I just don’t feel like writing. I think that’s okay, because judging from my stats, no one feels like reading chatty blogs about nature and pets, either. Our thoughts are elsewhere. We’re concerned and distracted.
So, I wish you peace and safety. I’ll be back after the Martin Luther King, Jr. holiday.
It got very cold last night and once again, the non-propane heater stopped heating. It was 44° in the bedroom this morning! Luckily I had lots of warm blankets, but getting dressed made me wonder how people who live in igloos do it. Brr.
I went out in late morning and it was sunny, which helped. I took lots of pictures of things with ice crystals on them, and was relieved to finally hear a few birds here at Blanco State Park.
After my walk, Lee and I went out into the Texas Hill Country (the middle of it this time), ostensibly to get some space heaters. We first stopped at Lyndon B. Johnson State Park (also a National Park, to get our park passport stamped and a magnet for our collection, though we’d both been there before. I still really like this place, even in winter with no wildflowers. You could see birds, though, and I was delighted to observe a flock of Eastern Bluebirds in a nice leafless tree.
We also saw a lot of Longhorn cattle, but no real bison. That was fine.
Since we were already nearby, we kept going and visited Fredericksburg, where I enjoyed my free glass of wine at the Becker Vineyards store and got a couple of bottles of types I’m out of.
Lee was hungry, so next we ate at the small German restaurant I enjoy the most in Fredericksburg, a town teeming with German restaurants. The food there is just perfect.
Finally, we did get the heaters, the kind that look like a radiator. I like those better than ones with visible heating elements. Of course, it won’t be so cold tonight.
We got back to Blanco in time for me to take a short hike along the river to an old pump house. I like my photos of it.
There was also a very nice bird blind, but it only had Cardinals. I took their pictures anyway.
By the way, I thought it was sweet that Lee introduced a young couple camping near us to Merlin Bird ID. I then talked to them, and hooked them up with iNaturalist to help identify mushrooms, which is their hobby. I did my community outreach! And now, more pretty photos.
I was asked how I cook black-eyed peas for the big meal on New Year’s Day. Now, if you’re used to reading monetized blogs, you’re probably ready to have to read a long story, scroll past many repetitive ads, and suffer through much blathering to get to the recipe (or knitting/crochet pattern, etc.).
This blog is for me and random people who care about nature, horses, and/or anxiety, so no monetizing will occur. And I just have a brief story about black-eyed peas at New Year’s.
I have mentioned that this is my favorite meal probably every year since 2018 and no doubt I mentioned it in my two earlier blogs as well. I like to blog and eat peas, usually not simultaneously. I love this meal for the flavors, but also because it’s one of the few connections I have with the past few generations of my family. Rural families in the Deep South always must have their peas for good luck and greens for money (the meaning varies).
In my family growing up, that meant black-eyed peas cooked with ham hock, rice to put the beans on (not cooked together), collard greens cooked with more ham hock or bacon, cornbread, and green onions sliced up for garnish. You were encouraged to put homemade hot pepper vinegar or something similar on the beans. I thought this was a gourmet meal, not very inexpensive ingredients combined to be delicious. I did realize it was also what Black people ate, since we exchanged dishes with black friends (in the 60s that was my grandmother’s maid and her extended family).
I still make the same meal, carefully passed down from grandmother to mother to older sister to me. Its ingredients vary depending on what’s available, but it’s always good. I do. Now I have to add a pork loin or ham for people who insist on a slab of meat at each meal. Traditions change! It’s all good. Okay, recipes, or guidelines:
Note: ideally start this the night before
Ingredients
Night before or early in the morning, rinse the peas and cover with a lot of water. Soak overnight in a large pot or at least four hours. Beans will expand.
Next day drain and rinse the peas and return to the pot. Cover with the broth (this adds flavor; vegetarians can use vegetable broth and skip the meat). You will probably have to add water to keep the peas (really beans) covered. Add onion, meat, and seasonings.
Bring the liquid to a boil. Do not be concerned if there’s scummy froth; just stir it back in. Turn down the heat and let cook until you have the right amount of delicious liquid in with the solids, then cover and simmer a long time.
The key is to cook them to the mushy stage. So I cook at least three hours. The longer it cooks, the more the flavors merge.
Serve over rice and top with green onions and any hot sauce you like. But taste it first. It’s so good.
Chop the greens. Important: slice off the thick stems. Fold the leaf over and you can quickly eliminate them, so your chickens can eat them. Greens are more pleasant to eat without stems. But some people like them. Chop them enough that people won’t get huge long strips of them on their forks.
This will look like a lot of greens. It isn’t. They shrink.
Put them and the onions in a pot big enough to cover them. Add 1-2 cups of liquid and cook covered on high, stirring a couple of times until they are wilted and you see there really aren’t that many.
Add the meat and seasonings. Simmer a ridiculously long time. You can eat them after an hour or so, but the flavors develop during the long cooking time.
Serve along with the peas and rice. Use cornbread to soak up extra cooking liquid (pot likker).
If you are lucky enough to have leftover cornbread and greens, pour warmed up liquid over a slice of cornbread and eat it for breakfast.
Yeah. That was concise…not really.
Do you have a favorite place you have visited? Where is it?
There are a few places I would call “favorite” of the relatively small number of locations I’ve visited. I wrote about one, the springs at the head of the San Marcos River, in October. Like my other favorite spots, this resonated with me, like I was meant to be there, or attached in some way I don’t understand.
Today I’ll tell you about another place where I felt an overwhelming sense of connection. I’ve only been there once, when my sons were very young. We had spent some time in England while the kids’ dad worked, then we visited members of his family and other friends. The time had come, however, to go to Ireland to see the boys’ grandparents and other kin.
We had a rental car, so we intended to take the ferry to Dublin, which was extra conveniently located near the grandparents’ home on Dublin Bay in Clontarf. I doubt you give a fig about these details, but in case my mind is going, I’m writing them down.
To get to the ferry we had to drive through Wales, one of the most ruggedly beautiful places I’ve ever been (outside of quarries, mines, and such). After oohing and aahing at little trains and slate roofs, we crossed over into Anglesey Island, to catch the big car ferry out of Holyhead.
Here is where you get proof that my previous husband is a good guy. We didn’t go on the zippy motorway. No, we went all around this amazing bit of land that’s just crawling with my favorites: standing stones, stone circles, and holy wells. It would have been more fun if there weren’t a gale wind blowing so hard that waves went over the road occasionally. There were even places where streams or creeks crossed the road. The kids liked that.
At one point, on the east coast, there was a sign saying something about ancient dwellings. It was a place called Din Lligwy and it’s one of the oldest ruins of ancient dwellings in the islands off of Europe. There are very early Roman ruins and evidence of people living there long before Romans showed up.
I got out of the car and asked for ten minutes or so to see it. Rain was falling. Waves were crashing, and a bitter wind blew. I barely noticed. I stood there amid the foundations of the homes that were beside workshops and barns. I felt as if I could see my foremothers tending fires, nursing their babies, and creating homes, just like I was doing with my little family. This place felt like a home to me.
Of course I ran back to the car all wet and jibbering, but my ex was used to me and my ancient landmarks, and the boys liked my stories. I’ll never forget the short time I stood looking at the Irish Sea during a storm, like so many other mothers had before.
By the way, the weather did not improve and we all got very sick on the ferry. But it was an adventure!
I started reading The Power of Trees (2021, English 2023), by Peter Wohlleben, the German forester who also wrote The Hidden Life of Trees, last year. I had to put it down, because it was so depressing. It sure sounds like Europe’s trees are messed up and not much hope is shared in this book.
So, what a great book to read during an election where the non-environmentally friendly folks won bigly? But I got through it. I learned why forestry, with its great fondness for monoculture and treating trees like products rather than fellow citizens of the planet, has led to massive death in forests and loss of uncountable other species that support trees (what lives in the earth and helps trees do their work).
Wohlleben shows how allowing natural forests to regenerate on their own and create old trees that are allowed to live on would help restore a healthy climate (trees cool it) and still provide for human needs, especially if we recycle old wood products rather than always making new ones.
You’ll learn a lot about the complex interrelationship between trees and the other life around them as well as lessons that apply to forests around the world.
I always feel drawn to helping woodlands, knowing how many mighty trees in Florida my grandfather sent to sawmills in the early twentieth century. As I have resolved to focus on doing something kind every day, I’m keeping the remaining native woodlands in mind.
What historical event fascinates you the most?
Two topics tonight! First, I have one of those physical reactions to places associated with Arthurian legends. One of the places I got the “vibes” from like on the Sacred Springs was Avebury, in England, especially Silbury Hill. I guess it’s not surprising, since it’s one of those places with “ley lines” (which you can believe or not).
I’ve read enough about King Arthur and those times to know that we have little idea what the people then were up to, if they were real. But it’s attached to my ancestry, so I find it interesting. Really, the ancient Celts seem like a bunch of angry people who liked to fight, and English history after 1066 didn’t make English folks seem more sympathetic, at least the ruling class. But I’m thinking whatever my ancestry is, there were a bunch of pagan misfits, like me today.
Anyway, the blog prompters asked, and this was my answer. It may not even be historical.
As for Queen Goldie, last night she triumphantly mounted the stairs and came up to sleep with me.
That was a surprise. Being a dog, she hadn’t thought about what goes up having to come down, so her descent was a bit scary. But she was all right. We ordered some stair tread carpet to keep her from slipping if she tries again.
Dr. Amy said she wanted to see Goldie again today after reading about her adventures. We got her in the car, and Lee took her to the mobile clinic. Goldie got more IV fluids and an antibiotic shot. She still has an infection going on, though Amy said she is obviously much improved.
One thing’s for sure, Goldie is eating again, which we take as a very good sign. I’m hoping she keeps up the improvement. She has a whole family team looking after her!
It’s just so hard to think about my two sick dogs. You know when you get one that you’ll probably outlive them, but it’s not easy to watch them suffer. Our animal companions really fill our hearts.
So mine is hurting for Harvey, like I said yesterday. He’s a little worse each day. I don’t even know what to do.
Goldie is also doing worse, so we went and got X-rays for her in College Station. She was very good in the car, but I think getting in and out wasn’t good for her leg. She’s limping way more. But we had to get her there somehow.
The veterinarian and staff were very nice, too. They were kind to Goldie when getting her X-rays and gave me lots of scary reading material on osteosarcoma in giant dogs. It makes me wonder why anyone breeds giant dogs, knowing how often this happens. Well, we didn’t breed her.
The good news is the tumor isn’t all in the bone, just around it. And her lungs weren’t full of upset lymph nodes. Maybe we can help her?
So we have yet another expensive trip to an even more distant specialty practice on Friday. Not we, just me, because Lee will not get up early to go to a 9 am appointment. Wow, it’s a good thing he works for himself. Sometimes you have to do things on someone else’s schedule.
I’m just upset so forgive my grumpy talk. This final visit will help me come up with a plan, as I should be able to talk to both an oncologist and surgeon. I hope I make good decisions that the rest of the family will be comfortable with.
I did find a couple of things to enjoy outdoors, watched lots of birds, and laughed at some episodes of Only Murders in the Building. I’m so glad we have streaming now, though I’m perturbed that no one has come to fix our satellite dish.
Least of my worries. Tomorrow there’s a mysterious new boss meeting, too. I guess we will know what team we will get stuck under in the reorganization aftermath. Or…
What is a word you feel that too many people use?
What, like “very unique” or something? I find this question difficult, because it didn’t ask for a word that’s used too often, but rather for a word too many people use. In this case, I’m going to suggest “woke” as a word the wrong people are using for inappropriate reasons. People try to use this positive word as an insult and it doesn’t come across well outside their in-group.
That’s not unique, of course. Humans have been changing words with positive connotations to negative ones for centuries. There are many articles on how neutral words have become negative words pertaining to women (like spinster, once a person who spun). As well, people have been misappropriating words from one group and using it in odd new ways for a long time, like white folks trying to be gangsta.
If there’s one thing my misspent youth as a linguist taught me, though, is that languages constantly change, and that words mean what the speaker thinks they mean and the listener interprets them as. So who am I to say something is used “wrong?”
I think I’m allowed to be triggered by some words being used in new ways. I don’t like “Nazi” being applied haphazardly. No, I’m not a grammar Nazi and never was a breastfeeding one either. That offends me. I was hoping our society was beyond that kind of thinking, though apparently it isn’t. Sigh.
Warning: if you call me woke I’m going to take it as a compliment. I’d rather be open to new ideas, kind, loving, and peaceful than angry and fearful of anyone different from myself.
On the home front the horses finally got to see the dentist today, after a series of mishaps on previously scheduled dates. I’m very pleased that the delay caused no issues and that everyone is doing well for their age and physiology.
Everyone was very well behaved, too. The best part was seeing the surprise on the dentist’s face when she saw Mabel. At first she thought I had a different horse! She kept exclaiming that Mabel now has a butt! That you can’t see her spine anymore! Her eyes are big and kind! Yep, she’s improved a lot. It feels so good to realize I’ve helped her become a beautiful, happy animal.
So, everything is all right here at the ranch.
What are you passionate about?
Yeah, it’s probably the same answer many people give. But I think it’s a great passion to have. It fuels my love for nature, animals, human behavior, and science. I’m also certain that my curiosity and love of learning are what keeps me mentally sharp, healthy, and willing to stay alive in these hard times.
I also learned about the importance of map reading skills. In my morning walk I went out in the neighborhood and had a plan to go about 2 miles.
Well, when I got to the road I was going to take back to the condo, the sign said, “Dead End.” Oops. I should have zoomed in on the map a wee bit when planning my route. See, useful learning!
By the time I got back I was pretty tired, but at least I went out very early. It was extra hot here in the afternoon. And now there’s a big fire around 80 miles from here. Weather. Ugh.
When I was finished working, Lee and I set off to explore. I’d intended to go to a Native American museum in Camp Verde but it’s not open in Wednesday. See, now I learned to read not only the hours of operation but the days of operation for places I want to visit. Ah well, the road we went down was very wild and beautiful. And the Verde Valley, formed by the Verde River, is an amazing oasis with huge trees. No photos came out.
So, off we went to Jerome, Arizona, an old mining town with a fascinating history and incredible views.
This place is cool! We visited the state park that used to be the Douglas mansion. They had all sorts of mining equipment, samples of the copper, silver, turquoise, zinc, etc. that were mined there. It was fascinating.
We also checked out what’s left of the town, which is quirky and charming, not all polished and perfect like Sedona. That was truly fun, other than the twisty roads nerving Lee out.
So, even after my boo-boos today, I had a great time. But I must be awake at 4:45 am tomorrow. I hope someone in Europe shows up to make my open office hours worth it. The things I sacrifice for travel and learning!
What does freedom mean to you?
I just finished reading Knife, by Salman Rushdie. In case you never heard of him, he’s a novelist who dared poke fun at a religious figurehead and had a fatwah put out in him. That means someone pretty humorless wanted him dead.
Regardless of the merits of his writing or his attempts at humor or anything like that, it had to be hard living with bodyguards 24/7 and always wondering when the assassin would show up. That’s the opposite of freedom to me, maybe worse than being imprisoned. In prison you know where all the murderers are.
He eventually got to where he didn’t worry about being attacked anymore, but then he was. The book is his way of getting his processing done. I guess since he gets paid to write, he decided to publish his memories and their effects on him rather than writing in a journal, or blogging like us other self-absorbed people.
By the end, though, I think Rushdie comes out free. He’s free to live the rest of his life without dwelling on what happened, his attacker’s motivation, or looking over his shoulder constantly. He’s faced death and knows what it’s like.
That’s freedom: being able to live without worrying that someone or some institution is out to kill you, confine you, or strip you of your rights. In this case, I’m not free anymore. I’m no longer confident that women can be free in this country.
I digress as usual. As for the book, it was okay. There were some genuinely funny parts, and I give Rushdie credit for doing his best to be introspective, but he comes across (to me) as someone who has a great need to prove how smart he is. He extensively quotes from world literature when I swear he could just say what he meant rather than forcing the reader to remember every book they ever read (IF they happened to be literature majors) and draw the proper inferences from it.
I felt like there was going to be an essay test at the end.
He also quotes himself, or his novels, repeatedly. Is he trying to sell books? I didn’t end up dying to read any of them, which is good, since I have some good ones queued up already, thanks in part to kind people who keep handing me books.
Now, I do feel for the guy. He went through a lot, lost vision in one eye, and has a permanent droopy mouth. He does seem pretty chipper for someone less than two years after nearly dying. He sure made Jon Stewart laugh when he interviewed him.
So, freedom is not a buzzword for me. It’s the ability to live in your society with a reasonable about of agency and feeling safe among your community members.
Maybe tomorrow I’ll be less dour. But here’s an example of why I’m that way: I didn’t share the link to yesterday’s blog about what public figure I dislike most on Facebook out of concern that it might put a target on my back. So, freedom? Not so much.
The Hermits' Rest 