New Blog Location

 I finally got myself a web page to host my blog. Hence forth, my posts will be available at bevdow.com/blog! Happy reading!

Reflections on a Pomegranate

 Last week was jam-packed with activities--trip to Chicago, a holiday party, book club, theater. I don’t sleep well when I have been out in the evening, so on top of all that human contact, I was exhausted. Somewhere along the line, I picked up COVID. Yesterday was a complete wash out. Today I had energy to do one thing, and that was get the seeds out of a pomegranate. This will be the topic of today’s post.

Around here, we usually see pomegranates in the grocery only around Christmas. I look forward to it as a break from my usual blueberries or red raspberries in my yogurt. I like to mix the pomegranate with raisins, walnuts, and cinnamon.

Pomegranate fruits are weird. The placenta (where the seeds attach) meanders all over the inside. The layers of seeds and their fleshy exteriors are separated by fragile membranes that have to be gently peeled away. I have tried various methods that I’ve seen celebrity chefs do on TV. I won’t mention names, but cutting the pomegranate in half and beating the outside with a wooden spoon to knock the seeds loose is a TOTAL FAIL. I don’t know how said celebrity chef got it to work for the camera.

My method is to score the outside of the fruit at the bumps and try to rip the fruit apart along the membranes. Then I flick the seeds off into a bowl, separating the unripe white ones and the unpollinated black seed remnants from the red ones. It takes time and patience. As a gardener, I do a lot of this kind of thing—washing radishes, shelling peas, peeling apples—and I have come to regard it as meditative. Today I thought about the pomegranate and how our thoughts about food change over time.

Humans have eaten pomegranates for millennia, even though they are fussy to prepare. In some societies, only rich people ate pomegranates. Makes sense. They would have people to separate the seeds from everything else. Many foods were fussy. When I think of the effort of loosening and winnowing the husks from grains, it’s hard to believe they ever caught on. Taro root has to be pounded and soaked overnight or boiled to get rid of oxalate. Olives have to be soaked in brine to remove their bitterness. Shark has to be buried for months so the urea will leach out (while the flesh rots—those Icelanders had to be hungry). Native Americans dried meat and berries and mixed them with deer tallow to make pemmican, a food staple that carried them through the winter.

It's hard for us to imagine spending so much time on food. In the grander scheme, however, the primary occupation of humans was finding and preparing things to eat until quite recently. Two hundred years ago, 90% of Americans were farmers. Today, it’s 2%. Humans didn’t start farming until 10,000 years ago. I used to think that hunter/gatherers were always on the brink of starvation, but recent research has shown that they were well-fed with a nutritionally balanced diet. The world was their grocery. They knew every plant and animal, knew what to eat and what to stay away from. With their knowledge and the effort they took to hunt, gather, and prep came respect for the lives that were sacrificed that humans might continue to live.

I had a co-worker who said all her food came through a window. It almost sounded like she was proud of it. This is how far we’ve come. We can’t even get off our fat asses to walk into a fast-food restaurant. We are disconnected from where our food comes from and respect for the plants and animals that die for us. It makes me sad.

I don’t begrudge the 20 minutes I give to the pomegranate.

Cookies, Chicago, Snow

 Jane came up on Sunday to make Christmas cookies with me. We used to make lots of different cookies, but we’ve had to cut down. Since retirement, we have limited opportunities for calorie sharing. Sugar cookies are de rigueur. People love my sugar cookies. I don’t know why. They don’t have any chocolate, so in my book they are NWC (not worth the calories). Christmas, however, is a time for service to others, so I make the sugar cookies. I roll and cut; Jane frosts. You may recall that we gave up piping last year. It’s fussy and time-consuming. Besides, it doesn’t even look good after the cookies are stacked in wax paper.

Jane frosts cookies

I make chocolate sugar cookies for me. I cut them in the shape of Christmas bison because bison are more structurally sound than those wussie reindeer with their skinny legs and fragile antlers. Try as I might, reindeer end up all bald-headed paraplegics.

Cutting out the Christmas bison

Sugar cookies and chocolate sugar cookies--too many for three people?

We also love caramel pecan bars. After many years of sometimes disastrous experimenting with making caramel, we finally found a recipe that just puts everything in a pan to caramelize in the oven. Much, much less nerve-wracking.

Caramel pecan bars

Due to a bad case of nostalgia, I made peanut brittle for the first time since I was a child. Part of my motivation was using up some languishing peanuts. I didn’t read the directions carefully enough, however. I thought it said “roasted” peanuts when in fact it said, “unroasted.” By the time I had the goo to the hard crack stage, the peanuts were just shy of incinerated. Even so, I’m not having any trouble eating the brittle.

Peanut brittle

Monday was a warm, dry day. Terry and I took our annual trip to Chicago. We had beer and brats and Christkindl Market for lunch, sharing our stand-up table with several other people who came and went. Terry bought a few things from the vendors. I did not. I have enough stuff. The place was packed. On a Monday! Before the kids were out of school! I enjoyed people-watching while Terry shopped.

We did a quick, uneventful tour of the store formerly known as Marshall Field (now Macy). We didn’t try to go up to look at the tree in the Walnut Room. They have closed the observation area on the floor above the dining room. It’s not the same trying to view the tree from the periphery of people having their lunch. I sound curmudgeonly, don’t I?

Next we went to Millennium Park. We watched the Zamboni driver finish grooming the ice rink before heading up to the next level. A guy was power washing the stairs. Terry remarked that it was a nice day for it, warm and not too windy. We did not challenge him but walked to the next stairway, which looked like it had already been washed. The paving around the Bean (officially known as “Wind Gate”) is done, and we were free to walk right up to the sculpture. There was too much humidity underneath the bean to seen any reflections.

The Bean--We're in the center. I have tan pants, Terry has orange gloves

We walked south as far as the Art Institute then walked back through the plaza that is a splash pad in the heat of summer. The videos of the giant faces were on. Everyone was taking selfies, so I felt we should follow the protocol.

Selfie by the giant face

Back at the ice rink, would-be skaters were crammed on a long bench looking like they could not get their skates on fast enough.

Skaters lacing up their skates

We walked north on Michigan Ave. all the way to the Hancock. As we passed Water Tower Place, I noticed that American Girl is still doing a good business. There were girls with dolls all over the place.

We didn’t go into the Hancock building to see if the Signature Lounge had re-opened. It wasn’t a good day to see the city from the 96^th floor anyway. Terry wanted to have a beer at the Cheesecake Factory, which is on the bottom, semisubterranean floor of the Hancock. The décor make us feel like we had entered Middle Earth, or perhaps the inside of a mushroom. The ceiling was made of giant bulbous, curving surfaces of copper. It’s hard to describe. The bartender got us our beers and asked if we’d like bread and butter. I don’t think I’ve ever refused that. I noticed that there were handle-like structures under the bar that looked like snakes. I peeked under the bar and saw that there were cobras aimed at our crotches. Creepy!

One of dozens of cobras below the bar

Terry insisted I see the restrooms. We didn’t compare notes, but the women’s room had individual stalls with toilet and sink. The sink looked like an upside-down stainless gnome hat. So strange.

We walked a different way back to the train station, arriving just in time to figure out how the ticket vending machines worked and make the 3:45 home. It was a fun day.

This morning, we woke to an inch of snow. The sunrise was beautiful.

Sunrise, oaks 3 and 4

Sunrise on the conifers

Snow was caught on every little branch of the magnolia tree.

Snow on the magnolia branches

The hens did not rush out to enjoy the day.

The empty run

They were in the coop.

I'm not going out in that cold white stuff. Are you?

Even though they are loathe to walk in the snow, they cannot wait to eat snow off my boots.

Bonnie cleans the snow off my boot. Nom, nom!

The run remained empty until I moved snow away from the door, shoveled a path to the kennel, and put out the scratch grains.

Eating the close scratch grains first

When I checked on them later, they were huddled in the kennel. It’s good for them to get some fresh air. And not poop in the coop.

Winter sun

 The winter sun sits far down in the southern sky and provides no heat. Often it shines through wispy clouds, diffuse light coming from a dim circle. It’s not cheerful.

The sun behind clouds

Nevertheless, I got off my sorry ass and went for a walk. It does always perk me up to get outside, even if it’s just invigoration from the cold. In spite of some gale-force winds, some of the goldenrods along the shelter edge of the field still have their seeds. They look exactly as they did in bloom, except for the muted tan color.

Goldenrod seed heads

The absence of color is pervasive this time of year. The trees are bare; the fields are either full of corn stubble or plowed, leaving them tan or black, respectively. As the reed canary grass dies back, the secrets of the thickets are revealed. Here two trails lead to bare ground, perhaps where deer bed down for the night.

Two paths lead to bare ground under the young trees

This poor seedling has been broken and scraped to death. I suspected a buck rubbing velvet off his antlers.

Sapling destroyed by rubbing

I did not have to look far to find a pile of deer poop to support my hypothesis. Deer had been in the area.

Deer poop

The creek is very low again, as we have had little precipitation this fall. It has an edge of ice that formed when the water was higher.

Ice on the creek

We finally gave up our experiment with fruit trees in the high tunnel. The peach tree got too big. We had a few years of peaches, but the branches threatened to grow right through the plastic. Also, trees pump gallons of water from their roots to their leaves every day. The extra humidity caused mold to grow on my tomatoes and cucumbers. The cherry tree never did much because the peach tree shaded it. So Terry cut them both out.

Empty high tunnel--only the peach leaves remain

I helped load the branches into the Gator so Terry could take them back to the burn pile. We were sad, but wiser. If climate change were, in fact, just global warming, we probably could grow peaches and cherries. The trouble is that the climate (as I have said before) is wonky—hotter summers AND bitterly cold days in winter. Bah.

Peach and cherry wood on the burn pile

The parsley has finally given it up. The stems are bleached white while some of the leaves underneath are still green. I noticed piles of dirt here and there around the plants. I moved the leaves aside to find tunnels and paths of mice, voles, or ground squirrels. I don’t know what they are finding to eat, but perhaps they are aerating the soil in a helpful way.

Rodent paths and tunnels in the parsley

Our Christmas tree is “interesting” again this year. Because of deer damage early in life, some of the concolor firs ended up with multiple stems. Terry picked a tree that had a twin growing closely next to it. Our tree has no branches on one side. This is handy because it takes up less room in the house, although it’s hard to get it to stand up straight because there is, obviously, more weight on the side with branches.

A tree and a half--our Christmas tree is the top of the tree on the right front

Here’s a picture of the stump.

Just right and below center, the white circle is where Terry cut the trunk

Once the tree was decorated, it looked great. Most of the ornaments were gifts or craft projects. Each one has a memory. It’s like spending time with old friends to get them out each year.

The decorated tree

There were a few flakes of snow in the air this morning. A white blanket over all the gray and tan would be nice, but it seems like we’ll have rain first. And we’ll be grateful for the water. Meanwhile, we can be warm inside and admire the cheery colored lights of the tree.

Cheerful colored lights

 

 

Butt cold

 It has been butt cold here lately. I’m not sure where that expression comes from, but maybe it is a shortened version of “freezing-my-butt cold.” The girls don’t like these low temperatures (high teens to mid-twenties) one little bit, especially when the winter wind ruffles their feathers. The kennel in the run is a favorite hangout. Silvia and Bonnie were there yesterday.

Silvia: Girl, it is butt cold this morning.
Bonnie: No shit! Butt cold.

Trudy was even further back.

Trudy (in back): I don't even want to talk about it.

Chickens hunker down just like humans do. Dottie is in the typical neck-pulled-in hunker here.

Dottie: No doubt about it. Butt cold.

I made Greek yogurt yesterday, which is nothing fancier than regular yogurt with some of the whey strained off. Whey is good for chickens, as it contains probiotics that keep their crops healthy. They also love it! I didn’t need to worry about the whey freezing because the hens sucked it all up right away. I was pleased to see Lucky right in there with the other girls. No one pecked at her, so that’s progress.

Clockwise from Lucky (head in bowl), Goldie, Frankie, Dottie, and Silvia
Goldie: No whey!
Frankie: Whey!

I was busy baking last week. The Environmental Defenders of McHenry County do a fundraiser at a Christmas tree farm every year. They sell cookies in the warming hut. I made three batches of chocolate chip cookies with no nuts, as that is the top seller, according to the woman in charge. Apparently kids these days grow up without the finer things, such as nuts in cookies. The world is going to hell in a handcart, I tell you!

Three batches of chocolate chip cookies

Due to health regulations, the cookies had to be packed up in zip-top bags. It was a lot of plastic, but it can’t be helped. This is what 72 two-cookie bags look like.

72 bags of cookies, 2 in each bag

We had a small—one might even say miniscule—Thanksgiving this year. My therapist suggested that I might be less grumpy about the holidays (which one tends to be after one is orphaned) if I did something different. Terry and I went to Jane’s for a change of scenery. Not so many ghosts there. Terry watched football while Jane and I did a jigsaw puzzle. It was very much like a normal Sunday afternoon, except for the menu. Jane made a turkey breast, gravy, cranberries, and mashed potatoes. I brought Brussels sprouts, dressing, and pumpkin pie. I’ll have a proper Thanksgiving Observed for a crowd at a later date.

Pumpkin pie

Now it’s December. Christmas and New Year’s is right around the corner! Best of all, we have less than 20 days before the days start getting longer. Can’t wait.

Rain and snow

Last Monday we had almost an inch of rain.

Almost an inch!

We were glad for the rain. Bingo, however, dealt with the dreary day but crawling in the pillow case that is supposed to protect the cat bed from fur.

I'll just stay here until spring

Banjo preferred to sit on my lap for tummy rubs.

What? Are you done rubbing my tummy already?

Later that day, Bingo crawled under the blanket that is supposed to protect the chair from fur. Somehow he worked himself into a Bingo roll.

Or maybe I'll stay here until spring

Later on, Banjo joined him.

Hey, Bro, what's going on?

Here, Banjo is either licking Bingo’s face or telling him a secret.

Psst...

I took a walk back to the creek on Tuesday. Water filled it to its banks for the first time since midsummer. Obviously, it would need a lot more water to flood. A lot.

The creek filled to the banks, but a long way from flood stage

As the leaves have dropped, hidden secrets in the tree crowns are revealed. In this case, it’s an oriole nest. Orioles weave intricate hanging nests from the branches. How do they manage that without hands? I can’t imagine weaving anything with my mouth, but there you are.

Hanging oriole nest

I was supposed to go to retiree coffee on Thursday, but the snow was blowing horizontally, and I couldn’t see across the corn field across the road. I’m retired, for heaven’s sake. I don’t need to go out in bad weather. Look at me, acting my age! We had enough snow and wind to get drifts.

The first drifts of the winter

Bingo, once again, sought refuge under his blanket. He’s so cute. I’m glad we brought him home with his brother, even though he was hissy at first.

Seriously, I'm not coming out this time

He as taken to sitting on the back of my chair. Banjo does that too sometimes, but unlike Banjo, Bingo does not chew on my hair. Good boy! It is amazing how flat that cat can get. He must have very flexible ribs.

Flat cat

The chickens were put out by the snow. They hunkered down in the coop and mostly refused to lay. We only had two eggs for the day. 

Perched for the duration of the storm

When the snow let up, Silvia and Lucky ventured out, even though it was still windy. I suppose that’s because those two are most likely to get picked on.

Silvia and Lucky go for a walk after the snow stops

Much to her dismay, Silvia discovered that the dust bath was closed for the day. Poor Silvia.

What's up with this?? My feet are wet and cold, and I need some dry sand.

The snow melted. It seems that Lucky is becoming more integrated into the flock. Some of the other girls still chase her away from the scratch grains, but she seems to find opportunities to eat. 

Lucky, upper center with the white fluffy butt,
is better able to get her share of the scratch grains.

It warmed up again, but is supposed to get down  in the twenties before Thanksgiving. Brussels sprouts will take 30’s, but not 20’s. I went out yesterday and harvested the rest of them.

Lots of sprouts

I even dug up the stems. The garden is really, truly done now.

Bucket o' stems

Now it's time for Thanksgiving. After that, I'll start in making jam from the fruit I froze in the summer.