight's low was set at 26 F. My heart sunk. 28 or 29 would probably have been fine for our water spigots. But 26 was too far into the danger zone. It was a hard freeze.
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| First snowfall on Tuesday! |
So I texted Hubby and told him I would be late. Then I went around the park, shutting off water and opening up spigots. Which doesn't sound that bad until you realize the park has four separate water systems and over forty spigots. Two hours later I headed home.
I think I'm cautiously looking forward to winter. Normally I don't look forward to it at all. But normally my kids are in school and I have a season of potential sickness to look forward to, and dealing with my son's lung disease. But because both boys are at home, most of that weight is off my shoulders.
I love the stillness of winter. And the starkness. For four months the snow blankets the ground, covering everything with white. It's like nature is applying white-out to all of the year's mistakes, all of the year's badness. It forces you to stop, take a good long think about things, and get ready to try again next year.
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| It's gonna take a lot of snow to cover this year's ick. |
I love going outside after dark when the moon is full, seeing the blue moonlight sparkling on the snow. It's breathtaking. Literally, it is breathtaking. On a cold day your breath turns to mist as soon as it leaves your mouth. On a really cold day it turns to frost while still in your nose. And on a reaaallly cold day your breath turns to icicles clinging to your nose hair. Those are the days you can get frostbite within minutes of being outside.
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| December 2017. Hoar frost is amazingly beautiful. |
All the more reason to stay indoors. Which is another reason to love winter. A very cold day is a perfect excuse to stay inside, cozy and warm. Wearing fuzzy socks, drinking hot chocolate, watching old movies, wrapped in a blanket. My homebody self rejoices.
Just for giggles I dug up a couple of the sunchokes a few weeks ago. And like I thought, it was very tough going in the very tough clay. I didn't go very deep, just deep enough to get a few tubers.
There are several different kinds of sunchokes, or Jerusalum artichokes. I have both white and purple varieties in my plot. These are the white.
From a 15" square, I dug out this many chokes. I probably would have gotten twice this many if: a) they hadn't been grown in clay soil, and b) I hadn't ignored the plot for the last four years.
Another thing to note - sunchokes do not store well. I brought these into the house and put them in a paper bag in my kitchen. Two days later they were brown and squishy. Best to keep them in the ground until you're ready to use them.
I distinctly remember the smell of my grandparents' house. It's an old house smell that's hard to describe, a combination of old wood and old carpet and old plaster and old furniture. It sounds unpleasant, but really it's not. 'Old' should not be equated to 'bad', although it often is in our society.
A couple of times over the last few decades I've caught whiffs of this scent in other places, and each time it has whiplashed me back to that elegant house on Lake Harriet Boulevard. I wish I could bottle that smell.
There are also several tastes that bring me back to that house. One is bread-and-butter pickles, which Grandma would serve in crystal pickle dishes at the dinner table. Another is oatmeal cookies. Grandma would make oatmeal cookies and give them to me as a sweet treat. I think she put pecans in them too, but I'm not 100% sure about that.
Yesterday I made a large batch of oatmeal cookies. The recipe I used said it would make 18 cookies, and since I was making enough to bring to O and E, I decided to triple it. The 18 cookies from the recipe must be gargantuan, because I ended up with about 80 cookies. We'll be eating them for weeks. Cookies for breakfast, lunch and dinner. Not that the kids would complain, of course.
One bite from those cookies and I'm back at Grandma and Grandpa's house. Once again I'm eight years old, sitting at the table in the breakfast nook, looking out the window and watching the birds eat from Grandpa's suet feeder.
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| The house on Lake Harriet |
On my way home from work tonight, I found my eyelids drooping a bit. So, I endeavored to enliven my brain by thinking of my top ten favorite films. This is the list I came up with.
1. Willie Wonka and the Chocolate Factory (1971). Obviously.
2. Victor Victoria (1982)
3. Young Frankenstein (1974)
4. Monty Python and the Holy Grail (1975)
5. Enchanted April (1991)
6. Little Lord Fauntleroy (1980)
7. Blazing Saddles (1974)
8. The Christmas Story (1983)
9. The Sting (1973)
10. Guardians of the Galaxy (2014)
Take from this list what you will. Obviously I am a fan of Gene Wilder. And of musicals. I'm a sucker for an uplifting inspirational, or a nostalgic children's story, or a comedic caper. Nothing too serious, and nothing at all sad. Why would anyone want to watch a sad movie? There's plenty of sad in real life, no need to add to it. Movies are an escape for me, a time to feel joy and hope and rejuvenation.
Next time I drive home from an evening shift, I'll make up a list of my least favorite movies. That list will be harder to make, as I've likely forgotten most of the bad ones. I apologize in advance if some of your favorites are on it.
When my parents died eight years ago, I became the official 'keeper of stuff'. Stuff that nobody else (my brother or two sisters) wanted to store, but felt guilty about throwing away. I have totes full of letters, photos, slides, mementos, etc. Over the past few years I've been very slowly going through the boxes.
One of the things I found was my mother's wedding veil. Finding the veil was a surprise because Mom had always told us her wedding dress was lost long ago. I assumed the veil had been lost as well. I showed it to my older sister, who showed it to her step-daughter, who wore it at her own wedding this past August.
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| Congratulations again G and A! |
Another thing I found, nestled in a small jewelry box, was my grandfather's dog tags from WWI. This was another special discovery - I don't have many mementos from my grandfather. He was born in 1896 in Indianapolis, Indiana and joined the army in 1918. Later that year his unit was scheduled to deploy to the German front, but at the last minute Grandpa contracted the flu (yes, THAT flu) and had to stay behind. He recovered and worked as a mechanic for the rest of the war, never leaving the U.S.
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| Grandpa's High School graduation. |
After the war Grandpa returned to Indianapolis. A few years later he met Grandma at a masonic dance, and they began courting. Grandpa got a job selling carburetors throughout MN, SD and ND and spent a lot of time on the road. I have an large box of letters that he sent to Grandma during that time. He wrote several letters a week, and Grandma kept every one.
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| I love the old hotel stationery. |
In 1926 they married and moved to Minneapolis. In 1930 my father was born. He was the only child they were able to have. From what my father tells me, they were a very close and loving family.
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| I inherited my father's ears. |
Grandpa came from a family of inventors. His great uncle invented a rotary blade lawnmower, but never patented it - just keeping it for personal use. Grandpa and his friend Dave Chandler invented a number of things, including the outboard motor used on boats. They were forced to sell the patents during the depression. I was also able to find his blueprints and patent papers among the boxes.
By the time I came around, both Grandma and Grandpa were in their seventies. Grandpa developed Alzheimer's and his health deteriorated. I don't remember much about him. When we visited them, Grandma was the one who doted on us, and Grandpa stayed traditionally aloof. He loved gardening, and grew African violets in the windows of their sunroom. They and my parents often played bridge at a corner table in their living room. We all took long walks around Lake Harriet, bringing bread to feed the ducks.
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| Lake Harriet in the background. |
Grandpa died in 1987. I still remember that day, because I was the one who picked up the phone when it rang. I heard a shaky voice on the line, my grandmother's voice, saying 'Daddy's dying.' I handed the receiver to my father, who spoke quickly with his mother and then left immediately for the nursing home.
My grandfather's death was my first personal experience with mortality, the first time someone that I knew died. I wasn't overly affected by it at the time. I had barely known him. I remember wondering what I should be feeling, wondering if I should be more upset. You feel what you need to feel, I suppose.
I wish I had more memories of my grandparents. But I'm glad I am the 'keeper of stuff' and can go through these things whenever I crave a trip down memory lane.
New Ulm is a very German town. A very German town that is very proud of its German-ness. The main attractions are Schells Brewery, a statue of Herman the German, and a Glockenspiel. The main festivals are Bock Fest, Bavarian Blast and Oktoberfest. The 'welcome' signs along the highway don't actually say 'welcome.' They say 'willkommen.'
In 1917 the mayor and other city officials held a huge rally opposing the war against Germany, and were temporarily removed from office by the Governor. New Ulm takes its German heritage very seriously.
I have a fair amount of German ancestry flowing in my veins. I speak a few German words, thanks to four years of language classes in high school. I love German food. Not all of it, but most of it. And I enjoy a good rousing romp of polka music (who doesn't?). However, my germanity has its limits. I draw the line at drinking beer. The stuff just tastes nasty. Which is the main reason why I don't attend either Bock Fest or Oktoberfest.
In fact, the first time I heard about Bock Fest, I genuinely thought it was Bach Fest and was looking forward to a celebration of classical music. I was saddened to learn it was just another excuse for a lot of people to get together and drink. Not that people need an excuse in this town - they need to support the local brewery, after all.
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| If you drive past while the bells are chiming, the doplar effect makes it sound super creepy. |
You'd think a town named New Ulm would be brimming with good German restaurants. Unfortunately, this is not the case. New Ulm boasts the oldest tavern in Minnesota, Turner Hall, established in 1856. But they only serve a few German items (reubens and chicken schnitzel).
The best place (ok, the only place) to get your German food fix is Veigel's Kaiserhoff. It's an old restaurant, built in 1938, and is resplendently retro with dark ceilings and wood panel walls. Signed photos of celebrities who visited during the restaurant's heyday line the entrance hall. Hand-painted murals of German landscapes decorate the restaurant. In the back room you can still find small table-top jukeboxes in the booths. Overall it's a pretty groovy old-world place, which is always a plus for me.
If you go there, I recommend the ribs. And the landjaeger. And the sauerkraut. And the red cabbage. Whatever you choose, make sure to get a salad to go with it -- specifically, Ray's Salad, named after a former employee who created the dish. That salad is probably the most famous item on the menu, fabled in local song and story.
There's nothing really German about Ray's salad. A few years ago I came across a FB post that had a recipe for it, taken from an old cookbook. Knowledge is power, so I'm sharing it here. As you can see, it's fairly easy to make.
If you're ever in New Ulm, make sure to try the authentic version at the Kaiserhoff. After listening to the glockenspiel and visiting Herman the German, of course. And if you go on the Schell's Brewery tour, be sure to try their 1919 root beer. It's fantastic. And far better than any icky alcoholic beer.
Saturday was a beautiful day, so Hubby and I worked outside for several hours. Hubby cleaned out the garden beds, removing the dead plants and debris and pulling out the supports. He then used a shovel to turn over the soil, and raked the surface smooth. As smooth as the clay-heavy dirt could get, at least.
While he was working, I picked the last of the pole beans. Then I snipped off spent zinnia heads for seed saving. And after doing that, I planted garlic.
After this year's garlic harvest I saved about a dozen of the best, biggest bulbs for planting. Desiring a larger harvest next year, I also ordered a few pounds of seed garlic from Big Stone Garlic. Big Stone County is my old stomping ground, so it felt good to order from them.
Their tag says 'premium garlic', and they're not wrong! Look at the difference between my own bulbs and those from BSG. I ended up planting two-and-a-half beds of garlic, about twice as last year.
Garlic is super easy to grow. Plant in the fall, mulch, and watch for the green shoots to come up in the spring. When you see shoots pull back the mulch for a few weeks to help warm the soil, then put it back for weed control. Harvest in early August. No need to worry about bunnies, deer or insects. No diseases either. Garlic is about as fire-and-forget as a vegetable can get.
I also pulled the last of the onions, except for a dozen or so Red Wethersfield that I'm letting stay in the ground. Assuming they don't die over the winter, next spring they should grow and flower, producing seed in late summer. I added a layer of mulch on the onions as well, as extra insurance.
All the garden beds have now been put to bed. There's still plenty of outdoor work to do this fall, but at least this task is done. The soil can rest under a blanket of snow throughout winter, and wake up fresh and ready in the spring.
In a month or so the first seed catalogs will come in the mail, and the planning process for next year's garden will begin. I can't wait!
Some end-of-the-season zinnia pics.
I saw a few bees buzzing around the blooms today. Hubby was cleaning out the garden beds, but he left the zinnias alone. Gotta get every bit of goodness outta these lovelies before they freeze.
I planted two types of beans this year. Before selecting my varieties, I did a bit of research and learned that runner beans wouldn't cross with common snap beans. So I chose Dutch half runner and Monte Gusto wax. I could grow both of them in the same bed and not worry about cross pollination. The saved seeds would breed true.
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| Monte Gusto seeds from Johnny's |
I figured that since the wax bean pods were yellow and the half-runners were green, I would be able to tell them apart when it came time to collect seed. Easy peasy, right?
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| Stock photo of Dutch half runners |
Wrong! I didn't consider the fact that the green runner beans would turn yellow when they dried out at the end of the season. So a few weeks ago when I looked at my bean trellis and saw only yellow pods I panicked a bit, thinking that I wouldn't be able to tell the beans apart.
There was nothing I could do at that point, however. Last week I picked several dried beans and brought them inside. When I started shelling, I realized I needn't have worried. Sometimes I'm a little dense.
However, I've done a bit more research recently and have discovered that it is possible for runner beans to cross with common beans, if they are planted next to each other. Hmm. Growing these out and looking for potential hybrids may be interesting. I'd have to pay attention to where the cotyledons grew on the stem - runner bean cotyledons grow just above the planted seed, and common bean cotyledons are several inches above.
Even if I did get a few hybrid seeds, stabilizing the hybrid would be challenging - numerous seasons of growing and culling to weed out the undesirables. It takes a lot of work.
Since neither of these varieties did well for me this year, I don't think I'll bother. I grow for pleasure, production and seed saving, not for genetic experimentation. So I'll separate these beans by their different colors, with a note about possible crossing marked on the envelope.
I'm always learning new things about gardening, even after twenty years.
