Turf Fire

Our Irish peat briquettes arrived today. We have six in the fireplace and they burn nicely with a sweet scent. Brings back nice memories. I lit the fire with a few sticks of Southern fatwood. You need a good solid base of coals on which you pyramid four to six blocks of turf.

Ireland Earth ships the turf in twenty-five pounds boxes.

Enjoy.

Stephen

Bits & Pieces

I recently mentioned to Sweet Wife I needed a haircut. It was either slice it off or find a ponytail holder. I checked and my last cut was just prior to Independence Day. She agreed.

Today it took place.

After the hair trim we drove over to a new place, Freshfield Farms. They trade in fresh locally grown  produce and meats. Most organic, or so they claim. The place was cold, meat locker cold. We'd barely stepped inside the store when Sweet Wife said, "Let's go."

I quickly grabbed a nice slab of pork short ribs, a few bell peppers, and a bunch of tiny sweet bananas before she ran for the parking lot. The girl hates cold.

Back at the house, after we stepped inside, she snapped the above picture of my new hairline. She's proud of the fact my neck is again visible. She cut my hair. The lady has talent.

*****

The gumbo simmers. Took me an hour to build the sucker. Butchered the squirrels and browned 'em in bacon drippings. She slipped alongside as I stirred the rue and said she was pretty sure she'd found a piece of squirrel hair on one of the finished pieces. Told her not to worry, squirrel hair tasted fine fried. Gives flavor to the finished product.

Prior to our marriage the poor girl had never eaten wild game. Her family hunts at Publix and Winn-Dixie.

*****

Early tomorrow morning I need to climb on the roof and give it a good cleaning. The winds have made a mess of the house and yard. Then I'll give the yard a quick cut, blow clean the walkway and drive ....should only take most of the morning if I get started prior to sunrise. If the day leaves me free a few hours I'll drive to work and open the shop. After all, I've democrats to support through my continued payments into the friggin tax system. Six day work weeks are the norm around here.

If you believe this governments line of bullcrap about an improvement in the economy you've got your head stuck in a ditch. Sure, maybe in scattered patches of New England or Bumtussel, Alabama - but not here. On my five mile drive to work I'm able to count several hundred closed businesses, more 'for rent' or 'for sale' or 'lease to own' signs than angels in Heaven.

Here in my neighborhood there is a house but one from mine. Its on a nice piece of riverfront with a boat dock and small guest house. Its been on the market for three years. The price for this nice home has dropped from one point two million to a take it away price of (if my memory serves) four hundred thousand. God bless America.

Strange, but I've yet to meet anyone willing to admit they voted for Obama. Or, at least now....

Stephen

Nothing About Nothing

She's at church and I'm sitting here twiddling my toes with the Sunday morning paper read and tossed aside. I need to climb in the shower and dress as we've plans to hit a new local fresh market. I want a mess of beets, just because, and other ingredients for a gumbo I plan to build this afternoon, maybe a few cuts of meat too. 

Sometime today I need to address the issue of accounts which should be loads of fun. I place the payment of bills on par with a toothache.

But, you know, for now I think I'll just pour another cup and read blogs for a while....I warned you, this post is nothing about nothing.

The cat wants out.

Dammit.

Stephen

Pitter Patter

One cold windy Saturday afternoon the two of us were settled snugly with books and soft music, quiet, other than an occasional snap and crackle from the fireplace. I was deep in a biography of Hetty Green and Sweet Wife her Sunday school lesson.

I was content. Well as content as could be with the constant pitter patter of friggin squirrels at a dead gallop back and forth over our roof in their ceaseless fight over mates - breeding season, don't 'ya know....

Bounce, bang, flutter. Smack, another acorn. I'd listen as the nut gathered speed and rolled into the gutter with a tinny ping. Back to book. Repeat.

Me, "I've about had it with the darn squirrels."

"Oh, I think they're beautiful. It's just their play time." Typical, from her.

I tried, I really did try to ignore them. Pretended the squirrel antics nothing more than a minor distraction from my book. Ever so often she'd glance in my direction, with the look - as if to say, mind yourself, boy.

Bam, scamper, squeak, flutter....over and over and over. I threw the book aside and rose and walked straight into our office and grabbed my little pump Rossi. Back in the family room I went for the French doors that give to the deck...."Stephen." Like that. Just, "Stephen." All stern like, voice of authority. A rebuke.

"What?"

"No."

"No, what?"

My Sweet Wife said, "You - Will - Not - Harm - Those - Wonderful - Creatures - of - God."

I stepped outside and shot five within thirty seconds.....hand on Bible. The tree was loaded with furry fat little pieces of tasty meat. Five shots, five down. Flipped out my pocket knife and field dressed those tasty little suckers quicker than you can wink.

She didn't speak to me for an hour.

I had a nice quiet evening, with Hetty.

Stephen

Meat On A Stick

I have a hankering for a tasty well done chuck of meat on a stick. This meat must be self-cooked over an open campfire and I want this chunk of flesh to taste of oak with undertones of winter cold and just a hint of cold river kissed wind.

If the flavor lingers well into the night I'd be well satisfied. An evening of laughter, jokes, friendly back slaps, and if I'm lucky, gunfire by flashlight. Then, coffee and pastry accompanied by the haunting yelps of coyotes.

Has anyone a match...

Stephen

Fix It

Glance towards the top of this page - do you see the Navbar? Neither do I. So, how in the name of all that's Holy do I replace it? I like the ability and ease of just reaching and clicking on the New Post button. Instead I'm forced to open a new window in Dashboard.

It's a pain. So, all you geeks out there, take a sip of your morning coffee and please forward your vast knowledge and help me correct this oversight of Blogger.

Thanks.

Refreshments and targets await....

Stephen

For the Scent of It

A few nights past I built our evening fire of oak and hickory. The wife and cat took their usual places on the hearth and fried their backsides close to well done.

I mentioned I enjoyed the warm brambly smell of the wood but preferred the scent of real Irish peat, or as they say in Ireland, turf. My lovely wife said, "I've never had the pleasure." I sipped my tea and gave it some thought. Were does one find real cut from the earth Irish peat....

Amazon, of course. It is possible to order directly from Irish suppliers, but at a very high cost. I've taken the frugal path.

My order should arrive in a few days. It's been forty years since I've had the sweet scent of Ireland surround me, and that was in Scotland.

I hope she enjoys the experience.

Stephen