Take Joy!

Tsundoku

Found on (where else?) the internet, so I have no idea of its original attribution. . . however, I saw it here first.

Monster in the Garden

. . . if you're a smaller insect, that is. This is a good-sized mantis, longer than my index finger. It's been so hot most of the summer I haven't seen many, but they seem to be emerging now that things are cooling off.

The Polar Dodge

Eskimos say that most polar bears are left-pawed, so if one charges you, dodge to the bear's right (your left).

What Tarot Card Are You?

You Are The Wheel of Fortune

You represent the cycles of life, death, and rebirth. You embrace change, the the ups and downs of life. Fate is something you accept, even when you could possibly change things. Big things tend to happen to you more than other people. Your fortune: Something huge is about to happen in your life, and you have little control over it. You must accept your destiny, but luckily it is good fortune that has come your way. Big things and big changes are about to come your way. And while things will be intense for a while, they will be followed by a period of rest.

What Tarot Card Are You?

 

Violets

We have a side yard full of violets every spring, and every spring we make violet jelly to sell at the tailgate. People always ask what it tastes like . . . it's difficult to describe. Sweet, but not too sweet. Crisp. It tastes purple. It tastes like spring, the same way rhubarb (and ramps, if you're from up here) taste like spring. No matter what time of year I eat it, it reminds me of those spring days when things are just leafing out and there's a haze of green over everything, the sky is such a bright clear blue it doesn't seem quite real, and the whole world is full of birdsong.

So last week I spent two hours in the yard picking violet blossoms. It's not quick work; the basket and two jars full below are my afternoon's haul. But it's pleasant work: the cats always help, the birds sing, and this time I saw a nearly unbelievable sight: tiny praying mantises, just hatched, only half an inch long at most, and nearly translucent. If I'd not been down on the ground I'd have missed them!

This is what you do with them afterward: stuff them into jars. I use quarts because I have some, but anything will do.

Then you pour boiling water over them. (I got this from one of Euell Gibbons' books;  he says to "cover them with boiling water". Unfortunately, they float up to the top so there's no "covering", but it works anyway.)

This is after fifteen minutes or so . . . the hot water leaches all the color out of the petals (and all the Vitamin C, too, which is considerable).

Then you let them sit for 24 hours or thereabouts. Pour them through a strainer into something wide-mouthed. (The voice of experience speaks here: do not attempt to pour the infusion through the strainer directly into another jar. It makes a mess. Trust me.) You will have a lovely violet-colored infusion which can be made into jelly or syrup, or frozen for use later. (That's where mine is, since I got sick before I had a chance to do anything with it.). I usually get a couple of cups from a  quart jar full of violets.

For those interested: the jelly recipe calls for 2 cups of infusion, juice of one lemon, a package of pectin, and 4 cups of sugar. Make in the usual jelly fashion . . . if you've never made jelly, invest in a copy of the Ball book. (Ball as in Ball canning jars, which aren't made by Ball anymore, but by Altrista . . . ) I can't remember what it's called (and of course mine is somewhere else), but you can get it with the canning supplies. If I remember right, it's $10 or less and will tell you everything you need to know about preserving stuff, and it's full of good recipes.

If you want violet syrup, take 1 cup of infusion, the juice of half a lemon, 2 cups of sugar; stir together, bring to a boil, and there you are. It's very good on ice cream, or tapioca, or angel food cake . . . or homemade vanilla ice cream, if you happen to have any about. (Note to self: buy ice cream freezeer this year. Electric, please, since we have no teenagers about to turn the thing.)

A final bit of interesting information: the British used to (and may still, for all I know) use violet syrup to flavor medicines.

Smaugwurst

UK trading standards officials threatened to prosecute the makers of 'Welsh Dragon' sausages because the product does not in fact contain dragon. The general public, it is felt, will be less easily misled by the new label 'Welsh Dragon Pork Sausages.'

London Times, 18 Nov. 2006, via Ursula K. LeGuin's website

Today's Probably Useless Information

Number one, William is extremely fond of cabbage . . . I gave him some this morning and his eyes lit up, and he immediately demanded MORE. Of couse, that isn't useful to anyone but me, since I will now be able to spend money on yet one more thing that most normal livestock owners don't bother with . . .

Secondly, chickens catch mice. More particularly, one of my roosters caught a mouse this morning. (Why, oh why, do I never remember to take the camera to the chicken lot?) At any rate: we have a pond, sort of, down in the garden where the chickens and geese are. It's one of those plastic ones that you're supposed to dig a hole for and sink in the ground, but we haven't gotten around to that yet . . . Anyway, I keep it filled for the geese to splash around in, and since the bottom is uneven it's propped up at the corners with various pieces of log and an old plastic tray (which I believe was originally intended for people changing oil in their cars) beside it for the little chickens to step up on if they want to drink.

This morning I decided to dump it out and move it over a few feet, since the ground below is getting pretty beaten up, what with geese stomping around there, and turkeys and chickens too, and us emptying it periodically. So I pulled out all the wood props, dumped the water, got it situated six feet or so further down and repropped, and began to refill it.

Then I went back to pick up the plastic tray . . . and when I did, a mouse nest and two mice were under it . . . probably preparing to raise a family or several this spring. The mice escaped and ran about madly as mice do, the chickens ran about madly chasing them (and so did Emily, one of the turkey hens, but she lost interest pretty quickly and went back to her squash rind), and I tried my best to squelch my "oooh, cute mice! don't hurt them!" reflex. The mice disappeared, the chickens went back to eating, and I went back to scattering corn down in the wooded area at the end of the garden. (I am encouraging chickens to go down that way and scratch and fertilize; the soil's pretty poor at that end. I might as well get all the "free" fertilizer I can before we have to turn them back into their lot this spring.)

So I look up, and there is one of the game-cross roosters strutting purposefully across the lot with a dead mouse in his beak! This rooster is one of some chickens someone gave me; out of fifteen or so, six turned out to be roosters. They seem to be crossed with game chickens, and they are constantly squabbling with each other and harassing my hens . . . at least five of them are headed for the pot pretty soon—the other one is banty-size and cute, and may get to stay around, if he minds his manners. The mouse-catcher is one of the more obnoxious of the five, but he may have stayed his execution for a while . . . if only so I can keep an eye on what else he might catch!

Just my modest contribution to the world's store of mostly-useless knowledge . . .