Simple

Recently, a colleague and I commiserated about the challenges of finding a printable recipe on many cooking blogs. We decided that some of the bloggers are suffering from PWWS, Pioneer Woman Wannabe Syndrome. Our dear internet friend, Ree Drummond, of Pioneer Woman fame, has built an empire through her blog, one post at a time. She now has her own cooking show, cookbooks and cookware. She has a Mercantile purveying all things Pioneer, from her signature cookware to her children's books about the family dog, Charlie. She recently opened The Boarding House, a "cowboy luxury" hotel, featuring guest rooms designed by Ree and her handsome husband, Ladd. And she has four kids. And she seems nice.

As a blogger, I can relate to the fact that most of us will never become powerhouse bloggers. Therefore, I am puzzled at the tactics some bloggers use in an attempt to build a blogging kingdom. My guess is Ree's recipe for success is massive amounts of hard work, a solid business sense, talented writing skills, a sprinkling of good people in her life and a dash of good luck.

On the heels of my 7th anniversary as a blogger, here is the sum total of what I have learned about blogging.

1) Success is relative. I remember the hot day in July I decided to write for more than just myself. The back to school bell was soon to ring as I clunked my way through the Blogspot process (emphasis on clunk). I wrote a piece describing a little bit of my world and hit the "publish" button. My brain screamed, "What are you doing?" and my calmer self replied, "This too shall pass." Over 200 posts later, my fingers still believe there is a tale or two to tell as they peck out another post. Success for me is perseverance and consistency. My reader stats could be read by the average pre-schooler but I am okay with that.

2) Know your purpose. My blogging goal is to celebrate the everyday. Many of us do not live lives filled with exotic traveling, fine dining or trendy happenings. We should not feel like we've fallen short because we aren't wearing the latest fashions or driving cars with retractable roofs. There is no shame in plain. So far, my dull life has provided me with blogging inspiration. No passport needed.

3) Comparison is the thief of joy. I stole that quote from Teddy Roosevelt. I'm sure he won't mind if I pass it along. My guess is that the average blog reader can sniff out a wannabe pretty quickly. Not all readers are swayed by mason jars photographed with clever drips of caramel cascading off the sides or plates of biscuits with rough hewn tables used as the backdrop. Frankly, I am more confident that perusing a community favorites cookbook with sticky pages will provide me with recipe inspiration.

4) Respect your reader. Nothing says disrespect more clearly than pop-up-down-and-all-around ads while I am trying to read a blog. I know this is how bloggers make money but for the love of Pete, stop it. When I cannot get past the first three sentences of a blog without running through a gauntlet of ads, it makes it easy to answer the inevitable blog plea asking me to "sign up for weekly e-mails". No, thank you.

I do have one thank you I would like to pass along, however.

Thank you, readers. You are a kind bunch of folks and I appreciate your acceptance of my world of beige.

Empty Nest

Postcard of Iris and L'el'e 

As some of my readers know, I was over the moon obsessed with a family of ospreys in Missoula, Montana (Hellgate Canyon) this summer. Through the eyes of a well positioned web cam, folks from around the world watched Iris (mom osprey), Louis (dad osprey) and L'el'e (baby osprey) live their lives as raptors in nature. It was a summer of heartbreak, joy and nail-biting drama in and out of the nest. Through it all, the O family taught me several lessons.

1) Procedures matter.--Osprey are fish eaters. They are phenomenal divers and their powerful wings allow them to haul a struggling fish out of the water and back to the nest. The fish are always eaten from the head to the tail and consistently in that order. Never once did I see them start with the soft belly, no matter how hungry they were. They forcefully ripped through the lips of their prey and worked their way through the softer inner parts and finally, made a final gulp to accommodate the forked tail. I can only speculate that this procedure gave the O's maximum nutrition and kept the nest free of stray fish parts.

2) Keep your nest tidy.--From the moment Iris and Louis arrived in the spring, their nest was in a constant state of upkeep. Large "crib rails" were hauled in, stick by stick. Soft pieces of moss and grass were tucked into corners here and there. Much fussing and fiddling with sticks in the nest was common throughout the season. And the number one rule for all the O's was "Never poop in the nest." When it was time for a poop break, the birds backed up to the edge of the nest and let 'er fly with great projectile force. I found it fascinating in a twisted sort of way.

3) Trust the O's.--Nature is nature and any attempts on our part to anthropomorphize our little bird family resulted in heartbreak and frustration. It was an astoundingly difficult spring in Missoula for fishing. The Clark Fork River was raging and the turbidity levels were off the charts, resulting in near starvation for our O family. Siblicide is one way ospreys cope with low food availability. We watched as Iris and Louis ignored the attacks of the oldest nestling on the younger siblings. Our heads knew this was the only way any of the offspring had a chance for survival, but our human hearts wanted to intervene. Sadly, two nestlings succumbed but the remaining chick grew into a strong, beautiful osprey. The species continues to the next generation.

4) Never give up.--The most critical moment this summer was a 36-hour stretch of no fish being brought into the nest by Louis. It was cold, rainy and the river continued to churn violently. The remaining chick was within hours of death if food didn't arrive soon. Iris was keeping the chick warm but in a surprising move, she flew off the nest and shortly thereafter, returned with a fish. Iris is much older than Louis and her hunting prowess and motherly instinct gave her a life saving advantage that fateful day. Throughout the summer, Louis developed into a fierce fisher bird and his deliveries to the nest were always met with great fanfare.

Fall is arriving in Hellgate and our osprey family is feeling the urge to fly south. Soon the nest will be completely empty and we will most likely never see L'el'e again as the young do not return to their birth nest. The timing is good for me as I am back to school and I need to migrate out of the nest myself.


Until next spring, that is.

Screenshot of L'el'e in early August

Hometown Chronicles

My husband and I moved away from our hometown over 30 years ago but we continue to subscribe to our hometown's newspaper. Mind you, the town does not have a population much over a thousand people but it continues to faithfully print and distribute a weekly paper. My husband and I are like vultures on carrion when the paper arrives each Thursday and may the best bird win rights to the first read through.

The paper has all the sections one would expect in a small town paper. The front page is dedicated to the news of the town such as school board elections, businesses changing hands and local celebrations. The inner pages include letter(s) to the editor, sports updates of local teams, pictures of school happenings, library news and classified ads. The last page is reserved for obituaries and a column written by the current editor.

One of our favorite sections is called "News from our Files". It reprints a few news items from decades gone by, beginning in 1908. Yes, our hometown has a longstanding tradition of printing newspapers for its constituents. My favorite decades are the oldest ones. I don't recognize the names but I am fascinated with what was in the news and even more intrigued by the interesting language often used to describe events. One example came from July, 1908: "Hail last Saturday evening caused considerable damage to crops northwest of town. The storm also put a quietus on the circus, which was being presented in town that night." Another news item from one hundred years ago noted that a teacher from a local country school was leaving "due to some unpleasantness." News items from the 30's and 40's give me a window into the Great Depression and the war years. Local young men made the news for leaving home, for returning home and sadly, for never seeing their hometown again.

Along the way, I have learned a couple of lessons from my hometown paper about the folks who live there.

1) They support each other. Almost weekly, there are fundraisers for individuals and groups. Sometimes, they are for someone who needs help with medical bills. Sometimes, they are for churches raising funds for designated causes. And, periodically, the town tackles a really big project such as a new swimming pool. The town is fiscally conservative with a small taxpaying base so building a new pool is not done without a lot of sweat, time and fundraising dinners. The monies for the pool were  secured and the children are not only enjoying a beautiful new pool but they also have their own swim team. As someone who took swimming lessons in the local leech-infested lake, I wholeheartedly endorse pools for kids.

2) The residents in my hometown take pride in their community. It is not unusual to see a front page op-ed piece encouraging others to shop locally. There are many photographs highlighting the latest school play or the winning run in a wild baseball game at the local ballpark. The beautiful new city park is often featured with events for outdoor family activities. The Memorial Day program is published with an emphasis on honoring those who served our country.

It is no secret that many newspapers are going the way of the passenger pigeon. But, I believe in the tenacity of small town papers and their readers. They are less likely to believe that social media will be their only source of information and most of the faces and places in the paper are recognized by almost every resident in town.

My subscription money for my hometown paper is money well spent.

When I Grow Up

"When I grow up, I want to be______."

Most of us remember how we filled in the blank during our younger days. Some folks filled in the blank at a very early age with a selection that was spot on for the future. Others filled in the blank with a variety of career choices over the course of many years. While I was growing up, I filled in the blank with several options reflective of my generation: secretary, dental assistant (WHAT was I thinking), librarian, church organist (no pay) and teacher. I wisely never entertained the thought of being a nurse. There would be fewer people alive today if I had gone that route. You're welcome.

Not surprisingly, my strongest career choice was teacher. I often corralled my younger siblings into the game of "school". The youngest ones were my unsuspecting targets and they learned quickly that this game had only one rule. Their oldest sister was the teacher and she was in charge. The school game was usually short-lived for obvious reasons.

Fast forward many years (30 years of teaching later) and I am once again trying to fill in the blank. Retirement means many things and soon enough, I need to know what I am going to do when I grow up. As during the days of my youth, there are "career" choices reflective of my age and generation: Walmart Greeter (get to wear a snappy vest), Sample Lady at Hy-Vee (snack time), Valet Parker at the hospital (probably need to know how to park for that one) and Professional Volunteer (limitless). None seem particularly appealing at this time so I keep my eyes and ears open to possibilities.

A Lay's Potato Chip truck pulled up next to me on the street a few days ago and I wondered about that job. Sitting amidst snack items all day must be very comforting. Being evaluated by my driving skills and not being able to eat said snack items is a deal breaker. Scratch that idea.

Any job involving extended periods of time outdoors (more than 10 minutes) is probably not going to happen either. My see-through skin and aversion to temperatures above 70 degrees make it difficult for survival in occupations involving Mother Nature. She is precocious and I am weak. Not a good combo.

If a job is fraught with a lot of multi-tasking details, I am dead in the water. Administrative assistants are saints and waitresses are warriors in my book. My spongy brain and fuzzy hearing would likely result in being "asked to leave." Some jobs are destined for failure.

Yes, it is true. I am a one-trick pony. My skill set is shallow and my original career path prepared me for one task, teaching. So, I am saddling up for another year in the classroom. And if I figure out what I want to be when I grow up, you will be the first to know.

Badger Week

Ecosystems are like stages filled with actors playing their roles. The plants act as energy converters so the sun can feed the crew. Herbivores graze their way through the show while passing their energy on to carnivores and omnivores. Scavengers make sure the stage is cleaned up in the event a crew member goes down. Decomposers stealthily take care of the final remains so everything is ready for the next act.

And, as any successful playwright knows, a good show needs a villain. Enter the apex predator. Love them, hate them, fear them or admire them, they are certainly difficult to ignore. Having survived another round of Shark Week it is evident that predators hold our fascination. Almost thirty years ago, Shark Week television shows were rolled out as the antidote for misinformation concerning sharks. Now, the craze includes everything from Jaws marathons to docufiction shows, science be damned.

I think it is time for a prairie predator week. Enter the American Badger (Taxidea taxus). It is a squatty little character but, boy howdy, is it fearless. It has huge foreclaws and a muscular body. It is related to the powerful wolverine (always good to have a bad boy in the family tree) and feeds upon all the prairie has to offer. It has no problem digging into other animals' burrows looking for tasty snacks and it enjoys a wide variety of food on its buffet such as birds, mice, prairie dogs, bees, skunks and lizards. They will also nibble on an occasional plant or two when need be.

There are flashier prairie predators such as the wily coyote and the venomous rattlesnake. But, it is the badger that has the real star power. Badgers have been known to assist coyotes in their hunting escapades and badgers are considered one of the primary predators of rattlesnakes. Top billing goes to the badger.

I am not sure I ever personally saw a badger during my years on the farm. I do have memories of tromping around in the hay field and remembering a warning given by my father to "never tangle with a badger." None of us were ever mauled by one so apparently we heeded his advice. I do remember seeing a badger hole or two and giving them wide berth. In reality, I should have given thanks for each badger hole I saw because they were helping cleanse the field of my nemesis, mice. I was convinced that small vermin could scamper up my legs and under my shirt at any given time. My fear was born of a warning given by my mother. My parents were a wealth of useful information.

It is probably a given there will never be a widely embraced Badger Week. Sharks are sexier and have their own soundtrack. Badgers look like grizzled rugs moving across the grasslands. Sharks have massive jaws that are rimmed with conveyor belt rows of teeth. Badgers have a single row of teeth and aren't attracted to flailing swimmers.

But, if the networks ever have a change of heart and decide to feature the star of the prairie, I am booking a front row seat. Any animal that can take on a rattlesnake is worth watching in my book.

Church in the Vale

Vacations are memories stitched together by moments in time. I was fortunate enough to grow up in a family that valued time away from the day-to-day minutia of general life. We never took exotic trips and many times the trips were just a few days, but the goal was always the same, experience a place as a family. We would take pictures (no selfies back then), collect souvenirs, eat picnic lunches and learn how to get along in new environments. My parents were saints when I think about it now, but my mother says she only remembers fun times.

My husband and I recently had the good fortune of vacationing with our daughter and son-in-law in one of our favorite places, the Black Hills. The weather was very warm and uncharacteristically humid due to recent rains in the area. But our cabin veranda was blessed with shade and soothing breezes. We spent many hours in conversation punctuated by a meal or two, or three or more. We also took field trips out and about in the Hills. 

As with all field trips, some events are planned and other events are totally serendipitous. One trip was a drive to a former mining town (pop. 21) that is still a destination for many due to its iconic watering hole and beautiful location. After we reached the little burg, we took a break in the parking lot of a nearby country chapel. My daughter tugged gently on the front door out of curiosity. Not surprisingly, it was locked so we wandered around the property to stretch our legs. 

Within minutes, a small blue car pulled up and an elderly lady (probably my age) rolled down her window and asked if we wanted to go inside the church. We were a little stunned by her timing but did not want to her to think we were casing the joint for some big break-in, so we agreed to her generous offer. She unlocked the front door for us and we entered the little brown chapel. The musty smell of air encapsulated without air conditioning greeted us. The church would have been just another country chapel if it hadn't been for the zeal of our tour guide and her husband, sporting a trusty water bottle fastened to his side in a holster. 

Our guide shared with us the history of the church which had its beginnings in the bar down the road. Volunteer ladies of the church would clean up the beer bottles and mess of Saturday night's revelry and prepare the bar for Sunday morning's worship. When the congregation garnered sufficient funds, a chapel was built and the pride in their progress continued to glow. Our guide pointed out the pews that replaced the original folding chairs, the new cement installed for the side entryway, the stained glass artwork decorating one of the windows and the brand new hymnals just purchased. She ended her history lesson by stating, "And every Sunday, we sing the song about the little brown church in the vale." As we prepared to leave, she gave us a parting gift, a paper place mat from their recent anniversary celebration. We thanked her and her husband for their time and made our way back to our vehicle, waving one last time to our new friends. 

Our original field trip itinerary did not include a stop at a chapel but it was certainly one of our highlights of the day, thanks to a very passionate woman, her husband and a little church in the vale.

Trending

News shows often share a feature called "What's Trending." I do not live on the cutting edge of anything so I am mildly interested in the latest and greatest. I did, however, take note of a particular announcement this week. The first one being Best Buy's decision to no longer carry music CDs. No surprise given our obsession with all things digital. The follow-up decision was the kicker. Best Buy will continue to stock vinyl records. What? The technology that was shunned and disgraced out of existence is now popping up on the radar as "cool" or should I say, "lit"? Here's a news flash. Vinyl is old technology. My parents used vinyl so we are talking really old.

One of my mom's beloved pieces of furniture was the console stereo. Mom instituted a sacred quiet time after our noon meal. The littlest ones napped, the middlings read a book or pretended to nap and my dad stretched out on the living room floor for one of his quick power naps. To set the tone, Mom put a vinyl record on the stereo and we drifted off with George Beverly Shea singing "How Great Thou Art" or a gospel quartet harmonizing their way through "The Old Rugged Cross." Christmas time was always exciting because Dad picked up the latest Christmas compilation album from my uncle who owned the local TV and appliance store. One of my favorite albums had a partridge in a pear tree on the cover. No surprise I learned all the verses to the "Twelve Days of Christmas" that year.

One of our first purchases as newlyweds was a stereo system that was far more expensive than we could afford. At the time, it seemed logical that musical equipment would have the highest priority on our list of needs (yes, we were idiots). In defense of ourselves, we continue to enjoy memories of the vinyl albums we played and replayed on that system.

As time moved forward, we jumped on the CD music wagon with the rest of the world due to the convenience and ease of using CDs. No more jumpy needles on a turntable. No more fear of scratching vulnerable vinyl records. No more bulky album covers. No more wonky 8-track players or curled up tapes in a cassette player. We were keeping up with the times and that should be enough.

When the wave of digital music arrived, my husband and I let it splash on by. I can pull up a song on Spotify if I have to or put together a playlist from Amazon Prime music under duress, but using digital music is like speaking another language for us.

And that brings us back to vinyl. We can speak that language very well. We know the joy of an artistically designed album cover. We understand the commitment it takes to purchase a compilation of songs that are not just comprised of our favorites. We know the fun of falling in love with a new song. We know the care and feeding it takes to keep vinyl in good shape.

And we know, vinyl never died. God Bless America.

(P.S. If you are interested in "why real things matter", read the book Revenge of Analog by David Sax.)