Back to Boston

I went back to Boston this weekend for my friend Lindsey’s bachelorette party and bridal shower.  I don’t have any pictures of the shower, but I do have several shots of the bachelorette party, where there were many kinds of shots taken.

I would like to clarify that there were no guns involved.

Here is Miss Lindsey modeling her Minnie Mouse veil.  She’s going to Disney on her honeymoon.

Here she is practicing acting like a mature, married woman.

And this is how I snuck all of the food and decorations into the hotel.  They didn’t suspect a thing.  Ha.

I think it’s safe to say that no one went hungry.

Everyone survived the evening, so all in all, I think it was a success and Lindsey seemed to enjoy herself as the second photo in this post confirms.

Even though it was a short trip, I did get to spend some time at home with my parents.   Almost one month had passed since I moved to Tennessee and what a difference that month made in the yard.  All of the trees were filled out and my garden had grown up considerably from my first pass through the yard at the end of March.

The rock wall bed is looking very green and fluffy (to use official horticultural terms), but no colorful blooms yet…

But don’t worry, there are a few things blooming back by the hammock!

(I’m sure you were worried sick).

I was nervous about my bleeding hearts coming back this year.  They kind of looked a little bit dead as they lay helplessly on the ground last summer.  They sure had me fooled!  Little tricksters…

PEONIES! I’m sad I will miss these in bloom.  They’re so pretty and fuchsia-y.  I might add that they are doing a good job of holding themselves up.

Here’s a look back at the big rock wall from the edge of the patio.  This bed on the left is a little behind.  It has lilies and black-eyed susans that need some warmer weather to give them a boost.  I should send them some 90 degree days from Nashville because I have some to spare.

Blue fescue!  My dad thinks it’s hilarious that I have these balls of grass in my garden.  Over the past few years, he has on several occasions asked me if I realize that there is already a lot of blue fescue in the lawn.   I tell him that this is different and thus warrants being in the garden.   I was usually saying this while digging up little clumps of grass that showed up in my garden uninvited.

Another bleeding heart that had me concerned last summer.  Purty.

Here’s a look at the peninsula opposite the main rock wall.  Still looking a little patchy, but it’s early..

Here’s the view from the driveway.  See that big tree on the right with the sunlight shining on it?  Well, the top of it croaked during hurricane Irene last summer.  Somehow, when it fell, it only killed one of my plants because my little rock wall to the left broke its fall.  This was good news that there were almost no plant casualties; however, the great news is that my shade garden has become a sun garden!

I realize it doesn’t look so sunny in this photo, but it was taken late in the afternoon.

Azaleas in the front yahhhd.  I need more of this color in my life.

And here’s a look at my bountiful garden at my apartment in Tennessee.  Very similar to the garden in Boston, don’t you think?

Y’all come back,

Sugarlump

Strawberry Shortcake for Breakfast

Several years back, Grandmother and Aunt Anna introduced me to strawberry freezer jam, which I of course ate on a warm biscuit for breakfast just as I normally do with other homemade jams.  It didn’t take me long to realize that this was basically strawberry shortcake in breakfast form.

Let me show you how to get some of this in your life.

First, we make the jam.

You will need fruit pectin to make the jam nice and thick.  You may need more than one package, depending on how many pints of jam you would like to make.  The instructions for how to make this jam as well as the ingredients and their quantities can be found in this box or here online, but I will take you through the steps with pictures because I think you’re swell.

You will also need some clean mason jars with lids.  I forgot to take a picture of these, but I’m sure you know what they look like if you’re interested in making jam.

Next, you must procure some strawberries.  But not just any strawberries.

It is absolutely CRITICAL that you start with fresh and perfectly ripe berries.  If you do a little drive-by test with your nose, you should be able to smell their sweetness.  It also doesn’t hurt to take a bite of one of the berries to confirm that on the inside they are not tough and white and tart, but instead juicy and red and sweet.

You don’t actually need this many berries unless you want to make over a dozen pints of jam, which you very well might once you taste this jam on a biscuit.  Grandmother and I got a little ahead of ourselves on the quantity of berries we purchased and probably only used ¼ of this box for 4 pints of jam.  We did, however, manage to eat the leftover berries for dessert in the form of strawberry shortcake just to mix things up. Ha.

Once you have determined that these berries are indeed perfectly ripe and sweet, please wash them.

Then, hull the strawberries to remove the greenery.

Measure out 2 full cups of strawberries.  Really pack them in so you maximize the strawberry-ness.

This is the fun part (other than the most fun part: eating the jam):  Mash the strawberries until completely broken down.   I suppose there are several ways to do this, but a potato masher is my weapon of choice.

Once the berries are mashed up well, add an absurd amount of sugar (4 cups).

Mix the sugar into the berries until dissolved and give them some alone time for 10 minutes.  Stir the mixture every now and then and make sure they are behaving.

Meanwhile, pour the package of pectin into a small pot and add ¾ cup of water.

Bring to a boil over high heat and stir the heck out of it so it doesn’t stick and burn or lump up.  Once the mixture starts to boil, continue cooking for 1 minute and you’d best not stop stirring.

Then carefully pour the hot, thickened pectin into the strawberry mixture after its 10 minutes is up.

(Its dissolving 10 minutes, that is. Its 15 minutes of fame, however, has only just begun).

Stir this mixture for a few minutes until everything is dissolved together.

Next, please save your heart some ache and use a funnel when pouring the jam into the jars.  This will drastically reduce the amount of jam that spills onto your counter, your paper towel usage, and, of course, the amount of jam that tragically will never make it to a biscuit.

Using, a ladle, pour the jam into the jars, leaving at least at least a half an inch below the rim of the jar as the jam may expand in the freezer.   Though it is tempting, filling the jars to the top with jam may lead to a misfortune similar to that warned against in the previous paragraph regarding the funnel.

Once you have successfully ladled all of the jam into the jars using a funnel, place the lids on the jars and allow allow them to sit on the counter for 24 hours before putting them in the freezer.

These keep for up to 1 year, which means you can enjoy this piece of heaven on a biscuit in the dead of winter.

Speaking of biscuits, let’s make some so we can eat what is effectively strawberry shortcake for breakfast.

(I suppose you could eat this any time of day, but I think it’s more fun to feel like you are getting away with eating dessert for breakfast.  But that’s just me.)

These are Grandmother’s wonderful biscuits.  They are small in diameter and relatively flat, which maximizes the surface area that develops a nice crust and minimizes any fluffy nonsense that gets in the way of the jam to biscuit ratio.

For the record, I have nothing against fluffy biscuits.  I actually prefer them with sausage gravy because they sop up all of the savory wonderfulness sausage gravy has to offer.  So, I guess it’s a texture thing.

ANYWAY, you would probably like me to stop blabbering on and tell you how to make the perfect strawberry freezer jam companion biscuit.

I’d be delighted.

First, measure out 1 cup of flour and dump it in a mixing bowl.

Then, please tell everyone to avert their eyes as you add 3 tablespoons of vegetable shortening (Crisco) to the bowl.

After you’ve extracted the shortening from the measuring spoon using CLEAN fingers, use your Crisco-ed finger to grease the flat cast iron skillet.  This was my great-grandmother’s and it’s the only skillet I’ve ever seen Grandmother use to bake biscuits in the 23 years that I’ve been enjoying them.

Translation: This skillet is very old and results in delicious biscuits without fail.  Try to find yourself one immediately.

Using a pastry blender, cut in the shortening until the mixture resembles a coarse meal.

Add about 1/3 cup of milk and stir the ingredients together until combined.  It’s best to add most of the milk and hold a little bit back until you can gauge the moisture level of the dough.  You want it to be moistened, but not overly sticky or wet.

Using your hands, knead the dough 4 or 5 times and add more milk if necessary. Don’t overwork it, but knead the dough until it looks right.  It looks right when it looks like this.

The turn out the dough onto a floured work surface and press it down until it’s about ½” thick.  Or, if you’re real fancy, use a rolling pin.

Then, use a SMALL biscuit cutter to cut out the biscuits.  (See tangent above for rationale).

Place the cut out biscuit dough on the greased skillet and pop it in the oven on 425 until biscuits begin to turn golden brown, about 10 minutes.

These actually rose more than normal, but they still tasted good.

This is what the biscuit and jam (and butter if you’re absurd like me) looks like assembled and partially eaten.   I had to take a bite to show you what it looked like on the inside.  That, and I was so excited I forgot to take a picture until I had taken a bite.

That’s what strawberry shortcake for breakfast can do to you.  Or, FOR you, depending on if you are a biscuit half-eaten or half-left-to-eat kind of person.

Y’all come back,

Sugarlump

Family Farms

I love farms.

Every summer as a kid, when I visited my extended family in Kentucky, I loved to ride around with Papa and my cousins and check out the family farms.  Because I only saw the farms once a year, I never really knew them that well.  Now that I live closer and can visit more often, I have asked Papa to take me around and show me the farms more thoroughly as well as some of the really beautiful spots around the county.

Last week, he took me to one of the farms that has been in the family for several generations.  Most of it is covered in trees, but it’s still fun to drive around hear Papa tell me the history of it.

Apparently, before there was a paved or gravel road to the farm, this was a back way through the creek to get to the farm.

I see you hiding back there, little barn.

Papa said this hollow goes for a mile or two.

Maybe I can convince my cousin Lauren to explore up to the head of the hollow with me this summer.  Perhaps we could fix up Julio for our journey. I’m thinking “Ain’t Skeered: Part 2” might be in our future.

Now, let me tell you a story about me and this fairly moderate incline.

Growing up, I was obsessed with cars and driving and could not wait to get my license.  In the summers before I was 16, I always looked forward to driving Papa’s truck around on the farm, where no other parties were subject to harm.

One day, I was having a grand old time driving up and down the gravel road when I decided I needed to go across this little ditch and up the hill to this barn on the left. I didn’t (and still don’t really) know how to drive a truck on this mixed terrain.  Evidently, I did not give the truck enough gas because I proceeded to get stuck just past the ditch as my wheels slid on the gravel/grass/dirt hill.  Scared for my life, I yelled to my Uncle Brian who was standing nearby and he instructed me on how to put the truck in 4-wheel drive.  After a few dicey moments, I made it up the hill, all 50 feet of it.  Thank goodness I didn’t start to slide backward because I could have been seriously injured as I ran into…..a grassy field.

Ok, so maybe it wasn’t really a life-threatening situation.  It seemed very serious at the time.

For my farm touring adventures, I’m going to let Papa do the driving.

Y’all be careful,

Sugarlump

Bantams

A while back, my dad and I were shopping at the Chestnut Hill Mall in Boston.  As we were walking through the mall between stores, we came upon an unusual display.

Want to guess what it was?

“A waterfall.”

Nope.

“Santa Claus.”

Close, but no.

“I give up.”

White Crested Black Polish Bantam Chickens!

I WANT ONE.

No, seriously.  I REALLY WANT ONE.

Or two.

Or three.

Or a whole brood of them.

I never thought I would say this, but that perm is sassy.

I think I’ll call her Elvis.

This is her husband.  Who said men can’t rock long hair?

He reminds me of Cruella De Vil.

In a good way.

Whoever is responsible for this display needs a raise.

And I NEED some of these chickens.

Y’all come back,

Sugarlump

Rite Aid

When my sister and I would visit our family in Kentucky in the summer as young kids, we had a bit of a ritual.  My cousins, my sister and I would make the long-awaited trip to….

RITE AID!

To the average person, that may not seem very exciting.  In fact, for many people it falls into the category of “errands,” thus making such a trip dull and uninteresting.

My cousins, my sister and I, however, lived for Rite Aid in the summer.  Papa would give us each $10 or $20 and take us to Rite Aid, where we really knew how to stretch a buck.

My sister, Eugene (who is 4 years younger than I am), and my cousin Kristen (who is 5 1/2 years younger than I am) were still pretty small when we would go to Rite Aid so they bought toys and bubbles and things.  My cousin Lauren (who is 2 ½ years younger than I am) and I, however, were quite serious about our purchases that would entertain us for the next three weeks.  We spent our money on…

OFFICE SUPPLIES!

Exciting, no?!

No?

Oh. Ok.  Well, Lauren and I thought it was exciting.

We would play “passport service,” a game we invented and probably spent hundreds, if not thousands, of hours playing when we were young.  To play passport service, we needed paper and index cards and pens and highlighters and hole-punchers and paper clips and lots of office-y things.  And gum.  We always left room in the budget for a package of bubblicious gum.  That was our one splurge.  Other than that, our purchases were strictly business.

You probably think I’m making this up, but I have evidence:

See how proudly we were displaying our Rite Aid bags? We were very serious and enthusiastic about Rite Aid.  Papa was just glad to have his polecats together.

Sadly, about 10 years ago, the Rite Aid went out in Burkesville.  We wore black for a month.

Not really, but we certainly took it hard.

There is currently a cowboy store in the former Rite Aid location and I can’t bring myself to go in there because I haven’t gotten over Rite Aid closing yet.

R.I.P. Burkesville Rite Aid.   Thanks for all of the good times and practical purchases.

Y’all come back now, ya hear?

Sugarlump

The Garden: Progress Report #1

For years and years, probably his whole life, my papa has had a big vegetable garden.  As he has gotten older and less able to do all of the physical work required to have a successful garden, he has reduced the number of things that he grows down to the bare essentials.  This year, he mentioned that he “might not fool with a garden” at all. I protested heavily.

Being the good papa that he is, and after some negotiating on my part, he agreed to go ahead and put out a garden this year since I will be driving up every few weeks to help him now that I live relatively close by.

I’m not really sure how much help I will be given that I am looking forward to this as a learning opportunity, but I suppose at the very least I can contribute manual labor.  I can’t wait to get my hands on the tiller.  Watch out.

Last weekend, I went up to Burkesville to visit and Papa, Lauren and I checked out the early stages of the garden.  Papa had already put out a few hardy things and he gave us a little tour.

This is the garden plot.

These are Texas super onions.

These are sweet candy onions.

And these are multipl-I-yan un-yuns.   My papa calls these “old-timey” onions because the original onions that these started from are very old.  If you save one of these onions (or several), let it dry and store it in a cold, dry place for the winter, the next year, you can plant it again and it literally multiplies into several onions.  You can do this again and again every year.  Thus, you never have to buy new seed.  It’s pretty amazing. Or, at least, I think it is.

There’s currently a shortage of rain in southern Kentucky (some might call it a drought) so the ground is harder than normal.  Hence, my papa had to use a pick to harvest some onions for supper.  It was pretty intense.

My family really likes onions.

We do, however, grow other vegetables as well.

This is lettuce, looking a little thirsty.

And these are brussel sprouts, which my papa planted upon my request.  My granny was displeased about these being added to the garden because apparently they get worms in them.  I’m not really sure what to do about that but I’m sure my papa will have a solution.  Did I mention my papa was an Ag teacher?

Also, that blue Croc is my cousin Lauren’s shoe.  I had a full picture of her standing in the garden but she threatened my life if I included it in this post because she did not feel that she had on her best look.

These little boogers are beets.  I will not be eating these.

This is the barn next to the garden.  I like barns.  I can’t wait to have my own one day.  I am pretty sure it will be black like this one.

On a side note, I would like to confess at this time that I have eaten Chik-fil-A three times in the past week because they are everywhere in Nashville and they were nowhere in Boston.  I’m just making up for lost time.

Hopefully once my papa’s garden is producing food, there will be less Chik-fil-A and more butter beans and hot peppers in my life.   But I do love me some Chik-fil-A.

More to come as we plant beans and peppers and tomatoes and other stuff after the threat of frost has passed.

Y’all come back now, ya hear?

Sugarlump

It’s Official

It’s official: I’m a Tennessean.

Yesterday, I got my TIN-ne-see driver’s license.   When I walked into the DMV, there were about 15 or 20 people in the waiting area so I figured things would go pretty quickly.

I walked up to the desk and told the woman I would like to get a Tennessee license.  I had read about the required paperwork online prior to my visit and believed that I was adequately prepared with my birth certificate, current Massachusetts license, car insurance, front page of my lease, and my social security number.

Apparently I needed the LAST page of my lease with both signatures, not the front one.  The lady informed me that this was no big deal and requested that I have my apartment office fax over the last page of the lease.

So I stepped out to call the apartment office and requested that they fax over the correct papers.  What’s that? They don’t fax leases? Oh.  You have to come into the apartment office to pick up a copy of the lease personally.  Bummer.

I walked out of the DMV and drove 10 minutes back to my apartment, asked the nice lady to make me a copy of the signed pages of my lease and in 10 minutes I was on my way back to the DMV.  Sure that I had lost my place in line, I went back to the woman at the desk and requested a new number.  She asked to see my original ticket number and then promptly handed it back to me and said:

“You’re fih-ne.”  As in, my number had not yet been called.

Wonderful!  I didn’t lose my place in line.  Surely it will just be a few more minutes.

Or hours.

2 hours later, after checking my email, the news, and people.com on my phone 93 times, my number was called.

Things went fairly quickly after that.  I barely could see the third column for the eye test, but I passed.

As the woman was giving me back all of my paperwork, I asked her if she would be giving me my Massachusetts license back.  She smiled and this is what I thought she said:

“We keep the old ones, but we’re about to give you a ten-cent one.”

I smiled politely and said, “Oh ok!”  (What? A ten-cent license?)

Reflecting on this exchange as I was waiting to have my picture taken, it occurred to me that she actually said “a Tennessee license.”  (Duh.)   I guess I haven’t completely mastered the accent yet.

Thoroughly famished, I left the DMV beaming like I had won the lottery, with my “ten-cent” license in hand.

Today, I psyched myself up for going to get my Tennessee registration and license plate.  I decided to eat lunch BEFORE embarking on this journey, which I expected to be even more of a process than getting my license.

I went to get my oil changed, then to have an emissions test done, and finally headed to the county clerk’s office for my registration and license plate.

I walked into the office and there was no one in line.  There was hope for an afternoon of productivity.  The nice lady, Wilma, called me up to her station and requested my paperwork, which thankfully this time I had in its entirety.

The whole ordeal took about 5 minutes and I mentioned to Wilma that I was pleasantly surprised by how quick and painless this process was.  I told her that I had been to the DMV yesterday and before I could tell her how many hours I had spent there, she chuckled and said:

“Did you bring your lunch?  Man, I dread goin’ over there.”

I laughed and told her I will definitely pack a snack next time.

She chuckled some more and then typed a few things.  And then chuckled.  And then chuckled some more.  And then a little bit more.  She handed me back my paperwork.  Chuckle.  Chuckle.  Apparently Wilma thought I was a hoot.

I liked Wilma.

A few minutes later, I walked out the proud owner of a Tennessee license plate and registration.

So it’s official, I’m now a TIN-ne-see-yan.

Y’all come back now, ya hear?

Sugarlump