Un-Stuffing Stuff

I had to laugh when I read “The Last page” editorial in the new Smithsonian magazine that arrived yesterday. Normally I don’t venture to pick it up and read it, but for some reason today I did. Its timing could not have been better. You see, Sam and I are engaged in un-stuffing our house right now, so the article was quite apropos:

 “We are all foot soldiers in this war, though mostly AWOL. Surveys say that 73 percent of all Americans enter their houses via the garage—each of them staring straight ahead to avoid seeing the stuff piled up where the cars are supposed to go. The other 27 percent never open the garage door, for fear of being crushed beneath what might come tumbling out.” (Conniff, Richard, “The Hoarding Instinct,” Smithsonian Magazine, January 2012, p. 92.).

I wouldn’t say Sam and I are hoarders exactly. I mean we don’t have a house such as you might find featured on the TV show The Hoarders. What we DO have is loads of stuff that we’ve bought or dragged home through the years that really is useful. It’s just ended up stored in boxes or piled up and dragged along with us as we’ve moved. We don’t have a house with little trails winding through mountains of stuff—and we know what that’s like, because we do have a friend who does. Our excess baggage is mostly relegated to a back room (not the garage) and is primarily the result of our last move where we packed it all up and then somehow never un-packed it. The pile isn’t very tidy anymore either, because I’ve had to paw through it from time to time through the years to find various items. I’ve even gone and bought new things I already had that were lost somewhere in the heap, because it was too much trouble to try and locate them.

We were always good scroungers too. It never escaped either of us when we could put somebody’s cast-offs to good use. That behavior stood us in good stead all those years when we were living from hand to mouth, and it was a survival skill, because we couldn’t afford to buy new stuff! We had Good Will and Salvation Army sofas and chairs, not to mention parental cast-offs, as our furniture right up until we bought the house we currently live in. In fact, we still have my Grandma Rose’s bedroom set, because we never got around to replacing it during the furniture buying frenzy. We decided not to spend any more money.

The Christmas holidays this year were the turning point, because we were so tired of all our junk that we resolved to finally sort it out and get it out of here. It seemed pointless to decorate, when we first needed to just get rid of stuff. We’ve made great strides, too, though Sam still has not physically hauled anything away yet. There are clothes for the blind or homeless, and dishes, knick knacks, and other small items for the Thrift Store. Some stuff did get put in the trash or the recycle bin, though there are loads of things still left to sort. We talked about how we want to redecorate too, so the house will not only have more room, but it will also be more livable.

Better than any of that, however will be the relief I feel when the burden of all that stuff is gone. No I don’t want to go back to it, either. I would far rather live a more Spartan existence than to ever have to look at a pile of boxes ever again, knowing that I or someone else will have to someday go through them.

I well remember the two days I spent sorting through all the stuff in my dear Grandmother Rose’s house after she passed away. The job fell to me and me alone, because my sister and her family members could not get off work to help, though they did haul away and sell or find homes for everything after I went through it all. I particularly remember going through the boxes of old mail in her basement, and I swear she had saved EVERY bill, birthday, and Christmas card she ever received.  On the one hand, it was kind of nice that so many people had sent her remembrances through the years, and reading a few of the notes brought tears to my eyes. It got to be a bit overwhelming, though, so believe me, nobody will have to sort through that kind of stuff when I am gone!

The Good Old Days

A friend recently wrote to tell me that his life, since he retired, was now pretty peaceful down on the farm, far from turmoil. It reminded me of when Sam and I had our own little place (I mentioned in my last blog post that I had goats once, so here you go.) many years ago before moving to the Seattle area. We owned a little 10-acre farm in Northeastern Oregon, not far from La Grande on the outskirts of a settlement called Summerville. We hope to move back to La Grande (once we retire) and settle down with our horses, but at that time we lived about five miles out of Summerville in our little 10 x 40 ft. mobile home.

Back then I had long hair down to the middle of my back, which I usually wore in braids, and we had no horses at all. No, we had chickens (Barred Plymouth Rocks and Rhode Island Reds), ducks (Rouens, which look like very fat Mallards, only with black instead of orange feet), Muscovies (a “duck-like South American waterfowl”—I looked it up), Pilgrim geese, and dairy goats. Sam and I were in our post-college phase and had “gone back to the land,” which was very fashionable with all our peers. Some of them even had their own sheep and wove fabric by hand from their fleeces on their own looms. We were founding members of the Mt. Emily Co-op (the local bulk organic food store), too. That should tell you where we were at in those days!

One half of our place was in timber and the other half was a large cleared field that the previous owner had once planted in grain, probably oats or wheat, and there was a gravel driveway that wound from the county road up to where our mobile home stood. We had our own well for water and a little barn of sorts that Sam had cobbled together, but the animals pretty much roamed wherever they wanted. This was not a problem, because we didn’t have a garden to worry about, nor were we afraid the birds would get away. All our neighbors lived a fair distance from us, so we didn’t have to worry about the goats, either, and if you know anything about goats, you know they are not easily confined. I am not kidding (excuse the pun) when I say it is not unusual for one to jump a six foot fence flat-footed. The big heavy-bodied milkers can’t quite make it that far, but all the rest of them can, no sweat! No, our only worries were that coyotes or the neighbors’ dogs would bother our stock, and there wasn’t much we could do about that, short of using the .22 rifle on them.

Why, you may ask, did we have goats? Because we had a farm, we wanted our own milk, and because there are goat people and there are cow people. Having grown up with cows, and not being overly fond of them, I wasn’t at all excited about having any myself. Also, have you ever tried to manhandle a cow? They are kind of large for that. No, when Sam and I decided we wanted to be able to produce our own milk, goats won the day hands down.

By the time we moved to our farm in Summerville, we had owned dairy goats for a couple of years and already owned several individuals from two different breeds. We started out with the only goat we could find locally: a cute little white Saanen-type doe named Sally, but before long we discovered that there was a great deal of variety in goats (by the way, goats are not properly referred to as nannies and billies—they are does and bucks, like deer, to which they are distantly related). By the time we moved to Summerville, we had branched out to Nubians, a breed noted for its distinctively long, bell-shaped ears, roman noses, and rich milk high in butterfat. They also have distinct personalities and a great deal of color variation. Where Saanens are known for being quiet and laid-back, Nubians are the clowns and extroverts of the caprine world. And yes, I milked goats—about 10-15 does twice a day, every day, come rain, sleet, snow, or shine, and I have the grip to prove it.

Having the goats was quite an experience, and I definitely learned what hard work was all about. You do not own goats; they own you. Whereas with cows or other kinds of livestock, you can probably get a friend or someone you know to cover chores for you if you ever want a vacation, it is impossible to find anybody to come and milk goats for you. Some people use machines to milk them too, but I milked them all by hand, kept what we used for ourselves or sold as “pet food,” and bottle-fed the babies (that’s the only way YOU get any milk). On a farm you do not get sick days, because chores need to be done morning and evening every day whether you feel like it or not. You also make very little money, because you sell wholesale and buy everything you need at retail prices. Of course, it wasn’t an entirely bad experience. I loved living in the country, and I loved my goats—but I would think more than twice should I ever consider having them again.

I once saw a cartoon in one of the local papers which made me laugh very long and sardonically: An old farmer has just won a million dollars in the lottery, and a reporter is interviewing him wanting to know what he plans to do with all his money. The old farmer just looks at the reporter and replies, “Oh, I guess I’ll just keep on farming until it’s all gone!” Unfortunately, there is more truth in that statement than you might like to think. In fact, that’s why we got out of the goat business and moved to Seattle: We were working our butts off and going broke. Both Sam and I worked full-time at the hospital in La Grande, then we turned around and spent what we had earned working full-time on the farm, getting deeper and deeper in debt. I must say that one of the smartest things we ever did was to bail on the farm. I have tremendous respect for anyone who tries to make a living farming or ranching, because it is extremely hard work, all hours of the day and night, for very little income. That is why agri-business is taking over production of our food today.

Do I miss “the good old days?” Yes and no. I love country living and producing my own food; I thoroughly enjoy working with animals and hand-crafting things for myself. Nothing can take its place. And believe me, I would not miss TV at all, though giving up the Internet would be hard. Thankfully I won’t need to do that. At the same time I do NOT miss working so hard in uncomfortable conditions. I well remember one wintry morning sitting on my milking stool, milking one of my favorite does, who was busily chowing down her Purina Dairy Goat Feed, and reflecting on why I was there. It was so cold that the water buckets were all frozen, the milking parlor was not heated, and it was snowing outside. There was a little mouse in the corner watching me the entire time too. I never had the heart to kill them myself, though I didn’t care if the cats did. Where were those cats when you needed them? Well, I knew I had no one to blame for my predicament but myself. No, I did not hate it; I DID enjoy my life mostly, but if I were ever to have goats again, I would only have a couple, and they might well be Angoras next time!

It's Time for Holiday Baking!

Every year about this time, an amazing thing happens across the country and around the world: Cooks everywhere dust off their holiday recipes and get to work baking oodles of wonderful things to eat.

The variety of traditions and recipes available to the holiday baker is absolutely incredible. Witness all the holiday magazines that come out right after Halloween with their pages packed with all sorts of decorating and cooking advice. When I was younger (and thinner) I used to buy several magazines every year to pore over, wondering what new delights I might find to bake for my family and to give away as gifts to co-workers and friends. In the process, I garnered a collection of my own favorites through the years. Back when we had the dairy goats (yes, I had them—about 40 of them in fact, but more on that another time), I even made Goat Milk fudge one year. My husband Sam pokes fun at me, but I have a huge cardboard box of recipes I’ve torn out of magazines or saved from labels or boxes, and that’s where my treasure trove resides. There are a few holiday magazines I’ve saved too. After we moved into our house five years ago, I couldn’t find said box or magazines for a couple of years, so I had to improvise and come up with some new holiday favorites, but the good news is that when I found the old recipes, I had loads of new ones to add.

In the meantime, I really have been trying to get my recipes sorted through, written up, and saved onto my computer. That way I can someday be rid of The Recipe Box forever, and I’m sure Sam will be glad. He is a very organized person. I have a refrigerator magnet that reads, “I am not disorganized. I have anti-systematic methodology disorder.” Describes me to a T—at least with some things.

One thing always happens to me whenever this season rolls around, however. I get anxious, because I like food (like most people), and I know I will not be able to resist the yummy creations I encounter at work or make at home myself. In fact, whenever I do bake something at home, it normally goes right to work. My co-workers can tell you I don’t bring goodies to work very often, because out of the instinct for self-preservation, I don’t bake much anymore. Why? Because I know I’m going to gain a few pounds if my creations hang around at home very long. One thing I’ve found you can do though is to be very picky about the goodies you eat. Let’s face it. You’d better really enjoy that Christmas cookie, piece of fudge, or slice of fruitcake, not to mention the glass of holiday punch or Irish Cream, because it will be with you for a while. With that said, I must say that I DO enjoy holiday baking, and I DO enjoy sampling everything! No bah, humbug Christmases or New Years for me!

Of course, Sam and I have formed certain personal traditions by now. One of them is to enjoy homemade Irish Cream and shortbread cookies, while listening to holiday music, as we put up and trim our tree. Needless to say, we always have a really good time doing it, too. A few years back I also learned how to make gingerbread houses, which are great fun—and people absolutely LOVE destroying and eating them. I like to make a couple recipes of fudge and divinity every year and of course there are the inevitable sugar and candy cane cookies, and hors d’oeuvre plates of Swedish meatballs or Viennese wieners. You get the picture. By the way, do you know that if you misspell hors d’oeuvre, that Spell-check has no competent suggestions for you (drovers? dourest?)? It figures! Thank God for my three volume set of Webster’s Third Unabridged!

Now in parting, since I tantalized you with my tale of homemade Irish Cream and shortbread cookies, here are my recipes so you can enjoy them too!

Homemade Irish Cream Liqueur*

1 ¼ cups Irish whisky
1 14 oz can sweetened condensed milk (NOT evaporated milk!)
2 cups whipping cream
3 eggs or equivalent in egg substitute
2 tbsp. chocolate syrup
2 tbsp. instant coffee
1 tsp. vanilla extract
½ tsp. almond extract

Mix all ingredients together in a large bowl with a whisk or in a blender. Will keep for at least two weeks in the refrigerator.

*Adapted from a recipe found on Eaglebrand sweetened condensed milk.

Homemade Shortbread Cookies* (This is one of the easiest recipes I have found!)

2 cups all-purpose flour
1 cup (two sticks softened butter—and please, it absolutely MUST be butter!)
½ cup confectioners’ sugar
¼ tsp. baking powder
1 tsp. vanilla extract
2 tbsp. granulated sugar (regular white sugar)
Confectioners’ sugar

Preheat oven to 350⁰. Beat together the flour, butter, ½ cup confectioners’ sugar, baking powder, and vanilla until well mixed. Scoop dough into a 9-inch cake pan and pat it down, then prick it all over with a fork (to allow steam to escape). Bake until the top is slightly golden, about 30-35 minutes. Immediately cut cookie dough into eight wedges and invert pan on a wire rack to remove cookies. To serve, sprinkle with confectioners’ sugar as desired. One variation is to substitute lemon flavoring for the vanilla.

*Adapted from a recipe found in the 1989 Women’s Day Super Special Great Holiday Baking issue, p. 79.

Happy Holidays to all!