Wanted: Machete

I sold my machete in the garage sale I had a couple years ago. I often wish I hadn't. Now that the pests are under control and my pet snake is eating the slugs, my garden is going crazy which makes me wonder why I ever thought I had enough room for a garden let alone a garden grown with rabbit manure! BUT I'm NOT complaining. I'm in awe!

The pumpkin vines are up to ten feet long, crawling across the herbs under, over and through the fencing.

 

 

This vine above has meandered all over the place and now has sprouted from the fencing to hang across the path to greet the tomato branches reaching toward it. Very friendly plants!

 

 

 

These vines are heading across the path and starting to crawl up the camellia bush on the right! It makes it a little difficult to get to the front yard.

 

My first baby pumpkin. It's already the size of a soccer ball.

 

The zucchini-that-were-supposed-to-be-cucumbers are getting really big.

 

I'm not sure if I planted the wrong seeds (probably) or if there were wrong seeds in the package (doubtfully, although this I prefer to believe!). This is the first one I've picked:

 

Sunflowers are actually big enough so the slugs don't gnaw them to stumps and the four foot tall lettuce plants next to them are bolting and seeding. I want to save the seeds for next year so this is fine.

 

Sunflowers in the front are not so tall and are being crowded by the pumpkins and the humongous borage plants. Borage is bee drugs. You can't see them in this picture, but there are no less than ten bees buzzing around the blue borage flowers. I love the sound of the gentle buzz-hum when touring the garden. It's very relaxing, like everything is right with the world.

 

 

 

The tomatoes are loaded with fruit, but still green. Their branches are spanning the walkways and creating a jungle. Where's my machete?

 

 

 

 

I sold my weedwacker in last week's garage sale so I'm ripping out what is left of the grass paths. Not much left to do! Hooray! Of course, my new dirt paths are very tempting to the neighborhood cats so I need to get some beauty bark mulch on it fast!

 

I'm using the grass clumps to make Peter a "Dr. Seuss" landscape with hills and valleys in the cool of shade so he can lay between the grassy mounds and nibble grass in ultimate rabbit relaxation.

 

I am putting it in an area that gets shade all day long and nothing else grows there. 

I was going to cover this area with beauty bark, but I think Peter likes the grass clumps better than beauty bark.



Bunnicula the Devil Bunny
(It's so dark in that corner of the yard my flash went off making Peter's eyes glow.)

 

And finally, after digging nearly my whole front yard up, I finally found a garden treasure to add to my collection:

Hooray!

Happy Stuff

Farting. We all do it and in so many different ways. Sometimes it's unexpected and embarrassing; other times we free-fart in privacy and delight. So, how did it get to be such a social faux pas?

I once went to the Museum of Witchcraft in Cornwall, England. On display they had "fart bottles". In the Middle Ages it was believed flatulence was a demon who had taken up residence inside an unfortunate person so people used these long-necked bottles, stuck them up their backsides, and farted into them. The bottles were then sealed believing the demon was contained, unable to torment their former host or infiltrate anyone else's body. Kinda like "I Dream of Jeanie" only in a really bad way. I love history.

Girl Alive sent me this link titled, "The Fart That Almost Altered My Destiny" and warned I would LOL! Oh, she was so right. I had tears rolling down my cheeks:

http://hahasforhoohas.com/the-fart-that-almost-altered-my-destiny/

Laughter is good.

"Make An Offer, Pilgrim."

Garage sale day! My whole street attempted a neighborhood garage-yard sale. There were only three of us, plus a neighbor who put a pile of junk out in the front with a FREE STUFF sign. I snatched up his free large tomato cages and ran like a thief back home.

I actually wanted an opportunity to show off my "new" garage. This summer I had it remodeled a little. The window (near the bike) used to be a door which was on the opposite side of the garage from my house and the rain storms would flood through the space under the door and flood the garage every winter. The door was moved to the opposite corner so it's next to the house's back door and within my locked fence. Much more private. You can just see the opening of the door in the upper left corner of the above photo.

Then I painted a wall multi-colored!  Too fun! On the opposite wall I plan to paint a mural.



The great thing about having an outstanding garage is when I have a garage sale I can remove all the stuff I don't want to sell and take my time organizing the sale stuff throughout the week. I'm pretty sure I have the prettiest garage sale in the history of private enterprise. I had a women's department, men's department, pet center, jewelery display, sports department, and bookstore with paintings on the walls and sparkly lights around the ceiling.



"Make an offer!" This was the phrase of the day. My garage sale motto. I think I said it to everyone and rarely was anyone's offer turned down. So many people said, "Oh, I can't do that." WHY? I have to fight with them to give me an offer. Jeez.

So I beg (ugh!), "I'm trying to get rid of things, let me know what you want to pay."

"Ohhhh, no, [whiny voice] I don't know how much it's worth."

"I don't either. Just name your price."

"I don't feel comfortable doing that."

"I haven't turned down an offer yet."

"You might get offended...."

"AND THEN WHAT? DO YOU THINK I WILL SCREAM AT YOU? CRY? GRAB YOU AROUND THE NECK AND SHAKE YOU UNTIL YOU ARE DEAD OR SOMETHING?" Good lord these people are so scared. This is America! Capitalism is our drug lord. Just give me a damn price.



Look at my sparkly lights around the ceiling. I
was going to sell them then decided to use them
as decorations!

Eventually I get an offer. And there are other shoppers who don't hesitate to give you a price. Sometimes their offer is outlandishly low, but more often it's much higher than what I expected. I had these two glass things. Very tall vases that look like oversized wine glasses. I actually rescued them out of my non-garage-sale-participant-neighbor's garbage a few weeks ago. I figured, hmmm, a dollar each? Fifty cents each? The woman offered me $7.00 for the pair.  Hey, if that's what she wants to pay, who am I to turn her down? SOLD!

The chandelier I got from my neighbor's last FREE STUFF junk pile had a buyer looking at it. Prior to offering it for sale I had removed all the crystals to use for crafts projects so it was the bare skeleton with some old wiring still attached. Heavy, though, so a nice metal. I would have paid for someone to take it away. She offered me $10.00. SOLD! I don't know why my neighbor doesn't want to sell his own stuff. He'd make a little extra money.


A few neighbors asked me if I would sell some of their books for them. Sure! I figured I'd sell the hardcover books for fifty cents and the paperback covers for twenty-five cents and the small paperbacks for ten cents. Not one shopper offered me anything lower than a dollar for any size or any cover type. In fact, it was Dollar Days at my garage yesterday. People kept offering a dollar even for the littlest things. I even sold my weedwacker for a dollar and I had to talk him into it. It was ugly so he didn't think it worked. I told him I just weedwacked my 10 x 10 square foot of yard a few days ago and I'm getting rid of it because I'm digging up the grass. I plugged it in and showed him it worked. In the next few weeks I won't need a weedwacker so it's either sell it for a dollar or it goes to the junk yard. A dollar is a good price.

I do, on occasion, turn down an offer. I had these old Christmas candles, never used, still in their packaging that I've had for years. I think I've tried to sell them at every garage sale I've had for the last ten years. This young man brought them to me and I was so excited someone showed an interest in taking them away. I said, "Make an offer!" He handed me three dollars. I handed him two dollars back in change. I just wanted someone to take them away. Hopefully, that little gesture of non-greed made his day.

The great thing about not marking anything BESIDES the bargaining is I can also give things for free. This is advantageous if you just want to get rid of stuff. If I catch anyone looking with any kind of interest and it's something I know I will throw away, I tell them Take it, it's free. I try to have little stuff around kids might like, too, trinkets, stamps, hair ribbons, and cheap jewels. This year I also had balloons. Some times kids come to me as they are about to leave and ask, "I'm not sure I understood you - did you really mean it was free?" I thought about giving out lemonade this year, but the day started out rainy and then cloudy. What happened to summer?

It was great. I got rid of my old rabbit cages that were cluttering the garage and that park bench I bought a few months ago that I planned to strip and repaint. The guy offered me $5.00 more than I paid for it. SOLD! So glad I don't have to strip it now. I really need to avoid those chemicals.

The hardest thing to sell was my bike. I am feeling remorseful and mournful. It has been on many tours with me and two trips to Europe, but it's been sitting in the garage for a year with two flat tires and cobwebs. I rode it once last year after I cleaned the cobwebs off it then, too. I got it out last week, cleaned it up and fixed the tires. My neighbor looked at it and then when I told her it did the Camino de Santiago in Spain she got all excited.

The Camino de Santiago is a medieval pilgrim trail. To get to heaven in the Middle Ages you were required to do a pilgrimage and this one was very popular.

Map of Camino de Santiago

Modern day pilgrims walk or cycle 737 kilometers over all kinds of trails and roads from Roncevalles in France to Santiago de Compostela, although some start from the eastern border of France. They carry scallop shells as a symbol of their pilgrimmage in honor of St. James (Santiago) of Compostela.

Road Conditions...from my sketchbook.
The only road type not on here was the creek I had to
carry my bike up for about a mile. Packs and all. Not for the weak of heart.
Oh, and then there was the time the trail ended at a 20 foot drop off and I
had to trudge around the trench through a cornfield. I earned my stamps!

We go from cathedral to church to monestary to medieval hospital and every stop on the route you get little pilgrim stamps in the official pilgrim certification booklet.



Pilgrim Certificate with Stamps

At the cathedral in Santiago de Compostela you get a certificate that says you get to go to heaven. Hooray! Don't you love Christianity? Who needs to be moral and good when you can just walk 700 miles and still go to heaven?

On the Camino...with my ex-bike. (Sigh.)

Her sister was with her and told me they both walked the Camino de Santiago a few years ago. This is another wonderful thing about garage sales - you really learn interesting stuff about people you live right next door to that you wouldn't otherwise. I was impressed as they are both retired and one would not expect they are so fleet of foot. They suggested I hang the bike on my wall instead of selling it. She bought it. It's a good bike...I'm a little sad about selling it. BUT it was my second bike. The other one I ride often enough so it doesn't have cobwebs....I'll get over it, hopefully. I really don't need two bikes.

It was a good day, not too much stink, lots of interesting and conversational people. And MONEY!

Next year the neighbors and I were talking about doing another neighborhood yard sale with a neighborhood picnic and barbeque! That would be fun!

Almond Butter...Yum Yum

I've been into almond butter for the last six months. I won't call it a craving, but it's satisfying beyond belief. As you might recall from my post on glycemic index and inflammation, almond butter is low in sugar and very high in natural anti-inflammatories. I feel good about eating it.

Since I have been diagnosed with Hashimoto's, there is always the risk of blood sugar imbalances so every doctor I've seen suggests eating protein right before bedtime. It helps you sleep because it stabilizes your blood sugar. Almond butter is at the top of the list as an excellent source of protein and its healthy fat content makes you feel satisfied so you need very little to do the trick.

I buy it in bulk.  It comes in a huge container and at my co-op I have arrived at the perfect time when the old container is almost gone so they bring out a new container full of the smooth, good-smelling, fresh nut butter. It's heavenly. The employees let me keep the old container which is handy for weeds or storage or whatever.

One of the freebie buckets.

So, nearly every week for the last six months I have been buying anywhere from a pint to a quart of this wonderfully yummy nut butter. That's a HELL of a lot of almond butter! I'm sure it contributes to my lack of weight loss, but I don't care. Yum. Yum. It's also very expensive.

Last Saturday I bought another 16 oz. of almond butter ($7.82 worth). I opened the lid and it's filled to the brim with fresh, yummyful, creaminess. Mmmm. I scoop out a spoonful right before bedtime, feeling lucky that this indulgence is even doctor-approved. I'm looking at the spoonful of creaminess ready to put it in my mouth and...there is something in the almond butter. Not just in, but sticking straight up OUT of the nut butter.

I look closer.  What the hell? It's black, about almost an inch long, very thin with a hook shape at the top. At first I think it's metal, or a wire. I get some tweezers and look at it closer. It breaks so it's not metal. Even if it is metal it shouldn't be in my spoonful of almond butter, but more importantly, my brain kicks into gear and I'm properly grossed out. I almost put that in my mouth!

Unfortunately I didn't take a picture, but I can draw a picture:

Actual Size

Which kinda looks like this:

Which is part of this:

Actual size of that part's owner, too, I think.

I do feel really fortunate it was sticking out of the almond butter and not hidden under the spoonful. This time. Eeewww. Saying I was incredibly grossed out and wanted to drink bleach to sterilize anything else I might have unknowingly swallowed in the last six months is an understatement.

I don't know why I'm bothered. A factory or building where nut butters are made has got to be crawling with all kinds of vermin attracted to the heavenly creaminess just as much as I am. A DJ on a local radio station last year was talking about the number of spiders humans inadvertently eat in their lifetime usually in their sleep. That little piece of unnecessary information has been seared onto my brain. I wish I could un-hear that. I know I've blogged about chocolate manufacturing and how one must expect to eat vermin anatomy that is cooked right in to the recipe. But still...

And maybe I am wrong. Maybe it was a piece of an almond shell (they aren't black). Maybe it was a tiny little twig (they aren't black). Maybe it was totally something else. Maybe.

I won't ever again buy almond butter. Not in my lifetime!

Pick One, Eat Two: U-Pick Blueberries

Hidden on the opposite side of the bush I could hear the two young boys discussing strategy as they picked blueberries, "I pick one, eat two." He snickered and popped a blueberry in his mouth to emphasize the point. I couldn't contain my laughter and the boys both looked at me wide-eyed through the bushes as if they had been caught red-handed. Too funny.


Ah, the joy of u-pick blueberries!

This little farm is truly organic - no question about it. It is owned and managed by this incredibly gorgeous and earthy man who is a professional landscaper and agriculturalist. He bought the farm about the same time I bought my house. Prior to his ownership, two elderly women had it for many years so the bushes are well-established and the farm well-known. It's been fun watching him develop it over the years. The first year he eagerly designed a Medicine Wheel Garden filled with herbs and a very elaborate organic vegetable garden. Then he added a large goat pen filled with goats.

The second year I vowed I'd never return. He has three large dogs. I made the mistake of setting my blueberry bucket on the ground, picked it back up and didn't notice the dog shit on the bottom of it. There is nothing more disgusting than dog shit all over your hands especially when you are harvesting food you will eat. He apologized profusely and claimed he searches the blueberry fields every morning to remove the large deposits of grossness. And of course, I couldn't use the soaps they had because they were scented. What the hell do I do? It disgusted me so much I didn't return for a year and told everyone I don't eat blueberries fertilized with dog shit. Unfortunately, there are no other blueberry farms in 100 miles that are organic, with the quality of berries, and so cheap. At the time he was charging only one dollar a pound. I ended up returning, but I NEVER set the bucket on the ground and I always wear farm boots.

The third year he added a huge chicken coop and lots of chickens. Some of them are very exotic looking. The chickens wander the blueberry fields eating bugs and naturally fertilizing the plants. Chicken manure is the number one most potent fertilizer (rabbit is second, horse is third), but this is the only efficient way to use it without the mess. One of those chickens attacked me, pecking at my ankles until I kicked at it a few times and chased it away. Jeez. Never a dull moment! Between the dog shit, chicken manure, and attack fowl, sturdy farm boots are a must!


The fourth year he started participating in the WWOOF (World Wide Opportunities on Organic Farms) which is an international organization for volunteer agricultural workers who want to learn about farming. They live and work with the farmer who provides room and board. From season to season, these volunteer workers travel from place to place, farm to farm. He had a young woman last year who told me when the growing season is finished here, she was going south for the winter to work on another farm in a much warmer climate. What a wonderful adventure!  This year he has roommates who are helping out instead.

The fifth year he found a baby crow and nursed it to health, hand feeding it hamburger once every hour. Edgar Allan Crow. HA! The sixth year when I came back Edgar Allan Crow would fly under the bushes and land at my feet waiting for me to feed him some blueberries. It was so freaky and surreal having a crow fly directly at you, like being in your own horror movie.

This is my seventh year living in the area and picking u-pick blueberries. The bushes were loaded, but unfortunately, he's only open on Saturdays this year which is why they were loaded, but that means the field is loaded with too many people. At one point there was no parking along his little driveway. That also means no ambiance. I can still hear people, but too much noise! People screaming and cackling at each other. A few were talking on their cell phones...no, screaming on their cell phones as if the whole field needed to hear their conversation. One woman was talking loudly and she had the speaker phone on so I could hear the person on the other end as well! One guy answered his phone, "Hello?" ten times!

"Hello?" ...
"Hello?" ...
"Hello?" ...
"Hello?" ...
"Hello?" ...
"Hello?" ...
"Hello?" ...
"Hello?" ...
"Hello?" ...
"Hello?" ...

I wanted to scream at him GET A CLUE, IDIOT! NO ONE IS THERE! This didn't make for a relaxing time. The owner told me to call him next week because he does have some people who can't come on the weekends so he'll be open on one of the weekdays next week.

But I did hear conversations that were interesting, from religion to recipes to blueberry tricks to bee keeping. And the owner told me Edgar Allan Crow hasn't been seen since last fall. He assured me Edgar met up with crow friends and they flew south for the winter and are now tanning on a beach. He also told me he used to put a large stick in the back seat of his car, call Edgar who would jump in the car and go for rides. He'd drive to his grandparents house to pick apples, let Edgar out who would fly around then he'd call him back to the car, Edgar would fly back into the back seat for the ride home. Amazing. Also, they'd go in the woods mushroom hunting together and Edgar would find the mushrooms for him. How cool would it be to have a pet crow? He also said some berry pickers as well as neighbors didn't like Edgar and said he should kill him. Unfortunately, Edgar was way too friendly even with mean people. BUT he assures me Edgar is on a beach...in California.

I grew up with twenty blueberry bushes lining one of our fields. I can say now although we ate them every year, I took them for granted until I moved away from home and no longer had free access to organic blueberries! Finding a cute organic blueberry farm just a few miles from my home was a gift.  And these blueberries are like nothing I'd ever seen! Some of them are GIGANTIC, nearly an inch in diameter. And sweet!

I normally start picking the first day the farm opens and go back every couple days for fresh blueberries. Slowly I stock my freezer with the extras. There have been times the summers are so cold the season is very short so I don't procrastinate. Today I picked 25 pounds! My freezer is full and it didn't take any time at all.

Blueberries are extremely high in antioxidants. If you look online you'll see wild blueberries are only second to red beans and regular blueberries are about fourth on the list also after a variety of beans. Blueberries have the highest level of antioxidants of any fruit.

I eat them plain and frozen. I also make fruit smoothies with them and use them to flavor my banana-almost-like-ice-cream recipe. In my former, gluten-filled life, I also made blueberry pancakes, blueberry muffins, blueberry pie, blueberry-orange bread, blueberry cobbler, and a delectable dessert from the Better Homes and Gardens Cookbook called Blueberry Buckle. My mouth waters just thinking about it. Someone in the field today was talking about Blueberry Buckle!

"I'm Eighty-Eight Years Old!"

I have a hard time imagining myself eighty-eight years old. There are times when I get up from the computer and I'm so stiff I can hardly walk. There are some mornings I get out of bed and the pain in my back paralyzes me. There are afternoons I'm so tired I can't sit up. Some days I just can't imagine how I will make it to my senior years.

If I do live that long, what will it be like? Naturally, I imagine the worst. In a wheelchair? Frail and helpless. Will I be living alone worried how I would protect myself if someone decided to break in to my house?* Will I be living in a care center with other seniors barely able to function? With severe senility? Dementia? Alzheimer's? Parkinson's? Will anyone visit me? Will I be utterly alone and dependent? Living in a ratty old nightgown and suffering from incontinence?  Will the nurses treat me badly? Will I need to worry about walking down the street in fear of tripping and breaking my hip? Will someone view me as an easy target, unable to fight back, and mug me?**  Will my senior years be filled with fear and worry?

OR will I be energetic and healthy? Will I go for walks everyday in the park? Will I still be picking u-pick berries in the summer? Will I still live in my house, alone and self-sufficient, and plant my garden every spring. Will I be proud of my giant zucchini? Will I wear a bright, red knitted hat?

That's my neighbor, Hazel. Today she came over for a visit. I am having a garage sale in a couple weeks and she wanted to get rid of some of her books. I volunteered to sell them for her. She gave me two big bags of books and claimed they were too heavy for me to carry. So she carried one while I carried the other and escorted me all the way to my house. I kept assuring her I could carry both, but defiantly she said, "No, you can't." I know better than to argue with her. I gave her a tour of my garden and she "ooo-ed and aaah-ed" appropriately. Then she said out of the blue and full of pride while surrounded by pumpkin vines,

"I'm eighty-eight years old!"

I said, "That is an amazing accomplishment! Should I be so lucky to live that long!"

Hazel often updates me on her age so it wasn't much of a surprise, but she sounded so surprised and delighted when she said it. Her joy was infectious. She went on to explain she had no idea why she has lived so long. Out of five siblings, she's the only one left. She hopes to live to be ninety. I hope she does, too.

I do wish I knew her secret. Not necessarily how she lived so long, but how she lived so long and maintained her independence and health. I wanted to ask her questions about being afraid or feeling frail and helpless, but it felt too intrusive. Instead, I gave her kudos and applause for such an outstanding accomplishment.

Hazel's neighbor, Irene, lives across the street and they have been friends for over fifty years. Last year when I took Hazel blueberry picking she told me, "Irene is getting old." Irene is eighty-six. HA! Both ladies walk every morning around the park. Irene also lives alone and she still drives. I see her out in her yard clipping hedges, mowing lawns, pulling weeds, and painting her porch. It amazes me. Don't get me wrong, she moves really, really slowly, but she's still out there doing it. She says it keeps her young. She also has an awesome sense of humor. I always tell them both I'm available if they ever need help with anything, but neither has ever taken me up on the offer.

One day I came walking around the corner to see Irene painting her fence. Really!!?? If I asked if she needed help, she would have said no. I would have felt I was being disrespectful not to listen to her. So...I didn't ask. I turn and left before she saw me, quickly walked home, changed into my paint clothes, grabbed a paint brush and joined her.  She tried to get me to go away and I stood my ground. "Too late. I'm helping. I'm already here and working." We got it done in record time. She doesn't understand - I'm hoping some young whipper-snapper offers me help when I'm her age. I'm working on future karma.

When I grow up I want to be just like them. Full of life, active and independent. I plan to live to be eighty-nine.

* A few years ago two drug addicts broke into an eighty-year-old woman's house thinking she had money. They hit her over the head and killed her. This didn't happen in, say, New York or Detroit. This happened in my little town.

**A year or so ago I saw security camera footage of a woman in her eighties mugged. The jerk punched her in the face and took her purse in the lobby of her apartment building. That gives me nightmares.

Bad, Bad, Bad, and Very Bad...

I volunteered at the co-op today. They had an Ice Cream Social...free ice cream/frozen yogurt/gelato/goat milk ice cream/dairy-free ice cream/sorbet samples of every flavor the store carries. What was I thinking? Well, I was thinking I was being helpful.

Before it even started all the volunteers were eating the ice cream and laughing it was a job requirement to taste all of the various flavors so they would be informed. People kept handing me samples and saying, "Try this one. It's wonderful!" I kept asking to see the containers to check the labels. I read the labels very carefully although I was lax on the sugar (BAD) and the dairy (BAD) knowing there aren't many ice creamy-type desserts that don't have these ingredients. There were a few selections that were dairy and sugar-free, but most of those had chocolate.

I was in charge of giving samples of non-fat frozen yogurt: peach mango, honey, berry, and blueberry. Sounds pretty safe so I stuck to sampling those. I studied the labels and sampled the berry. Oh, so delicious!  The woman next to me had the full-fledged ice cream with a variety of chocolate flavors: Double Chocolate, Banana-Chocolate Swirl, and Chocolate Chip Mint. Oh, they looked tempting and evil! Then the manager brought her another called Sea Salt Caramel. After studying the label, I deemed it safe and had a taste. Oh, my, heavenly. I scooped up another little spoonful and in the scoop there was a dark bit. I asked her, "What is that? A nut?" She read the label. Cocoa. COCOA? (BAD) Am I blind? How did I miss that? I must have been looking for the word "chocolate" and glossed right over "cocoa". I threw that spoonful away as if it were poison.

Then a few minutes later a customer came over and started reading the labels on my frozen yogurt containers. Out loud she said, "Natural flavors....hmmm...nope." She explained she can't have anything with "natural flavors" because that often means "corn" and she's allergic to corn. NATURAL FLAVORS!!! How did I miss that? That's often what they call gluten, too. GLUTEN??? (BAD) Oh, my god. I might have eaten gluten today. I was in shock.

I can only blame the heat. It was in the 90s today. This sort of heat is unusual in my neck of the woods even during the summer. There were a few times I thought I'd keel over from heat exhaust. I heard from others eating ice cream is a very effective way to cool down. I know that's not true but we as humans can rationalize anything. I guess I didn't eat enough sugar, dairy, chocolate and gluten to stay cool. Brain dead, for sure.

Still, I think I had a total of three tablespoons of frozen yogurt and ice cream combined so I don't expect a problem, but I'm kinda disappointed in myself. Other than my banana cream recipe, I hadn't had anything resembling ice cream for a long time. And it was GOOD!

I knew better. No willpower. I should have stayed away.

U-Pick Raspberries

It's berry season and time to head out to the organic berry farms for u-pick berries. This has to be my most favorite non-toxic entertainment of the summer. The scenery is gorgeous, the air is clean and berry pickers are always happy and smiling. My kind of environment.

I love the atmosphere in a berry field. You can hear people around you, but you can't see them. Their voices sound far away and echo a bit which adds to the ambiance. It's being alone with people. I enjoy that, strangely enough.

Every age group is out in the fields. Parents with children talking about the pies they will make,  teenagers picking berries as a summer job, seniors discussing their jam and jelly-making secrets.  It's fun to hear the grandparents teach the little ones how to pick:

"Be sure to pick the berries that are nice and red. No, that one is white. You know the difference between the colors white and red. "

 Or...

"Grandma, the bottom of my bucket is almost covered!"

"See, my bucket is almost full."

"Why do you have more than me?"

"Because you are eating more than you are picking." (hahaha)

I also enjoy listening to other people's conversations. They know everyone can hear what they are saying because of the echo, but no one seems to care. They talk about all kinds of personal things and lots of community gossip. People who live out of the area have come back for a summer visit with the family and a nostalgic trip to the berry farm. They often run into those they went to school with years ago. They talk about what they've been doing and gossip about everyone else.

These berries aren't mine. I was impressed.

The berries, however, are huge and it doesn't take long to fill a flat.

It took me about 15 minutes to fill these two containers. I don't pick a lot at one time because I like them fresh. I do freeze some, but once frozen I don't think they are as good. I still have a gallon in my freezer from last year.

Organic berries in the store are costing abut $4.00 - $5.00 per pint and don't look nearly as good.

My two containers weighed in at three pounds (about 6 pints) which cost $3.75 TOTAL. What a deal!

This farm is also a huge dairy farm with lots of gardens, too. This year the owner started a program with the local junior high and the students planned a huge sunflower patch. They look much better than mine! She said they use cow manure as fertilizer, but she didn't say what kind of slug killer she uses. Probably chemical-based? They do say their berries are organic....hmmm...but I don't know about the rest of the farm.  Normally you can hear the peacocks in the distance, but I didn't see them this time. The owner gives away the plumage when the birds are molting.

Next week my favorite berry farm opens: BLUEBERRIES!!

Ocean Adventures, Part Seven: A Horse is a Horse, Of Course

This is the coolest sculpture I've ever seen! That includes Michelangelo's David and although I cried when I saw the Pieta, this horse still rates higher.

The whole thing is made of driftwood from the beach nearby. The artist of Knock on Wood must have selected each piece according to its individual shape. Just think of the time and patience this took.

The work was displayed on the artist's front lawn area. It's life-sized, maybe even a little bigger than a real horse. 

I got out of my car and walked around it several times.

I was hoping the artist would come out of his home and talk to me, but no one appeared. I would have liked to have seen other works.

Truly amazing.

I found this horse sculpture on my seventh ocean adventure taken on the last day of the month. Summer is a busy time for me so it's been hard to get away to relax and stroll, but I did it!  And, I found a new beach that was close by.

First, I stopped in at the cannery and bought some crab.

Yum.

I found this little beach. See the deep foot prints? The sand was really strange. Higher on the beach was dry sand, but closer to the water it was more like squishy mud. Deep and bouncy, like walking on marshmallows.

The water was deep, too. Rather than wade in gradually, it was a drop off. At one point I was tempted to jump in and swim around, but it wasn't all that warm and I figured the drive home would be really uncomfortable.

Nice weather, too, which has been lacking and now appreciated.

The salty air smelled so good.

Hooray!