Wild Diet Food

During the winter, my pants seem to have shrunk. To lose some of the long nights hibernation fat, I am eating less. It's a wild idea I thought I'd try.

My elderly farmer neighbor years ago extolled the taste of spring nettle greens. It sounded a little scary to me, to actually put something in my mouth that caused blisters on the skin. Well, this spring I got brave and tried some.

Cutting the greens with scissors, while wearing gloves (I'm not all that brave) I then checked online to see if this really was a sensible thing to do. Imagining it would require sixteen changes of water, I was relieved to see that the painful parts of stinging nettles disappear after a mere thirty seconds in boiling water.

They turned out to be not only tasty, but a fabulous way to lose weight. Right away, I could feel my pants getting looser. That was last week.

Just knowing that I had access to that miracle diet food cheered me immensely. I thought about its slimming effects as I cut firewood with the chain saw. It was in the back of my mind as I pulled the little wagon loads through the woods, then loaded the wood into Rosie's cart, down on the river bottom, and as I unloaded it after finding I had a flat tire. Ditto for when I hauled the chain saw back up the steep hill in the little wagon. Then, too, I was grateful for it when I planted the strawberries, which won't bear for a year. As I ran Tillie in the garden and planted the early veggies, which would take weeks to be ready for eating, I was content, knowing the nettles were available without delay.  I admired the nettles for their perfect properties as I dug up plants to exchange with Izzy. I ruminated on their life-giving goodness as I planted my gift grasses and shrubs. Hacking out several years' growth of irises, carrying them in buckets to the big compost heap, I revered the slimming nettles, not available in stores.

This afternoon, while down on the river bottoms, looking for early morel mushrooms, I spied more of the nettles. Hiking back up to the house, I armed myself with the gloves and scissors and a big bowl.
It was the third time today that I climbed the steep hill from the river. It was worth it, for such great diet fare, and free, too.

Unfortunately, today's greens were a little more furry and the stems were not as tender. So that may be it for this season's diet delight. 

Next on the woodland menu are the morels, which taste best fried and served with beer. 

When the Clouds Roll In

All winter, I've been baking bread in the Sun Oven. What I never thought would happen is it's better than the stove oven. The even heat makes a moister loaf. Now, I'm only baking bread outside.

However, I recently underestimated the clearing of the clouds, and lost a loaf when the sun failed to continue shining.

I guess that the cost of a loaf of this honey wheat bread is probably about fifty cents, so even losing some ingredients was still less money than the three dollar stale stuff at the store.

                               The chickens loved this big doughy bread pancake.

Undaunted, I made this better loaf the next day, when the skies were sunny. It's beautiful!



It makes great sandwiches like this PB and H  "sammy." Next year, I hope to have my own honey. My bees will be here around the first of May.  The weather has been so cool, twenty degrees the other morning, that a delay is good. One should never live without honey.

Still in Missouri

Damaging tornadoes nearby lately sent me down to the fruit cellar, to hang out with the two bats.

After a sunrise rain shower, this beautiful double rainbow seemed to promise less destructive weather.



I'm still waiting for warmer and drier days so I can plant the garden.


Lots of interesting wildlife sightings lately. The local dogs had something up the tree across the way. I went over to see if Miss Naughty Kitty needed rescuing. It turned out to be a fat groundhog, which chattered at me and Beau.

Last evening, I saw a flock of geese flying low over the river. I believe they were daredevils, flying under the bridge.

Then there was a formation of six herons that flew over me another day. It was quite a surprise, since I have rarely seen more than one of those huge birds at a time.

One small Painted Turtle is now sunning on the limb sticking out in the pond.

Less welcome animals were the SEVEN large calves in my front yard. When I called the cattle guy, he told me they fixed the fences, but these black critters proved otherwise. Beau loves to chase them off the property.

These daffodils are so bright and cheery.

I'm making myself cut more firewood for next winter. After such a bitterly cold long winter, I feel like Scarlett O'Hara. "As God is my witness, I'll never be chilly again. If I have to run the chain saw, split wood and carry it, I'll never be chilly again."

Osage Orange, known locally as hedgeapple, is full of BTU's and looks so pretty when cut. Thank goodness I have an electric log splitter; this stuff is extremely dense. As must I be to cut and haul it.

It Might as Well Be Spring

Saturday, March 15. At last, some signs of spring. Winter has been slow to release us from its icy grip. The maple buds are swelling and looking promising. Soon they will turn into a zillion winged seeds that start new trees where they are least needed.

Best of all, the Peepers are croaking down at the two ponds. Robins, red-winged blackbirds and Meadowlarks are singing. The ice has left the river. The muskrat is swimming around the big pond.

I painted the beehive sky blue. The temperature was seventy on the back deck. The sky, seen above,  was sky blue.

This morning, the scene was snowy. Old Man Winter, a guest who had already over-stayed his welcome by some weeks, came back for yet another blast of cold wind and snow. The wind chill was sixteen, just when I thought I could stop wearing long underwear.

The Sun will chase off Winter once more tomorrow. The hens are laying, I've pruned the apple trees and the grapes. I don't care what it looks like, Spring will officially be here in four days.

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Bats as Housepets

It was a dark and snowy night. Recent snows had caused me to get into my kindling stores. One was a box of good hickory twigs in the fruit cellar. There was a tiny noise that I couldn't identify as I dumped the cardboard box of twigs into a tote, which I carried into the house.

All the pets were with me, watching a movie in front of the wood stove. A noise was heard from the bedroom. Pandemonium broke out when I saw what looked like a bird flying around. The dog barked and lunged at it. The cats eagerly waited for it to dive within claw's reach. When it lighted on the wall by the ceiling, I realized it was one of the Little Brown Bats. It had a surprisingly big wingspan for such a little creature. It swooped all over.

Quickly ushering the pets out and closing the doors, I called my wildlife expert. Lissa said to try and catch it in a blanket and get it back to the fruit cellar.

When I returned to the bedroom, it had stopped flying around. It was nowhere to be seen.

The dear Little Brown Bat was finally found, clinging to the backside of the drapes. When I'd shopped for material to make drapes, I wanted some beautiful damask, but couldn't afford it. Consoling myself, I decided that such elegant fabric would be too grand for my modest home. Then I laughed, realizing such a rationalization was merely sour drapes.

Now, I was glad the fabric was lightweight. I put on my boots, gloves, hat, coat and new bee veil, just in case it wanted to fly in my face. I gently bundled the bat in the drapes, taking the curtain rod with it. Shining a big flashlight in my other hand, I stepped out into the horizontal snow. As I made my way through a three-foot drift, I couldn't help but wonder if anyone else was thus occupied during what seemed to be a blizzard. The curtain rod dragged in the snow, but the vital contents were safe from the storm.

Back down in the fruit cellar, I opened the drapes and placed the bat back on the cardboard box it seemed to favor. I apologized for disturbing its hibernation. I had been sure the pair of them had left weeks ago.

Back in the house, I kept a sharp watch out for the other bat. I checked the tote of kindling, peered behind drapes and was on high alert for some time.

The next day, I took a small box full of soft fuzzy fabrics down for it. There was no sign of it, so I guessed that it was tucked into the rack of wood down there.

Although the house was warmer for the poor critter, I fear they really don't make ideal house pets.

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Bats and Beehives

The extra cold weather caused the Little Brown Bats in the fruit cellar to move south without leaving a forwarding address. Not even a postcard from them.

Meanwhile, the hive bodies are going together in the warm house. This will be a single beehive, with plenty of room upstairs and downstairs for a large colony of bees.

Although I wear ear protectors as I pound in nails, the cats and dog are napping nearby, oblivious of the noise. They are in whatever room I am in, due to my enormous personal magnetism.

At the beginning beekeepers' meeting I attended, Beekeeping for Dummies was recommended. Since it's been so long since I kept bees, I'm finding the information quite useful. My bee smoker has arrived and the bee suit, veil and gloves are on the way. One of  the veteran beekeepers said he usually was stung thirty times while working with the bees. I, on the other hand, am a woman and don't have to be so brave or foolhardy.

As soon as I complete the two shallow honey supers, the hive exteriors will be primed for painting. I'm already primed for the bee experience.

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Lazy Sun

Part of me knows that it's the earth that is at fault. But while I wait for it to wobble around toward the Sun, it's easy to blame our star.

It seems that the Sun is merely indolent at this time of year, getting up late and then never reaching its full potential. Not as bad in the Midwest as it was in Fairbanks, Alaska, where the sun rose languidly at ten and set at two.

Case in point: the ditch across the road, a spot where the Sun don't shine, as they say. There is still snow there, despite some days that have been in the fifties. Sorry about the dullness of the image, but it's my view out the front windows. It's like the ice cap on Mars or ice on the moon. There are plenty of those shady spots that are still full of icy snow. The back of my house, on the north side, is one big slab of slippery stuff.

This is the time of year that my steep hills are most hazardous.  I have ordered some crimpons, but due to the Polar Vortex, they are out of stock.

Speaking of the Polar Vortex, Lissa and I must protest this alarming naming of ordinary winter fare. It did get rather cold here in December. It was minus twenty-one degrees. We had some colder weather in the 'eighties, but no one thought to give them scary names. A few days ago, the weather warmed a bit, but now we are in another cold snap. I've named this one the Extreme Polar Bear Vortex. I believe it was intense enough to actually sweep polar bears down all the way into northern Minnesota.

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The Bee Adventure Begins

It's been many moons since I was a beekeeper; around three hundred, actually.

In early December, I suddenly decided to start over with bees, to benefit my apple trees. The start-up costs are like my hills: steep. Fortunately, I happened to pick a week when the shipping was free on the heavy wooden hive parts. Throwing caution to the winds, I jumped back into beekeeping.

Inspiring me was my sixteen-year-old granddaughter, Carolyn. She got a beekeeper scholarship a couple of years ago, which included tutoring and all the supplies.

For Christmas, she brought me this glorious pint of comb honey.

Thinking I was really ahead of the season, I contacted some beekeepers to the north last Friday. Gasp! The deadline for ordering bees was the following day. I left here at 11:45 and was still a little late for the 2 o'clock meeting.

At the meeting, I learned that ordering a nuc was really worth the extra money. There are two ways to go for bees. Three, if you count just putting a hive out and hoping some wild bees move in. That rarely happens. The package of bees is about 3 pounds of bees, which I don't believe the supplier weighs individually. They are in a screened cage with some sugar syrup to sustain them on their journey from a warmer spot. Included in the package is a queen in a tiny cage. I believe she has been carefully chaperoned by her duenna and prohibited from buzzing around with members of the Drones Club.

The nuc, short for nucleus, I think, consists of several frames of bees that are already busy making the colony. The queen has already made her mating flight and is laying eggs at quite a clip.

Earlier, I thought the nucs were sort of the sissy way to go, but it turns out the success rate for getting any honey this year is much better with the nuc, so that's what I ordered. It will arrive in April.


                                                              The Basswood

There is this wonderful, enormous basswood tree here on the way down to the river. In springtime, the blossoms are exquisitely fragrant. Bees come from miles around. Unfortunately, they make their basswood honey in some distant bee trees, the locations of which they refused to divulge to me.

Last year, I left word at a beekeeping organization to the south, inviting any of them to put a hive nearby. Receiving no response from those folks, I decided to get the honey for myself.

The first step is to assemble the hives and frames. My workshop is unheated, so I made a spot in the house for this fun project.

These are the hive body frame pieces.

This is one of two hive bodies.


So far, I've picked out several places to put the beehive, and no doubt will keep changing my mind daily until I finally do park it somewhere.





The location should have morning sun and afternoon shade, be close to the house for working with the bees, but not in the way of foot traffic.

My goal isn't to have more and more and more hives, nor is it to live off my honey sales. Foremost for me is to get to be a really good beekeeper. I love honey and I love the bees.

One hot summer day, I was in the parking lot of a grocery store, getting ready to get in my car. A bee landed on my thumb. I held it up by my face and said, "Hello, you must need to rest a bit." A person in the car next to mine rolled up their window, whether to protect themselves from the bee or me, I couldn't tell.

White Christmas

Although our Christmas plans were postponed by sleet and snow, when the grandkids did come up, we had a lovely mild day for sledding.

Carolyn came zipping down the big hill.

Carolyn and Molly ran off into the brush.

Jason whizzed by where I was pointing the camera without any idea of what was in the frame. The sun was too bright to see the screen.

The temperature in the forties made the snow melt, and I found it even slicker the next day, when it had refrozen in the night.

Grammie here doesn't have to have children to go sledding with her, but it is more fun.

Going All Out for Apples

                       In the spring of 2008, I planted two apple trees.

This one, a Criterion, bore its first small apples last Fall. The other one was damaged by the neighbor's cows when they got out. An old apple tree that was here has lovely blooms every spring but both trees need other varieties of nearby blossoms for the bees to pollinate them.

Last month, I planted another apple tree. I dug the hole before I ordered the tree, since that was the hard part, not to be left until the fall rains made it impossible. I brought in some lovely loamy soil, keeping it in the fruit cellar awaiting the arrival of the tree. Adding peat to the precious dirt at planting time, I shoveled the mix around the roots and watered it in with some fish fertilizer.

The tree is a Golden Delicious. If this isn't an exercise in optimism and patience, I don't know what is. Even though I once grew a very productive Golden Delicious apple tree, it's hard to imagine that this whip will ever amount to anything. Right away, I fenced it from stray cows. The location is better, too, being closer to the outside faucet. It's near the existing old apple tree, some variety of red apple, so they can visit and exchange pollen.

Earlier trees I planted suffered from inadequate pruning in their youth, but my daughter Isabelle is now my adviser on such things. She taught me to not leave the low branches, thinking they will increase their distance from the ground. They won't.

For the moment, the new tree is tucked into a snow blanket.

Every day, I look at this thing that would hardly be called a tree and envision it fully grown and laden with apples. While I await fruition of that dream, I've decided to do one more thing to ensure I have more apples than I know what to do with. I'm taking up beekeeping once more. The boxes of wooden hive parts have arrived. I'll be nailing them together in January. Yet another fun outdoor hobby!