Wednesday, December 16, 2009

Homemade Christmas

This past fall when a good friend introduced me to the Advent Conspiracy I was inspired! What if I spent less this Christmas on things like gifts and decor? What if I took the money I saved and gave it away? What if everyone did this, what kind of difference could we make in this world?

My husband and I decided that the way we would "conspire" this year was to give only homemade gifts. I broke out the old sewing machine, and after a lesson on how to thread it from a friend, I was off. From a few simple ideas stole from craft blogs our house was transformed into Santa's workshop. I loved putting new fabrics together in interesting ways. The sound of my machine humming along while a Jane Austen book played in the background made me peaceful. I was well on my way to finishing over 30 homemade gifts for the season.

While all of this was going on, my family was getting in on the act. I had a vision of a white paper Christmas. Instead of buying new decorations to add to my haul, we purchased one ream of white copy paper. From this humble beginning our Winter Wonderland would emerge. Hundreds of paper strips became the paper chain that now covers my celling. My husband discovered his gift for cutting out delicate and exquisite snowflakes. Lastly a dozen origami cranes flew in to give new life to my old fake green wreath.



I was feeling pretty Martha Stewart about the whole thing, and had even mailed off two boxes of gifts when I left to pick my kids up from school on Tuesday. While driving 55 on the highway a pick up truck pulled out in front of me without warning. I smashed into him at near full speed in my almost new car. My car didn't make it, but thanks to the grace of God I did. I have no broken bones, just tons of soft tissue damage in my neck, back, arms and legs. This damage makes it difficult for me to sit for any length of time (this blog has been done in many starts and stops) without my hands falling asleep or my neck deciding it is time to quit.

Now my sewing machine sits on the dining room table with my last project still hanging from the needle. It, along with about 5 other projects will remain unfinished for now. My dear husband is working his tail off to keep up the house, cook the meals (he does a lot of that anyway), and keep up at work. He does this all with out one word of complaint, and a smile upon his face. The kids help out as much as they can as I sit and stretch and try to heal.

I am the kind of person who feels the need to create. I paint, sew, and write, not so much for others, but more for myself. Long ago I realised that it was the simple fact that we are crated in the image of God, the Great Creator, that gives us all the innate ability to create. The creative process is for me a form of worship. The connection I feel with my Lord when I am expressing myself is beyond description. But now in this season of healing I will have to learn how to simply "be still" and know Him.

So, my Martha Christmas will have to wait. There are dear friends and family members who gifts will arrive sometime in January. I refuse to go out and spend in a desperate attempt to get something in the mail. After all , I am part of a conspiracy and that is not to be taken lightly!

Soft Spice Bars (one of the many ways my husband is spoiling me)
3/4 cup butter melted
1 cup plus 1 tbls. sugar divided
1/4 cup molasses
1 egg
2 cups all purpose flour
2 tsp. baking soda
1 tsp. cinnamon
1/2 tsp cloves
1/2 tsp ginger
1/2 tsp. salt

In mixer or mixing bowl combine butter 1 cup sugar and molasses. Beat in egg until smooth.
Combine flour, baking soda, cinnamon, cloves, ginger and salt. Stir into molasses mixture.
Spread into a well greased 15x10x1 baking pan (reg sized cookie sheet works great)
Sprinkle with remaining 1 tbls. sugar
Bake at 375 for 10-12 min. or until lightly browned. Do not over bake.
Cool and cut into bars.

Sunday, December 13, 2009

The Land that Time Forgot

Whenever we head to what my children refer to as the "Big City" (I am speaking of Kennewick, WA. Never heard of it, that is ok, I hadn't either until I moved here. Trust me it's not that big, but they do have a Target and a mall!) the first thing my 10 year old daughter wants to do is ride the escalators. That's right nothing makes that child smile like a flight of moving stairs. She could ride them up and down all day long. Heck, who needs Disneyland when you have thrill rides just two and a half hours away.

You always hear people sing the praises of small town child rearing. In fact when you ask the average person why they have returned to The Valley, the most common response you will hear is "I wanted to raise my kids here". I though I fully understood the pros and cons of a small town upbringing, after all I didn't exactly grow up in a metropolis. But growing up in the suburbs in California did not even begin to prepare me for my current parenting experience.

When I first met my husband I would listen to the stories of his child hood and think "he has got to be making this stuff up". His youthful antics sounded more like the memories of my parents than of someone my own age. A common phrase in our marriage has become "we grew up 700 miles and 35 years apart". But I was sure times had changed and that the "modern" Valley would be nothing but a shadow of the place he once called home. Yet again, I was wrong.

Sometimes I think this is the land that time forgot. One of my favorite past times when I am volunteering at my kid's school is to look at the class pictures of years gone by. (Our children attend my hubby's Alma Mater.) There is very little change from year to year and decade to decade. Sure the 80's tend to stand out with "the hair". But other than that the variations are quite small. Each class of around 20 children sports much of the same basic look, jeans and collared button-ups. I must say that is precisely what my kids wore this year on picture day. Boots still tend to be the norm, I think this has less to do with fashion than function. Most of these kids still have outside chores each morning before school.

This is the school where Dodge Ball has not been outlawed, it remains a class favorite during PE. The same school boasts a yearly Christmas Play. That's right Christmas, not Winter Play or even Holiday. (Please don't tell the ACLU, the kids love it and I would hate to see third graders drug from the auditorium in hand-cuffs.) My children attend class in the same classrooms my husband and his siblings once sat in. They eat in the same small cafeteria where lunch is prepared daily by local Moms complete with fresh baked rolls. As a parent you can join your child for lunch any day you wish, without calling ahead, for 3 bucks! In this same cafeteria, ornate hand made gingerbread houses provide a festive feel through the month of December. When the month ends one lucky child from each class will have their name drawn and get to take this treasure home.

I often fear when I take my kids to cities like Portland or LA when we visit family. I am not afraid for their safety. I am afraid they will not know how to act. They don't understand the subtle nuances of how people act in a city. They are not aware of how much space to allow people in crowded areas. They are use to everyone around them looking and talking just like them. I try to expose them to different cultures and foods, but there are just some things you miss out on. They do love sushi, so I must be doing something right as a parent.

So, I am thinking about some sort of cultural exchange program. I will take my LA nieces for a few weeks each summer. They can come here and learn the finer points of Dodge Ball, camping, fishing and getting dirty. And I can send my two munchkins down to my sister for lessons in shopping, culture and escalator etiquette. After all, I don't think my daughter understands why people get upset when she runs up the down  escalator. I think they just need to get off of her ride.

The World's Best Peanut Butter Cookies
(I believe this recipe first came from my great-aunt Thelma. But they are the perfect cookie when you don't want to run to the store for ingredients.)
1 cup Peanut Butter
1 cup sugar
1 egg
(yes, that is all!)

Mix together. Spoon by teaspoonful onto ungreased cookie sheet. Press flat with the back of a fork.
Bake at 375 about 11 min.
Makes 1 doz cookies (if you don't eat too much dough)

Sunday, December 6, 2009

Oh Christmas Tree, Oh Christmas Tree...

Remember those Hallmark commercials when we were kids? The family would tromp through a winter wonderland where they would find the perfect Christmas tree. They would cut it down, pull it back to their log cabin on a sleigh where they would decorate it with their million dollar collection of Keepsake Ornaments.

Yeah, right like that would ever happen!!

To say that my Mother was creative when it came to our family's Christmas trees when I was a child would be an understatement. We were three ladies, living on a hairdresser's salary in California. So the beautiful trees at the fancy Tree Farm were out of the questions. Sure we went there every year, we rode the hayride, drank the hot cider and ogled the decor in the gift shop. But we never purchased the spendy specimens found in their lots.

My Mom had other plans for our nod to this traditional Christmas decoration. There was the year that we headed to the lake where we cut down a Manzanita tree. Oh and who could forget the year that we decorated our silk ficus? Yes, my Mother had an amazing way of turning lemons into the most spectacular lemonade. The year did come when there was enough extra to purchase an artificial tree, which from then on did the honors in our home. We hated that tree. We mocked my Mom year after year, secretly wishing for her less conventional options.

Yesterday morning we loaded up our family and headed up to the mountains. Into the back of our all wheel drive rig (that is what we call any vehicle in these parts) we tossed in a saw, hot chocolate, blankets and snack. For 5 bucks they let you cut your own tree on public land. (Had this been available when I was a kid we would not have tempted fate and the law with that Manzanita. I do hope the statutes of limitations is up!)

Now, in years past this process has taken hours. It usually begins with us loading up the truck and heading up Fox Hill Road. About half way up this steep climb, our two wheel drive pick-up begins to slide backwards and I begin to panic. Thankfully my husband does not. He simply backs down the road and finds another location. We always end up somewhere up Spring Creek. By then I am in a bit of a foul mood (I know my family would call it more than a bit, but they are not writing this are they?) and will settle for nothing less than perfection. It takes hours for me to look over each tree in the forest. By the time the light begins to fade I make a quick pick. When we get it home my ever patient hubby trims and shapes my poor choice into something presentable.

Back to yesterday. We left the house at 8:45 am and made the brilliant move to stop at Starbucks on our way (everything is better when there is a latte in your hand). Instead of attempting Fox Hill in a two wheel drive we headed straight up Spring Creek in our AWD. The roads were icy, but the hottie behind the wheel got us up the mountain safely.  I, of course decided to begin looking for a tree where the road dropped off on a sheer cliff (I have never claimed I was much of outdoors woman). We scrambled down and into a beautiful grove of trees. Now for those who have never hunted down a wild Christmas Tree, let me take a minute to explain. Trees growing in groves are extremely deceptive. They look all full and lush, but only because they are all smashed together. It is not one full well rounded tree, but three or four scrawny ones huddling together for warmth that you are seeing.  So as the kids found an icy patch of snow to slide down on their bellies a la penguin style David and I searched for the elusive Christmas tree. With in 30 minutes we had two beautiful specimens loaded onto the top of the Santa Fe and were headed back down the road. They didn't even fall off on the freeway. Whew!

Now, this may not have been nearly as exciting as my Mothers law-breaking adventures, but we did have a pretty nice time as a family. Maybe Hallmark wasn't as wrong as I thought when I was a child. Maybe the Hallmark people just live in Oregon.

Tortilla Soup (a great way to warm up after the "hunt")
1 lg. ripe tomato
1 lg. onion chopped
1 clove garlic
6 c. chicken broth
tortillas
corn oil
salt and pepper to taste
avocado
grated cheese

Put tomato in broiler 8-10 min. Peel skin, put into blender.
In a small amount of oil cook oil and garlic, cook until onion is transparent. Season and add to blender. Blend.
Transfer to stock pot and add broth. Cook until slightly thickened.
Cut tortillas into strips and fry in corn oil. Cut Avocado into chunks and put some into each bowl. Add soup and top with cheese and tortilla chips.

Tuesday, November 24, 2009

Thankful

Today, I wanted to take a moment to tell you how thankful I am for all of you. I began this blog simply as a way to discipline myself to write more. As an artist I am constantly looking for new forms to express myself in a way that touches people. But a funny thing happened. I found that the more I wrote about my life, the more I enjoyed each day. Then, I was surprised and blessed to find that people actually wanted to read what I wrote. The icing on the cake was that you began to take time out of your very busy lives to comment both here and on facebook.

So thank you for joining me on this journey. Like every trip with me, there are bound to be some detours, bumps in the road and of course I will get lost a few times along the way. But as I have been taught by my Mother, that is the way you find the most interesting stuff. So sit back, buckle up and enjoy the ride!

Cheilon's Sweet Potato's (a family holiday tradition started by my sister's Mother-in-law, and now prepared by my children)

3 cups cooked and mashed sweet potatoes
1/2 cups sugar
2 eggs, beaten
1/2 tsp salt
1/2 stick butter, melted
1/2 cup milk
1 1/2 tsp vanilla

topping:
1/2 cup brown sugar
1/3 flour
1 cup chopped pecans
1/3 cup butter, melted

Combine first 7 ingredients, mix well and put into casserole dish. Mix topping ingredients and sprinkle over casserole. Bake at 350' for 35-40 min.

Sunday, November 22, 2009

I'm Dreaming...


As a young woman growing up in California I yearned for a White Christmas above all things. Two major factors stood in the way, the first being the rarity with which temperatures dipped below freezing and our approximate 100 feet above sea level altitude. I grew up in "orange country" and the thought of anything below 32' was dreaded by any farmer of this citrus. But for those of us kids, we were sure that with enough wishing someday Santa would deliver a white blanket of snow on Christmas Eve.

It never happened.

In my almost 8 years as a resident of the Blue Mountains (our house sits at around 3000 feet)I have seen many White Christmas', and White Thanksgivings, White Halloweens, White Easters, and even a few White Memorial Days. Those who have lived here for decades can add White 4th of Julys to the list.

I spent my first year in "The Valley" in turtle necks, boots and scarfs. I will never forget my first Women's event at the church. It was early May and somewhere around 50'. When I arrived at the church in my layers of wool, I felt a bit out of place. Apparently anything over the 45' mark that early in the year is cause for breaking out the capris and flippies (thongs for those of you over 30). As I eyed these "hearty" women (no I am not calling you fat!) with awe, I never thought I would count myself among them.

Flash forward to today...it is the week of Thanksgiving and we have already had two snowfalls. More if you count the ones that didn't stick. I will be starting the car a good 10 minutes early just to make sure the ice on the windshield is melted (I don't scrape!) This reminds me of all of the other crazy things living in a snowy environment has required.

1. Spent all day waiting to get my snow tires put on. This yearly ritual consists of waking up one morning to realize there is 3 inches of the white stuff on the ground and you haven't had your studs put on to keep from sliding into the other Moms in the line to drop off kids at the school.
2.Stayed overnight in a hotel or friend's house on the other side of the Mountains because the passes to get home were closed. (I hate the feeling of waking up in the same clothes I went to bed in and no toothbrush to boot.)
3. Shown up at major school events only to find out it had been canceled due to bad roads. (Hey I made it!)
4. Walked with the kids downtown because it was quicker than driving.(Might as well stop for hot chocolate.)
5. Gone sledding on streets that are closed for that specific purpose.(Have you ever seen a "closed for sledding" sign? I have.)
6. Watched kids arrive at school on snowmobiles.
7. Kept the kids out of school for a family snowball fight.(That's educational, right?)
8. Sat for hours in front of our picture window with a cup of steaming tea and watched as flakes the size of nickles pile up on the front lawn.
9. Ran out the door in sub-freezing weather in just a long sleeved t-shirt, because it was just a "quick trip to the store".
10. Worn flippies in the snow.(Okay, I have not done that yet, but I know tons who have.)

So, now I count myself among the "hearty women"(no this has nothing to do with my weight!). Better go start the car.

Scones with Cranberries (my hubby made these for my birthday this year)

2 cups flour
4 teaspoons baking powder
1/4 cup sugar
5 tablespoons cold butter cut into bits
1/4 cup half and half
2 large eggs lightly beaten
1/2 cup chopped nuts (we use walnuts)
1/4 cup cranberries (raisins work also, but they are yucky)

Pre-heat oven to 400' F
1. Sift flour, baking soda, and sugar into bowl. Add butter and blend until resembles coarse meal.
2.Beat together half and half and eggs.Stir into flour mixture, until just combined.
3.Add nuts and cranberries.
4.Pat dough onto floured surface to about 1/3 in. thick. Cut into rounds or into triangles.
5.Bake on buttered baking sheet for 15-20 min.

Sunday, November 15, 2009

Fashion Police


Today I wore a new fabric rose that I made. I not only love it, but I am kind of obsessed with these Anthropology inspired accessories. I have made them in every color for myself, and may even give a few as gifts this Christmas. It was with great pride that I pinned a medium sized cream and pale pink blossom to my brown cord jacket. It made me smile...for a moment. Then I began to think about all of the comments I would receive at church. "What is that?" and "what's up with that thing on your jacket?" ran through my mind. I took one more quick look in the mirror, drew in a deep breath and walked out the door.

Don't get me wrong, I go to one of the most accepting and loving churches on the planet. It doesn't matter if you stink, are dirty or come to service in your PJ's, you are welcomed in with a hug and open hearts. We are family who love one another deeply. It is just that people are not use to some of the things I choose to wear.

I have always been a bit of a fashion dare devil. One of those kids who pared mismatched prints with polka dots in elementary school. The girl in Jr High who was stacking Swatch watches, not only up my arm, but also in my hair. In High School it was a journey into all things Hippie, followed by a head first dive into Grunge in college. Even living in California, my fashion sense was not always accepted. I am not saying I am a great visionary ahead of her time. I simply love clothes and have worn what I like no matter what the norm. But somehow, amid the thousands of other clothes junkies I didn't stick out quite so much.

In a area where jeans are a socially acceptable option for weddings and camo is for more than just hunting, I tend to stand out a little more. I guess I can't blame people, you have to really go out of your way to know the latest options in fashion. We are not inundated by media bombardment, enticing us to purchase the newest looks. Kids do not segregate themselves based on who is wearing what. In fact, half of the school year is spent covered up by winter coats and snow boots. So if people don't know what a Capelet is or why I would wear somthing that resembles the love child of a sweater and a poncho, it is ok.

I just really wish my own son hadn't said "Hey Mom, why do you have that thing on your coat?"

Iced Pumpkin Cookies(Hot out of my hubby's test kitchen)

Ingredients
2 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon baking powder
1 teaspoon baking soda
2 teaspoons ground cinnamon
1/2 teaspoon ground nutmeg
1/2 teaspoon ground cloves
1 teaspoon ground ginger
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/2 cup butter, softened
1cups white sugar
1/2 cup brown sugar
1 cup canned pumpkin puree
1 egg
1 teaspoon vanilla extract

Icing
2 cups confectioners' sugar
3 tablespoons milk
1 tablespoon melted butter
1 teaspoon vanilla extract

Directions
1.Preheat oven to 350 degrees F (175 degrees C). Combine flour, baking powder, baking soda, cinnamon, nutmeg, ground cloves,ginger and salt; set aside.
2.In a medium bowl, cream together the 1/2 cup of butter and sugar. Add pumpkin, egg, and 1 teaspoon vanilla to butter mixture, and beat until creamy. Mix in dry ingredients. Drop on cookie sheet by tablespoonfuls; flatten slightly.
3.Bake for 15 to 20 minutes in the preheated oven. Cool cookies, then drizzle glaze with fork.
4.To Make Glaze: Combine confectioners' sugar, milk, 1 tablespoon melted butter, and 1 teaspoon vanilla. Add milk as needed, to achieve drizzling consistency.

Sunday, November 8, 2009

'Tis the Season


It's that time of year again. The time that many look forward to with breathless anticipation while others dread as if the plague has returned. Yep, you guess it,it is that magical time of year known as Hunting Season.
I myself grew up as a casual observer of this annual phenomenon. Once a year my father, grandfather and when he was old enough, my step brother would pack up the RV and head out for a week or two. They took guns, tons of food and came back smelling so badly that we knew that there was no way they had spent the time with other women. I vaguely recall them bring home some sort of dead animal once, but that is as far as it went.
It was with this background that I meet my husband. When he told me he hunted I thought I had a good bead on the concept. Boy was I wrong! Not only does my husband hunt, but so does his father, brothers, uncles, aunts, sisters, cousins and the stories of his mothers ability to shoot from horseback are legendary. And I was completely unprepared for the amount of time this venture could eat up. I once met a woman from the area at a Thanksgiving party and asked her to coffee. She told me that sometime around February would work as there was nothing "open" that month and her husband would be around to watch their children.
Much like the modern, overly extended "Holiday Season" that runs from four days after "back to school" through Valentine's day, Hunting Season lasts a number of months and includes various shorter seasons.
We begin in the late summer with archery season. Now, I for one do not understand how flinging a stick at a 800 pound animal is fun, but hey what do I know? Maybe it is the twelve hours of tracking the blood trail that adds to the appeal. Then we move on to early bird hunting followed by the riffle seasons for big game. There is nothing better than driving through town and seeing the severed head of a deer or elk in the back of a truck. One would think by the crowd gathered to oggle the kill and hear the story that this was a rare sight. But the men standing around the truck most likely have another such kill in the back of their own truck. Next comes the extremely popular water foul season. Men travel from all over the state to sit in near freezing water for hours waiting for the opportunity to lure ducks and geese to their death.
My own love affair with hunting was short lived. A few years ago I had the great idea to pack up the kids and spend the week at elk camp with my hubby. His brothers and cousins had not drawn tags for that season and I looked forward to the time with just the four of us. But as we drove miles and miles further from the nearest town, or even the closest house I began to feel I may have made a mistake. To make a long story short, my dream of quiet days knitting and reading while awaiting the love of my life's return did not quite pan out as planned. While my hubby hunted between the hours of 4am and noon, I quickly used up my entire supply of yarn. And when he returned to the field from 3pm until dark, I burned through the stack of books I brought at a rate I had not foreseen. By day three I was out of options and feeling the effects of cabin fever. As we packed up to head home early (day 4) I recounted my excursion into solitude and realized that having two emotional melt downs in four days may mean I am not cut out for homestead life.
But never fear hunting and I have made peace. Now on Saturday mornings the man and boy child head out sometime long before sunrise, while the girl child and I sleep in. They come home covered in mud and bearing birds to be cleaned. I stand at the window and watch my kids chase each other around the yard with duck feet as my husband makes sure that whatever meat comes into my house looks like it came from a butcher shop. I sip the Starbucks they picked up of me on the way home and hum to myself "It's the most wonderful time of the year"!

8 1/2 Buckaroo Marinade (the best thing to soak any game meat in, but don't use with chicken)

1 1/4 c salad oil
3/4 c soy sauce
1/4 c worchestershire sauce
2 tbls dry mustard
2 1/4 tsp salt
1tbls pepper
1/2 c red wine vinegar
1 1/2 tsp dry parsley
2 cloves crushed garlic
1/3 c lemon juice

mix all together and soak meat (any red meat works well) and veggies for 12 hours. grill slowly so veggies don't burn.

Thursday, October 29, 2009

Cultural Diversity

Whirrrr, SMASH... The crowd cheers. Whirrrrrr, Crash. Children jump up and down with delight, clapping their hands. Moms and Dads are wrapped in large coats and blankets to ward off the cold. With each new launch, spectators rush forward to get the perfect shot. I can't believe that kid in front of me wont sit down. I'll never be able to capture the moment with him standing there.

What the heck am I doing? Why do I think I need a scrap book page full of pumpkins flying through the air? Pumpkins, yes I said pumpkins. We are spending the day at the local "Pumpkin Chunck'n". Are you asking yourself what is a "Pumpkin Chunck'n"? Apparently this annual event takes place in small towns all over the United States. I am not sure they are all the same, but I can describe this particular one.

In the center of the Rodeo arena (what do you mean you don't have a rodeo arena?) was parked something that resembled a 1970's Pinto. As if life lived as a brown econo wasn't bad enough, lined up on the far side of the arena were five home made contraptions. They ranged from medieval trebuchets to air compressed cannons and everything in between. The contestants showed their skills as they took turns flinging, shooting and otherwise hurling pumpkins at the target painted on the side of the poor abandoned Pinto. Some hit their mark while others flew straight up before landing with a unimpressive thud in front of the frustrated chuckers. The highlight of the day was the air cannon, it not only hit it's target time after time, but shot with such force that many of the pumpkins tore holes right through the car.

This along with the preceding costume parade made up the town's "Fall Festival". Quite the cultural experience for a brisk fall day. We returned home for a hot beverage and trip to the bathroom, both of which had eluded us at the "Festival".

My husband surprised me with tickets to the "Fall Festival Dinner" at Hot Lake Springs for later that evening. Hot Lake Springs requires a note of explanation. Yes, it is really a hot lake, a sulfur spring that was once a major medical attraction at the turn of the century. The beautiful hotel fell into disrepair and the site became known for nothing more than it's rotting buildings and supposed ghosts. A few years ago it was purchased by a local artist and his wife and over the last four years they have been slowly restoring the site to it's former glory. From time to time my husband has been invited to the hotel to take part in ground breaking ceremonies. When he has returned home he has always raved about the progress of the property and the art for sale in the main gallery. To be honest I expected little more than Motel 6ish rooms full of cowboy art. Not that I have anything against cowboy art,it has just never been my style. And I had pretty much had my fill of "Festivals" for one day.

I admit that it was with much uncertainty that I got out of the car. But to say that I was pleasantly surprised would be an understatement. The large front gallery was full of exquisite art ranging from life size bronze work to a dark and brooding watercolor painting of keys that had been unveiled that day. At dinner we sat with a potter, originally from Brazil and her husband. Then it was off to tour the rooms under construction. Each room had a flare all it own and most sported attached cozy sitting rooms. The kind of rooms found at fine hotels in many large cities. We ended the night by chatting with the artist in residence. Although we knew this lovely lady socially we had never seen her work in all of it's glory. When she offer me the chance to attend a future watercolor boot camp I jumped at the chance.
As we left the circular driveway I thought back over my day. From pumpkins flying through the air with the greatest of ease to the world class bronze overlooking the valley. Now that is what I call cultural diversity!


Moist Pumpkin Cake(wouldn't want to waste all of those chucked pumpkins)
2 cups Sugar
1 cup Oil
4 Eggs
3 cups Flour
2 teaspoons Baking powder
2 teaspoons Baking soda
2 teaspoons Cinnamon
1/2 teaspoon Nutmeg
1/4 teaspoon Cloves
1/2 teaspoon Ginger
1 teaspoon Salt
1 Can pumpkin pie filling
1/2 cup Chopped nuts ( opt )


Mix everything in order given. batter will be thick. Bake in a tube pan or two 9x5x3-inch loaf pans.
Bake at 350° for 65 to 70 minutes for tube pan and less time for other pans. A wooden pick or cake tester inserted in center should come out clean. Let stand wrapped overnight before cutting.

Thursday, October 22, 2009

Where Everybody Knows Your Name

My days of going to the grocery store in my PJ's are long gone. While living in the greater LA area, I wore my jammies, sweats and even the occasional boxer shorts to the market without batting an eye. I knew those who saw me would never see me again. Better yet was the fact that someone in the same location would most likely be dressed far more creatively than me. Not so anymore. Living in a small community means that I will undoubtedly run into someone I know, my husband knows or another parent from my children's school. Not that I am an overly vain woman, but it never fails that the time I jump in my car in my fuzzy slippers I will run into that PAC Mom who wants to chat about fundraising. And I for one do not want my flannels to be the topic of conversation at the next bake sale. And so, for the quick jaunt to the corner store, I fully clothe myself in the "uniform" (jeans, hoodie and when called for hat and sunglasses).
Then there is the traditional small town complaint of "everybody being in your business". I would be more than happy to rattle on about the evils of small town gossip, but I don't really have any interesting "business" for people to get in the middle of. So, we will have to leave this particular issue for someone else to ramble aimlessly about.
Now we come to my daily trip into Starbucks. Yes, we have a Starbucks here. Mind you it's the only one for about a hour in any direction, but it is ours and we are dang happy to have it. Opps, off topic again. Anyway, when I walk into Starbucks the greeting I receive is warmer than any bar fly on Cheers could have hoped for. By the time I reach the counter, my drink, non-fat Cinnamon Dolce Latte no whip, no sprinkles is ready and waiting for me. Due to my lack of pre-caffeine brain function, this is an invaluable service, to not only me, but the community at large.
Wait a minute, I am suppose to be complaining here. Oh, yeah and have I mentioned the fact that local sales people call me when items they know I like are on clearance? Or that the librarian sets aside books about "dead English people", because she knows it's all I read?
I guess my point is that, although I miss the days of make-up free trips to the post office, I am beginning to think the trade off has been more than worth it. I kind of like the fact that the gal behind the counter knows my preference for Superhero stamps.

Baked French Toast (there are just some things you shouldn't have to get out of your jammies for)
12 slices white bread, crust removed, cubed
2 8oz pkgs. cream cheese, cubed
12 eggs
2 c. milk
1/3 c maple syrup
1 c. frozen blue
Layer 1/2 of the bread cubes in a 9x13 casserole, followed by cream cheese cubes, and then the rest of the bread. Top with blueberries.
Beat together eggs, milk and syrup. Pour over bread and cheese layers. Chill 8 hrs or overnight. Remove from fridge 30 min. prior to baking. Cover and bake 350* (325* for glass pans) for 30 min. Uncover and bake additional 25-30 min.

Topping
In a saucepan over Med heat cook together:
1 c. sugar
2 tbs cornstarch
1 c water
1 c blueberries
1 tbs butter
Until hot and thickened. Serve on the side to be poured over each piece.

Sunday, October 11, 2009

Picking Apples


What to do, what to do? With one extra hour before picking up our son from football practice on a crisp yet sunny Monday, picking wild apples seemed the order of the day.

Wild apples, before moving to The Valley I had never heard of such a thing. When we had the Fall itch to go apple picking in California we would head for the foothills scattered with over priced "you pick" farms. Here in the mountains of Eastern Oregon apple picking is quite a different experience.

The mountains around our home are littered with old abandoned homesteads. Reminders of those exceptional folks who headed West on the Oregon Trail to settle this area. A few homes stand still, slowly being reclaimed by the forest around them. Far more often the only evidence that they were ever here is the orchards they left behind. Although these plum and apple trees still stand and produce fruit, it is not the large shiny specimens we find in the stores or even at those over priced "you pick" stands. Yet these small misshapen treasures pack quite a punch of flavor.

On this Fall day, we headed up Mt. Harris to a homestead overlooking The Valley. There along side of a gravel road, three of us picked. My husband pulled down the branches while our daughter and I quickly filled our tub with these small but sweet treats. It was then that my mind began to wander back. Back to the time when these trees got their start. Who planted them? What brave woman gave up everything she knew and loved to follow her husband and a dream? Did she relish the challenge of solitary life? Or did she lose herself and her mind somewhere along the way? (I have always pictured myself in this second grouping.)

So, as I put one last jar of Apple Butter in my pantry I am thankful. First I am thankful for those extraordinary people who settled the land I now call home. And secondly that God knew better than to make me one of them.

Bavarian Apple Cake

2 c. sifted flour
2 tsp. ground cinnamon
1/2 tsp. salt
1 tsp. baking soda
2 c. sugar
2 eggs, room temp.
3/4 c. vegetable oil
4 c. peeled and thinly sliced apples

Icing
1 1/2 c. confectioners sugar
3 oz. cream cheese, room temp.
3 tbls. melted butter
1 tsp. vanilla extract

Preheat oven to 350*. Spray Bundt pan with non-stick spray. Mix together all cake ingredients together with wooden spoon. Spread into bundt pan and bake 45-50 min. or until cake tester inserted into center comes out clean. Cool in pan for 20 min., loosen sides and center with rubber spatula and turn out onto plate.
Mix icing ingredients together. When cake is completely cool spread with icing.

Monday, October 5, 2009

MOB

There are three reasons men live in The Valley (not the one you may be thinking of, but the fully enclosed farm land surrounded by mountains thousands of feet high, that I call home). First there are the locals, men born and raised here. Next, those who move here for work. Considering our limited occupational opportunities they consist of mostly railroaders and foresters. Lastly there is the largest group who move here because of their passion for the outdoors and all it offers. Hunting, hiking, fishing and camping draw many men who give up good paying jobs and the conveniences of the city for a chance to live "the simple life".

On the other hand most of the women who live here have one simple thing in common. They choose to love one of those men listed above. Yes, there are the few who are local to The Valley, but unless they marry another local, they leave. It could be the cold harsh winters, the lack of retail options, the fact that a simple trip to Costco would take 2 1/2 hours (each way) or the inability to make a decent living that keeps them from home. But the facts are that most of the women I have come in contact with are from another part of the state, or even another part of the country. This uniting fact makes us proud members of a very exclusive group, the MOB, Mail Order Brides. No, our husbands did not pick us out of a catalog and send us a plane ticket. Instead we all meet and married men from this unique area, who eventually brought us "home".

My personal journey to The Valley began 15 years ago when I met and married a former grass seed farmer. Yes, that is a real thing, somebody has to harvest that stuff you spread on your lawns. But I digress. At the time I believed that his past was just that, his past. After all he was living in LA, studying to be a pastor. I could never imagine him returning to his roots (pardon the pun). But eight years later, he received a phone call that would change everything. He was offered a job at a church with fifteen minutes of the town of 200 where he grew up. And so, here we are, living in that same Valley where he learned to hunt, fish, backpack and yes farm.

Like myself, many of my girlfriends never visualised themselves living in an area where deer season is considered a national holiday. But, they fell in love and gave up good jobs, cushy lives and family to move to a place where is is not uncommon to see camo in Wal-Mart, at a wedding or even the prom. These women include a former successful sales woman who now raises a garden and "puts up" more produce than most large grocery stores. A gifted translator who now spends her extra time motivating other ladies to run marathons and attempt triathlons. And a brilliant curriculum developer who is now fully devoted to homeschooling her three children. These members of the MOB, along with many others I have met and developed lasting friendships with, awe and inspire me. The drive and determination that made them so successful in their previous lives has never left. They still push themselves and those around them to reach higher, when what most would have do is sat down and ate a box of Bon Bons.

So, this winter, when all of the passes out of The Valley are snowed shut, I think I will call up a former exec. from Nike and see if she wants to tackle a new project. After all, members of the MOB stick together.

Corn Sqush Soup (perfect for fall days)
12 strips bacon,diced
1 med. onion diced
1 celery rib chopped
2 tbls. flour
1 can (14oz) chicken broth
6 cups cooked and mashed Butternut squash
2 cans cream corn
2 cups Half and Half
1 tbls. parsley chopped
salt and pepper

In large stock pot cook bacon, remove, drain. Reserve 2 tbls drippings and saute onions and celery in it untill tender. Stir in flour. Gradually stir in broth, cooking and stiring for 2 min.
Stir in squash, corn, half and half, parsley, bacon and salt and pepper to taste. Cook untill heated through.
Garnish with sour cream and cheese.

Monday, September 28, 2009

Domestic Art

There was a time in my life when I lived every artists dream. I got paid to paint. People invited me into their homes and asked me to create a one of a kind environment for their children. Now, I know I wasn't breaking new ground in the art community. I was not teaching people to look at things in a whole new way , ah la VanGough, or making the ordinary extraordinary like Georgia, but I was putting smiles on peoples faces, and making a pretty good living while I was at it.

These days my life doesn't seem quite as chic. Instead of brushes and paints I work in jars and veggies. Today my medium of choice was a box of green tomatoes dropped off by a friend. My creative challenge was to use up all two boxes. I warmed up with a simple batch of green tomato pickles. They made a lovely background for the relish that followed. A true challenge to my imagination as I couldn't find a recipe I liked. A splash of peppers and a few stokes of onions and things were really beginning to sing. It wasn't until an experiment with a green tomato pie (it was suppose to taste like apple pie) went horribly wrong that I was reminded not every piece can be the Mona Lisa.

I may have given up good money and a exotic sounding career, for the "simple life". But hearing my kids say through mouths stuffed with fresh relish on crackers "Wow Mom, you made this!!! It's awesome!" makes me think my new contribution to this world might just be remembered after all.

Recipe for Southern Green Tomato Pickles

2 qts. green tomatoes quartered

2 cups onions chopped

1/4 cup hot peppers chopped

1/2 cup sweet peppers chopped

2 cups sugar

3 tbls. salt

1 tsp. celery seed

2 cup Cider vinegar

Put tomatoes, onions and peppers in large pot. Mix together remaining ingredients and pour over veggies. Bring to a boil. Remove from heat immediately and put into sterile hot jars and seal.

Friday, September 25, 2009

The Journey Begins

As a teenager I always pictured the 35 year old me living somewhere in New York City. Wearing wonderful clothes that I couldn't afford, painting pictures that I knew someone would someday see the value in. After all, no artist expects to be appreciated in their own lifetime.

We'll I am quickly approaching my 35th birthday and my life could not be further from this one time goal. So the question is not, how did this California born and raised independent free spirit end up a housewife in the mountains of Eastern Oregon? But how have I fallen in love with this life?

I decided after 15 years of marriage and 7 years in exile (living 2 1/2 hours from the nearest mall or Target) to explore the life I live and why I love it.

Dilly Beans

Stuff Each Clean Jar with:
1/4 tsp. red pepper flakes
1 sliced clove of garlic
1 head of dill
1/4 jalapeno peeper
and as many cleaned fresh green beans as will fit

Brine:
2 cups water
2 cups vinegar
1/4 cup pickling salt

Boil brine and pour into stuffed jars leaving 1/8" head room. Process in hot water bath for 5 min. Beans will be ready to eat in 2-3 weeks.