Serbian Lily-Nuts (бели лук)

I do go out of my way to avoid being politically correct, do I not?

One of my long-planned projects has been to clean and pickle some garlic cloves. Mixy likes to dig them out of the bottles of pickled peppers and dill pickles; we sometimes have a difference of opinion over who gets the last one in the bottle. Therefore it simply made sense to pickle some cesnak and forget the peppers and cucumbers for the moment.

This required that I peel the cloves first, and it took about 45 minutes per cup to get the three cups of Serbian lily-nuts I needed.

I also had to get some bottles of a proper size collected. Since I don't throw away very much stuff (pack rats prevent litter!) I had some 8 ounce jars from various items -- jelly, fancy roasted peppers, etc. -- on the shelf in the basement. They just needed some cleaning and boiling.

Then I had to scale down the recipe for the pickle. Obviously, I was not going to need 5 quarts of pickle. The following was the starter:

Just to make it easier, I decided to use the dill pickle variant, which calls for a 1:3 vinegar:water ratio. That meant that for 2 cups of pickle, I would need 1-1/2 cup of water, 1/2 cup of vinegar, and converting cups to teaspoons (48 tsp:1 cup) 5 tsp salt and 2-1/2 tsp sugar. I mixed that together in a saucepan and brought it to a boil.

Meanwhile, the bottles and their lids were hauled out of the boiling water, drained, and a nice sprig of dill was put in each. Dill? Yup, frozen from last summer.

Then the bottles were filled with the lovely cloves and the hot pickle was poured over them, filling the bottles to the bottom of the threads.

The lids were screwed on loosely and the bottles put back in the boiling water bath for 10 minutes. Then I let them go for another 3 minutes, just because.

Removed from the boiling water bath, the lids were given a final tightening and they were allowed to cool until the lids clicked down.

Of course, this stuff now has to age a bit. For that reason, I hid them from Mixy. Ha. Ha. Ha. When I think they have aged long enough, I will take them out of hiding.

Of course, I have more garlic in the garage that I can peel and can. I should probably do that, since I had quite a bit of it dry up on me last winter because it didn't get used. This is a good way to turn it into snack food. I also thought about sprinkling some hot red pepper in each jar but today was Be Kind to Mixy Day. Maybe next time.

I'm also going to have to investigate getting a beer bottle capper. Granny often told how, after moving to Canada and setting up housekeeping during the Depression, she and her sisters would scavenge beer bottles from the dump for canning tomato juice (Mason jars were nearly luxury items then). It would be fun to can garlic and chili peppers and salsa and home-made ketchup in beer bottles.

Just another project to have on the back burner for when I have nothing else to do...

to "...communicate forget not..."

There has been many an evening when I have left work a bit late in order to finish off email correspondence with clients and/or contractors. I long ago realized that even a short break in communication can cause serious problems when a correspondent lacks the information to proceed in the right direction. Thus the saga of my past weekend.

It began simply enough on Wednesday, with a routine annual physical. My doctor noted some things on an ECG that he had not seen before, and asked me to wear a Holter monitor for 24 hours to record my heart rhythm during my normal daily activities. This I did, returning the monitor to the hospital about noon on Friday.

The day finished, I headed home, ate supper, and got ready to continue preparing the car for a quick trip north on Saturday. About 7:00 PM, I received a phone call from my doctor's partner in practice -- my doctor was apparently very much off-call that evening -- telling me that I needed to go directly to the emergency room at AGMC. I asked him why, since I was feeling quite well. He told me that the doctor who had read the Holter monitor was extremely concerned that my heart could stop and I could die at any moment.

Those who know me well know that I have maintained that very thing for quite some time. The human heart stops after every beat, and by the grace of God, it then takes another squeeze. That stop is the only rest it gets in a person's entire life. I find that miraculous, others find it terrifying.

During the phone call I was asked several times if I was having any symptoms, such as shortness of breath or chest pains. I replied that I was not. Apparently that was not believable, since the doctor who read the monitor was a highly regarded expert with much experience. That doctor did examine me 40 and 35 years ago, respectively, long prior to the valve replacement, and he had no knowledge of the subsequent treatment history. At the end of the call, I was informed that the Emergency Room at AGMC had been notified to expect me.

I was less than favorably impressed. I was feeling fine. Telling my Beloved Rib the essence of the call, I jumped in my car and drove off to the auto parts store to pick up some pieces I had ordered the day before. Jesse and I had plans to finish the wheel alignment job on the Sable, and I was set to take Grannie to visit Uncle Sam the next day.

As I was signing for the order, I received a call from Joonyah who asked how I was feeling and informed me that he was on his way over to take me to the ER. Then, as I was driving home, I got a call from Jesse, who asked me where I was. I told him that at that moment I was on the overpass at I-76. He asked what I was doing there; I sensed a bit of alarm in his voice and my perverted sense of humor almost drove me to say, "Getting ready to jump" but the more responsible part of me told him I was heading for home with the parts. He then said he would be at the house shortly.

I arrived home, and was finally persuaded that to ease everyone's mind, I should go to the ER. We went. They were expecting me. I asked if my doctor was aware I was there. They didn't know, but the verdict of the ER cardiologist (who had never seen me before) was that I was in a life-threatening situation. They booked me, gave me a gown, started an IV, and took me to my cell. They asked me about my symptoms, and seemed very unhappy when I said I didn't have any. Obviously, I was not being truthful; if the doctors said I should have symptoms, who was I to disagree?

Oh, and by the way, they had run my health insurance card, and the carrier said that I was not covered; that coverage had lapsed that very day. Now just the day before, at the office, we had been discussing health care premiums and the fact that my Medicare coverage was to become active Saturday, and I was told that the Medicare supplemental PPO coverage would not become active until January 1 and my premiums had already been paid through December 31 under the current plan. No matter; the insurance carrier said my status was inactive.

I was hooked to a monitor and put to bed. At least my Beloved Rib did not forsake me. She slept beside me on the hospital bed all night. In the morning, one of my cardiologist's partners came in to see me, looked at the record from the monitor, listened to my heart, and asked about my symptoms. No chest pain, no shortness of breath? Hmm. He had not been able to find my records in their files, but said that it was possible he had mis-spelled my name. Meanwhile, he did not think that the slow heart rate was very serious, but I had taken my meds just before the Friday night call, and they could account for the the slowness. Because he did not have my records, and was not MY cardiologist, he could not recommend my discharge.

Another doctor stopped by -- the partner of the doctor who had admitted me -- and asked why I was there. At that point, I told him I didn't know. He asked about my symptoms, and again, I got the feeling he did not believe that I was not in distress. He was in the room a total of less than 5 minutes, and said that he would have to wait until my cardiologist recommended my release.

Saturday was spent reading. Joonyah and crew showed up, wanting to know what was going to happen. I had no idea. So we wandered to the nurses' station and asked when my doctor would arrive. I was told that he normally did not make rounds at AGMC. I asked if my cardiologist would be coming in. Again, a negative; he did not make rounds on weekends, and when he did come in, it would only be in the nature of a consultation, since the ER cardiologist had the responsibility of finally signing off on my release, and the GP I had been assigned in the ER would have the responsibility of actually signing the release.

At about this point, I was beginning to have symptoms -- of great irritation. My Rib called my doctor's office, then dialed the emergency number from the recording she got, and explained that we needed to talk to my doctor. Shortly thereafter, his partner called my cell phone and, out of breath and sounding a little unhappy that we had disturbed his Saturday activities, said that indeed my doctor had been informed that I was in the hospital. I was resigned to my imprisonment.

Now up to this point I had been alone in my room. I was comfortable, and Friday night I had slept with just the bedsheet covering my feet. Late Saturday afternoon, the adjoining bed was given to a fellow who was recovering from complete cardiac arrest. His grandson, who had been a lifeguard and had providentially been present at the time, had started CPR immediately. A pacemaker was now installed, and he had been brought up from ICU. Wrapped in blankets, and clutching a pillow to his chest (his ribs had been cracked during CPR), he immediately complained that the room was too warm. His nurse complied, turning the thermostat down from 70° to 65°, and unleashing a cold draft from the ceiling vents. (Beloved Rib would later sneak over, while he was sleeping, and turn it back up to 68°.) Needless to say, I made use of both the sheet and the blanket the next two nights.

Sunday morning, my cardiologist's partner dropped in again, having looked at my file in their office, and basically opined that, in my case, someone might have over-reacted. He felt that my stay was probably a waste of time, seeing that I had a history of a slow heart rate, and I was scheduled for an appointment in their office in a few weeks anyway. Nevertheless, he was not MY cardiologist, and without a recommendation from MY cardiologist, who would not be in until Monday, the ER cardiologist would not sign off on my release. He did authorize putting me back on my blocker, but at a reduced dose.

My assigned GP again dropped by for an obligatory 3 or 4 minute chat, and again seemed very doubtful that I was not feeling any symptoms of distress, especially since my blocker had been withheld on Saturday and my heart rate and blood pressure were now quite high. I was pleasantly surprised by a visit from Art and Sarah Kaufman, who had been visiting one of his cousins in a room a few doors down from mine. I had not seen Art since he found Jesse his house, and we had a brief but very good chat. Mike and Suzi brought Grannie to visit, and Suzi left her tablet with me so I could go on-line (the hospital has an open wireless network for patient/visitor use).

My Beloved Rib had spent two nights sleeping beside me on a hospital bed. I sent her home Sunday night so she could get a better rest in a warm room. At 3:30 in the morning, the nurses came in to change my IV. I said it could wait, I was going home in a few hours. They said no, that it had to be replaced anyway, and they got it done, barely, on their second try. Ouch.

Monday morning was foggy, but I was eager to escape. My cardiologist showed up at about 8:30, said we would take up the discussion at my scheduled appointment, and wrote out the recommendation for my release. I joyfully called for my Beloved Rib to come get me. The hours dragged by. About 2:30, the assigned GP having failed to show up, we mentioned the fact to my nurse. She began calling around the hospital to find out what was delaying my release.

My assigned GP had gone home for the day, early, and had left a list of patients to be seen with another doctor, who eventually showed up in my room about 3:00 and said that he had not been informed that I was to go home, or he would have been in to see me in the morning. Nevertheless, he was empowered to sign my release, which he did, and by 3:30 I was on my way out the door.

A comedy of errors? Perhaps, but I keep reminding myself that God has a purpose in all things. I met some new people, I saw an old friend, I was kept from traveling. Having an abnormal patient in their care may have been a good training exercise for the nurses. Plus, I have had a lesson reinforced : the passage from Hebrews 13:16 (KJV) now has a special meaning for me.

Groundhog is Delicious

Got your attention, didn't I?

It is delicious. From Al's, or homemade. Or even from the garden, say some. Filet of Phil. Just not kosher at all.

Anyway, the date reminded me that I needed to check in with the Old Farmer's Almanac to see what I should really expect for a while. You can get a free two month forecast at 2011 Long-Range Weather Forecast and filling in your ZIP code.

Then I looked at the gardening section, and found 2011 Best Planting Dates for Seeds for Wadsworth, Ohio -- you need to fill in your own ZIP code.

Then, under Plant Guide: Vegetables, Herbs, & Fruit, I found the following:
That is interesting, because I tried a variation of this last summer in my new beds, mulching the potatoes with leaves. There is also a trash-bag version of the technique being popularized by an Indian Indian. I'm leaning toward the five gallon bucket alternative.

Just think -- the tables say I should be seeding my cabbage, broccoli, tomatoes, and peppers indoors in just 3 more weeks. Spring is coming, groundhog or no.

Good Medicine

Last time, we left the hive to drink the potion. Opening it up two days later, we see that for the most part, they have ignored the syrup for fresh nectar that is available all over the countryside. Still, they have been sampling the special hooch...



...but we need to provide more ventilation, and the mite treatment needs to be added. Taking off the feeder and the inner cover, its obvious that the crew is at home.



I found a partial package of Apistan™ in my bee supplies; I'm going to try using that package up before I open the new one. It has been cool, dark, and dry in the closet, so the strips should still be OK. One strip is in the lower left corner, between the frame bars, and the other toward the upper right. The bees come into contact with the strip, and the Varroa mites die.



Since this colony is small to begin with, and the queen is going to be laying at top speed, treatment right now is critical. The mites attack the larvae; by the time they have matured, it would be too late to treat. It will be almost three weeks before the new workers emerge, and the older workers -- the original swarm -- will be weakening and starting to die off. If too many of the new bees have "crooked wing" because of the mites, the colony will not be able to maintain itself.



A different inner cover has been modified with screened holes for ventilation. It is hard to get too much air flow through the hive. As the bees bring in nectar, they change it to wax, for the comb cells, and honey. In the process, huge amounts of water need to be evaporated. If the moisture cannot be vented quickly enough, the result will be sick bees. Even in winter, air flow is critical. The colony can maintain 95°F around the queen in sub-zero temperatures, but must vent the moisture that is produced.



Everything is back together and its work, work, work as usual.

The Doctor is IN

Thursday morning Jesse called, asking if I was willing to pick up a swarm in Tallmadge. I was, but it would have to wait until evening; that was OK with the swarmees. About 7:30 PM I arrived at the site. The swarm was roughly the size of a big football, clinging to a chemical tank about six feet off the ground. I had a super stapled to a bottom board with a screen in the opening; I sprinkled some sugar on the top frame bars and brushed the ladies into the box. Most of them went in like a waterfall. A small group, about the size of a baseball, refused to play, and after checking thoroughly that the Boss Lady was not in their midst, I left them there to die. Nothing else to be done for it.

Arriving at home, I waited until almost dark, then pulled the screen from the entry. In the morning, the little buzzers got themselves oriented to their new location, and went nectar-hunting. Yesterday I noticed that there were some Nasty Bugs around; I watched one yellow-jacket go into the hive and then beat a quick retreat. I grabbed an entrance reducer and closed down the doorway.



This morning I headed out to Queen Right Colonies, where Denzil sold me some Apistan™ for the mites and some Fumagilin-B™ for nosema. Just under $50 for vet supplies. Imagine what the cost might be if I were running feeder cattle again!

I decided to start the feeding right away to build up the hive numbers, so I mixed up a half-gallon of sugar syrup with a half teaspoon of the antibiotic and set up the feeder. Opening the top, the bees were clustered to one side. Not a whole lot of them home -- it was a small swarm -- but my guesstimate is that at least half of them were out foraging at the time of the portrait.



A piece of baseboard was chosen as a riser for the feeder. The relief cutout on the back will allow some air flow for cooling, at least until the bees plug it up. The feeder is a plastic mayo jar with some 1/16" holes drilled in the lid, and works like a poultry waterer.




Tomorrow or Monday I'll open it back up to check the syrup level and at the same time install two of the mite strips.



Its good to bee back in operation. I'm going to do my best to keep this harem happy.

25 Cents Worth

Yesterday was the quarter-century mark for my flapper. I can only thank God that He worked things out the way He did. Spent the evening splitting more of that black locust firewood. Wow.

Spring is Coming

Yesterday I was able to get into the greenhouse for the first time since the beginning of the year. Had to shovel away almost a foot of snow from in front of the door; in spite of the melting the snow is still piled around the sides from where it slid off, and the door had been blocked by several feet of snow that had accumulated through normal snowfall plus drifting.

Outside, it was barely above freezing. Inside, the temperature was a balmy 56 degrees. The lettuce I planted in the Fall with a hope of having fresh greens at Christmas seems to have survived. We shall see. In a day or so I maybe there will be some new growth, I hope, and then perhaps there will be home-grown salad for Easter.

The sweet basil and pepper plants that were left over the winter need to be cleaned out and the soil improved with some manure and lime in preparation for planting.

I need to get a thermometer with a probe in order to take the soil temperature a few inches down. It is March; time to seed onions, cabbage, broccoli, some more lettuce...

Any more suggestions as to what I should try to grow in there?

Chicken Wars!

Saturday is a kick-back day sometimes. Today, I had nothing that was screaming "URGENT!" in my mind, so I was slow to get out of the rack. Thus it was that I was jolted from semi-slumber by the phone call at 6:15 AM from Cousin X ( the X is the chromosome identifier, and I won't go any further than that ) to inform me that she and her family were moving, and to give me their new address. It seems their prior landlord would not fix a problem with the apartment, so they had to find a new place. Also, would I please call her sister and let her know they had moved?

Frankly, I'm a bit flattered that I rank so high in her pecking order, even if it left me shaking my head over the timing of the call. Somehow, the incident led me to thinking about groceries ( at this point, I don't think we will take them any, since she didn't request help, and on top of that, I didn't ask since I was still not thinking too clearly due to my somnia ). If you don't like my invention of new words, too bad. Besides, she has my phone number. Anyhoo, the incident fired my neurons and soon I was off on a rabbit trail regarding food, and I eventually recalled an article in the local rag about a state-wide ballot issue the Humane Society is pushing to force farmers to supply bigger cages for their livestock.

The trail began with the phone call, leaped to the blog posts I was planning to do regarding the return on investment from rental properties, hopped over to my data gathering at the Geauga County Fairgrounds, bounced around the concept of value in use, acknowledged that I needed to get information on the local cost of boarding horses, briefly touched on the costs of veterinary treatment ( because I am going to ultimately have to try to develop value opinions for a couple of vet hospitals ), ricocheted off the dangers of parasites in pastureland, flip-flopped to the fact that local produce is probably more dangerous than Mexican imports, and sat down on the cage article. If you attempt to psychoanalyze me, I guarantee to drive you crazy.

In previous posts, I went into some detail regarding parasitic worms that affect people. I am much impressed by the existence of parasitic worms, because in Beauval we had many graphic lessons, from doggy doo to fish for the table, which made us wary of trusting food in its most natural state. There are quite a few people in our land who are strict vegetarians, and many who think the best way to serve food is raw. They are entitled to their opinions, and I have no desire to force them to eat otherwise. I am quite aware, however, that gastric discomfort can result from something as simple as drinking water from a well that one has never used before, and I have experienced diarrhea from sampling veggie trays at parties. In fact, the first couple of salads fresh from my own garden are likely to trigger funny stuff if the produce isn't cleaned well.

Grazing animals are particularly subject to parasitic organisms that spend part of their life cycle in low-lying vegetation. Watercress eaters probably have liver flukes, and I suspect that most vegetarians are skinnier than the population at large, not because of the lack of fat in their diet, but, because of their internal zoo which shares their nutrient supply. Trichina in pork was once a problem in this country, but after pigs began to be kept in smaller pens and couldn't free-range and eat rats and mice that hosted the intermediate stages, the disease practically disappeared. Chickens are also omnivores ( T. rex with feathers ) and if they get a chance, they will eat any rodent that crosses their pen -- we used to catch mice and throw them into the middle of the chicken yard and watch the action.

All the arguments about how good-tasting free-range livestock is tends to ignore the fact that part of the good taste comes from the stuff that buzzards eat. I would be willing to put money on the idea that free-range chickens and pigs (and cows and sheep and goats ) have worms that can be passed on to their eaters. That is not a gamble, because it is almost 100% certain. So we come to cages, and whether or not they are cruel.

Many of the Humane-ists see nothing wrong with keeping their dog or cat in the house. That is cruel, because both are hunting animals that need to roam and kill in order to be mentally well adjusted. Further, dogs are pack animals, and have a social need to be with other dogs. They think humans are poor substitutes for dogs, a fact which is easily shown as soon as they come into proximity with another of their own species -- they immediately sniff anuses. In addition, to neuter them is to deprive the male dog or cat of the joy of procreation and the female dog or cat of the satisfaction of maternity; such neutering is cruel in the extreme. Nevertheless, these same people would argue that keeping a laying hen in a cage so small it could barely turn about in, for the purpose of safety and hygiene, is cruel.

The chicken in a cage has controlled feed -- no wild critters in its provender to give it worms. It is kept clean -- no straw to collect chicken dumpings, since the mess drops through the bottom screens and gets taken away. It is safe -- no chicken hawks threatening from above, no skunks, raccoons, or dogs on the ground, and no peers to harass. I did forget to mention, didn't I, that chickens are known for their cannibalism? They have a pecking order. You put them in a flock, in the chicken yard with all kinds of room to roam, and they will establish the pecking order. Bottom ranking hen gets pecked by everyone else. She gets her feathers pulled out. Woe be to her if she starts to bleed, because at that point the whole flock will attack and eat her. She is much better off in the cage.

As a matter of fact, the optimum cage size is just the size of the chicken. She can sit or stand, and being very stupid, has no need to turn around, since the feed only goes in one end, and the eggs come out the other, and if the chicken turns around, there will be disaster in the cage. Farmers are not only smart, they are practical. Those are two characteristics that are underdeveloped in the Humane-ists.

Prior to Walt Disney and his anthropomorphic mice, attitudes toward animals tended to be realistic. Those who have been brainwashed into thinking that Bambi, the Snow White menagerie, and other cartoon animals represent reality have forgotten the facts of nature. Abuse is defined by society, and the definition will vary from place to place. In essence, it is a religious argument. Animal worship is a subset of human self-worship. Love me, love my dog. I am an absolutely irritating philosopher, am I not?

Get Your Pork Now

It is time to start another conspiracy theory.

"Everyone knows" that the government is out to control its citizens.

"Everyone knows" that our current administration has been infected (we once used the term "infiltrated", but I think under today's conditions, "infected" is apt) with hard-core anti-people pro-pagan socialists. The current administration is well versed in demagoguery, but sometimes schemers forget that no plan of battle survives contact with the enemy. When you start a stampede, don't try to change horses in mid-stream. (I love those old saws!)

This week we are beset with "swine flu". All over the world, governments are racing to slaughter pigs. The administration is suddenly worried that calling this disease "swine flu" will cause people to avoid pork, and ruin the pork farmers. The price of pork is set to rise, you betcha.

I see the hand of PETA (Pagans for the Extermination of Thoughtful Americans) in this. "Swine flu" is a ploy to stop people from eating pigs. Next month we will have an outbreak of "Mad Cow" disease, and steak and hamburgers will disappear from the menu. Then will come an epidemic of "Chicken Pox", and all the Illegal Aliens working at the chicken processing plants will be out of their jobs and eligible for a stimulus payment of some kind.

Yup. Grandpa Jim has it all figgered out. Conspiracies Unlimited, that's me. I guarantee that you will find it difficult to tell when I am serious and when I am delirious.

Stay tuned as I guide you into more lucidity than any Compact Florescent Light could ever provide.

Ooooo... another brainstorm... space aliens from Mercury... CFLs... there will be a shortage of tinfoil hats...

"Flat Pimento 1992"

The printing on the piece of paper towel brought back fond memories. My Dad, carefully recording in detail the events of his life, spoke out of the past.

The story : Dad loved his garden. He especially loved his peppers. Unlike his son and his grandsons, he tended to avoid spicy peppers. He liked his sweet and meaty. Sometime in the mid-1960's, he was given some small bell type peppers by one of his co-workers. Dad enjoyed them, and saved the seed, year by year selecting the sweetest and thickest-meated of his produce.

Every Spring he would begin his ritual. He soaked the pepper seeds for a day or so, then planted them in a shallow container under the florescent lights in the kitchen. Once the second leaves appeared, he would fix up the cover on his cold frame, and transplant the seedlings to await the last frost. (I'm not sure; this could be hereditary behavior. If so, my children-in-laws are in for some fun.) Typically, Dad would set out 50 or so of his sweet pimento plants in the garden.

As noted above, Dad selected for sweetness and thick walls. The peppers would mature at about 2-1/2"-3" in diameter, and were flattened, about 2" high. Even when green the peppers were great snacks, and as they ripened and turned red, their sweetness increased. We picked them and ate them like apples, right there in the garden.

After Dad retired, he and Mom started spending their winters in Phoenix. Sometime around 1997-98, he decided that it was time to stop worrying about being home in time to plant peppers in the Spring. He gave his seed to a family friend, with the requirement that she would start the seeds and give him a few plants for his garden after he returned from Phoenix. Life has no guarantees beyond dying; the friend did just that over the Winter and Dad never did get his pepper plants. Worse, he had given away all of his seed, as far as he knew. Every Spring for the next several years, he would recount the tale of the lost seed; he missed his peppers.

The other day I called Mom to see if she had any caraway seed. I was looking all over for some in the grocery stores. (Hey, why pay Big Money® for a packet of seed when you can get lots and to spare in a bottle of spice-grade condiment?). Yes, she had some, how much did I need, (a teaspoon full was plenty to start a caraway patch in the garden), and by the way -- she found a bottle with a note in it. "Flat Pimento 1992".

I went to see what she had. Wrapped in the paper towel were several hundred seeds that Dad had dried and stored 17 years ago. He had apparently forgotten they had been saved.

Taking the seeds home, I cut a paper towel in half and laid it in a dinner plate, scattered about a hundred seeds on it, folded it over, and added water. The seeds soaked for about 48 hours, swelling and developing the little pimples that would become rootlets. In the cloudyhouse I made a furrow where the first lettuce crop had been. (Oh. Forgot to tell about that. I transplanted a few dozen each of romaine and simpson and about sixty-five buttercrunch plants to the other side of the cloudyhouse, leaving a space for some more seed starts. Maybe we have salad soon?). Into the furrow went the soaked seed. Now for the wait.

Whazzat noise? Did I hear Mixie cheering?

Buttercrunch, Romaine, and Black-seeded Simpson.

From the far end : the Flat Pimento furrow, a row of Calabrese brocolli, 2 rows of onions, a row of Golden Acres cabbage, 2 rows of jalapeños, 2 rows of Rutgers tomatoes, 2 rows of spicy wax peppers, 2 rows of Roma tomatoes, 2 rows of spicy banana peppers, a row of chilis. Figure about 100 seedlings per row. I need more ground.

Progress

Things are looking up. The bleeding that started on Sunday was stopped by Monday night (but, by my reckoning, I still lost nearly 2 pints of red ink). I am no longer collapsing when I stand up and move about -- in fact, today I have been up and down the steps from the basement to the second floor several times. BP is still quite low, however, at 82/54 this morning.

Time to finish that appraisal report that I was working on before this minor interruption hit.

Mike & Suzi over for supper last night. The pizza smelled SO good, but would not have been quite the same going through the blender. Rotisserie chicken from Wally-World went through the blender real well, though, and with mashed potatoes, was super. Seasoning was just right. The grease from the bottom of the chicken container makes the blended chicken juicier. I figure that chicken + onions + mayo --->blender = would be great chicken salad sandwich material.

Colors All Mixed Up

It's improving.

Urine for a Treat

Almost pee-ed my pants reading this one. I can see PETA pushing this for inclusion in the Economic Stimulus Plan, as a Green Alternative. What would really be hillary-ous would be to see BO, Miss Nancy, and Mr. Harry drinking this at a press conference, with Algore speaking in the background about the ocean levels rising.

Go green. I may have to go buy some Depends.

India to launch cow urine as soft drink

Happy Bees Are Here Again...

Had to go visit the livestock and see how they were doing. Earlier, the air in front of the super was thick with arriving and departing flights. These gals have super air traffic control.


Here we see them on the runway and parked in the hanger for the evening. Just a little traffic left. Some of the girls go out for an evening adventure, but they are back before dark.

I think they have accepted their new home. When I opened the top to check on the feeder, only a couple flew up. The rest were busy doing bee things.


Well fed bees are happy bees, I guess. Notice the level of the syrup. It was full to the top yesterday evening. You have to wonder how many thousands of miles a little feeder adds to their lifespans. Looks like one jar a week will likely keep them flush. Silly autofocus couldn't make up its mind what was important.

My Kind of News

Coffee Keeps Fossils Sane

Soon we will hear from Michelle, who will have invented an IV drip for just this kind of medication. We will also soon see the government require that Starbucks clerks have pharmacy degrees, and people with unlicensed coffee-makers will be jailed for having drug paraphernalia. This is part of the pan to require prescriptions for grocery shoppers; it is somewhere in the fine print of the National Health Care Plan. I think...

Oh. It's April 3rd. Sorry.

Time for Survival Camp

I see that my ordinary readers are somewhat weak-stomached, or else afraid that I might ask them whether they had actually tried their recipes. I have not tried any of these. I did have an episode of brain flatulence in which I decided I should run a little "survival camp" for my grandkids. They can learn to make fire by rubbing sticks together like I did when I was a kid. Maybe the graduation present from survival camp could be a Grandpa-built survival knife?

Anyway, found these little blurbs. For the squeamish, bug eating is Biblical. I really am not interested in an all-insect diet; I will leave that to the bats and shrews. I did find a place that said the best way to prepare grasshoppers was to kill them (freezing or heating them up, either works), break off the wings and big jumping legs, grab the head and remove it with the thorax shield and whatever insides come out (sort of like cleaning crayfish, but from the opposite end) to remove the crunchiest, stick-in-the-teeth stuff, and then cook. Maybe grilled? Cooking of bugs is recommended, since they can carry parasites. Eating raw is OK according to the experts (!!!) but is not the best practice.

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Grasshopper Fritters

¾ C. flour
1 tsp. baking soda
1 tsp. salt
¾ C. milk
1 egg, slightly beaten
1 C. grasshoppers
Sift flour, baking powder and salt together into a bowl. Slowly add milk and beat until smooth. Add egg and beat well. Pluck off grasshopper wings and legs, heads optional. Dip insects in egg batter and deep fry. Salt and serve.

(from http://entweb.clemson.edu/k12/recipes.htm)

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How to Prepare Insects for Cooking

Those who are accustomed to eating animals probably know that most animals must be killed, cleaned, and cooked before one can eat them. The case is similar with insects. While there are many people in other countries who prefer to eat insects live and raw, and while it is true that you could probably get the most nutrients that way, I prefer food that won't crawl off my plate. I have tried eating live ants and mealworms, and in fact present a "recipe" for live insect consumption below; however, I would advise that beginning insect eaters start with cooked insects.

To prepare a batch of crickets or mealworms:

Take the desired quantity of live insects, rinse them off and then pat them dry. This procedure is easy to do with mealworms, but fairly hard to do with crickets. To do so with crickets, pour them all into a colander and cover it quickly with a piece of wire screening or cheesecloth. Rinse them, then dry them by shaking the colander until all the water drains. Then put the crickets or mealworms in a plastic bag and put them in the freezer until they are dead but not frozen. Fifteen minutes or so should be sufficient. Then take them out and rinse them again. You don't really have to clean mealworms, though if you want, you can chop off their heads. Cricket's heads, hind legs, and wing cases can be removed according to personal preference; I like doing so, since cricket legs tend to get stuck in your teeth. You are now ready to use the insects in all kinds of culinary treats!

(from http://www.eatbug.com/recipes.htm)

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Mealworm Fried Rice

Ingredients:

1 egg, beaten
1 tsp. oil
3/4 c. water
1/4 c. chopped onions
4 tsp. soy sauce
1/8 tsp. garlic powder
1 c. minute rice
1 c. cooked mealworms
Directions:

Scramble egg in a saucepan, stirring to break egg into pieces.
Add water, soy sauce, garlic and onions. Bring to a boil.

Stir in rice. Cover; remove from heat and let stand five minutes.

Chocolate Chirpie Chip Cookies

Ingredients:

2 1/4 cup flour
1 tsp. baking soda
1 tsp. salt
1 cup butter, softened
3/4 cup sugar
3/4 cup brown sugar
1 tsp. vanilla
2 eggs
1 12-ounce chocolate chips
1 cup chopped nuts
1/2 cup dry-roasted crickets
Directions:

Preheat oven to 375. In small bowl, combine flour, baking soda and salt; set aside. In large bowl, combine butter, sugar, brown sugar and vanilla; beat until creamy. Beat in eggs. Gradually add flour mixture and insects, mix well. Stir in chocolate chips. Drop by rounded measuring teaspoonfuls onto ungreased cookie sheet. Bake for 8-10 minutes.

(from http://www.ent.iastate.edu/misc/insectsasfood.html)

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Garlic Butter Fried Grasshoppers

1/4 cup butter
6 cloves garlic, crushed
1 cup cleaned insects*

Melt butter in fry pan. Reduce heat. Sauté garlic in butter for 5 minutes. Add insects. Continue sautéing for 10 - 15
minutes, stirring occasionally. From Orkin

(from http://www.faculty.de.gcsu.edu/~cbader/ghprecwithinsects.html#Appetizer)

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Other reading:

http://ohioline.osu.edu/hyg-fact/2000/2160.html

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That is what people learn to do in college.

Now back to baking bread.

Man Shall Not Live BY Bread Alone ...... and the Government shall regulate it ...

This from FOX News...
U.N. Conference Promotes Insect-Eating for Everyone From Famine Victims to Astronauts
Sunday, February 24, 2008 (AP)

CHIANG MAI, Thailand — Crickets, caterpillars and grubs are high in protein and minerals and could be an important food source during droughts and other emergencies, according to scientists.Water Bugs and Chilis -- YUM!!

"I definitely think they can assist," said German biologist V.B. Meyer-Rochow, who regularly eats insects and wore a T-shirt with a Harlequin longhorn beetle to a U.N.-sponsored conference this month on promoting bugs as a food source.

Three dozen scientists from 15 countries gathered in this northern Thailand city, home to several dozen restaurants serving insects and other bugs. Some of their proposals were more down to earth than others.Ant Egg Omelet -- Quite the delicacy.

A Japanese scientist proposed bug farms on spacecraft to feed astronauts, noting that it would be more practical than raising cows or pigs. Australian, Dutch and American researchers said more restaurants are serving the critters in their countries.Fried bamboo worms. Take a wok on your next Shuttle trip.

The U.N. Food and Agriculture Organization estimates 1,400 species of insects and worms are eaten in almost 90 countries in Africa, Latin America and Asia. Researchers at the conference detailed how crickets and silk worms are eaten in Thailand, grubs and grasshoppers in Africa and ants in South America.Fried grasshoppers. Is a guard necessary?

"In certain places with certain cultures with a certain level of acceptance, then insects can very well be seen as part of the solution" to hunger, said Patrick Durst, a Bangkok-based senior forestry officer at the FAO.

The challenge, experts said, is organizing unregulated, small bug food operations in many countries so they can supplement the food that aid agencies provide. [my bold/italics] The infrastructure to raise, transport and market bugs is almost nonexistent in most countries.

Prof. Arnold van Huis, a tropical entomologist known as "Mr. Edible Insect" in his native Netherlands, blamed a Western bias against eating insects for the failure of aid agencies to incorporate bugs into their mix.

"They are completely biased," van Huis said. "They really have to change. I would urge other donor organizations to take a different attitude toward this ... It's excellent food. It can be sustainable with precautions."

There are questions about the safety of eating bugs and potential dangers from over-harvesting them, said Durst, who became interested in the practice known scientifically as entomophagy during his years working in Bangkok, where crickets and bamboo worms are sold as food by street vendors.

Tina van den Briel, senior nutritionist at the World Food Program, the U.N. agency that provides food in emergencies, expressed doubt that insects can benefit large, vulnerable populations. Most bugs are seasonal and have a short shelf life, she said.

"They can be a very good complement to the diet," said van den Briel, not a conference participant. "But they do not lend themselves to programs like ours where you transport food over long distances and where you have to store food for a few months."

She suggested a more practical benefit might be adding insects to animal feed or crushing them into a meal powder that could be used to make cookies or cakes.

Meyer-Rochow said aid agencies might even find a way to harvest crop-destroying swarms of locusts and crickets.

"These mass outbreaks could be a valuable food source," he said. "If the technology is available, they could be ground up like a paste and added to the food humans eat."

I can see it coming. Grasshopper guacamole. A special UN Bug Hunting License if you want to kill grasshoppers. A tax on the caterpillars eating your veggies. Laws requiring equitable distribution of bugs. "I-Check" for all bugeaters in Ohio, just to make sure there are no stray emissions when you chomp down.

Recipes, anyone? Send them in!!

Doughn't!

This is a bit disappointing. The mix contained only yeast, water, sugar, salt, and flour, and the bread tastes good. It was baked at 350 for 35 minutes, and the crust is lighter in color.The problem I have with it is that it is too crusty. Maybe the milk helps give it a chewier crust. Next batch will go back to adding milk, and the baking will again be at 375 for 30 minutes. Possibly also drop the flour back to 6-1/2 cups.

Also, this time I did not roll out the dough and roll up the loaves; that is the reason, I think, for the "warty" looking crust.

Ah, well, failures are meant to be eaten. Try hanging that sign anywhere but in a kitchen.

Dough's Up!

Just a few minutes left to punch-down time.

2 tbsp dry yeast
2-1/2 cups water
1/4 cup sugar
2 tsp salt
7 cups flour (it was plenty stiff at this point, so I stopped at 7)

Rolling in the Dough

Bread is one of those interesting chemistry experiments you can eat. Making bread helps keep the house warm on cold winter days. It is also significantly cheaper than buying agglutinated crumb material. So, in the interest of science, and the betterment of my belly, I began experimenting with bread recipes.

The first attempts were with standard recipes from the Betty Crocker Cookbook. I also played with my darling wife's bread recipe. Somehow, I was not altogether pleased -- I like a soft bread, that is chewy and not too crusty. Something that is springy, and doesn't break up into crumbs that easily ...

So I began with the Sweet Roll Dough recipe from Betty & Co. :

2 tbsp dry yeast
1 cup water
1/2 cup milk
1/4 cup sugar
1 tsp salt
2 eggs
1/2 cup shortening
6 cups flour

Except that I ended up using about 8 cups of flour. All of the above thoroughly mixed, raised twice, and baked for 30 minutes at 375. The result was edible. Four loaves that were very heavy and cakey. It took almost a week and a half to eat them, with a loaf of store-bought bread thrown into the test period (not everybody is fond of my experimentation).

Next attempt -- 21 February 2008. The first batch was not the best bread in town. Too heavy. Tended toward crumbling. I theorized that the grease and egg were the main culprits. Try number 2 :

2 tbsp dry yeast
2 cups water
1/2 cup milk
1/2 cup sugar
2 tsp salt
6-1/2 cups flour

The amount of flour was what was left in the bucket, and I was too lazy to go upstairs and get more. Baked 30 minutes at 375. I figured on kick-starting the yeast with the extra sugar. No eggs, no grease. Rubbed some shortening around the inside of the metal salad bowl I used to raise the dough in, though. The result :Very nice!! Two BIG loaves. (Maybe too big??) Crust is just a bit dark, but the bread is chewy, tender, somewhat sweet, and toasts very well and is not at all crumbly. I like!!

But, those who know me know I am hard to satisfy. Therefore I plan to tweak the recipe just a bit more :

2 tbsp dry yeast
2-1/2 cups water
1/4 cup sugar
2 tsp salt
8 cups flour

Above to be baked 35 minutes at 350. Probably a four loaf batch. I figure this recipe will need to be tried tomorrow, because the current batch may not be long for this world.