Oh, To Be Eleven Again...

I just had to share this shot. My little guy and his best friend were occupying themselves by terrorizing passing neighbors. Somehow, I don't think their camouflage worked and the neighbors still knew who the ruffians were.

Yes, those are evergreen boughs on their faces. They were hiding up in the evergreen tree behind them. Maybe I should stick with the beef this week, they could use some beefing up!

-Donna

A Chicken in Every Pot...

A mom's ever present dilemma and a kids constant question: "What's for dinner?" I keep an old chalkboard on the bathroom wall. It's a handy place for messages and jokes. Last week, up shows a dinner request list on the board written in young hand. Last night it was updated:

Wed: Shepard's Pie
Thur: Lasagna
Fri: Burgers
Sat: Meatloaf (non-chuncky)

Think the kid likes beef? Notice mashed potatoes are included at least once. I make mashed potatoes by request at least every 5 days, I swear. It's a big joke around here that everyone is in a terminal state of mashed potato deprivation. Non-chunky meatloaf refers to the sans peppers and onions variety (which are usually picked to the side by the author of the list.)

I, on the other hand, need a little protein variety in my diet. Tuesday is always a busy night in our house, so it's often soup night. Last night's selection was chicken. I thought I'd share.

I love homemade soup. The beginnings of this one look pretty stark, but there's something about a simple little chicken floating around with celery and onion that is homey to me.



Nothing fancy about this soup at all, I made it the old fashioned way. I simmered the chicken, then removed it to cool. I did add more canned broth, then potatoes, carrots, more celery and peas. some thyme and sage, salt and pepper, too.

I thickened it with a bit of corn starch to add some body to the broth.

Honey cornbread as a side and dinner was done.

And what a great lunch on this cold spring day!

Cheers,

Donna

April Pressure

Lately I've been feeling pressure. It's almost entirely self-induced. True gardeners, (people like me, who think about plants all the time and bore other people to tears who actually posess the ability think about other things once the ground begins to thaw) feel this way on occasion. My mind has been a whirl of things to do, things that are of the utmost priority for me, and sadly, of no consequence at all to my family.

I don't think anyone else around here shares the same kinds of first and last thoughts of the day that I have. "Where should I move that hosta?" "Is a Serviceberry really the best tree for the back perennial bed?" "That spirea that's bugged me for years, should I ditch it or not? If not, where the heck to put it?" "I need to rotate the tomatoes to a different spot in the garden to avoid blight, but where?" Gosh, does anybody, anywhere have those same kinds of first and last and in between thoughts?

The male faction of the family (everybody else but me and the dog) likes green things and fresh vegetables from the garden, but are totally carefree about how things got that way. They do yard chores that involve large manly power tools that I'm generally too weak to use or too uninterested to operate. For example, I hate the big weed whacker. But it's pretty magical, even if unbearably loud, in the large growing hands of a 15 year old son. And said son has just gained a healthy 22 lbs. in the last 10 months on his nearly 6 ft. frame. It's wonderful having a Jr. Hunky Man around the house, even if he does pick on the little guy too often. I should get him a t-shirt that says, "Will work for even more food." or "Will work for Lasagna and a ride to the movies."

I, on the other hand, feel pressure. It's the pressure of long cold months coming to an end. Everything in the garden vying for my attention. Plants that need separated, soil that needs amending, shrubs need replacing (beware of Euonymous scale, nasty thing, that.) Combine that with my real job of taking care of my family, and the family has been on the short end of the stick. My younger son took to wearing black socks with shorts the other day because he ran out of clean socks days ago.

I have been blessed with several days of cold, a little snow and a brief return to winter. Yay! Everyone else is griping about it, but I am relieved! I scrubbed my kitchen from top to bottom (I plead the 5th as to the last time before that the floor was mopped) and the dryer has just buzzed with the 7th load of laundry in two days and the grocery shopping is done. Apparently, my family isn't as interested as I am in eating peanut butter and jelly sandwiches while still wearing gardening gloves.

Now I must start to sew. We have the family hobby of 18th Century Living History and I sew all our costumes. Well, Jr. Hunky Man has outgrown everything and looks like a character from Oliver Twist with shirt sleeves up to his elbows. So new shirts and breeches for him. I start on that today.

Oh, but the sun is trying to peek out.... but it's still only 32 degrees. I need to pull the shades and get some other work done, lest I be tempted to bundle up and split that hosta...

Cheers,

Donna

George Bailey and my garden...

So, it's the time of year for cleaning up the garden after some winter weather abuse. Yesterday was a drop-dead gorgeous day, clear blue and 60-some degrees. Mostly working in my rear perennial and herb beds, I cut down the dead plants that I left for the birds (ooh, that sounds like a bad offering, I left some seed heads up for the birds to eat.)

We have four Pin Oak trees that deposit their indestructible leaves all winter. There are millions of them this year! I don't know why they seem so much more numerous than in previous years. I've got all the plants down and many of the leaves up, ready for the chipper, then headed for the compost pile.

Uncovering the leaves always (and hopefully) yields the inspiring surprise of seeing old plant friends. (Am I the only one that talks to my plants?) My ever-present yellow lab thinks there's is someone arriving and gets excited, until she remembers it's only me being quirky. I felt like George Bailey at the end of "It's a Wonderful Life." Instead of, "Hello movie house!" I find myself saying, "Hello Virginia Bluebells! Hello Euphorbia! Hello Germander!" And they're the ones saying, "I want to live again."

Mishaps in the garden always seem to happen, but often bring opportunity. While raking up, I ripped up a few Shasta Daisy shoots and roots, so I thought I'd make lemons into lemonade. We have an upcoming Master Gardener plant sale, so I hope to get these little fellows growing and healthy to share. So, I was planting in the greenhouse until dark in the evening.

Now, I've done a lot of things by candlelight in my life, but propogating (plants, not humans) is a new one for me. I don't have electricity or water in the greenhouse, so it's nice to do things the old fashioned way sometimes. Hunky Man came down and took this photo of me potting and wearing his old flannel jacket, having a glass of wine and potting Euphorbia. What's missing is the classical music on the radio. I didn't want to come in and close up shop for the evening!

But eventually, the old back gave out and that wretched alarm clock goes off far too early in the morning. But my soul had a smile on its face as I went to sleep.