Firewood warms twice

There is nothing more comforting than backing up to a woodstove or fireplace with a nice blaze going. Better than a hot water bottle between cold sheets; better than a warm tubby with aqua bath salts; better than hot chocolate...well, maybe if the chocolate is dark Scharffen Berger, with a dollop of REAL whipped cream, sprinkled with Madgascar cinnamon. But even that would taste better, if it were in a mug being held in a hand belonging to the body backed up to the cozy fire source. Yep, that would do it.
I should warn you: this post is by way of an experiment. It has a ton of photos, with little explanation. You know the saying...a picture is worth a thousand words. By the time you get to the end, you will thank me for restraining my usual verbage.
To set the scene(s), while visiting home on the Oregon coast during February, I had the unusual good fortune to have both my camera in hand and my brother cutting wood down at the boat ramp. He hauls in huge logs after storms have floated them down the rivers into the bay - and he doesn't always wait for the storm to blow out. Very nerve racking to watch his little boat behaving like a combination bulldozer and bucking broc, with 8 foot waves breaking overhead. This log wranglilng is a competitive pastime for many who live on Tillamook Bay. The logs are branded and tied off while the woodcutters fetch more logs. A good storm can really clog up the little harbor with tied off logs. As with cow wrangling, there is even log rustling - that's another story.
Mom and I sat out the rain squalls in the van, snapping shots out the windows. When the rain let up a bit, I braved the elements for more closeup shots. Sure brought back a lot of memories. We always had a fireplace, there was always wood to cut, haul, split and stack. Best of all, to burn! Many family outings involved trips up into the nearby Coast Range to cut firewood. Lots of work, but good times, good memories.
Mom still lives in the same house we were all raised in, the fireplace now has a more efficient insert, and it still can warm your buns very nicely!
On with the show.

One of a logger's best tools - a peavey. It's used to move and roll the logs.

This section of log was the last 20 feet of a fifty-footer that he hauled across the bay and pulled up onto the ramp. He estimated he cut at least 5 cords from this grand old log. By the growth rings, it was about 350 years old when it went down, somewhere up in the hills.

Straight grain fir - a joy to split. It lets go with a clean "pop", you can really split a lot of this wood - it's almost addictive as you get into the rythm of the ax and woodgrain.

See, he's warming up, the coat is off now! That wood cutting warmth begins long before the stove.
As the log lightened, it began to swing around and roll over. Out came the big jack, to put it back in place, stablized with some blocks of wood.

A good sharp splitting maul is worth it's weight.

As is a good sharp chain - if it's spitting out sawdust, you're making good time through the wood.

A friend showed up to help split a few rounds. That's really the fun part!

I hope you've enjoyed this woodsplitting adventure. And if you're ever in town, there's always a few rounds to split, haul and stack...if you're real handy at it, you can even come on up to the house and burn a few chunks in the fireplace. It will warm you up where you need it the most, especially if its a nice coast drizzly day!

The hot chocolate is in the cupboard to the left of the stove.

Old fashioned Oven Joy

Certain things speak "home" to your heart - maybe a scent, or a particular flower, or an OLD POT...
My mom has had this copper-colored roasting pan for about as long as I can remember (which varies day to day - as I told my daughter this morning, I could hide my own Easter eggs...) So it was no big surprise, when I was staying a few weeks with mom in February, that we dug out this lovely old roaster when we had the occasion to cook a nice roast beef dinner for my brother.

Notice that fork? Notice it has no handle? It's been around as long as the pot. Let's just say, my mom is FRUGAL...but I have to say, making a roast in that pot just wouldn't work without using that fork. Really.

In case you were wondering: brown the beef in a hot skillet, with lots of salt, pepper, and Mrs. Dash; put in roasting pot; lightly brown some carrots and onion halves in the same pan you cooked the beef, throw into the pot; add some garlic cloves and sprigs of rosemary and thyme; pour in about 2 cups of beef broth used to deglaze the frying pan, be sure to get all those little brown bits, they are very important. Cover and bake at 275 for at least 1 hour per pound of meat. Fork tender and full of flavor, guaranteed. Make a pot of mashed 'taters to spoon the juice over. I don't recommend making gravy from the pan juices - you'll more than likely make yourself sick, slurping up a cup of brown steaming gravy poured over the mashies and meat. Experience speaking.


I forgot to take a picture of the roast after it came out of the oven. Or the huge pot of mashies that we made to go with it. We were too busy eating it.

Mom and I made a scrumptious apple pie to finish off the roast dinner. I made the crust, she made the apples - right out of her freezer, all ready to go into the pie pan. I'd hint she cheated, except that she had to peel, cut and mix, and bag the apples to go into the freezer for just such an event, in the first place. Anyway, it was a yummy pie. And of course we made cinnamon piecrust sticks with the left-over dough. Hot and crispy, to go with our pot of afternoon tea.

Oh, the pie. I didn't get a picture of it, either - we ate the whole thing. But take my word, it was gorgeous! Cinnamon and sparkly sugar all over the top, apple-y steam wafting out of the slits in the golden brown crust...OK, I'll stop torturing you. And myself.
I don't know why, but once I pick up a fork, it sort of puts the camera out of my mind.

Leprechauns...in a Mexican restaurant

On March 17 the aroma of corned beef and cabbage bumped into us as we parked at the little "hometown" joint Mel has been patronizing since he was a teenager (as he tells it, he had a burger, fries and coke everyday while he was going to highschool, and now lo these many - many - MANY years later he STILL is going there for his lunch of burger, fries and coke). Only now it is owned by a nice Mexican gentleman. But I hasten to add, it is not a Mexican restaurant, not a chimichanga in sight. On this particular evening, St. Patrick's Day, a couple of Swiss accordian players were imported, by the Mexican owner, to entertain the mostly Portuguese crowd - with good 'ol Irish songs. Figure that one out....

Friend Judy....
and her husband, host Mel.
Now here's a true Leprechaun...we call him "Skip". His lovely Irish maiden has a great sense of fun...good thing...she's been married to him for about 55 years.

Joyce and Ken provided my ride from Sacramento airport - they were part of the surprise, too!
Mel's mom, Carmel - 84 years young and a real Portuguese doll! At barely 5 feet tall, she is a fun little firecracker and a sweet, gracious lady. She fixed sopas for us for dinner one night, so I can cross that one off the"try it - you'll like" list - it's wonderfully tender, flavorful Portuguese beef served with thick slices of hearty bread soaked in the beefy cooking juice. I 'bout foundered on that bread...

36 years later....

Ponder on your childhood friends - who comes to mind? What memories, experiences, laughter and tears are shared by those who travel childhood's path together! How long has it been since you talked to or have even seen that special friend?
I had the sweet experience of re-connecting with the girl who shared my adventures from kindergarten through high school graduation - and a few years beyond. How long had it been? Well, as near as we can figure, about 36 years! As often happens, we had lost close contact over the years. But thanks to our techie wizard world, the lost (me) was found! Judy's husband invited me to come to California on March 16 for a surprise 60th birthday party for our girl. And what a grand surprise it was! About 50 family and friends delighted in yelling "surprise" as she came through the door...and no, she didn't recognize me right away....but it only took a few seconds. Good thing I had sent her a few pictures last fall, or she might have left me standing there the rest of the evening....

Friends of the heart are "Forever Friends"...they will always bring a smile and a sparkle to your eye!

Biker Babe - WHOOHOO!!!

Straight off my Bucket List, comes "RIDE A HARLEY".
Notice that's not "Drive a Harley".
I'll try to hold down the fireworks, but WHAT A BLAST!!!!!!!!! So here's the story:
( I'm still in Phoenix, by the way. ) On March 16 I made a side trip to California. The occasion was a surprise birthday party (more on that in another post). While visiting over the next couple of days there, I mentioned my Bucket List and of course my friend asked what was on it. The first thing that popped into my mind and out of my mouth was "Ride a Harley" - especially since I'm technically if not actually 60. Next thing I knew, a couple of phone calls were made and my friend's husband says, "Hey your ride will be here at 5:30!" Whoa!
Then we went shopping, and in all the excitement of finding some terrific sales, I forgot about the ride. Until about 5:30, when I had just changed into cooler more comfy sandals - and this rumble comes down the street - my friend hollers from the kitchen, "Candy! I think your ride's here!"
Now if you have anything on your Bucket List, you KNOW how exciting it is to have an experience present itself - I was SO excited!! I dashed out the door, got a big hug from a walking beard, and went straight to the bike to say "hello, beautiful!" I was practically bouncing like Tigger, it was hard to believe the moment was at hand. James, the biker dude, pulls a shopping bag out of the saddlebag on the bike, and hands me a PINK doo-rag, with a white skull-and-crossbones, no less. James tied it on for me, explaining the headgear was necessary cuz' I was going to be wearing a helmet - for which I was very grateful, so many states don't require helmets. Makes my noggin cringe when I see bare heads on motorcycles...
As I dashed back to the house to change into more appropriate footwear, I said I'd dig up a jacket from my host - James says, "Here, this should work!" and hands over a nifty new hoody from the local bike shop. I was flabbergasted; this guy whom I had never met, who had just been called that morning while he was at work to see if he would give a visitor a ride, had gone the extra mile to make the experience fun and authentic!

Just let me say, doo-rags are SUCH a fashion statement...

Can you tell, I'm just a little excited? Man, I was READY!!! But I do have to say, I'm very glad my friend manning the camera was kind enough to desist from snapping pics while I was getting on...


And WE'RE OFF! I got a grand tour of the town and country side - lots of vineyards, dairy farms, almond orchards (only they are called "a-monds" by the natives - it was explained to me that they are "almonds" while on the trees, then rubber mallets were used to knock the nuts off, effectively knocking the "L" out of them, so they are "amonds" on the ground. True story. Although mechanical means are used now, rather than mallets and kids...)

45 wind-blown minutes later, we reluctantly returned. James reported to the committee awaiting us that he had NOT taken me to the biker bar. They were relieved. Guess we had been gone long enough they were getting antsy.

Two things I discovered about riding a Harley - besides that it's fun. One, you can't talk, without a headphone, after you hit 70 mph. Two, you have to have help dismounting if you have been in the passenger seat longer than about 30 minutes :)
Doesn't she look lonesome? I really think I should keep her company. Oh yeah, I'm going to be going back to California. I don't see any problem with having more than one check mark by a Bucket List item...
Oh, and I'm thinking I should maybe add a new one on my list: Learn to drive a Harley.
Whaddaya think?