Eating My Words

We have been living at my parents house for the past 4 weeks while we sell our house.  Why?  You try cleaning a house top to bottom on a 30 minute time constraint with three small boys following you around undoing everything you do.  My mom keeps saying she loves having us here...but I'm a mom too and I know that sometimes we say things to our kids we don't totally mean.  In all seriousness, my mama deserves an award for how long we've been intruding on her turf. 

Anyhow, I try to make the time everyday to remind my mother about all the crap, dust traps, er, wonderful collector items that are piling themselves in her basement. I know, I know, you're wishing you were so lucky as to be my mother right now.  I'm telling you: an award is deseved here!

But today I will eat my words.  I took and deep breath and wandered onto 'her side' of the basement and returned surprisingly unscathed...and with a nice little collection of goodies!  My favourite item was this picnic basket.  I immediately pictured myself wearing a long denim skirt and some sort of bandana on my head, walking through a field swinging this basket on my arm delivering lunch to the farmers working in the back fields of my country home.  (It was a rather frightening picture, one that I will store forever in my mind as what I will NOT become.)  So upstairs I went, threw the basket over my arm and sashayed into the kitchen where County Lovin' Boy was trying to enjoy a conversation with my dad and said in my best Blanche Deveraux accent, "Well hi darlin'.  I brought you some fried chicken an' dumplin's and some ice cold lemonade for your lunch.  Are ya hungry?"

He asked me if I needed meds. 

In my defence, it's been quite a while that I have been living in a rather uprooted and unenviable state and I will admit that my sanity my be slipping. 

Tomorrow? I attempt to make a Pork, Sweet Potato & Kale Stew.  Stew seems like a good country food.  Now to go find out what kale is...

Give Cooking A Chance

I truly believe that, even after 7 years of marriage, the words "Honey, I made dinner!" coming from my mouth still strike fear into my Country Boy's heart.  Let's be honest here, not everyone is cut out for this cooking stuff.  I think 'burnt' should be one of the major food groups.  We'd definately be getting all our servings of that group each day!

Up until now, city life has always solved the problem of cooking meals.  The typical question posed by my husband of "What's for dinner?" received the standard answer of "Whatever you're bringing home!"

Enter country life.  If I want take out, it's going to be a 40 minute round trip.  (See, there were some things that I did not think through before buying the new house!).  This is why I've decided it's probably time for me to learn how to make at least a few things.  Let's start with breakfast and today the feature is Molasses Sticky Buns! Oh, I should also mention that I try to only make recipes where I know what all the ingredients are.  Ground cardamom?  Pass.  Cinnamon? Yes!

One more gripe before I begin.  I do not conform to the idea that food has to look delicious to be delicious.  Case in point?  Oysters rockefeller.  They could not look more vile but pop one of those suckers in your mouth and suddenly you're enjoying a little bit of heaven.  Anyhow, I also don't like getting to step 4 of a recipe and having no idea what it means and no picture to consult.  So I have broken it down here into a series of step by step instructions with a photo for each step simply because I refuse to believe that I am the only one who feels this way.  Enjoy!

Begin with two 16 oz balls of refrigerated bread (or pizza) dough.

Roll each ball into a 10 inch square piece.  Spread with butter to about 1/2" from the edges then sprinkle with the cinnamon and sugar.  (Isn't white sugar so beautiful?)

Roll them up jelly roll style and pinch the edges to seal.  This part was harder than you would think!

Cut each roll into six slices.  Trust me, they're going to get squished down when you're cutting. If you're a type A personality you're going to have to just get over it!  They'll taste just as good squished.

To make the molasses sauce mix together brown sugar, butter, water and molasses and bring it to a boil.  

Pour the sauce into a greased 9x13 baking dish then place your slices on top of the sauce.  At this point, I was amazed to see that they actually did look like cinnamon buns.

Cover and let rise for 30 minutes.  Again, I was amazed that they actually did rise!  Oh me of little faith.

Bake for 30 minutes then take it out and invert onto a serving tray...or another ugly silver baking dish, whatever ya got.  Look at that sticky goodness!

I am happy to report that they were delicious!!  And I'm sure the next time I make them it will only take the reported prep of 20 min.  It took me an hour this morning.  Here is the full ingredient list:

Easy Molasses Sticky Buns
2 packages of refrigerated dough (16 oz each)
1/3 cup softened butter
1/2 cup sugar
1 1/2 tsp cinnamon

Molasses Sauce:
1 cup packed brown sugar
1/2 cup butter
1/2 cup water
1/4 cup molasses

Follow the steps above then bake at 350 for 30 minutes or until golden brown.  Cool for 5 minutes then invert onto serving platter

Tomorrow?  I venture into my mom's basement to find decor for the country home.

A New Menagerie?

Country Lovin' Boy and I have decided that there will be some animals necessary when we move.  Although, his necessary and mine differ greatly.  He thinks it would be great to have a Belgian Draft horse that will outweigh me by several thousand pounds.  I think we need cats.  It's amazing how those of us who are not 'cat people', can so quickly become them at the sight of 5 dead mice in your house. 

I then made the terrible mistake of asking Big Farmer if he wanted to name the two new kittens.  Of course he did.  Here is how that conversation went:

BCG - "We're going to get two kittens when we move to the new house Big Farmer, do you want to name them?"

BF - "Yeah!" *some thinking* "I will name them Saddy and Happy Catcher."

BCG - "Ummm, are you sure you don't want to name them something different?" *this said while restraining myself from making a comment on the name of the latter kitten*

BF - "Nope, you asked me to name them and those are their names.  They will love to be a Saddy and a Happy Catcher."

My new prayer is that by the time we get into the new house and actually adopt the kittens he will have completely forgotten those names.  Unfortunately, knowing him the way I do, I think praying that may be an exercise in futility! 

Other than that, we will also apparently be getting a pig named Hoink-Hoink and 8 chickens.  All named Clucker.  I feel another prayer coming on....

Tomorrow?  I cook!  Heaven help us all.

Acclimating...

The problem with making promises that you think will never come true is this: they sometimes come true.  When I told Little Farmer that someday when we lived on a farm he could get a pig, and told Big Farmer he could get a rabbit I didn't think that day would ever come.  Pigs smell vile and rabbits, quite frankly, freak me out.  What is with some of them having red demon eyes?  What are they good for?  I mean, talk about your boring house pet.  I digress.

Anyhow, so off we went to Forsythe Farm today.  Agenda item number one was to pick pumpkins.  Agenda item number two was acclimating Big City Girl to the farm animals.  Here is what I learned:

1.  Baby goats are totally adorable!  I wanted to take one home then and there.  Until I walked a little further down and stopped to take a picture of Big Farmer.  It was there that I, totally engrossed in my photo taking, was accosted by a much larger, bearded and completely unadorable billy goat.  We will be passing on the goats.

2.  Chickens are completely moronic animals.  But they are easily contained and I do love eggs.  We will take the chickens. 

3.  Where there is mud, a child will fall in it.  Does anyone have a pattern for sewing plastic pants?  Sigh, I can almost see my brand new laundry machine breaking from over use. 

And so our day ended successfully with everyone picking a pumpkin. 

Baby Farmer learned that a pumpkin is not to be eaten in the same way as an apple....a gingerbread cookie decorated like a pumpkin that turns your teeth orange is far more delicious.

       
Tomorrow?  Naming the pets.

Here we go...

"Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things that you didn't do than by the ones you did do. So throw off the bowlines. Sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover.”   ~ Mark Twain

This is the story of a family.  A family consisting of Big City Girl, Country Lovin' Boy, and 3 Tiny Farmers.  The family decided to do what many dream of but most are scared to do.  They sold their classy and comfortable suburban home and bought a 100 year old farmhouse on a grand 9 acres of land in the....middle of nowhere.

Yep, that's me....Big City Girl headed to a one horse town, a map dot, a country road.  Just following my Country Lovin' Boy into the perpetual unknown and taking the rest of my menagerie of little boys and pets along for the ride. 

So this is the beginning.  I suppose this will be the chronicling of what will very well be the biggest adventure of our life.

Our new house was built over a century ago and is in need of some good loving before we can move in.  And when I say good loving I mean the down and dirty, rip roarin', wall smashin' kind.  In addition to completely gutting the kitchen and two bathrooms, we have to bring all the floors back to their original glory, change the cracked and drafty windows, install lights upstairs (remember I told you it's old?), and the list goes on.  Pictures to follow shortly.  Anyhow, the old girl will have new life breathed into her and her walls will be the backdrop for years of new memories. 

Here we go!

Moving to a Small Town

I was driving on a rural route, passing people who were getting out,
of a little place that if you blink you'll miss, they wanna go where the money is.
The kind of town that suits me just fine, has a three digit population sign.
Its just a feeling that I feel so strong, that's where I belong.

Lets take a drive down the middle of Main, where there's no lines to mark the lanes.
And they never heard of rush hour, and the tallest building is the water tower.
And at the end of any west bound street, you can still see the sun go down.
I'm moving to a small town.

I wanna go to a hardware store, and walk across a hardwood floor.
Pick up some nails by the pound, hellos and handshakes all around.
I think its better for the family, thats what I think but thats just me.
And when my little boy can drive someday, I wanna hear him say.

Lets take a drive down the middle of Main, where there's no lines to mark the lanes,
and they never heard of rush hour, and the tallest building is the water tower.
And at the end of any street, is the horizon all around.
I'm moving to a small town.

Its a small world anyway, and getting smaller by the day.
I'm not moving away from anyone, just getting closer to myself.
I'm moving to a small town.

~ Steve Fox