Stephanie says

I cranked up the tunes and caught a sound familiar to my ear.  Okay, I know who's playing - it's just an elusive tease for a few moments.  I'm thinking, thinking, thinking although distractedly because Rosey Dog is sitting in the passenger seat.  She doesn't like to ride in the car, never has, and she is pushing ten years now.  A nervous traveler at best, she typically whines at the onset and then slobbers copiously until released from the prison of the car. My aim is to ignore her, (while I protect my coffee from slime.)  Which I do trying to puzzle who is this artist?  I know.  Come on.  The song changes and suddenly I realize it's Elliot Smith.  I'm thinking wow, KRVM is doing a feature on Elliot Smith simultaneously with the thought no wonder this was familiar, a bit shamefacedly. We're rolling down I5 and the Elliot Smith tunes keep on playing.  Not a commercial break.  I thinking this is really great.  We've gone abou...

Picked this morning from a young tree.  This is the first real crop and this is just about all of it. Pretty, aren't they?  And ever so tasty sliced onto my morning cereal. The following is a killer peach pie recipe from America's Test Kitchen.  They've never steered me wrong.

Bright spot of color on an otherwise gray summer day I bought a peach tree so I could try peach leaf ice cream.   That tree has been in the ground four years and this year I'm getting a few peaches AND peach leaf ice cream! I don't have an ice cream maker, (criminal, right?) but Mr. Terry does and likes to make all manner of ice cream, including a killer cinnamon, so volunteered to make the recipe I'd found. With 12 fresh peach leaves, make ice cream he did.  In the process his house smelled like an Italian bakery.  Which opens another thought, peach leaf potpourri. Following is the recipe we used @ Endless Ice Cream- Peach Leaf  I meant to take a photo but ate it all instead.  Creamy almond, mmmmm. Peach Leaf Ice Cream Make about 1 quart Ingredients 2 cups heavy cream 1 cup whole milk 3/4 cup sugar a large pinch of salt 12 unsprayed peach leaves, coarsely chopped 6 large egg yolks Method In a 4-quart saucepan, stir a...

Henry shimmers with the pure energy of a two-year old.     He hops and dances, wiggling shoulders and waving arms,  all in the same instant, a flurry of absolute glee, giggling in delight.     Until not.     Then a frown creases his brow.     His eyebrows scrunch together in a solid line.  Out comes the lower lip, an expression of outrage, indignity, and exasp eration.     The moment passes.     Off he races in exploration of something that just now caught his eye.     All goes quiet.   Better check on Henry.             

The continual rainfall since New Years has stopped; the temperature warmed providing grass with optimum growing conditions.  It's mowing season.  I took off early on Friday and have been gardening ever since - something my mid-region achingly reminds me.  But it's a good kind of sore. I did a hard prune on a climbing rose, (I have a theory about roses:  If you try and cultivate them, they'll die.  If you want to get rid of them, they'll never die until you dig out that persistent root grown so thick a power tool is required to cut it off after a deep hole was shoveled.  Which probably still isn't enough.  We'll see.  I'll likely have a scar on my knee from this encounter.  Bastard.  I hate roses.) So in other words, I've been in complete bliss this weekend.  This morning, clad in shorts, Tee, and work boots (yes, a Pacific Northwest fashionista,) pleasantly organizing my gardening day, visions of tidying the potting shed, planting...

I built this timber dynasty from sheer will, parlaying a small inheritance and a driving thirst for timber land into the purchase of that first parcel of virgin forest.   We logged Bear Creek Mountain by hand, a man on either side of a standing tree, muscling the teeth of a crosscut-saw blade back and forth through the bark, then pith, then heartwood, out the other side, until the weight of the tree above the widening cut broke free with a mighty crack, and the tree toppled.   Timber.     Ernie was the ancestor. Ernie Whipple.   He came here with a vision and a bankroll and enough drive to amass 20,000 acres of forest land.   Old growth timber.   It was all virgin timber then.   He acquired a rock quarry, later a lumber mill.   He backed into a blade at that mill, severing his left arm just below the elbow. There was no one about so he fashioned a tourniquet with his belt, holding one end in his mouth and cinching the buckle end ...

Yep, it's official.  Had cake and ice cream in celebration yesterday after learning the secret handshake.  (Just kidding about the handshake.)      I learned a lot and have very optimistic hopes for this seasons vegetables and flowers.   It was hard work and a lot of fun with a great group of fellow garden enthusiasts.  Now comes the practical experience answering questions on the phone Plant Hot-line. Questions anyone?