BRAINPAN LEAKAGE

Why did The Redhead cross the creek?

For Tacos, duh.

Just keep reading. It’ll make sense…eventually.

So, when you have a dog a good portion of your life becomes filled with holding a leash in one hand and a knotted up Shop ‘n’ Save bag full of canine poo logs in the other.

When you are married to Evil Kat, THE redheaded nature goddess (when she’s not being all redheaded dominatrix goddess) you go on death marches. Hmmm… Come to think of it, with those death marches she’s pretty much still being a redheaded dominatrix goddess, just sans stilettos and whips…

But anyway… Put the two together and what do you get? Yeah… Taking the dog on a death march and picking up poop – or sometimes just carrying empty bags because the dog has the presence of mind to go off into the woods 30 feet off the trail and dump her load there in the underbrush. Probably because she’s trying to escape the death march.

We’ll get to the tacos in a minute. I promise.

Because, it’s important to PRETECT the land

So, this unseasonably warm February 28th morning Her Supreme Worship was dead set on taking one of those death marches through a local conservation area. Sending the Teen off to The Ethical Society (it’s both wonderful and nerve wracking for a parent when a teen gets his or her driver’s license) we set out to conquer the mountain that is the object of her death march. Why? Because we’d been there before, and in reality, we had actually conquered said mountain. However, there was a Holy Grail which she had yet to trample – that being the creek. More specifically, the creek crossing at Taco Trail.

See, I told you we’d get to the tacos.

Now, in all seriousness, Taco Trail is actual Taconic Trail, but the sign we came across on our first excursion there had been defaced – much as many other signs in the area – and it read Taco– Trail, therefore it shall forever be known as the trail of crunchy Tex Mex goodness in our minds.

But, it doesn’t end there. During the death march Her Worship kept looking for places to ford the creek. When I pointed out that there was a bridge in sight she would simply say, “Too easy.” This compelled me to comment that her single-minded dedication to achieving a goal was admirable, but that not everyone shared her goal. Then the dog jumped in the creek and went to the other side and The Redhead just looked at me with a smug, “You were saying?” sort of expression. Finally, I asked why it was so important to cross the creek. Her answer? Yes, you guessed it, “Because it’s there.”

So, long story short, we ended up crossing the creek. Oddly enough, I’m the only one who got wet shoes out of the deal, mostly because The Redhead almost fell and I jumped to catch her – because I knew it would be MY fault if she splashed. That’s just how it works with redheads. And, upon crossing, we were at the trail head of crunchy goodness. Taco Trail… And, I have to say, it was well worth the walk.

To top it off, five miles later we climbed into the truck and started for home. Along the way we stopped and bought a sack full of tacos.

MRS

Some years back I was speaking at an event and I mentioned the work I do around the house – lawn, garden, remodeling, fixing things, you know, the usual stuff. Several attendees were simply flabbergasted. They couldn’t imagine why I was doing all of these things… I mean, after all, I write books for a living. I must have money to burn, a private island, a yacht, two mansions, and three airplanes. Apparently, to some folks, all authors are automatically viewed as a cross between Rick Castle and Warren Buffett. Of course, I found this amusing and proceeded to explain in five part harmony, with full orchestration, how some of them probably make more money than I do. Hell, when I worked in IT I definitely made more money that I do now.

But, this is not about the low income of mid-list authors. This is about history and hard times…

Growing up in the 60’s and 70’s, I heard my parents talk about their lives growing up during WWII. I heard my grandparents talk about growing up and living through the Great Depression.  I spent the better portion of my childhood on the family farm during the summer, as well as parts of spring and fall. I remember watching my grandparents – on both sides – canning food from the garden, or making jelly and preserves from a basket of fruit they picked from a tree in the yard. My parents did the same thing. It didn’t matter if all they had on hand was enough for one or two jars. If they weren’t planning to eat it before it could go bad, they would can it, or process it and freeze it. When the family would slaughter a hog, they packaged the meat, cured the hams and bacon, used the brains, made souse meat (head cheese), rendered the fat and made soap, and much more… The salient point here being – they wasted nothing. They had seen austerity “up close and personal,” so they learned how to get around it any way they could.

Watching all of this, I learned from it, too.

However, I have to admit, I spent a good part of my teens and young adult life during the “golden age.” Rising stock markets, rampant consumerism driving a ballooning economy… Sure, we had our moments of recession. I can even remember  a long winter when the union where my father worked voted to strike. He wasn’t in favor of the strike, but majority ruled. He spent several weeks with only “strike pay” and what he could pull in working part-time loading trucks at a local short range hauler – and he was fortunate to get that job through some connections. I can remember peanut butter on Wonder bread being breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Still, for the most part, I had it easy. That “golden age” again… And, much to my chagrin, during that golden age I bought into the hype. I consumed, and wasted, and consumed and wasted some more, just like most everyone around me.

And that brings us to the “the times…” As the title says, These Are They… Perhaps it is my age – no longer young and indestructible. Perhaps it is the crash and not-so-great depression we’ve been weathering (that was NOT a recession, no matter what anyone says). More likely it is a combination of both. The thing is, this has brought me back around to what I learned in my youth. Waste nothing…

For those of you who follow me on Facebook, you know that I pulled out the pressure cooker and did some canning this year. Honestly, I had forgotten how much I missed doing that. In addition, we are lucky enough to own an upright freezer, so some of the harvest from our garden was processed and frozen. For the past few years, I have been saving vegetable scraps and freezing them. Whenever I have enough, I roast them, then add water and cook them down to vegetable stock, which I then part out into containers and freeze for use int soups and the like. The leftover mush goes into our composter, along with other organics from the kitchen, thereby creating fertilizer for our garden.

So… Am I no longer a consumer? Well, I certainly cannot say that, and anyone who followed EKay’s and my landscaping adventures this past summer knows that I’d be lying if I said otherwise. However, I can say this – I’ve seen my moments of austerity, up close and personal. They weren’t the worst ever, and there are plenty of people worldwide who are worse off, or have been worse off. The thing is, I’ve come back around… And, like we all do, I have become my parents, and in turn, my grandparents.

Am I suggesting you become an urban-hippie-composting-farmer? Not so much. I’m just reminiscing and looking forward at the same time, which, oddly enough, offers more clarity than you might imagine.

In case you are wondering what sparked this little missive, it was the four gallons of turkey stock (pictured above, right) that I just squeezed out of the Thanksgiving turkey carcass and a handful of vegetable scraps I saved from the preparation of the dinner itself.

Waste nothing…

MRS