A bucket list.

Do I have a bucket list? I’m kind of jealous of her. I feel like I’m missing out on something. So I go through a whole week of soul searching and it hits me like a brick wall this morning. I’m living my bucket list and always have. Day by day. The contentment I feel on this little patch of earth is my bucket list. I can’t think of a class to take, a place to travel, to or a job that I’d rather be doing. The best to Laraine! Remember, if you can tackle that piano you can accomplish anything you set your mind to.

You can tell it’s spring, my mind is going in several directions, so bear with me. First, of all the spinach, lettuce, radishes, and turnips are up in the greenhouse. To this I will add the 60 broccoli and cabbage plants. Needing to get them out of the back room and into the ground, I try to pick a time when there will be a couple of cloudy days so they won’t transpire. Shouldn’t be to hard to find that rainy day.

My niece, Kim, wrote me an e-mail asking about purchasing asparagus at a CSA farm and the cost. For those of you who don’t know, a CSA farm is an abbreviation for Community Supported Agriculture. They’re wonderful! A win-win situation for all involved. Like with anything you get involved in these days you must thoroughly research the farm’s reputation. It allows the farmer to do what they love and allows the customer to reap the benefits of enjoying locally grown produce in season. To obtain more information on CSAs in your area log onto localharvest.org/csa, also check out pickyourown.org. Your area offers a host of orchards and you-pick farms.

Back to the asparagus. This is one vegetable I would plant. For one, it’s a perennial, which means you plant it once and it keeps coming back year after year. The investment is small. For 30 crowns (roots) in the E&R catalog it’s $32.50 and they produce for about 20 years. I have a patch with about that many that provides for three households with enough for us all to freeze. It really requires very little care and there’s nothing like the flavor. I love to stir-fry it with fresh cut garlic in a little olive oil.

I have to punch down the whole-wheat honey bread that’s rising on the wood furnace and put it into loaf pans.

The following recipe makes three loaves and it’s delicious. Take three cups warm water (about 110 degrees), and to this add two packages of yeast, 1/3 cup of honey, and five cups regular flour (all-purpose, unbleached, or bread). Mix well and let set 30 minutes in a warm place until big and bubbly. Next, mix three tablespoons of butter, another 1/3 cup honey, a tablespoon of salt, and 3½ cups of whole-wheat flour. Knead until it’s just pulling away from the counter. You want it a little tacky. Knead about 10 minutes. Put into greased bowl and let it rise until doubled. Punch down and divide into three loaves rise again. Bake at 350 degrees for about 30 minutes. I like to use a digital thermometer for an internal reading of 190 degrees.

To start with I painted my bedroom. Poor Joe almost had heart failure at my color choice. After being married for 32 years and going through the entire color palette the world has to offer I chose white with a creamy white for the moldings. He couldn’t believe it (“How will you ever decorate that? We’ve never had a white room. It’s going to be boring!”) The room came out nicely and he has adapted. Good to stir things up a bit, it makes life fun. Sewing new lined curtains has led into finishing two long sleeved shirts, which has led into summer shirts and little tops for Emily.

Son Joe came over yesterday afternoon with a packet each of rutabaga and turnip seeds. We went to the greenhouse to plant them. He asked me how to plant potatoes. At this point I have to say I love my son completely, but sometimes I wonder where he grew up. How many times I toiled in the garden and he would seek me out to discuss a problem, argue a point, flamboyantly tell me I was ridiculous for not allowing him to do something. Did he ever look down and observe? Every time I asked for his help he told me it wasn’t his thing. I inwardly chuckle when he tells how important in this economy it is for him to raise a garden. Or, how nutritious homegrown local produce is. How it loses flavor in trucking. How much he loves eating a fresh warm cucumber straight from his garden. It really warms my heart when I finally see the interest unfolding before me and gladly share my knowledge.

As I write this article this morning I can’t help but wonder about the economy. How many people are food compromised and have no knowledge or anyone to guide them in the lost art of raising a garden, or processing by way of canning or freezing. There is so many resources at our fingertips. The Internet has a wealth of information to get you started. Your local extension office should offer master gardening classes, or seek out information from garden clubs and community colleges. A gardener is always willing to share their knowledge, so ask around your place of work. The point is that summer is coming. Don’t miss your opportunity to play in the dirt. If you don’t have land, think about a community garden, picking at self-pick farms, and putting away that bounty.

It’s bitterly cold here and with all my bookwork getting turned in last week I feel like a kid let out of school. So on Tuesday I started three flats of vegetables. The butterhead lettuce, mache (also called french lettuce), and broccoli already have sprouted thanks totally to the constant pushing of my loving husband.

“Stop being so cheap,” he exclaimed. “Just buy that heat mat.”

And have never regretted it. OK, so YOU WERE RIGHT, HONEY! In combination with the heat mat, I use grow lights on shelves that, of course, you-know-who set up for me. Thank you, Honey! With all joking aside, this setup can be done in a basement or spare bedroom and it works well. I’ll transplant everything in the greenhouse.

My plan this year is to till my greenhouse this weekend: lay down black plastic over the tilling to warm the soil for about a week, then plant the seedlings. If you have a southern exposure such as an enclosed porch that gets about six hours of sun a day you might want to consider raising your lettuce and radishes in large pots or window boxes. As long as the nighttime temp doesn’t go below 32 degrees you can do it. And it really boosts the moral to see those tiny green sprouts.

I’m going over to Erica’s again this afternoon to watch Emily while she goes out to do her animal chores. With the bitter cold, she has lost three out of the four baby lambs — not very good odds. She normally has her lambing time in March, but she had bought two ewes from a friend and, obviously, they were bred for the Easter market. Hopefully when her other three deliver in March it will be much warmer. Yesterday, I brought her some dehydrated tomatoes. She loves them on her tuna and had run out. Today, whether she wants them or not I’m bringing homemade dried egg noodles. Our chickens have been on a laying rampage so I’ve been thinking of ways to use the surplus eggs. She can always put them in soups or stews. Amy will get a bag also. Last week I gave them strawberry jam and green beans. Glad I overstock. I’m so lucky to live so close to my little peeps!

Joe has been out in this miserable weather all day. One customer after another has called with their trucks breaking down. I’m going to make him a nice hot supper of oven-fried chicken, mashed potatoes, garlicky asparagus, and a strawberry rhubarb pie.

Hopefully that will warm him up.

Snow and ice pelts our windows. The wind is howling with such a fierceness it sounds like someone clawing at the door to get in. Great gusts are shaking our windows and sliding glass doors and the harbor bell that hangs on our windmill is constantly clanging. Looking out the back door, we see our son Joe with flashlight in hand running down his front yard. According to Amy he’s retrieving the flashing and siding that has blown off their house. Blue lightning streaks across the sky and I’m mesmerized. I’ve never seen a thunder snow storm before. The lights continue to go out and I fear we’ll loose them entirely. My fear there is not for ourselves but for Erica and Little Miss Emily who are home alone because of you know who, again!

But for now we’re safe and snug in our little house on the prairie. Joe is playing his mandolin and the cat and dog are chasing each other around so for now all is well. We’ve prepared as much as possible. The candles are lined up on the table. Water is set aside for drinking and flushing. We’re to get 15 inches of snow, which will cripple us for days with this wind. With no trees or mountains to hold the snow back drifts will cause the roads to close. There I go back to you know who. But I know all three households will be OK. We all have wood heat and plenty of food; we literally could last for weeks out here.

Last Monday, Joe went for his first colonoscopy. He’s 54 and has put it off. He really felt it was an unnecessary procedure and a money-making ordeal. Finally, in a I’ll-show-you-mine-you-show-me-yours contest he agreed to go if I would. Because he’s older than me, it was decided that he would go first and I on Wednesday. We were both shocked to find out that he had a 1-inch polyp removed. Here we walk two miles everyday, grind our own wheat, eat plenty of fruits and veggies and the doctor told him that another year would have spelled disaster. Wednesday came with great trepidation for me only to find out all was fine and he’d see me in 10 years. Moral of the story, go get checked; no one can tell without the procedure if you’re one of the 3 percent with problems.

Well it’s 8:45 p.m. and I got a call from Erica that you know who got home OK, although his car is stuck in the middle of the road a half-mile from home. Seems he hit a snow drift that went to his mirrors so he’s walking. Maybe all that shoveling tomorrow will take a little starch out the smarty pants’ britches. Probably not, though, as it took son Joe a recession, the loss of his job, his hair, his wife’s job last Monday, and this blizzard to realize that the most important things in life are your health, your home, and your marriage.

Storm Update: Scotty needed two four-wheel-drive pickup trucks and a John Deere tractor, which got stuck, to help him dig his Pontiac Vibe out. Now he wants a four-wheel pickup truck like the big boys. We finally got plowed out after 52½ hours.

While most people are chipping away on their New Year’s resolutions, I’m overwhelmed with paperwork. Being a township trustee I have to compile a year-end report called an annual report. I have to document all the incoming and outgoing finances, get together fire contracts, cemetery mowing, 4-H contracts, township assistance reports, etc. Then, I have to have a meeting of my three-person board to get them to review the information and sign off on it, get it published, and electronically file said information to the state of Indiana all within 17 days.

My husband and son Joey started a business in 2007, which thankfully has grown enough for us to see the light at the end of the tunnel with our fingers and toes really, really crossed. And guess who’s the bookkeeper in that organization. Yup! So that mMeans only one thing: I HATE JANUARY!

With time and money so stretched right now, I’ve decided to fall back on an old plan I used for years. I bolted myself down with calendar in hand and planned a day-to-day menu. It’s hard to get back into it and have the discipline to do it, but it really pays off. Joe and I love poultry so I plan at least three meals a week, one meatless meal, one fish, one pasta, spaghetti, or pizza, one lamb or beef, soup or stew, breakfast for dinner, etc. Let your creative juices flow. Pull out your cookbooks and try something you’ve been meaning to try. This is the time of year to create. Then sit down and list out everything you need for those meals. I started out by meticulously planning out every meal for a week. When I got really comfortable with that I then planned two weeks, then a month. My grocery list was pretty big, but I vowed to shop only for the items in my household I really needed. No specials, no two-for-ones would lure me.

It was really hard at first especially when the kids were home to gauge the amount of dairy products I would use. But eventually all fell into place. It was amazing how much money I saved. We actually bought a utility tractor with the extra money. The kids at the time thought I was nuts, but do the same thing in their own households now.

My goal this year like the past 32 years is to try my hardest to be a Proverbs 31 woman. Happy New Year!

Editor’s Note: Hey, everyone, it’s Kim and my resolution a few years ago was to try one new recipe each week to broaden our palates. We had the same five go-to meals, but B.C., or before children, mostly scrounged for dinner and ate really poorly. That entire year, I really did cook one new meal each week and gradually we started eating better and feeling better. So the following year my resolution was to write down a week’s worth of meals at a time and shop for just those. I actually made a paper schedule with space to fill in our weekly activities and the meals that day and posted it on the refrigerator. It’s nice now, when I sit down to make a grocery list, to see that on Thursday I have a PTA meeting so we need to have leftovers, which means a big meal on Wednesday, or pancakes because they can be made pretty quickly. Years later I still subscribe to the meal schedule and pretty regularly make new dishes. Last weekend we did four chicken breasts with a bottle of buffalo wing sauce and a half a packet of powered ranch dressing mix poured over the chicken in the crock-pot for seven hours. The chicken pulled apart easily and we served it on rolls with a slice of cheese. Our friends will benefit from this test run when they visit for Super Bowl Sunday!

“Our Christmas Eve meal is a tradition that’s been in my family since my grandmother came from Poland. I really want you to carry on the tradition. It’s really, really important to me! We have pickled herring, rice and raisins, prunes and kluskies, peas, Babka bread, sauerkraut, boiled cubed potatoes, blue cheese celery, wine, and the pierogies, oh the pierogies are the best,” he told me.

“What in the world is a pierogi?”

“Dough-filled dumpling things. Mom and Laraine make potato, cheese, and sauerkraut ones. The kids watch for the first star. Then Dad breaks bread with my oldest brother Alex then with Ed and me, then Mom and Laraine. We, in turn, break bread with our spouses and everybody else. Dad then gives a toast. Oh Becky you just have to experience it for yourself,” he said.

Experience it I did.

My new mother and sister-in-law Laraine welcomed me into the kitchen. With notebook in hand I spent the next several hours in a whirl of activity. In the background German and Polish Christmas carols playing in languages I’d never been exposed to. Mother and daughter working hand-in-hand in perfect harmony on a meal that had brought families together for generations. Remembering back to my own childhood never being allowed in the kitchen, I didn’t have the slightest idea how to cook let alone fulfilling my husband’s dream of carrying on this tradition. Then it happened through their patient guidance, I made my first successful pierogi. Like a rite of passage. Dropped it into the boiling water and it didn’t even burst. Maybe there was hope for me yet!

As the meal came together, family started to gather. Gifts were placed under the tree. Eddie, Karen, and Kimmy my nephew and nieces ran excitedly from Christmas tree to windows looking for the sign of the first star in the sky, signifying the beginning of our celebration and delighting that they found it. Platters and bowls filled the table. We all stood ready waiting for the leader of our family to lead us in the time-honored tradition of breaking bread. As we sat to enjoy our meal, Joey’s hand reached for mine, locking fingers in a lifelong agreement to continue this tradition.

Now, 32 years later we will gather at our table on Christmas Eve with our children, their spouses, and our first granddaughter. My daughter Erica will come to the kitchen as I did all those years ago to make pierogis together. Working hand-in-hand we will listen to the old German and Polish Christmas carols in languages we don’t understand but so fondly recognize the tunes. There will be memories of my mother-in-law, the woman who taught me how to crochet, sew on my first button, cook, keep a checkbook, how to rub two pennies together to make a home. She’s the mother who took in the tom boy her son brought home, whose life was destroyed by the loss of her own family. She taught me the survival skills I needed to have my own family.

We’ll fill every platter and bowl in the cupboard and maybe next year Emily can run from window to window waiting for the first star in the sky. The leader of our family will break bread with our one and only son and I’ll be so thankful again this year that we didn’t lose him in 2000 to the farm accident that almost took him away from us. Joe then will break bread with me then our daughter, then their spouses. With tears in his eyes he’ll lift his glass, he’ll thank the children for being here, thank me for the meal, make remembrances of his mother and father, brothers and sister.

Once again the tradition is carried on. After the children leave, we will take the leftovers to the barn. Grace (my horse) so enjoys the leftover kluskies and Will (Joe’s horse) loves the potato and cheese pierogis. After all, this night, this meal is in celebration of them. The animals after all were the only true witnesses to Christ’s birth.

Joe has been working on our greenhouse, cementing it in, lagging it down, and trying desperately to get it finished before winter. I, on the other hand, have been working on surrounding my small dinning room with picture walls. It’s something I’ve avoided because of the amount of time it would take. Who am I kidding, it’s the emotional roller coaster I haven’t wanted to face.

I started out with Joe’s family, centering it around the picture of his Mom and Dad, then siblings and childhood activities. He came from a happy, close family and the pictures reflect that. I had very few pictures of childhood so I added in my favorites: my Dad with my kids, my sister Pam and husband Scott. Next came our wedding wall and all the pictures of the two of us before kids. Joe was 21 and I was 18 when we married. Boy, we were kids and to look at that wall growing older together brought mixed feelings: happiness at still being together and holy moley where has the time gone! The big wall I saved for our kids. Joey and wife Amy, Erica and husband Scott, and, of course, little Miss Emily. By the time I was done I’d shared so many memories with Joe and the kids it was all worth it. On Thanksgiving we were surrounded by the past, the present, and the future. I’m thankful that our family knows where they came from, the struggles of each generation told, love of parents expressed, and the deep sorrow of missing those same parents and grandparents.

In preparation for the Christmas countdown I’ve started sewing: place mats and cloth napkins, a soft baby blanket that I’m going to embroider Emily’s name on, a warm fuzzy robe for Erica and sleep pants, a tablerunner for Amy. I’ve always tried to make homemade gifts to add to the store bought. From homemade gingerbread houses filled with dried fruit to homemade soap, wheels of cheddar cheese, crocheted-lined woolen hats, fruitcake, cookies, cinnamon rolls, and jams and jellies. Last year, Joe helped me make homemade peanut butter cups along with jester hats complete with bells on the tips for Joey and Scotty. That was great for a couple of laughs. As crazy as this time of year gets our family’s Christmas tradition is centered around Christmas Eve, which I’ll explain next time. Meanwhile, my placemats await!

Returning to my truck I can’t help but wonder how can the sun still shine, the wind still blow, the birds still sing, and the wife still breath? All of us who have had loved ones serving our country at one time or another throughout their lives understand the sacrifice service personnel make to keep this country free. Please honor the day!

Upon arriving home I discovered a neighbor had dropped off a huge box of English walnuts. Last year a woman who works with Beth, my daughter-in-law’s mother, was lamenting about throwing out all these beautiful walnuts that come off her trees each fall. I jokingly told Beth I’d take them. I’d even go rake them up and be happy to pay for them. Everybody in my family knew I’d gone over the edge until they tasted the rewards of my baking. “You’re really going to crack all those nuts” was Joe’s only reply. Each day when we had coffee, I occupied myself. It really brightened my day to think she remembered me. So Sunday I baked her a batch of Walnut patties from a recipe I got years ago from Sturbridge Village and my chocolate coconut walnut cookies.

My mom makes an incredible fruit cake, which I’ll share the recipe to. Now, I know everyone hates fruitcake (they make me gag) but I promise you’ll love this one. Give it a try!

Mom’s Fruitcake

3 cups chopped walnuts

1½ cups maraschino cherries (include juice from one jar)

1 cup white raisins

½ cup dark raisins

¾ cup flour

¾ cup sugar

½ teaspoon baking powder

½ teaspoon salt

3 eggs

Mix all ingredients thoroughly. Put into well greased bread pan or you can put them into the mini aluminum bread pans to give as gifts. Bake for about an hour at 300 degrees or until a toothpick comes out clean. Less time if using the mini pans.

Of course our dog Jorgen (pronounced Yurgi) went with us and loves the woods as much as we do. The only time he got a little miffed was when we went to the inn for dinner and he had to stay in his cage attached to the back of the motorcycle. He rides in between my legs with his goggles on and absolutely loves it. He set up quite the howl, but was pretty happy when I brought out his doggy bag.

Our state parks are a wonderful place to take the family. The kids can ride their bikes to their hearts’ content without constant worry of vehicle traffic. They offer horseback riding, swimming, nature classes, hiking, and the inns serve three meals a day if you don’t want to cook. Next year, Erica and Scotty want to share little Miss Emily’s first camping adventure with us. We can’t wait!

Back on the homestead I’ve finished filling our two freezers. This week I butchered 27 cornish cross meatbird chickens. These, added to the ones I did in the spring, will see us through until late next summer. I prefer raising them in the fall. Yesterday I cooked the winter butternut squash, cooled them, and scooped out the beautiful orange flesh and put it into freezer bags. I thaw the cooked squash (about two cups) put it into a small baking dish that I’ve sprayed with nonstick spray and top it with the following type of stuffing: take one cup of unflavored bread crumbs, add three heaping tablespoons of brown sugar, cut in about three tablespoons of butter so it looks crumbly. To this add one apple peeled and chopped, a half a cup of chopped walnuts, a handful of cranberries, a handful of raisins, and put on top of the squash. (If you want to make it as a main course dish, add cooked and drained breakfast sausage.) Bake at 350 degrees for about 30 minutes or until top is golden brown.

Tuesday once again is Election Day. For 12 years I have been a township trustee. I was kind of hoping someone would run against me, but no one is. Our state is going through some real challenges much like every other state. Officials are talking about doing away with my position and consolidating it in two years. It will go to the voters on Tuesday.

Carroll County is made up of 14 such townships. Seeing how our county is 300 square miles, it’s a way to get services to the people. I’m responsible for contracting with four fire departments, cemetery care, poor relief, 4-H contracts, etc. It’s a nice part-time job that allows me to have an office in my home and keep the home fires burning.

Where ever you live, what ever your political ideals, please get out and vote. After all, you owe it to our forefathers who fought for that right.

Mom and Huey came through on their way down South to meet their first great-grandchild. It was a wonderful visit. I had to have them back to the airport Thursday at 8:15 a.m. With Mom’s departure, it was time to get back to some outstanding chores. I’m trying to finish my fall cleaning. The farmers are finishing up harvesting and many have started plowing. We haven’t had any substantial rain for about two months and with the constant wind it’s been incredibly dusty. We don’t have air conditioning so I’m constantly wiping down the house.

My sister-in-law Eileen so thoughtfully sent me fresh Maine cranberries from her farmers market in that state. All those beautiful red berries! I’ll save the two bags she sent me for Thanksgiving. I love to grind them up with a navel orange, sprinkle them with sugar, and let them sit for 24 hours before serving. The dish is a real taste of New England. The leftovers go on top of turkey sandwiches.

After receiving the fresh cranberries from Eileen, I decided to take my frozen ones and can whole cranberry sauce. It’s really easy. Wash and drain eight cups of cranberries, and set aside. Combine four cups of sugar and four cups of water and boil for 5 minutes. Add the cranberries and continue boiling until the skins start to burst. Ladle hot sauce into hot jars and process in a boiling water bath for 10 minutes. This recipe yields about five pints. I wait for the cranberries to go on sale then try to do enough for the year. Give it a try, I promise you won’t be sorry.