It's been a while since I've written. Honestly, I've been overwhelmed with nursing school. When I was in a whining mode a few weeks ago a friend (and former colleague) mentioned that I should try to shape the experience in a positive light and I've been consciously trying to do that since then. A neighbor (who has been a nurse for years) asked me just the other day how I was doing, and before I could give her an answer she responded "Powering through?" and I think that is the best description I have heard. It's not that I dislike school; I simply have no time to process. My schedule is full and unpredictable, thus throwing my family in disarray more often than I would like to admit and relying on my darling husband to manage the household and farm (and his wife's frequent bouts of irritability).
So, in light of all of this a few random thoughts that I've collected over the past several weeks. Most could be developed into a blog post of their own, but it's not going to happen. In random order:
Kids grow up fast. I can clearly remember when Bud was a toddler, and
now he is a lively, 10-year old who is able to rationally defend an
argument and offer valuable contributions to a conversation. This is a fun
age. At times he can be trying (think 10 going on 15) but he really
wants to do good and be good and still insists on a hug and kiss each
night before bed. This afternoon he even hung out with me at a quilt show.
It is true. Dogs become depressed too. We lost Belle in early December, and Daisy spent the subsequent weeks dazed and confused. She's recovering now, but there was certainly a transition period.
Kale survives snowstorms just fine.
Discussion post questions on Blackboard are completely overrated; and far more bearable to write with a yuengling in hand.
The best brownie recipe I've ever made uses melted Crisco as the fat. And a heck of a lot of sugar. But it's quick and easy and you can find it here.
Nuclear family vacations are important. My darling husband, Bud and I traveled to Belize over Christmas; it was our first real vacation without extended family members and we had a blast.
Social media soundbites are going to be the death of this nation. A group of people picks up on a single phrase pulled out of context and suddenly a "new cause" is taken up and the gulf widens between groups. Apparently, it's cool to be polarized. Unfortunately, that means that nothing will ever be accomplished. If only people would take a moment to breathe, understand different perspective and the roots from which those perspectives came, and engage in intelligent, thoughtful discussion...
Sunday, February 10, 2013
Monday, November 19, 2012
Being Mindful on Monday: The Peace of Wild Things
The Peace of Wild Things
by Wendall Berry
When despair for the world grows in me
and I wake in the night at the least sound,
in fear of what my life
and my children's lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake rests
in his beauty on the water,
and the great heron feeds.
I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me,
the day-blind stars waiting with their light.
For a time I rest in the grace of the world,
and I am free.
Wednesday, November 14, 2012
Our Couch...
...is celebrating its 20th birthday. Which, no matter how you look at it, is pretty old for a couch. It's particularly old for our specific couch which my parents bought in 1992 when we moved into our new house (I was in 8th grade). It spent several good years as the center piece to the family room, enjoying many Christmas celebrations, Trivial Pursuit gatherings, and evenings just watching television. Then (and this is why the couch is particularly old) it was relegated to the "rec room". I would rather not know exactly what went on on that couch in those years. I'm sure some of my readers have more information about that but please, don't share.
It was fortuitous that my parents were downsizing the same summer my darling husband and I got married and moved into our farmhouse. We were grateful to receive the couch (and many other pieces of furniture) and it has been a central component to our living room for six years now.
The couch continues to be the favorite spot for all three members of the family and there comes a sense of private, guilty satisfaction when one spreads out to watch a movie, read a book, or simply to nap while the rest of the family looks on from less cozy spots in the room. During family movie night we all curl up on it with Bud in the middle, where he alternates between leaning against his father and myself. During the day, particularly on cold winter weekends, the couch seems to transform into a sort of jungle gym for Bud. It has tolerated many somersaults and headstands and much bouncing over the years. The cushions have served as useful fort components as well.
But, in reality, the couch is not that comfortable anymore. It sags. A lot. I wouldn't dare have a person over 65 sit down on it for fear that the person would be unable to get up. The fabric's fraying in various places as well. We were going to purchase a new couch this summer but then the dog got sick and the "couch fund" went to the "dog surgery fund". And now the priority list continues to shift and "new couch" is no longer on top. I will have to apologize to my dearest mother as she was so excited to hear back in the summer that we were going to get rid of the couch. Sorry to disappoint you Mom! But life gets in the way, and in the end, this couch can still serve its purpose. Expect to see it gracing our living room for a little longer!
The couch continues to be the favorite spot for all three members of the family and there comes a sense of private, guilty satisfaction when one spreads out to watch a movie, read a book, or simply to nap while the rest of the family looks on from less cozy spots in the room. During family movie night we all curl up on it with Bud in the middle, where he alternates between leaning against his father and myself. During the day, particularly on cold winter weekends, the couch seems to transform into a sort of jungle gym for Bud. It has tolerated many somersaults and headstands and much bouncing over the years. The cushions have served as useful fort components as well.
But, in reality, the couch is not that comfortable anymore. It sags. A lot. I wouldn't dare have a person over 65 sit down on it for fear that the person would be unable to get up. The fabric's fraying in various places as well. We were going to purchase a new couch this summer but then the dog got sick and the "couch fund" went to the "dog surgery fund". And now the priority list continues to shift and "new couch" is no longer on top. I will have to apologize to my dearest mother as she was so excited to hear back in the summer that we were going to get rid of the couch. Sorry to disappoint you Mom! But life gets in the way, and in the end, this couch can still serve its purpose. Expect to see it gracing our living room for a little longer!
Sunday, October 28, 2012
Preparing for Sandy
1. batteries for our flashlights and lantern
2. drinking water (6 gallons)
3. matches (to light the stovetop, our furnace and our wood stove)
4. gasoline for our generator to keep our freezer going if the power goes out for more than a couple days
We put away most of the fly-away-ables today (including sporting equipment and political signs), but I will do a last minute check tomorrow morning. I will also fill up four carboys with water to use for washing dishes and humans if we get to that point. We will collect the storm water to use for flushing toilets etc.
My main concern is the sheep as they are enclosed in a pasture with electric netting near the barn. Obviously the netting won't be electrified when the power goes out, and there is a chance that it will blow down with the strong gusts of wind. We will probably end up locking the sheep up in their stall in the barn Monday night during the most intense parts of the storm. The horse (if he's as intelligent as we think him to be) will stay in his stall munching on hay, and the chickens, guineas, and pullets will likely remain indoors as well. I don't worry about the cats as they'll probably find a cozy nook in the hay loft.
Regardless of what happens here in Upstate New York, Sandy has already packed a punch to some parts of the world and our country. Our thoughts and prayers go out to all who have been impacted.
Tuesday, October 2, 2012
Community Building
Note to my faithful readers: This post was started sometime back in May. The yoga classes have since ceased but the message remains the same.
The double entendre of the post title is by all means intended. I arrived a few minutes early to yoga this evening, just wanting the peace and quiet. I lay down on my yoga mat, closed my eyes and let my mind drift. The evening before, I had been in the same space, the church, for a concert by the great Canadian folk singer John Wort Hannam and his awesome fiddler sidekick Scott Duncan. The night before that I could have gone to the Mother-Daughter potluck dinner.
Our church, which celebrated its 175th birthday two years ago (the banner, "Celebrating 175 Years of Community was just taken down this summer), is one of two public gathering spaces in the village, and the only one that it is heated. In the days of yesteryear, there were five churches scattered throughout the village; now, the United Methodist church is the sole (soul?) survivor as the County has seen its population decline over the last hundred years.
For this small community, it really is the center of social life for many, many people, far beyond its obvious use as a house of worship. Not only does the church hold several major fundraisers throughout the year that are community based, but other organizations often use the building for their own gatherings.
The folks from the Historical Society meets here once a month in the cooler months of the year (their building, the grange, is the other public building but has no heat). The quilting group meets on Tuesdays during the day. Yoga is Tuesdays in the evenings. The village and valley farmers meet there once a month as well.
Clubs from the local school have used the building on several occasions to host various speakers including Helen Sperling, a Holocaust survivor.
Every March the sanctuary gets turned into Philharmonic Hall for an original thematic variety show (which was once showcased on Prairie Home Companion). Other musical acts often perform throughout the year as well including folk singers, jazz ensembles and organists.
Of course, this post wouldn't be complete without mentioning all the church suppers. Chicken 'n' Biscuit, Harvest Dinner, Indian Dinner, spaghetti dinners, various potlucks. I think it would be quite possible to eat your way through life just by attending church suppers. Sometimes the suppers aren't even sponsored by the church. The Boy Scouts hold some of their suppers here. Relay for Life offered a Mexican Fiesta the other month. Entire extended families have used the space for their own private parties.
Auctions. The church is famous for its auctions. A country auction is held outside under the tent almost every summer. One can find Bill enthusiastically auctioning off anything from old bicycles to brand new baby lambs. I believe that every single reading lamp in our house has come from the auctions over the year. There's also the talent auction. And the yearly community-wide yard sale.
Sometimes I feel claustrophobic in this small community. I yearn for the mountains or the sea--the vast expanses of land or water. I want to be able to live in anonymity, where there are no busy bodies butting into my business. But then I take a moment and reflect. Our village consists of well-intentioned, caring individuals who look out for one another. It is seeped in a rich history and exudes the tranquil, rural culture of yesteryear. Whenever I find myself in the church for service or any other reason I am reminded of this fact and I am able to remember what is truly important: my family, my friends and my community.
The double entendre of the post title is by all means intended. I arrived a few minutes early to yoga this evening, just wanting the peace and quiet. I lay down on my yoga mat, closed my eyes and let my mind drift. The evening before, I had been in the same space, the church, for a concert by the great Canadian folk singer John Wort Hannam and his awesome fiddler sidekick Scott Duncan. The night before that I could have gone to the Mother-Daughter potluck dinner.
Our church, which celebrated its 175th birthday two years ago (the banner, "Celebrating 175 Years of Community was just taken down this summer), is one of two public gathering spaces in the village, and the only one that it is heated. In the days of yesteryear, there were five churches scattered throughout the village; now, the United Methodist church is the sole (soul?) survivor as the County has seen its population decline over the last hundred years.
For this small community, it really is the center of social life for many, many people, far beyond its obvious use as a house of worship. Not only does the church hold several major fundraisers throughout the year that are community based, but other organizations often use the building for their own gatherings.
The folks from the Historical Society meets here once a month in the cooler months of the year (their building, the grange, is the other public building but has no heat). The quilting group meets on Tuesdays during the day. Yoga is Tuesdays in the evenings. The village and valley farmers meet there once a month as well.
Clubs from the local school have used the building on several occasions to host various speakers including Helen Sperling, a Holocaust survivor.
Every March the sanctuary gets turned into Philharmonic Hall for an original thematic variety show (which was once showcased on Prairie Home Companion). Other musical acts often perform throughout the year as well including folk singers, jazz ensembles and organists.
Of course, this post wouldn't be complete without mentioning all the church suppers. Chicken 'n' Biscuit, Harvest Dinner, Indian Dinner, spaghetti dinners, various potlucks. I think it would be quite possible to eat your way through life just by attending church suppers. Sometimes the suppers aren't even sponsored by the church. The Boy Scouts hold some of their suppers here. Relay for Life offered a Mexican Fiesta the other month. Entire extended families have used the space for their own private parties.
Auctions. The church is famous for its auctions. A country auction is held outside under the tent almost every summer. One can find Bill enthusiastically auctioning off anything from old bicycles to brand new baby lambs. I believe that every single reading lamp in our house has come from the auctions over the year. There's also the talent auction. And the yearly community-wide yard sale.
Sometimes I feel claustrophobic in this small community. I yearn for the mountains or the sea--the vast expanses of land or water. I want to be able to live in anonymity, where there are no busy bodies butting into my business. But then I take a moment and reflect. Our village consists of well-intentioned, caring individuals who look out for one another. It is seeped in a rich history and exudes the tranquil, rural culture of yesteryear. Whenever I find myself in the church for service or any other reason I am reminded of this fact and I am able to remember what is truly important: my family, my friends and my community.
Wednesday, September 26, 2012
A Sheep Story
The joys of working on a small farm include the unpredictable circumstances that upon review are quite funny but at the time really just want to make you throw in the towel. Such a situation happened to yours truly on Saturday morning.
To understand the situation, we have to go back to Friday night when I was able to catch up with a dear friend whom I hadn't seen in a year and half. Since I didn't return home until 11 and wasn't ready to fall asleep until midnight, I thought it would probably be smart if I set the alarm to 7:30am instead of my usual Saturday 6:30am. That would still give me an well over an hour to get ready for and commute to class. I snuggled up in bed, and fell immediately to sleep. I was rudely awakened by...
"Baa. Baaaa. BAAAAA!"
"What the...!" was my first reaction. I should not be hearing the sheep right below my window. The sheep are pastured up in the back field, roughly a quarter mile away.
But just to make sure I looked out my window, and there she was. Letting the whole world know that it was 6:34am on a Saturday morning.
"OH CRAP!" was my immediate next thought. Fourteen sheep prancing around my front lawn, merely twenty feet from the road.
I threw on the clothes closest to me (which happened to be the really nice jeans I had worn the night before) and ran out to survey the situation in the early morning fog. My immediate concern was that they would scurry into the road. I'd like to think that sheep aren't dumb enough to go into the road, but indeed they are. My saving grace in this case: the grain in the small barn. The ewes had already discovered the metal trashcans filled with chicken grain and they were into it nose deep. I let them have at it while I surreptitiously enclosed the chicken fence around them.
Perimeter secure. Sort of. Temporarily. It was now 6:40. And I was faced with a few choices. I had until 8:15am, and then I had to leave for class if I wanted to be on time. I mentally reviewed my options:
A). Shove all 14 sheep into the horse stall. This seemed like a viable option at first, as they were practically in the stall anyway. They would be secure there, albeit a little cramped, and then I could deal with it all later. Oh, but no. I had that silly pharmacology exam on Sunday, thus needing Saturday after class to study. I couldn't spend several hours in the afternoon figuring out what to do with them.
B). I could bring the fence (all electric netting in 100-200 foot sections) from the back field down to the barn area and set them up in a fully functional temporary pasture area. As long as there were no glitches, I could set up a half acre paddock in about an hour. If there were glitches, I was SOL.
C. I could try to entice them to follow me (all 14 of them) back up to the back field where they were supposed to be. If this plan actually works, it was the most attractive option, since there was an abundance of grass up there. However, shepherding 14 sheep a quarter mile is not my forte. It would be mayhem. In addition, I had no idea what the status of the fence was up there.
I was strongly leaning towards option B as I walked up to the back field to survey the damage. Two sections of the fence were torn down and it looked like a deer had jumped through and gotten tangled before tearing the fence apart and escaping. Usually a deer will easily clear the 42 inch height. However, our neighbor's fence line is just about 10 feet away from ours, and I think the deer cleared theirs, but misjudged ours. Anyway, I didn't have time to make any repairs on the damaged sections. All I could do was move the in-tact sections down one at a time (they're heavy), setting them up in the grassy area between our two barns. It was very methodical and I was moving the last section at 7:20. I still had to connect the fence to the barn, connect the wires to make sure the fence was hot when turned on, move the sheep and get them water before 7:50. While I'm in a rural nursing program, I'm not sure my classmates would have appreciated me showing up in soggy jeans smelling of sheep (and worse) so I had to give myself a few minutes for a shower.
This story has a rather anti-climatic ending as the sheep were happy to go into their new pasture, and I was able to get to class on time. The only glitch was that the dog, who had been out with me this entire time, had decided to roll in some sort of dead thing or other and I clearly did not have time to give her a bath. She simply just had to suffer?/relish in? smelling of dead thing all day.
It retrospect I'm thankful that the sheep BAA!ed when they did; otherwise I wouldn't have had the time to do much about the situation, or I would have had to miss class (which, considering the entire course was run over 4 weekends I didn't really want to do).
And as you've probably figured out by now, I was indeed home alone when this most recent mayhem ensued. It always works that way, doesn't it?
For another "funny now, but not at the time" story that happened to us (although not on the farm) check out the Montana Misadventures post.
To understand the situation, we have to go back to Friday night when I was able to catch up with a dear friend whom I hadn't seen in a year and half. Since I didn't return home until 11 and wasn't ready to fall asleep until midnight, I thought it would probably be smart if I set the alarm to 7:30am instead of my usual Saturday 6:30am. That would still give me an well over an hour to get ready for and commute to class. I snuggled up in bed, and fell immediately to sleep. I was rudely awakened by...
"Baa. Baaaa. BAAAAA!"
"What the...!" was my first reaction. I should not be hearing the sheep right below my window. The sheep are pastured up in the back field, roughly a quarter mile away.
But just to make sure I looked out my window, and there she was. Letting the whole world know that it was 6:34am on a Saturday morning.
"OH CRAP!" was my immediate next thought. Fourteen sheep prancing around my front lawn, merely twenty feet from the road.
I threw on the clothes closest to me (which happened to be the really nice jeans I had worn the night before) and ran out to survey the situation in the early morning fog. My immediate concern was that they would scurry into the road. I'd like to think that sheep aren't dumb enough to go into the road, but indeed they are. My saving grace in this case: the grain in the small barn. The ewes had already discovered the metal trashcans filled with chicken grain and they were into it nose deep. I let them have at it while I surreptitiously enclosed the chicken fence around them.
Perimeter secure. Sort of. Temporarily. It was now 6:40. And I was faced with a few choices. I had until 8:15am, and then I had to leave for class if I wanted to be on time. I mentally reviewed my options:
 |
| Ewes collaborating about how to cause mayhem on the farm |
A). Shove all 14 sheep into the horse stall. This seemed like a viable option at first, as they were practically in the stall anyway. They would be secure there, albeit a little cramped, and then I could deal with it all later. Oh, but no. I had that silly pharmacology exam on Sunday, thus needing Saturday after class to study. I couldn't spend several hours in the afternoon figuring out what to do with them.
B). I could bring the fence (all electric netting in 100-200 foot sections) from the back field down to the barn area and set them up in a fully functional temporary pasture area. As long as there were no glitches, I could set up a half acre paddock in about an hour. If there were glitches, I was SOL.
C. I could try to entice them to follow me (all 14 of them) back up to the back field where they were supposed to be. If this plan actually works, it was the most attractive option, since there was an abundance of grass up there. However, shepherding 14 sheep a quarter mile is not my forte. It would be mayhem. In addition, I had no idea what the status of the fence was up there.
I was strongly leaning towards option B as I walked up to the back field to survey the damage. Two sections of the fence were torn down and it looked like a deer had jumped through and gotten tangled before tearing the fence apart and escaping. Usually a deer will easily clear the 42 inch height. However, our neighbor's fence line is just about 10 feet away from ours, and I think the deer cleared theirs, but misjudged ours. Anyway, I didn't have time to make any repairs on the damaged sections. All I could do was move the in-tact sections down one at a time (they're heavy), setting them up in the grassy area between our two barns. It was very methodical and I was moving the last section at 7:20. I still had to connect the fence to the barn, connect the wires to make sure the fence was hot when turned on, move the sheep and get them water before 7:50. While I'm in a rural nursing program, I'm not sure my classmates would have appreciated me showing up in soggy jeans smelling of sheep (and worse) so I had to give myself a few minutes for a shower.
This story has a rather anti-climatic ending as the sheep were happy to go into their new pasture, and I was able to get to class on time. The only glitch was that the dog, who had been out with me this entire time, had decided to roll in some sort of dead thing or other and I clearly did not have time to give her a bath. She simply just had to suffer?/relish in? smelling of dead thing all day.
It retrospect I'm thankful that the sheep BAA!ed when they did; otherwise I wouldn't have had the time to do much about the situation, or I would have had to miss class (which, considering the entire course was run over 4 weekends I didn't really want to do).
And as you've probably figured out by now, I was indeed home alone when this most recent mayhem ensued. It always works that way, doesn't it?
For another "funny now, but not at the time" story that happened to us (although not on the farm) check out the Montana Misadventures post.
Wednesday, September 5, 2012
How to Make the Most of 3 Days? Don't Do, Just Be
A few weeks ago I made the decision to take a mini vacation from nursing school and head down to the Outerbanks where the family has been celebrating annually ever since my dad was a kid. This was important to me fore a few reasons. First, I hadn't been down there with the extended family since 2009. Prior to that, I had only missed two other years my entire life (1989 and 1999). It was time to go back. Second, while I still technically live in the same house as my darling husband and Bud, I really don't get a chance to see them. My darling husband jokingly (or maybe not so much) said to various relatives "I have to drive 700 miles to spend time with my wife". Third, I really needed a break.
My plane left Albany on Tuesday morning at 5:30am. I was on the beach by 11am. Not bad. My plane heading back to Albany was leaving at 7:30pm on Friday, which meant I had to get off the beach by 1:30pm Friday. So...what to do in just over 72 hours? How could I maximize 72 hours of vacation. Simply by doing nothing.
In previous years I would have visited the sand dunes, biked extensively, gone running, gone fishing, played tennis, played mini-golf, explored the area shops. My husband and I would have gone out for an entire evening. I would have taken naps inside and read lots and lots of trashy novels. Some years it would seem that the entire vacation consisted of a "To-Do" list that had to be checked off as you went along.
This time, I sat on the beach and swam in the ocean. And ate and drank and slept. And sat on the beach some more. And spent more time in the ocean. You get the point. My dearest mother was able to persuade me to go out with her for a two hour outing that involved shopping for clothes, and my darling husband and I did go out for drinks after dinner one night. I even went on a couple short bike rides and shot some hoops with Bud. But the point of this vacation was to relax and not feel obligated to do anything. Because there as none of the pressure to do vacation-y things, it turned out to be the best 72 hours in a long time.
My plane left Albany on Tuesday morning at 5:30am. I was on the beach by 11am. Not bad. My plane heading back to Albany was leaving at 7:30pm on Friday, which meant I had to get off the beach by 1:30pm Friday. So...what to do in just over 72 hours? How could I maximize 72 hours of vacation. Simply by doing nothing.
In previous years I would have visited the sand dunes, biked extensively, gone running, gone fishing, played tennis, played mini-golf, explored the area shops. My husband and I would have gone out for an entire evening. I would have taken naps inside and read lots and lots of trashy novels. Some years it would seem that the entire vacation consisted of a "To-Do" list that had to be checked off as you went along.
 |
| I helped build this sand castle several years ago. There was no sand castle building on this year's agenda |
Sunday, July 29, 2012
An update on nursing school
In about thirty minutes I'll be hitting the road to head to my first "real" clinical experience as a nursing student. We've spent our weekends up to this point either in the learning lab or at the nursing home. Yesterday, we had orientation at the hospital.
Needless to say, I'm somewhat nervous. Nursing, at its core, is about caring for others. I'm good at this core idea. I have some practice. So what makes me so nervous? Over the course of the summer I have tried to figure out what exactly about the clinical experience is causing such a visceral response and I think I've determined two factors.
First, I am completely inept when it comes to manipulating technology. You all know this. Our nursing instructor was reviewing the glucometer with us. "It's simple. It's easy" she kept repeating. Um. No. Part of this ineptitude is that I need to actually see someone using it in real life on a real patient. Then I need to practice it without the situation being a high-stakes one (the last thing I want to to do is make a patient/client feel worse). But this is such a fast-paced program that we get introduced to the concept or technology, we may get a chance to practice on the dummies in the lab, but so far we haven't seen it done in real life.
Second, I don't feel comfortable in a nursing student role. (Nursing diagnoses: Ineffective role performance related to unfamiliarity with the hospital setting). The question I have been asking myself is "what gives me the authority to just go ahead and __________?" (take vitals, listen to heart sounds, etc). Piggy-backing on that is "my findings should definitely carry no weight when actually determining plans of care...I'm a nursing student for heaven's sake!"
So, we'll see how it goes today. My mantra to get me through is "I can do anything for 8 hours!". I also try to think about the worse possible case scenario...oh wait, I really don't want to think about that, because unlike in teaching, that scenario can be pretty bad.
Nursing at its core may be simple and intuitive. But nursing school is certainly not.
Needless to say, I'm somewhat nervous. Nursing, at its core, is about caring for others. I'm good at this core idea. I have some practice. So what makes me so nervous? Over the course of the summer I have tried to figure out what exactly about the clinical experience is causing such a visceral response and I think I've determined two factors.
First, I am completely inept when it comes to manipulating technology. You all know this. Our nursing instructor was reviewing the glucometer with us. "It's simple. It's easy" she kept repeating. Um. No. Part of this ineptitude is that I need to actually see someone using it in real life on a real patient. Then I need to practice it without the situation being a high-stakes one (the last thing I want to to do is make a patient/client feel worse). But this is such a fast-paced program that we get introduced to the concept or technology, we may get a chance to practice on the dummies in the lab, but so far we haven't seen it done in real life.
Second, I don't feel comfortable in a nursing student role. (Nursing diagnoses: Ineffective role performance related to unfamiliarity with the hospital setting). The question I have been asking myself is "what gives me the authority to just go ahead and __________?" (take vitals, listen to heart sounds, etc). Piggy-backing on that is "my findings should definitely carry no weight when actually determining plans of care...I'm a nursing student for heaven's sake!"
So, we'll see how it goes today. My mantra to get me through is "I can do anything for 8 hours!". I also try to think about the worse possible case scenario...oh wait, I really don't want to think about that, because unlike in teaching, that scenario can be pretty bad.
Nursing at its core may be simple and intuitive. But nursing school is certainly not.
Tuesday, July 10, 2012
Carrots and cats
First of all, a technology conundrum. Blogger claims it is detecting an unsupported browser but I use Firefox 11.0 which Blogger says is compatible with my MacOS 10.7.4. I will never be a tech guru, mostly due to the fact that I don't care that much. But I do get frustrated by the increasing number of compatibility issues. My cynical self says its all in the name of making money. Along a similar vein, wanting to see the Olympics and not having a television I was hoping to view some of the events online. Yes, you are able to do this, for FREE, as long as you are a regular TimeWarner subscriber. Fail.
But on to the more pressing issue of carrots. I finally was able weed and thin our carrot bed this morning. It was long overdue. Carrots don't really enjoy weeds (apparently the weeds really love the carrots), and they need to be spaced at least 1 to 2 inches from their nearest neighbor in order to thrive, but it is impossible to sow them this way (at least by hand). Yes, this means a lot of really teeny-weeny carrots get composted, but I was able to pull out a couple dozen baby carrots which we will enjoy in salads or lightly steamed for the next week or so.
But on to the more pressing issue of carrots. I finally was able weed and thin our carrot bed this morning. It was long overdue. Carrots don't really enjoy weeds (apparently the weeds really love the carrots), and they need to be spaced at least 1 to 2 inches from their nearest neighbor in order to thrive, but it is impossible to sow them this way (at least by hand). Yes, this means a lot of really teeny-weeny carrots get composted, but I was able to pull out a couple dozen baby carrots which we will enjoy in salads or lightly steamed for the next week or so.
For the first 10 years after their introduction, I thought the baby carrots one sees in the grocery store were actually just that. Small carrots, pulled from the garden in the earlier part of the summer. I was so dismayed to learn that the supermarket "baby carrots" are just cutouts from deformed mature carrots. You can find the story of the manufactured baby carrot here (who knew that the U.K had a carrot museum!). I suppose making "baby" carrots is better than throwing away tons and tons of imperfectly shaped, but perfectly edible carrots each year. But I still won't buy them at the store because I feel like they have been overly processed. This is not a particularly rational point of view, but I am the first to admit I am a bit of a local food snob.
As far as our own baby carrots, they will probably be consumed in the next several days, but if not I will blanch, dice and freeze them to use later in the year for soups and casseroles.
Finally, my darling husband took this picture of the laziest living things on our farm...the cats. They may kill a mouse here or there but usually anybody visiting the farm can find them on this chair, lounging away, watching the world go by (or just completely comatose). That's Leia looking up at the camera wondering who had the gall to wake her up from her nap. Luke is in the middle and Chewbacca is determined not to show her face.
Tuesday, July 3, 2012
Bookstore as communication conduit
The set-up:
Anne from the bookstore calls about two weeks ago to let me know that Ariel (a poetry collection by Sylvia Plath) is in. Apparently my darling husband had ordered it to use while writing his next novel. I may or may not have told my darling husband of her call.
The aforementioned bookstore is 25 miles away, but in the same town as my nursing school and Bud's Tae-kwon-do classes. There are plenty of opportunities to go and pick up the book. There are also plenty of times to let my husband know that said book is in. And plenty of time for my husband to let me know that he did indeed pick up the book.
The scene:
I walk into the bookstore, and after perusing for a few moments (I didn't find anything that struck my fancy, but this is probably because my brain was so focused on school and became overwhelmed by the vast selection of interesting titles) I approached the sales counter. After exchanging pleasantries (I'm a familiar face in the shop)...
"I'm here to pick up a book, Ariel. A book of poems" (I didn't know it was Plath at that time).
A slight pause by Meghan, one of the shopkeepers. She glances over at Michelle, the owner.
"I don't think Tom picked it up, but he may have" I quickly add, in case there was some confusion.
"No, it's up there, it's hardcover" Michelle says over her shoulder gesturing towards the reserved book section.
As Meghan hands me the book, I comment that sometimes my husband and I aren't the best with communicating these mundane details to one another. Both women give a knowing laugh.
"So now the bookstore is going to act as the medium for your communication! We'll just pass the messages between you two" Meghan exclaims. Then more seriously, "If he comes in later, we'll let him know you picked it up." (Of course, if we were like the rest of the general populations, we would both havecell phones smart phones and be able to text one another about these little items. But, we are not the general population).
"That would be fabulous! Thanks."
Seriously, while we talk about the big things, my darling husband and I forget the little things. The other night we thought the other person had let the mutt inside. Nope. She spent the night on the porch (although she didn't seem to be too bothered by it). Then there's the communication that does occur, but follow-through is lacking. It goes something like this:
"Honey, can you pick up some milk while you're out?"
"Sure."
30 minutes later...
"Did you get the milk?"
"Nope, I forgot!"
Which of course leads us to other establishments that act as communication mediums for us. The post office ("He already picked up the mail today") and the general store ("I just saw her when she came in to get the milk"). But I digress.
As I pay for the book, Meghan reminds me that I will get the 15% discount next time I come in (frequent buyers get frequent discounts).
"But make sure you come in and spend it before he does!"
No worries. I'll forget to tell him!
Anne from the bookstore calls about two weeks ago to let me know that Ariel (a poetry collection by Sylvia Plath) is in. Apparently my darling husband had ordered it to use while writing his next novel. I may or may not have told my darling husband of her call.
The aforementioned bookstore is 25 miles away, but in the same town as my nursing school and Bud's Tae-kwon-do classes. There are plenty of opportunities to go and pick up the book. There are also plenty of times to let my husband know that said book is in. And plenty of time for my husband to let me know that he did indeed pick up the book.
The scene:
I walk into the bookstore, and after perusing for a few moments (I didn't find anything that struck my fancy, but this is probably because my brain was so focused on school and became overwhelmed by the vast selection of interesting titles) I approached the sales counter. After exchanging pleasantries (I'm a familiar face in the shop)...
"I'm here to pick up a book, Ariel. A book of poems" (I didn't know it was Plath at that time).
A slight pause by Meghan, one of the shopkeepers. She glances over at Michelle, the owner.
"I don't think Tom picked it up, but he may have" I quickly add, in case there was some confusion.
"No, it's up there, it's hardcover" Michelle says over her shoulder gesturing towards the reserved book section.
As Meghan hands me the book, I comment that sometimes my husband and I aren't the best with communicating these mundane details to one another. Both women give a knowing laugh.
"So now the bookstore is going to act as the medium for your communication! We'll just pass the messages between you two" Meghan exclaims. Then more seriously, "If he comes in later, we'll let him know you picked it up." (Of course, if we were like the rest of the general populations, we would both have
"That would be fabulous! Thanks."
Seriously, while we talk about the big things, my darling husband and I forget the little things. The other night we thought the other person had let the mutt inside. Nope. She spent the night on the porch (although she didn't seem to be too bothered by it). Then there's the communication that does occur, but follow-through is lacking. It goes something like this:
"Honey, can you pick up some milk while you're out?"
"Sure."
30 minutes later...
"Did you get the milk?"
"Nope, I forgot!"
Which of course leads us to other establishments that act as communication mediums for us. The post office ("He already picked up the mail today") and the general store ("I just saw her when she came in to get the milk"). But I digress.
As I pay for the book, Meghan reminds me that I will get the 15% discount next time I come in (frequent buyers get frequent discounts).
"But make sure you come in and spend it before he does!"
No worries. I'll forget to tell him!
Monday, June 11, 2012
Happy lambs
Well done ewes! 9 lambs in two weeks. Tess, Wilma, Velma and Velveeta all delivered healthy twins and Wanda gave birth to a singleton ewe lamb last night. We are enjoying watching the lambs gambol in the field. They are similar in temperament to happy toddlers; energetic, curious by nature and occasionally annoying to their mothers.
In other news, nursing school continues at a fervent pace. While we've been in the nursing lab practicing vitals on each other and learning other skills on dummies, we have yet to go into a "real" setting to practice. This happens for the first time next weekend. It's a little scary, but it helps to remember that all nurses have gone through a similar training process.
And finally, the Farmers' Market opens up in our village this Thursday from 3-7pm. Since I will be in class, my darling husband has hesitantly graciously offered to sit by our booth and sell my handspun yarn. I've prepared a few cheat sheets for him so he knows a little bit about the product. We He will also be selling lettuce and garlic scapes.
Monday, June 4, 2012
It's been a little busy...
I know I missed First Friday, and I haven't updated you all on the lambs that have suddenly arrived. Nursing school started and it's a bit overwhelming. In addition to a gazillion pages of reading and skills modules, clinicals and lecture times, I am also trying to at least spend some quality time with the family, maintain the garden at a moderate level of weeds, make sure that all the lambs are thriving and get this new Farmers' Market off the ground. So...there's very little time to write for leisure. I don't recall ever being this tired before although I'm sure I was when I was in my first years of teaching. I think I just need to acclimate to the new schedule, including the fact that I only get one out of every five weekends off (when the courses switch). I do have some funny sheep and lamb stories to share and I'll try to post those with photos later this week. Two sets of lambs arrived within 10 hours of each other when I was home alone and preparing for my first day of clinical (I predicted it was going to happen that way). We have never had this many ovines on the property before and more are yet to come.
Thursday, May 31, 2012
Frickadellen...or what to do with ground pork glut
It's official. I've been asked one too many times about what to do with ground pork glut. For those of you who have a half or whole hog in the freezer you're likely to have lots of ground pork (unless you had it all made into sausage, which is the best thing to do with ground pork). Here is a family recipe I received from a good friend at church. She is 80 something years old, grew up in Germany, lives in the quaintest apartment in town and manages to host delightful dinner parties for 12 or more people in a space that can't be larger than 400 square feet! You'll have to play with the amounts of some of these ingredients--like all great family recipes, the measurements are inexact!
Frickadellen
1 lb pork
some bread crumbs
1 egg
some cardamom
salt and pepper
1 tbsp of ground onion (I use lots of chopped onion)
capers (I don't use these, because I don't like capers)
So you mix everything (except the capers) together in a bowl and knead really well before forming little golf-ball size balls. Then pat them down. It's almost like you're making sliders. You put them in the pan to brown, adding some water at times to help with the browning process. My friend likes to pour a gravy (with the capers) over them. We eat them straight up. The cardamom really adds a nice flavor and the breadcrumbs keep the pork very moist.
Enjoy!
P.S When Belle was at the vet clinic, they asked me to bring in some human food for her to eat. The frickadellens were what I had on hand so I brought in two of them (I actually handpicked the onion pieces out because I wasn't sure those were good for her at the time). When the vet tech warmed the patties up and the smell of yummy frickadellen permeated the clinic the staff was very sad that the food was for Belle and not for them!
Frickadellen
1 lb pork
some bread crumbs
1 egg
some cardamom
salt and pepper
1 tbsp of ground onion (I use lots of chopped onion)
capers (I don't use these, because I don't like capers)
So you mix everything (except the capers) together in a bowl and knead really well before forming little golf-ball size balls. Then pat them down. It's almost like you're making sliders. You put them in the pan to brown, adding some water at times to help with the browning process. My friend likes to pour a gravy (with the capers) over them. We eat them straight up. The cardamom really adds a nice flavor and the breadcrumbs keep the pork very moist.
Enjoy!
P.S When Belle was at the vet clinic, they asked me to bring in some human food for her to eat. The frickadellens were what I had on hand so I brought in two of them (I actually handpicked the onion pieces out because I wasn't sure those were good for her at the time). When the vet tech warmed the patties up and the smell of yummy frickadellen permeated the clinic the staff was very sad that the food was for Belle and not for them!
Monday, May 28, 2012
Being Mindful on Monday: Memorial Day Observed
Carl Sandburg "Grass"
Pile the bodies high at Austerlitz and Waterloo.
Shovel them under and let me work--
I am the grass; I cover all.
And pile them high at Gettysburg
And pile them high at Ypres and Verdun.
Shovel them under and let me work.
Two years, ten years, and passengers ask the conductor:
What place is this?
Where are we now?
I am the grass.
Let me work.
Pile the bodies high at Austerlitz and Waterloo.
Shovel them under and let me work--
I am the grass; I cover all.
And pile them high at Gettysburg
And pile them high at Ypres and Verdun.
Shovel them under and let me work.
Two years, ten years, and passengers ask the conductor:
What place is this?
Where are we now?
I am the grass.
Let me work.
Friday, May 25, 2012
All Creatures Great and Small
It's been a tough week on Clearfield Farm thanks to our ten-year old beagle mutt, Belle.
After dinner on Monday night she began to display some obvious discomfort. When I called the vet clinic and recounted her symptoms, they wanted to see her right away. A few x-rays confirmed some sort of abdominal mass but it was unclear what it was. An ultrasound was also inconclusive. The vet, who happens to be a good friend of ours, set out our options which included supportive care, euthanasia, or surgery. I told her I would get back to her first thing on Wednesday. My darling husband and I had to talk.
It's an agonizing decision when it comes to spending significant sums of money on a pet, particularly an aging one (and one who is not so friendly to those outside her pack). My husband offered this advice...WWJD. "What would Jesus Do?" I asked skeptically. "No, what would James [Herriot] do?" "Well, because of the lack of technology available at the time, he probably would have put the animal to sleep if she was in as much discomfort as Belle currently is" I answered. My husband concurred. He added that if we were striving to live simply (I have often touted the "just because we can, does it mean we should?" philosophy), euthanasia would be our best option. But is that what we would do for Belle? What if it was just a simple mass that could be removed and give her several more years of quality life? But what if it is malignant? What if whatever it is was going to come back? Of course, it was impossible for us or the vet to determine any of this without going in in the first place.
She obviously needed something done because she was suffering. Euthanasia or surgery. After a quick discussion of our own financial situation and an understanding that extraordinary measures (say a trip to Cornell University) were out of the question, we decided that she deserved this one shot to continue on in this world. We agreed that if there was a relapse or if there was no improvement then we'd put her down if it became clear she was suffering.
When I called the vet on Wednesday, she agreed with our decision. She did want to know whether we wanted her woken up if the mass could not be removed. We said yes because Bud had not yet said his goodbyes and we felt this was very important. The surgery was scheduled for that afternoon.
Unfortunately, the surgery did not turn up good results. The mass is really coagulated blood and cannot be removed. It is unclear where this mass originated from or why. The vet and her colleagues felt that if they tried to remove whatever it is, she would bleed out in a "terminal event". So they ended up sewing her back up.
She spent two days at the clinic and was doing all normal doggy things (eating, peeing, pooping) so it seems like she feels a little bit better, although the long-term prognosis is relatively poor. Our vet was very realistic with us saying it could be weeks or months or it could be days. The best case scenario would be if this mass was the result of some sort of trauma and shrunk on its own after a bit of time. However, the onset of her discomfort and the unlikelihood of her getting hit by something without us noticing render this trauma hypothesis relatively weak.
So we will just wait and see. Daisy is happy to have Belle at home and takes turns with Luke the cat watching over her. Belle, whose favorite activity has always been lying out in the sun, seems relatively peaceful at the moment. As long as she doesn't complain we will give her as many sunny days as possible.
After dinner on Monday night she began to display some obvious discomfort. When I called the vet clinic and recounted her symptoms, they wanted to see her right away. A few x-rays confirmed some sort of abdominal mass but it was unclear what it was. An ultrasound was also inconclusive. The vet, who happens to be a good friend of ours, set out our options which included supportive care, euthanasia, or surgery. I told her I would get back to her first thing on Wednesday. My darling husband and I had to talk.
It's an agonizing decision when it comes to spending significant sums of money on a pet, particularly an aging one (and one who is not so friendly to those outside her pack). My husband offered this advice...WWJD. "What would Jesus Do?" I asked skeptically. "No, what would James [Herriot] do?" "Well, because of the lack of technology available at the time, he probably would have put the animal to sleep if she was in as much discomfort as Belle currently is" I answered. My husband concurred. He added that if we were striving to live simply (I have often touted the "just because we can, does it mean we should?" philosophy), euthanasia would be our best option. But is that what we would do for Belle? What if it was just a simple mass that could be removed and give her several more years of quality life? But what if it is malignant? What if whatever it is was going to come back? Of course, it was impossible for us or the vet to determine any of this without going in in the first place.
She obviously needed something done because she was suffering. Euthanasia or surgery. After a quick discussion of our own financial situation and an understanding that extraordinary measures (say a trip to Cornell University) were out of the question, we decided that she deserved this one shot to continue on in this world. We agreed that if there was a relapse or if there was no improvement then we'd put her down if it became clear she was suffering.
When I called the vet on Wednesday, she agreed with our decision. She did want to know whether we wanted her woken up if the mass could not be removed. We said yes because Bud had not yet said his goodbyes and we felt this was very important. The surgery was scheduled for that afternoon.
Unfortunately, the surgery did not turn up good results. The mass is really coagulated blood and cannot be removed. It is unclear where this mass originated from or why. The vet and her colleagues felt that if they tried to remove whatever it is, she would bleed out in a "terminal event". So they ended up sewing her back up.
She spent two days at the clinic and was doing all normal doggy things (eating, peeing, pooping) so it seems like she feels a little bit better, although the long-term prognosis is relatively poor. Our vet was very realistic with us saying it could be weeks or months or it could be days. The best case scenario would be if this mass was the result of some sort of trauma and shrunk on its own after a bit of time. However, the onset of her discomfort and the unlikelihood of her getting hit by something without us noticing render this trauma hypothesis relatively weak.
 | |
| Daisy |
 |
| Luke and Belle |
Monday, May 21, 2012
Transformations
I've been struggling this week with what to write about. After starting three different posts and then not liking the direction they've gone I've decided to take some wise advice and just pick a really broad topic so that everything can be made to fit into it. So here it goes. Transformations in the last couple of weeks...
First, the gardens. I have spent the majority of May in my gardens. A dear friend (that's you Deborah!) brought up the subject of edging gardens last fall. I never even knew that one was supposed to edge a garden until then. Having the time this spring (sort of), and after looking despairingly at the weed invasion in my perennial gardens, I decided to jump on the edging bandwagon. This was not a decision to take lightly as once you are committed to edging part of a garden, you have to do the whole thing. And once you edge one garden, it's impossible NOT to edge the others. While edging, I also tackled the vast majority of the weeds. My gardens are by no means weed free, but they do look substantially better than they do before. Speaking of gardens, we've got much of our large vegetable garden planted, and only two more 12 x 12 plots to double dig. Hopefully all will be dug and planted by the end of the upcoming long weekend.
Which brings me to my second transformation. My poor hands. As I do every year, I started wearing gloves when I garden. But I hate not being able to feel the cool, damp earth, and I have much better control of what I am weeding or digging with my bare hands versus gloved hands. So until I find some type of gardening glove that is like a second skin, I will continue to garden with naked hands. Which means I generally have dirt encrusted in the grooves of my fingers and of course under the nails. This was really only a problem back in May 2006, a month before I got married. I went to the day spa to have a trial run with the nails and my esthetician (that's a really hard word to spell correctly!) made me promise that I would take the month off from gardening. I don't think I did, but at least I wore gloves. So to remedy the chronically dirty hands I allow myself a long soak in a tub each night.
Which brings me to the third transformation. Children. I share my tub with a "Little People" castle and many plastic "guys" (and dinosaurs). I also find that the only shampoo downstairs is Cowabunga Coconut. Our coffee table has a veritable young adult library spread across it, and the back steps are always collecting something that belongs to Bud. And it's all good. This past weekend I went to visit a high school friend and her family in the Boston area. She has a two year old daughter. Where there used to be beer and music and card games, there are now juice boxes and diapers and nap times. I also happened to stop by another dear friend's home in the Berkshires on my way back to New York. She has a three year old daughter. I always loved her decor--sort of a French/African theme with lots of different textures and interesting prints. I hadn't seen her since right after her daughter was born and the house had been comfortably, tastefully and lovingly transformed into a toddler's haven.
Finally, the last transformation of this week regards more babies. My nephew, whom I last saw in person when he was a week old, now looks completely different at six weeks old. He has lost all of his hair, has filled out tremendously, and loves to smile. At least he still has his elf ears! It was startling to see the change. How quickly newborns grow up!
Enjoy the spring showers and the bountiful sunshine!
First, the gardens. I have spent the majority of May in my gardens. A dear friend (that's you Deborah!) brought up the subject of edging gardens last fall. I never even knew that one was supposed to edge a garden until then. Having the time this spring (sort of), and after looking despairingly at the weed invasion in my perennial gardens, I decided to jump on the edging bandwagon. This was not a decision to take lightly as once you are committed to edging part of a garden, you have to do the whole thing. And once you edge one garden, it's impossible NOT to edge the others. While edging, I also tackled the vast majority of the weeds. My gardens are by no means weed free, but they do look substantially better than they do before. Speaking of gardens, we've got much of our large vegetable garden planted, and only two more 12 x 12 plots to double dig. Hopefully all will be dug and planted by the end of the upcoming long weekend.
Which brings me to my second transformation. My poor hands. As I do every year, I started wearing gloves when I garden. But I hate not being able to feel the cool, damp earth, and I have much better control of what I am weeding or digging with my bare hands versus gloved hands. So until I find some type of gardening glove that is like a second skin, I will continue to garden with naked hands. Which means I generally have dirt encrusted in the grooves of my fingers and of course under the nails. This was really only a problem back in May 2006, a month before I got married. I went to the day spa to have a trial run with the nails and my esthetician (that's a really hard word to spell correctly!) made me promise that I would take the month off from gardening. I don't think I did, but at least I wore gloves. So to remedy the chronically dirty hands I allow myself a long soak in a tub each night.
Which brings me to the third transformation. Children. I share my tub with a "Little People" castle and many plastic "guys" (and dinosaurs). I also find that the only shampoo downstairs is Cowabunga Coconut. Our coffee table has a veritable young adult library spread across it, and the back steps are always collecting something that belongs to Bud. And it's all good. This past weekend I went to visit a high school friend and her family in the Boston area. She has a two year old daughter. Where there used to be beer and music and card games, there are now juice boxes and diapers and nap times. I also happened to stop by another dear friend's home in the Berkshires on my way back to New York. She has a three year old daughter. I always loved her decor--sort of a French/African theme with lots of different textures and interesting prints. I hadn't seen her since right after her daughter was born and the house had been comfortably, tastefully and lovingly transformed into a toddler's haven.
Finally, the last transformation of this week regards more babies. My nephew, whom I last saw in person when he was a week old, now looks completely different at six weeks old. He has lost all of his hair, has filled out tremendously, and loves to smile. At least he still has his elf ears! It was startling to see the change. How quickly newborns grow up!
Enjoy the spring showers and the bountiful sunshine!
Monday, May 14, 2012
Being Mindful on Monday
"Let it Go" by Dana Faulds
Let go of the ways you thought life would unfold:
the holding of plans or dreams or expectations – Let it all go.
Save your strength to swim with the tide.
The choice to fight what is here before you now will
only result in struggle, fear, and desperate attempts
to flee from the very energy you long for. Let go.
Let it all go and flow with the grace that washes
through your days whether you received it gently
or with all your quills raised to defend against invaders.
Take this on faith; the mind may never find the
explanations that it seeks, but you will move forward
nonetheless. Let go, and the wave’s crest will carry
you to unknown shores, beyond your wildest dreams
or destinations. Let it all go and find the place of
rest and peace, and certain transformation.
Let go of the ways you thought life would unfold:
the holding of plans or dreams or expectations – Let it all go.
Save your strength to swim with the tide.
The choice to fight what is here before you now will
only result in struggle, fear, and desperate attempts
to flee from the very energy you long for. Let go.
Let it all go and flow with the grace that washes
through your days whether you received it gently
or with all your quills raised to defend against invaders.
Take this on faith; the mind may never find the
explanations that it seeks, but you will move forward
nonetheless. Let go, and the wave’s crest will carry
you to unknown shores, beyond your wildest dreams
or destinations. Let it all go and find the place of
rest and peace, and certain transformation.
Sunday, May 13, 2012
On Mothering
On this gorgeous Sunday I'm taking some time for myself (and my garden) and so I send you to Courtney Cowgill's blog Life, Cultivated where you can read her very powerful post about mothering. She certainly captures how something as intuitive and integral to a woman as mothering has been turned into something so complex and controversial by our society (and particularly our fellow women in society). Trust your instincts and your intelligence. There are a million ways to mother correctly and the kids turn out okay! Happy Mother's Day!
Friday, May 4, 2012
First Fridays: Artisan No-Knead Bread
Okay, so maybe I'm stretching my First Friday concept a little bit here, but really, a good homemade loaf or boule of bread can be considered art. Plus I am super excited to share with you a new recipe that is SO easy.
I have been baking bread fairly consistently for about 6 years. A couple years ago I provided my parental units and my in-laws with a bread-of-the-month club where I baked a loaf of bread and sent it (overnight shipping) every month. Selections included a variety of yeast and quick breads such as anadama, French, Vienna rolls, squash bread, banana blueberry bread and challah. I've also had fun working with flat breads such as naan, pizza doughs and have even attempted making crackers on occasion.
When my brother and sister-in-law gave me Alice Waters' In The Green Kitchen, I flipped right to the "No Knead Bread" page. A quick Internet search revealed that this recipe was hot, hot, HOT! It has a cult following. I'm serious. The recipe entered the public realm in 2006 from the New York Times article printed here. It was adapted from Jim Lahey's recipe of the Sullivan Street Bakery.
Anyway, this is why I am in love with the bread. It takes 2 minutes to make, literally. You throw some flour (3 cups), salt (1 1/4 tsp) and yeast (1/4 tsp) into a bowl. Stir. Add water (1 1/3 cups). Stir. Cover. Let sit for 12-18 hours. Yes, that means you have to plan accordingly. The next day, flour your hands, scrape the dough out of the bowl, put it on a floured or cornmealed cotton dish towel. Wrap it up and let it sit for 1-2 hours. Then you bake it (450 degrees for 30 minutes) and you end up with a crusty, airy boule of bread. So good.
The hitch comes with the baking. Essentially you're creating an oven within an oven by baking the bread in a covered pot at 450-475 degrees (the temperature depends on the recipe you use). This means your pot has to be able to withstand high temperatures. All of the bakers seem to suggest Le Creuset Cassoulet pots but I am not so fortunate to own one. So the first time around I used my cast iron dutch oven. After 30 minutes at 475 degrees, the bottom was unfortunately burned although the rest of the bread was perfect (I simply sliced off the bottom and threw the burnt bread frisbee to our lab; she seemed to enjoy it). For the next loaf, wanting to get rid of the burnt bottom, I decided to change a few things (unfortunately, this is bad scientific method because I'm not sure which of the changes was actually responsible for creating the most yummy bread ever). I used King Arthur bread flour instead of all-purpose flour. I lowered the oven temperature to 450 degrees (and ended up baking it for 15 minutes longer). I also used my crock-pot insert to bake it in (with a foil lid because I wasn't sure that the crock-pot glass lid would withstand the high temperatures). The result is pictured below.
I think I may have found a new item to sell at the Farmer's Market this summer. It would be lovely if I could find some locally sourced flour. Until then I will continue using King Arthur bread flour. So much for the no/low carb diet this summer. This is too good to pass up! Enjoy!
Saturday, April 28, 2012
Game Day!
Bud loves baseball. My darling husband loves baseball. The laborador retriever loves baseball. I, on the other hand...well, I love the Boston Red Sox when they are doing well (and end up doing well...which, for most of their history, is generally not the case). I played T-ball for one season and that was about all of my baseball experience. I switched to more exciting (to me) activities like horse-back riding and tennis.
Last summer, my darling husband staked out a part of one of the horse pastures for the Chobani baseball field (Chobani, the Greek yogurt brand, is headquartered the next town over). The boys would go out there and play every evening, and they convinced me that it would be fun. Every so often I would join them. They stuck me in the "field" which encompassed playing first base, second base, and the outfield concurrently. I got pretty good at fielding, and my arm isn't half bad either. The problem was, I didn't have my own glove. I would use Bud's when he was batting (which was most of the time), and then I would switch to my husband's left handed glove (which means I wear it on my right hand!?) when he was batting (which meant I got pretty good at throwing with my left hand as well). For my birthday this year, I asked for a baseball mitt from Bud, and he got me one. I'm actually quite excited about it!
My darling husband loves, loves, LOVES Little League Opening Day (he's coached Bud's team for the past five years). He loves the pictures, the parade, the mayhem! Bud is of course a big fan as well. I, on the other hand, get a little overwhelmed with 400 elementary school kids swarming around in complete chaos! This is why I taught middle school. You can reason with middle schoolers. This is also why I continually bow down and kiss the feet of any elementary school teacher! I try to avoid all the hoopla and just show up for the actual game to cheer Bud on.
This year, however, my darling husband was called away from his Opening Day Duties rather suddenly. I had to pinch-hit so to speak. I was genuinely happy to help out although my mind set was "it's only a few hours...you can do anything for a few hours". So I jumped right into the fray and the chaos. Except... there wasn't any fray or chaos. I had built up Opening Day in my mind to be this overly dramatic, complicated whirlwind. But, careful planning had paid off and everything ran smoothly and was very enjoyable. The field was decked out with the traditional balloons and bunting. All the teams assembled on the in-field and the Masters of Ceremonies said a few words and thanked the sponsors. The jazz quartet from the high school played the National Anthem. Then one of the players threw out the first pitch to open up the season. I was assisting with concessions, and with the help of four or five teenagers and a Little League Board member we were able to take care of everybody's needs. It was all very simple. I took some time to soak up the activity and thought how this is what Bud is going to remember--a family-oriented, fun celebration of America's favorite past time. When he's a dad or an uncle, he's going to remember marching in the Little League parade every year, chatting with his buddies, swinging the bat, and hearing the crowd cheer him on. A lot of preparation goes into making Opening Day what it is. It's not fancy or extravagant, but it's so meaningful. And when so much hard work goes behind the scenes by dozens of volunteers who all respect one another, it turns out to be a wonderful, time-honored, and cherished tradition for so many of our children.
So, good luck Phillies. May you play well during the 2012 Season of Little League Baseball!
Last summer, my darling husband staked out a part of one of the horse pastures for the Chobani baseball field (Chobani, the Greek yogurt brand, is headquartered the next town over). The boys would go out there and play every evening, and they convinced me that it would be fun. Every so often I would join them. They stuck me in the "field" which encompassed playing first base, second base, and the outfield concurrently. I got pretty good at fielding, and my arm isn't half bad either. The problem was, I didn't have my own glove. I would use Bud's when he was batting (which was most of the time), and then I would switch to my husband's left handed glove (which means I wear it on my right hand!?) when he was batting (which meant I got pretty good at throwing with my left hand as well). For my birthday this year, I asked for a baseball mitt from Bud, and he got me one. I'm actually quite excited about it!
My darling husband loves, loves, LOVES Little League Opening Day (he's coached Bud's team for the past five years). He loves the pictures, the parade, the mayhem! Bud is of course a big fan as well. I, on the other hand, get a little overwhelmed with 400 elementary school kids swarming around in complete chaos! This is why I taught middle school. You can reason with middle schoolers. This is also why I continually bow down and kiss the feet of any elementary school teacher! I try to avoid all the hoopla and just show up for the actual game to cheer Bud on.
This year, however, my darling husband was called away from his Opening Day Duties rather suddenly. I had to pinch-hit so to speak. I was genuinely happy to help out although my mind set was "it's only a few hours...you can do anything for a few hours". So I jumped right into the fray and the chaos. Except... there wasn't any fray or chaos. I had built up Opening Day in my mind to be this overly dramatic, complicated whirlwind. But, careful planning had paid off and everything ran smoothly and was very enjoyable. The field was decked out with the traditional balloons and bunting. All the teams assembled on the in-field and the Masters of Ceremonies said a few words and thanked the sponsors. The jazz quartet from the high school played the National Anthem. Then one of the players threw out the first pitch to open up the season. I was assisting with concessions, and with the help of four or five teenagers and a Little League Board member we were able to take care of everybody's needs. It was all very simple. I took some time to soak up the activity and thought how this is what Bud is going to remember--a family-oriented, fun celebration of America's favorite past time. When he's a dad or an uncle, he's going to remember marching in the Little League parade every year, chatting with his buddies, swinging the bat, and hearing the crowd cheer him on. A lot of preparation goes into making Opening Day what it is. It's not fancy or extravagant, but it's so meaningful. And when so much hard work goes behind the scenes by dozens of volunteers who all respect one another, it turns out to be a wonderful, time-honored, and cherished tradition for so many of our children.
So, good luck Phillies. May you play well during the 2012 Season of Little League Baseball!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)