Spaghetti Sauce

Tomatoes growing in the greenhouse.

                Since it is a cold, windy day and my brother-in-law gave me some Italian sausage (Thanks, Bill), I decided it would be a great day to make spaghetti. I searched the trusty Internet, and found a tried and true Olive Garden recipe posted by “mojolah” at http://www.food.com/recipe/the-actual-olive-garden-bolognese-sauce-recipe-spaghetti-sauce-354164  who states that it is the actual Olive Garden recipe, not a replica.  I used Apothic Red wine, a gift from friends (Thanks, Larry and Ellen), a jar of heirloom tomatoes Blaine grew from seed and harvested from the summer of 2011, from seed harvested in 2010, from seed harvested the year in 2009, from seed…you get the idea.  The recipe calls for fresh rosemary and sage, which I happen to have growing in a tub out my back door. Due to the mild weather, the plants were still alive, so I brought some leaves in and chopped them into little pieces. The red sauce simmered for over an hour and filled the house with its rich garlicky aroma. Sourdough bread baked today and a side salad went well with it. I lit a candle and we ate at the dining table. (You may notice I did not iron the tablecloth.)  I could say romantic music was playing in the background, but actually it was Sports Center. Because I love my husband, I had strategically placed his plate and chair so he could watch for updates from the Mizzou game while we ate. Maybe that was more romantic after all.

 

Here is the recipe:

• 2 tablespoons olive oil
• 1 onion , finely chopped
• 1 carrot , finely chopped
• 1 celery , finely chopped
• 2 garlic cloves , finely chopped
• ½ lb ground beef
• 6 ounces Italian sausage , skinned
• 1 cup red wine
• 28 ounces crushed tomatoes , chopped
• 1 teaspoon fresh rosemary , chopped (or 1/4 tsp dry)
• 1 teaspoon fresh sage , chopped (or 1/4 tsp dry)
• salt and pepper

Directions:

1. Heat oil in a large pan. Add celery, carrot, onion, and garlic and cook about 5 minutes.
2. Add meat and cook 10 minutes over medium heat, stirring occasionally.
3. Deglaze pan with wine, let it reduce.
4. Add tomatoes and remaining ingredients and stir, simmer for about 1 hour.
5. Serve over fresh, hot pasta.

Sweet Potato Rolls

I made Sweet Potato Pull-Apart Rolls yesterday from my Better Homes and Gardens: The Complete Guide to Bread Machine Baking cookbook. They are so good and easy! Adding to the flavor is the knowledge that Blaine grew the sweet potato in our garden last summer from plants purchased from a barefoot woman in a long, dark blue dress who runs the Amish store by LaPlata.  I also remember helping him dig up the orange beauties and marveling at the huge orange treasures hidden under the dried vines last fall.  We ate these rolls with a bowl of beef stew.  Here is the recipe:

Sweet Potato Pull-Apart Rolls

¾ cup sweet potato, mashed

½ cup milk

1 egg

2 tablespoons margarine or butter, cut up

2 ½ cups bread flour

½ cup wheat flour

1 tablespoon brown sugar

¾ teaspoon salt

1 tablespoon active dry yeast or bread machine yeast

Put the ingredients in the bread machine in the order listed. Select the dough cycle. When the cycle is complete, remove dough and shape into rolls. Let rise another 30 minutes or until nearly double in size. If you like, beat egg white and a tablespoon of water together to brush over the rolls before baking. This makes them shiny. Bake at 375 degrees for about 18 minutes or until lightly browned.  

Enjoy!

Arrowhead Hunting and Bean Picking

     You will remember I wrote recently about my unsuccessful arrowhead hunting trip. Also, I shared my green bean canning experiences. Would you believe both of these could come together in a happy coincidence? Sunday evening, Vanita and I decided to tough out the heat and finish picking the green beans. (Actually, she decided she was going to, and I could not let her think she was tougher than me, so I trudged out there with her.)  Stanley and Lance stopped by after a day of putting up hay, and I gave them a tour of Blaine’s garden. I heard Vanita ask, “Who put this here?” I went over to see what she was talking about and found she was holding up an arrowhead that she had found in…my…garden! She thought maybe someone put it there to play a prank on her, but Blaine had obviously tilled it to the surface.

    

    I admit I did some whooping and hollering!  I have been tramping around in poison ivy and briars and through creeks searching for arrowheads, and here was this gift, in plain sight by the bean plant in my own backyard. It is an almost-perfect, beautiful little pink and cream colored arrow, just about an inch and a half long.  Native Americans (probably members of the Missouri or Illini tribe, according to my research) actually roamed the hills of our farm. 

      Clutching the tiny piece of history in my palm, I graciously told Vanita she could have the arrowhead…after I die, that is. 

Bountiful Beans

Last night I dreamed I was snapping and canning green beans. That is probably because in the past two weeks, I have processed over 150 jars of beans. All of my children and most of the grandchildren helped in the picking and snapping of these beans.  My husband deserves the credit, though, because he planted, tilled, and fertilized the beans to create this bountiful harvest. 

Our favorite variety is called Jade, because they do not get tough like some varieties.  Here is how they looked in the garden:

In the picture below, my canner has almost reached the correct setting of 10 pounds of pressure to begin processing for 25 minutes. More jars are being prepared to go in next:

We also like to make a few dill beans. They are a family favorite, and go over well at carry-in dinners. We use Mrs. Wage's Dill Pickle mix and add a sprig of fresh dill from my herb garden.

Canning green beans is hot work during the picking, time consuming during the snapping (although I admit I was able to watch House Hunters International and the Anne of Green Gables mini-series guilt-free while working), and it takes nerves of steel to operate the pressure canner. 

The result is a product that I know is high quality. I know these beans were grown in dirt that we own. I know whose hands planted, snapped, and washed the beans and packed them into the jars. I enjoyed the comradeship and sharing with my family that went on during the process.  It was a bountiful harvest in more ways than one.

Arrowhead Hunting

"You are the only adult I know who likes to go exploring," my grandson Logan once told me. I took it as high praise. One of our favorite activities was going on exploring adventures on our farm.  Today I decided to go exploring by myself along our creek to see if I could find arrow heads. While I have never found an arrowhead, nor do I know the first thing about finding one, I would like to, so I trekked through what I am sure was poison ivy to the creek. Round, little coon tracks and sharp, pointy deer tracks lingered there in the soft mud. A green glass bottle and a complete red truck light sparkled in the sand by the creek.  I wondered if someone hundreds of years in the future would be excited to find something like that. I imagined this futuristic person telling a friend, "You'll never believe what I found. It was a light that was made for one of those huge gas guzzling trucks from back when people actually used fossil fuels to operate vehicles!"  I carried the light home and proudly showed it to my husband. "Yeah...I'm guessing it probably doesn't work," he said.  He has no imagination. I think I will set it on a shelf until I find that arrowhead to replace it.

Walking East

My last blog was about taking a walk west of my house; in this blog I will walk east. It is a more scenic route, but much harder on the legs, because there are steeper hills to hike. Since I am always thinking of songs that fit the situation, and because my Bane relatives came from Scotland, I kept singing (in my head, of course), "Oh, ye'll take the high road and I'll take the low road, and I'll be in Scotland afore ye...."  This is the low road, because it leads to our low water crossing.  Today I took my camera and looked around to see what I could share with my friends.

The first beauty I noticed was this pink old-fashioned rose blooming on a road bank.

Below is the Middle Fork of Salt River. I always pause here to soak in the sound of the flowing water, and cool off a little.

 A tiny orange butterfly feeds on nectar from the middle of this white morning glory.

Is that a rabbit over there?

 

I hope you enjoyed our walk in the country this fine Missouri morning!

You Come, Too

As I was walking on our country road yesterday, I kept thinking of the Robert Frost poem, "The Pasture" and particularly the line, "You come, too." I wanted to share some of the sights I saw with you, so today I brought my camera to illustrate the poem. Here are Frost's words with my pictures of our pasture. Come along with me!     The Pasture          by   Robert Frost (1874–1963) I’m going out to clean the pasture spring; I’ll only stop to rake the leaves away (And wait to watch the water clear, I may): I shan’t be gone long.—You come, too.  I’m going out to fetch the little calf That’s standing by the mother. It’s so young It totters when she licks it with her tongue. I shan’t be gone long.—You come, too. *  I hope you enjoyed the poem and our walk in the pasture. If you did, I may take you on more walks with me this summer.

Mushroom Hunting in Missouri

Can you spot the mushrooms in this picture?

“Grandpa, do we have to keep quiet when we are mushroom hunting, too?” our grandson asked when he was about five years old, having already been well-coached on the need for silence when hunting and fishing. Fortunately, silence is not required when hunting for those jewels of the forest - morel mushrooms. Getting outside and tromping through the woods in the spring air is just part of the fun of mushroom hunting.

This morel was easier to see.

A grove of maple trees

Yesterday, I went mushroom hunting with my husband. Morels are not easy to see, camouflaged in the leaves, sticks, and spring greenery, so it is always a thrill to claim the first spongy prize poking out of the dirt. Every time I spotted one, Blaine would insist I leave it until he could see where it was growing, adding it to his mental file to look there next year. Here are the secrets of finding mushrooms from my husband, some handed down to him from his father, who was also a master mushroom spotter. One tip is to look for a grove of maples. For some reason they often pop up there. Pay special attention to rotting logs, which sometimes provide shelter for the mushroom spores to take root. Also check under elm trees, as mushrooms may also be found there. We also search under some favorite old, big trees every year. Basically, just look all over in the woods or small groves of trees, and if you find some mushrooms, remember the spot and look there again next year.
Many people worry about the safety of eating mushrooms, and it is certainly important to know which mushrooms are safe to eat and which are not. Some varieties of the fungi are poisonous. According to the Missouri Department of Conservation, edible morel caps are attached directly to the stem, while poisonous mushrooms are not attached at the stem. If you are not familiar with the different varieties, look at pictures online, or take them to your local Conservation Department to help you identify them to be safe.

To prepare the mushrooms, we cut them in half and soak them in salt water to kill the little bugs that live inside. You can soak and rinse them all you want, but you might as well accept the fact that you are going to eat some hidden bugs. One time a tiny snail was hidden in the folds of a large mushroom, and my son bit into it. He did not eat mushrooms again for several years, even though we tried to convince him he had eaten the French delicacy called escargot. We then dip the halves in a beaten egg and roll them in cracker crumbs. I fry them in a skillet in equal parts of butter and olive oil. (The olive oil just makes me feel a little better about the calories in the butter.) The results are a plate piled high with crispy bites of goldenness that are best eaten warm. Morels are a tasty treat that are as much fun to find as they are to eat! What is your favorite way to cook and/or eat mushrooms?

Kite Flying

April is National Kite Month. Last week Blaine pulled out our red and yellow airplane kite on a windy day for our grandson to fly.
“This is the first time I ever flew a kite!” 6-year-old Jaron exclaimed in delight, as he mastered the art of letting out the string and watching the kite soar into the blue spring sky.
Flying a kite is somewhat like raising children – a combination of letting them go, but still holding tight to the family bond between parent and child. While you proudly watch them soar high, part of you is aware of the chance they may dip down once in a while, and possibly even crash to the ground.
If that happens, do what you would do with a kite, pick them up, hold on for a little while as you move ahead together to gain momentum, then lift them up and let go, to watch them soar again.

Riding on the Tractor with Dad

I glance out the window and see my 34-year-old son riding on the tractor with his dad, after helping him grind feed and sort the cattle. The image blurs for an instant as unexpected tears flood my eyes. I blink them away as I flash back to when we bought this farm. Our son was so excited to move to the country, where he could hunt, fish, and explore the hills and woods. He loved learning how to drive the tractor and was so proud the first time he raked hay for his dad. Our little boy grew up so quickly. Now he lives just down the road from us in his own home in the country. We are fortunate to be able to see him often. He still enjoys hunting, fishing, and exploring the hills and woods on our farm.
By the time they come back by the house and I snap this picture, the tears are gone, and I smile back as he grins and waves at me. I am happy my adult son still likes to ride on the tractor with Dad.

Happy Birthday to My Brother

My only brother's birthday is today. Many times I have been proud of him over the years, but I am more proud of him than ever for his positive attitude as he awaits a double lung transplant. For his birthday, I tried to remember a few of the highlights of our relationship.

Happy Birthday to My Brother


You have been there for me since the day I was born,
Even though you said, “I told Mom I wanted a boy!”
I remember the first time driving the tractor, while you picked up hay,
Daddy explained how to give it gas and put it in gear,
When he yelled, “Whoa” was the moment I realized he neglected to tell me how.
You ran alongside, jumped on the tractor, pulled back the clutch and demonstrated how to stop.
I remember driving home with you in your Chevy, taking the bridge too fast so we could jump a little on the end. (Our little secret, of course.)
I remember you carrying me to the car when my I had appendicitis, because it hurt too much for me to walk,
And feeling honored when you and Freda chose me to light the candles at your wedding.
I remember being scared, but so proud of you for fighting in service of our country,
And the joy the day you brought home that little red-haired baby.
Although they were sad times, I treasure the closeness we all felt as we were together to say goodbye to our parents for the last time.
You are my big brother, and I will love you and treasure the memories we share forever.

Winter in the Country

Today the six inches of snow on the ground mirrors that of the snow and ice in my china hutch – on my plates, that is. They are blue and white Currier and Ives plates, first manufactured in the 1950s by the Royal China Company (according to the Currier and Ives “official” website). Currier and Ives were lithographers in the 19th century, who manufactured many prints depicting life in America. The prints on the plates are mostly from the series “Winter in the Country”. When setting the table for any company Sunday dinner when I was growing up, I asked my mother if I could use these plates. As a wedding gift, my parents bought me my own set of the beautiful blue dishes. I have used them for years, and yet my research today taught me new information about them. For example, the 7-inch salad plate is called “Washington’s Birthplace” with George Washington’s two-story home on the banks of Pope’s Creek. I wonder if my mother knew that, since her father’s name was George Washington Downey. The dinner plate is called “Old Gristmill”, and includes a horse and wagon, as well as a pair of oxen in front of the snow-covered mill. A creek and bare trees are in the foreground. I discovered the cereal bowls are called “Old Schoolhouse – Winter”, with a man driving a horse-drawn sleigh passing by a school where the children are obviously enjoying recess. The younger children are sledding and running while the older ones huddle in small groups, talking. The meat platter shows men “Getting Ice”. I also have a pie plate that I could not find the official name of, but I would call it “Hauling Hay”. Three head of oxen or cattle are sheltered in a lean-to, and a man hauls a bundle of hay on a pitchfork on his back. The message of these images to me is that life in the country was a mixture of work and play, but it was good.

My husband is outside doing his chores in the biting cold right now. If I could do a lithograph of our “Winter in the Country”, it would show him carrying buckets of grain to the black cattle, puffs of air from their corn dusted nostrils clouding around their heads as they nudge each other for position at the trough. That chore has not changed much over the years. What has changed is that he will then crawl into his John Deere Tractor with the heated cab to haul the hay to cattle in the pasture. That is the image of our own 21st century “Winter in the Country,” and life is good here, too.

Why do I love to cook?

When I hear someone say she hates to cook, my response is similar to the reaction to hearing someone hates to read – somewhat akin to horror. I have loved to cook for most of my life. I remember taking over the cooking of my morning egg as a kid at home, because Mom over cooked it. I wanted the white cooked, but the yellow still runny enough to dip my toast in. I do not remember a time I could not cook pancakes from scratch without a recipe, a skill that impresses my grandchildren today. The same goes for cornbread. My dad ate it every day, so I learned to cook it just the way he liked it. I measured the baking powder on a fork, no need for a measuring spoon.
After I married Blaine, I joined the family of an outstanding cook, my mother-in-law Elaine. She made fried chicken, mashed potatoes and gravy almost every Sunday. She taught me how to cut up a chicken. She also baked bread from a yeast starter she had kept alive since Blaine was a baby, a tradition I am maintaining. Every time I put my yeast out to set, I think of her and the years of “Mama Bread” she baked for her family.
As a young mother, I baked a sweet treat almost daily. I greeted the children at the door after school with a plate of cookies or brownies and wanted to hear all about their day. We also had fun times cooked together, mixing Blonde Brownies, Aunt Rosene’s Saucepan Brownies, or my friend Beth’s Soft Sugar Cookies, all of which were best eaten warm from the oven.
Since I am on Christmas break from school, today I cooked a turkey breast, mashed potatoes, and dumplings. The dumplings were made from a recipe in the Laura Ingalls Wilder cookbook I bought when I took my daughters to visit her home several years ago. As I mixed them up, I revisited memories of reading the Little House books to my kids, and the overwhelming emotion that gripped me as I entered Laura and Almanzo’s house in Mansfield, MO.
Blaine and I filled our plates and tucked our feet under the old oak pedestal table we inherited that belonged to his mother, and before that, his grandmother. This table is the one we gathered around to eat Elaine’s fried chicken, mashed potatoes and homemade bread, all slathered with gravy.
Later, as I washed the pots and pans, I thought again about why I love to cook. I believe I finally discovered the answer. For me, cooking is all mixed up with love.