Road Kill Cafe

I will never say again that helping someone move is a thankless task. Three weeks ago Jeff2 and I helped his cousin move. That was no small undertaking. Lots of boxes, lots of furniture, lots of stuff coupled with steep and narrow stairs. Throw in, on the first weekend, rain. A fun time was enjoyed by one and all…………….:(

However out of this we have acquired some metal barrels that we have been looking for. One that will very soon be put into service as a burn barrel, for all our burnable trash. That is a true asset. Jeff2 has some other things earmarked for the other barrels.

My real treasure is a wringer washing machine. I have been looking for one for quite a while. His cousin had one in the back of a storage shed. When he saw my delight just from looking at it, he told me I could have it if I wanted. I was over the moon with that bit of news. And to top it all off he even offered to deliver it and the barrels.

It is a mid 1930’s Maytag. For all of its’ age it is in remarkably good shape. A bit of rust here and there, but nothing major. It was rather dirty from sitting in a storage shed, but cleaned up nicely. I tentatively plugged it in to see if it still worked, and it did! The motor sounds good, the dasher works great and the wringer is in fine shape.

I know most folks will probably think I am crazy, but I can hardly wait to use it. It is sitting in a place of honor on my back porch. I still need to get a rinse tub, and that is on the top of my Christmas wish list. As long as it is not too cold, wash day will find me out on the back porch happily using my treasure and hanging the laundry on the clothesline.

Thank you for the comments. I really do enjoy sharing my recipes! Thanks to Kirstens’ comment about them being hard to find, I have started a separate blog just for the recipes. This can be found on the left side of this blog, listed under Links. It is called RKC- The recipe file.

I will still be adding a recipe every Monday there, but I may well add more. I was afraid of turning this blog into too much of a recipe book. I am excited about having a blog devoted just to recipes and maybe it will shove me in the direction of publishing my own recipe book. That has long been an ambition of mine. Plus it has gotten me to begin sifting through all the old handwritten recipes I have, some of those are from my great grandmother.

Now this blog will go back to being devoted to happenings here at the gulch and all things related to that subject.

Thanks again for the comments, they truly helped me find my way with this subject.

Is anyone interested (seriously) in any of the recipes that I have been posting?

If not, I will just let this be the end of the Monday recipe posts. I am looking for feedback on this issue and would like your comments.

Thanks!

Creamy rich chicken in white wine sauce. Serve over rice, noodles or garlic mashed potatoes.

INGREDIENTS

• 1/4 cup butter
• 4 boneless chicken breast halves, with or without skin
• 1 1/2 cups chicken stock, or as needed
• 1 cup dry white wine
• 4 cloves garlic, peeled
• 1 tablespoon all-purpose flour
• 1 teaspoon salt
• 1 teaspoon pepper
• 1 cup heavy cream

DIRECTIONS

1. Melt butter in a large skillet over medium-high heat. Add chicken breasts, seasoned with salt and pepper and cook until nicely browned on both sides. Pour in chicken stock and white wine, using enough chicken stock so that the chicken pieces are covered halfway to two thirds by liquid. Add whole garlic cloves. Reduce heat to medium-low, sprinkle flour over the top of the contents of the pan and cover with a lid. Simmer for 40 to 45 minutes, until chicken is cooked through.
2. When chicken is cooked through, remove to a dish, and keep warm. Boil the liquid in the skillet until it is reduced to about 1 1/2 cups. Whisk cream into the reduced liquid, breaking up the garlic cloves as much as you can. Return chicken to the pan, and heat through.

Scout, one of our rescued Pyrenees, has landed himself in trouble. He has recently been digging his way under the fence and out of the yard. He has been joined by partner in crime, Sunny, an older lab mix. The two of them have been having some high times exploring the surrounding countryside and running afoul of the distant neighbor who owns the hayfield.

No sooner would we close up the spot that they dug through and we would look out to see them going off down the road……again. I would go out and call them and they would sheepishly come slowly back, tails tucked. Then the hole from which they escaped repaired.

After several instances of this, and fearing for their safety from cars, it was time for drastic action. Reluctantly I got out a collar and the tie out cable. It was time to arrest this Houdini behavior. I attached the cable to a light pole in the yard and prepared to corral Scout. That was easier said than done because even though we have never tied up Scout before (since we have a large fenced yard) it was like he instinctively knew what I was trying to do. Keeping just out of reach, he eluded capture like a seasoned veteran.

We finally got him to come into the house and his freewheelin’ days were over. I easily got the collar on him, and then attached the end of the cable, led him out to the chosen spot and fixed the cable to the pole. Done. He was effectively corralled. He sat looking at me with the saddest expression and with a heavy sigh resigned himself to his fate. Or so he led me to believe………..

A little while later Jeff2 went out to the back yard and went over to give Scout some attention. Scout backed away from him and SNAP, broke the metal collar and was off. If he was hard to catch before, he was even more so now. And he broke the only type of collar we had. So with Jeff2 keeping a close eye on our desperate duo, I went to buy a new and hopefully strong enough collar.

Getting the new collar on him was much easier than I expected. Even getting him over to where the cable was attached, was easy. Once again he stared at me with sad eyes and gave up a heavy sigh, resigning himself to his fate. But he still had a trick up his sleeve. Since he couldn’t get out, he dug a hole for Sunny to escape. Sunny took him up on his offer and was off to see the sights.

Upon making this discovery, I went in and informed Jeff2 that Sunny was on the lam and he needed to find him. I went to repair the hole that Scout had dug and lined it well (I hope) with stuff that he couldn’t dig through or move. Jeff2 came back with Sunny and told him that he was going to be tied up next. Sunny, having had the experience of being confined, went to lay on the porch and hasn’t left the porch since.

While all this was going on Molly, the other Pyrenees, lounged on the back porch. She was watching with great interest, but showed no desire to join the canine criminals. She could have very easily slipped out as well. I think she probably has more sense than Scout and Sunny.

We have been busy this week end getting some things done before the cold sets in for the duration. A general clean up and probable final mowing of the yard until spring has been accomplished. The putting away of things like hoes and rakes. The hummingbird feeder has been brought in, cleaned and stored until next spring.

We have also been busy gathering the firewood that we need for the wood stove. There are a couple of dead fall tress at the far end of our pasture that will make for excellent fire wood. We have been cutting them down to a manageable size to drag closer to the house to cut, split and stack. Out of just one of those trees we have gotten an amazing amount of usable wood. There is still more there to harvest, so we are in good shape for a supply of wood to warm the house and not have to turn on the electric baseboard heaters.

I really love the woodstove that we installed last year. There is just something that is both cheery and comforting about having a fire going. I really enjoy hearing the wood cracking and popping as it burns as well as just sitting and watching the fire. One of my favorite times of day, after the fire is burning well in the morning is to sit with my coffee, watch the fire and feel the chill taken out of the house. The fire dances and lights the room in the still dark of early morning.

As the first light of the new day peeks over the ridge and spills down into our valley, the squirrels are already busy gathering walnuts from the trees that line the creek. There are flashes of red and blue from the cardinals and blue jays as they fly about looking for the last of the juicy bugs for breakfast. I am still watching for the flock of wild turkeys that graze for bugs in the hayfield, but I have not seen any of them yet.

All too soon my coffee is gone, it is time to put more wood on the fire, get dressed and start the day. Even the memory of my quiet time with coffee, the fire and the hushed predawn stillness will make me smile, no matter what ever else the day brings.

November has dawned gray and frosted. Deer, brown now in their winter coats, keep to the edge of the frosty hayfield, or race across it not daring to linger. The colorful leaves that were the glory of October now lie dead and brown. Bare black branches etch their silhouettes against the cold gray morning sky.

One such November morning though, dawns with a feeling like no other in this month. Families come together from all parts of the country like some ancient gathering of the clans. Ovens bulge with turkey, savory stuffing and pumpkin pie. We prepare to celebrate a national holiday that is of ancient Pagan origin and has its’ roots in England.

To celebrate their first harvest, the Pilgrims in 1621 held what was then called a Harvest Home. The original Harvest Home celebrated in England began at the first harvest and continued through the entire harvest season until the last crop was in. It featured feasting and drinking to the point that it sometimes interfered with the work of the harvest. By the late sixteenth century it had become the custom to not begin a celebration until the harvest was complete and the crops were safely in storage.

It is interesting to note that the deeply religious Pilgrims  marked this first Thanksgiving not with prayer, but with feasting, celebrations, games and contests. This is according to the only firsthand account, a letter sent to family in England from Edward Winslow. It was not until 1863, when Abraham Lincoln declared the fourth Thursday in November a day of Thanksgiving, that the holiday took on a religious significance.

As we gather around the dinner table with family and friends this Thanksgiving and bow our heads in silent prayer, it would be appropriate that we recall the Pagan origins of this traditional American holiday brought to these shores by the Pilgrims.