Best thing I've ever heard.

So, the craft room's up. 

And apparently open for business.

But I can hardly be mad since Bubba, the owner of these fine shorts that sorely need ass-mending, also turned this nightmare...

Into this...

MAKE THE BULLSHIT GO AWAY. THAT IS MY WISH.

And since he is awesome and even though it's not even my birthday month anymore, away they went. To I do not care where.

But speaking of birthdays, I had one. In the country this time.

And I approve.

We actually use our dining room here. It's very grown up feeling when I'm making happy faces with my bacon which happened right after I took this photo.

So, if you ignore the WT neon ski fence placeholding for the forthcoming railing our hilarious contractor is building, you can maybe enjoy the future awesomeness of our patio table under this beautiful oak that will have twinkle lights or mini lanterns hanging from it. But you have to ignore the WT neon ski fence first. Good luck with that.

Our neighbors have chickens. 

Lots and lots of fluffy pants having chickens that do not yet know how much they like being cuddled. BUT THEY WILL KNOW.

Jada had her way with our neighbors' dogs' toys during our first visit to their house. Because she is a lady.

This is not our view. It's our neighbors' view. But it's a goodie and we will enjoy very much sitting on that lovely deck getting drunk for many weekends to come.

Also, these neighbors are British and they own a fryer and they make fucking "chips". YES. PLEASE. And then they do things like say, "Have a chip buttie!" And then I say,  "And just what the fuck is a chip buttie?" and they go, "Well, it's just this thing we Brits do where we butter some soft french bread and stick 'chips' in the middle and that's that." And I say, "YES. PLEASE."

And while we're on the subject of our hilarious and awesome neighbors who totally accept my foul mouth AND have chickens - here's the first container of eggs they gave us when we moved in. Except for the wee one there, which we were told was the first egg their chickens laid back in the day and "Look at how small it is compared to the eggs they lay now!" And while we held the eggs (CAREFULLY) and admired the difference, hilarious neighbor goes, "The chicken that laid that big egg there - she's got a cunt like a bucket." Yep. We're home.

Plus, Jada never wants to leave their deck, so there's that.

And did I mention that they make homemade fries all the time? Like, cut fresh from real potatoes and deep fried in an actual fryer? I FUCKING LOVE THESE PEOPLE.

Also, I love cooking actual meals again and eating them on actual dishes in our dining room that we're totally using in this house because why not? Also because it's the only place we have furniture on that floor, so it's either eat at the table or eat on the floor and I think I've covered how wretched the carpet is, so no.

And in case you don't know what a giant birthday cupcake looks like, here you go. My hairdresser is an hour and a half away now, but you know my ass is going up there regardless because this is what happens on my birthday at my hairdresser's.  

This is down the hill from our house and I'm sure there's a Jeff Foxworthy joke for this, but I refuse to make it. 

Much champagne was had in the name of my birthday. Plus chips. Always chips.

And ripping out of spaghetti mess cables wadded up not at all neatly by my side of the bed. EW. AWAY WITH BULLSHIT.

And face pinching. 

So that was my birthday, in a shell.

And now I'm going to go look at some farms in Germany for a week.

Even cleaned up my work boots for the trip because I can't be visiting their German farms in dirty boots covered in American filth now can I? No. Because I'm a lady. And also I refuse to pack dirty boots into a bag with my clothes. Ew. 

500 new pets

As I said at some point, though I'll admit I don't know exactly when, I was drafting up posts during the BIGHUGETHINGNEWS IS COMING in between period, and now that the secret's out, I can share these posts.

Even if they seem all weird because I wrote them, like, weeks ago. 

Anyway, remember when I said I have 500 new pets? I do. 

Here you go...

So, have you already guessed that I have a box of worms making poo outside of my home office window?

NO?

Who are you people anyway?

Kidding. I totally love you guys.

Meanwhile, that was my way of telling you that my 500 new pets are worms. Red Crawlers from what I understand.

They are in a plastic tote drilled with breathing holes sitting atop a few excess pavers from our forever-ago-now backyard landscaping project getting started on the business of eating my kitchen scraps and pooping them out.

I have an actual shit box in my backyard now because we've gone Full WT around here, folks.

Even more fun will be when I get to make poo tea and then spray it all over my property.

RIGHT?

Sounds like some sort of sick porn fetish, but I swear to you (I was so tempted to say "shit you not" right there, but you don't come here for cliched bullshit so I will just give you uncreative bullshit instead. See how I could have said "wormshit" instead of "bullshit" right there? Again - saving you from cliches. I know it - I'm amazing and generous.) it's just a 1/2 pound of worms squirming around in compost and kitchen scraps shitting up the joint so that I can, later on, mix their shit with water, strain it into a garden sprayer and just go merrily spraying it about on all of my plants and especially my vegetables so that they can grow big and strong and disease-free just a-makin' my food.

That's right - poo > food > food > poo > repeat.

If Bubba were here, he'd totally call that a shit sandwich even though "shit sandwich" is usually used to describe a hopeless situation and, in this case, it's not hopeless at all. Unless you consider it to be hopelessly fraught with cliched shit jokes peril, in which case...Oh, yeah it probably is. I'll have to be careful about that one.

Oh, and if you missed that gentle similarity to beekeeping back in there, go back and look harder and then come back to me down here and we can be all, "Oh my god, when did you start buying pets by the pound?"

Are you with me on this one yet? Let me help you out since I know this post has gotten weird and off track and poo-smeared: I bought the bees in 3 pound increments which amounted to 10,000 bees. And then I bought worms in 1/2 pound increments which amounted to 500 worms.

I now, it would seem, buy my pets in bulk and by the pound. It's very Big Box sounding, but I assure you it's not Big Box-ish in any other way. I mean, I didn't have to get a membership card or a giant Rolls Any Which Way cart to procure these fine beasts or anything.

And now, as though I'm living my childhood fantasies one at a time, I have a box of worms outside my kitchen door into which I may peek at any time of the day.

Didn't I have the weirdest childhood fantasies? I swear that I also had normal ones that involved certain members of New Kids on the Block dancing nude in my living room. And also Joe Montana. But never at the same time I'M NOT A FREAK.

So, to conclude this post which is sure to get me some raised eyebrows in the SPAM and porn traffic departments, I now keep stinging insects and slimy creepy crawlers, set up seasonal grow ops in my kitchen, shout biblical commandments, do The Science, let things ferment and mold in my kitchen, brew tea from poo and happily receive dirt as a gift all in the name of growing organic vegetables.

I've officially hit What-The-Fuck-O'clock on the ole life timer.

Just try not to get the Crazy all over you.

I think I promised you all something about running updates and garden updates, so I'll just get on with it if you don't mind.

Like you'd really mind. I mean, come on, you're HERE aren't you?

Whatever. This is already getting weird.

So - garden updates:

I have one again!

Forgive me for only using pictures from my phone. I'm very lazy these days.

Yes. It is official, I have planted the garden for the year.

And what did I plant without even asking you to Adopt a Crop because I'm just so obsessed with other garden-y things which I will talk about in just one second so quit pressuring me?

From back to front (which sounds wrong and gross, but that's *not* what we're talking about here):
Swedish Peanut Fingerling Potatoes 
Tall Telephone Peas
Solly Beiler Cucumber
Sunset Lettuce
De Pierre Petite Lettuce
Toma Verde Tomatillos
Golden Greek Peppers
Padron Peppers
Numex Jalmundo Peppers (aka Jalapeno Popper Peppers - WT Garden woo!)
Green Giant Tomatoes
Hillbilly Tomatoes
Brandywine Sudduth Pink Tomatoes
Better Boy Tomatoes

Plus, also the alleged Slo-Bolt Cilantro and a mess of Lettuce Leaf Basil, which LOVE.

And if you want to watch this garden as it grows and I take anal retentive photos of every step of its life and then record all of its harvests down to the last ounce and go completely monkey ass bonkers - you can follow me on myFolia, look at the myFolia gadget on the right nav bar, there or read this blog. Also, do not forget about The Finny Farm - it's the home for Crazy.

Because it's Garden Crazy All The Fucking Time Around Here, folks.

Speaking of which...

I think I am a nursery.

Um, so, more than the four plants I have room for.

You guys were warned when I told you I was going to learn to FINALLY GEEZ start tomato transplants from seed and properly harden them off.

You knew it'd come to this.

And, alas, it has.

I have gone 100% over to the dark side of my Crazy.

I realize - not the darkest of the dark sides, but wait.

I knew I'd hit Full Crazy when I bought a laminator, but let me back up.

LET ME.

So, I think the tomatoes were about yay big in their four to five seedling trays when I had a little coming to Jesus moment with Bubba.

Me: Bubbs, I have to admit something.
Bubba: OK.
Me: I think I'm going to have to make proper plant tags for all of my tomato plants.
Bubba: OK.
Me: I think I'm going to have to make proper plant tags for all of my tomato plants and then give them to people in exchange for AIDS LifeCycle donations and then sell them at our neighborhood garage sale and then trade them for other goods and services.
Bubba: OK.
Me: I think I'm going to have to just let my crazy out all over these proper plant tags though. Not just, like, write the names of the plants on a tag with a crayon, but, like, actually design some plant tags and then maybe make a support site and then try to get people to give me their seeds back so I can save them to do this again next year and everything. Like, I'm going to go all the way crazy with this and I just think that you should know.
Bubba: OK.
Me: DOESN'T THIS SOUND FREAKY? AREN'T YOU SCARED OF ME?
Bubba: No. I assumed you'd do this.
Me: *silence*...Really?
Bubba: Yeah. Totally.
Me: Oh yeah? Well. I'M GETTING A LAMINATOR.
Bubba: Yeah. I suspected.
Me: OK. I give up trying to scare you. You're UNSCARABLE.
Bubba: That's not a word.

So, yeah, not sure why I feel like I need to let you guys in on the mundane and boring conversations that go on between the Bubba and I, but basically, he can see the future, I'm crazy and my Crazy leaked out all over the tomato transplant situation to the point where I custom designed plant tags for everything, laminated them, built a support site to gather pictures and tomato seeds and other people's Crazy and holy hell if it's not all the way out of control and so super fun that I'm feeling like an extra big nerd.

NERD ALERT.

And for those who came to pick up their tomatoes last weekend, they got to see my Crazy in person and no one was even scared.

See? That is not the face of a scared person. Brave woman, she!

In fact, they seemed thrilled! Which does not bode well for my future Crazy levels.

Like my mom used to tell us when my brother was acting up around the house, "DON'T ENCOURAGE HIM!"

I think that applies, but now that I'm a grown-up, I don't have anyone to warn me.

Do you like SPICY women? [PRIZE]

A friend of mine has a hysterically poor-mannered husband.

He's known for sharing colorful stories at inappropriate times and in the presence of his and other people's children.

I, of course, find him endlessly amusing and often recycle his stories and comments in my own life and to much the same type of responses. Mostly looks of highly satisfying horror or, in the case of my beloved Bubba, wails of laughter.

God, I love that man.

Case in point, the story of his childhood cleaning lady/housekeeper/maid/whatever they called them back in the late 70s.

The woman was a total kook. She hailed from somewhere in Latin America, but due to his story telling skills and lack of personal interest and therefore knowledge, he has no idea where, exactly. He just says she's from Mexico, but who really knows. We know she spoke Spanish, but that's pretty much it. She just wouldn't say.

Anyway, this gal worked for his parents at the house for a lot of years doing what I imagine full time housekeepers do: clean, cook, whip ill-mannered little boys with broom handles - you know, back then you could do whatever.

The unique thing about this woman was that she was a wild saucy spirit, a characteristic not often associated with hard-working cleaning ladies, and she foisted this wild saucy spirit onto her subjects. Specifically, my friend's husband and his brother.

I don't know all the details, but the two that I *do* know have gotten a lot of mileage in my house and the house he shares with his wife (my good friend) and their three kids.

1. The woman referred to herself as "The Sexy Mexican Maid". (Note: She was not sexy, in the conventional way, and she never told him from where she *actually* hailed.)

2. She used to taunt him and his brother by squeeling, "YOU LIKE SPICEEEEEEEY WOMEN?" when they'd arrive home from school with their friends, pick up the phone to make a call or basically do anything where another party was present so that the embarrassment level would increase significantly. She'd then cackle uncontrollably and go back to vacuuming or whatever.

So, yeah, these two bits of the housekeeper story were told in separate intervals, with the kids nearby and at a very high volume, on numerous occasions and have, as such, worked their ways into regular conversation at our house.

And so now let's grow jalapenos.

What?

That was my smooth segue into the PRIZE portion of this otherwise fully random post about the unspoken comedy in the world of undocumented labor.

See, a friend of mine sent me a link to this fabulous type of jalapenos that are specially bred to be super stuffable. Basically, they're jalapeno popper peppers. Like, you could stuff them with cheese, roll them in breading and fry them and have the best white trash bar treat in all the land.

OBVIOUSLY, I had to have them. Because I am a spicy woman. Do you see the connection now? I knew you would. FYI: This has nothing to do with any sexy Mexican maids.

But, when I was on the site buying these seeds, of course I had to do a little looking around in their shop to support their cause and all and came across their awesome looking book that tells you how to best grow, cook and use the peppers.

Why, yes, I DO think I need that, too.

Especially since this will involve me starting seeds indoors and then moving them out of doors, which is something we all know I suck at.

But there was something else I decided I needed in order to get through this whole growing of SPICY peppers exercise - someone else growing them with me. So that when mine totally croak and fail, I can see whether my friend's seeds have croaked and failed and then not be suicidal.

Or perhaps we both grow so many jalapenos that everyone gets pickled jalapenos or stuffed jalapenos for their birthdays.

Whatever - I need a partner in crime for this, is what I'm saying. Be my pepper friend? Do you like spicy women? IS ANY OF THIS GETTING THROUGH?

The prize though, and how to win it...

GIMME GIMME

Do YOU like SPICY women and/or peppers?
Do YOU want to maybe make some WT appetizers for a late summer BBQ?
Do YOU want to discuss the legal and ethical implications of undocumented labor?

If you screamed YES at your computer for either of the first two questions, you should first look around and make sure no one saw you do that because - douche - and then you should leave a comment to the effect of, "Yes, I'll grow peppers with you, Finny and also I don't care what your POV is on undocumented labor because that story was still funny."

If you had any reaction other than, "Er. No." to the last question, please forget you read this post and just come back another time. I only say that because *I* don't want to talk about undocumented labor, I just want to make fun of it in a juvenile and ignorant way.

And then I want to grow peppers while one of you grows them, too, and while the rest of you stand around going, "These douches are totally going to blow this. I'm glad I choose Team Melons because THAT'S where the rubber meets the garden."

You guys are such judgers. Also, that Team Melons thing doesn't really make sense, so HA!

Alright, I'm losing it. Cast your comments to win the book and a packet of these seeds by 4/1 and I'll announce the winner on 4/2.

Arriba.

Adopt a Crop 2010 : Melons! The normalish kind.

Hi, it's been a while since I did the gardeningblahblahblah. Especially in relation to the Adopt a Crop thing, which if you'll recall, had something to do with melons that look like space alien STDs or something.

You remember.

Well, let me first tell you that this post doesn't contain any photos of STD-reminiscent melons. And, while you may be relieved by that news, I am not. Because the lack of such things means that these fucked up looking melons, which I was so keen to grow, taste and taunt you with, are probably not going to see the light of day or flash from my camera this year. Because it's September and the "hottest" part of the summer is likely behind us, so the likelihood that these things are going to get inspired and produce a spiny looking whatthefuckisthat is pretty slim.

Thankfully, however, the plant is vaguely pretty and it's climbing the little cage I gave it for recreation (it's at least a bit athletic, which I like), so I feel like it could have a chance of producing in future years when we don't have the coldest summer in 40 years of recorded history.

Ignore our WT bbq back there. Just look at the pretty melon plant.

Have I told you yet that this has been a cold summer? Because it has. Not that I'm complaining of course, since we live in a house older than my oldest relative that is charmingly sans-air conditioning, so burning hot summers aren't really high on my wish list except that it means that at least we'll be able to ripen some melons and produce a second big wave of tomatoes.

Ix-nay on the econd-say wave of omatoes-tay, too, by the way. And, wow, since when do I lapse into pig latin? Sometimes I can be so retarded.

Anyway, no African Horned Cucumber Jelly Melons to show you. Even though I'd love to freak you guys out with them at this point.

Also, no big second wave of tomatoes to report on, though I'm still holding out hope we'll get some good ones off the three plants and MAYBE if I wish really hard and cross all my digits, I'll pull a 2 pounder off the Brandywine (what I'm assuming the "Black Krim" turned out to be. Nursery liars.) as that is my amended Garden Wish of 2010.

I think my initial wish had something to do with throwing horned melons at the annoying neighbor kids (WHY MUST THEY SCREAM LIKE THAT? THEY'RE BOYS AND THEY SOUND LIKE TRANNY MONKEYS.), but I can't abide throwing precious tomatoes at them, so it appears they are safe from my produce throwing for one more year.

They should feel lucky that I don't grow squash because HOLY I'd lob one of those across the street without a second thought. Fuckers grow so fast and all.

So, since I don't have any horny melons to show you, how about I instead show you the most recent conquest out of the garden? Yes? You like that? Thought so.

Also, please enjoy this super ugly picture of me. It was hot and sweaty and my head is round like a god damned jack-o-lantern.

There's just something about producing a 17 pound melon that makes me feel accomplished as a gardener. I mean, that is a significant fraction of my own body weight and it tastes like a god damned dream, unlike that fraction of my own body weight which I imagine tastes like Gardener Girl.

Butt dot

And since this time I sliced it open it was bright pink and delicious inside rather than pale pink and vaguely delicious inside, I feel like I've won the gardening lottery. And check out its butt dot. That, I believe, is the "moon" in the "Moon and Stars" variety. Let's call the little dots, "stars" and call it a day, then.

I mean, "Moon".

We haven't taken the box top off to see if one of them has grown into a square yet, but know that you'll be sort of the first to know. You know what I mean - there's my mom and the neighbors and Facebook to be informed first, and since I'm not the only one controlling the media event around the square watermelon (Bubba's a watermelon blabbermouth), I can't make any real promises. Apologies.

So, that's your normalish melon report. The rattlesnake watermelons, which were momentarily looking promising, have succumbed to some sort of unidentified garden muncher, so the two prospects are now toast and I've stopped holding out hope for any more. Melon Fail #2.

RIP, little snake.

Rest of the garden, though? Well...

The beans are huge, putting on another crop and harboring vigilante bugs at the heights of the bean tower. I have left the giant garden spiders to contend with the bugs (I saw an evil cucumber beetle in there and a big spider was going right for it - awesome) since the garden's nearly coming to a close for the season/I can't reach up to those beans anyhow/I'm lazy and don't have enough jars to make anymore pickles anyway.

And there are a million more just like them under that canopy of leaves.

The cucumbers are fucking prolific and I have no idea what I'll do with the rest of the crop these two plants put out because I'm out of jars and there's no way I'm buying more.

Please enjoy my hodgepodge collection of remnant jars.

Meanwhile, I've canned a LOT of pickles so far this season and some of them were the Mexican Sour Gherkin ones, so the winner of the upcoming Adopt a Crop giveaway will get these crazy ass looking pickles instead of *something* made from the nonexistent African Horned Cucumber Jelly Melon. Just so you know.

The tomatoes are doing AOK, even after being stripped clean on multiple occasions to satisfy my need for canning, sauce making, tomato salad eating, sandwich stacking and gird your loins vacuum sealing.

Gird them!

Yes, friends, I finally bought a vacuum sealer after all these years of people asking me why I, "of all people", don't have one. Well, now I, "of all people", have a vacuum sealer and vacuumed tomatoes AND a chesty with a few bags of frozen tomatoes for winter to go with the manyMANY jars of canned tomatoes in the cupboard. I know there are tomato shortages going on all over the place in this fine state of mine, but the shortages stop at my doorstep. We are mostly full on tomatoes.

Yet still, I long for more.

Well, then, how about the tomatillos? They're OK. They produced enough for me to make about half a dozen pints of Salsa Verde and that's really all I imagined I would get, so we're square - the tomatillos and I. Of course, the plant that remains of the pair (one totally croaked and had to be pulled) is putting fruitless effort into producing blooms because it does not have a Two with which to Tomatillo, as previously reported as necessary for fruit production.

Get all that? Basically, tomatillo production is done, so we can just be grateful for the Salsa Verde you see here. Which also included all the paltry few jalapenos produced from the poor jalapeno plant which was summarily lost in the jungle of Brandywine tomato.

And that about does it for the garden update. At least vegetable-wise. I figure we've got about a month and a half before I have to seriously consider taking down the garden and putting it to bed for winter, during which time I will also knock over the potato tire tower and see what the hell's going on in there. For now, it's half alive and half dead and the plant changes its mind on which half is alive and which is dead on a bi-weekly basis, so giving you an update is nearly pointless.

If we get a single potato out of this thing, I'll be pleased. If it's not chock full of potato cooties, I'll be ecstatic.

Everything else is pretty much resting. The fruit trees; apple, cherry, kumquat, lime and lemon, are all in some form of either blooming (citrus) or lying about (cherry, apple) and that is AOK with me. I don't need any more mouths to feed right now.

And I'm getting ready to put in my order for a brand newly built beehive. Which doesn't have anything to do with THIS year's Adopt a Crop, but if I don't manage to fuck everything up, it will hopefully have a LOT to do with next year's.

Fingers crossing, people - fingers crossing.

Oh, and I've updated the garden tracker, so go rest your eyes on those numbers, my friends. No $64 tomato around these parts.

OYW : Sew Along 2010 : July/August

Hey Donk,

Somehow I made it to July without trying out that other tank pattern, but I just want to put it on the record that the only reason I didn't make it was because I ran out of bias tape on the first one and I think you know that I'm not making bias tape even though I have one of those OH IT'S SO EASY TO USE bias tape maker gadgets because IT'S STILL A PAIN IN THE ASS.

Right.

So, I still want to make that tank because I have the perfect fabric for it, but alas, it waits. I must procure bias tape. Which means I must get over to my favorite sewing shop so that I may finger all the tapes. Of course, I could just be buying them online, but somehow that's alluded me until now.

Whatever!

It's a new month, or months rather, and so we have new projects and a recipe to de-stash your fridge/garden.

Which, OH MUTHER, do I need right now. Geesh.

Our farmshare and my garden are conspiring to bury me beneath strawberries. Which isn't the worst thing that could happen I suppose, unless you're buried under there for more than, say, a day, at which time it would become The Worst because ew.

How can something so tasty smell so foul after just a few hours at room temp? Seriously, that's gnarliness. And sort of incredible.

Anyway, I have a recipe for that and you have two new projects and before we go too much farther into this rambling post, we have a winner from May and June!


okgirl2010 made a perfect rendition of the pintucked top and then, because she's obviously aware of my soft spot for WTness, staged her final photos to play into my weakness what with the plastic hanger and all.

For the record, SHE called it WT, not me. Originally anyway.

Nicely played, friend. Now send me your mailing address to finnyknitsATgmailDOTcom and I'll send you a prize worthy of your great WTness.

And for those of you waiting beneath a pile of strawberries for salvation - here's your recipe:

Strawberry Salad

Recipe by moi

Makes 6 servings

Ingredients
2 bunches of loose leaf lettuce, washed and chopped  (about 6 cups)
1 pint of strawberries, hulled and sliced
1/2 c pecans, chopped
1/4 cup Parmesan, sliced thin
4 T champagne vinegar (or other mild white vinegar)
3 T olive oil
Salt and pepper to your taste

Pile the strawberries, pecans and Parmesan on top of the salad greens, pour the dressing over the top and toss.

And, it sounds like Kelli's chosen Elodie the Elephant and someone's (mine - I'm very subtle AND modest) Not-Ugly Car Trash Bag for this month's projects.

So, there's that.

We've got two months until photo pool time (meaning upload your photos by August 31st), so get to making and either amusing a child (or yourself? Do you still have stuffed animals on your bed? Is that awkward when you bring home a dude? Just saying.) or cleaning out your trashy car.

Not that you necessarily have a trashy car, but if I get in there and have to kick cigarette boxes or old tissues out of the way to sit down, I'm going to have to advise you on your car's trashiness status.

I'll be watching you.

OH! And I nearly forgot - if YOU forget what projects and recipes we've got going for the month(s), I added a Sew Alongs tab to the top bar of my blog, so you can just real quick like go over there and see what we're supposed to be doing. And there's a link to the photo pool and everything for, like, quick reference and whatnot.

What's not there, however, are all the details from all of the sew alongs Kelli and I have done. Yet. I'm working on it.

Now go clean out your car.

xo
Finny

The Farmshare Project: Week 11 [Recipe]

Rest your weary imaginations, friends, this week I have photos.

I mean, not photos of every single thing I made with the farmshare, but you know, some old favorites that you've been in charge of imagining for a few weeks now. I didn't want to risk burning out your brains, so I decided to suck it up and crack out the camera for a moment.

I'm the nicest. It's OK, you can say it. I won't get a big head.

So THAT is what a carrot looks like! All this time I imagined them round.

Last week's box had:
Bunch of Chard
Bag of Fava Beans
Bag of topped Red Beets
Bunch of Broccoli
Bunch of Onions
Baskets of Strawberries
Lettuce
Bunch of Carrots
Bunch of Fennel
Bag of Oyster Mushrooms
Mystery Item which turned out to be cabbage and squash

And their fate was:
We ate them
Bunch of Broccoli: Broccoli noodle salad
Bunch of Onions: Chopped on hot dogs (oh yes, we're WT), grilled with fish
Strawberries: Strawberry rhubarb crisp
Lettuce: Salads of many varieties
Bunch of Carrots: Broccoli noodle salad
Bag of Oyster Mushrooms: In pasta primavera
Cabbage: Asian coleslaw
Squash: Fresh spring rolls

We abandoned them appropriately:
Bunch of Chard

We stored them:
Bag of Fava Beans
Bag of topped Red Beets
Bunch of Fennel

And because it's summer now and YAY my awesome neighbors returned from their Midwest pilgrimage with their mom's homegrown rhubarb (For me? I couldn't! I mean, GIVE IT.) I made strawberry rhubarb crisp which is the best fruit-based dessert in the whole world and do not try to tell me differently.

I get very emotional about this, my favorite dessert of the year.

And, let it be known that my recipe is sort of a patchwork quilt from multiple Joy of Cooking recipes and my own pea brain. Just so you know that this recipe is not all my doing, but the way I put it together, it's *sort* of mine. In the sense that I lay claim to the whole thing when it's done baking and only let Bubba look at it out of the corner of his eye.

MINE.

Just kidding, I share. A little. But, in this rare instance, when he offers me the last bite from the dish (because you know only the first scoops are served on an actual plate and the rest are eaten from the Pyrex), I totally take it.

It's MINE.

With other desserts, I usually let him have it out with the remains in the pie dish and don't intrude because I like my limbs attached and don't want to risk a fork wound to the face just for the last bite of whatever cake/pie/cobbler is in his meaty hands.

Strawberry Rhubarb Crisp

Recipe adapted from Joy's strawberry rhubarb pie filling recipe and apple crisp topping

Ingredients
Crisp
8 T cold butter, cut into small cubes
3/4 c all-purpose flour
2 T sugar
1 t salt


Filling
1 1/4 lbs rhubarb, chopped into 1" pieces
1 pint strawberries, topped, halved
1 c sugar
1/4 c flour


To make
Preheat the oven to 375

In a large bowl or 6 cup Pyrex if you want to be just like me, mix the filling ingredients together and then leave it out on the counter to macerate while you make the crisp.

And I don't call it a crisp topping because I hate the word topping when it comes to food. Sounds gross for some reason. Like the reason that I associate "topping" with Cool Whip and Cool Whip is gross. So, I just call it, "crisp", and I'm sorry if that confuses you but I'm sure you'll learn to deal.

Anyway. To make the CRISP - in a medium mixing bowl or the ample bowl of your 14 cup food processor, blend together everything for the CRISP except the butter and then cut in the butter until the mixture has the consistency of delicious gravel. Or peas. Or whatever the commonly accepted term is for how crisp topping (BARF) or pie crust should look before you throw it on top of your fruit filling and bake it.

Like this

Then pour your filling into a square glass dish, pour the CRISP over the top evenly and then tap it on the counter to make sure it all gets in there and such.

Then bake it for 45-50 minutes until the CRISP is golden and the filling is all abubblin' around the sides.

I considered taking a video of the bubbling but then I felt retarded so I stopped.

Once it's cooled below Nuclear Volcanic Death, scoop yourself out a slice and prepare your strategy for how you'll eat the rest of it before you YAY make another one because YAY AGAIN your neighbors brought enough homegrown rhubarb for two crisps and don't you know there will be more strawberries in next week's share.

And then the week after that and the week after that until...oh...OCTOBER.

Too bad rhubarb season is so short.

Enjoy. And feel free to fight for the last bite with a fork.

Fork Force!

Scary.