2:24:00

My yes, I do believe that is a PR.

With hills.

Granted, it's only 11 seconds faster than my last half, but with the hills, I'll take it.

And I'll be having my race fries now.

More later.

Seriously. Really. Totally done with the sweater.

Seamless Hybrid Sweater
Pattern: Elizabeth Zimmerman
Yarn: Cascade 220 Superwash in Navy (854)
Needles: Addi Turbos 6 & 7 (12" & 24"), Yarn needle, Wool needle
Raveled

In just a shade under three months, I've managed to actually really finish Bubba's sweater and WOW it doesn't look like horse shit.

I mean, WOW. WOW, people!

And, really, thank gawd.

Because if after the ordering and returning and reordering of yarn, needles and books, all the math and figuring and feeling retarded, the ripping and reworking and inventing of careful labeling systems, the knitting, reknitting and reknitting yet again of the collar, this thing didn't look awesome and fit awesome and machine wash/dry awesome - someone would have to die.

Like, I would have so much rage and disappointment and sadness and woe that I'd either have to throw myself into traffic or give up knitting altogether.

THAT is how serious this was.

But serious is so boring and scary, so let's instead enjoy the not boring, serious or scariness of TEE DAH! the finished Seamless Hybrid Sweater for Bubba.

We don't really do serious around here anyway.

When asked to model the cuffs, he struck a pose common to his early teenage years. Kidding.

This is when he noticed that Jada had been helping me knit his sweater, too. Thanks, puppy!

I had to view the collar and shoulder panels from every angle because, let's face it, there's not much else to see.

Who has two fingers and an awesome sweater they'll wear everyday in the winter time? Bubba does.

Perhaps we're all just a little relieved that it's done.

So, now, obviously, I'll be knitting myself a sweater. A top down raglan one. Likely from this same book and likely in some sort of non-wool, machine wash/dry yarn. Taupe maybe. Or cream.

Don't worry, I'll tell you alllllllllll about it. Later.

For now though, I'm off to Seattle to try to kill myself running hills. Wish me luck! Or just, at least, cross your fingers that I make it across the finish line without bringing shame upon myself in a very public and grotesque way.

That new hobby I was talking about.

I know the exact moment when the germ of this new hobby of mine was planted in my pea brain.

I was shuttling into the city on BART about a decade ago, listening to some piece on NPR about an area in the south somewhere where they were recruiting people to become beekeepers.

"Learn how to keep bees! Help raise pollinators for local crops! Wear a hazmat looking outfit and freak out your neighbors!", they'd cried.

OK, so nothing about the hazmat suit specifically, but that did come to mind at the time, mostly because we had neighbors whose trash sort of required the wearing of a hazmat suit and I think I fantasized about the efficiency of having one on hand.

But the story was interesting and they had some colorful folks sharing their stories of interacting with bees in a keeping scenario and it was cool to hear about how local farmers would call them out to their fields with their boxes of bees to help pollinate their crops.

Neato. And, hey! I'm not even afraid of bees - so, no scary factor.

At the time though, that's about as far as my brain went with this faraway story of bees in boxes and people in hats with veils. And then it sat, this story, in the back of my mind gathering strength until a few months ago when I saw a post on the Love Apple Farm blog for a beekeeping class.

I am not even lying when I say that I signed up as soon as I read the post. In fact, I may not have even read the whole post. I think I just saw, "Class: Natural Bee-keeping" and scrolled down until I found a place to sign up. I thought I might have been the first to sign up, but I heard Cynthia say something to the effect of "Oh! You were our first sign up!" when checking in this First Signer Upper as I was wondering their gardens last weekend, so boo.

Thankfully I had these poppies to ogle, so I wasn't that sad.

She did, however, remember my name, but that could have been for any number of reasons that I assume had nothing to do with a thorough background check.

Ahem.

Let it never be said that I'm anything other than a self-involved child, obsessed with seeking the approval and recognition of those around me, OK.

So yeah, I took a beekeeping class. With the intention of keeping bees sometime in the near future. Of course, I come to find out in this class that starting a hive is something you do in the spring rather than in the dead heat of summer, but that's OK, I'll just have to do a shitload of research and ordering and perhaps helping of local beekeepers before I start a hive of my own and also stocking our house with EpiPens because you know that Bubba is allergic to bees.

Bless this man, he has always supported this idea of mine. To be a beekeeper. Granted, I've never said anything about doing it on any grand scale or making it my livelihood or tearing down his garage to set up rows of hives, but even from my way back days of sharing our "What if" jobs, he always said it was cool! you should do it.

He wasn't as wild about my desire to raise goats to rent out to people with grassy fire-loving fields, but that's because he hates goats more than he hates dying of anaphylactic shock, so nothing against me or my bizarre "What if" jobs, specifically, since he would have had the same reaction to me wanting to raise turkeys - another creature he hates at least as much as goats.

Maybe I should tell him I want a potbellied pig.

I have not entertained the idea of chickens, although I hear that's becoming a popular hobby as well. But I visited the chickens at Love Apple Farms - even bought some of their fabulous eggs - but I'm not having that brand of stinky in my yard and plus Jada would probably do in my flock before I got Egg 1. Plus, I am not really an egg person and Bubba would kill the Rooster the second he crowed before 6am, so meh.

WHATEVER I'M GOING TO KEEP BEES AND THAT IS THE POINT.

Those little white dots are bees going back to the hive. Like you couldn't have figured that out.

And the class was very well done, even to the point where I got to stand on the approach path to the hives and let the bees just land all over me while our instructor moved frames around in the hives with her bare hands.


Plus, I got to roam all around Love Apple Farms, which is glorious and interesting in its own right, and which made the event even more supah perfect. I basically dorked out on a lot of levels and took pictures of a lot of vegetables without anyone thinking (out loud anyway) what a freak I was because they were doing it, too.


Ah, the joy of being around people who are dorky in the same way that you are dorky - it's liberating really. Like not having to suck it in at a wedding because you decided to wear a maxi dress instead of that tight strapless thing so YAY you can eat dinner and then not look like you swallowed a watermelon.

This photo has nothing to do with looking like a whale at a wedding, but isn't it nice just the same?

So, now you know my "I'm taking up yet another new hobby" news and I can go back to weaving in the ends of Bubba's sweater.

Because it's done.

But we'll talk about that tomorrow or something.

You can eat my childhood, too. [RECIPES]

I'll save my fun "I'm taking up yet another new hobby" news for later because it's apparently vital that I share my mom's challah recipe NOW.

Not that I blame you for wanting this recipe, I've talked it up enough and, well, it's quite good.

I will say, however, that while my great grandbubbie did use a version of this recipe, she omitted what I consider to be The Crucial Turmeric, and so I associate my personal childhood of Fridays making challah with my mom with this recipe rather than hers because, well, I ate more of this particular blend.

It's a good blend.

I will also say that while these are both excellent blends of challah, it is not a Secret Home Recipe that came over from The Old Country sewn into my great great grandma's housecoat or anything. No, like many family recipes to which I find myself irretrievably attached, this recipe came from a send-away cookbook.

Like, when back in the day there wasn't any Internets, and you would send a request away to, say, Fleischmann's for their "Everything You Need To Know About Yeast Baking" booklet and then, 6-8 weeks later, you'd get a little package in the mail which included all those things you needed to know to use their yeast forever and ever.

And, if you were lucky, this little package would also include some glorious-looking baked items photographed in the most barftastic of stagings which would involve plastic flower arrangements, blinding flashbulb blow outs and heinous oilcloth place mats.

But you've seen this kind of thing before, so I don't need to go into too much detail. The photos in the Fleischmann's cookbook are about the same, which is to say that they are AWESOMELY FUNNY and I've already asked my mom to leave me this cookbook in her will. Complete with the deteriorating rubber band that is holding the book forever open to the challah recipe.

Thankfully, and unlike the Weight Watchers cards, the food itself in this cookbook is nothing short of amazing. I begged my mom to make no fewer than three of the items and then openly swooned at things like Moravian Orange Cake, Cinnamon Swirl Bread and then something with a Russian name that I couldn't pronounce but looked exactly like heaven would if it were made of fluffy bread.

I can see why my family has a lifelong devotion to Fleischmann's yeast. Clearly, these people know exactly what the fuck they're talking about when it comes to baking things. Delicious, fluffy, Imusthaveitnow kind of things.

Speaking of which, here's my mom's challah recipe, which originally came from Fleischmann's "Everything You Need to Know about Yeast Baking" booklet and to which I made one small change.

I dare you to not love this.

Mom's Challah
From Fleischmann's "Everything You Need to Know About Yeast Baking"
My changes in BOLD
My mom's changes in italics

Makes 2 loaves

Ingredients
4 1/2 - 5 1/2 cups white flour
2 T sugar
1 1/2 t salt
1 package of yeast (I think you know what kind they want you to use, but I won't tell.)
1/3 cup softened unsalted butter
1 t ground turmeric (or saffron, if you have it)
1 cup very warm tap water
4 eggs at room temp
1 t cold water
1/4 t poppy seeds (use sesame seeds and die)

To make
In a your mixer or a large bowl thoroughly mix 1 1/4 cups flour, sugar, salt and undissolved active dry yeast. Add your butter.

Dissolve the turmeric in very warm tap water. Gradually add to dry ingredients and beat 2 minutes at medium speed, scraping the bowl as necessary.

Add 3 of your eggs, 1 egg white (save the yolk for use later on) and 1/2 cup of flour. Beat at high speed until smooth and scrape if you need to.

Stir in enough additional flour to make a soft dough that pulls away from the sides of the bowl (around 2 3/4 cups). I find that using your dough hook is good here, if you've got one.

Turn the dough out onto a lightly floured surface and knead until smooth and elastic, adding a little flour as you go if it starts to get sticky. Do this for about 10 minutes. All the while marveling at the glorious yellow hue.

THAT IS HOT.

Place this HOT looking dough in an oiled bowl and cover with a towel. Let it rise in a warm place (like inside your oven without turning it on) for an hour or so.

Punch dough down, turn it out onto a floured surface and divide in half. Divide each of those halves into three pieces and roll each of those (six pieces now) into snakes. If you call them ropes, that's fine, but know that it's not as fun as calling them snakes and that is what you need to make it Authentic Just Like Finny's Childhood.

So you know.

Once you have all your snakes, pinch three together at the top and braid them together. Sealing again at the bottom by pinching the dough.

Do this for the other three snakes, too, and then place the loaves onto a lightly sprayed baking sheet.

Beat the leftie-over yolk with the cold water and brush onto the tops of the loaves before sprinkling liberally with poppy seeds. Don't cheap out on the poppy seeds because you know it'll keep you from having the authentic experience you desire.

Let this rise in the oven again for another hour or until it doubles in size.

Bake the loaves side by side like little best friends at 375 for about 20-25 minutes or until they're a delicious looking shiny brown on top and make a hollow sound when you GENTLY DAMN IT knock on them.

Let cool on wire racks and then proceed to eat an entire loaf in 3 days, which maybe includes building a Sin Sandwich from two slices of challah, some very thinly sliced prosciutto (damn you delicious treyf) and asiago cheese which becomes severely naughty when paired with the Extra Naughty salt-cured ham.

Also, because I was mean and teased you with a story about how I baked challah and then didn't give you the recipe, I'm throwing in a Squash Killer recipe that, incidentally, goes ruuuully well with a nice big hump of challah. And is an alternative for those of you who aren't the worst Jews in the Whole Wide World like yours truly, and perhaps don't want to offend everyone with your Kosher-ignoring ways.

You may not be struck down at your dining room table for eating this. *MAY*, I said.

Carrot Zucchini Bisque

From Lean and Delicious Cookbook (out of print)
Adapted by the Live Earth Farm recipe database
My changes in BOLD

Ingredients
1 c water
6 large carrots - peeled and cut into 1 inch pieces
2 medium zucchini or summer squash, cut into 1 inch pieces
2 cups of whole milk
2 T flour
1 t fresh ground pepper
1/4 t Vietnamese cinnamon
3 cubes of chicken bouillon
2 T extra virgins

To make
Add carrots and water to medium sized saucepan, cover and bring to a boil. Cook for 10 minutes. Add zucchini and cook for another five minutes.

Remove pan from heat and drain liquid.

Puree vegetables in a food processor or blender until smooth. Transfer back to your pot and add milk. Place over medium heat, uncovered, and stir constantly with a wire whisk, slowly incorporating the flour. Then add the black pepper, cinnamon and olive oil. Add bouillon and stir until dissolved. Heat and stir for about five more minutes and serve, garnished with extra virgins, some parsley, freshly roasted green beans from your garden and a big hump of challah, if you have it lying around.

I recommend eating this on your new patio while looking at the beans on the tepee which you'll eat in just a few days' time.

Craft: along June - What I should have been doing when it was not hot

Dear Donk,

The weather this month has me all backward and my brain is having a really hard time reconciling what it wants to be doing with what it should be doing.

See, it was unseasonably cool the first few weeks of June, and so you'd think this would have been the perfect time for doing things like finishing long overdue sweaters and baking things like this month's Craft: along project - carrot cake cookies.

But no.

I dillied. I dallied. I spent full days fucking around in the yard (which, granted, is a great thing to do when it's not blazing hot, but still). I rode my bike around town to the library and such. I went to lunch with friends. The dog and I went to the beach.

You know - I did things that you do when it's HOT out, not when it's cool out.

What I should have been doing was finishing this sweater while I could still stand being within arm's reach of wool and baking things in my oven while I could still stand to be in my house with the oven on.

But I think this is where my Bizarro World Psyche steps in and makes my life silly.

It says stupid shit like, "Oh, it may be nice and breezy cool outside, but you want to go sit in the air conditioned library and dork out on beekeeping books."

And when you try to drag your knitting outside to work on it, you realize that you've just run out of yarn and DAMMITALLTOHELL will have to go to the Innernets to order it because SADNESS all your LYSs are out of business due to the suckass economy.

Boo.

It begins to feel like my brain has a master plan for me and, when I try to defy it, it lays the smack down on me so hard that I sit back in my chair and go, "Fine, stupid brain, I give up. Let's go sit in the air conditioning even though it's only 68 degrees. FINE."

The best part is that when it warms up again, like say TODAY, I get all revved up to bake a million things and work in the yard and ride my bike to Pilates and and and...name a hundred things that you should avoid when it's hot out...

But thankfully, I've come to terms with this backward way of my brain's, so I just let it happen. And then I sweat a lot and bake some things I've been thinking about for a long time.

The first thing being the carrot cake cookies from this month's Craft: along.



Usually I have some sort of anecdote that goes along with my crafting type projects, but this was pretty cut and dry. Follow the recipe and enjoy. I did however learn two things which I will share with you now.

1. I saved myself some aggravation and used canned cream cheese frosting and found it to be excellent and way easier to deal with than making cream cheese frosting from scratch. And for those of you who are all super excited to make your own frosting, don't be deterred, I'm known for this kind of behavior.
   
   
   
   
   
2. I learned how to use the shredder/chopper blade for my food processor which is excellent given that I intend to make pickle chips using this contraption and whoopsy had not ever used this attachment so had relegated it to the Mystery Tool pile in the back of my cabinet. Thanks to my sister, who reminded me that this thing came with a special slicing blade, I can now shred carrots in THE BLINK OF A GODDAMN EYE and, I imagine, slice cucumbers into chips with similar swiftness.
   
   
   The other thing about this attachment is the warning label. Scared the shit out of me. RAZOR SHARP! DO NOT TOUCH!
   
   
   This took 3 seconds. Wow. I'M DRUNK WITH POWER! Nope, wait, that's gin. Moving on...
   
   Unfortunately, with this new-found skill came the realization that I will need to come up with something drastic in the recipe department if I want to ever get to the bottom of our carrot stash. This recipe used only 3/4 cups (or the big 1 heaping cup I shred without measuring FUN!) of carrots which came out to about 3 good sized carrots.
   
   That only left, like 50 or so in the bag.
   
   
   Oh to be able to see to the bottom of this bag...
   
   
   

So, the other thing I've been wanting to bake for a really long time but waited until it was 80+ degrees out to start was challah. My mom's challah.

For Hanukkah, the blessed woman gave me a loaf of her homemade bread AND AND AND her recipe, all printed out nicely so it'd fit into my recipe binder.

Do you love this woman yet? I know I do.

Anyway, today the stars (and heat - yay.) finally aligned so that I had all the ingredients under one roof and the time and Brain Go-Ahead to make it.

And then I realized why my mom's challah is the best challah in all the land and also why it's that pleasing shade of yellow unduplicated in the rest of Challahdom.

Also, don't let me catch you using something other than poppy seeds on your challah. I will hit you.

And it's not what I thought.


If you'll recall, I went on a brief rant about how most challah you'll find out there is a big fat fraud because it's not yellow enough. My theory was that it didn't have enough eggs in it so someone back in the Challah Department was cheaping out when they were putting the eggs into the big corporate Kitchenaid and now we were all suffering the consequences of substandard white and bland challah.

Notice this has a nice yellow hue. Even from the outside.

No. I will not have it. I will only accept the genuine article and that is my mom's challah in all its yellow eggy glory!

It's almost like it's winking at you.

Except that the lovely desirable shade of yellow in my mom's challah comes not from eggs (even though there are plenty of eggs in there! This Kitchenaid doesn't cheap out!), but instead from turmeric.

Turmeric!

So, you know, sorry people whom I previously offended with my accusations of egg-cheapness. It's not the eggs you're missing, it's the turmeric. I still won't eat your bread and call it challah, but I'll stop calling you really mean names in public. Also, start adding turmeric dissolved in 1 cup of warm water to your challah dough as its mixing - makes all the difference.


So, now I have carrot cake cookies and proper challah and my house is its own oven, so feel free to swing by and put your cookies out to bake on my living room floor.

Excuse me while I go turn on a fan or something.

xo,
Finny

Adopt a Crop update: Heat's coming so YIKES

It's supposed to start warming up this week, which around here means it'll creep into the 80s for the first time since, OH APRIL, which makes no sense since it shouldn't be anything other than raining and cool in April because heat is for, you know JUNE, but whatever.

I guess I don't get to vote when it comes to the seasonal temps around here. And, let's be honest, I did really appreciate not having to to train in extreme heat and almost die, so there's that.

The plants, however, don't really get going until the daily temps jump into the 80s and 90s, and that scares me because they kinda already look like they've gotten going. And then what happens when it turns 80 degrees? They haven't left themselves a lot of room to "get going" when they're already at the top of their tepees and cages and have begun spilling over the sides of their beds onto the ground and such.

You think they'd leave themselves a little room to move, but no, they decided to take advantage of the cool weather, too. Not that I can blame them. It's hard to work in the heat. Perhaps they'll want an ice tea with a curly straw once it gets too warm?

Hard to say.

And have I told you that I'm suspicious of my tomato plants? I am. I'm suspicious that they're not what their tag purported them to be which was, specifically, Better Boys. But I've never seen Better Boys that look like this:

Which is to say, someone anus-like.

I also forgot to say anything really about the Surprise Cilantro! that I decided on a whim to grow for no reason other than Bubba looked sad when I told him I hadn't planted any because it bolts too fucking fast and what is the use?

Well, Surprise! I planted it! And it's bolting already! Yay!

Seriously. It bolted in five whole minutes. Jerk.

Oh, and speaking of tomatoes (just skip back two paragraphs, that's right) the two loser tomato plants that were all too good to grow or whathaveyou have decided to get into the game and do some work. I sort of suspect that these ones actually ARE Better Boys because they don't have blossoms the size of a softball and haven't begun to produce wrinkly fruits. Thankfully, however, they are doing something and have begun to put on weight, which is great when you're a tomato plant.

We're bulking up.

And since I added a new, healthier looking, Better Boy to this bed (he's already overgrown the little super loser that's now hiding in his shadow), I'm feeling better about the pseudo-success of this bed and am glad I won't have to label it a complete Crop Failure.

The basil, though, Epic Fail. Look how yellow and spindly. Suck.

Thankfully the big tomato bed has basil that won't quit, and so after harvesting nearly a pound of it (true story, check the tracker), I still have plenty to harvest for salads and pizza and whatever the hell suits me. Good times.

It's hiding there under the tomato and next to the Nasturtium That Will Not Quit.

And then there's the beans. Oh the beans. I just talked at length about the beans, so I won't bore you too much with more Bean Talk except to show you an example of said leaning.

Do you see how this could become an issue?

My mom was here last night for dinner, before which I put her to work harvesting beans from the heavy side of the tepee so that we didn't risk it toppling over with heavy fat beans in the coming heat. I'm still not writing off the potential need for additional reinforcement, but we're at least at a wait and see status for now.

What I'm also waiting to see is how tall this corn really is on 4th of July, because knee-high is long gone.

It's sort of hard to properly capture just how tall this shit is now, but I think you can clearly see that my knee is hitting it below its midway point, so by 4th of July it could very well be shoulder height. Which it actually might be already depending on where I stand (inside the box or out). Maybe it WILL be high as an elephant's eye by 4th of July?

How high is an elephant's eye, exactly?

Oh, and I assume SOMEONE must be interested in the status of the adopted cucumbers so let me just tell you that the status is somewhere in the range of Large and Sprawling.

Given the World Dominating Nasturtium obscuring the true sprawling nature of the cucumber in these photos, it's a little hard to see exactly how sprawl-tastic the cucumbers have become, but I will say that in future years, I will definitely cage all my cucumber plants because, whoa.

Mostly this is cucumbers in here.

Even the one IN a cage is hard to contain, but the one without a cage is going EVERY. FUCKING. WHERE.

Like, out of the beds, under the beans, UP the beans, out the other side of the bed, into my living room...it's Yikes time in the cuke bed.

That on the ground there? That's cucumbers looking for something to overtake.

The best part is that there is nary an evil and disgusting squash beetle (knock on wood) to be found, so I'm not having to perch out near the beds with the needle-nosed pliers just yet. Which is nice since I haven't been able to conjure up any new explanations for that particular brand of Crazy Garden Lady behavior for the benefit of my neighbors.

And because it wouldn't be a summer garden in my yard without one, we have a foreign crop invading from across neighborly lines.

Hi. We surrender. Please accept us in your home.

I really like these foreign neighborly plants because I don't have to water them or really do anything other than eat their final fruits since my neighbors water them on their side of the fence and then, because they're some of the nicest people alive, they also come over to our yard and carefully protect the plants with some remnant caging to keep certain dogs from trampling them whilst they chase shitstarting squirrels.

Or something like that.

And, even nicer, they also send over some nasturtium from their yard (which I'm pretty sure originally grew over from my yard - sorry!) to keep the foreign plant company as it waves its tiny vegetable flag of surrender.

It all adds some nice atmosphere to my summer garden sitting spot so that I don't get lonely or scared behind the ever-expanding corn and such.

Soon this will be mostly shaded and I'll be able to hide back here from I don't know what.

And so I'm able to leave you on a firm This Girl is Crazy note, I reseeded the lettuce bed beneath the beans because I guess I forgot how scary the lettuce was a few weeks ago, so YAY we'll have a nice summer mesclun soon according to these little sprouts.

I'll soon wonder why I did this.

And, yeah, no wool update yet. But it's getting too hot to care.

Where is Finny?

Hot dog, garlic fries and Coors Light for lunch - name the spot.

This is how sabbatical is done, y'all.

Instead of wool, you get beans

I had intended to be finished with Bubba's sweater by now and be all ready to show it off you to with its seamless seams and fancy ass hems and all, except that I foiled my own plans again and managed to run out of yarn halfway through the hem of the sweater.

Now the thing is all rolling hems and collar and cuffs I can't be showing that to y'all because, ew.

To me, nothing says Amateur Hour like rolled hems, cuffs and collar. Even though I've made items for myself with such hems, cuffs and collars - that's OK. That's what I was going for. The whole Matrix look and all.

But with Bubba's sweater, I'm not so much going for the look of "Civilization has evaporated and this is all they had left on the Nebuchadnezzar" as I am the look of "Hey I might have bought this sweater in a store that sells clothes to people."

This is really one time that I want a garment to be worn in public and not receive the, "Hey did your wife make that?" comment.

SO - until such a time comes, when I can present this sweater to you with appropriate cuffs, collar and hem - you get beans.

Which, even in Bubba's opinion, is OK. Because what are we going to do with wool sweaters in June, anyway? Beans are way more useful.

See, our tepee is quite active. It's also beginning to list slightly in one direction where the tippy top beans have gotten more dense on one side than the other, so I may begin panicking or propping the tepee up soon, depending on how dramatic the list becomes.

Right now, the list is happening more on a Big Ben level than a Tower of Pisa level, but with sun in the forecast, things could change pretty quickly. Especially if all the beans on the heavy side all grow at once in the sunny days to come.

Yikes.

It's good for the Garden Tracker, though, because green beans aren't cheap when you get them organic and local and all, so big yields mean we hit zero barrier on the budget sooner. And now I'll stop using bizarre semi-Sci-Fi references so we all can know what I'm talking about.

Basically, it also means we get to eat beans sooner. And more often. And just the way we like them. Which is to say, roasted simply with extra virgins and some sea salt.

And here we have the #1 batch of roasted green beans alongside homemade falafel.

I've heard a rumor that my wool is being shipped to me today, so perhaps I will be able to show you something un-rolly in a few weeks' time. If not, I'm sure there will be more beans.

And maybe cucumbers? I TEASE!

Running update: Tapering and making logistical plans as though I'm invading a foreign country

Hello, Rock 'N Roll Seattle, could you please add a few more obstacles to the race start so that I can do more work BEFORE I RUN 13.1 MILES?

Really, people, this race now embraces every reason why I've previously shunned all non-local races.

The logistics for getting my body from my sister's house in Seattle to the race start in Tukwila on race day will take no less than the following:

• Getting up in the fours
  
• Walking in my running clothes in the dark of night through city streets
• Taking a city bus
• Taking a shuttle
• Navigating neighborhoods in which I have never been
• Making use of the Gear Bag Drop Zone so I don't have to carry/wear my pre-run hoodie
  

And that's all AFTER I fly across two states just to get to the right town.

People, I put less effort into planning my wedding day than I'll have to put into getting myself to the starting line of this race. And to compare logistics to my previous half-marathons, logistics for getting my body to the race start in San Jose has included no less than the following:

• Get up in the sevens for an 8am race start
• Park 1/4 mile from my corral
• Leave all my non-essentials with Bubba and/or the dog (she carries her backpack to races)
• See you in a few hours!
  

So, just so you know, I'm not going to spend my Taper stressing out about OH MY GOD HOW WILL I RUN ALL THOSE HILLS because I'll be too stressed trying to figure out OH MY GOD HOW WILL I GET TO THE RACE.

And that, to me, seems retarded.

I kinda wonder if by the time I actually get to the race and am standing in my corral whether I'll even have the mental stability to put one foot in front of the other to run 13.1 miles back to Seattle.

It's possible that I won't. It's possible that I will have to call my sister and beg her to drive to Tukwila to pick up my bewildered ass. It's possible that I will cry or scream in the face of strangers. It's also possible that my allergies are making me dramatic and the thought of running 13.1 miles anywhere right now sounds positively impossible.

I guess I'm just not trying to think about the honest answer to the question that ran through my head during my final long training run and that was, "What sense does it make to fly, bus, shuttle and walk across two states just so that you can run 13.1 miles?"

Because running is, like SO fun and everything that, by all means, we should create intricate travel plans just so we can go take part in this Super Fun activity in another town. Uh huh.

Right now, I'm settling for the answer, "Friend and family visits also happen in Seattle, so it's not like you're just going to run. Because that would be silly."

And I'm right, that would be silly. If by "silly" I mean "insane". Which I do.

So, if you're running this race and, say, live in Seattle and have some nuggets of inspiration or suggestions about how I might torture myself less just getting to the fucking race start, please, say something.

Otherwise, you can all assume I'm working through my Taper while calculating bus routes and waking hours with a look of sincere concern on my face.

Hey, at least I'm not worrying about the hills now. As much.

The Delicious Runt [RECIPE]

The timing was perfect...

I had two week's worth of strawberries from the farm share stowed away in the fridge and freezer.

I had managed to unearth the canner from beneath a year's worth of dust and filth muck (name that movie) in the garage intact and it magically held all of my canning tools.

I'm still stewing in my sinful sabbatical, so had some free time.

Everything was perfectly ready for me to make and can some strawberry jam, but, somehow it didn't feel quite right.

OH MAYBE because it wasn't 100 degrees in my kitchen when I started the canner at 9am?

Yeah, I'll just put this out there - canning in June is WAY more fun than canning in, say, September, when our kitchen hits a rolling boil before the double digit hours and the activity of canning tomatoes, pickles, blackberries or otherwise become an exercise in constant hydration and endurance.

I believe I've told you about the Legend of Boob Sweat and how this is an inevitable consequence of canning in our No A/C And Barely a Fan household.

Not that the heat stops me. OH NO. Although I will admit that it has permanently impaired my reasoning skills as I explained (with somewhat slurred speech - thanks Cocktail Hour!) to Bubba and my neighbors last night that I "don't so much mind the heat when I'm canning. It's part of the experience."

What am I, some kind of asshole?

Probably, but I'm definitely loosening my screws as the years tick by. "Don't mind the heat"?? Why'd I leave Phoenix, then? Because I hate palm trees?

Sometimes I'm retarded.

ANYWAY.

The point is that today is a breezy 70-something degrees and when I started the canner at 9am, it was overcast outside and I was wearing a sweatshirt.

Sure, it felt wrong in some ways, but SO right in others. Like when I smelled those strawberries gloop-glopping in the pot, for instance. That's a smell I have a hard time resisting. It's suh nice. And while I may always associate canning with the boob-sweaty heat of summer, it's a nice change of pace to appreciate the steam on my face rather than think suicidal thoughts when it rises to my chin.

Like, "Yay! Free facial!" rather than, "I'm going to use this jar lifter to strangle myself."

And, true to form, my Ball Blue Blah Bley canning book had a great little strawberry jam recipe waiting to walk me through my virgin attempt at strawberry jam.

If only all first attempts were so sweet and delightful. Draw whatever conclusions you like from that statement.

I'm sweet and delightful. But not 6 cups of sugar sweet because, Ew.

Strawberry Jam

Ball Blue Book of Preserving
My changes in Bold

Ingredients
2 1/2 - 3 lbs fresh strawberries, topped and hulled
2 cups of sugar (they call for 6 (SIX!!) cups, which I find to be wayyyy too much. You make the call.)

To make
*Situate all your shit so that it's lined up all anal-retentively on your counter.

Prepare jars and lids for canning. (ie. Boil them for about 10 minutes and let them dry)

Begin water boiling in your canner.

The thawed strawberries had a delicious juiciness. Just so you know.

In a big saucepan crush your strawberries with your potato masher until they're mostly just juice and pulp.

Can you see the juiciness? There wasn't even any sugar involved yet here. Glorious.

Add in the sugar and stir it in with the strawberries.

Bring to a quick boil, stirring constantly to keep it from sticking to the sides.

I like any recipe that calls for constant stirring. It keeps me from eating out of the pan.

Once the mixture has thickened, spoon into warm clean jars and attach two-piece lids (lids + rings).

Situate your canning rack so that it's hanging from the top of your canner and arrange your jars around the perimeter. Using hot pads on your hands (which I probably don't need to tell YOU, but believe me, I have to tell ME every time I do this) grab the rack handles and lower your rack into the boiling water.

I just recently learned to appreciate the ability of the rack to hang this way. It's purty convenient.

Process for 15 minutes and then remove the jars to a towel to seal.

Mmm...shteamy.

Listen eagerly for the whimsical POPping of each jar's lid. Like music to my loser ears.

*POPpopPOP*

Then store these jars of beauty and wonder where you will appreciate them most. I put them in the back of the cupboard which seems like a weird place to put them in order to appreciate them, but when the holidays roll around and I need to put my gifts together, I appreciate knowing that my cupboard is stocked with many flavors of gift givingness. But let's not talk about the (barf) holidays because BARF.

And if you're wondering why I'd go to all this trouble to make deliciousness and then not eat any myself, allow me to introduce you to The Runt.

See, no matter how closely I follow a canning recipe (and let's face it, I barely follow any recipe that closely), I never end up with exactly the number of jars of whatever that they list on the recipe itself. For instance, this strawberry jam recipe listed 4 pints, or in my case, 8 half pints. Except that I used far less sugar and ended up with 6.5 half pints.

And that always ALWAYS happens. I never end up with a round number of jars.

Which is fine, because then it means we can eat The Runt.

The Runt doesn't get processed, it just goes into the fridge so that we can eat it at our leisure over the next week or five minutes.

In the case of blackberry jam, it doesn't usually even make it to the fridge. Whoops.

So, don't go thinking I do this canning of jam thing just for the good and enjoyment of my friends and family because my selfishness is served by The Runt.

Also, this way, I can know whether the thing I'm giving away tastes like a horse's ass or not.

I'm such a giver.

The Delicious Runt

And, in case any of you were worried about the final tally of POPped lids - we're all set. 6 perfectly sealed jars of strawberry jam and one nearly empty Runt.

*Optional step

Icy knees [TUTORIAL]

Every Saturday I come home from my long runs and, after stretching and finding water and stripping myself of all nonessential items (get off of me, Camelbak!), I grab my two zippie bags from the freezer, fill them with ice and situate myself in the backyard so that I can ice my knees.

During which time there is precious little moving around because the bags won't stay on my knees regardless of how I tourniquet them all Civil War style or wrap and fold them or what have you.

And you know that the second I sit down, I see something that must be done NOW or the phone rings or the clouds part and I find myself sitting in the scorchiest hot place without shade. So I try to keep the ice packs on while I fill the birdfeeder or talk to my mom on the phone, but the ice packs always end up on the ground or dangling below my knees all saggy and ineffective.

ANNOYING.

Until now. No, now I have finally gotten off my dead ass and made this thing that I've been thinking about making for, like, three years now and it took me all of 15 minutes with an old towel and some thread.

Sheesh. What is my deal?

Anyway, if you're a runner who needs any mobility whatsoever while you ice your knees or you just like to ice things (or warm them - this could work, too), but don't want to be wrapping yourself in Saran or tape or something super uncivilized like that, perhaps you, too, would be willing to part with a couple of your old kitchen towels in the name of, say, mobile healing?

I bet you would.

Ice Pack Wrap

Materials
Dishtowel (tea, terry - you decide)
12" Sew-on velcro cut into 2, 6" pieces (the stick-on kind does NOT work)
Thread
Quart size zippie bag


To make

Lay your towel horizontally and wrong side up and fold the top 2/3 of the towel down toward the bottom.


Fold the bottom 1/3 of the towel up, over the top, overlapping.


Sew the short ends together. Trim off excess and corners. Be careful not to cut into your stitching though because you'll be mad when you turn it right side out and find holes.

Turn right side out. (See - no holes! Happiness ensues.)

Using your zippie bag as a guide, center it on your towel (opening side up) and mark the width of the pocket you're about to sew with long pins.


Sew these lines vertically and trim off excess thread.


With pocket opening facing up, pin the soft side of your two velcro pieces to the right of your pocket. Align the first piece with the top of your towel and the second piece with the bottom.

Sew the velcro to the towel using a straight stitch.



With your towel facing pocket side up, fold in the left side of the towel toward the center and pin the other side of the velcro strips to the outside of the towel, lining them up with the velcro strips on the pocket side.

So that they'll stick together when you wrap them, dontchaknow.


Sew some nice crossed boxes on the velcro sections to keep it all in place.

These boxes will keep the wrap from getting all biggigity. That's a big problem with wraps, you know.

Admire the flapped pocket you've created.

These pockets never get old to me.

Fill your zippie bag with ice and slide it in there.

Granted, you don't HAVE to use a zippie bag. You could just throw some ice in there, but then what would you do with your old loyal zippie bag that's been icing your knees for three years?

It's too sad to relegate the bags to holding leftovers or dog food, after all they've been through with you, so you can still use them if you want.

This pocket also holds one of those standard ice packs with the polar bear on them, in case you're curious.

Farewell, old friend.

Plus, doesn't it look so snug in there? All ready to NOT move around on you when you need to fill the birdfeeder but still need to be icing your knees? Yes. Yes, it does.

Hello, Ice Pack. Aren't you cozy.

Well, quit staring at it then and ice your knees already. Or, get started on the second one now because, you know, you have two knees and all.


To use
Simply wrap around your knee (or ankle, this also works for your ankles or any other appendage and possibly your lower back if you're wicked skinny. Which I am not. But if you're one of those people that can wear a bandana as a belt, you can try this. I'll hate you, but you can try this.)

Disregard my leg scars. There were some pointy things that my legs encountered during our backpacking trip. The memories of which will be with me for some time. On my legs.

And go fill the bird feeder. Or throw the ball for the dog. Or go find out what that horrible noise is that's coming from the garage.


And it's OK because your ice packs will stay in one place! WOO!

Let the healing begin.

Oh, almost forgot, if you want to use this as a warming wrap, you can just warm up a damp washcloth and jam it in there. But that's for later - AFTER you've iced. Remember - ice THEN heat.

Good times.

Something else to do with your junk mail

Despite our dedication to Greendimes and the frequency with which we update our preferences (to tell them which junk we don't want to get anymore), we still end up with some junk in our mail.

Like chocolate in our peanut butter, but less delicious and ideal.

If only junk in the mail was as good as chocolate in peanut butter...that would be incredible. I would love getting the mail. I would love our mailman. Even when he walks across my landscaping and smushes my plants because he's too lazy to use the walkway. EVEN THEN.

But let's stop talking about all that because it's not going to happen. The chocolate, the delicious junk mail or the mailman using the walkway instead of my African Iris for his walking.

Instead, we can make our junk mail delicious in another way. And give it a real purpose in life other than making sure it's plainly obvious to everyone who drives by that we haven't yet picked up our mail so might be out of town and HEY ROB US. Or whatever.

How can we do this? We can use those glossy junkie mailers as stencils, y'all, and monogram things.

Because we all know my glorious history with monograms. Still though, stay with me.

First, bake something you want to monogram. I used cupcakes. Funfetti cupcakes to be exact. For a friend who is having a birthday and who loves Funfetti baked goods with all her heart and soul because she's *that way.*

I'm more of a red velvet cupcake kind of person, but it's not my birthday so weh.

Then, let them cool because otherwise the frosting does that annoying peeling-off-of-the-cupcake-skin thing when you go to put it on and UGH. Annoying. Once they're cool though, go to town frosting them with whatever frosting you want. I used Funfetti frosting because, obviously, and also because it comes with sprinkles whose grand importance will later become obvious.

The Funfetti frosting is really just vanilla. In case you have been fooled by it before. Not that I have. Ahem.

Then go to your recycling bin or mail box and look for a nice piece of junk mail that includes a letter somewhere on it that's appropriate for your monogramming. My friend's name begins with the letter, "A", so I found a nice flyer from Mike's Bikes who was advertising their 45th Anniversary Sale.

No, Mike, I do not want to purchase a $5900 roadbike, but thanks anyway.

Notice that "Sale" has an "A" in it, if you haven't already figured out where I was going there. C'mon. Keep up.

With your Xacto knife/razor blade/ninja sword, cut out the letter to the best of your ability, leaving the rest of the piece intact.

"Best" is subjective.

Now, take one of your frosty cupcakes and place the stencil on the cupcake somewhere around the center of the thing. Kind of push it down on there so it sticks. Don't smash it.

It's also good if your frosting is flat where you put your stencil. Just saying.

Pour some sugar sprinkles onto the letter part of the thing.

I'm not going to tell you how old these sprinkles are because sugar never goes bad. Right?

Press those sprinkles down gently with your finger and don't be judging my little girl fingers because one day I'll be glad I have puny hands. Like when I lose something down a hole with a narrow opening or something.

Also, don't smush too hard.

Now - AND THIS IS IMPORTANT - lift the paper DIRECTLY UP from the corners of the letter in one swift movement. This keeps awful smearing from happening. Trust me.

I'm not going to lie. This wasn't the first one I made. The first one I made is featured at the end of this post as a warning.

Admire your work and then decorate the rest of the cupcake as you wish. Or don't. This is fine as it is.

Now, if you want to use the opposite image, you can do that, too. Just place the letter itself in the center-ish part of the cupcake, sprinkle on some sprinkles (yes, I said that), press gently and remove in the same manner: From the corners, lift directly up, etc.

You can also cut out different fonts of the same letter from other crap in your mail box, if you so desire.

For the cursive crowd.

And when you totally eff one up and you can't even tell what the letter is supposed to be, you can use the sprinkles to cover up your shame. And now you see why I bought the Funfetti frosting - Crucial shame covering sprinkles in there.

This was cupcake #1 and let it be a warning to all of you about what happens when you don't lift directly up with that stencil.

When you're all done making a semi-small mess in your kitchen, put all your cupcakes in your cupcake carrier thingee and try to not drop the whole thing while you're carrying 16 bags of crap to your car.

See how some of them don't even look like "A"s? Yeah. It happens.

Not that I know anything about that.

Running update: Month of 12s

Last Saturday I spent my 12 miles thinking not so much about oh my god I have so much farther to go but rather trying to rationalize not doing any hill training for this race that I know to include hills.

You'll remember my ambitious Month of 11s idea to go run The Dish as training for this hilly race and how I was going to be out there, rainstorm or heatwave, battling it out getting my hamstrings all in shape to cope with the 175' gains of the Seattle RNR.

Yes, well, that idea sounded less and less appealing as the time approached to actually go do the training, but not for the reason you think.

I mean, of course running hills sucks. I'm not going to be one of those people that's like, "Oh, running hills isn't that bad - in fact, I kind of like it because it gives my quads a break." because that is something an asshole who has never run in my legs would say.

A break? Over a 375' gain? Um, no. That is a lie. There are no breaks for anything when you're fighting gravity for 375'.

No, the thing that has kept me from doing this The Dish training is the drive.

That's right - the drive TO The Dish is a much bigger deterrent than actually running The Dish.

See, I'm an exerciser of convenience and efficiency, people. I think the only reason that running has stuck with me as a form of exercise over the last few years is because all I have to do is put on my shoes and trot out the front door.

Similar to my other routine exercise activities, this doesn't require me to have any extra special equipment or travel extended distances for something that will take me less than 30 minutes to complete.

And if you take a look at my race history, you'll notice that all but one race happened within a 20 minute drive from my house. And that So Far Away Race was my first race ever and the race that cemented in my mind how silly it seemed to drive for 90 minutes to run a race for 60 minutes so that I could drive 90 minutes home.

Now, I'm not so hot with numbers, but that seems like a pretty bad return on investment for an activity that's ultimately just going to torture me.

Instead, I prefer races that are close by so that I can limit the amount of torture to the race itself without having to tack on hours of car travel or, say, trying to find parking in San Francisco, which GAH.

And the plan for running The Dish included driving at least 30 minutes and trying to park in an area well known to be a supah pain in the ass.

And so died the plan of running The Dish.

Also, I ran the elevation on my long runs and found that over the course of 12 miles, I gained and lost around 100', which is only 75' short of the gains I'll encounter in Seattle, so meh, I'll probably live. Even if I have to run reallllllllllly slow and potentially hate myself for the few hours I'm out there.

Bubba sealed the deal when he said, "Hey, remember, you hiked up some pretty steep inclines when we were in Yosemite and you were wearing a 40+lb pack at the time. I'm sure you'll be fine."

That man, he always knows just what to say.

So now I'm not running hills at all. Instead, I'm running my 12s for the first few Saturdays of June before I taper off and go for 13.1 in Seattle. Where I hope I haven't horribly misinterpreted the elevation map for the course or, more likely, wildly underestimated my coping abilities when it comes to Pain By Hills.

And just to rebut the comments I'm sure to generate with this declaration of, "I don't travel for routine exercise even though I'm about to fly to another state for a race", I'm tacking on visits to two of the most important people in my life while I'm in Washington, so I'm not so much flying to Seattle for a race, as I am flying there to see my sister and close friend during which time I will also be running around their city trying to not die.

See, it makes sense.

As for other running updates, people have stopped just staring at me like I'm a freak and have instead begun saluting.

Really. True story.

I've been saluted twice now, by different people, during my short tempo runs and I haven't the foggiest as to why anyone would be moved to do such a thing. It's not like I wear a USMC tshirt or carry a flag or run whilst resting my hand just above my brow.

No. I wear my usual tank top and shorts (yay! bare leg running is the best!), carry nothing and am usually lip-syncing along to some foul-mouthed Seether song when this happens, which you can imagine makes me feel a little like a fraud.

Here I am silently mouthing "...you're such a fuckin' hypocrite" and some nice older gentleman in a newsboy hat and scarf is saluting me, in all seriousness, as though I'm doing something salute-worthy, which I'm certainly not.

It's not like the chick I saw out running on Saturday who was getting on at a good clip WHILE PUSHING A DOUBLE STROLLER FULL OF TWO KIDS WHOA. Yeah, that girl got a nice big, "Right on!", from yours truly because HOLY - you're running fast and pushing two kids in a stroller so you are rad.

Meanwhile I, of the no-stroller pushing variety of runners, have contemplated my choice of running music, facial expressions, attire and intentions to find the reason why someone would salute someone who's running while singing swears and not pushing a double stroller until I came to the conclusion that my running top must be too tight and they're impressed that someone can drag out such a jiggly midsection to run around the block.

Good for you, Jiggly! I salute your shunning of form-hiding clothes and am impressed that you have the will to haul that around! Also thanks for not wearing your tights anymore! That was gross!

Which is a fine assumption because it means I can go on listening to my raging swearing WAAAAA music without feeling any guilt.

And in case you are awesome and want to suggest some tunes for my race day playlist (HELP ME), here's some of the stuff I just added so you know what I'm looking for and also what I'm talking about when I say, "raging swearing WAAAAAA music":

Seether, "Fake it"
Bullet for My Valentine, "Tears Don't Fall"
Taking Back Sunday, "New Again"
My Chemical Romance, "To The End"
30 Seconds to Mars, "The Fantasy"
Red Jumpsuit Apparatus, "You Better Pray"

And on the lighter side:
Coconut Records, "Microphone"
Franz Ferdinand, "No You Girls"
Spinnerette, "Ghetto Love"
Goldfrapp, "Oh la la"

Adopt a Crop update: Cage-free cucumbers + First beans

I know you're all desperate for a garden update since I haven't talked about it in, oh, five whole minutes, so here I am to tell you that WE HAVE BEANS.


Yes. I picked our first handful of beans this morning while I sat on the garden bed bench amongst the rapidly narrowing paths. It's a time I never think will come when I'm planting seeds in the beds, but inevitably June arrives and thus, the benches vanish into the plants.

See you in the fall.

Soon I'll have to move to my garden chair to eat my breakfast, drink my morning bev, watch Rocket spy on the birds at their feeder and generally hide from reality, since these paths will be nearly unnavigable in a few weeks.

Which is fine. I need tomatoes more than I need sitting places.

Don't worry, the birds are in no danger whatsoever. She's all talk.

I won't lie - sometimes I just hide out there like no one can see me. Like it's my big green fort and I'm seven years old and giving my My Little Ponies punk rock haircuts.

NO BOYS ALLOWED.

This morning while I sat out there, admiring the tall tall beans and picking a few, I realized that, hey, that's not a bean leaf. Nor is it a lettuce leaf or a nasturtium leaf that is weaving its way all through the bed to the other side of the waitaminute...you're a cucumber.

Hello, cucumber plant. I see you.

Yes, whoopsy, I never fully caged in one of the cucumber mounds so, HELLO, it has gone over its short wall and started to climb its way through the nasturtium, lettuce and under the beans to, well, I don't know. Where do cucumbers go when they're not carefully caged in and growing upward?

Wherever we damn well please, that's where.

Well, I guess we'll find out because it's way too late now to do anything about it, so I'm just going to let them do their thing. Maybe they'll climb up the bean tepee and make themselves at home putting out fruit from a more vertical position or perhaps they'll climb out the other side of the bed and just do whatever plants do when they're not under constant surveillance from The Garden Frau (that's me).

Either way, all the cucumber plants are showing signs of future fruit, and the Cage-Free Cucumber has blossoms on it, which means Cucumbers Soon! And then Pickle Chips soon! And good things like that. Yay.

Cage-free is better - or so say the hippies.

And did I mention I picked some beans this morning? The first ones of the season? Yes, well, I could get all revved up about it except that I know that soon we'll have so many friggen beans from our plants and from the farmshare that I'll be wondering why I was so adamant about having a 100% germination rate with the beans when HOLY we don't need so many.

I should note here that, when building the tepee, I thought it was too tall.

Thankfully, when beans run out of line to climb, they just climb each other.

Early spring eyes are often so much bigger than mid-summer bellies. Weird, that.

I expect to have a similar reaction to the tomato bounty that may soon be upon us. And I'm already having that reaction to the lettuce which is impossible to keep up with even with giving it away and eating salads big enough for two people.

Lettuce is a meal, right?

And the corn. Oh the corn. It looks, in my unbiased opinion, super beautiful. And, much to my delight because I'm a meanie, it's now big enough to rustle. In the wind. So when the breeze cuts through the corn, the leaves all brush together and make, what I think, is a very peaceful growie kind of sound. But, if you're my neighbor, they make The Creepiest Sound on Earth.

*rustle rustle*

He hates the sound of rustling corn. Freaks him right out. Like small glassy-eyed haunted kids are going to come staggering out of the corn all, "I want to eat your brains!" or whatever Children of the Corn say. Which I wouldn't know since I never saw the movie. Thankfully, since I can still enjoy the rustling of corn while sitting amongst it instead of, say, running back inside until the wind dies down.

That's what weirdos do.

And here's one of my garden watchdogs who won't go trampling through the corn in a well-meaning effort to rid the yard of squirrels.

Who said squirrel?

Something to eat if it's summer where you are. Bitches. [RECIPES]

So, not that I'm *really* complaining, because I don't super love the MEGA HEAT of summer all the time, but it's supposed to thunderstorm today and, frankly, it's a little cool for Summer.

According to our weather dude, the Super Tan and Semi-Spicy Steve Paulson who is clearly getting bored with traditional suit attire given his flouncy purple tie the other day, we are in the middle of some sort of low pressure situation which means whatever shit is blowing around over the Pacific is just going to sweep into the Bay Area and give us conditions we usually call, "Winter".

OK, so he didn't call the weather system, "shit", but I kinda did when it meant it was going to be raining when I was planning to be outside FOREVER on my new patio and amongst my very enthusiastically growing vegetables.

But whatever. I suppose rain is a good thing since we're in a perma-drought and we're doing our damnedest to put off mandatory rationing.

The horror of mandatory rationing and not being able to WATER YOUR SIDEWALKS LIKE IDIOTS YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE! It's too much.

ANYWAY.

I had planned to do some amount of new recipe trying during my break around here, and since it was scheduled to be summer when I started compiling these recipes, I had set aside one that seemed perfect for MEGA HOT SUMMER weather.

But then it was 70 degrees yesterday, which is dandy since it meant none of us in this unA/Ced house were to face the unrelenting roasting that comes as a result of normal 90+ degree June days, but it also made it seem silly to be making a cold dinner while wearing a sweatshirt.

What to do?

Why, make a warm dessert to accompany my cold dinner and have cocktails to rationalize my behavior, of course!

And since I still had a good amount of cherries left from the ice cream making and a new cobbler topping recipe from Dig up there in Montana, it didn't take too much mind-bending to put together the evening's menu.

Because that's what I do with time off, I plan menus because I'm a loser. SORRY, I LIKE THIS STUFF.

So, whatever, for those of you living through true summer heat or in the market for a cold dinner that's YUM and also uses a lot of vegetables and is great as leftovers and won't heat the living daylights out of your house or self while you make it, might I suggest a lovely chicken salad chock full of every damn thing we had in the house and then a few more things that we decided will go into it next time?

Yes, I think I will suggest it.

Finny's Chicken Salad with a Whole Lot of Stuff in it

Adapted from our farmshare's recipe for Debbie's Chicken Salad with Mei Qing (or Bok) Choi
My changes in BOLD

Ingredients

Salad:
2 shredded cooked chicken breasts
1 T garlic powder
6 diced mei qing choi (or bok choi)
1 diced green onion 1 Diced green garlic 1/2 cup Chopped walnuts
1 handful of Maytag blue cheese, crumbled
1/4 cup plumped dried cranberries and pomegranate seeds (try TJ's for these)
1 avocado, diced*
3 slices of bacon, crisped and crumbled*
* Denotes ingredients we'll use NEXT time

Dressing:
1/4 cup of walnut oil
Zest from a whole orange
½ t honey
1/2 t Dijon mustard
1 T balsamic vinegar
2 T mayo
Salt and pepper to taste

To make
To save your poor self and house from unnecessary heating up - crockpot this chicken while you're at work. Or in the yard eating ice cream. Whatever.

Coat your breasts (HAAAAA) with salt, pepper and garlic powder and set it in your crockpot at 300 degrees first thing in the morning. When you get back to the chicken later in the day (I'm estimating about 6-8 hours, here), remove your breasts (HAAAA) to a large bowl and shred that chicken until you can shred no more. It's not that hard, I just like to play up the drama. Set aside.

Combine dressing ingredients in a jar with a lid. Shake furiously until you no longer hold ill will against the neighbors who water their sidewalks. ASSHOLES!

OK, I should have spent more time shaking the jar.

Toss chicken, choi, nuts, cheese, cranberries, bacon and avocado with the dressing then serve with some nice fresh sourdough as you preheat the oven for dessert.

Allow me to introduce you to Mei Qing Choi. It's a favorite of our farmshare and one of this year's Mystery Vegetables. Until now.

This is green garlic and green onion co-mingling in a green bowl. I guess I'm not one for contrast.

This is Maytag blue cheese and it is worth whatever price you have to pay. Even if Whole Foods wants your arms and legs in exchange for a wedge. Just pay it and get on with your life.
Chicken shreds up super easy after a day crocking in the pot. Or you could buy one of those Devil pre-cooked chickens at the grocery, but why? Look at all the plastic. Waste.
I always pile my salad ingredients like this before I mix. Because I like to admire the perfect piles. Because I'm a psycho.
The dressing didn't look *right* to me, but don't worry, it definitely tastes *right*.

And now for dessert...

The Hob Cobbler

Topping recipe by Dig
Filling recipe by Finny

Ingredients
Two pints of fresh cherries, pitted and halved
Juice from 1/2 Meyer lemon
1/3 cup of sugar

Topping
2 cup flour
1/2 cup cornmeal
3/4 cup sugar
1 tablespoon baking powder
1 teaspoon salt
2 sticks cold butter, cubed
3/4 cup milk

To make
In an 8x8 glass baking dish, mix your cherries, lemon juice and sugar. Cover with plastic wrap and let macerate on your counter for a couple hours. Try not to watch - that's called being a Peeping Tom and I hear it's a crime. Just saying.

Meanwhile, make Dig's cobbler topping and put it in the fridge until your cherries are done with their naughtiness.

Preheat the oven to 375 (like I said to do at the end of the salad recipe. You remember.)

Pat the topping down on top of the cherries which are all nice and level in the bottom of your glass dish (right?) and slam it in the oven for about 45 mins, or until nice and golden on top. If you time it right, it can bake while you have dinner and then, by the time you're done with dishes and have gone outside to admire the corn, your dessert will be ready to eat in front of the latest episode of Deadliest Catch.

Oh that Mike Rowe, I could eat him for dessert, but we won't get into that.

Slice and serve, preferably either next to or beneath some Fresh Cherry Vanilla Chip Ice Cream.

Bubba said he definitely wanted his ice cream on the side because he's a communist.

I wanted mine on top because I'm right. Obviously.

This is why I'm a grown-up.

When I was a kid I used to say that when I was a grown-up, I'd go out to lunch every day. Because going to Jack in the Box with my mom when we were out running errands was THE highlight of my life.

Don't judge me for my fast food ways. There is something cute about a mom pushing a french fry through her daughter's missing tooth hole. There is. Trust me.

Anyway, while I haven't indulged the Going to Jack in the Box Everyday privilege of being a grown-up (because I'm more of an In-N-Out girl now and there's not one close by. Thankfully.) I do sometimes make other childhood-influenced choices.

Like having ice cream in the middle of the day for no good reason other than because I made some.

From fresh cherries picked at my house and my neighbor's.

My house's cherries. Small but delicious.

My neighbor's cherries. ENORMO and also delicious.

Oh yes, friends, it's Cherry Season at Finny's again, and more importantly the beginning of Pie Season. Because the farmshare brings us strawberries every week so we have ice cream and pie and the cherry tree across the street (and now in our yard WOO) are heavy with fruit so we have ice cream and cobbler and also pie and then in no time the blackberry bushes at my folks' will be covered in berries so we'll have cobbler and muffins and blackberry pie.

We like pie here, have I told you?

Anyway, despite our love for pie, the first thing I made with our windfall of cherries was ice cream. Cherry Vanilla Chip ice cream, to be specific.

And I will say that it is quite good. In that, "I am aware that the deliciousness I'm experiencing is the direct result of eating a dish created solely from cream, sugar, vanilla, cherries and chocolate."

I mean, duh. Obviously it's going to be good. Those are all good things that do bad things to my ass. Whatever.

But, in my defense, I did move 2 cubic yards of dirt by shovel and wheel barrow this morning after ripping out half our lawn, so I feel as though I'm cleared for takeoff in the calorie way.

The fact that I have this month's Craft: along recipe for Carrot Cake Cookies on my kitchen counter next to Farmgirl's Lemon Coconut Quick Bread recipe and I'm also at this moment crockpotting some pulled pork for these tacos for dinner IS NOT IMPORTANT EITHER because, well, all the ingredients to make these things are available and fresh and local and ready to make Bubba smile which means that they have zero calories for me because they're offset by my good-doing. And lawn-ripping. And dirt moving. And any other reason I can think of to justify my sinful dietary ways.

ANYWAY.

If you find yourself standing under a very full cherry tree OR if your neighbor was kind enough to lend you his orchard ladder (thanks, Rick!) so that you could get the really good dark BIG cherries from the top of the tree, and you also have an ice cream maker - you could make some ice cream, too. And then sit in your backyard like a Lady of Leisure and watch your dog chase squirrels out of your garden while you eat your midday ice cream.

Or whatever. You could do something else, I suppose.

Cherry Vanilla Chip Ice Cream

Adapted from Cuisinart's recipe booklet for Strawberry Ice Cream
My changes in BOLD

Ingredients
1 pint of fresh cherries - pitted, halved
3 T fresh Meyer lemon juice
1 cup of sugar, divided
1 cup of whole milk
2 cups of heavy cream
1 t vanilla extract
1/2 cup chocolate chips

To make
FREEZE THAT ICE CREAM MAKER BUCKET FOR AT LEAST 24 HOURS. JUST DO IT.

I say that in such a way that you should automatically assume that I did NOT freeze the bucket for 24 full hours and so ended up having to freeze it overnight before I could have some ice cream waaaaaaaaaa. But you know me by now and so I'm sure you didn't need this little explanation. Sorry.

In a small bowl, combine the cherries with the lemon juice and 1/3 cup of sugar. Stir it up and let it sit for a couple hours so it can get all juicy and shiny and irresistible looking. This process is called macerating which, to me, sounds like something naughty and violent combined. Fun.

SPANK ME.

The big one on the left is HALF of one of my neighbor's cherries while a WHOLE one of mine is on the right. Someday...

While your cherries are doing naughtiness, whisk the milk and the rest of the sugar until it's dissolved. Then add in your heavy cream and some of the juiciness from your naughty cherries.

Turn on the power to your ice cream maker (which means the supah frozen bucket is on there and the mixer deal is inside and the dome lid is on) and pour this mixture BUT NOT THE CHERRIES YET through the spout on top.

Let it churn around in there for a good 30 minutes before pouring your naughty cherries in. And, right before you throw in the cherries, toss in the chocolate chips.

And, not that you'd want to, but if you wanted something super "Cherry" looking, you could add food coloring, but I find that to be an affront to nature and will not have it in my house.

Instead, we have the pale-ish ice cream with the dark red cherries and the world continues to spin on its axis. Without any artificial colors. Lovely.

If, for some reason, you get to the end of this recipe and your ice cream is, say, the consistency of soup, cover the bowl with some plastic wrap and tuck it between some big frozen slabs of beef (or equivalent) in your freezer. I've heard it also helps if you stack a frozen pie crust, a bag of frozen pulled pork and a sack of frozen coffee beans on top, too.

BUT THAT'S JUST WHAT I'VE HEARD.

You know.

Anyway, once you're actually ready to scoop yourself some Cherry Vanilla Chip loveliness, I recommend going out to your backyard and sitting in the sunshine where you can see your garden making beans and your dog losing her mind over a shitstarting squirrel.

Adopt a Crop update: Plus everything else update, too.

Hi, it's been a while...

When I flew back into the Bay Area on Friday the pilot got on the not-loud-enough intercom to announce that the ground temp in San Jose was a breezy 72 degrees.

Oh sweet mother, that's what I like.

Especially since when I took off from Phoenix, it was an even 100 degrees. And I was wearing a hoodie because apparently I'm easily influenced by the crazy heat-ignorers of the Phoenix area who wear cool weather clothes despite the face-melting temperatures outside.

Do you know that I saw MANY people wearing jeans in Scottsdale? Do you know that my best friend said to me upon arrival, "You're lucky to visit this week - the weather's been so nice - not even 100!"

To which I said, "Hi. Are you retarded?" and then, "I don't think I have enough sunscreen on. Even to be inside."

My skin was scared.

Anyway, I'm home. Back in the Bay Area where it was a glorious overcast 55 degrees for my 11 mile Saturday run in which I did not collapse under the weight of two weeks without a long run (remember Yellowstone and Yosemite? Yeah, no running happened.). Perhaps it was because I have managed to keep up my mid-week runs even though one of them happened in Phoenix and even though I ran at 6am and it STILL turned out to be nearly 90 degrees because WHOOPSY I got lost and ran an extra two miles trying to find my way back to my friend's house amongst a sea of pink and beige single family establishments thus tacking on a few extra minutes during which the sun went into SCORCH EVERYTHING mode.

*Sigh* Sometimes I'm the retard.

But, when I got home from a week of ritualistic sunscreen application (on myself, friends and goddaughter), I was rewarded with a garden that did not miss me one bit.

Go wherever you want and we will, too.

Also, while you were out, we made beans.

And we've been blooming.

And we're shading the lettuce just like you asked.

And we're knee-high by May 31st, which doesn't rhyme but is still impressive.

And we look like balls. Green ones. What does that mean?

And we've making cucumbers.

And we're full of green tomatoes.

And we're all glossy and shit.

And I got off my dead ass and started growing. Finally.

And I'm making up for lost time even though I look like a total loser next to those other tomato plants that MAY be on the 'roids but you didn't hear it from me.

Which is fine. Because I don't need the garden to miss me and throw itself into a Pining For Mama death-fit, I just need it to grow and make food and look all green and healthy so that when the neighbors come over to congregate in our backyard (which is happening with increased regularity what with the new patio) they don't think I'm a shitty gardener who can't even grow the simplest things.

I can't have that. I need them to all think I'm a master gardener even though I'm fairly certain it's all due to luck BUT WHATEVER.

And hey, that's something else - our patio is done. WOO.

Only the patio's done so don't be all "What's with the dead spot in your lawn?" because I'm handling that, OK?

I mean, WOO! Woo the fucking contractors are gone! Woo no one is blocking my driveway with a Bobcat or 5 cubic yards of crushed rock! Woo my neighbors have stopped peaking through the fence and are instead volunteering our backyard for cocktail hour.

"Uh. Hi neighbor. What's that? Why yes I am napping on my lawn at 3 in the afternoon in a sombrero and No, I don't find that strange. Also, feel free to come and go as you please because, you know, mi patio es su patio. I guess."

Oh well. At least I like these people. And at least the shitty neighbors haven't been inspired to make themselves at home over here or add to the ongoing fun-making of Girl Who Sleeps On The Lawn.

And Bubba loves it. The neighbor gathering and all. And I love the patio, so we're even. And I got to buy new patio furniture, which makes everything OK because we're going to be able to eat outside on a table like grown-ups and that is much better than spilling BBQ in your lap when it's acting as a table.

Plus, you know I now get to FINALLY landscape our backyard. Holy holy - that's good times. And what I plan to do for the next three weeks since I plan to do ZERO traveling beyond the library, pilates studio, nursery and perhaps the fabric store.

If you need me, I'll be in the backyard ripping out some lawn and not, say, flying to places on the globe where temperatures are regularly reported in three digits.