Huckleberry Picking Day

Ahhh, yes.  Once a year, it is my wifely duty to go on the annual huckleberry picking trip.  The whole idea has the most romantic sound to it, doesn’t it?  And once upon a time as a starry eyed city slicker woman in her mid thirties, who married a very passionate country boy who was farm bred and raised,  I actually got excited about the idea of  spending the afternoon out in the woods, gathering little berries to make a wonderful pies. Once upon a time….

Well reality has a way of spoiling the most romantic of notions. Our first huckleberry outing started out pretty well actually.  Dan had packed up a nice little picnic lunch to be eaten that afternoon on the mountain.  The scenery on the way to his hidden little spot was stellar for sure, although there was a narrow dirt road &  a few pot holes to deal with.  The car was not too badly damaged that first time out.  I just decided that it would probably be best if we took his car up next time, since he’s far more careless with my car than his own.

our favorite huckleberry picking spot

Once we reached the traditional Elliott picking spot, we piled out of the car with buckets attached to our belts, insearch of fruit bearing bushes. The bushes are prevalent.  But the berries are not always.  So it becomes a bit like finding a needle in a haystack.  Or hunting for Easter eggs.  A few hours of this is terrific.  But I learned that day that we do not drive all that distance to spend just a few measly hours searching for hucks.  We would stay until dark, until our feet were blistered and bloodied from walking through the woods on unstable terrain, until we had fallen into at least a half dozen holes, and bruised ourselves, until the mosquitoes had sucked all the lifeblood out of our bodies.  But worst of all, we had to stay long enough for me to do the one thing I have always dreaded more than anything else in my life.  Peeing in the woods. 

A very fruitful bush!

 At some point during the day, I finally realized I could no longer keep holding on.  I had to relieve myself. And so off I went in search of a hidden spot. (Not an easy task when you are picking berries with an entire family).  My stepdaughter had given me a few pointers on how to do it correctly.  I needed to find a fallen trunk somewhere, and squat over  it, like it was a toilet in a dirty gas station.  Lordy,  I truly would have rather just died at this point.  But off I went in search of a hidden spot with a fallen log.  It took a good 10 minutes just to accomplish this.  By now I was desperate.  I no longer cared too terribly much that I had to pull down my pants in the middle of the woods.  I prayed that one of my children, or worse yet a perfect stranger, would not stumble upon me there.  For one fleeting moment, I wished I could just be a guy and do it quick and easy.

And so I squatted and …that’s when  I discovered the whole tree log thing didn’t make a whole lot of sense…unless it was a really skinny tree.  Because as I sat there, I began to feel my hand get warm. “Please tell me this isn’t happening”, I’m thinking as I readjusted my body. And as I readjusted, I soiled my jeans. This was without a doubt one of the most disgusting moments of my life!  Thank God for Wet Wipes!  They came in mighty handy that day. 

 I think I decided at that moment that I really hated the whole idea of going huckleberry picking.  How can it be that this is like my husband’s most favorite day of the year?  So like any good little wife is supposed to do, I make compromises.  And I do this with him once a year.  Unless I can find an excuse to bail out.  I’ve gotten somewhat better at it though.  I remember to bring gloves, so that my hands stay clean.  The berries are very sticky and will stain your skin purple. I wear a hat to protect myself from sunburn and it helps minimize the yellow jackets and mosquitoes that fly around your head while you’re out there picking from the berry bushes.  I do pack some bug repellent, and try to wear gray or brown tones. (Stinging insects are attracted to reds and yellows). Most importantly, I bring Wet Wipes!

Huckleberry picking is hard work.  If you ever see someone trying to sell you a gallon of huckleberries for $35 a gallon, let me tell you, that is a bargain! Huckleberries are so tiny that it takes several hours just to collect a half gallons worth.  See photos below.

huckleberries in the hand

an hours worth of huckleberry pickin in a half gallon bucket

By the time you’ve figured in your time spent up there and a full tank of gas, those little gallons are easily worth $100 each.  But if you happen to be married to someone like my Dan, the berries are worth even more.  Why, you ask?  Well, it just so happens that this year, I sort of thought we’d go ahead and take my car up again, since it has a little more room than his truck.  And we had a son coming to join us on this day.  Well, at some point in this trip, Dan jumped into the car and drove on up the road to get the car turned around.  As I mentioned earlier, the roads to these spots are narrow and unpaved.  I heard a crunching noise from where I stood waiting for him to return.  When he came around the bend it looked as if the entire underside of the car had been relocated to the front of the car.  And there was leaking underneath as well.  He had run over a tree stump, just a little bit, while making the turn around.  Truly, the damage was not as bad as it originally looked.  And I take full responsibility for what happened, since I knew in my heart it was wiser to take his truck than my car.  And yet I didn’t listen to my instincts.

Yet, for all my griping, I must tell you plainly, there is nothing more wonderful than a piece of hot huckleberry pie with a scoop of Eberhard’s Vanilla ice cream on the side. Priceless. And so, here is my recipe for huckleberry pie. 

 Priceless Huckleberry Pie

Mix 5 cups of huckleberries with

2 cups of sugar

1/4 cup tapioca

1/2 tsp almond extract

Let sit together in a bowl for about half hour.

Pour into an unbaked pie shell.

Top berries with 1 TBS butter

And top crust, add 5-6 slits in the top for steam vents

Bake at 400 for 45-50 minutes.

Serve w/ Eberhard’s Vanilla Ice cream

Enjoy!

The Farmers Wife

Welcome to another additon of  Tea On Tuesday. Today I am sipping Orange Pineapple Black Tea from my dining room perch, and enjoying another lovely Central Oregon day. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve wondered how on earth I arrived here in Central Oregon. I am a Southern California girl at heart, who transplanted at a young age to Southern Nevada.  The Las Vegas area, where I spent most of my growing up years, is a desert.  The only thing that grows there is cactus, Oleander bushes, and weeds. I had never seen snow.  And animals don’t just graze in peoples front yards.

Yeah, it’s a different world where I grew up.  A home cooked meal meant going to The Railroad Pass Casino for their Sunday afternoon smorgasborg. Taking a hike meant driving to the Meadows Mall and looking for a new pair of shoes in air conditioned comfort.  How I arrived here in Oregon is one of God’s many mysteries. But from the start, it has been a bit like landing on another planet.  And 15 years later, I’m still scratching my head trying to figure it out.

I married an Oregon farm boy, who grew up and became a preacher, and later went into teaching and coaching. This means he knows literally every person in town, (even if he can’t always remember their names). He is very friendly, energetic, generous, involved in everything, (and forgetful).

I consider myself to be a tight person.  I have a small circle of close friends I’m fairly tight with.  And I’m cordial, but not overly personable, with everyone else.  This makes me look like a snob next to Mr. Congeniality, who continually volunteers us for any, and all, community events.  He is an extrovert in every sense of the word.  I prefer to be left alone much of the time.  I have plenty personal activites that keep me happily occupied all day long.  But more often than not, I keep busy assisting my husband with some of his activities.

Let’s take for instance farming/gardening.  My husband grew up on a farm, so farming seems to be in his blood in a powerful way. One thing I had to learn was that farmers get very attached to their little plots of land.  And they would really prefer to never move. Ever. They’d sooner sell their own body parts, than to relocate.

The farmer engages in weekly weed wars

Last summer I shared my gardening adventures here in a series of posts titled ” The Zucchini Chronicles”. Several women commented on how lucky I was to have all that zucchini. Bah, humbug.  Only a woman who has never been married to a farmer would dare to say that. The growing season in Oregon is very short. So while the idea of having a lovely little garden to go out and pick and choose all the fresh vegetables I want, any time I want, sounds deliciously inviting, the reality is that in a stretch of about  6 weeks,  we will harvest about 250 pounds of zucchini.  A variety of lettuce and spinach will also be brought in at the rate of  6-8 heads per week. Corn…oh mercy, we get a lot of corn. Carrots, potatoes, onions, peas, beans, broccoli, cauliflower, yadda, yadda. All of these things are good things in moderation.  But they can be overwhelming when they all come on at once. We have one refrigerator.  The produce drawer is broke from all the weight of the produce.  And this is just the beginning.  Last year, Dan planted an orchard as well, so we could have peaches, and plums, and apples, and pears too.

What to do with all that stuff?  Many people have suggested canning.  Yippee-Cay-yae!  Think of all the time I could spend doing something I have absolutely no interest in.  Now don’t get me wrong, because I love to cook.  And I love fresh fruits and vegetables, in moderation.  But there are only two of us living here. A thousand square foot garden, plus an orchard is a lot of food to consume for 2 people during a 6 week harvest. I have learned to make pies. (I’d rather make cake and cookies).  But farm boys eat pie.  Lots of pie. That’s why he planted an orchard, so I could make more pie.

And yes, we have learned that some produce is freezable.  But freezing produce is also time consuming.  There is a process of cleaning, drying, blanching, separating, freezing, removing from freezer, and transferring to Food Saver Bags, removing air, and re-freezing.

Anxiously awaitning another zucchini harvest

One of the things Dan likes to do with produce is decorate, especially if there is company coming.  I will be busy in the kitchen, cooking and cleaning, setting tables, etc.  I usually like to lay food out on the counter, buffet style, and let guests help themselves.  About 5 minutes before showtime, when there is nothing left to do but make sure the toilet seat is down and clean, I walk swiftly through the kitchen and find that suddenly a harvest has appeared on the counter, and the buffet food has been ”adjusted” accordingly.  Half dozen heads of corn, a couple heads of lettuce, and 3 dirt covered onions have mysteriously appeared, as if part of the buffet line.  Earwigs are scampering in all directions. The doorbell rings.

This is the life of the farmers wife.  It is a good life, albeit frustrating at times. Thank God, the season is short. This too shall pass. In the meantime, I’ll grin and bear it, while I throw another pie in the oven. Below is my recipe for French Rhubarb Pie.

French Rhubarb Pie

3 cups rhubarb, diced                                          3/4 cup flour

1 tsp vanilla                                                           1/3 cup margarine

1 TB flour                                                               1/2 cup brown sugar

1 cup sugar                                                           1   9 inch unbaked pie shell.

1 egg

Combine Rhubarb with next 4 ingredients, (left column). Toss until well mixed and spoon into pie shell.

Combine the next 3 ingredients, (right column), mix well until crumbly.  Sprinkle over rhubarb filling.

Bake at 400 for 10 minutes, then turn oven down to 350, and bake 40 minutes longer.  A quick,  easy, (and delicious way), to utilize  your rhubarb.  Rhubarb really doesn’t freeze that well.

Want more recipes?  I post recipes on two other sites.  Check out www.sconeyisland.net  and http://gatheringtimes.shutterfly.com

Blessings-

Tea Lady Darla

Unexpected Houseguests

Anyone who has known me for very long, would know that one of the things I abhor is unexpected houseguests.  Now , don’t get me wrong, I LOVE  company!  But my days are usually so jam packed full of things,  that I’ve got to do some mighty heavy duty planning to cram it all into 24 hour stretch. And usually I fail miserably.  But I’d like to at least say I came close to finishing all my projects in one day.  Probably a pride thing, I suppose.  In any case, I love expected company.  I just don’t like the kind of folks that show up at your door step to “surprise” you, as though I’m supposed to just drop everything and gush over how delighted I am to see them. Well, I am a lot of things, but phoney I’m not.  And if you disturb me in the middle of a project, I’ll probably just come right out and tell you to leave. However, I did make a tiny exception to my usual curtness recently. 

While I was sweeping up the front porch, I noticed the wreath that hangs next to the front door appeared a little lop sided…well top heavy to be more accurate.

 

Upon further investigation I discovered, (gasp), an unexpected houseguest.  Well, she was so cute, I just had to grab a picture before I shooed her out.  But then I had second thoughts.  What if she was about to be a mother?  What then?  I remembered the story of Mary and Joseph riding into Bethlehem without a place to stay while Mary was ready to give birth to the baby Jesus.  Thanks goodness the Christian side of me kicks in every now and then.  I let my little visitor stay…..but only until she had those babies!! Then she had to go. 

Sure enough, less than 2 weeks went by when I was sitting at my desk and could hear the constant sound of high pitched chirping. So I grabbed my camera to investigate, and this is what I found.

Notice the one little blue robins egg hasn’t hatched yet.  But 3 babies are visible.  Now, I not only have one unexpected houseguest, but 4, with another on the way!

Three days later, I checked again.  I still only see 3 babies in the nest.  so maybe the 4th one didn’t make it.  I don’t know.  But aren’t they cute?

I just had to share this experience with everyone.  Isn’t life a miracle?  No matter what stage, or what species. And for the record, the little family on the front porch is free to stay a little longer. At least till those kids of hers become teenagers.  I hate teenagers.

Smiles,

Tea Lady Darla

Zucchini Chronicles- Part Three

Would you believe we found this ransom note, (below),  in my husband’s mailbox at school?  That poor giant zucchini has been taken hostage. (If you missed parts one and two of this story, please refer to my older posts). There is no telling what happened to this poor little guy.  Would you believe my husband actually accused me of having done this!  If only I had thought of it first! Actually I am trying to hunt down the guy who kidnapped the zucchini so I can thank him and give him a reward for sparing me from having to deal with this bad boy on my own.  If you know who the culprit is, please have him contact me, so I can thank him personally.

An Easter Tail

Welcome back to our continuing saga.  With Easter just around the corner, I thought it would be fun to share some memories of our first Easter together as a blended family.  I am pouring myself a hot cup of Peaches and Cream black tea while we visit.  I highly recommend it. Please sit down and relax while we visit together.

No other holiday set the differences between our families more starkly than Easter, which was our first holiday together. Thankfully we share the same religious beliefs concerning Easter, that Jesus Christ actually experienced a resurrection after his death on the cross.  No problem there. We both love to attend resurrection services at our local church.  So we were good there as well.  But that was where the similarities ended in regard to how we chose to celebrate this festive occasion.

I had gone out and purchased a giant ham, potatoes, yams, asparagus, and all the ingredients neccessary to prepare a fabulous lemon chiffon pie for my new family, when suddenly my phone rang.  It was my new sister in law who wanted to know what time we would meet her on Sunday afternoon for the annual wienie roast in the hills overlooking the farm. I hadn’t heard anything about a wienie roast, I informed her.  “No problem”,  she said.  “Just bring a couple packages of hotdogs and buns, and join us on the hill.”  Dan knew the spot she explained.

Wienie roast on the hill…hmmmm.  Not sure how that ties in with Easter, but I wanted to be a good sport, this being my first year living in Central Oregon and wanting to make a good impression on my in-laws.  My kids, however were not nearly as agreeable.  They wanted to do things the way we always used  to do.  Whatever that meant.  We never did things the same twice anyway.  I encouraged them to give it a try, which they begrudgingly agreed to do. 

So all was well, until later that afternoon when Dan suggested we start dying the Easter eggs for the egg hunt.  “Who are we doing an egg hunt for?” I asked.  “The kids”, he answered. 

“You mean our kids?”, I asked in shock. 

“Of course”, he replied.

“But aren’t the kids a little old for that? “  Between us we had 7 kids at the time.  The youngest was 11, and the rest were teenagers.

“Youré never too old for an egghunt”, he informed me. 

Well I was pretty sure my 3 children would not agree with that statement.  And considering I had already broke the news about the wienie roast, I was a little concerned I’d have a mutiny on my hands if I forced them to get up early and hunt for boiled eggs.  Thankfully I was able to talk Dan into letting me pick up some plastic eggs and filling those with candy and money.  Dan was very reluctant to break off from his long held traditions of hunting for decorated boiled eggs.  But thank God he conceded in this one area. 

Early Easter morning we bribed the kids to wake up and hunt for the Easter eggs that the Easter bunny had hidden in the yard.  My poor city slicker kids were in absolute shock. The Elliott kids were used to this, so they were great cheerleaders to my 3. We finally managed to get everyone out there to search for the hidden eggs.

Secretly, I think my kids kinda liked it.  They must have collected at least $1.32 between the 3 of them, not to mention a few lucious hard boiled eggs too!

After the egg hunt, we dressed for church and heard the familiar story of Christ’s resurrection which truly never gets old to me,  But always more wonderful and endearing. How the King of the universe could be so humble and lay His own life down so that I would not have to be punished for the ignorant sins I’ve committed over the course of my lifetime.  Why was He silent while humans slapped and mocked Him?  He had the power to end His own suffering, but chose to give His life a ransom for us instead. It’s an incredible story.  It will never grow old to me. His humility, His kindness, His long suffering at the hands of wicked men confounds me. And I cry always.  I do cry at Easter.  But then I rejoice, cause I know it was all part of a magnificent plan.  The plan worked, and is still working.  And I am a part of His plan!  Now that’s a reason to celebrate!

After church we head out to picnic site for our “traditional” wienie roast….Elliott style.  the word “picnic” has always struck a cord of terror in my heart. But now more than ever. This is a picnic out in the boondogs with no bathrooms. It means we should be taking our 4-wheeler, but since we don’t have one, we’ll scratch up my cute little Honda instead.  It means  sitting  around freezing in the early Spring wind, trying to think of something to say while cooking cheap dogs on sticks. It means being stuck on location until my husband is ready to leave…some 3 or 4 hours later. 

Well, things haven’t changed much in the past 14 years.  We still have that traditional wienie roast every year, like it or not.  “Nothing says resurrection Sunday like wienie’s on a stick”,  says my oldest son, now 30.  Dan  still even tries to hide Easter eggs for our adult kids.  Little did I know that Easter is truly his favorite holiday of all.  He absolutely LOVES to hide Easter eggs! Although none of our kids willingly participate anymore, we have always been able to find a few volunteers to search for Dan’s hidden eggs. The Sibley kids, the kids I do respite care for, and now we have 5 wonderful grandkids to hunt for Grandpa Dan’s eggs.

Yes, we will hunt eggs again this year, and roast wienies.  And yes, we will go to church and hear, once again, the most incredible love story the world has ever known. And yes, I will cry again, as I do every year.  Not because I have to go on another picnic, but because Jesus loves me so much.  I have so much to celebrate! 

Blessings-

Tea Lady Darla

My Funny Valentine

I am married to the most wonderful man in the world.  I know I’ve told you that before.  But I never get tired of sharing stories about my beloved with anyone who will listen.  So, if you’re so inclined, please join me for a cup of Mango Peach Black Tea and let me tell you about my funny Valentine.

I really don’t know how he puts up with me, as I am just a grumpy, (that’s one way of putting it), half spoiled porcupine most of the time.  In fact, that is what he calls me.  I got this name because he wakes up in a good mood every morning.  Tra-la-la. And because he is in a good mood, he tries to hold a conversation with me, or worse yet, show affection in the morning!!!  Gracious!  I have tried to train him better, but to no avail.   And so I do keep my quills pretty sharp in the morning…just in case.

I actually had some pretty cool stuff planned for Valentines Day this year.  But had to switch directions completely when DHS called us and asked us to take in a 17 year old for a few days.  I quickly came up with plan B for Valentines Day.  And then I got sick.  Really sick.  I’m not even sure I got out of bed on Valentines Day. I coughed and wheezed, and slept, and drank and ran into the little girls room every 30 minutes to relieve myself.  How romantic is that?!

My husband was incredible.  He had one of those mushy cards for me, with a $50 gift card to Macy’s tucked into it.  (Men, if you’re reading this, take notes!!) He also bought me a gorgeous contemporary vase with 3 rose petals situated amongst some river rocks.  Very chic choice for a redneck I thought. He also had purchased some steaks, salad fixins, garlic bread, and potatoes so he could make dinner for me.  Oh, and there were chocolates too. Dove Chocolate, my favorite! Is he awesome or what?? 

Now I should mention that my son JP is partly to thank for some of this new found chivalry of Dan’s.  That is because one year JP discovered that we had spent Valentines Day at , (God forbid), Shari’s Restaurant!! We had tried to go someplace romantic.  But sadly we discovered that you need to  make a reservation to get into those fancy joints on Valentines Day. None the less, JP never lets Dan forget that he truly missed the boat that year.  So now, Dan has kicked it up a few notches, and JP could probably learn a thing or two from his ole step dad.

I spent most of the day in bed.  And when it came time for dinner, I just didn’t feel much like eating a steak.  “Please just make me a bowl of soup”, I begged.  And he did. In fact, he has doted on me, and served me, and tucked me in, and cleaned up the house, and even done some grocery shopping while I’ve been trying to re-cover.  On Monday I felt so weakened and worn out from all the coughing and the constriction in my lungs, that Dan urged me to see a doctor.  Yes, he made the appointment for me.  He drove me there, taking half day of work off to do so.  (Should I tell em how much you hate in-service days, Dan?) He even picked up my prescriptions and purchased a humidifier for the room so I could breathe better. Dan knows I am really, REALLY  sick when I have no snappy comebacks, no sass in me, and he can’t do anything to annoy me cause I’m so out of it. This man has spent the past 5 days romancing me like no 5 star hotel could ever do.  And what does he get for it?

Well, this morning when I woke up, I was feeling a little stronger. My Beloved came to me and tried to start a cheerful conversation and poof….the quills came out!  He laughed.  He knew I was on the mend cause  I was back to acting like my old self.  Now really, who in the world besides Dan, could put up with a brat like me?

Dan….In Real Life

Dan and grandkids on camping trip

The problem with marrying the most wonderful man in the world, is that he makes me look like crap all the time.  Yes, he is Mr. Popularity.  And I am the stick-in-the-mud realist.  This is actually quite a switch for me from my first marriage.  But I’d rather not go into that.  ‘Today let’s just talk about Dan the man. A guy who would go to the ends of the earth to join his kids and grandkids on a camping trip. He packs all the food, and urges his children to just meet him somewhere that’s convenient to them.  This works out to be a bummer for me, since I hate camping! I try to go up and meet the crew just for the afternoon.

Now let me explain a few things here.  What Dan means when he says “camping” is that he wants to go somewhere remote, that technically should only be reached by four-wheel-drive.  He doesn’t want any running water.  And he’d very much prefer to pee on a tree than in an outhouse, much less a restroom. It will usually take 3 or more hours to drive to, and another 3 hours to drive home. Yee-haw!

I, on the other hand, am a total priss.  If it’s dirty, I don’t want to touch it.  I don’t want someone who hasn’t washed his hands in 4 days making my breakfast. Call me “Monk”, but it’s the way I am. If we had a camper with running water and a flushing toilet, I could do the whole camping thing. Even a decent campground that offered showers and toilets would be acceptable.  But no, no!  That would defeat the whole purpose of camping.

Proof that I actually do go up for the afternoon

 When my 3 year old grandson asks for a small piece of hard candy, grandpa says “Sure! Why not?” Not “let’s ask your mom first, or grandma.” And he certainly doesn’t offer them an alternate treat. Never mind that it’s the type of candy a 3 year old could choke on.  Recently my beloved promised our little darlings a trip to the mountain to go sledding.  You might think that a case of diarrea should of changed the plans, wouldn’t you?  Couldn’t they have gone somewhere closer to some decent toilet facilities? Well, heck no!  Grandpa Dan is unstoppable.  He bundled up his 2 grandkids, and swore he’d be fine.  I just tried not to concern myself with the possible outcome.  Afterall, if their mother was okay with it, than I was fine with it…sort of.

Dan is a boundless, bundle of energy that seems to have no end.   He teaches science/biology/forensics at Redmond High School.  He coaches football from August- November.  Then coaches wrestling December-March.  He referee’s whenever he has an opportunity to do so, which means that many weekends and evenings he is working. He also teaches a high school Sunday school class, leads a Bible study and mentors a group of high school boys, he teaches in our home Bible study group, he is an elder in our church, and he is on the pastoral staff at a little community church out in nearby Camp Sherman.  Did I mention that he is a wonderful father to our our 8 children, and the most incredible grandfather on the face of the planet? 

Me?  Well I can come across as being downright rude to people.  Because of Dan’s many contacts through the school, community, and church, he is frequently asked to do weddings and funerals. If you should contact me when trying to reach Dan for this purpose, the answer will automatically be “no”.  Unless, of course you are one of our children. You cannot  imagine what a stretch it is, in our already overcrowded schedule, to fit something like this in.  We will council a couple 3 times before the wedding, to prepare them for Holy Matrimony. Dan has a very hard time saying “no” to these requests.  But I don’t.  Remember I am the stick-in-the-mud realist.  And God put me here to help keep Dan alive and healthy for as long as possible. I know how harsh that sounds.  But I have a feeling that just like Adam in the book of Genesis, God took one look at Dan and said, “it is not good for this man to be alone”.  And so God brought Dan a suitable helpmate. Me.

Before Dan and I were married, our families had met together in Las Vegas at the home of mutual relatives. This was our first meeting, and we hit it off pretty well, right from the start. As did our children.  In the evening our two families packed into one little mini van to explore the big city together. There were nine of us at that time, (before Lewis joined us). Dan drove, (as it was his rig), and I sat in the passenger seat, unaware that God was bringing our two families together as one.  Dan’s kids had the windows rolled down, and began cat calling and barking at the tourists.  Dan chuckled from the front seat, but never once tried to discourage their behavior. I was…well….speechless.  I figured that he was letting them be a little crazy because they were on vacation. I had no idea that this behavior was “par for the course”, normal everyday type behavior for this single bachelor with his 4 kiddos.

I think God knew that in order to seal the deal I had to be from a different city.  If I had had a chance to see the way Dan lived his life, I would have been way too terrified to commit. I actually was a little puzzled why any guy as wonderful as Dan hadn’t been scooped off the market right away. Not that he’s perfect by any stretch of the imagination! But he is wonderful, and believe me, I know it.

I am not so wonderful.  I am warning you.  I have an easy time saying “no”, and telling people when they annoy me.  Afterall, someone had to straighten those kids out.  Just keep these things in mind next time you see me, folks.  I’m tough.  I’ve had to learn to be.  I may not be the outdoorsy camping type….but I have survived 14 years of marriage to Dan, the nicest guy in the world, AND mothering his children. I may be prissy, that is true.  But I am one of the toughest women on the planet.

The Zucchini Chronicles

Seriously folks,  what have I done to deserve this?

Okay, I confess when I first moved here from the Las Vegas area, I thought it was rather charming to have married into a farming family, being that there is no such thing as a farmer in the desert where I used to live.  We bought a house on a 5 acre lot with fabulous Smith Rock views.  And my husband planted a huge garden in the yard.  I’m talking HUGE!  Like about 40 x 70 feet worth of huge! There were peas, and carrots, onions, lots and lots of corn.  And zucchini by the ton.  It was all so quaint back then….going out into the garden to pick the fresh vegetables we’d be having for dinner.  Not only was it quaint, but very practical for a blended family of nine big eaters living on a $600/month grocery budget. No one ever warned me about zucchini.  The only thing I knew of zucchini growing up near Las Vegas was that you could find it in the produce section at Smiths Food King at 2am when I did most of my grocery shopping, like all good residents of Las Vegas do.

In my husband’s garden, the zucchini plant seemed to thrive….and not just thrive but take over, for crying out loud. I tried every zucchini recipe known to man to try and break up the monotony of having to eat zucchini everyday.  I finally came upon a recipie for Chocolate Chocolate Chip Zucchini Bread that my kids seemed to love and would actually eat without complaining. (recipe below). And so I made Zucchini Bread until my refrigerator was filled to overflowing. And the freezer too.  But my husband continued to bring me newly harvested zucchini almost daily.  So we started taking bags of zucchini to church with us to give away to the parishioners.  More often than not, we had to just leave a huge bag sitting conspicuously somewhere and pray that a starving, homeless person would be blessed by it. I read somewhere that if you live in farming country, you don’t need to plant zucchini.  All you have to do is park your car in a public spot and leave one of the windows rolled down for about 15 minutes.  (Make sure it’s only one  window rolled down, lest there isn’t enough room left for you to drive home after your car has been blessed).  So true.  But this poor little desert dweller didn’t know these things when I first arrived here.

Now last month I took care of my husbands garden while he was in Zambia.  And I actually thought I was doing a pretty good job.  More than anything I was thrilled that the zucchini’s hadn’t started coming on yet.  That was an answer to prayer actually, considering I was living here alone, and I don’t care much for zucchini in the first place.  And in the 2nd place I hate making zucchini bread.  All that effort would be better spent on making one of my favorite desserts like Chocolate Thriller Dessert with cream cheese and coffee flavored filling  on a dark crispy cookie crust.  Yowsers! Making zucchini bread can be an all day chore, so I’ve let Dan know that I’m only gonna do it one day a year.  And he’s got to figure something else out the rest of the time.

In any case, in one of my e-mails to Dan while he was away in Zambia, I reported to him that things were going very well in his garden overall, with the exception of an occasional deer visitation, and that the zucchini plant didn’t have any vegies set on it yet.  And he e-mailed me back, suggesting that I fertilize   the plant.  I couldn’t sleep that night as I pondered his remark.  Could it be that all those years I had slaved to figure out something to do with the never ending zucchini harvest, he had actually been fertilizing the thing to make it grow more?  Say it isn’t so!  Surely he loved me more than that!

Well, my marriage is going to survive this crisis somehow, although I’m hanging on by a thread today as I stare at yet another zucchini harvest. Trying so hard to not cry over it. And feeling guilty for not being more grateful, when I know good and well there are starving people all over the world.  My husband reminds me of the little orphans in Zambia who get one bowl of rice every day to eat….if they are lucky.  I’m so sorry!  I do feel like the Israelites in Exodous who complained about having to eat manna everyday.  It is a bad thing to complain about having to eat the same food everyday. So I’ll try not to complain about the zucchini so much.  But could someone explain why my husband does this to me, and thinks he’s doing me a favor?!

Here are a few recipes for those who are having their own zucchini crisis:

CHOCOLATE CHOCOLATE CHIP ZUCCHINI BREAD

• 3 eggs                                                    1 tsp baking soda
• 2 cups sugar                                           1 tsp salt
• 1/2 oil                                                    1 tsp cinnamon
• 1/2 cup appleasuce                                  3/4 cup choc. chips
• 1 tsp vanilla                                            3/4 cup chopped walnuts
• 2 cups grated zucchini
• 2 oz.unsweetened chocolate, melted
• 2 cups flour                                                                      

Mix together in large mixing bowl eggs, sugar, oil, applesauce and vanilla, beating at slow speed 1 1/2 minutes till well blended. Add zucchini and melted, (slightly cooled), chocolate. Stir to blend well.  Sift together flour, salt, baking soda and cinnamon. Add to chocolate mixture stirring well. Add chocolate chips and nuts an stir till just mixed throughout.  Pour this mixture into a greased and floured 9 x 5 loaf pan, and bake at 350 for 60-70 minutes. Wooden pick should come out clean when inserted into center.  Cool for 15 minutes before turning it out of pan.  Enjoy with a hot cup of White Blossom Earl Gray Tea from Silverleaf Tea Company.  Link is in the right hand column.  Use coupon code Newsletter08 to recieve a 20% discount.

Blessings-

Tea Lady Darla