#Hot Salsa

I’m not talking about dancing here. If you’ve expected that, you’re reading the wrong blog ☺

Today was a typical Fall-day: Cold, cloudy, and rainy. So we stayed indoors and made Salsa. Actually, we did the same thing last year, only a week earlier.

This year was not a good year for growing some vegetables in the garden, but we did manage to get enough tomatoes and peppers to make one batch of Salsa and a couple batches of ‘Pfeffersosse” (Peppersauce). The tomatoes are not as nice as last year, neither are the peppers. Not many red peppers. Most of them were yellow and many were still green. At this time last year I took a five-gallon pail filled with beautiful red tomatoes to the soup kitchen in Selkirk. This year we barely have enough for our own consumption.

The Salsa turned out nicely. We’ll be eating some tonight. There is nothing better than homemade salsa. They don't put these quality ingredients into the stuff you buy in the stores. We made it hotter this year by adding more hot peppers. Here is the modified recipe:

Note: This recipe makes a hot salsa. For a milder salsa use less hot peppers.

Ingredients:

Chop:
*5 - quarts ripe tomatoes (Roma are the best) (2 Ice cream pails)
*7 - large sweet peppers

*6 - hot peppers (Hungarian banana peppers) (finely chopped)

*3 - medium sized onions
*5 - tablespoons fresh parsley (finely chopped)
*3 - leaves fresh basil (finely chopped)
*2 - teaspoons fresh Oregano (finely chopped) (or dried)

*3 - cloves garlic (crushed)
*1 - tablespoon salt
*Juice of 1 lime

Boil chopped tomatoes for about 15 minutes in a large pot (6 quarts steel pot). Remove most of the liquid to decrease cooking time. Dip a ladle into the boiling tomato pulp and let the foam run into the ladle.

Add the rest of the ingredients.

Boil for 30 minutes on medium heat, and then simmer on medium low until thick, stirring frequently. (Don’t overcook, otherwise Salsa will turn to mush.)

In the meantime:

Sterilize 9 – 500 ml (1 pint) mason jars with Sodium Metabisulfite.

Sterilize new lids

Fill hot water into the jars to make them hot.

Ladle salsa into hot mason jars.

Put sterilized lids onto filled jars. (Don’t overtighten the screw bands. Just fingertip tight)

Put filled and sealed mason jars into 250 F preheated oven for 20 minutes.

Remove jars from oven. Lids will pop and seal when they cool. No need to keep filled jars in fridge.

Note: I use Sodium Metabisulfite to sterilize the jars. Sodium Metabisulfite is available from Wine making supply stores. You just fill one jar to the rim and transfer the sterilizing liquid from one jar to the next, pouring the liquid back into the storage container when done with the last jar. The liquid can be used over and over until it doesn’t smell anymore. After sterilizing rinse with warm water.

#Borscht

This year I had a good crop of red beets. Many nice big ones, although I lost quite a few to some rodent. I did catch a mouse and a vole in the trap, but I don’t know which one was the culprit.

Last week we made Borscht. Actually, my wife made it; I just eat it. This is the second batch she made this year. She makes the best Borscht I’ve ever eaten anywhere, and she isn’t even Ukrainian. She got the recipe from my daughter-in-law, who got it from her mother. Her mother was half-Polish and half Ukrainian and she had many ‘Old country’ recipes. I know Ukrainians claim the recipe for Borscht originates in the Ukraine, but I did some research, and found that Russians claim it came from Russia. The Polish people claim it is a Polish recipe. There are also rumors that the ancient Romans already made Borscht. We won’t ever know. The origin of Borscht is lost in the mist of time like so many other things. It doesn’t really matter where it comes from, but whoever developed it, my thanks goes to them, because it is a tasty treat. People who have never eaten a bowl of Borscht don’t know what they are missing.

There are many recipes for making Borscht. Every ‘Old Country’ grandmother has her own favorite recipe. My mother used to make it from Cabbage, but my wife uses only Red Beets. Lots and lots of beets (the soup has to be thick). Here is the recipe:

5 cups peeled, grated beets (3 – 4 medium beets) –uncooked-

1 chopped onion

½ cup grated carrots

½ of a celery stalk (grated)

1 tsp. parsley

1 tbsp fresh dill, chopped

1 – 14 oz can pork and beans with tomato sauce (rinsed)

8 tbsp. lemon juice

1 cup half and half cream

1 tbsp flour

12 cups of water (read paragraph about the water!)

Boil shredded beets, onions, carrots, celery, parsley, pepper, and dill for 15 minutes in liquid (see paragraph below).

Meanwhile, mix flour and cream and put through a sieve to remove lumps.

When vegetables are done, add can of pork and beans. Cook for 2 minutes. Add lemon juice. Cook for 1 minute. Add cream and flour mixture quickly to broth. Cook for ½ minute and remove from heat.

My wife changed the recipe she got from my daughter-in-law a little. Instead of putting in a piece of pork meat into the 12 cups of water, she uses pork broth. When she makes pork ribs, she boils the ribs before we put them onto the barbeque. They are tenderer that way. But that is another recipe. She saves the broth every time we have ribs (we freeze it in containers) and uses it to make Borscht. If she doesn’t have enough broth, she adds some chicken stock and very little water (Approx. 2 cups) to make up the 12 cups of liquid. Too much water makes the Borscht taste watery. Some people use sour cream instead of cream. And let’s not forget the fresh dill. When we eat the Borscht, we sprinkle some chopped dill on top.

I’ll be eating my last bowl today for lunch. My wife made a double recipe. We keep out enough for a few meals and freeze the rest. This way we can have Borscht even in the winter. To eat Borscht is a bit messy because of the red color, so I usually wear a bib (actually just a paper towel tugged into my collar) to cover my shirt. I know, it doesn’t look very macho, but, hey, it keeps my shirt from getting red spots all over.

In case you don’t have broth from ribs, here is the original recipe:

12 cups of water

2 tsp. salt

1 lb pork buttons or ribs

Add salt and pork (or ribs) to water. Cook for ¾ hour. Remove pork.

Add ingredients and boil for 15 minutes...etc.

Enjoy

I am an odd guy, but otherwise I’m quite normal

This blog may be a little controversial and I apologize in advance if it offends anyone.

Some people think I’m odd, old-fashioned, and intolerant. I’m not naming people, but I’m married to one of them. She thinks I’m odd because of my opinions and little quirks. (She does agree with some of my opinions, though).You be the judge. I’m baring my soul here.

Ø      I don’t like sweet and sour. Either sweet or sour, not mixed.

Ø      I don’t like pineapple on my pizza.

Ø      I don’t like ice in my drinks. Neither do I like a beverage so hot it burns my lips when I sip it. I cool down my tea before I drink it.

Ø      When I go out for supper, I don’t want my beer brought before the food arrives. I want it served at the same time. I don’t like stale beer.

Ø      I buy Yogurt only when it’s on sale and then I stock up.

Ø      I like only strawberry ice cream. In a pinch, I will eat other flavor, but I don’t care much for chocolate ice cream.

Ø      I think people who cover their God-given bodies with tattoos are morons.

Ø      Guys who wear earrings are sissies.

Ø      People who put pins, bolts, and rings through their tongues, lips, eyebrows, and other body parts (except earlobes) should see a shrink. It may be alright for primitive tribes living in the jungles of Africa and South America, but not for civilized people. There is no help for guys with buttons in their earlobes. Their only hope is to die before they get old, because they’ll trip over their floppy earlobes.

Ø      Women who buy and wear brand new jeans with holes and rips already in them have no taste and they should have their heads checked for holes. I don’t even wear jeans like that in the garden. (I have to admit, though, some of them look damn cute and sexy in their frayed cut-off jeans. Who cares if they’re bubble-heads.) [That’s right, I’m a regular guy and that shallow. Guys think like that!]

Ø      I like women with long hair.

Ø      I don’t care much for women with a man’s haircut. (They probably don’t care much for me, either, or any other man).

Ø      Guys with long hair and ponytails should get a descent haircut. They look ridiculous not macho. Old guys with long hair and ponytails are just simple imbeciles. Stupid isn’t a word strong enough for those guys and girls with spiked, brightly colored hair. Do they ever look in the mirror? The other day I saw a guy who looked like a rooster with his blue and red spikes on an otherwise bald head.

Ø      I think guys who race in ditches with their snowmobiles are idiots.

Ø      Guys who wear their baseball cap with the shield in the back look like morons; guys who wear the shield sideways are morons.

Ø      Guys with stubble on their face are not cool and handsome. They look grubby and unkempt. Same goes for long, scraggly beards.

Ø      I shudder when I see guys walking away from urinals without washing their hands.

Ø      Doctors should stop telling people that you can’t get a cold when your body or head is chilled. I get a cold every time my head gets chilly.

Ø      I don’t believe gay people of the same gender should get married. I don’t care if they live together as a couple, but marriage should be left to a man and woman, the way it has been for centuries.

Ø      Fat people should stop griping that they can’t lose weight. My advice is: Don’t stuff your face with too much food. You find very few overweight people in third world countries. That should be a clue.

Ø      Skinny people? I have nothing for you. I used to be skinny myself. Just keep on complaining about not being able to gain weight. Eat as much as you can and hope for the best.

Ø      I don’t follow trends. I think people who do are sheep and have no mind of their own.

Ø      We should not make up cute names for people with problems. A fat person is not weight-challenged. A mentally handicapped person is neither mentally challenged nor ‘Special’. A Mongol child is not blessed and a gift from God; it’s a heartbreak and a curse. We should face the truth and say it as it is not sugarcoat it.

Ø      Parents who continually stuff their children with greasy, fast foods and snacks that cause them to become obese should be charged with child abuse.

Ø      Anyone letting a child under twelve years old handle a gun, or worse, an assault rifle, should be charged with a criminal offense.

Ø      Children should be taught discipline and respect. They should be told not asked what they want to wear or what they want for supper. They should learn to be responsible for their actions and punished if they misbehave. If they don’t make the grade in School, they should be failed. That is real love, because if they don’t learn when they are young, they will fail later in life.

Ø      A teenage girl or an unmarried woman getting pregnant is not a wonderful event; it is a tragedy. One can only hope that teenage girl has understanding parents who give her support, otherwise that unwed mother and her kid(s) will most likely end up on welfare and become a burden to society. Besides, children need a father in their life. And I don’t mean two fathers. Neither do they need two mothers.

Ø      I think there should be no insanity pleas for murderers. A person murdering another human being is not sane. It should not be an excuse to get away with it.

Ø      There should be an automatic death sentence for anyone found guilty of premeditated murder.

Ø      Child molesters should be castrated.

Ø      Immigrants who don’t accept our Canadian laws and customs should be deported back to their country.

Ø      Anyone with more than five children should not be allowed into Canada. Even five children is already too many in this crowded world. Who will feed them?

Ø      Anyone found guilty of terrorism should be sent to jail for the rest of his life and his family deported back to their country of origin. If they are immigrants who have become Canadians, they should be stripped of their Canadian citizenship. The same goes for any other country.

Ø      There should be no dual citizenship. Either you are a Canadian or not.

Ø      It irks me if people tell me only their views are valid, mine are wrong, and I’d better change mine. I don’t tell them to change theirs.

Ø      I can’t find sympathy with people who complain they have nothing to eat, nothing to wear, their houses are in need of repair, but they do nothing about it, waiting instead for the government or other people to do it for them. My advice: Stop whining, grow a garden, raise rabbits and chickens if you have the room, keep sheep or goats for milk, butter, and cheese. Sow your own clothes or fix up the old ones. And, for heaven's sake, stop having more children. My family did all those when I was young and when things were bad after the war in Europe. We are living in a great country and with a little bit of hard work and determination anything is possible.

I did not write this to offend anyone. These are my views and I have a right to have and to express them. We’re still living in a free country. Anyone who feels offended might need to do a little introspecting and learn to accept other people’s views and opinions. That person might just have a few issues of their own and, possibly, also be a little odd.☺

I believe in being tolerant and I try to accept other people the way they are, with all their different opinions and little quirks. It’s what makes us different from each other and not just clones. I hope others accept me the way I am—not perfect, just human.

I’m not in the habit of quoting scriptures, but today I’ll make an exception:

 “Thou hypocrite, first cast out the beam out of thine own eye; and then shalt thou see clearly to cast out the mote out of thy brother's eye.” Mathew 7:5

That’s right, I may not be considered a religious guy, but I do know the bible.
After rereading my list of opinions I realize I should be the first in line to follow that quote. Sigh.

#Detroit Lakes—a trip down memory lane.

 As part of our trip to Wisconsin Dells, we spent a couple of nights in Detroit Lakes in North Dakota. It’s approximately a five-hour drive from Winnipeg. Before the kids, we used to go there on a little holiday. For some reason we always went there on the ‘July Long Weekend’.

We used to stay at the ‘Fairyland Cottages’ on the north shore of the lake. They are gone now, like so many other resorts. We saw only three resorts on that street, all of them old and probably run-down. This time we stayed at the Country Inn & Suites right on Highway #10.

Detroit Lake is a beautiful lake, quite shallow, actually, and a bit weedy. Good fishing, though. We arrived in Detroit Lakes Sunday, September 7, 2014 and we spent the afternoon sitting in the grass watching a few brave souls going into the water. The water was cold, judging from the way their shoulder almost met their ears. Aside from the few bathers, the lake was buzzing with speedboats, fishing boats, pontoons, and a few one-man watercraft. It was noisy and it brought back memories of days gone by. Detroit Lakes, on the fourth of July, a big holiday in the US, was always that noisy.

I also remembered 1968, when we went on a fishing trip on the lake on a pontoon. I had a fishing rod with a broken tip and a short line. My tackle-box was a shoe carton containing a few hooks and a couple of white and red spoons, daredevils. There were other anglers on the pontoon with fancy rods and huge tackle-boxes. As it happened, we caught most of the fish with our pathetic fishing gear and limited knowledge of fishing. I had to ask a kid to show me how to put a worm on a hook.

We caught mainly pan-fish. There was a place behind our little cottage where one could clean fish. We fried them up in the kitchenette and the fish tasted great, even though they had many bones. We ate all the large ones and took three small ones home to Winnipeg where I had them mounted by a taxidermist. Don’t ask why we ate the large ones and kept the small ones for mounting. All I can say in my defense: I didn’t know any better.

Three of the sun-fish we caught in 1968. I believe they are bluegills and pumpkinseed

We didn’t go fishing this time, because they didn’t have fishing excursions anymore. You could rent a fishing boat for $125.00 US dollars for half a day. A little bit too steep for me. I do all my fishing in Manitoba and that is much cheaper.

There wasn’t much to do, so we drove around the lake and admired all the beautiful homes. It is a long drive on a good road. Some of the homes were old, some new. We were envious of the people who lived in those houses with their boats and the beautiful view of the lake, but not so much envious about the obvious noise they must suffer, especially during the weekends. There is a downside to everything.

Much has changed but the lake hasn't. It was as beautiful as 40 years ago

One thing we noticed during our trip to the USA. Gasoline is cheaper than in Canada—go figure. We have our own oil and I hate it when somebody tells me that gasoline is much more expensive in Europe. Beer and wine is also much more reasonable. Our government is much too greedy and doesn’t give us consumers a break. There is no competition when it comes to alcohol. The government has the monopoly. (I always though monopolies are against the law. I guess it’s okay if the government does it.) We bought a bottle of white Zinfandel for $6.00. We probably would have paid $15.00 here. Eating in restaurants overall is cheaper and the portions are huge and greasy. No wonder they have an epidemic of obesity in the US. We did see some large people.

Our last supper was at the #‘Speak Easy’ Restaurant in Detroit Lakes. They had a special: 2 for 1. Which meant you buy one dinner and you get the second one free. We paid $20.00 for two full racks of pork rib dinners with salad and a baked potato. We took half of the ribs home in a ‘doggy-bag’ and we had another dinner at home. I think I gained a few pounds on this trip. Time to go on a diet.

I am not a Cowboy

There is nothing more thrilling than watching a band of warriors or cowboys racing across the prairie on horseback. How exciting and exhilarating it must be to feel the wind blowing into your face, to feel the power of the horse beneath you. Anyway, that’s how it looks in the movies.

I haven’t had pleasant experiences with horses. When I was ten years old, I was thrown off a horse, a high-spirited racing horse, a stallion, and I rode bareback. My legs were too short to get a good grip. The horse wanted to run, but I wanted a slow ride. When I pulled on the reigns, the horse bucked and threw me over its head into the ditch. I landed on my rump and limped for days.

The last time I sat on a horse was when I was 21 years old. A bunch of us went horseback riding. We saddled up and rode out, down the trail. At least my friends did. My horse decided to take the day off. It just stood there. No amount of coaxing, yelling, soft talking, clucking, digging my heels into its flanks or anything else I tried brought results. My horse stood like a roman statue until my friends came back after one hour.

“What happened?” they asked.

“Nothing,” I replied.

As we headed back to the stable, my horse suddenly came to life. It was the first one to take off and it had changed into a racing horse. I hung on for dear life, my body pressed against the horse’s neck. That door into the barn was mighty low and I would have been scraped off the horse like a slice of ham off a sandwich.

That incident made me swear off horseback riding for good, but it was always in the back of my mind, on my bucket list so to speak. Therefore, when we were in Wisconsin Dells in early September, I suggested to my wife we go horseback riding. She had never been on a horse and was not breaking out into cries of joy when I suggested it. She was actually a little afraid to go, but she agreed to humor me.

We drove to the Red Ridge Ranch Riding Stable not far from Wisconsin Dells. They advertised gentle horses. We were with a small group of riders; a few claimed they went riding every year. They acted like pros. Well—we were beginners and I didn’t make a secret of it. There was another elderly couple from Chicago—also beginners. When we paid for the trip, they asked if we wanted to wear helmets. I declined. The couple from Chicago wore helmets and they looked ridiculous. Whoever heard of a cowboy riding a horse wearing a helmet? We had to sign a waiver in case we got injured or even died on the outing; the Riding Stable was not responsible.

Our guide, a young woman, brought out the saddled horses and we mounted. We used a platform to get into the saddle. I put my left food into the stirrups and swung my right leg up. At least that was the intention. It looks easy on TV. Actually, they don’t use mounting platforms. They just swing themselves into the saddle. I used the platform and as it turned out I could have used help to swing my leg over the horse's back to get it to the other side. I couldn’t lift my leg high enough. After all, I’m a senior and not as agile as I thought I was, but I finally did manage.

I sat in the saddle like a cowboy.

That’s when I realized I was no cowboy, because that’s when the pain began.

When you sit in a saddle, you have to spread your legs. Your muscles and tendons get stretched to the limit. Maybe a woman has no trouble with that, but I am a man and not used to spreading my legs. My hip-joints and my thigh muscles were on fire.

That ride was the longest hour I’ve experienced in a long time, maybe even the longest hour ever. I was hoping the pain would subside and finally go away as my muscles became used to being stretched, but it got worse. After a while my feet began to tingle from lack of circulation and my legs seemed to go into rigormortis. I didn’t see much of the scenery, because my mind concentrated on the pain in my thighs. I knew we rode down a forest trail, but the memory is vague. I kept checking my watch every 2 minutes, but the time seemed to be standing still.

The most beautiful sight after that eternity of an hour was the Stable. I knew salvation war near. The question now was: Would I be able to get off the horse? I was one with the horse, my legs frozen solid against its flanks. Everyone dismounted, quite easily, I noticed. Even my wife slid gracefully off her horse. I was the only one still sitting in the saddle. “Come on, get off,” she said. When I tried to lift my right leg I actually managed to bring it up and over, barely, but I cleared the saddle. Hanging on to the saddle horn for dear life I brought my right leg down while my left foot was still in the stirrup. Everything is a blur. I don’t remember how I got my left foot out. I expected to slump to the ground, fearing my legs may not have enough strength left to carry my weight, but I stood on wobbly legs, ecstatic to feel solid ground under my feet.

When I walked away from the horse, I walked like a cowboy who has spent a week in the saddle on a cattle drive. I didn’t think I’d ever walk normal again.

“That was wonderful,” my wife said, “I want to do that again.”

I don’t think so, sweetheart. This old cowpoke ain’t goin’ on no more cattle drives. Horseback riding is off my bucket list.

Don't be fooled by my happy smile. This picture was taken moments before I dismounted, happy the ordeal was over.

Back Home again

We’re home and the work begins again. I cut the grass Saturday.  It was quite high. Because of all the rain we’ve had, our grass has never been this green and still growing this way in September.

When I cut the grass, I came across a whole bunch of mushrooms growing underneath our Tamarack trees. I’ve seen them before in other years, but never in such abundance. I usually run them over with my lawn tractor, but they always make such a mess. This time, I got off my tractor and began pulling the mushrooms out of the ground. Then I noticed the spongy belly (that’s not the right word for it, but it’ll do). I remembered finding these mushrooms in the forest. I knew they were edible. We used to put them into soup. They are quite mushy when fried, though.

I picked a half ice-cream pail full, and then I found a couple more spots. Altogether I picked nearly two ice-cream pails full of mushrooms. There were quite a few I had to discard, because they were infested with worms. Another indicator that they are edible. I looked them up in my mushroom book just to make sure they were okay, not having the desire to poison myself. We used to call them ‘Butter-mushrooms’, because they are so soft, but that is not the correct name. According to my book, they belong to the ‘Suillus’ family. There are approximately 50 species of those mushrooms in North America. None of them are poisonous. The ones I found in our yard are called ‘Suillus Grevillei’ and they appear in abundance under Tamarack (larch) trees.

That evening, it was Saturday, we barbequed beef steak, shrimp, and fried up some of the mushrooms with onions. We also ate one of our own Yukon Gold potatoes I dug up from the garden (It was so huge, too large even for the two of us.) Then we had a glass of my home-made wine. What a scrumptious dinner, a gourmet feast, actually.  And it didn’t cost an arm and a leg, they way it is when you go out for supper. Neither did I have to fork over a large tip. Another thing, you couldn’t even get these particular mushrooms.

The rest of the mushrooms we boiled for about 3 minutes and then we put them into small bags and froze them, to be used in soups and stews in the winter.

#Wisconsin Dells--it used to be a nice little place to visit

There is a reason for the silence on my blog for these last couple of weeks. We took a little holiday to Wisconsin Dells in the good old USA. The last time we were there was 49 years ago. We spent our honeymoon there. Things sure have changed since then, and I’m not sure for the better.

It used to be a nice, quiet place. Now it’s mostly huge water parks and hotels. Fortunately, for us, all the water parks closed the day before we got there. A disaster for people with kids, but a blessing for us. When we were there in 1965, we stayed in a small resort in a quaint little cabin. The resort had a private beach and wasn’t crowded. We ate in a quaint restaurant where they served home-made bread and the food wasn’t greasy fast-food. We spent some time in ‘Little Disneyland’ where they had all the Disney character and I had a snow cone. Just a ball of ice with juice, but it tasted fine in the June heat. That place is gone, along with the resort.

Now there are no quaint little places. Now it’s large resorts, double lane highways with one way streets and exits. We went on a few tours. The Duckboat was interesting. It took us over land through forested areas where we saw a few deer and into the water down the Lower Dells. The next day we took a cruise in the Upper Dells with a ship. That German Shepherd that jumped from one rock to another 49 years ago still did his jump. Obviously, it was not the same dog. If he were still alive, he would not be able to do that jump.

Then we took the ‘Lost Canyon’ tour. A one hour ride in a horse-drawn wagon through a canyon. The driver tried to entertain us with witty stories. Everything was okay and interesting in a way, but to be honest, I would have rather been fishing.

We went to see other places, like the Crystal Cave, an hour ride from Minneapolis. The caves were, well—caves. Apparently, they are home to bats. We saw only one, and it could have been an artificial one. The highlight of that tour was when our tour guide switched off the lights so we could experience total darkness. I have that when I go the bathroom at night without turning on the lights and closing the door.

More interesting than the Crystal Caves where the #Caves of the Mounds, south of Wisconsin Dells. Our GPS took us onto a scenic road and I wasn’t sure if we’d ever get there. I asked a local guy where that road would lead and he said, “As far as I know nowhere." Then he checked his tablet and said, “Actually, it gets you to this here highway and you’ll end up at the Caves. I had no idea. Never been there myself. Did you come all the way from Canada to see the Caves?” I said, “Not really. We’re here on a little holiday.”

I was glad I got the information. I’ve read too many horror stories about a GPS leading drivers astray and have them end up in a swamp. We finally did make it to the caves, though.

Stalactites inside the Caves of the Mounds

An underground river in the Caves of the Mounds

That same afternoon we still had enough time to visit the International Crane Foundation to see rare and not-so-rare cranes. It was quite educational and fascinating to see these graceful birds.

This is a Sarus Crane

These are Whooping Cranes

I still want to mention briefly the adventure on horseback. It was boring and painful. Boring because we rode for one hour down a muddy trail through a forest where the only interesting things we saw were trees and mushrooms. My next blog will go into more detail about that ordeal.

All in all, we did have a good time, but I’m happy to be home again. I’m like an old tree, my roots are at home and I’m most happy there. But not all is sunshine and roses. Now I have to worry about my garden. The peppers aren’t red yet and neither are the tomatoes. Everything is late this year, and ‘Father Frost’ is waiting to pounce with the intent to destroy all my hard work in one night, but I’m fighting back. My garden is covered now with tarps and burlap. We had frost last night. If we can get past these next days it will warm up again and perhaps the tomatoes and peppers will still ripen. I already harvested all the red beets and we had our last meal of fresh beans on Thursday night. There is nothing better than fresh beans from the garden and made with sour cream and dill.

See you next time.