Things Change – Not Always for the Better

16. March 2025 · Comments Off on Things Change – Not Always for the Better · Categories: Domestic, Random Book and Media Musings

I’m trying to fire up a schedule of book events for 2025, this year, since Wee Jamie is old enough to be taken places that don’t interrupt his schedule too much. One of the multi-author venues that I had previously enjoyed doing was the West Texas Book and Music Festival, in Abilene – I think we made the road trip, hopscotching along back-country roads north from Junction, through Ballenger…… to Abilene at least three times. I liked it at least as much for the chance to take pictures of back-country Texas, as I did participating in a community-supported book event, with other authors, and people who liked books, and wanted to support authors, reading books, libraries and generally the community. The West Texas Book and Music Festival in Abilene had enough juice to invite writers who had been heard of outside of Texas as guest speakers – Elmer Kelton was one, who unfortunately passed from this vale of tears a bare month or two before I had a chance to meet him at the Festival in the fall of (gasp!) 2009. I did meet Paulette Jiles and Scott Zesh the following year, and we got some lovely photos of a balloon festival which was being held in Abilene the very same weekend.

We stayed two nights in a tiny cabin at a KOA campground in Abilene, which was the cheapest option available to us – yes, I am not so well-known that I have expenses paid. This year, for various reasons, we could afford the road-trip and two nights at a hotel or campground, so I looked up what was going on, as far as book festivals go, in Abilene – but it seems like that event has withered up and died, without a trace on social media. The Covidiocy canceled the event for 2020. I had a reply to an inquiry last year that they were already full-up, thanks for asking. I made a mental note to ask about this year, but ll the links that I have are dead, or go to the civic website.  From what I can tell, it may have been incorporated into the big yearly book event in Austin. A deep sigh, and on to investigating other small book festivals.

On the note of things that change and not for the better, my daughter and I, with Wee Jamie went to spend a Saturday in Fredericksburg. We went by way of Blanco and Johnson City, where we had done market events, and from Johnson City over so-called Texas Wine Road, through Stonewall, Grapetown and thence to Fredericksburg, with a stop at Wildseed Farms, hoping that their wildflower meadows would be in bloom – alas, too early in the year. I did see a few shy bluebonnets in a sheltered, sunny verge, and all the redbud trees are in full flower, but nothing much in comparison to what will be out in lavish bloom by the end of April. As a diversion, we counted wineries along the road between Johnson City and Fredericksburg – we came up with a total of 73, although we might have double-counted some and missed a few others. The whole of Route 290 seems now to be a prolonged and long party spot these days, which might account for a great many mildly sloshed people all along Main Street.

Fredericksburg has changed, since the first few times we visited, in the late 90s – and I’m not certain it’s for the better. Maybe I just liked it when they rolled up the sidewalks at sundown, save for a few restaurants on Main Street. The Fredericksburg Herb farm was really a herb garden with candles, perfume and skin-care items for sale along with seeds and herbs, and not under different ownership as a luxury spa. The old five and dime, which didn’t take credit cards and was about the last normal retail outlet on Main, is now an upscale retailer of expensive western wear (I scoped out a pair of $700 dollar women’s boots there and winced). The Christmas store also changed hands – now upscale boutique fashion items instead of Christmas things and garden décor. A big ultra-modern new luxury hotel took over what had been a very pleasant Beaux Arts-style two-story shop building, renovated it out of all previous experience and attached it at the back into a whole new ultra-modern sprawl. Rustlin’ Robs, Dogologie (the store for all things dog, which always has a dish of water by the door for their canine friends), Der Kuchen Laden (the best little housewares shop in Texas) and the Peach House are still there, which is reassuring. But the retail outlets, restaurants and businesses have spread from Main Street to Austin and San Antonio streets, replacing the modest little early 20th century cottages and older houses. About the only good expansion that I can see is that of the Museum of the Pacific War, which went from the old Nimitz Hotel and an open-sided pole barn a few blocks distant, to a big new complex and expanded outdoor complex where they state WWII reenactor events. At a book event there a few years ago, one of the members told us that there are now more B&B beds in the downtown area than there were regular homes. I can believe it, especially after this last Saturday.

We walked up several blocks, and crossed Main Street to walk the other side, noting the crowds, and also noting that there weren’t many families with children, and hardly anyone walking with a dog on a leash or in a doggie stroller. It seemed like it was more spring-break/party city, than a quaint, old-fashioned Texas country small town with an attractive and historic downtown. My daughter says – perhaps next time, we should visit during the week – not on a Saturday or a holiday. The brush fire getting going in the afternoon of that day in the hills north of town didn’t help our mood much, what with pale beige clouds of smoke piling up like clouds, and the occasional siren on a brush fire truck roaring through town. We drove home, looking over our shoulders almost all the way.

Reviving the Garden – 2025

02. March 2025 · Comments Off on Reviving the Garden – 2025 · Categories: Domestic

One thing and another has led the garden at the back of the house to have become a total wreck. Between Snowmagedden 2021, some hard freezes over winters since – the back yard was not a refreshing sight. Two sapling fruit trees were killed outright, one was half dead branches, and the fourth may or may not leaf out at all in the next few weeks. This is exasperating, as the nectarine that we planted in front at about the time is thriving, grown to a nice size and produced a bumper crop of fruit last spring. The three grape vines that I also planted to grow up and cover the long arbor were also savaged by frost. I think that two are still alive, but I need to go out and trim the many dead branches.

The yard was also piled high with oak leaves from my next-door neighbor’s humongous oak tree – which is only a fair exchange, as my Arizona trash tree in the front has piled lavish quantities of dead leaves along the edge of their driveway. The various firebush plants, though, have naturalized and spread, and there is a volunteer Esperanza which has grown to a pretty good height. But all these native shrubs first went overgrown and sprawling, before the last cold snap killed off most of their leaves … so my back yard, which has on occasion looked like a veritable garden paradise; lush, flowering and green, now looks like something you’d see around the Addams family mansion – all dead stems and dried leaves. The raised beds are all empty of anything but compacted soil and more dead leaves. The last few years, a lot of my time and energy has been spent helping to take care of Wee Jamie. But this spring, I have reached a limit; I am tired of looking at the ruin.

This week, I’ve set aside some me-in-the-garden time, sweeping up and filling the recycle bin with oak leaves, trimming back the overgrown branches, and running them through the mulcher, to make some mulch chips to put on the raised beds and on the space that I planted some sun-loving daylilies and delphiniums that came in an assortment from Costco. I also splurged and bought a young mandarin orange in a 5-gallon pot from the same place, at half the price that it would have been from one of the plant nurseries. I wanted to buy one last year, but Costco’s small trees and shrubs are seasonal, and once they appear, they aren’t there for long.

I’d like to plan on reviving many of the hanging plants in baskets, as well. The hot weather last summer killed all of the Boston ferns, and a couple of years ago, all my spider plants had their roots eaten by thirsty squirrels. The hardscape, the pavers and the stone bed borders are all in good shape, but the chicken coop needs a new roof over the run area before we start with chickens again.

Mid-March is the last time that we can expect a winter frost in these parts – I’m also hoping that this summer is not going to be one of those hideously hot and dry ones. I also have all the tubes and drip emitters to revitalize the drip system in back – and that ought to take care of keeping what I have planted this weekend in good shape. Fingers crossed. I want a pretty garden again!

A Milestone of Sorts

27. February 2025 · Comments Off on A Milestone of Sorts · Categories: Domestic

Well, actually two milestones; both just around the corner. One would be the final mortgage payment on Chez Hayes – the little suburban cottage patch of paradise that I bought two years before I retired from the Air Force in 1997. Thirty-year mortgage at an 8-point something rate of interest, but no down payment, because of being under the grace and favor of the VA. Yes, that rate seems high – but as my daughter the real estate agent tells me – historically pretty much the average. I never refinanced, as it seemed to be just too much trouble collecting up the documentation and paying for an appraisal and never took out any equity loans because that never really appealed to me as an option. In a relatively rare moment of economic sanity, I opted on a price for the house and sliver of garden, which gave me a mortgage payment that amounted to one-quarter of my monthly income at the time. This was about the same amount that I had usually paid in rent … so I was pre-programmed for that regular expense. There were times, post-retirement where the wolf lurked at the bottom of the driveway – but I was always able to scrape through.

The assessed value is now a little more than double the original price it went for in 1995. I have since been able to renovate the original back deck into a covered screened porch, renovated both bathrooms, replace the original contractor grade windows, siding, garage door, and the roof – that last, twice over, which is about par for this part of Texas. There are a couple more things I want to do, when there is a bit more money in hand after the mortgage is done: mainly, revamp the kitchen and install nice vinyl flooring in the rest of the house. This waits on my daughter buying her own place for herself and Jamie.

The other milestone is the legal settlement for the auto accident in July, which totaled Thing the Versa has been finalized. A nice check will be coming my way in another week or so. I was comprehensively bruised and badly shaken, besides sustaining some injuries which only became apparent afterwards. A good friend of ours, who is also Wee Jamie’s godfather, insisted that we should get an injury lawyer – a firm which he could personally recommend. So we did; it was a piece of good fortune for me, I suppose, that the other driver was not only clearly at fault (he bombed out of a parking lot and T-boned the Versa, passing by in the inside lane) but was also insured. This isn’t always the case, lately.

The payment won’t be enough for another car, as the injury lawyer assured me – but it will pay down a couple of outstanding accounts, mostly to do with the windows and the siding, and allow us to stay in hotels when we do book events a good bit from home. So, we are very happy with how 2025 is turning out for us, personally.

Sourdough Starter Crackers, and Other Kitchen Matters

23. February 2025 · Comments Off on Sourdough Starter Crackers, and Other Kitchen Matters · Categories: Domestic

A couple of weeks ago, I started a sourdough starter, thinking that experimenting with home-baked sourdough bread would be another nice way to ensure good bread at a more bearable price than from the HEB bakery. The starter has developed a very rich, sour flavor on a rate of being fed every other day with half a cup of water and half a cup of flour and kept on the kitchen counter. But I haven’t baked a loaf of bread with it yet … and that was because I found another recipe for home-baked crackers made with sourdough discard starter. Unless you constantly bake with the starter, a certain amount has to be routinely discarded, otherwise it would take over. I ran across the recipe for crackers, tinkered with it … and we like the resulting crackers to much that I haven’t yet done a loaf of bread!

Preheat the oven to 320°. Cover the bottom of a 10×15 sheet pan with a piece of parchment paper and lightly spritz with oil. The parchment paper is absolutely key.

Melt ¼ cup butter and mix with 1 ½ cup of starter discard. The starter should be about the consistency of heavy cream or thin cake batter. The butter and starter mixture will cover the bottom of the sheet pan/oiled parchment in a thin layer. Sprinkle evenly with ¼ to 1/3 of a cup of Everything But the Bagel seasoning mixture. (The original recipe called for Italian seasoning, or Herbs de Provence, and a sprinkle of salt, but we liked the Everything But the Bagel season the absolute best.)

Bake for 10-15 minutes, remove from oven and lightly score with a knife into equal squares. The top of the cracker mixture should look a bit dry and not be liquid. Bake for another 15-20 minutes until lightly browned and beginning to separate along the scored divisions. Turn off the oven and allow to cool and dry-crisp the crackers. Absolutely yummy.

We were finally able to replace the big side-by side GE refrigerator-freezer; an appliance which turned out after half a dozen years of use to be a crashing disappointment. The various plastic bins and drawers inside began disintegrating at a rapidly increasing rate, to the point where one was barely held together with epoxy glue and strips of duct tape. The outside finish on the top was scratched heavily and was so thin that the metal underneath began to rust. Then the ice maker stopped working – followed by the door water dispenser. It wasn’t the top of the line appliance, just one of the more budget-friendly models, but I honestly expected it to function for much longer than it did, and have the plastic drawers and all last at least a decade. Anyway, we went straight to Lowes’ and added a new dishwasher to the shopping list. Both were delivered and installed in recent days, although after seeing the mess underneath and behind the old refrigerator, I am only grateful that I don’t know the installers socially. (My daughter says that they probably see worse … much, much worse.) The dishwasher and refrigerator are both stainless steel finish, and a modest upgrade to what they replaced. The refrigerator is a Frigidaire countertop depth, which gives back a little more space in the kitchen – French doors with the freezer below in a deep drawer. I rather like it, because I can reach inside without bending over or moving a few steps, while cooking at the stove. The dishwasher operates near silently and plays few bars of a pretty little chime when it finishes cycling through. I wish it were possible to program it to play something like the Flower Song from Lakme – likely, the top-of-the-line version offers that version. Anyway, that’s my week on the home front – how was yours?

Another Bit from “Hills of Gold”

18. February 2025 · Comments Off on Another Bit from “Hills of Gold” · Categories: Chapters From the Latest Book, Old West

(Jon and Pa Kettering have briefly returned from Coloma and building Mr. Sutter’s new sawmill.)

We reached the cabin where we lived then, early in the afternoon. It was a mild day, just a scattering of clouds floating in a blue sky. You might have thought it a fine day to start on the spring plowing, with all the grass coming up green through last year’s dead tufts, but it was still winter. Ma had started digging up the vegetable patch on the sunny south side of the cabin. Pa and Henry had built a zig-zag pole fence to keep the cattle out – and there were already thready green sprouts on some of the rows. There was smoke coming from the chimney, and clean laundry flapping on the clothesline.  Ma herself was pegging out clothes to it, with two clothespins in her mouth, which she dropped the moment that she saw us.

“Sakes alive, Elkanah!” she cried, and ran towards us. “Johnny-cakes! What has happened – is the mill finished? Did Captain Sutter pay you – oh, he had better have paid you!”

“Easy, Sue,” Pa replied. He swung down off his horse and took Ma in his arms. “We can only stay for a day or so. Mr. Marshall had a serious matter to discuss with the Captain and he asked me to come along with him.”

Inside I heard a baby crying, a sudden and very shrill cry, as Boomer the hound suddenly erupted from the door, and ran up to me. Boomer had been our family dog since I was a lap-baby myself. Now he was starting to go grey around the muzzle although he was carrying on as if he was still a pup. He capered around me as I dismounted from Kanzas the pony, leaping up to lick at my hands and face – silly old dog! My mother pulled away from Pa’s arms as my sister Sally appeared in the cabin door, holding a howling baby. Sally held Emily-Anne to her shoulder, patting her on the back and trying to shush the baby to silence. My sister Sally was then the age of 14, and thought very pretty, but as there were hardly any American girls of marriageable age at that time in California, she had not much competition in that respect. Sally had dark hair with a streak of auburn-red in it like Pa’s and a heart-shaped face with strong dark brows slashed across it. My sister also had no patience with foolishness, which was why she had already turned down several offers of marriage from men afire with impatience to marry.

Sally’s gaze fell on me, and she exclaimed, “Johnny-cakes! Is the work at the mill done? Where is Henry?” Her eyes went looking beyond, and when she looked back at me, they were accusing. “Why are you riding Kanzas!? Has something happened to Henry?”

“No, Sugar-plum, Henry is fine,” Pa soothed her. “He stayed at the mill – he had work to do there, now that the machinery is in place.”

“What’s the matter with Emmy!” Ma demanded, for Emily-Anne was barely soothed, still sobbing and red-faced. Ma took the baby into her own arms, as Sally said,

“She was sleeping in her basket by the fire, and Boomer was sleeping next to her, when suddenly Boomer leaped up and jostled the basket when he leaped over it. He heard Pa and Jon’s horses outside … and you know how much that dog adores Jonny-cakes.”

Boomer was still capering around my feet, nudging me with his nose, as I led Kanzas to the stable, took off the saddle and horse blanket and rubbed him down. I had to pet him often, just to get a chance to take care of Henry’s pony, and he wiggled with happiness as dogs do, with his whole body.

“Looks like the old boy missed you, something awful,” Pa observed, as he took the same care of his horse.

“Guess he did,” I answered, feeling somewhat guilty, because I hadn’t given much thought to Old Boomer in the time that we had been away. When I did think about him, I just assumed that he, like Ma and Sally, were all taken up with the baby, Emily-Anne.

Ma fixed dinner for us – a cut of beef stewed with a few carrots and potatoes, the carrots tough and stringy, the potatoes half-gone through having been saved over from fall. The beef was good, though. In California then, beef was so common that folk commonly purchased a whole beef, rather than just a roast or chops. She was apologizing over and over for how she would have made something special for Pa and I, if she had known we were coming down from the hills. Boomer lay under my chair, poking his nose into my lap at every opportunity. Pa did not say anything about gold, or the errand with Mr. Marshall, although I expect that he told Ma about it, when they were in bed together, later that night. We talked at the supper table about the mill, gossip among the workers about the doings of the Mormon leader, Brigham Young, in establishing a new colony in the Utah desert, and how California had yet another military governor, a Colonel Mason, who was reported to be very tall, affable and much more reasonable a man than anyone thought an Army officer could be.

Sally followed me when I went out just before sundown, making certain  that Kanzas and Pa’s horse were safely stabled away for the night.  The cold seeped out, after the sun went down. In the morning, I thought we would see frost on the grass, even though we were just around the corner from spring.

“What of Henry?” she demanded, as soon as I closed the slatted stable door and let the latch fall. “Did he ever say my name, or ask after me, all the time that you were in the hills? Why didn’t he come with you and Pa?”

I wracked my memory and honestly couldn’t recall if Henry had. I thought I had better be tactful, though. “I suppose that he did, now and again. He missed yours and Ma’s cooking. ‘Specially Ma’s bread. With fresh-churned butter on it. I reckon we all missed home, but we didn’t dwell on it, much.”

Sally’s face fell – she looked so disappointed that I felt sorry. For all that I knew, Henry had thought about her, but since I couldn’t see into his mind … to make her feel better, I added, “He was awful busy, Sally – we all were. The millrace wasn’t dug deep enough to turn the wheel proper at first, so it had to be dug out again. The job isn’t more than three-fourths done.” Sally looked at me, really sharp. I’ve never been good at telling lies, which Reverend Grandpa Kettering back in Ohio would have called the worst kind of sin. And Sally was always real good at picking apart those lies when I tried to tell her one. “I’m not fibbing, Sally – we really were busy, all of us.”

“Funny that you and Pa and Mr. Marshall should come away, with the mill not finished,” she observed. “Why might that be, Johnny-cakes? Don’t even think of spinning a yarn to me. I want to know.”

“Pa said that I wasn’t to tell,” I protested, but I knew in my heart that I couldn’t avoid telling Sally. After all, Pa was probably going to tell Ma. “But it’s a secret. We weren’t suppose to spill on it to anyone, until Mr. Marshall or Captain Sutter said. You have to promise, or all of us will get into terrible trouble. Promise you’ll keep it a secret.”

“If I even believe it in the first place,” Sally replied. She folded her arms. I hoped that Ma would call us into the house soon as it was already dark, but no such luck. “Well?”

“Mr. Marshall found gold in the millrace,” I whispered. “It’s true – I saw it. Two pebbles of gold and a bunch of little flakes. Mrs. Wimmer boiled one of the pebbles in her soap kettle for a day, and it came out bright and shiny. So Mr. Marshall said that Captain Sutter would have to be told, and he wanted Pa to come along as a witness when he showed Captain Sutter the gold that he found. Henry needed to stay because of the mill …”

“I see,” my sister mused. She had a look on her face as if she were thinking. “Gold in the… for certain?”

“Mrs. Wimmer was,” I replied. “And she grew up near to where there was gold in the rivers in Georgia when she was a girl.”

“I wonder if there’s a lot, in the rivers up there, in the mountains?” Sally still had that thinking expression. “When we were traveling along the Yuba, coming down from the mountains, I thought that some of the river sand glittered. As if it was gold. If you found a lot of gold, you’d be rich. Pa would be rich enough to buy the land that he wants. A fancy house for Ma, like Captain Sutters. With a garden, all around. If he found a lot of gold, Henry could buy all the books from the East that he wants to study.” Her look at me sharpened. “If you found a lot of gold, you could buy all the ponies you want, and never have to go to school. What else would you buy, if you found a great lump of gold, Johnny-cakes?”

I thought hard. “I don’t know, rightly. Something pretty for Ma, I reckon. A ginger kitten with white paws for you, mebbe. A proper good saddle for Kanzas. I don’t know, Sally.”

“Silly Johnny-cakes!” Sally laughed, and all of a sudden, she hugged me to her and kissed my forehead. “All for other people, nothing for yourself. You’re a good and selfless brother! I reckon Reverend Grandfather would approve! It’s cold outside – let’s go in. All the same,” she added, as she laid a hand on the door latch. “Do look for more gold, when you go back to Coloma. It just might turn out to be useful. At the very least, you can have a goldsmith make a pretty ring or a pin for Ma out of it.”

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