Stale Stories - Day Six

The Farmer and I are on vacation. I would never want to leave you without something to read and therefore I'm offering you Stale Stories in my absense.

This is a story entitled "Rumble in the Cornfield" which was originally published on July 30, 2008.



Doesn't it seem sometimes that everything around here goes down in the cornfield? Our lives are tied to the million acres of corn that surrounds us.

Last winter my car had a altercation with a cornfield, and of course the cornfield won. The problem is that it happened on a road that I travel when I head for town and I'm reminded of the incident each time. It's like living the movie "Groundhog Day".

I has just turned on to a slice of road that is only a mile long, a slender connection from one highway to another. There's one lone farmhouse, and nothing else but empty cornfields as far as the eye could see. The moment I made the turn I realized I was in trouble. Under the thin dusting of snow there was a hidden patch of black ice. My car was sliding out of control as if an unseen hand was pushing it sideways towards the empty field.



This is one of those strange moments when time stands still for a brief second and then moves forward in slow motion. Frame by frame I saw the potential disaster unfold. A bird flies just to the left of the car, I turn my head in the direction the car is moving and there's a telephone pole. I have no choice in the matter of whether I hit it head-on or not, the invisible hand is sliding me forward and slightly to the right. The car slides by the pole with nothing but an inch spare.

A camera would reveal that my eyes are now the size of dinner plates. I've narrowly averted totaling my car and possible injury. But the car is still moving and I have decisions to make, and in a split second my mind plays out the strangest scenario. I remember myself sitting in Mr. Isley's science class. He's lecturing on Newton's first law of motion, also known as the law of inertia.



Millisecond by millisecond my car is traveling past the telephone phone and deep into the cornfield, and in the same time I'm watching (in my mind's eye) Mr. Isley reading from the textbook.

"An object at rest tends to stay at rest and an object in motion tends to stay in motion with the same speed and in the same direction unless acted upon by an unbalanced force."

My lab partner Dennis looked at me an mouthed the words, "We will never need this information.....never, EVER!"

Unfortunately, back in the cornfield I realized that friction and the weight of the car would quickly put an end to any forward motion. I was faced with a decision. If I did nothing my car would soon be mired in the damp soil just under the thin layer of snow. This option would involve a tow truck and a hundred dollars. The other option would be to keep the car in motion and attempt an escape from the cornfield grip.

W.W.M.E.D.???

What would Mr. Isley do?

You can guess by his horned rim glasses and snappy bow tie that he was a conservative kind of science teacher. But I'm guessing he was also frugal and not wanting to slap a hundred bucks into the palm of a tow truck driver. I my mind I heard Mr. Glenn Isley yelling, "Gun the sucker!!!"

And I did. Because hey, he's still an authority figure in my mind's eye.

I obediently gunned the motor and raced madly over the field fighting to gain control of the car. I was four-wheeling in the dead of winter. The field was covered with the dried stubs left after the fall harvest and they were slapping the undercarriage in a crazy rhythm......slappety-slap-slap-slappety-slap.


The scene of the near-disaster.

The unseen hand which slipped me quietly past the danger now released it's grip and the wheels turned towards the roadway. I could see freedom just a short distance away, but there was the small matter of a roadside ditch to negotiate. At this point I envisioned Hollywood type airborn incident. Luckily the ditch was nothing more than a small impression at the edge of the road. I was back and the road and finally able to take a breath.

What's the moral of the story you ask. It's this - pay attention! Listen to every bit of information. Watch every stinking survival show that's scheduled on satellite. Because you never know.

You never know when you'll be required to make a pair of snowshoes from the materials in your car. You never know when you'll need to make fire or hunt an elk with nothing but your bare hands and a pair of cuticle scissors.

You just never know.

POSTSCRIPT - I was feeling all "Dukes of Hazzard" following my exciting run through the cornfield. I pulled over and after a quick examination the car appeared totally unscathed. Unfortunately my confidence was short-lived. A week later I was driving on the interstate to visit my daughter when I heard a strange sound. CRACK....It seems the front bumper had been cracked in my run and the force of the air (probably another one of Newton's law were involved) ripped the entire piece off and threw it under my tires. Luckily there was no one behind me. It didn't matter because when I looked in the rearview mirror there was nothing left of the bumper but a strange cloud of tiny black plastic debris.

Stale Stories - Day Five

The Farmer and I are on vacation. I would never want to leave you without something to read and therefore I'm offering you Stale Stories in my absense.

This is a story entitled, "Death by Underwire". It was originally published on April 21, 2008.



Time is running out for me. Each day I'm living under borrowed time. Unfortunately recent events have dictated that I will need to go shopping soon. Have you ever heard of life-saving shopping trips?

What precipitated this emergency was that fact that in the last couple of weeks my final two bras suffered severe equipment failure. Let's just say that I was running the risk of being front page news.



Over the years I've graduated from training bra to sexy bra, to nursing bra and finally the precision engineered underwire model. That's quite a journey. I simplified the matter a couple of years ago when I stumbled upon a well fitting design. I'd buy up two in every color and be done with the matter for awhile. But then disaster struck. The manufacturer quit making the style and also adjusted their sizing. My plan was shot to bits and I was back at square one.

I was thinking of calling The Mother for advice. She worked in the lingerie department of a snooty high-end department store for awhile. As part of her duties she was required to fit bras. I really don't want to know what that task entails. It sure doesn't sound like anything I'd like to do, but I thought that perhaps she might have some suggestions on how to get a good bra that fits. This is certainly something I should know at this point in my life, but hey, I was off raising the next generation of responible adults.

A quick search on Dogpile reveals that there's something in the lingerie world called a "balconette" bra. I come from the generation that only had a few types of bras, either the cotton granny-type bra or the Dixie cup pointy bra.

I was left dumbounded as to what a balconette might be. Unfortunately my "girls" would never sit on a balcony and due to gravity they'll be sitting in the orchestra pit.

Wonders never cease. Not only is there a balconette bra, there's a Lingerie Glossary to explain the terms to all of us unenlightened folks. And seriously, I thought I knew it all.

There are M#rry Widows (gotta be careful how you spell these things because the naughty b0ys search this stuff) and Teddiette's. Who knew?

Trust me, I will get this situation under control, and hopefully before I'm mortally wounded.

I might even find something in black!

NOTE: In the tradition of our local paper, the newspaper story above contains a typo. Can you find it?

Stale Stories - Day Four

The Farmer and I are on vacation. I would never want to leave you without something to read and therefore I'm offering you Stale Stories in my absense.

This is a story entitled, Peasant Food. You really need to make this. Your family will love you for it. This was originally published on March 18, 2008.



Immigrants bring with them more than just the clothes on their backs, they bring their culture. There's nothing worse than the feeling of being set adrift in a strange place and carrying on traditions softens the culture shock. Food is a big part of ethnic tradition and every culture seems to have a take on the concept of a filling surrounded by some type of dough. There's the asian steamed dumpling, the Italian ravioli and the Polish pirogi.

The longer your family has been in this country the fewer traditions survive. In my case that's not a bad thing because I might be serving Haggis instead of ham this Easter. My husbands family was more recently from Poland and his grandmother served fish and white borscht for Christmas eve dinner with an extra empty place setting for the unseen guest at their dinner table.

Without any ethnic identity surviving the toll of time I gladly latched on to my Auntie Em's. Yes, I had an Auntie Em. Her parents immigrated to the U.S. from the Georgian region of Russia. They were Germans living in a region that changed identity with every army claiming possession of the land.



My Auntie Em would make Biruk (pronounce Bruck) and we would gobble them up as fast as they came out of the oven. Hers were a traditional way to use up leftovers. The day after she served a roast beef she put the leftover beef through a meat grinder. I remember the silvery contraption clamped to her countertop. The ground up beef roast would be cooked with some onions and cabbage to create a mixture that filled a yeast dough. It was heaven.

We always found them a little dry though and when I was old enough to make Biruk myself I experimented with ground meat. This version was moist and yummy and even Auntie Em had to agree that it was easier and more delicious.

Biruk is one of those "seat of the pants" recipes. I've been making it for over 40 years and have never used a recipe. I simply made a batch of dough and a batch of filling and everything always seemed to work out. But for the sake of future generations I've put together a basic recipe that can be doubled or tripled.

BIRUK

1-1/2 lbs. lean ground beef
1 large onion, chopped
1/2 medium head of cabbage chopped
1 box of hot roll mix or your favorite yeast dough recipe
Melted butter or margarine.

Brown the hamburger with the chopped onion. Drain off any fat. Add the chopped cabbage and place in a large pot. Season well with salt and pepper. Cover and simmer until the cabbage is very soft. Add a little water if needed. Allow mixture to cool completely or make the day ahead and refrigerate. Make hot roll mix according to directions. After second rising, roll out dough into large rectangle. Cut into 5-6 inch squares. Add filling to the middle of each square. Pull up four corners to the middle and pinch. Pinch sides to complete seal dough. Brush bottom and top with melted butter and place on greased baking sheet. Bake at 350 degrees until browned. Brush with melted butter again and serve with sour cream.

This recipe made 12 biruk.

The ground beef, onion and cabbage mixture should be simmered slowly. Don't be afraid to season heavily with salt. Cabbage seems to need a heavy dose.



Make the hot roll mix and allow it to rise while your preparing the filling. Sometimes I do the filling the day before. I've used frozen bread dough in a pinch but I was disappointed with the results.



Roll the dough out and cut into 5-6 inch squares. Put a dollop of filling in the middle.



Pull up the corners and pinch the packet shut.



Brush with butter. Oops, looks like I got a little heavy handed there.



Bake till golden brown.



Twelve biruk will disappear in a few minutes in our house. I don't dare tell my family I'm making them because if word gets out I've got a household of my chilren's friends who just decide to "drop over".

Over the years I've struggled with the problem of what to serve with this dish. Finally a guest said, "Give it up. Nobody wants anything but the Biruk. Think about it, it's got meat, vegetables and bread all rolled up in one neat package." Yep, they're right.

And so this peasant dish has come to be known as my "signature recipe", a tradition of 40 years and still going.

Stale Stories - Day Three

The Farmer and I are on vacation. I would never want to leave you without something to read and therefore I'm offering you Stale Stories in my absense.

This is a story entitled, The Holy Grail, which explains my mild obsession with pie. This story was first published on April 3, 2008.




No, not that Holy Grail, the other Holy Grail - the search for the perfect piece of pie. That's my quest and I"m stickin' to it!

I loved my father alot but the truth was that my stepfather and I were simply terrific "compadres". Intellectual sparring was a favorite hobby of his and he had a wicked sense of humor. He also loved a good smart aleck and I qualified in his book. I am grateful he was was such a good grandpa to my children since my own father lived 1,000 miles away.

I can still seem him standing in my kitchen cooking his famous chicken and dumplings while a tornado raged outside. Patio furniture was flying past the kitchen window and I was frantically trying to herd the kids and grandpa into the basement. This proved to be more difficult that you'd imagine. My son was standing in front of the patio door screaming at the sight of airborne furniture and grandpa was hobbling/hopping as fast as he could. You see, grandpa only had one leg! When he was 12 years old he'd slipped and fell into a thresher during harvest on the farm. I simply cannot imagine the terror his mother felt when a farm hand ran into the house with news of the accident. I was feeling my own terror at the thought of losing him to a tornado!



For a grandpa a wooden leg could be an endless source of amazement for children and trickery for him. He'd tell the kids, "Knock on my knee." The first time they'd knock their eye would get as big as saucers, and let's not even talk about taking off the entire leg! He felt that qualified as entertainment for young 'ens.

Grandpa Bill qualified as a "character" and anyone that knows me knows that I love & collect characters. Traveling with him could be trying at times because he insisted on stopping every few hours. Once in mid-morning for coffee and pie, then for lunch & more pie. Midafternoon there was a pit stop for ..... you guessed it, coffee & MORE PIE!! His avowed mission in life was to find the perfect piece of pie.

I agreed that it was a pretty important mission in life, and when Grandpa Bill died I took up the torch. Yep....that's now my mission....to find the perfect piece of pie! Of course opinions on this are heated and subjective. I, for example, am not a lover of berry pies except for the fantabulous delicacy known as Blackberry Pie not to be confused with Blackbird Pie.

There are a few that have come close to perfection and I've got them at the top of my list. This cute person is Paula Haney, otherwise known as "Hoosier Mama" and she's the pastry chef/owner of Hoosier Mama Pie Company.(I hope she doesn't mind me referring to her as "cute" but she WAS cute and friendly and enthusiastic. And anyway, someone who thinks up such a terrific name as "Hoosier Mama" has got to be cute!)



I encountered her at the Chicago Fancy Food show a couple years back. WOW...her pecan pie was the best I've ever tasted (she uses some maple syrup). Best in Show for Pecan Pie...that's my award for her. She doesn't have a storefront, she bakes and sells to restaurants in the Chicago area, or you can also order online and pick one up. Be sure to click on all the links there's some interesting stuff in there.

Number two in the list of contenders is the Sawdust Pie at Patti's 1880's Settlement in Kentucky. It's just delicious, a take-off on pecan pie. Hmmmm, do we see a pattern emerging?

Here's the recipe for Patti's Sawdust Pie. This blog entry is very long or I would post picture of the entire process, but that's not really necessary since you're big girls and can figure it out.




Fortunately I'm not alone in my quest. My former publisher told me there's someone at the New York Times who has taken up the torch and retired couple Bill & Barbara Windsor who traveled 29,000 miles, eaten 181 slices and produce the Pie Report.

So, don't go thinking we're done with this subject. We're going to be revisiting pies again and again.

Stale Stories - Day Two

The Farmer and I are on vacation. I would never want to leave you without something to read and therefore I'm offering you Stale Stories in my absense.

This is a story entitled, "Towada Lives". This was originally published on January 28, 2008. Raise your hand if you recognize yourself.



There's a phrase that I often use when women are lamenting the fact that they're turning fifty or when they're having a meltdown or a mini-meltdown.

"At 50 the madwoman in the attic breaks loose, stomps down the stairs and sets fire to the house. She won't be imprisoned any longer." - Erica Jong

This quote speaks to that moment when you brain just snaps. It's when your child asks you if you got the grass stains out of the field hockey uniform, or when your husband forgets to tell you that he's invited 12 co-workers for dinner on Saturday night.

It's the Towanda moment from Fried Green Tomatoes. It's the epiphany, the tipping point.

You feel as if hot lava is rising in your soul, not realizing that there is hot lava rising. Did you forget about menopause?

You turn and look and everyone instantly shakes with fear at the crazy sparkle in your eyes.

"Everybody outta the pool", you hollar. At this point you grab your handbag and run to the nearest Curves to sign up for their special offer. And then you head over to Starbucks for a Pumpkin Latte. The teenager barista fears for his life as he tries to explain that Pumpkin Latte is only a seasonal offering.

"OK, well give me anything with chocolate."

Sometime later you return home and your family is standing around like deer in the headlights.

Their eyes dart back and forth and someone whispers, "What happened to mom?"

She got possessed. She got religion. She got into the voodoo juju juice.

No. That's not it. It's very simple really. Mom turned fifty and the madwoman was let loose!

Stale Stories - Day One

As you probably know, the Farmer and I will split on Friday out for parts unknown in an attempt to clear our minds before our next challenge.

It's not my intention to leave you high and dry during our absence and therefore I've decided to post a story from my archives every day while we are gone. I'd love to be providing you with new materials but part of the purpose of this absence is to recharge my creative batteries.

A little math shows me that combining my photoblog The Farmer's Wife and this blog, I've published 1,375 posts. That's crazy and that number of posts tends to drain the creative pool.

For today's Stale Story, I give you "Oranges in Winter", originally published on December 22, 2007.





This is a cautionary tale against longing for the good old days when things were simpler. Every time I wander into this territory my elderly friend Margie pulls me back into reality.

"Things were not go good back then," she cautioned.

"In fact things were very, very difficult. Have you got a taste for strawberry jam in January? You better hope you planted strawberries, tended them and harvested the berries. Did you remember to get enough sugar for the canning process?" she asked.

Even the simplest tasks required an incredible amount of planning and work. Laundry? You've got to render the fat and make the soap first.

My friend was raised on a farm in the remotest part of North Dakota. Her parents were immigrants who worked the land as tenant farmers. It was a life of subsistance and unfortunately a lonely childhood devoid of emotional support and joy.

Her father was a strict disciplinarian who believed that children were to be seen and not heard. The mother bore children over a great time span as the family needed a new source of free labor as the older children left for the city. Even they couldn't escape completely as they were expected to send money home to the farm. There were no toys, they were considered frivolous and my friend never owned a doll. Any free time was spent daydreaming in the apple orchard.

Their mother prepared a special dinner on Christmas eve but there were no gifts and one Christmas her father presented the children with coal, as if to emphasize his point of view, that life was a never ending cycle of grueling work with no hope for a bit of magic.

One year her older sister Laura and husband Tom returned to North Dakota for Christmas. Before they left Wisconsin they stopped into a green grocer's in Milwaukee and made a surprising purchase, a fresh orange for each child. It doesn't sounds like much does it? Fresh oranges at any time of the year were a great extravagance but an orange in winter was akin to finding precious rubies from Mars in your Christmas stocking.

It's nothing in this world of global markets to have oranges in winter and asparagus in January because everything is in season somewhere in this world. But in those days people and goods were separated by vast distances without any chance of connecting.

Laura and Tom arrived at the farmhouse and later that night after the children had gone to bed they laid out the oranges on the farmhouse table. When my friend woke up in the morning she could smell the aroma of the fresh oranges. It was an impossiblity, but there they were, the beautiful fruit lined up on the kitchen table. In that single moment she believed....there truly must be a Santa Claus. Who else could work such a miracle as oranges in winter?

NOTE: Unfortunately a childhood devoid of hope, focused only on hard work can create an adult who has difficulty engaging in play and their life becomes a never-ending cycle of tasks.

And the Winner Is...............

You realize that I'm an old-fashioned, mostly low tech girl. My giveaway drawings always involve paper and pen.



No stinking computer generated integers for me. Hey, what's an integer anyway? I forgot. It's a good thing that I keep a copy of Webster's dictionary on the desk. It says that an integer is a whole number. OK, but my readers are not whole numbers, they are beautiful, individual sentient beings. See, I've been dipping into the dictionary again.

The names are cut apart and folded into wingnuts.



And then I draw. The Farmer was busy eating french toast so I drew the name this time.



And the winner of the vintage dresser scarf is.....



Stuck on Sunflowers.

Please e-mail me your information so that I can get it into the mail. Thanks everyone for playing along.

Tomorrow will be the first installment of stories from my archives. We'll dust off those old tales for you reading pleasure while the Farmer and I head out for places unknown and new adventures.

Hasta la vista baby.

Monday Morning Staff Meeting

It's time again for the Monday Morning Staff Meeting.

I apologize that there is no food at this morning's meeting. I'm attempting to clear the kitchen in preparation for our upcoming trip. Our son will be staying behind as he starts nursing school this week. The Other Mother will be staying also. The Farmer and I will be taking my mom along for the trip. We leave on Friday and tomorrow (when I announce the giveaway winner) will be my last post until September 9th. Hopefully I'll return with batteries all charged and ready to go again.

I'll be leaving you something to read each day, a story from my archives. And, just for the record, I do not post at 2 a.m. Gosh, I'm a night owl but rarely am I working that late into the night. Blogger has an option that allows you to pre-schedule posts and that's usually what I do.

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Do you remember when Mary Englebreit announced that she had lost the publisher of her magazine? I don't know about you but that made me very sad. I loved that publication.

Mary has returned, if only with an online presence. She's publishing her own blog. Check it out.

MARY ENGLEBREIT BLOGS

She's offering a cute apron pattern and there's a workshop coming up that offers a tour of Mary's own studio. It's in St. Louis, which is a do-able drive from here. Unfortunately, the cost is a bit steep.

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A small tornado ripped through the nearby cornfields last week. It was a 0 on the Fujita scale, which in terms of midwest tornados would make it more like a micro-burst. It did damage to several homes and cars (due to trees falling on them) and did flex it's muscles enough to twist a highway sign.

Did I mention that the Farmer and I drove INSIDE the edge of a tornado as it was spinning down the road? Quite the experience. Since it was late at night and was the type of tornado that you can't see coming (tons of rain) we didn't know it until later.

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Now for the giveaway. I know, I know, this was supposed to happen yesterday. Things are just different since Friday, which was the Farmer's last day at work. It's going to be an adjustment to have him here during the day.

Look what I found at the flea market held inside the Steam Powered Show.



It's a hand-embroidered vintage dresser scarf. You could also use it for a table runner to make a beautiful vintage tablescape. Just think of the possibilities!

The hand embroidered designs are classics.



I remember practicing these stitches when I was a young girl.



Leave me a comment and I'll put your name in the drawing. I'll announce the name tomorrow morning and then I'll take my leave.

Thanks for visiting with me today. I appreciate your company.

Field Trip - Steam Powered Threshing Bee, Part Two

Thanks for coming back. We're going to continue our tour of the Steam Powered Threshing Bee in Sycamore, Illinois.

My history with tractors goes back to my childhood when my Uncle Jackie allowed us to sit on his vintage Farmall. I don't think he ever actually let us drive it. That's OK because just being able to sit atop that beautiful piece of machinery was enough for a girl living within spitting distance of the city of Chicago. Oh, the tractor! Oh, the chickens! Oh, the noonday meal, the table groaning under the weight of all that home cooked food.

Here's some extra signs they had laying around. I just love these hand painted beauties.



All the big steam dragons are lined up in a row, all hissing and spitting hot droplets.



Here's the shady grove on the west side of the show.



Those are all tractors in the background!! There are literally hundreds and hundreds of vintage tractors on display. It's an amazing sight.

The detail on this old tractor makes me laugh because amongs all that glorious aging is a brand new fuel filter.



These guys are setting up a tractor to run a piece of equipment that husks corn. Notice the large hay wagon loaded with corn stalks.



The sawmill was operating and was connected to a small steam engine and a larger John Deere. Again, they use belts that are turned by the steam power.



There's tons of food available. Kebabs are being grilled at this spot.



Nearby they're frying up onion blossoms. The guy in charge of slicing and dipping the onions wanted to be in the picture. I thought that was a good idea.



The slicer thingie was very cool. I've heard that in restaurants they slice the onion and then soak it in cold water which causes it to fully open.

The old timers find a good seat for the tractor parade.



A 1923 Fordson makes it way along the parade route. This is an 86 year old tractor!



Here's another old beauty.



I'm in awe of the size of some of these machines. It must take a very sturdy trailer to haul them.



Stephanie and Lance - this one's for you. This is a 1931 John Deere. It's a beauty.



We can't let the guys have all the fun. This young woman smudged her face up real good. This is dirty work!



There's music over by the big tent. They were playing bluegrass.



Did I mention that there's plenty of food? We eat lunch under the big tent, that's where Fay's Barbecue sets up. The Farmer leads the way. He looks like he's done this before.



It's wonderful! They offer barbecued pork chops or chicken. For some unknown reason I thought it would be a good idea to try the chicken.



Gosh, what a mistake. Everybody knows that you get the Fay's pork chop. The Farmer shared a little bit of his pork with me. Thanks honey.



I seem to have lots of photos of the Farmer digging in to a meal. With your pork chop (or chicken) you can help yourself to baked beans, apple sauce, cole slaw (very yummy), cottage cheese, bread and butter and a drink. All this for $9.00. It's a little bit more if you want two pork chops.

In addition to all the steam power and food, there's a flea market on the grounds. More ways to spend your money than you can shake a stick at. These were interesting Indian figurines. They probably would make a nice centerpiece for Thanksgiving. Unfortunately, I'm trying to divest myself of stuff, not bring in more.



One booth had a nice vintage Nesco roaster. I'm sure plenty of delicious things were prepared in this one. My newer model is not nearly as nice.



Margie was set up, selling her jewelry and other things.



I found the turquoise ring at another booth.



We walked until our feet gave out. I hope you're not too exhausted.

Be sure to come back tomorrow for the giveaway. I picked something up in the flea market just for you!

Thanks for coming along on this field trip. I had fun. I hope you did too.