Ever since all the news regarding the tariffs that 47 has been threatening, I noticed that our kitchen and larder are full of imported foods. From the Swedish lingonberry preserves to the Maille Cornichons from France, to the arborio rice and the huge half wheel of wonderful parmesan we get once a year from an Italian importer, to the Spanish fire-roasted jars of pepper, the chorizo and cheese from northern Spain, and canned paella fish broth, the world is well represented in our cooking. Heck, yesterday we got Salvadoran crema for enchiladas at the lovely little Mexican grocery store downtown. (It is sweeter and less acidic than crema from Honduras).
We are particularly fussy about our olive oil. Our favorite for years had been a Turkish olive oil we usually get at a Syrian grocery store in Fargo. We have branched out into some lovely Spanish olive oil that is more delicate than the Turkish oil, and is great in dressings. The Turkish oil is an important staple for us, and its cost has gone up in the last few years. Last week I started worrying about even greater increases with the tariffs, so I ordered two 1 gallon cans of it. It arrived yesterday and won’t expire until late in 2026.
I think my Dutch ancestors would approve my being proactive and potentially saving some money. I don’t forsee too much more panic purchases, at least I hope not. I know these worries are paltry compared to those of the millions of people who struggle with food insecurity, but they still weigh, and the more money we have for food banks, the better. Some call us foodies. Husband says we have a radical food ministry.
What imported foods do you buy? How do you see your spending changing?
Today is an aviation milestone day. In 1927 Charles Lindbergh landed his Spirit of St. Louis plane in Paris after his 33½ hour solo flight across the Atlantic. Then five years later on this day, Amelia Earhart landed near Londonderry, Northern Ireland after the first trans-Atlantic solo flight by a woman. The combination of a little shorter route and five years of advancing technology, it only took her 17 hours.
My first thought when I saw these two feats on the same day was that it was a concidence, but it was only a fleeting thought. I’d bet money that Amelia planned her flight very carefully to arrive in Europe on May 21.
It does make me think about explorers and adventurers who put their lives on the line because I don’t care how talented Lindbergh and Earhart were, they were absolutely taking their lives in their hands when they took off. Aviation was still a relatively young science, machines broke down at an alarming rate and then there’s the whole “across the ocean” thing.
Personally I’m not a daredevil. The scariest things I’ve ever done were hot-air ballooning in Africa and zip lining in Costa Rica. The balloon experience came available on a Fam trip (which is a trip that hotels/suppliers pay for in the hopes that travel industry folks will then sell their products); I just had a feeling that this would be a once-in-a-lifetime thing and I should get over my fears and do it. It was fabulous. The zipline was another matter. It was done with a client, more or less under duress and I was terrified the whole time. When we got to the part of the course where you didn’t zip, but swung on a rope from one platform to the next, the two guides had to come back for me and basically force me to swing by reminding me that there was no other way to get down than to finish the course. Bungee jumping is not on my list, nor is sky-diving. I simply cannot imagine myself stepping out into nothing. Nope.
So congratulations today to the memories of Charles Lindbergh and Amelia Earhart for heading out across the Atlantic and taking that big step for aeronautics!
What’s the scariest thing you’ve ever done? And did you do it on purpose?
The very first night after I got my license, my mother gave me the keys to her Volkswagen bug so I could go out to a party. As I was leaving the house, she handed me a five-dollar bill and said I should get gas. I headed up to the service station nearest to our house (in the rain). When I pulled in, the attendant came out; he had on a plastic poncho and his hat had a plastic protector on it.
I felt so grown up as I rolled down the window and said “Fill it up or $5.00, whichever comes first.” Then, to my utter dismay and embarrassment, the attendant started to laugh. Standing there in the rain, he laughed HARD. My confusion must have shown on my face because he said “Even if the gas tank were bone dry, you could never get $5 of gas into it.” These days, I would laugh along with him and maybe explain that I had just gotten my license, but back then at the tender age of 16, I was absolutely mortified. Every time I ever had to go to that station again, I crossed my fingers that a different attendant would come out.
Last week when I stopped for gas, I was hoping to clean off my car a bit… it’s dirty and the timing hasn’t been right for a carwash in the driveway. I wasn’t holding my breath when I checked the squeegee holders and it was a good thing. None of the containers had any water in them; this is so common that when I do find water I’m always surprised.
It got me to thinking about how much has changed since my $5 mortification. No attendants to pump the gas or to check under the hood or to top off your oil or to clean your windshields or to take your payment. No water in the windshield cleaner containers and even if you find water, you might not find a squeegee. If you’re lucky enough to find water and a squeegee, you have to hold your breath that the squeegee is actually whole and not coming apart. And then there’s the price. Gas was 37₵ that night in the rain. These days the most economical gas near me is at my local Pump n Munch. Last time I filled up, it was $2.79.
As I started writing this, YA was looking over my shoulder. “What’s a service station?” she asked and I thought… perfect. We are so removed from the service we used to get that the younger generation doesn’t even recognize the phrase!
Do you remember the first time you pumped your own gas?
This year is my fifteenth anniversary of straw bale gardening. I happened upon this way of growing veggies while I was looking for workable alternatives for growing tomatoes. In yard wasn’t working (dog and bunny damage), pots didn’t work for me at all (never did figure out why) and one year I even tried something called Topsy Turvy which was more or less a hanging basket for tomatoes. Believe me when I say that was an unmitigated disaster.
Anyway, in all these 15 years, I planted my bales mostly on Mother’s Day, occasionally a few days later, like this year. But in all this time I think I’ve gone out and covered my plants due to low overnight temperatures…. maybe five times. And I’ve never had to cover them more than once in a season when it’s happened.
So I’m not all that happy that with the overnight temps dropping below 45°F the last two nights, I’ve been out there with my assorted “dog towels” and clothespins twice. And this is also the first year in quite some time that I’ve had six bales, so I had to scrounge up a couple more crappy towels.
I understand that climate change is creating bigger swings in weather but it chaps my shorts that we had three days in the very high 80s last week and now I’m covering plants. Looking at the forecast, I may have to cover two more nights this week as well. It makes me think of one of my all-time favorite commercials from decades ago:
My little neighbor Marie came over to the fence as I was draping the towels to find out what I was doing and letting me know that some of towels are funny looking. I have to agree.
Wrapped up another academic year by celebrating commencement this past Wednesday. I will be employed at the college until June 2 as I have some rentals coming through. I’ll be going to half time to allow myself a little more time farming while I still finish up odds and ends at the college before starting back this fall.
The oats are up! And I see the neighbor’s corn is coming up. Mine will be coming out any day now.
We’re at 452 GDU’s – ‘Growing Degree Units’ for our area for 2025. About double what normal is considered. I did get some corn planted last weekend and the co-op spread the last of the corn fertilizer and I’ve gotten all the fields dug up at least once. Mechanical tillage helps with weed control, and I was afraid if we got too much rain the next few days the weed population would explode. There was a few late nights with me and Bailey in the tractor.
I planted oats and grass in the waterway that was built last fall. A little rain would be nice and helpful, and it would be especially helpful if we didn’t get any heavy rain for, well really, the whole summer, but at least the next couple of months until it is established and gets some good root structure down. Before I could get the waterway planted there was a couple of logs out there that needed to be picked up. I had told Kelly “We’re only doing the ones as big as my head and 4 feet long.“ But, of course then it’s hard to pass up the ones as big as my arm and 2 feet long. And if you’re gonna pick up those, you may as well pick up the ones as big as my wrist and a foot-long.
Kelly picked up a lot more sticks than I did just because I was in the tractor dealing with other stuff. She did several loads like this.
Kelly and I celebrated our 35th wedding anniversary on Monday. It was a pretty low-key celebration as I spent the day at the college getting ready for commencement and she was working. Back in 1999 I wrote a card for her, wrote on the front not to open until 2025 and tucked it in my dresser. I kind of forgot about it over the years and every now and then I’d find it again. I know I looked at it just a few months ago, and then I put it… “somewhere safe”. It took me a good half an hour to find it on Monday. Life was sure different for us 25 years ago. I kind of wish I had written more about just what was going on in our lives. I’ve wondered if I should do the same thing again? Do I dare do I make it for another 25 years? I realize no one is guaranteed tomorrow, and as we are both in our 60’s now, 25 years might be pushing our luck.
I planted corn Saturday and Sunday.
The load in for commencement was pretty uneventful this year, both for me and the IT guys hanging a large projector, screen, and setting up multiple cameras, and the sound system. Monday was the biggest part of that job for me as I picked up the rental lights, got them hung and cabled, and set up the laptop and lightboard to control them.
It kind of turns into a free-for-all on Monday and as I parked, I thought ‘Well if this doesn’t completely sum me up”:
Tuesday was stage decorations, curtains, banners, flowers, my floor lighting for all those things, and finalizing cues, and making sure everything worked. Wednesday morning was a walk-through, a nurse pinning ceremony, the main event at 6 PM, and it all came back down and packed up in about two hours and I was home by 10 PM
The obligatory ‘Head in the clouds’ photo:
I’ve got a lot of stuff to put away back at the theater, and I’m still checking my budgets and verifying expenses the Business office has compared to my Excel spreadsheets and catching up on things that I’ve let slide the last couple weeks. Depending on the weather, I may get out and do some more fieldwork this weekend. I might be able to finish planting corn if everything goes smoothly.
Chicks are growing and doing well.
Found a couple deer antlers while doing fieldwork.
And that one field that always ALWAYS grows big rocks came through yet again. Kelly and I dragged it home behind the gator. It took a long bar, two shovels, a chain, a 20’ long ratchet strap, and Kelly’s ingenuity, but we got it home and added it to her collection. “What are you going to do with it?” asks my one sister. We’re gonna admire it! …what a question… like everything needs to be practical.
You can tell it was a busy week because I needed a pen, pencil, red sharpie, and chrome ‘dress’ sharpie.
SIGNS WITH RED AROUND THEM ARE OPTIONAL. TRUE OR FALSE?
In the past Renee has mentioned that she has post-it notes stuck around with ideas for the Trail. This doesn’t work for me because if I’m out and about, by the time I get home to the post-it notes (of which I have many….), I’ve forgotten what I wanted to note. Yep – seriously sad. I remember that I thought of something but for the life of me, I can’t conjure it up when it’s time to write.
To make up for this I use a post-it note app on my phone. I have a bunch of separate notes and one of them is my Trail note. You’d think this would solve my problem but….
Looked at the app three days ago and one of the entries is “first fire”. That’s it. Nothing else. It took me the last three days to figure out it must have to do with YA making the first fire of the season in our fire pit last week. Of course, it doesn’t explain WHY I put this note in the app. There really wasn’t anything different about this fire except that it was the first one this year. YA is still in charge of the fire. She has a stash of newspaper and different piles of wood in the back corners of the yard – one for kindling sticks, one for larger sticks and one for logs. She makes the fire, feeds the fire, pokes the fire with her special fire-poking stick.
I’ve searched my memory and I can’t think of one single reason why you all have to read about our first fire. So maybe it was something else? A metaphor for our current world situation?
What do you think I should be writing about with the theme of “first fire”? How do you remind yourself of stuff?
A couple of weeks ago I was straightening up some papers in my “maybe I’ll scrapbook this” box and came across a bookmark advertising The 26th Annual Shepherd’s Harvest Festival”. It was in the box next to some other items that clearly came from the Eco Building at the state fair. I don’t remember picking it up but where bookmarks are concerned, I’m a little like a crow and shiny objects.
The festival was a week away and even though I’m not a knitter or wool person, it seemed like it might be a fun way to wile away a few hours. Just half an hour from home and only a $5 entrance fee. Dog herding demonstrations, sheep shearing, food trucks and a LOT of vendor exhibits were promised. It was the dog herding that was the top of my list.
When I headed off Saturday morning (a gorgeous day), my plan was to see the dogs, look around the rest of the festival and then maybe see the dogs again during their second demonstration. I never made it back to the dogs a second time because the rest of the festival was fascinating. I got to pet several kinds of sheep (including cashmere), got to watch two different sheep get haircuts (this goes much faster than I thought), listened to some music and had a Grilled Cheezey from a food truck.
And then there were the vendors. My oh my. There was one building with vendors doing classes and then an additional four buildings stuffed full of folks selling anything you can imagine having to do with wool Spinning wheels, combs, spools, drop spindles of all kinds and designs, needles, dye, hooks, stitch markers, patterns and, of course, wool. Wool straight off the sheep in plastic bags, wool in every color imaginable, yarn by the mile. I’m not sure how anyone who is in the market for wool goods can decide what to get. If I were a knitter, I’d have to back a u-haul up to the festival gates. It was a lot of fun to look at, but my pocketbook was really glad I didn’t have anything invested in this craft.
I did end up purchasing some fun soaps called “felted soaps”. They are made with sheep’s milk, brightly colored and fantastically scented – and they are wrapped tightly with a think layer of wool. It acts as a washcloth of sorts and shrinks down as the soap gets smaller. I can’t wait to see how it works out.
Robin was there on Saturday as well, although we didn’t have each other’s cell phones, so didn’t manage to run into each other. It would have been nice to have a “tour guide” but I might have held her back. Maybe next year.
Do you knit? How old were you when you learned? Or better yet, do you have any favorite woolens?
The sad news in our neighborhood is that my next door neighbors (the ones with the two little girls I adore) are moving. Not too far away, but moving nonetheless.
This has meant a lot of activity next door. Cleaning and organizing the place – a big job with two girls ages 5 and 9. Moving lots of stuff to a storage place. Marie’s elaborate cardboard box car is actually on my front porch right now. Lots of showings and two Sundays of open houses. Phew.
They had an offer on Friday so Monday was the official inspection. First there were two different plumbing trucks – the funniest name for a plumbing company I’ve ever seen – The Sewer Rat. Then at about 10 a.m. I noticed something on the sidewalk right outside their front porch. I wasn’t 100% sure but I thought it was a drone. Fairly small.
I was so curious – why in heaven’s name was there a drone sitting on the sidewalk. I wasn’t curious long – a young man came around the corner, got the drone going and started flying it over the house. He was inspecting the roof! I probably would not have thought of that as a use for a drone on my own.
As I was watching I started thinking about why drones are called drones. I was thinking of a dull, monotonous sound – maybe what drones sound like when they’re flying? Apparently not… the internet says based on the male worker bee, the drone. I might have thought of that eventually.
Have you ever operated a drone? If you were going to, what would you use it for?
The church choir year is winding down for us, and I couldn’t be happier. We have sang and rang bells since September, and now have one more service to ring at next Sunday. Then we are done for the summer.
There are only eighteen active musicians at our church, plus two organists. Many of us perform in both the choir and the bell ensemble. We are a rather large congregation with around 500 members, but it is only we few who keep the music going. That gets a little disappointing and exhausting at times. The congregation is quite thrilled with the music we provide.
We were pretty tickled at choir last week to hear that a congregation member who is a rancher wanted to thank the musicians for all our work, and donated 100 lbs of ground beef from his own cows to us. It came in 2 pound packages and had been processed at a butcher shop in Belfield, a little town just west of Dickinson. It was a rather unusual gift, but certainly heartfelt. It was also a reminder that we truly live in the West. We will all be fortified to start in again after our summer off.
What are your experiences in music ensembles? What are your favorite bird songs?
Last week YA and I headed off to Bachmans for our veggies and flowers for hanging baskets. This is an annual ritual and this year we needed flowers for 15 baskets and six bales (although I was pretty sure I would need a trip to Gertens for my favorite dragon wing begonias.
YA was ready sooner than I expected so I had to rush to get ready. I grabbed a pair of khaki shorts that were sitting on my dresser and then my Pi Day shirt, which was at the top of the drawer.
I hadn’t thought about this combination until a Bachman’s employee stopped me almost immediately upon entering the store, commenting that I looked like a staff person. For those of you who weren’t there (or more likely just don’t remember), my Pi Day shirt is purple. I laughed it off, but she wasn’t kidding. Person after person tried to ask me a staff question.
It wasn’t a big deal until the end of our trip. As we were checking out, it turned out that my bright white petunias didn’t have a code to scan. Telling the cashier they were bright white petunias didn’t help. She didn’t have a binder full of codes, she didn’t ask anyone else, she certainly didn’t believe YA and I when we said it was the same price as the royal purple petunias. No – she sent me back to the flower barn to find one with a tag and code. This week is NOT a good time to hold u p the line at Bachmans, so I was almost running when I headed back to the barn. Two more people stopped me. One woman realized immediately that it wasn’t a Bachman’s shirt and backed off. The second woman felt the need to talk about my purple shirt and how she had mistaken me for staff. It took me much longer than you would think to extricate myself from her and get back to the cashier. The lines were pretty long and it was clear some folks weren’t happy.
So my lesson for the week? Don’t wear purple to Bachmans!
Any businesses where you could make a credible staff person?
Trail Baboon