I'm A Nut

Amazon.com sent me an e-mail with a comment someone made on a comment I made, but don't remember making. It had to do with King Arthur flour. Apparently I had said I wouldn't buy flour that had to be shipped halfway across the country when perfectly good flour is milled right here in Kansas. The commentator labeled me a locavore radical and essentially called me a nut.

Well, I guess I am. I am devoted to Hudson Cream flour, milled in Stafford County, Kansas. I use both Hudson cream unbleached flour and whole wheat flour. The whole wheat is more finely milled than King Arthur's, and makes a better whole wheat loaf.

To celebrate my nuttiness today, I made bread.

I used one cup of Hudson Cream unbleached flour and eight cups of Hudson Cream whole wheat. That required opening a new bag of unbleached.

After two rises of the dough, I made up the loaves using the ancient Way Right scale to weigh, and balance the weight of, each loaf.

Forty-five minutes later they were in the oven, perfuming the house with good old Kansas wheat.

I'm sticking to my guns. Remember, King Arthur was a cuckold.

Hanky-Panky In The Garden

In 2009 I planted two kinds of heirloom beans, Tiger's Eye and Rattlesnake, both for use as dried beans. They were tasty so I saved seeds of each to plant this year.

This year's crop is interesting. The Tiger's Eye beans look just like they did last year.

Some of the Rattlesnakes look the same, too.

But about a third of the Rattlesnake beans have the Tiger's Eye markings while retaining their normal Rattlesnake colors.

It appears there's been a little gene transfer going on. Grains of Tiger's Eye pollen have been after the Rattlesnake ladies. I'm hoping that it wasn't just markings that transferred, but also the Tiger's Eye tender skin trait. If that has happened, then we may have a new bean variety worth preserving. We could call them Snake Eyes.

It's easy to understand Mendel's obsession with plant genetics. What will successive plantings of these beans bring?

The Best Part of A Yard Sale

Yesterday my friend Carol hosted a yard sale. She had invited a few friends to bring merchandise, and I jumped at the chance to eliminate part of my over-large stash of art materials. I took bundles of small driftwood, bags of leather scraps, assorted seeds and pods, beach bones and shells, gourds, fake hair pieces, felted wool, books, fabrics and lots more.

Well, the day was chilly and gusts of wind came from first one direction and then another, but the sun shone brightly and spirits were high. The mood was welcoming and friendly. Customers chatted with the sellers and each other, and exclaimed over the odd collection. They asked questions and several people said to me, "We like the same things!" And they bought some of everything I brought and all of some things.

I took a banker's box full of silk ties, some disassembled. One family of three sat on the lawn, picking through the box. When the middle-school-age son brought a handful of ties to the cashier table, I asked him if he liked ties. He replied that he wears one to school every day. His dad, who was also buying some ties, said that his son gets teased by his schoolmates for this practice. A discussion of peer pressure and marching to one's own drum ensued. The mom bought some, too, for a total of 27.

A young woman was thrilled to find a hardback copy of Education and Ecstasy, which I purchased in the 1960's. She said that her paperback copy was worn thin and she had been searching in vain for a hardback copy.

A burly middle-aged biker fell in love with a crucifix catfish breastbone I found on the Galveston beach.  He asked if I would accept $2 instead of the $2.50 I was asking. I said yes. Then, after having paid for his purchase, he turned back to the cashier and handed her fifty cents, saying, "I shouldn't haggle over such a beautiful object."

A young man rode up on a bike, dismounted, and went from table to table looking at the merchandise. Unlike others, he didn't greet us or look at anyone or join in conversation. He kept returning to my table of beach finds, examining an engineer's compass which was lightly crusted with tiny sea creature shells but still working. At last he walked to his bike, pulled up the hood of his sweatshirt, and seemed about to ride away, when he turned once more toward the beach find table. I got there just as he did and asked if he liked the compass. He shyly nodded. I handed him the compass, saying "It's my gift to you." He murmured "thank you" and walked back to his bike, gazing at the compass in his hand.

So it isn't a matter of moving unneeded objects out of my house, nor a matter of making a few bucks. What matters is the joy of memorable, genuine interactions with strangers who leave feeling they have found treasure. It's the pleasure of finding loving homes for things I have loved that matters.  And that is the best part of a yard sale.

I was so caught up in the moment it never occurred to me to take photos at the sale, although my camera was close at hand. So, in lieu of sale photos, I offer another type of loving human interaction, although this one also involves a dog.

Zander hugs Annie.

Spider Season

Overdoing It

Search the Web for instructions for saving tomato seeds and you will find some really yucky photos of a mixture of tomato seeds and water covered with mold. The instructions declare that tomato seeds will not germinate unless they have been fermented to remove the jelly-like substance that encases them, using a process involves several days, numerous steps, and bad odor.

It isn't true. For many years I've saved tomato seeds by scooping seeds out onto a piece of paper towel and allowing them to dry. Here are some I started drying yesterday afternoon...

When they are completely dry they are stuck to the paper. Then I write the name of the tomato variety and the year on the paper, wrap it in waxed paper or put it in a plastic bag, and store it in the basement. The seeds I started yesterday were completely dry this morning...

When I'm ready to start new tomato plants I pick the seeds off the paper and put them in little pots of seed starting medium. Give them some water and a few days later they pop up. That's it. No fermentation, no rinsing, none of the steps that Web experts consider necessary.

The Little Old Man Who Loved To Can

One of my favorite childhood reads was "The Little Old Man Who Loved To Can." He canned so much food that every room of his house was filled with jars of tomatoes, green beans, and other vegetables. When at last the house overflowed with jars, he fell into despair because he wouldn't be able to can any more. Luckily he found an orphanage full of hungry children and everyone lived happily ever after.

Why this story affected me so deeply, I don't know. I only know that I, too, am compelled to can or freeze or dry every extra bit of garden produce. Currently I'm roasting and freezing pimento peppers, and happy to have some ripe ones before the first frost.

Mabel* Takes The Bait

More than two years ago our pack rat troubles began. The blower in my car was totally clogged with what the mechanic called "knitting." Actually it was shreds of Kazak's red and yellow blanket, which was already so frayed it looked unchanged to us. That happened twice, costing a little over $200 for removal of nest material.

The last straw came when the cruise control wiring in Dennis' car was chewed to pieces. (If anyone can benefit from cruise control, it's Dennis.) I bought a Have-A-Heart trap. Last night Dennis baited the trap with some good cheese and set it in the garage where our little guest had shredded some newspapers.

This morning we got to meet Mabel. Isn't she adorable? That big eye, the eye of a nocturnal creature.

Mabel was uncooperative during the photo op. What's more, she hadn't touched the cheese.

After the photo op, Dennis took Mabel to an abandoned barn a few miles from our house to release her. He wanted her to have shelter while she finds a substitute for the dog food she's been mooching from Annie.

In the likely case that Mabel has family here, the trap will be set again tonight.

*Actually we don't know whether it's Mabel or Morris. It just looked feminine to us.