A (Non)Traditional Fruitcake

 So, what does one do with fruit which has been soaking for more than a month on its way to making apricot wine? We'll eat some of it ... morsels of cranberries, blueberries, raisins; slices of oranges and lemons. And the rest of it, we decided, would be nice if used in a fruitcake. It's already alcoholic. Perfect!
 And it worked. Though the fruitcake is hardly of traditional texture, this one is a nice change of pace. It's far lighter - both in weight and in color - that the traditional fruitcake brick. What's not to like about that?

 We'll dribble on some Rock & Rye later but, for now, we've tasted it warm from the oven and christened it not only edible but actually quite nice. Only if you're expecting a usual fruitcake would you be disappointed.
 The recipe we modified is from the 1960's (perhaps even the 50's) and it's one Mom cut from a magazine, she thinks.

Fruit Cake


1/4 pound seedless raisins
1/4 pound finely cut dates
1/4 pound finely cut candied citron
1/2 pound finely cut assorted candied fruit
  Note: We dispensed with all of the above and used 1-1/4 pound of the fruit from our apricot wine.
  Mom removed the oranges and lemons first.
1-1/2 cups flour
1/2 teaspoon baking powder
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/4 teaspoon cinnamon
1/8 teaspoon each: allspice, cloves and nutmeg
1/3 cup corn oil
1/4 cup brown sugar
1/2 cup corn syrup (we used the "light" version)
2 eggs, well beaten
2 tablespoons orange juice


 Add all the dry ingredients in one bowl and mix them. The fruit, corn syrup, orange juice and eggs go into another bowl. After each was mixed separately, mix them together.
 Turned this into a loaf pan which is first greased and then lined with parchment paper.
 Bake at 250° for 4 - 5 hours (we found 2 hours sufficient; test 'done' with a toothpick)
 Allow to cool. We'll drizzle on some Rock & Rye later. In any case, all fruitcakes seem to improve with age but we enjoyed a slice as soon as it had sufficiently cooled.

 This (above) is how the fruitcake looks going into the oven.

 And after two hours baking time, here's Mom testing the cake with a toothpick to see if it was done. It was. When done, the toothpick will pull out perfectly clean. If there's any wet batter on it, bake longer and check again.
 We have enough fruit to make another fruitcake but we wanted to see how successful we were with this one first. Onward!

Pinehaven Pretzels (soft)

 It's a cloudy, rainy and dismal Sunday afternoon so I put on my baker's hat and decided to try my hand at making soft pretzels. I decided early on not to attempt the traditional recipe which uses lye because it sounds a little unsafe and I don't like the idea of eating it anyway. So I used a compilation of other recipes that promised to make a soft pretzel nearly as good.

 First, the result:

 I'll admit, they look more a cross between a pretzel and a dinner roll. But they're delicious!

 This is the just-made dough before it's risen.

 And here's the dough after it's risen for an hour. It was certainly doubled in size.

 After I took the risen dough from the bowl, I "punched it down" and used my knuckles to beat it down a bit (that's it at the top left). I then cut pieces off, rolled them with my fingers into a rope and then formed the rope into the pretzel shape. I should have made the ropes longer ... perhaps as long as 24". This will allow for a better "gap" between the braids when the rope is shaped into a pretzel.

 Mom said, "Let me try that!" and so she began rolling a rope of her own. It seemed even shorter than mine so I took over, lengthened it and formed it into a pretzel and placed it on a cookie sheet.

 Here's what the "raw" pretzels look like on the cookie sheet. I used a Silverstone(r)-coated (non-stick) cookie sheet and I suppose that would have been good enough. But Mom thought it should be lightly greased so she added a thin layer of Crisco.

Pinehaven Soft Pretzels


3/4 cup warm water (not above 100°)
1/2 package active dry yeast (that's 1-1/4 teaspoons)
1/2 teaspoon salt
2 cups flour
1/2 teaspoon sugar
1 egg (beaten, to spread on unbaked pretzels)


Dissolve the yeast in the water. Pour this into the salt, sugar and flour in a bowl. Stir with a spoon until mixed. Knead on a floured surface until smooth and then form into a ball. Place in a greased bowl in a warm spot for an hour (should double in size). Punch dough down. Form into pretzels. Place on a baking sheet (greased). Spread egg on tops. Salt as desired. Bake at 425° for 15-20 minutes. When the tops are golden brown, they're done.

 For the size pretzels we made, this recipe made only seven. But it's really not much work and homemade is always best.

Mom's Got the Spirit

... but I don't.

 I think Gumby's "Merry Christmas, Dammit" is a better approximation of how I feel about the whole mess. Mom, on the other hand, digs through the ornaments and other Christmas decorations as though she actually enjoys it. To get to those decorations, stored from season to season in an old trunk in the living room, she must first remove Aunt Belle's old (and heavy) Victorian lamp, Mom's clock radio and assorted other paraphernalia. I, of course, am the one charged with removing the lamp (and putting it back when she is done).
 Merry Christmas, Dammit ... indeed!
 The decorations would be better stored indefinitely.
 But Mom's got the spirit and so I must go along. I did, after all, contribute $7 (plus tax) towards the enterprise so I have some, however little, vested interest in it turning out well. I'll show you first how it turned out:

 Last evening, for the first lighting, I went out onto the south lawn and took this shot looking back towards our enclosed porch. OK, it looks lovely, right? Humbug!
 What was my $7 contribution? I bought a digital timer to control the lights: on at 5 p.m., off at 11 p.m. In the winter the porch is quite cold and I didn't want to have to go in and out turning the lights on and off. Besides the only outlet is in the basement and that is even more of a hassle. So I bought a timer, programmed it and will not have to mess with any of it again until she decides (on December 26) to take it all down.

 Mom began the project two days ago. I brought the artificial tree in from the garage. We keep it there enclosed in two plastic garbage bags. I helped her dig the ornaments out of the trunk (twice). She had finished and then decided the tree "wasn't quite full enough". So off came the lamp and out came the boxes of ornaments again.

 Here's a view of the decoration in progress. Mom takes the whole event quite seriously. Our little artificial tree isn't much, is it? We've always set it up in the living room but it's so disruptive that I suggested this year we put it on the porch. Last year, with Dad being ill, we didn't put it up at all. We can see it from the dining room window; cars passing the house can see it as they come north on S. Clayton Road.

 So this part of the holidays in done for another year. That, in fact, is the best part of it. Getting it over and done with.
 Last night, as I turned to climb the stairs to bed, the dining room was lit from without by these colorful tiny lights. They were pretty; I'll give Mom that. But for myself, I'd never mess with any of it.
 Humbug, indeed!

A November Spring

 "Was that thunder?"
 Mom and I looked at each other across the darkened living room last evening. We both sat in silence as we listened for another. First a flash to the southwest and then a rolling far-off boom. "It's going to storm," we both say.
 It's not as though it wasn't expected. During the afternoon, peaks of sun drove the temperature up to 72°, a balmy spring-like day (the record was 76° in 1909). The winds were light and clouds were the only spoiler.
 By the time Mom and I came home from a visit with Mae and Charles, I walked into the backyard and enjoyed the sun sinking behind the pines. It did not have the look of rain in the near future.

 The night before was wet: 0.39". By early evening the rain had set in again and it came in waves. On radar, thin bands of red, running southwest/northeast, slid east-northeast on both sides of us and spared us the heaviest weather.But the lightning sputtered all around and the thunder rolled across the open fields. A tornado watch was in effect to 8 p.m. Another 0.38" fell.
 This has been a memorable November for its ease. We are being played with, I'm afraid. I always remember Dad talking about the Great Blizzard of 1950, how early November was exceedingly warm and how the great storm arrived in the late month. Dad and Mom, and Mae and Charlie, too, were going to Clifty Falls (Madison, IN) after Thanksgiving in honor of Mom and Dad's anniversary (they were married 11/24/1945). They dropped me off at my grandparents and set off. They were turned around by the storm and came home and stayed at our home on 11th Street instead.
 I meanwhile, enjoyed my time at grandma and grandpa's, riding through the house on my grandfather's shoulder, looking out the front window at the snow piling up at a ferocious clip.
 And so I think of that month 61 years ago and wonder whether this one offers some similarities?
 A warm, wet mid-November day with lightning and thunder and a tornado watch to boot.. What can that spell for the forecast but snow? Lots of snow.

Spaghetti Squash

 We've never had a spaghetti squash before but thanks to neighbor Marie and Tom Eby (of Tom's Maze fame), we were treated to a whole assortment of fine gourds: cushaw, butternut, acorn and spaghetti. I'm always anxious to try new dishes so I was happy to read a few reviews of how they're prepared. The best, in my way of thinking, is here.

 We've stored them outside - right on the concrete bench you see here - because it's been nice and cool. We simply made use of the free refrigeration. The spaghetti squash, by the way, is the yellow gourd on the right back.
 Preparing it for baking was simple. I cut it lengthwise, removing both the top and bottom first, and then scooped out the seeds and "innards". It's like removing the seeds from a pumpkin. We saved some of the seeds on a paper towel; I'll dry them and then place them in an envelope and plant them next spring.

 I placed the two gutted halves in a cake pan, dribbled olive oil in each half and spread it around the cut surfaces with my finger. Then I lightly salted and liberally sprinkled pepper on the squash. The pan was not oiled. I turned the squash over, placing each half cut side down, and baked it in a 400° oven for 40 minutes. To make sure it was properly done, I thrust a sharp knife through the skin. It slid easily through the flesh.

 The baked squash now converts rapidly to vegetable spaghetti by pulling a fork through the flesh. Every bit, right up to the skin, converts easily to spaghetti. I'd say it should be eaten right away, while it's fresh and hot.

 Each half converts to a full bowl of spaghetti. I know it can be layered in cheese, ladled with tomato sauce, etc. but I wanted to taste the unburdened gourd. So I added a little butter and another sprinkling of salt and scarfed it down just as you see it here.
 Delicious! There's really nothing to it and the gourd made two meals in no time at all.

As the Day Ends

 It's been a busy day, mostly mowing. Who ever heard of mowing in the Dayton area in November? Who ever heard of doing it twice? Yet that's how much of my day was spent, cutting the too-long grass before it was too late to do anything about it. It wasn't the winter ahead that scared me but the work I'd be making myself next spring.
 Now, evening, I'm treading in wet shoes, green with grass stains, and so it doesn't matter that I walk back to the field to watch the sun set. The grass is gaining a layer of dew already but the shoes are still wet and I figure the shoes are already ruined. So stand here with me and watch the sun go down. It is the best thing to do at the moment.

 There, to the south of Sam's house, the sun is already nestled in the branches. I have arrived none too soon.

 How quickly it seems to fall with the horizon as reference. You can see it dip between the branches, leaping one by one as it falls to the ground.

 And then it is nearly hidden, gone for more than half a day. Another cold night lies ahead.

 When the sun has dipped beneath the horizon, the clouds, still high enough to receive its glow, shine in the chilly sky. I can feel the dampness gather beneath my toes.

 And as a few minutes more pass, even the afterglow quiets, and a few birds sing as they search out a roost.

 The final show is an abstract painting, brushed across the bottoms of clouds. It is time for me to go in, too, and call it a day.

Jay's Story

 In years past, while Dad was still well, he took great joy in feeding a blue jay. Each morning he'd walk out to the garage, perhaps to dust the car, and he'd never forget to open a plastic bag of unsalted peanuts and lay a handful on the concrete bench on the back porch.
 Some mornings, even while he was still in bed, we'd hear jay screaming from the treetops. "Peanuts!" he seemed to say. "It's time for my peanuts!".
 I had not thought about Jay other than to note the number of jays has been increasing as winter approaches. But a couple of weeks ago, as I worked beneath the pines digging weeds, a jay landed high on a branch and began to call. I paid him no attention. But pretty soon he dropped down beside my head - so close I could have reached up and grabbed him - and let out a piercing call that nearly broke my eardrums. It was then I remembered Dad feeding them.
 So when Mom and I were shopping last weekend, we bought a bag of unsalted peanuts still in the shell. One morning early this week I placed a few on the concrete bench. Within minutes a jay appeared and began taking them.

 Each morning since, I have never failed to lay peanuts on the bench. Quickly we've heard Jay scream from the meadow and arrive for his treat. Yesterday I lay in wait in the garage, camera in hand (I left the door stand open) and aimed at the bench. Here he is getting his last nut.
 But as I stood there and watched at close range, I noticed that there was more than one jay. As soon as one flew away, another landed. No wonder the peanuts don't last long.
 Still, I will keep feeding this family, both for my own enjoyment and in memory of Dad. It made him happy to see the joy of the jays. It makes me happy, too.