I’ll admit, by the first few weeks of September I’m getting tired of canning. Two runs a day for 2 weeks straight, dozens of quarts, double-dozens of pints, and I’ve had enough of the preparation, the cleaning, the water, the heat. Don’t get me wrong: even at the tail end of the harvest when I’m “canned out”, there is still no greater satisfaction than cracking a canner load of beyond-organic salsa from all garden-grown produce, and knowing I’ve taken another […]
The Sequoia needs a muffler. Not big news – I noted it while I was crawling around under it in the previous owner’s driveway, and I used it as the basis for trimming $700 off the asking price. It rapidly got worse when we got it home, and it’s just too “throaty” sounding for a family truckster, IMHO. Time to replace it.
My brother is visiting from California with my niece this week. He lives in the high desert in the Owen’s Valley, but he frequently visits the in-laws in Newport Beach, and he suffers from the misapprehension that beaches are inviting places with soft sand and warm waves. We fixed that with a visit to a real Connecticut beach.
Last year’s attempt at lactofermented pickles was a resounding success, marred only by the whole not-making-enough problem. I ran out of pickles a few months ago, and I’ve had to make do with the soggy, vinegary, sorry excuses for pickles I can get in the store. A sad state of affairs indeed. Building on last year’s success, I went large on the pickle patch this year.
Ever since I got the news that the frame on my truck was going to be replaced, I’ve had the idea kicking around my head that I should take the opportunity to add a vehicle to our fleet that can actually hold all of us. We’re a family of five, and the kids have been jammed three across in the back seat of Mrs. P’s 4Runner since the day Ginger came home from the hospital.
I woke up at 4:00 AM today, thanks to Gambit the World’s Smartest Dog. My son made the mistake of attempting a furtive trip to the bathroom, which set Gambit to growling. Like he’s never seen the lad before. I think he’s hard of seeing – the dog, that is.
It’s the most gut-wrenching thing an aspiring orchardist has to do every spring: thin the crop. Amidst the flush of life and potential on display in the many subtle hues of green, an orchardist must bring cold-hearted callousness to bear on his or her bearing trees. Fruit abortion. Plucked in their innocence. Too young…far too young.
Today was an absolutely gorgeous June day – bright, clear, low humidity, and warm. There was no way I was going to pass this day up for some kind of work around the house, so after a late breakfast we piled in the car and headed out for a hike.
I didn’t know bears ate corn. Especially baby corn plants that haven’t yet gotten knee high. But at 3:30 last night, that’s what a momma bear and her three cubs did in my back yard (DVR clock is an hour off):
For the record, I don’t play the lottery. I consider it a tax on people who can’t do math. But I still managed to kind of win a sort of lottery today. Let me explain.