New profile picture

Normally, I dislike pictures of myself, but this one is an exception. I usually think that I look stiff or uncomfortable when posing for a picture, but here I actually look like I’m having a good time, which I was.

Marilyn’s cousin took this one of birthday girl Marilyn and me with her camera and another one with mine. I don’t like the one she took with mine. I look stiff, which I guess is better than looking like a stiff. She hit the jackpot with her camera, though.

I also like this picture because we are wearing shirts that our dear friends Kathy and Donna had given us. If I had been more with it, we all four would have been wearing the shirts for a picture, but I forgot to send email asking them to wear theirs. I guess that’s a future project.

So, instead of hiding behind my camera, my features will actually appear in my profile. Amazing.

Off my rocker

In junking, sometimes just being in the right place at the right time results in a great find. Friday’s trash-to-treasure find was one of those cases.

Of course, it always pays to pay attention to possibilities.

When I went to work, I saw a rocking chair standing outside the door, in the area where items destined for the landfill are placed. I asked if this chair was intended for the dump.

Yes, it was. “And if someone wants to remove that chair at the end of the hall, take it away. I think the chair still has life.”

I don’t need to be told twice to take away something useful, since useful items do not go to the landfill when this girl is present.

One chair has some cracked slats. I will study how to mend them. The other one has no problems so far as I can tell. It had just been replaced by a new chair and was no longer wanted.

These chairs are destined for our front porch.

A few days ago, I went to work and saw another rocking chair by the Dumpsters. This chair (not pictured because it is now in storage) was very pretty with beautiful spindles for the back. Unfortunately, one of the rocker runners had broken off just behind one of the legs, rendering the chair dangerous to use. Still, those beautiful spindles called to me. I put it into the back of my pickup.

If I couldn’t use the chair as a rocker, perhaps I could use it or its parts for something else. I didn’t know what else, but generally items that call to me are just waiting to tell me what to do with them.

“By the pricking of my thumbs, something useful this way comes!”

Before I could get it out of the truck, Hubby asked, “What are you doing with (X’s) chair?”

I didn’t know that had been his chair, but, sure enough, his name was engraved on the back.

This man had recently died. Our friend Tonya was quite close to him. I will try to get replacement rocker runners for the chair and we will give it to her in his memory.

Sweet Home Alabama

I didn’t truly discover Southern rock until after I was out of high school. Bands like CCR and Lynyrd Skynryrd were not in my music collection, although I could certainly sing many of the lyrics.

“Sweet Home Alabama” is a highly topical song with dated references to Alabama Gov. George Wallace, a noted segregationist, and Watergate, as well as mystifying references to musician Neil Young. But the song is still very popular.



The song has a lot more to it than it first appears. Wikipedia says:

“Sweet Home Alabama” was written as an answer to two songs, “Southern Man” and “Alabama” by Neil Young, which dealt with themes of racism and slavery in the American South. “We thought Neil was shooting all the ducks in order to kill one or two,” said [Singer/songwriter] Ronnie Van Zant at the time. Van Zant’s musical response, however, was also controversial, with references to Alabama Gov. George Wallace (a noted supporter of segregation) and the Watergate scandal:

In Birmingham, they love the governor (boo boo boo)
Now we all did what we could do
Now Watergate does not bother me
Does your conscience bother you?
Tell the truth

In 1975, Van Zant said: “The lyrics about the governor of Alabama were misunderstood. The general public didn’t notice the words ’Boo! Boo! Boo!’ after that particular line, and the media picked up only on the reference to the people loving the governor.”

“The line ’We all did what we could do’ is sort of ambiguous,” [Producer Al] Kooper notes. “’We tried to get Wallace out of there’ is how I always thought of it.”

Journalist John Swenson argues that the song is more complex than it is sometimes given credit for, suggesting that it only looks like an endorsement of Wallace.

“Wallace and I have very little in common,” Van Zant himself said, “I don’t like what he says about colored people.”

Oddly enough, none of the band members were originally from Alabama.

Bad Moon Rising

The staying power of classic rock is truly amazing. As I was mowing a few days ago, Finance Director Lori drove in. She was rocking out to some tune. She rolled down the window so I could share what she was enjoying: “Bad Moon Rising”.

I looked up Creedence Clearwater Revival’s discography. Their “Green River” album came out in 1969, the year my brother was born. Lori would have been born around the same time. Even though CCR had been relegated to Golden Oldie status by the time she would have been appreciating music, CCR is still appealing.


I first remember CCR in late-night commercials. At first I thought the last line of the chorus

Don’t go around tonight,
Well, it’s bound to take your life,
There’s a bad moon on the rise.

was “There’s a bathroom on the right.”

Whenever we hear that song, Hubby and I laugh and loudly sing the misheard lyrics.

Super Simple Pancake Syrup

A few days ago, I was talking with the financial office staff at work. Somehow we started talking about my pancake syrup recipe. One of the ladies asked, “You can make syrup?”

My mother didn’t buy pancake syrup. She made it. “Store-bought syrup is a waste of money,” she said.

I generally can’t remember recipes, but this one is too simple to forget.

Super Simple Pancake Syrup

1 C. sugar
1 C. brown sugar
1 C. water
Few drops each maple, vanilla and butter flavorings
Stir together and allow to boil. Take off heat and pour into container for serving. Keep refrigerated.

Burger Salt

We attended a cookout Saturday. The grillers made wonderful burgers. When I complimented one of them on how good they tasted, she said, “It’s all in the seasoning.” I asked what she was using.

Burger Salt

¼ C. granulated garlic (NOT garlic salt)
¼ C. Lawry's Seasoned Salt
scant ¼ C. ground black pepper

Pour into shaker and sprinkle on burgers or hot dogs to taste.

Southern Pecan Cake

I made two Southern Pecan Cakes for Hubby's office party cakewalk. They didn’t last long. Cake is very easy and it looks and tastes delicious. Unfortunately, I forgot to photograph cakes before they were gone.

I obtained this recipe from a Duncan Hines press kit.

Southern Pecan Cake

Ingredients:

1 pkg. Moist Deluxe French vanilla cake mix (do not substitute)
2 C. pecan pieces — Toast on baking sheet at 350° for 4-5 mins. Chop fine.
1 pkg. (four serving) vanilla instant pudding mix
4 eggs
1 C. water
1/3 C. oil
1 pkg. cream cheese frosting

Method:
Combine cake mix, pudding mix, eggs, water and oil. Beat at medium speed for 2 mins. Fold in 1½ C. pecans. Pour into 2 greased and floured 9" round cake pans or one greased and floured 9 X 13 pan. Bake at 350° for 35-40 mins. or until toothpick is clean.

Cool in pans 15 mins. Invert onto cooling rack. Cool completely. Frost cake. Garnish with reserved pecans. Refrigerate until serving.

Dirt Dessert

Dirt Dessert centerpiece. Note the gummi worms at pot edges.

Mostly emptied Dirt Dessert serving pot. Note that the serving utensil is a garden trowel and that pot is lined with foil. Use new pot and trowel for serving food.

We chose a theme of “Marilyn is older than dirt” for her Friday surprise party. Going along with that theme, Kathy and Donna made Kathy’s Dirt Dessert recipe. It’s simple, fun and delicious.

Dirt Dessert

1 pkg. of crumbed Oreo sandwich cookies (I use my food processor. Should be the consistency of potting soil.)
12 oz. pkg. Cool Whip
8 oz. pkg. cream cheese
4 oz. box of instant vanilla pudding
1 C. powdered sugar
¼ C. butter

Cream butter, cream cheese and sugar together and set aside.

Mix pudding according to box directions and fold in Cool Whip. Mix together with the cream cheese mixture.

May be put together in a flower pot or served in individual cups. Lay cookie crumbs on bottom, then filling, then another layer of cookie crumbs. Gummi worms finish the idea of dirt dessert. Plastic flowers can be added for a final touch.

Fill me up, buttercup

I thought I had planted butternut squash in my Three Sisters Garden. I must have misread the seed pack or the packers put the wrong seed in the package. What I have is buttercup squash.

I don’t much like the taste of winter squash and I find the texture to be extraordinarily off-putting. But I do love pumpkin pie and cake and dessert. The only reason I planted the squash was as a substitute for pumpkin filling. We found that butternut squash tastes even better than pumpkin itself in pumpkin recipes.

When I saw roundish green squash in my garden instead of elongated yellowish squash, I knew I had a case of mistaken identity. At first we thought we had acorn squash, which I absolutely detest, but instead we have buttercup.

SeasonalChef.com says that buttercup squash is “one of the most pumpkin-like of winter squashes.” So maybe The Frugal Gardener is all right after all.

So “fill me up (fill me up) Buttercup, baby
Don’t you let me down (let me down) and mess me around …
So build me up, Buttercup; don’t break my heart.”

All worthwhile

We, Marilyn’s friends, schemed for a long time to give her a very memorable milestone birthday. Celebrations Thursday, Friday, Saturday and Sunday, plus a couple extra touches on Monday, have worn me out.

This grin makes it all worth the effort.

Happy Half a Century, Marilyn!

Creative yard art

Earlier this summer, we noticed this beautiful home in another town. The homeowner had used her creativity to greatly improve her home’s curb appeal.

Homeowner was not home, so we did not get a chance to talk to her about her beautiful windows.

Neighbor said that windows originally graced homeowner’s grandmother’s church. When the church was demolished, homeowner bought the windows.

Since the homeowner was not present, we did not feel comfortable examining how the windows were hung. We can get vicious hailstorms here and we wondered how the windows were protected — if at all — from inclement weather.

We were very fortunate in our timing. The sun was setting at the time we looked at this home and its light filtered through the beautiful windows.

Homeowner also had an unusual gate. Instead of the standard gate, she had hung an old door. If we ever build a fence, I want a gate like that. The street signs shown in that picture were in the yard as well. I had wanted a street sign for our driveway before, but I really want one after seeing this.

Ideas exist to be adapted and used.

Black Forest Cake

Last year, I asked Marilyn what her favorite cake was so I could make it for her birthday.
She told me she liked Black Forest Cake.

I had no idea what that was so looked it up on the Internet. I found it in About.com's Southern Food section. I made it for her. She loved it and has described the recipe as “to die for” ever since.

Since she turns the Big 5-0 this year, I had to make it again.

Although I am the pastry chef in our house, Chef Hubby cannot resist tinkering with ingredients and I cannot resist tinkering with the method. Here is our version of Black Forest Cake. (Printer-friendly PDF)

Black Forest Cake

Ingredients:

1 dark chocolate cake mix (or your own from scratch)
¼ C. kirschwasser (cherry brandy)
1/8 C. amaretto
1 can extra fruit cherry pie filling
16 oz. heavy whipping cream
½ C. confectioners’ sugar
Maraschino cherries, drained, optional, for garnish
milk chocolate curls or shavings, for garnish

Preparation:
The day before serving —

Drain 1 can extra fruit cherry pie filling in a colander to remove most of the thickened juices. Leave filling in colander on plate in refrigerator overnight for best drainage.

Make cake, following package directions. Bake cake, as directed, in two 9-inch layer cake pans. I buy the dark chocolate fudge cake mix.

When cool, run knife around outside of cake to break any clinging pieces from the sides. Holding cake with one hand, turn cake pan on its side and tap on the counter while gently turning pan. This should loosen the cake. Remove cakes from pans. Place on separate plates. Sprinkle mixture of kirschwasser and amaretto over both cake layers. Insert toothpicks on top and in sides of cake and wrap in cling wrap. Let stand overnight.

Chill electric beaters and large mixing bowl; beat heavy whipping cream until it thickens slightly. Gradually add confectioners’ sugar and beat until thick enough to hold its shape. Refrigerate overnight.

Using a cheese plane (preferred) or vegetable peeler, shave chocolate; refrigerate until ready to serve. I found that the side of the chocolate my hand had warmed was the best to shave. Once the chocolate became difficult to shave, I switched sides to rewarm the chocolate. Store in covered container at room temperature or below overnight.

The day of serving —

Assemble cake.

Place one layer on serving plate. Dilute ½ C. of whipped cream mixture with water until it becomes a glaze. Spread glaze over top of bottom layer. Wait half hour, then spread its top with layer of whipped cream to total ½ inch. Strew the cherries over the cream, leaving about ½-inch margin around border of cake with no cherries.

Set other layer on top of cherries. Spread remainder of glaze on top and sides of cake. Wait half hour, then spread top and sides of cake with remaining cream, shaping cream into decorative swirls on top.

With fingers, gently press chocolate curls into cream on sides of cake. I completely cover sides of cake with the chocolate curls or shavings, whichever I’ve managed to produce. This both looks good and covers up any frosting boo-boos.

Garnish top with any remaining cherry filling and maraschino cherries or with a few chocolate curls. I like the look of the cherry juice on the white frosting.

I inserted bamboo skewers through top of cake to hold it together during transport to party, then removed them when I arrived. I added the topper just before serving.

Enjoy!

'Tartuffe' and 'The Full Monty'

For some reason, I thought of my college friend Lynn the other day. Every time I think of her, I remember the theater appreciation class we took together. The professor was a prim, stuffy old maid. Most class periods we saw videos of whatever play we were studying. Prof sat in the front row to deal with any technical difficulties.

One day, we watched “Tartuffe”. Actually, we heard all of it, but only saw part of it.

At some point in the play, a naked man appeared on screen. Immediately, Prof leaped up with a sheet of paper to cover his nakedness. She peered over the top of the paper to see when he would go away. He was on stage for some time. She would become engrossed in the video and the paper would slip downward, exposing the naked man.

“Ooh, ooh,” she said. “Oh, that’s disgusting! Why doesn’t he put on some clothes!”

When she would realize that she was no longer covering the nakedness, she would jump and jerk the paper upwards.

We were nearly rolling in the aisles, except that we couldn’t laugh outwardly. We knew that laughing out loud would break the spell, so we choked on it. Tears were streaming down our faces from the effort of suppressing belly laughs. Thankfully, all the lights were off so she couldn’t see our faces.

When play finally ended, she took some time flipping on the lights. Perhaps she wanted to cover her reactions to seeing a man’s full monty. Fortunately for us, her delay gave us time to wipe away the tears and compose our expressions.

“Well,” Prof sniffed, “I’ve never seen such a disgraceful exhibition as that!”

Every student in the class went rigid with the effort of controlling laughter once again.

Once class was dismissed, we rushed away from the classroom and all dissolved into helpless laughter. Nearly everyone reported aching sides the next day, the result of holding in guffaws.

I remember nothing about that class except for the naked man in “Tartuffe”. So much for appreciating theater.

I’ll bet Prof never showed a film again without previewing it.

At the pump

Seeing my brother at this water pump at a living history museum reminded me of our grandparents’ house. Even though they were hooked to city water inside, they still retained their old water pump outside.

My brother, cousins and I loved that water pump. Something about pumping the water out of the ground made it taste better. I don’t know that water actually tasted better from that source, but we thought it did. And pumping the handle was such fun, especially since our efforts were rewarded with cold water.

Our grandparents lost their house to a tornado and the water pump was one of the casualties of their rebuilding. The new house was always strange to me. The delights of my childhood had been removed. Even though the house was on the same lot as the old one, Grandpa and Grandma lived in an alien place.

Just another brick on the ground

If you’ve read this blog for very long, you know that I love bricks. Red and yellow bricks are all over our yard as edging and pavers.

Monday I did a project I’ve wanted to do for some time. Apparently, our back door (just visible at upper left) was originally south of its current location. The sidewalk is just south of where the door currently opens, which means we must stand on the lawn to enter the door. Therefore, that patch is chronically bare. I hated the way it looked. I hated the mud and dust we tracked in because we had to stand on bare ground.

I took a stack of spare bricks and laid them out in that ugly place. As I anticipated, I didn't have enough spares. So I pulled the nails out of the fence posts I had rescued from the landfill. I removed the bricks I was using for edging the flower garden next to the back door and replaced them with the fence posts, now landscape timbers (shown at top in above picture). Those repurposed bricks weren’t enough, so I removed bricks from a straightway in other garden, replacing them with another fence post turned landscape timber.

The bricks sit up a bit too high. I am running a sprinkler on the newly-laid bricks. I hope I can saturate the ground enough that walking on them will push them into the ground. If that doesn’t work, I’ll dig out some of the dirt so they will sit more level with the ground.

I don’t like the pattern yet, so will tinker with it later.

Sunday, I added more bricks to the sidewalk running from the street to the back door. I didn’t like the pattern I’d originally used. I changed it and added more bricks. I’d like to add more bricks, but I’ve run out.

Unfortunately, I never run out of ways to use bricks. No stockpile is ever enough for all I have in mind. I’ll just have to keep my eyes open for more of them.

Tasty Cucumber Relish

Last year I looked for a cucumber relish recipe online. I found the best relish I've ever eaten.

If you’ve never canned or pickled, PaulNoll.com gives excellent step-by-step instructions, complete with photos, of how to make the relish.

Hubby and I have made some changes to the recipe.

Here is our version.

Tasty Cucumber Relish

Vegetables
6 lbs. grated or chopped cucumbers
1 grated white onion
1 grated carrot
10 chopped or grated medium bell peppers (if possible, include some red, yellow and/or orange peppers for better color)

Mix together. Grating will make a coarser relish than chopping will.

Brine
1 T. turmeric
1/2 C. salt
8 C. water

Mix together.

Pour brine over vegetables. Stir well and let sit for 3 hours. Drain. Cover with water and let stand for 1 hour. Drain, refill with water and drain again.

Syrup
1 T. mustard seed
1 T. cinnamon
1 t. ground cloves
2 t. allspice
2 C. brown sugar
4 C. cider vinegar

Mix and bring to boil, then pour over vegetables. Let stand 10-12 hours.

Boil before filling prepared jars, leaving 1/2 inch head space. Make sure liquid covers vegetable mix. Process in water bath for 10 minutes.

Makes about 7 pint jars.

Our cucumbers are bearing prolifically right now, so we tripled the recipe this time. I thought I had enough for four batches, but the 23 lbs. I started with became 19 lbs. by the time I removed the ends and blemishes from the cucumbers and deseeded large the ones.

Unfortunately, our peppers aren’t keeping up with the cukes, so I had to buy 34 peppers at the grocery store. The cashier’s eyes nearly bugged out of her head when she saw how many peppers I had in the cart. (We’ll freeze the unused peppers.)

We mixed the recipe in storage containers because we had no other containers large enough.

The Frugal Gardener always feels so virtuous when she preserves her own food!

Where cheese comes from

Some years ago, we visited Sweet Home Farm in Elberta, Ala. The proprietors had free-range chickens roaming about and their Guernsey cattle were pastured within sight of their cheese store.

To us, rural folks that we are, the chickens and cattle were comforting signs of authenticity. We could tell that we would be buying — and eating — artisanal cheese, not some “cheese food” cranked out of some soulless factory.

The cheese we bought was all we hoped it would be: Absolutely delicious. Too bad proprietors don’t ship their cheese. We would love to eat Bayside Blue Cheese again.

However, not everyone found the animals’ presence comforting.

Some city folks had come in one day. They asked what the cattle were doing there.

Proprietors told them the cattle produced the milk that proprietors made into cheese.

City folks turned green and left. Apparently, they thought milk and cheese just magically appeared in the store.

That is an udderly ridiculous notion.

So I leave you with today’s lesson in food production. Cows produce milk which can be made into cheese. And, just in case you need a review, chickens produce eggs.

Class dismissed.

We'll leave the light on for you

Abandoned houses almost always have their doors standing open. It’s as if they are lonely for the people who once inhabited them.

“Come home! I miss you.”

This one takes the invitation a bit more seriously than most. In all the abandoned buildings I’ve photographed, only this one appears to have left the lights on. House seems to be begging for company.

“We’ve left the light on for you,” it says.

Of course, that light has to be coming from the massive holes in the walls. If anyone was foolish enough to walk into that house, that person would likely not come back out unless carried out on a gurney.

Rub-a-dub-dub, a fountain in the tub

This clawfoot bathtub is an outstanding example of junking. Somebody turned trash into a true treasure with a pump and some pipe. The stream comes out of copper tubing. I wish I would have taken better pictures. If I can figure out how to do this and can find a suitable junk bathtub, I want to have a fountain like this by next spring. Marilyn already has a bathtub, which she is currently using as a container garden. She is interested in turning her bathtub into a fountain as well. She’s a step ahead of me since she already has the tub. I think I’ve seen one near an abandoned building I photographed and I actually remember where that building was. That building isn’t all that far away, either. I’m anxious to see if the tub I think I remember is a suitable one.

I love the fish in the tub as well, but what would I do with them over winter? I’m not sure I want to have a goldfish bowl in the house. Mr. Kitty would probably go fishing, but then he’d likely go fishing in the summer, too. I found these fountain instructions at wikiHow. Hope they work. If anyone has ideas how to do this, I’d love to hear them.

The photographer wears work boots

No matter how hot it is, I wear blue jeans and work boots when I walk around old buildings to take pictures. While I try to watch my step, I’m not always able to avoid every hazard. And I can’t avoid walking through tall, scratchy weeds.

I was especially grateful for the boots Saturday.

I intended to photograph this white house on our way to Dad’s house.

I became very sleepy while driving and needed to stop. I saw another abandoned house and turned off.

While walking around this house, I felt this nail penetrate my boot sole. I was so grateful I was wearing work boots. Otherwise, I would have had a puncture wound in my foot. (Later, at the white house, I stepped on a box spring that was hidden in those tall weeds. Thank God for thickly soled boots.)

Boards came from the second floor. Nearly all the siding has fallen off that second floor. Much of it remains on the porch roof, but some has slid to the ground to catch the unwary.

So much siding has fallen off that the house reminded me of one of those mountain resort homes with the huge picture windows in front. But this house did not look out onto any mountain view. It looks out to rolling prairie.

I was very careful to stay under the porch roof as much as possible. Note the window near the roof’s edge. I definitely would not like any piece of that pile to fall on me. Maybe I should wear a hard hat, too?

I am careful always to check the soundness of any floors I might walk on. Falling through the floor would be a bad idea. If I have any doubt as to the floor’s soundness, I stay away. Floor was sound in most of the “Ozymandias house”, but the back porch felt soft when I tested it. I did not enter the back porch. My husband was glad to know this. Most of these abandoned buildings are a long way from any emergency rooms and he’d rather not have to take me to one of them.

I’d rather avoid those places myself.

Where eggs come from

Our oldest niece (obscured by our youngest niece) has developed a distaste for eggs. She visited a friend who raises chickens and found out where eggs come from.

When I said that I had greatly enjoyed gathering eggs, she said, “I don’t mind gathering eggs. But I don’t want to eat them! Eggs come from chickens’ butts! That’s gross!”

A person is better off not knowing what goes into sausage, but that’s the first time I’ve heard that it’s better not knowing where eggs originate.

Ignorance can truly be bliss.

Oh, and by the way, make mine over easy, please.

Through a glass darkly

For now we are looking in a mirror that gives only a dim (blurred) reflection [of reality as in a riddle or enigma], but then [when perfection comes] we shall see in reality and face to face! Now I know in part (imperfectly), but then I shall know and understand fully and clearly, even in the same manner as I have been fully and clearly known and understood [by God]. – I Cor. 13:12 (Amplified)

I caught my dim reflection in window laying on the floor in an abandoned house.

According to I Corinthians, this dim reflection is what we understand about ourselves, each other and our lives. We see only a miniscule bit of the big picture. Our lives are like a giant tapestry of which we only see a infinitesimal slice. And we only see the underside of that slice.

Only God sees “the big picture”. Only He knows “the end from the beginning”.

Tony Snow, George Bush’s late Press Secretary, wrote “…God relishes surprise. We want lives of simple, predictable ease — smooth, even trails as far as the eye can see — but God likes to go off-road. He provokes us with twists and turns. He places us in predicaments that seem to defy our endurance and comprehension — and yet don’t. By his love and grace, we persevere. The challenges that make our hearts leap and stomachs churn invariably strengthen our faith and grant measures of wisdom and joy we would not experience otherwise.…”

Just like Tony Snow, I’d greatly prefer a straight, level, predictable road through life. A road where we can see every step far into the distance. No dark valleys. No tortuous inclines. Plenty of money, perfect health for me and those I love, no grief, no pain, no frustration.

And then I’d think I could live life on my own terms, that I didn’t need God or anyone else.

Adversity could be called “growing pains”. Faith does not grow on level roads. It grows in dark, tight, mountainous places. Places where the glass is indeed dim and God’s purposes are beyond opaque. Places that I can only navigate by the grace of God.

What need would we have to trust if we could see everything? What need would we have for grace if we could walk alone?

Someday I will stand in the blazing light of Heaven. I will “know as I am known”. Until then, God intends to build my faith muscles through struggle and adversity.

Opportunity knocks

Junking, seeking items to turn from trash into treasure, can be intentional or opportunistic. I’ve found wonderful items when I was actually Dumpster diving and I’ve found equally wonderful items when I was doing something else.

For some time, I have desired to put pavers underneath our turkey fryer, which we use as an all-purpose outdoor cooking device. But I didn’t really want to buy the pavers. That’s no fun.

Last week, my boss tore out a bricked, fenced patio. When I saw the contents of the trailer he’d used for demolition, my eyes lit up. He had thrown several old fence posts into trailer, which I immediately saw as landscape timbers. I asked him for those. He said that I could take away any item that was in that trailer.

When I looked at it more closely sometime later, I noticed bricks in there. Nice big, thick, coated bricks. Perfect for getting the fryer’s legs off the ground. I brought both fence posts and bricks home.

Saturday morning I laid those bricks where I had envisioned them and put the fryer on top. I had just enough to do the job.

I put the cover back on and was very pleased with my work.

Hubby also grabbed opportunity recently when he took out some trash. A nice plastic tub was in the Dumpster with the price sticker still attached. He fished it out and covered the tiller’s engine with it. We have no place to store the tiller, so the tub will protect the engine from rain and dirt.

Keep your eyes peeled!

Hot wired

My bike was red, but you get the general picture of what it looked like.

Grandpa had several roads to his cattle pens. One had a low spot that often filled with water. I loved to ride my bike through that low spot. Water often reached almost to my knees. Especially on a hot day, the water felt great.

One day, I rode through that spot and nearly fell off my bike. I couldn’t figure out what had happened. I backed up and tried again. Boom! I felt as if something had hit me. I was completely baffled. I had ridden through this puddle before; why couldn’t I get through now?

I backed up to try once more. Then I noticed an electrical insulator on a pole to the side of the puddle. The light began to dawn. I looked at the water more closely. I saw a thin line enter the puddle, then disappear underneath the water.

I turned around and stayed away from that dip ever afterward. I wanted to avoid another shocking experience.

Farm-fresh eggs from free-range chickens

I visited a farm on Friday. Residents were feeding their chickens when I arrived, so I went to the chicken coop. The smell of the coop took me right back to my grandparents’ farm.

Grandma kept chickens throughout most of my childhood. I thought the chickens were hilarious. I laughed at the way they walked, how they stuck out their necks with each step. I laughed when they tried to fly. They were busy things, always chasing after bugs. Grandma didn’t have many bugs; the chickens ate them all.

When I visited, my “chore” was to gather eggs. That was hardly a chore. I thought gathering eggs was a privilege. I loved the smell of the coop and the taste of farm-fresh eggs. The yolks were a deeper yellow and the flavor was much more intense than anything bought in the store.

I didn’t think their beaks were funny, though. Grandma said that I could take eggs from underneath the setting hens. I tried that once. Hen didn’t appreciate my actions and pecked me. I stayed away from occupied nests after that. That beak was sharp!

Grandma finally dispensed with her chickens about the time I went to college. Grandpa tore down the chicken house. Three years later, Grandma dug the soil underneath the chicken house and put it on her garden. The plants came up, then died. That soil was too hot even after three years. Grandma didn’t have much garden that year. The only veggies she harvested were in corners where the “chickenized” soil hadn’t reached. The next year made up for it. She had never had such bountiful crops in decades of gardening.

The farm was never quite the same post-chickens. I missed their soft clucking and their funny strut. And I sure missed fresh eggs and Grandma’s fried chicken. Store-bought chicken just does not compare to free-range, bug-eating chicken. The flavor just is not there.

Now I’m getting hungry!

How I lost my fingertip

I came by my interest in gardening very naturally. Grandma’s flowers are in the foreground. I haven’t found any pictures of her vegetable garden, but she had a big one.

House, yard and garden were my grandmother’s world. Her world smelled of flowers, grass and food.

Grandpa’s world began beyond that fence. Shop, barn and cattle pens, corn, hay and alfalfa fields, were my grandfather’s world.

Shop smelled like dirt and grease and oil. It smelled like solder and acetylene and gasoline. When I go into someone else’s shop and inhale that fragrance, I am instantly transported into Grandpa’s shop.

I hate(d) shoes and insisted on going barefoot even in the shop. My feet were always covered with a tarry substance when I came out, but I didn’t care. I was fascinated by his tools, especially the drill press, the hoist and anything to do with welding. I loved to watch him work and I must have gotten underfoot.

One day when I was about 8, he was welding while I watched. He said, “Do you know how to cut wood?”

I lied and said that I did. I had never used a hatchet or ax in my life. But I was not going to tell Grandpa that I didn’t know how to do something.

Grandpa wasn’t fond of the word “can’t”. He would say, “‘Can’t’ never did anything but fail.”

He pointed out a pile of lath or something like that, gave me a hatchet and told me to chop away.

I did. All was well for a few minutes until I chopped off the tip of my left index finger. I left his shop and went to the house.

I showed my mother and grandmother what had happened. Instead of treating my finger, they scrubbed my tarry feet! Only when my feet were clean did they treat my throbbing, bleeding finger.

I was watching TV in the living room, holding up my injured digit, when Grandpa came in.

“Where did Roxie go?”

“She cut off her fingertip,”, Grandma said.

“Why, she didn’t even cry or say anything about it,” he said.

He never asked me to cut wood again.

Horn and doggie door

My grandparents installed a horn above the garage door on the right. When Grandma flipped a switch inside, the horn sounded to call Grandpa from his shop across the driveway. This horn was quite loud.

One night they had quite a few people visiting, many of whom were outside. When dinner was ready, Grandma flipped the switch. I happened to be standing right underneath it. I was so startled that I dropped to the ground, curled up into a fetal position and covered my ears. “Duck and cover” drills were a thing of the past by then, but that’s pretty much what I must have looked like. Dad howled with laughter, which I didn’t understand or appreciate at the time.

The gate had a doggie door in it. Fence existed to keep out her chickens and whatever other herbivores might try to spoil her yard and garden. The dog, however, was welcome. I never remember a dog at the farm, but the doggie door still existed. I thought crawling through the doggie door was great fun, even though opening the gate would have been much easier.

It was fun until I nearly got stuck. My head and shoulders went through, but my arms were pinioned to my sides. Grandma was inside and Grandpa was in his shop, so no one could help me. Not that I would have wanted help in such an embarrassing predicament. I wiggled and strained and pushed, but did not budge. Finally, after some time and nasty bruises, I popped free. That ended the doggie door for me. Becoming a “big girl” definitely had its price.