Using a butter mold

With the help of Google, I found a website that explains the proper use of a butter mold. Maybe I'll try it sometime. I didn't realize you are supposed to leave the butter in the mold in the refrigerator for a couple of hours.

"It is as rare to find modern butter molds as it is to find someone who knows how to use them. Instructions for use of a modern butter mold: 1 - Soak the mold in ice water for 30 minuutes and -if convenient - refrigerate the mold for 30 minutes more. This helps to keep the butter from sticking in the mold. 2 - Rinse the mold with cold water and fill it with softened butter. 3 - Smooth the surface with a spatula and cover with plastic wrap. 4- Chill for 2 hours or more.

5 - To unmold the butter, run the tip of a knife around the outside edge to loosen it.

Cleaning wooden molds: Use hot water, mild soap, and a brush to loosen residue - but do not soak the mold in water."

Churning butter

For most of my milking life, I did not use a churn; I preferred to put the cream in a gallon jug and shake it until the butter showed up. I liked this method because I could carry the gallon jar with me and do other things, like watch my kids or talk on the telephone. Yes, there was a time I didn't mind talking on the phone.

Five or so years ago, I decided I wanted a Dazey churn, and I started watching on Ebay. There must be a lot of them still around, because they aren't so terribly high-priced. I don't recall exactly, but I think mine cost under $80, shipping and all. I didn't have a cow at the time, but I wanted it for memory's sake. And I thought maybe some day I'd get another Jersey cow.

It's a red-top Dazey churn, which means it was manufactured between 1930 and 1945. I was born in 1944, so it's safe to say this churn is likely as old as I am. It works perfectly. However, I had never tried it out until today.

Granddaughter Monica turned the crank until she had to go home, and then I took over. I wish I'd thought to take Monica's picture churning. Maybe another time.

This is what it looks like when the cream turns to butter.

Next the butter is taken out of the buttermilk (nothing like what they call "buttermilk" in the store), and it's kneaded in cold water, or "washed". You pour off the water when it looks milky and add more cold water; keep doing this until the water is fairly clear when you pour it off.

I seldom use a butter mold, but I did tonight just to remember the dear old neighbor lady who gave me this one. I don't know what I do wrong, but I can never get the fancy imprint that's supposed to be on top of the butter.

So, we've made our first "Bonnie-butter".

I was spreading some on a cracker, and Cliff said from the living room, "What are you doing?"

"I'm sampling some real butter; do you want to taste it?"

We've both put our stamp of approval on it. Maybe we'll have waffles tomorrow.

It was exciting to do all this, after so many years. Memories.

Brother-in-law's haircut

One of the first things that happened when we arrived at the campground where Cliff's brother had set up camp was a haircut. Yes, Don decided his hairline had receded sufficiently that the best thing he could do was have his hair cropped short. His sister, Rena, was just the person to do that.

This is the "before" picture.

Here's the "after".

Please notice the lovely Honda Gold Wing in the background.

Here's a slide show that takes you through the entire ordeal, right down to showing you a pathetic white clump of discarded hair on the ground.

Boat ride on Table Rock Lake

We rode the motorcycle to Table Rock Lake, down by Branson. Cliff's brother Don was camping down there with his wife, her son, and his family; and we figured at least we could have a good visit with them before heading back home today.

After eating a good supper, we went out for a ride on Don's pontoon boat; I thought you might enjoy a sample of the ride. Turn down your sound, because there's nothing to hear but wind noise.

A happy memory

My daughter was five years old. I know this because after she started first grade, they taught her to pronounce her "r's". I taught her to play Crazy Eights. She not only picked up the game instantly, she loved it. Unfortunately, I was a terrible mother, and the card game bored me to death. She'd ask me to play with her, and I'd usually find some excuse. Then her daddy would come home; we'd have supper, and he'd be watching TV. She'd ask him, "Would you play Cwazy Eights with me?" And he would. Oh, he'd have one eye on the television. But he never told her "no", as I recall. What a sweet man I married.

Road Trip!!!!

Cliff's brother Don and his wife are going to be camping down at Bull Shoals in south Missouri. We're going to ride the motorcycle down there and spend a night; Cliff's sister who lives in our old house is going to follow in her car.

Grandson Arick is going to dog-sit and watch the place, so no intruders had better encroach on the compound. Arick knows where the gun is. I'm just sayin'.

I have a new stereo sound system I won't say much about, but it rocks.

This S.E.T. thing (spousal equity tax) is working out quite well for me.

I wonder if I could persuade Cliff to buy another tractor.

Big Shot

Click on the picture to make it larger

Yesterday morning I turned Sir Loin out with the rest of the herd; he did just fine, and was still with them this morning. I'll still watch his mom's udder, in case I have to relieve her of some excess milk. By the way, in this picture he is in exactly the spot where he was born; he's going down memory lane, I suppose.

Remember my plugged-up ear? Yesterday morning I could hear again... until I bent over to pull some weeds. It stopped up again, and has been plugged ever since. I feel like I have my head in a bucket or something.

Did you know that when hearing in one ear is impaired, you can no longer tell what direction a sound is coming from? I knew it already, because of living with Cliff; but I really never wanted to experience it. I was in the kitchen yesterday and heard my cell phone ringing. I went to the bedroom to look for it and then realized it was in the opposite direction.

Oh yes, Cliff is enjoying this.

Regarding my previous post: Ask and ye shall receive! Turns out my son-in-law has a self-propelled mower he isn't using. How handy is that?

I want my OWN lawn mower!

Cliff and his sister do most of the lawn mowing around here, using John Deere riding mowers... our old classic one, and another that we're "taking care of" for Cliff's sister and her husband, since they moved to town.

The only thing I drive is my horse, but I don't mind using the push mower. Within limits, of course.

Lawn mowers these days don't last long, and ours is using oil and most likely on its last legs. The renters also use it for their portion of the yard. I call them renters, but actually all they're renting is trailer space; we gave them the trailer long ago. Nobody else would live in it anyhow, after it's been occupied by two dogs, a cat, and a human family of four... three of whom are, or have been, smokers.

I have a hankering for my own mower, perhaps self-propelled. And my own gasoline can that I can keep right out here in my garage, without having to walk to the barn (and without sharing it with anybody). I want to know that when my mower is low on oil, it's MY fault for not checking.

I don't ask for much, do I?

On another note, one of my message board buddies who lives in Maine, Paul (Fawteen), shared this picture of his happy, healthy astilbe; he tells me it takes a year or two for it to get established.

Another taler tells me this: "They will bloom better with age. Morning sun, afternoon shade, decent moisture, a good season long perennial fertilizer and/or compost will keep them happy. Most astilbe only bloom for 2-3 weeks though."

This Internet is great! I can get information and advice from all across the country and around the world.

Now to figure out what kind of self-propelled lawn mower I want; I may have to ask for more suggestions. Let's face it, though: they're all pretty much disposable these days, made to last only three or four years.

My back yard

Cliff doesn't like to have to mow around things; you know, things like trees and flowers. If it were up to him, our yard would be nothing but grass. Or maybe concrete. So there's always been this bone of contention between us: I like some flowers and trees. He likes to look at them, but he doesn't want to mow around them.

Recently we were having a "discussion" about all the stuff growing here and there in the back yard, and he suggested that if I didn't like the way he mows, I should mow the back yard myself. I considered it, and that's what I'm going to do. I'll push-mow it.

Just beyond the satellite dish is the birdbath, one more thing to mow around.

This side of the Dish I have a pathetic-looking group of iris and peonies I brought from the yard at the old house, plus some day lilies I bought from a nursery. If you're familiar with those flowers, you know that they'll soon spread and crowd out all that grass that is trying to take over the flowerbed.

I love day lilies, but the flowers don't last long.

I have these impatiens by the steps...

and more on the way to the garage. I planted these on the north side of the house, thinking they'd be shaded; but they're never in the shade. Nevertheless, they seem to thrive. That's a dogwood tree behind them, and to their right are some astilbes I planted this spring. So far those have failed to impress me, but perhaps they'll do more next year.

I joined the Arbor Day Foundation and received ten tiny trees. Unfortunately, only two survived: the Washington Hawthorns. I transplanted them from the garden to the back yard this morning.

These are in the front yard; I got the tall phlox from a long-since-deceased neighbor lady, and I think of her when I look at them; she didn't even know what the flower was. Everybody should have some tall phlox, as well as coneflowers. They ask nothing from you, and just keep blooming.

So, Cliff asked exactly what portion of the back yard I intend to mow, and I told him I'll take care of all the back yard for the full length of the trailer. I think I can do that.

Oh, by the way: The ear wax removal stuff is starting to work, and I can hear again.

cows, and other things

A reader left this question in my comment section: "How do big dairies get their cows to let down their milk? I thought they separated the calves almost from birth."

Now that's a good question, one I myself would ask if I didn't already know.

Dairymen leave the calf with its dam for the first three days, so it can take full advantage of the colostrum, or first milk, which contains antibodies that get calves off to a flying start; often, if the calf does not get colostrum within the first twenty-four hours after it is born, it will die.

Colostrum is considered "not for human consumption" in this country, although I've read that in some other parts of the world it is sometimes made into some sort of pudding that's considered a delicacy. Colostrum is thick-ish, and sometimes strange-colored. I'll pass on it, thank you very much.

After those first three days of its life, the calf never meets up with its mother again, and the cow forgets about her baby and accepts the person who milks her as a replacement for her calf. The routine of going into the barn, getting feed, and having the udder washed twice a day triggers the same response in her that the calf once did.

Now, moving on: Lately I've had the gate to the big lot closed, keeping Blue off the lush pasture and Bonnie and her calf up here where I can keep an eye on them. This afternoon I looked out the window and saw Blue and Tude, one of the horses boarded here, together out in the pasture; and Sassy, the other boarded horse, was inside the big lot. And Bonnie and her calf were gone to pasture.

The gate was closed tight when I went to check, and I don't have a clue how this happened; maybe at some point it wasn't latched, and a horse bumped into it and opened it? All I know is, the animals played upset-the-fruit-basket.

I am not comfortable yet letting the calf out, so I took my cattle prod (just a long white plastic stick, not one of those shock things), figuring I'd guide Bonnie back to the barn and her calf would follow. Normally she guides quite well with the prod. Unfortunately, she figured out where I was taking them and decided to turn aside and keep her freedom.

So I began guiding Sir Loin with the prod instead, knowing Mom would follow. I was amazed when he let me guide him so well!

I still can't figure out how all those critters got in the wrong places and then shut the gate. You'd think a human was involved, but there's been nobody around but me and Cliff, and we haven't touched that gate since the weekend.

Another note: When I was at the doctor's office last week, the nurse mentioned I had wax built up in one ear, and she intended to take care of that; unfortunately, she and I both forgot about it. So Cliff suggested later that we get some of that ear wax removal stuff at the drug store.

I put some in my ear last night when I went to bed, and this morning I woke up deaf in that ear. It's the left side, just like Cliff's deaf ear. It's my telephone-talking ear. It's driving me batty! Directions with the ear stuff say to use it for four days, so I'm hoping it'll dissolve whatever's in there eventually. Otherwise, I'm going to the doctor.

Cliff thinks it's rather funny that I'm getting a taste of the problem he's lived with for years.

Garden report

I am loving my flowers.

With rain almost every day, you can imagine how well things are growing around here. Especially weeds, as you can see in the foreground of the picture below; at least where the straw is, I can keep them to a minimum.

These crazy vines are loaded with butternut squash, and I think I only planted three seeds.

They're loaded with green butternut squashes, some over six inches long; and yet I'm afraid to hope they'll reach maturity because of my eternal feud with squash bugs (or stink bugs, to some of you).

In past years I've tried taking off the leaves with eggs on them and destroying them, and dusting the plants with Sevin; but my fighting was in vain.

This year I have a new weapon that seems to be much more effective than Sevin. I won't brag about it, though, until I'm eating some of my own squash.

It's a baby eggplant!

I'm bringing in several tomatoes each day, and so far they're staying ahead of the blight that often foils my canning plans. The sweet peppers are really setting on now, too; I get a couple of those a day. I think we'll have stuffed peppers for dinner today. Our recent windstorms have blown a couple of the pepper plants down; I hope I remember next year to put some sort of cage around each pepper I set out.

Early in the season I planted a small, ten-cent packet of some sort of heritage bush beans so I'd have some green beans fairly early. Live and learn; next year I'll get Top-Crop bush beans, because the beans I got from these plants were misshapen: fat in the middle and undeveloped on the ends.

My pole beans are doing well, but it takes them longer to start bearing. There are acual beans developing on the vines, though, like the two in my hand; so it won't be long.

Call me crazy, I don't care

I'm about as Republican right-wing as you can get. OK, maybe not THAT bad, but that's how I lean.

Strange thing is this: The music I listen to on Pandora is mostly folk; you know, people who swing so far to the left that they're almost communist. Some of them were actually accused of being communists, way back when. Woody Guthrie, Pete Seeger; and many more.

Maybe it's just the rebel in me, I don't know.

Anyhow, at some point in my life, some grandchild introduced me to Green Day.

I liked a lot of what they had to say, as well as the way they said it.

When I found out a certain granddaughter was practically DYING to see them, I thought, "Why not?"

She's underage, so all we needed was a driver. I don't drive. But my oldest grandson does, and he knows most of the words to all the Green Day songs.

I made a couple of phone calls. I secured our seats.

This granny is going to see Green Day, August 12.

I would also pay three person's ticket fees to see ZZ Top, and others I won't mention here. Wait a minute... Cliff is paying, not me. But hey, he bought this un-neccesary big honkin' tractor we don't need. (I do sorta love it, though.)

Over at Tractor Tales, it's called "SET". That's "spousel equity tax".