I'm Pickled Tink!

Our garden is flourishing and bursting with fresh vegetable goodness.  This beckoned to the pioneer woman in me to get busy.  We must not waste any of our precious bounty!

Last year I wanted to make sweet pickles but was dissuaded by Peter.  "How many pickles can we eat anyway?" He asked.  I didn't have an answer and gave in.  This year, I decided to make pickles despite his previous hesitation.  I asked my farm girl friends.  They had no experience with sweet pickles.  Dill pickles, yes, sweet, not so much.  I asked women at the grocery store and women on my mail route.  No one had ever made sweet pickles.  I looked in my oldest cook books and I looked on the internet finding many recipes, no two alike.  No consensus on a good recipe.  Finally I just closed my eyes and picked one.  I didn't know what I was doing but decided to just go for it!  I do like surprises!

Sweet pickles are interesting things.  They are not something you spend an afternoon making.  It's an 8 day process (or 7 day or 12 day - depending on the recipe you blindly pick out of a book).  Each day only takes a few minutes, and the last three days they just sit there.

Wednesday was day 8 and they went from pot to jars.  9 jars to be exact.  The directions stated they should sit a week in jars before they are ready to eat but today I had to try 'em.  They were good and I bet they'll get better in the coming days!

I'm excited and I'm guessing my answer to Peter's question:  "How many pickles can we eat?"  will be "9 jars I think!"

Yummy!

Going Postal

I have been a USPS employee nearly a year now.  In the past month I've worked a lot of hours and I don't like it.  When I hired on I agreed to one day a week.  Budget being what it is, reality tells me that 2 days a week is a much better fit for my bill payment schedule. So I have willingly agreed to two days a week.  However, there has been one "crisis" after another since May which has meant more hours for me.  If I don't work - my coworkers - who I really like - have to pull double shifts.  I don't want to do that to them.  So I've been a postal slave.  I'm tired and I'm cranky and I'm ready to go postal and now totally understand the term.

I really want to post these tips to FaceBook - but I am friends with my coworkers, who are friends with people and so on and someone high up in the postal system might see my words and fire me.  (not the worst thing that could happen - but still....)  There is a much lower chance that anybody from there reads this and yet I can still vent.

If you get mail to your house:

• Pick it up!!  
• If your postal carrier can get your mail there every day, in the rain and the wind and the blazing sun you can wander out the 25 feet to your mailbox and pick it up at least every other day.  If your box is full to overflowing she either has to stand there trying to cram one more piece of mail in, or she has to take time to pull out all your mail, bundle it up and leave a note that your box is full and you must come to the post office to pick it up - which will probably make you cranky as well.  Either way - it takes time she doesn't have.  
• Don't send your children to get the mail from the carrier.
• First - it's against the rules to give it to them.  Second - it's dangerous.  Mail trucks are bigger than children.  They can get squished. 
• Keep your dog away from me unless I indicate I am interested in meeting your dog.  
• I love dogs.  Love them.  But dogs don't always like mail carriers.  If I get bit the USPS considers it my fault and I can get fired.  Really.   I admit - I can't resist puppies.  I'm a sucker.  But I've been met at a mailbox by a child with a big snarling dog she couldn't control.  I backed up to the truck and told her I would not deliver her mail if she and the dog didn't leave.  I'm sure I'm now considered the cranky mail lady but I don't care.  
• If there is anyway to avoid it don't park in front of the mailbox.
• I know there are times when you can't help it but if you can not do it, don't do it. If you HAVE to park in front of the mail box, leave enough room for your carrier to get between the car and the mailbox.  The other day I had to almost sit on the hood of a car in order to get myself to the box.  I'm certain the owner of that car would complain loudly about butt prints or accidental scrapes should I cause damage.  I'd really rather not touch your dirty car, and I'd certainly like to not be responsible for a scratch or dent on your precious vehicle.
• Teach your children not to play around mail trucks. 
• A few weeks ago I had a 7 year old following the truck on his bicycle.  I stopped, he didn't and he slammed into the back of my truck.  Fortunately he wasn't seriously hurt and we both learned a lesson.  Now I scream hysterically at all children within 500 feet of the truck:  "KEEP AWAY FROM ME!!!!!"   (not really but I thought it sounded dramatic..)
• If your mail is in a cluster box - pick it up - and pick up your parcels too!!
• Again, your carrier has to try to cram more mail in your mailbox - but at a cluster box, she is also trying NOT to drop everyone else's mail.  Her arms are full and if it's raining she has no place to put the other mail down while she tries to fit more mail in your box and protect all the mail from getting soaking wet, using her body as a shield.  Pick it up!  If your cluster box has a parcel locker and you don't pick up your parcel - that locker is not available for your neighbor.  If we get to the box and there is no room for a parcel - we often have to walk back to the house (or u-turn and drive back) which takes time and we leave the parcel on the porch - a potential security risk.  Be thoughtful of your neighbors.
• Don't over share... and put on a stupid shirt  (unless you are truly awesome shirtless - then I don't mind so much)
• Yes, I've been regaled with stories you wouldn't believe by shirtless, pot bellied men.  I've been told stories by women who must think I'm their therapist.  Absolutely say hi, be friendly, but until we know each other well enough to go out and have a drink or too, please don't tell me about your impotence or marital problems.
• Teach your children not to tell strangers (even the mail "man") that they are home alone. 
• I've gone to houses with certified letters only to have a child say they were home alone.  I always take the opportunity to tell them not to tell me that!  Maybe it's because I'm in a small town but it just doesn't make sense to me.  Safety first!
• Don't ask us to not deliver "junk" mail.
• We can't censor your mail, and that is what it amounts to.  Absolutely feel free to complain to us about it.  I totally get it and I'm there with you.  But I get paid to deliver it and I have to. If you really don't want the mail you get, contact the sender or get yourself on the "no junk mail" list.  However - keep in mind that junk mail pays our wages.  Without it, we don't get paid - or worse, rates would have to go up in order to pay us.
• Don't point out how late your carrier is.
• She knows.  She's quite possibly nearly sick to her stomach over how late she is.  I have to be back to the office by 5:30.  Period.  The out going mail is picked up at 5:30 and if I miss the 5:30 pick up the boss has to drive the outgoing mail to Bellingham or worse, all the way to Seattle.  I have had to abandon mail delivery, finish the route just picking up out going mail, get it back to the post office and then go finish delivering mail. It's not fun and I often am on the verge of tears by the time I'm nearing the end.  Please don't make me cry.

Those are my complaints and tips and I feel better having vented.   Now - here are some helpful tips

• Wave!  We like to wave.  We are in your neighborhood every day.  We know a lot about your lives (even when you don't over share)  We know when you refinance your house, when a significant other moves out, or moves in.  We know when your children are preparing for college, we know when you are getting married.  We know your patterns.  We might be the first one to discover a problem, or a burglar.  We are trustworthy and we care about you.  If you pick up your mail every day - and all of a sudden you don't - and you live alone we get worried and we come and knock on your door.
• Go ahead and chat with us.  It's part of what I enjoy about this job.. but if I'm running late, which you kindly don't point out, don't hold me prisoner.  Let me get going.
• On a really hot day, I mean, sweltering, sidewalk egg-frying, sun-burning, forest fire days, leave a bottle of ice water in the mail box.  That would be delightful!

I'm done now and I feel better.  Have a lovely day!

Granny Snatcher, Boxcar.... Room of Doom!

One of the things I've wanted to do for YEARS is go white water rafting.  A few months ago Groupon (don't you just LOVE Groupon??) offered a white water rafting trip for 1/2 price on the Deschutes river in Maupin, Oregon.  Without a second thought I grabbed and convinced 5 other people to go on this adventure with me.

It was just a 1/2 day trip and we scheduled it for this past Saturday.  Leaving for the weekend isn't so easy for us anymore.  We had to make arrangements for alpaca and goat babysitters, we had to leave instructions for duck, goose, dog, cat and chicken care.  We had to water the garden, feed the creatures, clean the stalls, pack the car, pack our clothes, and put away our inter stellar transport ship...  We had a Friday morning, 10:00 am target departure time and managed to pull out just after noon.

Then we hit Seattle traffic.  It took us three hours to get from the north side of Seattle to the south side of Tacoma.  Normally a trip that takes less than an hour.  We finally rolled into our campsite about 9:30.  Our friends were already there and we quickly set up our tent and blew up our air mattress.  We visited for awhile and went to bed.  A totally useless effort.  We were staying in a river rafting camp ground.  It was a primitive campground to say the least.  There were eight port-a-potties at one end, a hose at the other, and about 50 tents with people all high on adrenaline (and who knows what!) eager to start their river adventure. Partying went on until 2:00 am.  Hoots, hollers and music filled the air.  Our air mattress went flat well before the partying ended.  Sleep was elusive at best.

Finally - it was time to hit the river.  And hit the river we did.  Our trip involved class 3 and 4 rapids with such fun names as Granny Snatcher, Boxcar, Oak Springs, AC/DC, Devil's Hole and the dreaded Room of Doom.  Our guide, Justin, briefed us on proper safety and paddling instructions and off we went.

The scenery was breathtaking.  Unfortunately there was no time to take photos.  There were other rafters on the river and there is a certain amount of rivalry.  Serious splashing of rival boats and rival companies was required.  In the slower patches of river we would try to sneak up, nonchalantly like and then WHAM water was the weapon and there was unlimited ammunition!  We rammed other boats and taunted them mercilessly.

We got wet - and then some.  On the slower sections we got out and swam. The smaller rapids we were allowed to "ride the bull" - one person would sit on the bow of the boat and hang on for dear life.  The class III rapids were exciting and plentiful.  The trip had one class IV rapid.  Before we went down it were pulled over to the side and were given special, specific, instructions.  What would happen, what we would experience and what we needed to do to get out alive.

We did an excellent job!  It was exciting and exhilarating and we all came out alive.  Wet, but alive and still on the boat!  Justin broke his paddle but man it was fun!

After we made it through the rapid we pulled over to an eddy and watched the next raft come down.  That raft got into trouble.  They made it down but the paddlers weren't able to get out of the suction of the river, they spiraled around the drop in a most dreadful manner.  Justin said, "Oh.. they are in the room of doom.  That's bad, watch this!"

Here's a photo.  That's the guide going over the back, if you look closely you can see the foot of one ejected rafter, in the air around the middle of the photo.  All together they lost three rafters.  Justin sent us paddling and we managed to rescue one, two more were pulled out just a bit farther by a safety line.

A little farther down the river was a stretch that we could ride down, sans raft.  We were told we could just jump out of the boat and ride the rapids. Body surf, in a way.  After that stretch we had to get back in because the river got quite rough again.  Two of our crew did it and then climbed back in the boat.  As we were preparing for the rougher section we ran across a person continuing to ride the rapids, without a boat.  Justin called over to him, "Were you planning on riding the lower elevator??"  The guy said no, he'd lost his kayak up above and couldn't do anything.  So we paddled over to him, pulled him in the boat just in time, ran the rapids and saved yet another human life!  We let him out just past the rapids and sent him hiking back up stream to find his kayak.

We are already planning to go again.  I'm keeping my eyes on the groupons.  I've researched other rafting trips, down the Rogue River, Snake River, Nooksack.. they are all over.   I want to do them all.  And I think I'll join the late night revelry.  I can hoot and holler with the best of them...

Betty Botta bought some butter

Betty Botta bought some butter;

"But," said she, "this butter's bitter!

If I put it in my batter

It will make my batter bitter.

But a bit o´ better butter

Will but make my batter better."

Then she bought a bit o´ butter

Better than the bitter butter,

Made her bitter batter better.

So ´twas better Betty Botta

bought a bit o´ better butter.

Every now and then I have to pause and reflect on the position I find myself in and I have to say out loud, "Thank you."  I try not to pause and reflect in public places because most people don't understand why I'm talking to myself and they tend to swing wide around me at the grocery store and paint shop.  They stare at me in my car as I have entire conversations with myself about how grateful I am.  Perhaps though, they might think I'm talking on a bluetooth cell phone and I'm just imagining their reaction.

I have a job that I don't absolutely hate any more.  I work one day a week but have opportunity to work more, but I don't HAVE to work more than I want to.  I get to play with goats and alpacas.  I get to spin, weave and knit, when I want to.  I get to bake and cook as much as I want to, but not more than that.  I get to make soap and butter, beef jerky, jam, jelly, pickles and more.   I get to do all these things because I want to.  I do not have to grow my own food, make my own soap and butter and such just to survive.  Deep inside I'm certain I would not enjoy these things nearly as much if I HAD to do them or starve.

I love to tour historic houses.  For some reason they really spark my imagination.  There is an historic house in Ferndale called Hovander Homestead.   We toured it a few years ago and It was fascinating.  The kitchen was equipped with all sorts of appliances from "the day,"  There was a wood-fired oven with a hot water reservoir attached, an ice box,  and a butter churn.  The butter churn was a mason jar butter churn that totally intrigued me.  For two years I've been keeping my eyes open at second-hand stores and estate sales hoping to find one of these treasures.  I finally spotted one - but they wanted $100.00 for it!  I sure didn't want it THAT  bad.  Then as luck would have it, our local newspaper had a story about making your own butter using a Kitchenaid mixer.  I already have one of those!!

So I bought cream from the local dairy.

It's really good cream.  I mean, the cream started out so thick it needed to be coerced out of the bottle:

Once I got it out of the bottle I mixed it.  A lot.

The directions said to add really cold water and knead the butter under the water.  I immediately thought I had ruined it.  The nearly-solid-almost-butter turned into a gushy soupy mess.  I would have taken a picture but both of my hands were covered with goupy soupy ick and I couldn't pick up the camera.  

Needless to say, I was very disappointed, but kept working with it, refusing to give up.  My perseverance paid off and I eventually ended up with butter.  Real butter!