Where Were You?

We never forget where we were or what we were doing when certain hinge points of history unfolded. They’re like bookmarks in time, and we weigh all the days that follow by their measure. Like 9/11, the assassination of President Kennedy can never be forgotten. It was unbelievably surreal, something that couldn’t possibly be true, but somehow it was, and the horrific accomplishment of one benighted man was forced upon the world.

I was 16 and sitting in American History class, taught by our high school football coach, when the broadcast came over the intercom telling us that President Kennedy was dead. All of us just sat in silent shock for several minutes, and then some of us began to cry, wondering how such a thing could happen. The rest of the day was a blur; I couldn’t begin to tell you what took place.

Then there was the TV coverage. Everyone I know was glued to the TV until after the funeral was over. I especially remember the riderless black stallion with boots turned backward in the stirrups following the caisson bearing the President’s body. Like that horse, we felt we were a nation without a leader, not knowing which way to turn. It was one of the few times I can remember my mother and I both crying over anything together.

Somehow we went on, just as we went on after the horrors of 9/11. It’s what people do, because regardless of anything else, life goes on. Homework still must be done, dinner prepared, and the rent must be paid. We picked up the pieces and remade our world, hopefully a better one, and most importantly, we did it together. We are always better when we work together in doing a thing. Together we cannot be stopped.

Many of us were inspired by President Kennedy, using his words and ideals to shape our lives and the people we became. Yes, we knew he was not perfect, but he was our hero all the same. At his urging, the United States put men on the moon, and no other country on earth has yet managed to equal that accomplishment. As for me, I will never forget these immortal words:

 

     “Ask not what your country can do for you. Ask what you can do for your country!”

 

God bless you JFK. No, you weren't perfect, but we will never forget you.

On Taking (or Ignoring) Food Advice

Don’t you get tired of some of the so-called news that bombards us every day? Most of us, I’d be willing to bet, don’t pay much attention to all of the nutritional about-faces anymore, but sometimes a statement will reach out and grab you. Take for example a tidbit I heard on TV a few weeks back: Don’t wash that chicken before cooking it. Yep, just take it out of the package and cook the sucker! According to the doctor who recommended not rinsing, all the chicken bacteria will end up covering all the surfaces in your kitchen if you rinse. Hmm, you mean with the cat spit (supposedly cat saliva ends up there too—we no longer have cats) and tobacco smoke (no, we don’t smoke either)?

I usually buy whole chickens from Draper Valley, locally-grown supposedly all natural birds advertised as “Fresh Northwest grown chicken raised without Antibiotics, No Added Hormones, No Preservatives . . . Ever!” I cut them up myself (a skill Sam taught me many years ago), since that’s more cost-effective than buying pre-packaged cut-up chicken parts, and then I store the packaged pieces in the freezer until I’m ready to use them. One chicken will yield two breasts, one package of two thighs and tenders, one package of meat to be boiled (includes the backs, wings, and thighs, etc.) for sandwiches, salad or stew, and various pieces I feed off to Roxi after boning them out. Roxi loves it when I cut up a chicken; it’s sort of like doggie Christmas. Until recently, these chickens also included a packet of giblets tucked inside the body cavity—those disappeared sometime this spring. Sorry puppy dog! No more necks, gizzards, hearts, or livers—I guess Draper decided to make a few extra bucks on those, so you’re out of luck.

It’s been many years since I’ve bought chickens shipped here from the Deep South, even though they are cheaper. What got me buying local birds, aside from the fact that they are fresher, was reading an article stating that chickens from Arkansas were “washed down” with formaldehyde when they got a bit close to their expiration date. I don’t know how true that statement is, since those chickens are shipped frozen in refrigerated trucks, but the thought of it made me not want to chance it. Buying local birds seemed a better bet anyway, because that supports our local economy. Local food may not be available year round in all cases, but it is always fresher and tastes better because those varieties don’t have to ship thousands of miles and can be harvested when nearly ripe, unlike the stuff from Chile.

One thing the Draper chickens lack is an American Humane Society (HSUS) label—yes, you can apparently buy humanely raised chickens somewhere nowadays, though I haven’t seen any for sale at my local QFC. I haven’t poked around the freezer bin extensively, so I can’t swear they aren’t there. What the Humane Society label means is the chickens aren’t packed in three to a cage, de-beaked, and force-fed until they’re ready for market. Humanely raised chickens are cage-free and actually have the possibility of going outside if they want (though in reality that possibility is slight to non-existent).

So back to not rinsing the chickens: I do it to remove any lurking salmonella or other offensive bacteria and for my own peace of mind. I’m not planning on licking my walls or counter tops anytime soon, and yes, I also wash those things on a regular basis. I was so grossed out by the idea of not rinsing my chickens anymore, that I decided I will continue to do it—sorry Doc! You may be an expert, but common sense overrules you!

Some Random Thoughts on Cooking

I enjoy cooking. Fortunately, I learned how to cook from an expert: my Grandma Rose who in her youth earned a living baking pies at restaurants as she worked her way West from Illinois. After she married my Grandpa Lloyd she cooked for all their ranch hands too, until the ranch was sold and they moved to town. She had a number of classic recipes in her repertoire, all of which I enjoyed while growing up and eventually learned to make myself.

Grandma didn’t normally cook from recipes, but from memory and her own idea of what needed to go into a specific dish, and needless to say, everything was wonderful. Unlike me, I cannot remember Grandma ever having a kitchen disaster. In contrast, my Mom never learned to cook at home growing up, so it was up to Grandma to teach her after she married my Dad. Personally, I don’t think it really took, because Mom couldn’t ever really cook the way Grandma did but had to rely on recipes instead. I suppose you could say I’ve found a happy mid-point between the two of them. I will use a recipe as a guide, but I still add ingredients according to my own tastes, so I might throw just about anything in, depending on my whim that day, what I have on hand, and what I think it should taste like.

For instance, I’ve learned that most recipes are too bland for Sam and me. We LIKE spicy food, and food that doesn’t have any flavor is out, out, out! If a recipe calls for two cloves of garlic, for example, I will usually at least double and most likely triple the amount. Oregano? By the handful please—and I CAN add handfuls of dried herbs quite easily, because I grow my own. It irks me to ever have to buy certain food items at the store (Oh please! A small handful of herbs for $2.50-$5, depending on what it is? I can buy a plant for that amount at the local nursery and then have all I want later on. If I buy a packet of seeds, I can have oodles.). Now, I realize many folks live in apartments and don’t have a whole back yard of raised beds like I do, but you can grow salad vegetables, such as lettuce, radishes, scallions, and tomatoes, plus most of the herbs you normally need for cooking in a few containers on your apartment balcony. I’ve even done it myself in the past. Want bay leaves? Buy a sprig in a container at your local nursery for not much more than the cost of a jar of dried bay at the grocery store, and you’ll have all you ever need for the picking.

Today I made lasagna for dinner. It seemed like a good choice, since it was a bit cold and rainy earlier. I had some oven-ready Ronzini lasagna pasta in the pantry and all the cheeses needed in the fridge, so I bought a package of sweet Italian sausage at the store (on the way home from the stable) and was able to put it together in pretty short order.

Funny though how I can never get as many layers as the lasagna recipes tell you, and I honestly don’t know how they do it. I mean, MY sauce has chunks of sausage in it, so I can’t make really thin layers. I will maybe get two layers of everything in the pan (yup, an ordinary 9” x 13” x 2” pan), and then I’m out of ingredients. Even if I had more, any more layers would overfill the pan. I try to make the layers of ricotta thin, too, but without success. You HAVE to spread a certain amount of each ingredient over the previous one to make up a layer. Frankly, I’ve stopped worrying about it. My lasagna tastes great, and it doesn’t matter how many layers there are.

Then there’s guacamole. I tried making it from cookbook recipes, but it always seemed to lack something, and I refuse to make it from a commercial mix or buy the ready-made stuff. My big breakthrough came when I found a cookbook put out by the Rosa’s Mexican Restaurant folks (http://www.amazon.com/Rosas-Mexican-Table-Roberto-Santibanez/dp/1579653243). They did some research to learn what their customers preferred and now use only SIX (!) basic ingredients in their recipe (pp. 73-75), not 15, and it tastes great. What this taught me is that there is no substitute for research, and simpler is usually better than throwing in the kitchen sink.

If you’re pressed for time, using mixes can be a great time saver, but I got tired of paying through the nose for salt and preservatives, so I make my own now. Recipes can easily be found for whatever you want on the Internet, though you’ll need to try them to see if they work for you. Nearly all of the ones I’ve found use way too much salt, for instance, so I only add one teaspoon or even half of that when a tablespoon is called for. Homemade taco seasoning mix is super easy and much less expensive than buying the commercial ones—and as I mentioned, no preservatives. What about biscuit mix? How about salad dressing mixes? I’ve used Good Seasons Italian dressing mix for most of my life, but now it costs somewhere in excess of $2/package, and I refuse to pay that much for salt, preservatives, and a little dab of dried herbs. What about other foods, such as tortillas? Do you have any idea how EASY they are to make? And, they taste better too! Just spend a little time on your days off whipping up whatever convenience foods you might need the following week, and they work just as well as the ones you buy from the store, sans preservatives, extra salt, and high fructose corn syrup (all of which are in nearly everything these days and of questionable nutritional value—or worse). You can then store whatever you make in the refrigerator or freezer until needed. You might have to sacrifice some TV time, but I guarantee it will be time well spent, and so satisfying, since YOU made it and it’s better food.

We are so fortunate nowadays. Grandma didn’t have a garden, though my Mom did, and had to rely on ingredients purchased at the supermarket. She didn’t make everything from scratch though either, which I learned after trying to bake my first lemon meringue pie. I made it using a recipe I found in a Farm Journal Pie Cookbook, which you would think would be pretty reliable. It was a disaster. After our guests went home (Sam’s parents), I called Grandma in tears, explaining how I’d tried to make the pie from scratch. I won’t ever forget what she told me. “Oh, I NEVER make them from scratch—I use lemon pudding and pie filling.” Live and learn! Since then, I too have ALWAYS used pudding mix (yes, you can make that one too). After all, Grandma was the expert.

Here’s the recipe I use for taco seasoning mix, which I adapted from one I found online, probably at either Cooks.com or AllRecipes.com:

Taco Seasoning Mix

¼ cup dried minced onion
¼ cup chili powder
1 teaspoon salt
4 teaspoons cornstarch
1 tablespoon dried minced garlic (or garlic powder)
1 tablespoon ground cumin
1 tablespoon crushed red pepper flakes
2 teaspoons beef bouillon granules
1½ teaspoons dried oregano

Mix the above ingredients together in a small bowl and store in an air-tight container. To use: Brown 1 lb. ground beef (or warm up an equal amount of cooked, shredded chicken breast) in a skillet, then add 1/3 cup water and 3 tablespoons of the mix. Cook until water evaporates and serve.

Enjoy! 

War Horse, the movie

I rarely watch horse movies, or horse shows in general, because I deplore movies that make me cry. The same goes for most Chick Flicks. With that said, I recorded it on TV a couple of weeks ago and we finally watched it last night.

I had declined to watch this one, because as I suspected, it was almost entirely complete fantasy where horses are concerned. Two things about it struck me as very true however: (1) the instant bond between the boy Albert and the horse he names Joey; and (2) the fact that horses inspire people to great feats of folly as well as heroism. Unfortunately, most of the rest is anthropomorphic hogwash. If you loved the movie, that’s great! Just know that it’s pretty far off the mark where reality is concerned. 

Horses do not understand what you say, unless you have taught them to obey commands, and that only because they associate the command with an activity. But, they are very sensitive creatures, and they can read human emotions through their highly developed sense of smell and their understanding of body language—so much so that many people believe they are telepathic. Like elephants, horses don’t forget, either. It is thought they remember things as flash backs, so their memories are photographic. When Albert teaches Joey to come to his particular whistle, I knew that it would save one of their lives, and it does indeed.

Then there’s the incident where Joey runs through many fences of barbed wire ending where he flips end over end and crashes in the midst of the battlefield between the British and the Germans. That entire scene is a complete and utter fantasy! Joey would have been cut to ribbons by the very first fence, and the only thing left at the end would have been a heap of screaming hamburger that someone would hopefully put out of its misery. Barbed wire is a hateful thing, and there are not enough words to express how much I detest it.

Like Albert though, I have experienced that instant bond with a horse. The first time I saw my mare Hadarah was in her mother’s stall as a two-day-old filly. She peeked out at me between the boards of the stall wall, and I knew that somehow she would be mine, and I think she knew it too. The lady who bred her did not first sell her to me, however. I was only fortunate enough to be able to buy her when her breeder realized she was being abused by her first owner and repossessed her. Even so, I didn’t have the money and bought her on a contract at $200 per month for two years. That was a real stretch for me, since I was only making (if I recall correctly) about $9.50 per hour in those days. For me, it was a dream come true, because I had wanted an Arabian horse ever since I was old enough to know the difference.

As Joey was for Albert, Hadarah has been more a friend than a pet or work animal. Caring for her put real discipline in my life, and she has never failed to lift my spirits, regardless of how depressed or angry I might be. She has never had to do any hard labor, such as plow a field, but she has had to learn to be a reliable companion and to do the numerous activities associated with pleasure riding. We trust each other, which is saying a great deal, when it comes to horses; and if horses can love people, then I believe Hadarah loves me. I certainly do love her, and she’s my very best friend! Here is a poem I wrote about her, published in my book of poetry Howling at the Dark Side of the Moon:* 

HADARAH 

I see through your eyes grey pony,

Little Arab mare, twenty-one winters gone.

You feel the year turning,

The Wheel of Life moving onward.

Deep inside, you know

Winter’s coming. 

You’ve never any blame

For things I’ve left undone, and

Always a glad whinny when I come,

Asking for a treat

(No thought of my owing

Or your deserving).

You never wonder

What tomorrow may bring. 

You are the soul of patience,

Acceptance, understanding, and trust,

And I’m blessed.

You’ve taught me so much more

Than ever I taught you.

I gave lessons in collection,

             But you taught me balance.

 

*Trafford Publishing, 2011, p. 79.

 

 

Fall Trip to Imnaha

Sam and I had a few days off work this past week, so we took the opportunity to make one last trip for the year to our new place near Imnaha, Oregon. I had intended to take more pictures to share, but it was so gloomy from all the forest fire smoke in the area, I ended up not taking any. We had a great time though! And, even with all the smoke, I didn’t have to take my sinus medicine one time! The photo below shows Little Sheep Creek and the highway from Joseph as you drive north to Imnaha.

 

Sam pitched our camp at the far end of the little horse barn (which is really just two stalls and a tack room, but hell for stout, metal roof and all). The folks we bought the property from haven’t moved out yet, so we didn’t want to disturb them. Sam set up the screen tent with a rain fly, and we had all the equipment needed to outfit our kitchen and make a very nice bed. Sam always levels the spot for the tent, so he took most of one day doing that and making camp. It was ultra-comfy to say the least. This photo was taken up on the rim rocks above the ditch and shows the little horse barn and paddock. 

To entertain myself while Sam was busy, I knitted a tea cozy. I had wanted to make one for some time and figured it would be just the sort of small project to take along. The pattern is one I downloaded from Knitpicks.com[2] and requires only one skein of yarn. I had taken some acrylic yarn from my stash for the purpose, but after stopping at The Sheep Shed[3] in Joseph (a local wool, yarn, and craft shop), I bought a couple skeins of Brown Sheep super wash wool yarn in “Purple Haze,” which suited it much better. I have to laugh, because just one skein of this yarn costs more than my teapot did—I bought it for $2 at Value Village!

I took my iPad along, which proved to be fortunate when Sam discovered he’d forgotten the matches (oops!). Its bright display made a workable flashlight. It was also nice to have along so we could listen to music and watch a couple recorded TV shows I wanted to watch. Tsk, tsk. Next day we bought a box of matches at the Imnaha Store and Tavern, along with more ice for the coolers. The photo below shows our place from across the way from the neighbor's feed lot. 

 

I got to thoroughly tramp all over the place for the first time and see what it’s really like—not just down by the house and the little stall barn, but up along the ditch and through the orchard. My oh my, is there ever a lot of work to do! Those fruit trees haven’t been pruned in quite a while, but they were loaded all the same. I sampled the plums (not quite ripe, but I didn’t care) and picked some apples and pears. There are several big walnut trees and a couple apricot trees too. Of course, the deer, elk, raccoons, wild turkeys, and quail that have had free run of the place have made sure there is no downed fruit lying around. We want to have some sheep and goats to graze down all the overgrown weeds (deer and elk don’t eat teasels), and they will have their work cut out for them. If I’d had the time to deal with it, I could have brought home a ton of ripe elderberries to make into jam (that’s for next year).There is a large flock of pigeons (at least three dozen) that fly around all day between the rim rocks, the phone wires, and the hay feeders down below where the neighbors keep their horses and a few cows and calves. I didn’t see any snakes, though they are there. Probably they were hiding in the rocks trying to keep cool where they could find water. The countryside around was very dry, and we are extremely fortunate in having abundant spring water. I will never lack for watercress.

One thing you notice is that it’s quiet but not silent. You hear hardly any people noise—just the occasional dog barking in the distance or vehicle going by on the road or down from the neighbor’s house across the way. There are no crying children, no yapping dogs, no stereos blasting, just bird and insect noises mostly. I heard crickets singing (you don’t hear those in Seattle—or at least not in populated areas), and Friday morning I was awakened by a covey of quail chirping away in a nearby thicket of hawthorn brush while a flock of about two dozen wild turkeys trekked up the fence about 20 feet away from our tent. I saw a big mule deer doe jump up out of the ditch above us that morning too. The pigeons cause a bit of a flap, especially when one of the hawks is diving on them: we saw a pair of Merlins and a Red Tail while we were there. No vultures though, and the night before leaving we were gathering up our things around the little barn when Sam stopped me and said to look up above one of the stall doors. There, staring back at us, was a little owl. It had apparently come to check for mice and was waiting until we left to fly away. Earlier in the afternoon a praying mantis flew into camp and stayed a while to check out Roxi’s dog food bowl. I had honestly never seen one of those before, except in pictures. They are huge! This one was a good three inches long and wasn’t timid at all. We got a good look at it before it finally flew off.

The closest town Joseph, Oregon (30 miles away) can be a bit touristy in the summer, being popular with the hunting and fishing set, as well as with folks who like to hike and camp, plus Joseph is well-known for its many bronze foundries and the arts in general, including writing. There is world-class fly fishing in the area and celebrities come there regularly to enjoy it.  Joseph is also famous for its world-renowned rodeo, Chief Joseph Days, named for Joseph onetime Chief of the Nez Perce Indian tribe, the original inhabitants of the Wallowa Valley.  In addition, Eagle Cap Wilderness Area is nearby and is a favorite of many, being a large part of what attracted us to the area in the first place. One thing is for certain, if you want to get away from city life, Northeastern Oregon is just the kind of place you’ll want to come.

---

[1]Do you want to see what it’s like? Take a look! http://www.takemytrip.com/06glacier/06_48a.htm And by the way, the town is not located on the ridge top where the red arrow is on the Google map, it’s down on the highway by the Hells Canyon Roadhouse. It’s literally a blink town. I’ve seen espresso shacks bigger than the Imnaha Post Office.  Our property is on Camp Creek road, just southwest of town. For more lovely local scenery, look at http://www.takemytrip.com/06glacier/06_47a.htm Any wonder why we’re moving there?

[2] http://www.knitpicks.com/cfpatterns/pattern_display.cfm?ID=11240220

[3] http://www.josephsheepshed.com/

It's about the Fear

A friend of mine just wrote a blog piece entitled “Confessions of a Hodad,” about his love of (and simultaneous fear of) surfing. As a life-long equestrian, I can relate. I don’t think it’s a stretch to think every one of us has something he’d love to do more than anything . . . except there’s this fear thing that gets in the way and keeps us from enjoying it.

I used to be the stereotypical equestrian junkie who lived and breathed horses, and I can honestly confess that for a large chunk of my life nothing was more important than my relationship to them. There was scarcely a moment of any day in that period of time when I wasn’t thinking about them in one way or another. The only things I read were horse-related: books on training, books on how to ride better, books on grooming, feeding, and showing. I probably own a better equestrian library than either the Seattle or King County Public Libraries—though I have backed off buying so many books the past few years. Then there were the magazines—and I subscribed to them all: Practical Horseman, Equus, Dressage Today, Chronicle of the Horse, USDF Connection, Horse and Rider, Trail Riding, Arabian Horse Journal, Flying changes. Did I read them? Cover to cover! Through the years I’ve belonged to Equestrians Institute (a United States Dressage Federation Group Member Organization), the Northwest Andalusian Association, and the US Combined Training Association. For years I took lessons twice a week with my instructor Karin Bishop at Cedar Downs, and THEN I took care of and rode my own horses (at one point we had eight of them, counting the stallion, foals, and my leased gelding who stayed with me that summer). And equipment? You name it; I’ve got it, including three saddles. Two years ago I cleaned out my tack room and donated $1500 worth of stuff to a local equine rescue. And then I had a full-time job in addition to all that.

I mention the above, because, like my friend, nothing engages my attention more than the one subject I adore. I think I was seven when I fell head-over-heels in love with horses, and I’ve been hooked ever since. If I’m at a party or just chatting with someone at work, and I’m carrying on an animated conversation complete with gestures, you can bet I’m talking about horses in one way or another. I don’t watch all the movies about horses and riding, however. Some of them are really excellent, though most are sappy, sentimental tripe good for nothing but entertaining small children for an hour or two or a good cry. You would also be hard put to find any horse-related decorating in my home—I draw the line at having horses cavorting on the wall paper, horse covered bedspreads, towels, trivets, wall hangings, or anything else. I have a few horse figurines, but they are in their boxes put away, thank you! I do have a wolf wall clock though.

The thing is, I haven’t ridden in some time now. Part of it is that it’s been winter, and I don’t ride in the winter. It’s cold and nasty, and the stable where I keep my horses has mud everywhere—and not just “mud” but a knee-deep sea of it inside the paddock gate where my horses spend their daytime hours. It will suck your rubber boots right off! Plus there’s the fact that I have arthritis in my knees and a total knee replacement. Last year I twisted my “good” knee trying to fetch them, and my orthopedic Dr. told me point blank that I was not to slog through the mud again to get my horses, period.

So, with no winter riding neither my horses nor I am fit enough to ride, and I need to get on with my annual tune-up. That means daily work-outs for me for at least two weeks and working the horses on the lunge line for at least a week and preferably the same two weeks I’m going to need before tacking up and climbing on. In addition, they will need to have their teeth and hooves done before I start. $$$! In the meantime, I can work on getting them cleaned up and shed out so they don’t look like pasture rats or teddy bears on stilts.

So where does the fear come in? Have you ever fallen off a horse? I have, lots of times, but it seems to upset me more now that I’m older and have arthritis, especially since I got the knee replacement. I’m not as spry as I used to be (I don’t bounce as well), nor as gung-ho. To be fair to my friend the surfer wannabe, I’ve never really had a life-threatening experience with my horses—I guess. Maybe I’m not smart enough to know it was life-threatening! At least with horses, you have the illusion of being in control. Unlike him, however, I’m not content to sit on the sidelines and watch someone else having all the fun and enjoying all the thrills. I don’t jump or show my horses, but I DO love a good gallop on the trail, and all it takes to work up my courage is going out there every day and doing what needs done. Before you know it, I’ll be back on board doing the sitting trot, shoulder-in, and riding the trails. In my experience, there is no substitute for action and persistence, and the best way to overcome fear is to put on your big-girl panties and just do it.