Almanac, Schmalmanac - I've got Persimmons!

We all know about the Farmer's Almanac and perhaps its biggest use comes from weather predictions for the year.  Heck, I even have it over on the right side bar.  The thing is...it's notoriously ambiguous and OFTEN flat out wrong.

Yesterday, the local weather forecaster said it was going to stop raining in early morning and it rained all the way up to about 2 p.m.  Which should make all of us ponder:  if they can't predict the weather the next day reliably, how could these so-called scientists be 100% sure about global warming?  Inquiring minds want to know!

But who needs almanacs or weather forecasters when you've got persimmon seeds?  (I'm on a persimmon kick this week after posting that scary persimmon tale over the weekend.)  Yessirree, Bob, persimmons aren't just for dessert.  They've long been used to foretell what kind of winter weather we can expect.

The truth is in the seeds, you see. Wash them off and then hold them standing on their side (like a football kicker) and then carefully slice them open.  You're guaranteed to see 1 of 3 images:  a fork, a knife or a spoon.   Tiny little cutlery!  But what does that have to do with the weather?  Let me explain:

Spoon:  Think "shovel".  This is bad news, because it means there's going to be lots of snow.
Fork: It will be a mild winter with not much snow.
Knife:  The weather will be icy and cold.  Think "cut you like a knife".

The catch is that the persimmons have to be grown locally, so you can't just go buy some at the grocery store and try this.  Unfortunately, we have no persimmon trees anywhere near here in the inner city so I couldn't try this myself.  However, the local news station got some and opened them to find all spoons.  Definitely BAD NEWS after the cold, snowy winter we had last year.


Now I just need to find my go-to forecaster around these here parts...the woolly caterpillar.  Last year, he predicted a cold winter and he was right.  Where are you, little guy?  Anybody seen him this year or is he still hibernating?

What do you think?  Are these ways that Mother Nature lets us know what she has in store?  Or it all just hogwash?

Buh-bye, Mr. Mouse

I am become death.  The mad poisoner.  

One of the bad things about living in an old house is that it's holier than swiss cheese and impossible to block all the holes.  The Victorian's actually built their houses to "breathe" because of their use of indoor fireplaces, gas lamps, etc.  

So, every fall, this little guy and what seem like 50 of his cousins try to find sanctuary against the coming cold by wiggling their way into our house.  Our 2nd floor office must be on the official Mouse Travel Guide, because that's where they end up.  Presumably, that's because that's where the dog food is.  What puzzles me is that they never end up in the kitchen, which is right below there.  But, in the office, there are lots of nooks and crannies to hide in and the food is always at the right height for a mouse (on the floor).

And so, every fall, I wage a war against these illegal aliens.  Poison is my weapon of choice because they take it back and share it with their friends and the war is over quickly.  For some reason, they like to die in the open (making a run for it, maybe?), which is good because I really don't want to smell dead mouse in the walls.  The only gotcha is that we have to watch for the bodies so that the dogs don't "play" with them.

While I know some people are going to be upset with me for posting this and say things like "Oh, he's so cute. Why don't you use a humane trap and put him outside?" or "How can you post such a garish thing as a dead mouse on your blog?"  Let me just say.... I do feel very conflicted because I actually find mice to be quite charming and, as they are small, furry and cute, my first reaction is to pick them up and pet them.  I mean, look at those adorable whiskers on the mouse above.  I find myself making up little stories about their lives and where they've been.  (Okay, maybe not...)

The thing is:  they don't belong in my house and, by crossing the threshold, they have sealed their own fates.  Sticky glue traps are just as inhumane, as they die slowly through starvation. Is snapping their little necks any better? And catching them and putting them outside only insures they will either come back into my house or someone else's.  Did I mention they're dirty little creatures that normally carry some kind of disease?

So, Mr. Mouse, while you are absolutely adorable in your little toilet paper sleeping bag, you and your friends have got to go.  That includes your 7 distant cousins I found living in my chicken coop. Consider yourself evicted.

 

I've shared this post with Camera Critters.  The rules didn't say anything about no dead critters, so I hope they're not mad!

A Spooky (Persimmon) Tale

Fall is my favorite time of year so it seems my memories of falls past seem to glow a little brighter than just about everything else.  Growing up, my grandfather would always send us over to Old Man Simmons' place to ask him for some persimmons.  My grandfather loved to eat 'em and the Old Man had the only trees in town.  He lived over by an old bridge on the outskirts of town in this decrepit old Victorian farmhouse that just about every kid in town (including me) thought was haunted.  It was pretty dilapidated with a weathered grey exterior and, quite frankly, looked somewhat abandoned.  The one sign of life was a light that burned constantly in one of the downstairs windows behind some tattered curtains.  In fact, every kid in town KNEW with absolute certainty that Old Man Simmons' house was haunted.

And, of course, persimmons ripen in October and we all had our young minds on the scares of Halloween, so the effect of the creepy exterior and crooked, bare persimmon trees in front just heightened our fear. Put the persimmon trees in front and a bunch more junk in the yard and this could be the Simmons' house :

Did I mention it was supposed to rain that afternoon, so the day was cold and very overcast?  The clouds were dark and low in the sky, pregnant with the rain that would later pelt me as I pedaled home.

That first year, I convinced a couple of strong-hearted friends to make the bike ride over to the Simmons house with me.  I was scared as a kid can be and no one - not one of my friends would cross the curb and go to the door.  My grandfather was adamant that I had to go ask permission before I took any persimmons.  The leaves swirled around us as we stood there for 10 minutes while I pulled together as much courage as I could to step onto the stone sidewalk, half buried and forgotten under the swirling autumn leaves.  I was feet from the luscious orange persimmons, but the thought of instantaneous death or entrapment by Old Man Simmons should I dare to try to steal one was enough to keep me from temptation.

I inched my way up the sidewalk to the porch and turned around to find every stinkin' one of my friends gone!  I pictured them furiously pedaling back home to tell their Mom to call the police, certain that I had become the "latest victim".  Do I run back to my bike or keep going?  Before I had a chance to decide, the door creaked open.  I'm now quaking in the new tennis shoes I'd gotten for school.  And then I hear "Well, hello!" in the sweetest little voice.  A small, grandmotherly-looking woman with her hair in a bun stepped into the doorway, drying her hands on her apron as if she'd just finished making cookies.  I could almost smell them wafting out of the doorway.  Wait...was she one of those evil witches who tempted kids into her lair with the promise of candy, cakes, ice cream and all those other sugary goodnesses that our parents wouldn't let us have?  Aaaaarrrghhhhh....the urge to run had come back with an urgency!

"What can I do for you, sweetheart?"  The question snapped me back into the moment.  "Uh...uh..uh....my grandpa sent me to ask if we could have some of your persimmons".  The words tumbled out with the alacrity of a jet engine.  I was shaking like there was an 8.3 earthquake going on underneath me.

"I see. Who's your grandpa?"

I swear my teeth were chattering as I told her.  The cold October wind picked up and the leaves  dance around me like some kind of evil ballet troupe.

"Well, of course.  We've known your grandfather for years.  You can take as many as you want.  Do you want to come in and warm up a bit before you go pick them?"

It was starting to rain.  One of the shutters, missing one of its hinges, creaked in the wind.

I didn't take her up on that offer, instead opting for thanking her and tucking as many persimmons into my backpack as it would hold and then doing the kid's version of "getting the hell out of there."

I would, however, in the following years, get to know both Mr. and Mrs. Simmons for the wonderful people they were.  They ran an antique shop out of the bottom of their house that was actually more of a junk shop, but it was filled from floor to ceiling with things that kids considered to be wonderous treasures.  Their house became a haunt of mine (no pun intended) and they would often let me paw through their items for sale and choose one for free.  I spent alot of my allowance money there also.

The Simmons' were both such nice people and it was until much later that I learned from someone else that they had lost their son, their only child, in a tragic accident several years before the day I set foot on their crumbling front porch.  I suppose they had become introverts after that, given the state of the house.  To this day, I think of them with a sense of both wonder and sadness.  They are both long gone and I wonder if the house is still standing.  If I ever make it back there, I'm making it a point to go by there and check.

I never told my grandfather about that first venture to see Old Man Simmons.  I've always wondered if he sent me there knowing  the absolute ghoulish fright it would cause in all of us.  I suspect he was grinning as we gathered our backpacks and took off on our bikes that gray afternoon to go get him his beloved persimmons. 

Do you have a frightful tale from your childhood?  Somebody make the hair stand up on the back of your neck?  Scare the heck out of all of us - leave a comment!

Blast from the Past

Sorry to be away (yes, Mary Ann, we're still alive!).  We've just been ludicrously busy the past couple of weeks and the blog has suffered because of it.  J.'s mom had hip surgery two weeks ago and she seems to be recovering nicely and is up and around now.  (Hi, Linda!)

There's a good chance that we will finally hear about the project house this week.  The rumor is that they've received the long-awaiting documents that should clear up the title problem.  After so many false starts, though, I'm not holding my breath.

I had to share this unbelievable sight with you because I couldn't quite believe my own eyes either!  This is the gas pump when I filled up the tank this weekend at Hy-vee.

Nope, it wasn't broken...just good couponing! If you add in the $8.00 online rebate that I found while we were shopping, I paid just over $4.00 for a full tank of gas.  I can't even remember the last time gas was 61 cents per gallon.  In fact, I tried to look it up and the best I could find was that gas was 99 cents in 2000.   And milk used to be under $2.00 a gallon.  Do you guys remember that?

*sigh*  

Those were the good old days!

Moral Statistician

I've been awfully cranky lately, as have a lot of folks I've talked to, about all the shenanigans going on in Washington on both sides of the aisle.  So that got me to thinking about this great piece from Mark Twain.  He certainly had a way with words:

~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~** ~~**~~**~~

I don't want any of your statistics; I took your whole batch and lit my pipe with it.

I hate your kind of people. You are always ciphering out how much a man's health is injured, and how much his intellect is impaired, and how many pitiful dollars and cents he wastes in the course of ninety-two years' indulgence in the fatal practice of smoking; and in the equally fatal practice of drinking coffee; and in playing billiards occasionally; and in taking a glass of wine at dinner, etc. etc. And you are always figuring out how many women have been burned to death because of the dangerous fashion of wearing expansive hoops, etc. etc. You never see more than one side of the question.

You are blind to the fact that most old men in America smoke and drink coffee, although, according to your theory, they ought to have died young; and that hearty old Englishmen drink wine and survive it, and portly old Dutchmen both drink and smoke freely, and yet grow older and fatter all the time. And you never try to find out how much solid comfort, relaxation, and enjoyment a man derives from smoking in the course of a lifetime (which is worth ten times the money he would save by letting it alone), nor the appalling aggregate of happiness lost in a lifetime by your kind of people from not smoking. Of course you can save money by denying yourself all those little vicious enjoyments for fifty years; but then what can you do with it? What use can you put it to? Money can't save your infinitesimal soul. All the use that money can be put to is to purchase comfort and enjoyment in this life; therefore, as you are an enemy to comfort and enjoyment where is the use of accumulating cash?

It won't do for you to say that you can use it to better purpose in furnishing a good table, and in charities, and in supporting tract societies, because you know yourself that you people who have no petty vices are never known to give away a cent, and that you stint yourselves so in the matter of food that you are always feeble and hungry. And you never dare to laugh in the daytime for fear some poor wretch, seeing you in a good humor, will try to borrow a dollar of you; and in church you are always down on your knees, with your ears buried in the cushion, when the contribution-box comes around; and you never give the revenue officers a full statement of your income.

Now you know all these things yourself, don't you? Very well, then, what is the use of your stringing out your miserable lives to a lean and withered old age? What is the use of your saving money that is so utterly worthless to you? In a word, why don't you go off somewhere and die, and not be always trying to seduce people into becoming as ornery and unlovable as you are yourselves, by your villainous "moral statistics"?

Now, I don't approve of dissipation, and I don't indulge in it either; but I haven't a particle of confidence in a man who has no redeeming petty vices. And so I don't want to hear from you any more. I think you are the very same man who read me a long lecture last week about the degrading vice of smoking cigars, and then came back, in my absence, with your reprehensible fire-proof gloves on, and carried off my beautiful parlor stove. 

Along for the Ride

Look who decided to hitch a ride home with me last night...

A friendly katydid!  I don't have any photo editing software on this PC, or I would have lowered the light on his face, but it does a nice job of highlighting the leaf-like veins on his wings.  I see tons of preying mantises, but I have never seen one of these in person!

Despite being rather large at aout 4 inches long, I didn't notice him on my hood until I started driving and he did fine holding on at low speed until I got out of the parking garage, pulled over and did the photo shoot.  Then he calmly climbed into my hand and I deposited him in a field where he wouldn't get smooshed.

What a neat little creature!  Anybody know exactly what kind of katydid this is?

The Endicott Pear, A National Treasure

Picture courtesy of the Danville Library

Cruising the Internet this weekend, I came across this absolutely fascinating story and thought I would share it with you.

The Endicott Pear Tree is one of the first fruit trees planted in the United States and, at 383 years old, it is still alive and bearing fruit!

It was planted sometime around 1630 by settler John Endicott, the first Governor of the Massachusetts Bay Colony, and his children and history has recorded him as saying the following upon its planting:

"I hope the tree will love the soil of the old world and no doubt 

when we have gone the tree will still be alive."

Obviously it has! It's weathered storms, vandalism, and  saw the birth of our nation.  When it does leave us, it will live on through future generations, as the USDA's seed bank has successfully produced a clone of the tree.  Let us all hope that this nation of ours is as steadfast as this beautiful tree.

To read the article that prompted this post, go here.  It's fascinating!

It's Never Easy

It's never easy to say goodbye, is it?  

This week has been a really difficult one for a reason that has caused me to not be very social.  It's the reason why I've stayed away from here until now.

J. is away for a business conference so I've been playing bachelorette most of the week.  Cooking for one is hard, so I've been going out by myself (which I also hate).  The dogs are freaked out and keep looking all over the house for him, only to finally give up and lay in the hallway so they can spring up and greet him when he comes home.  They finally fall asleep there, disappointed.

For a couple of weeks now, we've been watching our oldest Pomeranian, Foster, slowly deteriorate. It started with not being able to get up and down the stairs, so we carried her.  Then she stopped joining us in the parlor and stayed in the back room on her doggie bed.  Walking the 25 feet was just too much for her.  When J. left on Tuesday for his trip, I went off to work and came back to find her markedly worse.  She wouldn't eat or drink any water, and I carried her out to go potty and back in again.  That night, I told J. that he might come home to find Foster had left us.  Wednesday, I worked from home so that I could keep an eye on her.  I finally got her to eat some tiny bits of cheese and pork, but she couldn't keep anything down. Thursday came and she really couldn't keep her hind legs up.  I felt it was a race against time, as J. wasn't going to be home until Sunday. 

Last night, she could barely stand at all.

This morning, I ran Domino and Finn to the groomer and then raced back home again.  Foster had been breathing hard and I knew in my heart that her time was close.  It's odd how we sense these things, isn't it?  I gathered her up with me on the sofa, stroked her gently, and told her that we loved her, that she had been such a good dog, and that it was OK to leave us. 

She died in my arms about 20 minutes later.

I am a complete mess and sobbing like a baby right now.  Foster was the first dog that J. and I had together.  She was the most clever dog I've ever seen.  

 

One evening after we bought our house and had spent the day tearing down walls, we brought back some Arby's and had dinner sitting on the floor of what would finally be our master bedroom.  J. had bought one too many roast beef sandwiches, so he wrapped it back in the bag and sat it on a bottom shelf on the bookshelf thinking he would eat it later.  I didn't realize he had done that, but I kept seeing Foster going in that room.  For the life of me, I couldn't figure out what she was doing.  She was checking to make sure it was still there!  17 hours later, when we left the house, she went in there, grabbed it, unwrapped the roast beef sandwich and ate the whole thing!  The only evidence left was the wrapper in the middle of the floor.

And then there was the time she pulled a pizza box off the table and we came home to find her in the middle of the pizza.  She had eaten all the toppings off and left the crust.I think that's when we decided that we really outta do a better job of putting food away.

Foster had an invisibility cloak of some kind because, despite my keeping an eye on her constantly when she was a puppy, she could somehow disappear, reappear under the china cabinet, poop, and then reappear as if nothing had happened. I swear I never took my eyes off her!

Foster babysitting Finn as a puppy

When she was a baby, she looked like one of those "koosh balls".  All black fur, with no discernible legs, a little pink tongue and shiny black eyes.  She liked to chew on electrical cords, but somehow only the ones that weren't plugged in.  She certainly did a number on the feet of my computer desk.  Smart as a tack, she ruled the boys (Domino and Finn). 

 

And she had the most adorable "I'm going to bite you face" that you've ever seen.  She weighed only 12 pounds, so her teeth were the size of pencil points.  But she looked like the Mama Alien from that Aliens movie when she bared them.  

Foster and Domino.  A basket of orneriness!

Wow.  She graced our lives for 17 years and it's hard to believe she is gone. I'd like to think that she's off stalking roast beef sandwiches in a far better place now.

We love ya, sweet baby. 

One More Reason to Eat Local

We now interrupt our normally gregarious, somewhat whimsical blog for this *ahem* disturbing news...

From Reuters:

Smithfield Foods Inc shareholders on Tuesday approved the pork giant's $4.7 billion sale to Shuanghui International Holdings Ltd (000895.SZ) in what is shaping up as the biggest acquisition of a U.S. company by a Chinese firm.

The closely watched transaction, valued at $7.1 billion including debt, is expected to close by September 26.

The deal, which aims to satisfy China's increasing appetite for pork, marries two of the world's largest pork producers and had faced scrutiny over China's high-profile food safety failures, concerns over U.S. pork supplies and U.S. national security.

But earlier this month, the U.S. Committee on Foreign Investment cleared the way for the deal, removing an important hurdle.

More than 96 percent of the votes cast at a special Smithfield shareholder meeting on Tuesday were in favor of the acquisition. The votes cast represented 76 percent of Smithfield's outstanding common shares, the company said in a statement.

<snip>

--**--**--**--**--**--**--**--**

Anybody else worried about this?  First of all, there's no way I'm eating anything packaged or processed by Smithfield now.  I can only assume that they're doing this because the Chinese can't solve their own food contamination issues (cadmium-ridden meat or pesticide-laced milk, anyone?)  How about finding maggots in your Shanghui sausage?  Yum!

From the Bottom Up

This pepper caught my eye last night because it's literally ripening from the bottom up and there's a clear line between ripe and not ripe.  Kinda cool!

No news on the house yet.  We're now off contract because the amendment expired last Friday, but I've been assured that the lender is working furiously to resolve the issues.  I guess we'll just have to wait and see.  Patience, however, is not one of my virtues.

Not that it's been hard to wait with all that tasty pig in the refrigerator.  We've put off the bacon-making to this weekend when it will be really nice outside. But, in the meantime, we've been pigging out (*snicker*) on pork chops.  Nom nom nom!

Last night, I let the chooks out for some recess time in the garden while I changed their water and filled their food.  J. likes to call this their "ultra recess".  Henrietta decided to sneak in the big coop at dusk while no one else was looking.  I considered leaving her in there overnight, but it wasn't long before one of the other Austrolorps noticed her and started trying to peck her.  Bless her heart!  She wants so badly to be part of the flock and let me know she wasn't happy that I plucked her off the roost and put her back in her own enclosure.  But I'd rather she be angry with me than pecked to death.  

What's up in your neck of the woods?

Hog Butchering 101

Some girls get diamond earrings, new shoes, or a vacation for their birthday.  Me?  I got a whole hog butchering class. And I loved it!

The Local Pig, a butcher shop about 2.5 miles from our house, does two classes: whole hog butchering and sausage-making.  I've always wanted to go to one of these and J. was sweet enough to enroll us this past weekend.

We showed up at the appointed time to find freshly made Andouille sausage sandwiches and Boulevard beer waiting for us.  Nothing like getting all liquored up and playing with sharp knives!  I'd say there were about 11 people in the class including us, so it was a nice cozy group.  

Then they brought out our victim, which I quickly nicknamed "Wilbur".  C'mon...I know you've watched Green Acres.  Admit it!

The group gathered around a large butcher block table while the owner of Local Pig and our instructor for the afternoon, Alex Pope, began the class by explaining that they only locally source their pigs from farms where the pigs are raised humanely and spend their time running around on grass rather than cooped up in a feedlot or barn.  In fact, they put their sources up on the wall for everyone to see.  In front of us, we had the two halves of a lovely Berkshire Duroc raised by J.J. Green in Higginsville, MO, which is about 50 miles due east of KC.

Then, for the next couple of hours, we drank beer and learned how to break down a pig.  Surprisingly enough, there are no bandsaws or fancy equipment needed.  All you need is a large table, a filet knife and a bone saw. That's it!  So it wouldn't be that hard to break down your own 1/2 a pig to save money.


** WARNING:   GRATUITOUS MEAT PICTURES AHEAD **

We started with the tenderloin in the middle of the pig by cutting off the leaf fat to expose it, then removing the tenderloin, which is right along the spine.

To break down the pig, you start for the read and move forward.  Step 1 was to cut off the flank.  Then remove the back leg and separate the ham.  Each person did 1 or 2 cuts and then the circle moved around so that the next person could have a turn.

As we moved forward, we exposed the chops.  Yum! 

As you cut, you have to be careful to not cut into the meat.  Many of these cuts required precision, as we followed right around the bone to remove it.  In the shot below, we're using the bone saw to cut through the ribs.  Watch those fingers!

And here's J. separating the Boston Butt (or shoulder).  He was definitely the most fashionable butcher-in-training in the class with that Hawaiian shirt.  You go, honey!

Mmmm, tasty pulled pork or pork steaks.  Pork steaks are my fav and I had no idea before this class that they came from the Boston Butt.  I guess that explains why they are so yummy.

Once we finished the first half-pig, we moved on and did it again on a second half from a different pig.  It was interesting to see some of the differences between the two.

And then, finally, we left Local Pig with 10 pounds each of the pork we had just cut up (with some final trimming help from some of the other staff).  I hit the piggy jackpot, because we cut the last Boston Butt in half (we did the first one in quarters) and I got one of the halves!  We'll be having pulled pork tonight for dinner.  :-)   And we also halve several pounds of pork belly, so we'll be making bacon later this week.

What's that?  Of course I'll have pictures for you!

Winding Down

2013 Summer garden, still hanging on

It looks like summer may be losing its grip, now that the high-90s weather has broken and the morning are cool and full of crickets singing.  I think they are as happy as I am about the changing of the seasons.  We are praying for rain - we're down about 5 inches for the year - but watching Colorado warily because we certainly don't want any of those flood waters here.  Lord knows we had enough of that mess back in '93. 

So with Fall gearing up, the garden is starting to wind down.  The hybrid tomatoes and peppers are still going gangbusters, but the heirlooms are almost done.  *sniff*

My experiment with growing the watermelons up the arch trellis was an interesting one.  As they ripened, they picked themselves by falling off (I never put any support under them).  I doubt that would work with a heavier melon, but it seemed to work well with the Sugar Baby melons because they only weigh 3 pounds at their heaviest.  And the vines made for some nice shade for the green beans.

Speaking of....I've left the last of the green beans to brown on the vine so that I can gather the beans for next year.

What I do have a bumper crop of now are those hopping fiends, the grasshoppers.  Everywhere!  Are they the cleanup crew? Not much left for them to chew on, thankfully.  But there are definitely more of them this year than there has been in the last 4 or 5 years.  Are you seeing this at your place also?

Finally, it's with a heavy heart that I mention another winding down.  Our neighbors next door had their 17-year-old dog, Sheba, pass away on Saturday.  She was a sweet puppy that had been a fixture in the back yard since we moved in.  They asked if they could borrow our post hole digger since they didn't have a decent shovel.  Our neighbor, C., has health problems and gets dizzy very easily, so he had no business out there trying to dig a hole in the rock hard ground.  I told him that we had a new Dingo that could do the work for us, and that it did.  Lickety split!  So Sheba now rests in the same yard that she inhabited all of her life. We'll miss you, old friend.

As with everything in nature, though, out of old comes new.  During this time of the year, I always feel a little impatient about getting started with the cleanup.  This year, we'll be changing things around quite a bit:  ripping out three of the raised beds in favor of an in-ground garden, and building a greenhouse from those hotel windows that I bought a month ago.  But there are still green tomatoes on the vine and I'm not going to pull those plants up just because I'm antsy.  Am I the only one that feels this way in the Fall?

Impatiently yours,

I've shared with this week's Homestead Barn Hop. There's lot of stuff going on over there - go check it out!

O Where Art Thou, CrankyPuppy?

Captain Woodford Taylor, 1860

I'm here!  Rumours of my death after a 7-day Sudoku-playing bender have been greatly exaggerated.

:-)

Honestly, I've been moping.  I mean, sometimes you just have to feel sorry for yourself, right?  I STILL haven't closed on the project house.  There are still title issues preventing us from closing and my agent is a terrible communicator.  Apparently, when the owners bought the house, the previous owner helped out with their down payment by holding back $10,000 as owner financing.  They refi'd 11 years ago and the refi paid off that loan, but it apparently WASN'T RECORDED.  So...

• the title company screwed up. 
• and the title company is out of business. 
• and the owners didn't keep their paperwork (really?!!)  that would show the loan was paid.
• and their lender, Fieldstone Mortgage, filed bankruptcy in 2007 so who knows where any of the records are at this point.  As part of the bankruptcy, they had petitioned the court to destroy 40,000 boxes of records.  This is the same company whose Executive Vice President killed his wife and then committed suicide shortly after the company's bankruptcy was announced.
• all of this means that, unless we can find proof or find the previous owner and have him sign a release of the lien, then NO ONE except him owns the house.  Even Citibank (the current mortgage company) can't foreclose because his lien precedes theirs.  They've supposedly hired a skiptrace to find him.  But, if he's not an honest person, he could refuse to sign the release.

What a mess.  It's no wonder the housing market keeps tanking.  How many more of these zombie houses are out there?!

Our latest amendment extending the closing ends today and I got an email yesterday afternoon from my agent stating that the seller's agent talked to Citi (the current mortgage bank) yesterday to see what they want to do and he was told to call back Monday.  If we pass our closing date today without closing, I am technically released from the agreement and can get my earnest money back.  I really want this house, but I'm starting to think that the universe doesn't want me to have it.  Maybe that's a good thing, given that the housing market is imploding again.

But that's enough negativity for today - especially since it's Friday the 13th!  How about some cuteness?  Here's my top 5 list of cool stuff I've found on the Internet this week:

1. Baby burrowing owls and more owls (why are baby owls so cute!)
2. Fantasic close-ups of bees and other insects - these are gorgeous!
3. Baby goat sees herself in the mirror (for you, Mary Ann!)
4. Hot historical hunks.  Who knew Mark Twain was so hot when he was younger?  Had I lived 153 years ago, Captain Woodford Taylor (pictured above) would have captured my heart.
5. World's furriest cat named Colonel Meow.  I've got enough problems with Pomeranian fur, so I definitely don't need a Himalayan in the house.  Even if they're beautiful.  By the way, if you're a cat lover, check out all the stuff you can make with cat fur.  Maybe I should write my own version of this with Pomeranian fur and call it "Got hairballs?"  

I hope everyone has a fantabulous Friday the 13th - stay away from those black cats and don't walk under any ladders today.

More Canning: Crushed Tomatoes

 

It's been too hot to do anything outside (99 degrees!) so I was really hesitant to do anything inside that might raise the temp.  That means no cooking.  But we've got tomatoes coming out of our ears and I really needed to finish up the canning.  We took care of the salsa making but now what to make with the Roma paste tomatoes?  I know....

Crushed tomatoes!

Useful for chili, ketchup, BBQ sauce or anything that you need tomato paste for.  And so simple to can. All you need are:

 

Ingredients:

 

Fresh tomatoes (preferably vine-ripened, just-picked paste tomatoes)
Lime or lemon juice (can substitute vinegar) 
Salt (optional)
Canning jars (pint or quart)

 

Directions:

 

1. Place a pot of water on the stove to boil.
2. Create an ice bath by filling a large bowl with water and ice cubes.
3. As with all canned tomato products, you have to prep the tomatoes.  Wash them thoroughly and remove any stems or vine and core. At the bottom of the tomato, use a knife to create an "X" in the tomato's skin.
4. Place your tomatoes in in the boiling water.  Watch for their skins to loosen - the smaller tomatoes will loosen first.  If they start looking "raggy", use tongs to fish them out and immediately plop them in the ice bath to cool.
5. Once the tomatoes are cool enough to handle, remove their skins.  They should peel off easily.
6. Rinse and repeat until all tomatoes are peeled.  J. and I setup an assembly line for this.  I watched over the boiling\ice bath process and then took the iced tomatoes to him at the sink where he removed the skins.  If you have a ton of tomatoes to process, having help will make things go much faster!
7. Since it was late and we were both tired, we decided to let the tomatoes rest in the fridge overnight, which drew the water out of the tomatoes.  We then poured off the extra moisture before we canned them.  This is an optional step, but be prepared for thinner tomato paste if you skip this step.
8. Sanitize your jars for canning.  I like to use pint jars for this because it's just the two of us and a pint is plenty for the chili that we make.  Quarts are fine, however, if you can use that much tomato at one time.
9. Place 1/6 of the tomatoes in a large pot and crush them.  I like to quarter them as I add them to the pot, as it's easier to smash them.  Use a potato masher, wooden spoon or the bottom of a ladle (stainless ladle is my choice of weapon!)
10. Stir until the tomatoes are close to boiling.
11. Add the rest of the tomatoes, quartering them as they are added.   No need to crush these, as they will soften and break up as they are heated.
12. Boil for 5 minutes.  Optional:  Use a mixer or hand blender to chop them tomatoes more finely into a puree.
13. While the tomatoes are boiling, add 1 tablespoon lime juice, lemon juice, or vinegar into each pint jar (or 2 tablespoons for quart jars).  Add 1 teaspoon salt for each pint (optional).
14. Ladle the tomatoes into the jars, leaving 1/2" headspace.
15. Process in the boiling-water canner for 35 minutes (pint jars) or 40 minutes (quart jars). 
16. Remove, place on a dish towel where it's not drafty and let cool. You should hear the jars pop as the lids seal.  If not, reprocess.

 

And that's all there is to it.  It may look like a lot of work with 16 steps in the process, but this is super easy and a great, versatile way to preserve your fresh tomatoes for use all year round.

 

I'm sharing with this week's Farm Blog Hop. Have you checked it out yet?

After The Fire

I wrote last Friday about the house fire down the street from us. When it burned, the house was painted a medium blue that was faded and peeling. 

 

Here's what she looks like today:

The asbestos abatement folks came and stripped her of her last shred of decency yesterday:  those old "cement" shingles that we see so often on these old houses were made with asbestos and have to come off before the final demolition.  The original wood siding is actually in decent shape, which makes you wonder why someone would cover it up.  But, you see, lazy people that don't want to work on their house existed in the early 1900's as well.  Rather than spend their summer scraping and painting, they covered it up with cement siding (the "vinyl siding of their day").

 

The house had been abandoned for a number of years and we had actually been trying to get it torn down to improve the neighborhood.  The taxes hadn't been paid for years and the city eventually took possession.  They had just listed it for sale for a whopping $19,472!!  Who on Earth would pay that for a house with no services and questionable structure is beyond me. 

 

I always feel melancholy when I look at pictures of old houses in this sad state.  The house could have been saved at some point if multiple someones had just made good decisions.  Unfortunately, for this one, it's too late.  We'll watch a steady stream of contractors perform their jobs over the next couple of weeks, like ants carrying away their picnic prize.  And then the final day will come where there will be nothing left but a straw-covered lot.

 

But some good will come of this.  The neighbors are repurposing what they can:  bricks for patios, salvagable wood for decks or other projects.  There are plans afoot for a community orchard or garden on the lot and the vacant one that sits next to it.  As with everything in nature, all is replenished and new comes from old. 

Rolling With the Homies

I'm hangin' in the air conditioning with my gang of little furry playas.  And we all get ice cream because.....

It's National Dog Day!

Foster and I on the Internets, circa 1999

Have you smooched your pooch today?

No?

Well, what are you waiting for?!

What a Crazy Day

Crap.  

I just realized that it's been a week since I posted. Sorry!  I have not been ignoring everyone - I've just been crazy busy and it's been an up-and-down roller coaster for me.  I was supposed to close on the new project Victorian on Friday but it's been delayed due to some title issues that are being worked through on the vacant lot.  We're now supposed to close next Friday.  *crossing fingers*

Plus it's stinkin' hot here again and I haven't felt like doing much.  I was really hoping that Mother Nature would forget that it's August and let us keep the nice, cooler temps in the 80's.  Drat!  Foiled again!

So J. and I spent yesterday morning at another auction where he was stalking one of those walk-behind skidsteers.  I went along because they had a 4 foot John Deere tractor tiller that was practically brand new.  I didn't win it, as it went for more than the 8 foot Land Pride one!  I guess you do pay more for labels (or, in this case, a certain shade of green paint.)  Heh.

Anyways....you have to got to see what else they had at this auction.  

He's a magnificent, sexy beast, isn't he?

My friends, that's Leghorn, the 5 foot metal rooster.  And he was glorious, let me tell ya!  Had he not sold for close to $600, I might have brought him home with us and declared him neighborhood art.   If we're all going to be urban farmers with chickens here in the Lykins neighborhood, then we need a mascot, right?

J. ended up winning the Dingo, which came with several attachments and it's very own custom trailer, at a really good price.  The guy bidding against us came up later and introduced himself as a union carpenter that does desk and landscaping work on the side.  Hmmmm....I told him that we would probably give him a call on this next project.  He even asked if we would call him if we decided to sell the equipment in the future.  Cool....if we decide to sell, we have a buyer already lined up.

After the auction, we headed to Menards in St. Joseph, which is about 45 minutes north of KC. It was the first time we'd ever been to what should actually be called Mecca for DIYers.  As we drove up, I commented to Jim that we should have brought our roller skates along, as that place is HUGE!

I have a VERY strict budget on this new house reno, so I'm looking to cut money anywhere I can.  Menards may be the best friend I need:  I picked up new entry door locks\handles for 1/2 price, house wrap at about 35% of regular cost, and vinyl siding for the addition for 20% of regular cost.  Yippee!

By the time we were done there, J. and I were exhausted and parched.  Lemonade chillers from DQ perked us up for the long drive home and then we collapsed on the sofa to watch a movie.  And then we hear sirens.  And they get closer.  And closer.  And then they seem to stop outside our house.

I open the front door and step out on the front porch to see this.

Fire!  

The crappy blue house 5 doors down from us that's been abandoned for at least 6 or 7  years was on fire.  And I mean serious fire....the flames were shooting up over the roof of the house next door, which is perilously close.  We've all been trying to get Kansas City to tear that thing down for years so I can't say I'm not happy that this happened, as long as no one gets hurt.  My plan is to head down and get some "after" pictures for you later today.

Hope everyone has been well!  I am staying out of the heat today and sewing some new seat covers for our RV couch, so I should have time to make the blog rounds today.  Talk to ya soon!

Let the Canning Begin!

With the tomatoes and jalapenos outpacing us in terms of what we can possibly eat at one time, I figured it was time to drag out the canner and get to work.  Up on the docket first?  Salsa made from our Early Girl slicing tomatoes.  The recipe we use is always a big hit and I posted it here last year if you'd like to try it on your own.

First the peeling of tomatoes and chopping of the jalapenos.  We didn't have enough jalapenos, we had to use some of those banana peppers that we got from the Farmer's Market last weekend.  As it turns out, we had EXACTLY 4 cups of tomatoes which is what the recipe calls for.  How often does that happen?

Everything goes into a big pot with some chopped onion, garlic, salt, lime juice and oregano.  Then stir it all up and let it come to a boil, then simmer for 20 minutes.

Finally, fill the jars (leaving 1/2 inch headspace) and process them in the water-bath canner for 15 minutes.

I've talked to several folks who have said "I could never do that.  I don't know how to can!"  If you want to get started canning, this is one of the easiest things you can make.  Oh, and salsa or other canned goods make great gifts.  Not that I would know, because our salsa seems to disappear around here.  Ahem....

In other news, I won an online auction for several huge tempered low-e glass window panels that J. and I are going to make into a glass greenhouse.  I'm not sure what hotel they were originally intended for, but these are definitely hotel panels, as they have the venting at the bottom where the air conditioner would suck in air.  Perfect for a greenhouse!