Smorgasboard

My state is awash with orange this time of year. And it is not just the trees providing bursts of color. It is hunting season for our state bird, the pheasant. Hunters from near and far don bright orange safety vests, jackets and caps as they gear up for another season. Men, women, dogs and children of age tromp around in fields hoping to flush out a cackling bird or two or three. Gone are the days of an abundance of pheasants but the zeal of hunters has not diminished. There is a festive atmosphere as towns across the state set out the welcome mats and embrace one and all for the tradition of pheasant hunting.

A tradition that is seared into my memory is the annual Dutch Smorgasboard held shortly after the arrival of hunters in my hometown. My high school, steeped in Dutch traditions, hosted the smorgasbord as a fundraising event. Our saintly mothers did most of the heavy lifting by preparing massive amounts of food for the meal. My mom's specialty was Pigs in the Blanket (Saucijzebroodjes). The recipe was a far cry from the current day process of wrapping a wienie in a square of crescent dough. Mom made the dough from scratch, lard most likely involved. The filling was usually a mixture of hamburger, sausage, bread crumbs and egg. The dough was rolled out and cut into squares. A dollop of filling was wrapped up in a little dough blankie and baked until golden. Amazingly delicious and amazingly time consuming. I never heard my mom complain about the huge undertaking each year as she made dozens of piggies for the event and kept seven kids fed at the same time. I, on the other hand, whimpered my way through the 12 dozen pecan tassies I was required to make for my daughter's school fundraiser years later. I am weak.

Students were also required to participate in the smorgasboard. The guys and gals dressed up in Dutch costumes, sans the wooden shoes. Our task was to take marching orders from our mothers. We helped people with their trays, cleaned up spills and and kept the tables tidy. It was always crazy busy with swarms of folks queued up for their meal. A gymnasium filled with people and tables of steaming food made for a very long and warm evening.

The best part was getting to eat after your shift was completed. I was not a fan of all the Dutch offerings. I easily passed on the Snert (pea soup). I am sure it was good but it always seemed a little grainy to me, never mind the subsequent gastrointestinal issues. I also passed on the fruit soup (krentjebrij). My memory of the concoction is hazy but I do remember chunks of prunes, raisins and other dried fruits globbed together in a bowl. Seemed sketchy to me. My food radar was zoned in on the tried and true favorites. Hutspot, a mashed potatoes and carrots mixture was always on my plate as well as the meatballs swimming in gravy (gehaktballen). Pigs in a blanket were also on my go-to list, if there were any left by the time I went through the line. And for a little color and kick, I added cooked red cabbage (rode kool). For dessert, I gobbled up the little fried donut balls (vet bollen) covered in sugar. Our urge to go back for more was always met with a cautionary glance from the mothers, reminding us that the supply of food was not infinite.

As the years marched onward, the Dutch Smorgasboard tradition finally came to an end. I don't know the exact reason but I suspect it had to do with a decrease in the number of school supporters available to make the labor intensive foods. And, as with all traditions, there often comes a time for a change. I am sure many folks still miss it but I doubt very many want to crank out dozens of pigs in the blanket any more.

Here is my highly technical recipe for hutspot (mashed potatoes and carrots).

Boil potatoes and carrots until tender. Add salt, pepper and milk/cream. Cream is best, of course. Add copious amounts of butter. Mash until desired consistency is attained. Then add more butter. 

Shriveled

A recent news post reported that our country's raisin industry is experiencing a decline in sales as they compete with other countries. I know enough about economics to fill a pistachio shell so I won't comment on imports and exports but I think I know how to fix the problem. Marketing, people, marketing.

No surprise the last time raisins experienced a spike in sales happened in the 1980's when a wildly famous commercial was rolled out. It featured wrinkly raisin characters belting out a song by Marvin Gaye, "I Heard It Through the Grapevine." Not only did the little food gems experience popularity but toys and other merchandise were generated in the process. The props in the commercial were so revered that some of them now hold a place in the Smithsonian Institute. Not bad for a bunch of raisins.

But, commercials are not free and the funding dollars eventually dried up. The high cost of commercial production needed full support from the players in the game and that was not to be as time marched onward. Without airing the dirty laundry of the industry, let's just say the playground got a little nasty.

Fast forward to today. New faces agree that raisins need a makeover in the commercial world if there is going to be an incentive for growers to continue. The highly coveted land needed for raisin production could be converted into almond orchards if action isn't taken. Nothing against almonds but their ad campaign for almond milk is apparently working (Don't get me started on nut "milks". God bless the cow!).

It is time to convince folks that raisins are the next best nutritional savior. It's been done before.  Let's take a look at kale as an example. In my opinion, no amount of crisping, chopping or massaging can make that green palatable, but the industry convinced folks that it would save lives with its magnificent nutrients. The campaign worked and kale sales skyrocketed. The same goes for coconut oil. Nutritionists knew that it was a mixed bag of good and bad fats but apparently no one was speaking out as marketing gurus began touting the oil as the giver of life. Finally, the voices of science spoke out and put a stop to that nonsense.

Our little raisin friends have a lot going for them already. They are small and snackable. They have a great shelf life. They come in different colors and sizes. And they taste good. What's not to love? If we can convince John and Janice Q. Public that raisins have secret nutritional powers, the raisin is back in business. That shouldn't be too difficult given that raisins are little powerhouses of energy and vitamins. The words "natural sugar" alone might be enough to start the ball rolling. Throw in some healing testimonies, a hip celebrity and a catchy phrase or song and the needle starts moving.

I, for one, need no convincing. Raisins will always be on my shelf. Bread pudding is not the same without a few thrown in for a burst of goodness. Moroccan chicken gets a little punch with a cup of golden raisins. And the mid-afternoon slump gets a wake-up call when raisins are at the ready. Move over kale, raisins are back in town.

(Below are photos of my grandmother's Gold Medal Flour cookbook from 1910. If you have time, and you can cope with my bad photography, read the information in their ad campaign. Makes me chuckle every time.)

Respite

Vacations are often a cornucopia of expected and unexpected events. A recent trip my husband and I took was certainly filled with all of the above. No surprise for us that the days before departure were a little frantic but we did not anticipate the three EF-2 tornadoes touching down in our city the day before we had planned to leave. We delayed our departure so we could clean up some of the storm's aftermath. Blessedly, we were spared the worst of it. Then a deluge of rain hit our state and many of the main arteries to our destination were closed due to flooding. Despite my maudlin moments prior to leaving, we were able to carve out a detour plan around the flooded roads. It added an hour to our trip, but we were grateful to find a work around. As we made our way across the state, a headwind picked up with such fury that we spent the rest of the drive bucking against a wall of moving air. Gas mileage was abysmal but we finally arrived at our destination, looking like dog spit and ready for a break.

Here are a few moments from the trip. No extra charge for the poor photography skills.

I know I am in the right place when I see a sign like this in the window. What a relief to see folks looking at each other rather than down at a little screen and scrolling away. Stroll not scroll, people!

Everyday I took a walk in and around the woods. Quite a stretch for me as I am not very outdoorsy but I loved peeking into nature's purse of goodies. Little wildflowers never fail to please.

If you look carefully, you can see a stream gurgling in the background. It was my go-to spot each day. The sound alone is enough to keep one sane and centered. 

I couldn't resist the calling of this little chapel in the woods. No preachers when I was there but plenty of birds giving me advice. 

Speaking of birds, look carefully at all the ospreys in the sky. Not. My hopes of watching ospreys skydancing were dashed by maintenance closings near the trail and 90 degree weather, both of which made me one cranky chick. We did, however, see more turkey vultures than we could count everywhere we went. All God's creatures. 

Another creature that always fascinates me is the Pollenia rudis, also known as a cluster fly. They love to bumble their way into warm places when fall arrives. Their loud buzzing is as if they have a summer's worth of stories to tell. Soon enough they are on their backs in the throes of death or a bad landing. 

My reading chair. My favorite spot. Enough said. 

The cabin on our veranda was my husband's favorite spot. Shade if it was warm. Sunshine if it was cool. I joined him if it was a Goldilock's moment, temperature just right. 

Sadly, the time comes when the trek homeward must begin. Rest stops were our friends. And snacks. Lots of them.

My trip souvenir. Shortly before returning home, I broke out in a nasty case of hives. Nothing says creepy like a bunch of welts erupting over your face, arms and neck. I blame it on my tromping around in the woods, but the truth of the matter is I don't think I will ever know for sure what was the cause. I do know our trip was worth the hurdles of storms, flooding, delays and lesions.  

Especially when we could end the day with this.

Six Eyes

It was my birthday last week and I have to say it was a top five day. Nothing flashy or dashy. No surprise parties or fancy cakes or city proclamations. It was just a day awash with love sent my way. It started with texts from my siblings reminding me to enjoy a day of cake and fun. Then, my former co-workers sent me a picture of them celebrating my birthday with doughnuts and smiles (and a puppet, but that is a story for another day). One of my nieces joined us for lunch and conversation. I attended church with my mom at her assisted living home and we enjoyed tea and cookies in celebration of the day of my birth. When I returned home from mom's assisted living home, a package filled with birthday goodies from my sister-in-law awaited me. She knows I love Cheetos more than cake and my fingers soon glowed with neon orange dust. The day continued with phone calls sharing birthday wishes with me.

My day ended with dinner out at a favorite eatery. As we neared the end of our meal, my husband suggested we go to the sports store next door for a present he had spotted for me. I nearly choked on my bacon as I tried to process what in the world I would want in a sports store. I balked a bit and reminded him that I have yet to wear out a pair of sneakers and expensive sport clothing is lost upon the likes of me. He smirked and said it was nothing like that and he was pretty sure it was something I might enjoy. I still had visions of hiking boots and heavy duty socks as we entered the sports store, but sometimes one has to just let go and trust that one's spouse may be right. We took the escalator up to the second floor and I followed my husband to a corner niche filled with binoculars. He looked at me and said, "You always say we need better binoculars, so let's get a good pair." I broke into a smile of relief and let him know that he was indeed on to something with his birthday idea.

We own an array of hand-me-down binoculars of varying degrees of ineffectualness. One pair has no option for adjustment, one has an adjuster that provides blurry or blurrier views and one pair is a big beast from many decades ago. I fuss every time I use them but I am too cheap to do anything about it. Making the purchase a birthday gift solves the problem. My husband had done his homework so the selection was fairly simple. We did not purchase a pair from the locked display case filled with the serious bad boys of the binocular realm. We settled for a modest pair based on the answer to the clerk's question, "What do you want to use them for?" I replied that they would be used for birdwatching. And the neighbors, occasionally.

We returned home with our new toy ready for action. Oh my, what an improvement. I still need some practice, especially in light of my myopically challenged eyes and trifocal glasses. But I'm sure six eyes are better than two. And birthdays should always make you smile.

New Jacket

The school buses rumbling by my house each week day remind me that something is different this year. I am no longer using the arrival or departure of buses to determine my work day, rather I am wearing the new jacket of retirement. I confess that my new jacket feels very strange and sometimes I feel like Ferris Bueller without an excuse. I certainly miss my friends at school but I am grateful I had a career and colleagues that I cherish.

My days have a different rhythm to them now. Instead of being driven by the clock, I am driven by opportunities as they unfold. Certainly there are the usual demands of life such as exercising (yuck), cleaning (super yuck) and life's paperwork (yuck on steroids). But, the sweet moments are easier to capture when one is not tethered to a job. This past week I was able to enjoy lunch with my sister, have coffee with a dear friend and celebrate my sister-in-law's birthday at a new Ethiopian restaurant (I'm a sucker for injera). Another fun event happened with my mother at her assisted living facility.

Recently, a small town in our state suffered a devastating tornado which did considerable damage to the school in the town. My mother's assisted living has a resident who was a former volunteer fireman from that town so the staff decided to host a fundraiser for the damaged school. The fireman had a collection of firemen's memorabilia set up for a display and a few local firemen brought a firetruck to the assisted living so residents could get a tour of the truck and ask the firemen questions. My mom was excited that we could attend this event together and on a week day, no less. She ran a comb through her fluffy white hair and we slowly made our way outdoors. The sun kissed us with pleasantness as mom's walker scraped across the parking lot toward the firetruck. A sweet fireman patiently showed us all the moving parts of the firetruck and I could see the love of learning ignite in my mom's eyes. After the truck tour, we made our way to the tables of memorabilia. The first thing she said was, "Oh, wouldn't a little boy just love this stuff!"  Neither of us knows a lot about firemen's artifacts but we enjoyed perusing the display tables. And, of course, all good events have food, too. We each selected a doughnut and settled into the chairs on the sidewalk. We enjoyed visiting with others at the event while we soaked up a little sun and finished our snack.

Soon enough, it was time to make our way back to mom's room. On the way in, I remarked how the event was a win-win. We got a little fresh air and sunshine and we were able to donate to a good cause. My mom looked at me and said, "And we you were here. That's another win."

Win-win-win.

Peace

Fifty years ago, a mass of humanity gathered on the fields of a farmer in upstate New York. It was an area not meant for more than 50,000, much less the estimated half a million plus who did attend. Due to a plethora of snags along the way, the venue organizers (all in their twenties) were woefully unprepared for the hordes of people who made their way to a 3-day music festival of "peace and love." There were no organized gates ready for collecting ticket sales so an announcement had to be made by the organizers, "This will be a free concert." The masses stood on their feet and resoundingly clapped with joy. And the rest is history.

I am old enough to remember bits and pieces of the event. The 60's were turbulent times and political unrest was rampant. The Vietnam War and the assassinations of Martin Luther King, Jr. and two Kennedys added fuel to the fire. I guess the time was right for a music concert with a lineup of powerhouse bands with a counterculture message. And the flower children were ready to load up their psychedelic vans and VW bugs to make it happen. I suspect many of them didn't have jobs so no worries there.

It is hard to imagine such an event happening today. Many elements have stayed the same such as political unrest, counterculture messages and people's love of music. But a few key components are very different. Today, our cellphones make it almost impossible for folks to attend concerts without the distractions of looking down at their devices, looking up for selfie poses, posting to social media, downloading fun apps and using Google maps for directions to the nearest port-a-potty. Venue ticket sales are primarily completed electronically. Concerts are one means of enjoying music but there is no end of "free" music available to the masses at any given time today. Venue producers and hosts also need to "lawyer up" in preparation for the inevitable lawsuits at the tamest of events. The hippie commune culture essentially failed so we have a few less caftans currently, and eventually, some of the flower children had to get jobs so taxes could be paid to the government that was feeding them. Adults frolicking naked at the nearest river may not be decade specific but an event such as Woodstock certainly was ripe for such activity.

One thing I know for sure, Woodstock was never on my radar. I am not an avid music buff to begin with and the very thought of attending a loose-ended concert in the middle of a field with anti-deodorant folks who love to smoke pot is far beyond my comfort zone. I am also not comfortable in the midst of a teeming sea of people and don't even get me started about dealing with a limited number of port-a-potties. And last, but not least, I do best when I am fed and hydrated at regular intervals. I am not against granola for three days but I prefer a little variety in my diet. I also find dehydration disconcerting at best.

Woodstock was one for the history books and maybe it is good if it stays that way. So, Happy Birthday, Woodstock. May you rest in peace and love.

Tripping

"You Betcha" Stick Sculpture at Minnesota Arboretum. Amazing!

My husband and I recently returned from a quick trip to Minneapolis with our daughter and her husband from Oregon. We had a grand time. The weather was exceptionally calm for the month of July with moderate temperatures, low humidity and nary a storm cloud in the sky. Our itinerary was action packed and we made the most of every minute. Here are a few insights I learned from our trip.

1) I am not a share-a-family's-home Airbnb person. In an attempt to find a non-hotel place for our little family to hang out, I dipped my toe into this world. Unfortunately, my selection was a disaster. The messages I started receiving from the host 48 hours before arriving should have sent me running but it was too late to make changes, so I hoped for the best. The psycho cat yowling behind a random door, the daughter's boyfriend making non-stop noise on the floor above us, the host's boyfriend clomping around at 4:00 a.m., a non-existent second bedroom and kitty cat #2 invading our space resulted in a restless night for all. We packed our bags and checked into a hotel. Lesson learned. I prefer staying at places where hosts have at least an hour or two of training in hospitality.

2) If you were bad at bowling a decade ago, you will still be bad at bowling ten years later. Our daughter selected a cute little retro-pub/bowling alley for our entertainment one evening. I knew that my role was to make everyone else feel successful. Mission accomplished. My score was abysmal. My dear husband ( a league bowler for many years) attempted to give me tips for improvement. Keep your eyes on the little dots on the lane floor. Keep your thumb pointed upwards. Don't lob the ball. Relax, Etc. Etc. All this was good advice, but my skill level makes me a rather hopeless participant. I had a good support team as they cheered me through all my gutter balls and wobbly single pins refusing to fall. Despite my ineptness, I am looking forward to my next round of bowling. Ten years from now.

3) Food plans must stay flexible. Due to the Airbnb debacle and a tight entertainment schedule we had no time to pick up ice for the cooler, therefore, our cache of fruits, vegetables and hummus had to be sacrificed to the trash gods. No complaints as we noshed our way through food truck cheese curds, pulled pork sandwiches, fish and chips, brats, nachos, popcorn and chocolate chip cookies. Tasty and not a green leaf in sight. Vacation cuisine, for sure.

4) It's always a good day when the Minnesota Twins beat the New York Yankees. We ended our whirlwind trip with a night at Target Field. The seats were good, the weather was great and the game was spectacular. I know just enough about baseball to cheer when I am supposed to and groan when necessary. When the game ended, we almost needed a tether to keep my husband from floating away as we left the stadium. Good had triumphed over evil and we were there to witness it.

Much too soon, it was time to say good-bye and head homeward. Lawns needed mowing, gardens needed tending and real life needed attention. Our trip was not about hotels with perfect photo ops, or stunning local excursions or trendy cuisine scenes (unless you count the cheese curds). We were content with our happy memories with the people we love.

Final Score: Twins-8  Yankees-6