Here is the quote of the weekend from my just-turned-four-year-old great nephew on tasting a boiled peanut for the first time:

“Ya call THIS a PEANUT?”

But he liked it, even though he decided that it was a bean.

Okay, I know I haven’t written much lately, at least for me. It’s funny, because it used to be that the only time I wanted to write was when things were on a downhill slide. Now, I feel strangled. I can’t write about certain areas of my life, because it’s public now. The writers that I admire the most write honestly about their lives, and that was going to be my rule in writing from now on - do not fear the act of baring your soul. That’s why I decided to stop being anonymous on my blog.

Honesty is important to me. Sometimes it gets me in trouble. I’m a blunt person, but most people who get to know me realize pretty quickly that it’s a good attribute. They tell me that they never have to worry about me playing games. If I get really mad, I won’t say anything at all. So I am seldom rude, and when I am, it’s usually because I have been seriously provoked.

But some people don’t want to hear the facts or an informed opinion if they conflict with what they think. And if you don’t get right to the point and lay it out there, they miss it, because they’re too busy thinking about their plan. If they listen to the facts, it might mess up their plan. They don’t take hints, but they call you confrontational if you don’t dress it up real pretty and ladylike.

I don’t have a lot of patience with these people. Especially when the only thing that registers with them is not your words, but your audacity in speaking up. At that point, there’s no way to get through to them. They despise you for not knowing your place AND they still didn’t get the point. You might as well be presenting scientific data to GWB.

It would be nice if we could ignore these spoiled kitties, but unfortunately, sometimes their actions affect you and the people around you. So if you are a responsible type of person, you feel obligated to keep them informed. Because as nice as it would be to see them drown in the quicksand of their own making, you realize that you’re the one who’s gonna have to clean up the mess.

That’s the way it is in this country right now, and that’s the way it is in my life right now. So excuse me if I brood a little this week. It’s been a tough one.

This is a early wrap-up for the week. It’s a week that deserves to be ended early. I’ll head to the lake tomorrow as soon as we can get our behinds on the road after work.

Alas, my dreams of fresh okra from my garden have been dashed. The new seedlings were gobbled immediately, even when I surrounded them with my mojo glass. I’ll have to buy my okra from the farmers’ market this year.

I planted more field pea and cucumber seeds in the new garden bed on Monday night, but judging from the okra experience, the cucumbers are probably doomed. I am still harvesting salad greens and broccoli, and the Sungold tomatoes are starting to ripen. There are some small peppers and the Rosa Bianca eggplants have flowers. I think that they really do like containers. I’m afraid to say anything about the zephyr squash.

Cat and I went to the Solstice event at Bicentennial Gardens Tuesday night and had a grand time. If they have it next year I’ll be there with wings on.

Last night we watched Memento, a movie that I highly recommend. Lots of great plot twists, and Ralphie from the Sopranos was great as one of the main characters. I love these kind of psychological thrillers. We both are very happy with this Netflix deal. But of course, anything that saves me from leaving the house is usually attractive to me - not necessarily the most healthy thing for me, though. Next on deck is Slacker. I might watch it tonight. Seems like an appropriate end to this day.

Books for the lake: Drums of Autumn, and Traveling Mercies.

I never did report this, but I finally renewed my membership with Deep Roots this past month. We were cleaning out some files and I found my old ownership certificate from 1990. I was number 157! Now I have no excuse not to shop there. Tonight I bought a red onion, mushrooms, zucchini, squash, green pepper and cherry tomatoes for grilled shish ka-bobs at the lake.

This morning, I had a decision to make. I haven’t been to church in a while, and I just LOVE the 9:20 service at the Church of the Covenant. Just before it was time to go, I walked out into my garden. It was cool and shady, and I knew that after an hour or so it would be sunny for the rest of the day, and these mosquitoes don’t mind sun but love sweat. I had eight bags of dirt to put down and mulching to do. I wondered what my minister would say if I asked his opinion, and without a doubt, I know that he would say work in my garden.

So I enjoyed my morning in the garden, and took some photos afterward. And I did think about God a lot. I don’t think it is necessary to worship God in a church. Never have thought that, never will.

Don’t know why, but this elephant garlic spot provides me with great photos most of the year. The red flowers are bee balm (monarda). If you look closely, the fennel is flowering too.

I am extending the garden forward. The cardboard and newspapered area is where I plan to put my little fish pond next year. Right now I’m just killing weeds. You can see a before picture by clicking here.

See my MALS garden project web site for documentation of my progress up until mid-April 2005. Click on the bugs to move forward.

People assume that I am an active cook because I’m so enthusiastic about Slow Food. It is true that I get on cooking jags sometimes, and my favorite foods to cook are soup and bread. But I’m into convenience most of the time. Many nights I just eat cheese and crackers or salad or cereal, especially during hot weather. I’ve had some people tell me that they’re interested in Slow Food issues, but they’re not cooks. You don’t necessarily have to be a cook to contribute to the Slow Food Movement - you can support slow food artisans and restaurants. It casts a wide net.

I used to bake bread the old-fashioned way, but a case of chronic tendinitis in both hands led me to stop kneading and buy a bread machine. I don’t like the texture of the crust of baked bread machine bread, but, it is excellent way to mix and knead the dough, and take it through the first rising. I load my ingredients, put it on the dough setting, then do other things for a hour and a half. Then I remove the dough, punch down and let it rise again, then shape it into rolls or small loaves, let it rise again, and bake. This is a great rainy day activity, and it makes the house smell so wonderful! You can freeze some of the bread for later, and it tastes just as good.

Here’s a recipe for a one-pot pantry dish I made last night from leftovers and canned and frozen ingredients. It’s good for cleaning out little quantities from the refrigerator, and you could try other kinds of canned or cooked beans. Except for the cumin and the canned oranges, these ingredients are local, organic, or both. It serves about three, two if one person is my husband.

Lazy Black Beans and Chicken

1/2 green pepper, chopped
1/2 small onion, chopped
2 small carrots, chopped
1 clove garlic, pressed or minced (more if you love garlic)
1/2 cup frozen corn
1 T olive oil
1 cooked chicken breast half, chopped (mine was baked marinated chicken, from another convenient meal!)
1 cup cooked rice
1 can black beans
1 small can mandarin oranges
Cumin, to taste (this can be an acquired taste, so go easy if you’ve never tried it)
Salt and pepper

Saute the first five ingredients in the olive oil until the carrots are just tender. Add the other ingredients and cook until heated through.

My cousin owns a beautiful place on Lake Waccamaw, where a house that my grandfather built in 1952 stands next to a sandy beach under bald cypresses. Across the road from the house is a canal where alligators swim and sweet bays grow wild.

Lake Waccamaw is a natural lake with some species that don’t exist anywhere else in the world. Its origin, along with the other smaller Carolina Bay lakes, has been a subject of much research and speculation. The theory that the lakes are fed by artisian springs makes a lot of sense to me, since this property boasts one of the few artisian wells on Lake Waccamaw. The water rises through an old pipe and is icy cold and clear.

Thank God the alligators don’t seem to have any interest in the lake. That’s probably because it is sandy and clear (at least in front of “our” place), with water the color of iced tea. When the wind blows, it can turn up whitecaps and breakers. When it is still, it looks like glass. You can walk along a pier and see down to the bottom. It is shallow for a long way out, which tends to make it warm. This is good or bad, depending on your point-of-view. Kids love it. And it is a perfect place for sandcastles.

Swimming in Lake Waccamaw is not one of my favorite activities. If the wind isn’t blowing, it’s a little like taking a warm bath on a hot day. Usually, we’re happy on floats. It is a wonderful lake for boating. We’ve been out on sailboats, jet-skis, canoes, kayaks, speedboats, and pontoon boats. We cheer the trick water-skiers as they tear by, twisting and flipping over the wakes. Once we were picked up by the locals and whisked away to a great party. A flotilla of pontoon boats had hooked together and were grilling burgers onboard, drinking beer, and playing water volleyball at the far end of the lake. At Christmas, a wetsuited Santa on a jet-ski leads lighted boats around the lake.

Mostly, I love Lake Waccamaw for the family history and its serenity. There are two old gliders on a screened porch facing the lake that are perfect for reading and napping. Whenever I need to close my eyes and go to a peaceful place, I imagine that I’m listening to the waves lapping up on the shore. The house brims full of memories of my Aunt Willie Dell, Uncle Dallas, and Daddy. There’s a painting of a magnolia blossom that my mother painted in 1960, the year before I was born. Crumbly old black and white photos of Great Aunt Mildred and Great Aunt Addie in their bathing suits at the lake often resurface at family reunions. Floating on the edge of the lake is where, in 1985, my mother first confided her concerns to me about my father’s health, and where, for the first time, she spoke to me for hours about growing up during the depression. She told a story about hiding a six-pack of beer in the lake house in the 1950s, which was about as wild as my mother ever got, as far as I know. On that day, under the Spanish moss, under the spell of her gentle drawl, my mother became more than “just” my parent. Two years later, I spent my wedding night in the lake house.

My cousin Fred and his wife, Weezer, have made a lot of improvements as far as appliances and furniture, but there are a lot of features that have remained since the early days after it was built. It’s not a ritzy place. It has no air conditioning or heat, and it is no place for people with critter phobias. Most of the mosquitoes don’t make it through the window screens, but the old-fashioned screens don’t cover the windows totally. There are spiders and fire ants, and the lizards, although awfully cute when they puff out their red throats, don’t seem as cuddly on the inside windowsills. The house itself is built directly on top of a cement slab, so when there’s a lot of rain, the water seeps right up through the kitchen floor. Hurricanes flood it, and you can see the water marks on the bed posts. My friend Donna calls it the Red Bar Lounge, named for the rubbery red surface of the counter where we eat. The cabinets, like all the walls in the place, are constructed of unpainted dark knotty plywood, and the doors do not care to stay closed, occasionally giving an under-vigilant drunk a bonk on the head. Many of the dishes and much of the bedroom furniture have been there all my life. If the house were to be jacked up to build an foundation under it, it would surely fall apart from the termite and post beetle damage.

Still, I understand why my cousin refuses to make any substantial changes to the lake house. Our family has speculated for a long time that it was on its last legs, but yet it survived Fran, Floyd, and numerous tornadic storms. “I like it just the way it is,” Fred insists, and closes the subject. It is the only thing left that belonged to his parents. A browned, barely legible piece of paper remains taped next to the front door from Aunt Willie Dell with instructions to renters of the 1970s. The house at Lake Waccamaw is a time capsule in a rapidly changing world. I agree with Fred. I wouldn’t change a thing.

(stolen with permission from Things I Hate about my Flatmate)

Here are several miscellananeous thoughts that need to get out of my head for the week.

Sandy and I are heading to Lake Waccamaw tonight to spend the weekend with my sister, brother-in-law, and 4-year-old great nephew. I’ve been working on a piece about Lake Waccamaw and will probably post it after I get back.

Someone is SHOOTING CATS in a nearby neighborhood. I have tried not to write much about my cats in this blog - you can go to jazzcat productions for cat stuff. But what kind of sick asshole shoots people’s pets, not to mention the danger of shooting anything or anywhere in a residential neighborhood. I hope they catch this psychopath and throw him/her/them in the hole for a long time.

I did turn on the air conditioning on Monday, and the house feels so good. I needed the sleep and I couldn’t face a hot house and gum surgery the same day. Since it looks like it’s gonna be hot and muggy for a while, we’re leaving it on. We are considering buying a small window unit for the bedroom and “study” (a.k.a. computer room, a.k.a. junk room) since we have ceiling fans in the rest of our house, and turning off the central air. We spend most of our time at home in those two rooms anyway. I think that this might be a good compromise.

I hope that this coming week is the week that I connect with the other bloggers in town. I’ve been reading them, leaving comments, linking to them, submitted a post to the Tarheel Tavern, and will attend the meet-up Wednesday night. A couple of them have been nice enough to leave comments on my blog. If my starved, pathetic ego is not comforted after all this, I’m gonna hang my head and slink back to my happy place when I didn’t know about Blogsboro. I have been way too obsessed with this whole thing, and I’m beginning to channel sixth grade Laurie. That is truly terrifying. It’s about time to move on.

We decided not to resubscribe to the extended cable and HBO. We’re giving Netflix a try instead, and so far I am impressed. We signed up Tuesday afternoon and watched our first DVDs Thursday night. Why pay so much for cable when we can get the television series and movies we want this way? I watched The Aviator last night. It was good but kind of disturbing. I could see a little of myself in his OC behavior, although most people don’t know that about me.

Something ate every single okra, cantaloupe, crookneck squash, and cucumber seedling in my garden. It left the beans, peas, and watermelons alone. I replanted, and will try some cage protection when I get back. I am stunned that Mama Kitty would allow this. This will have to be addressed in her performance review.

Last but not least, I LOVE MY JOB. Isn’t that great?

Yesterday I had my first experience with buying poultry directly from a local farmer. Back Woods Family Farm operates out of Sophia, N.C. and sells organic vegetables, free-range chicken, and pasture-raised pork at a booth at the Greensboro Farmer’s Curb Market. Their land has been farmed by family members since 1858!

At first I put off buying this chicken because of the expense. But, if we want these kinds of products, we must support the farmers that provide them. The way chickens are produced in factory farms is unbelievably inhumane, and the hidden costs of antibiotics, hormones, and damage to our environment make factory farmed products much more expensive than we realize.

I stuffed this little chicken with spring onions, also from the market, and marinated it overnight in a sauce with these ingredients:

1/2 c combination of tamari/teriyaki sauce
1/4 c white wine
1/4 c lemon juice
2 pressed cloves garlic
about 1-2 T grated fresh ginger

I basted it every 15 minutes in a 325 degree oven, and roasted it for 25 minutes per pound.

It turned out absolutely yummy. Very delicate and moist. Next time, I’ll add just a touch extra time to the roasting time. Maybe substitute some orange juice for some of the soy-based sauce. It was a tad too salty for me, but my husband thought it was great. I added the carrots from my garden with about 30 minutes to go. That was a good move.

I served this with organic basmati rice cooked with organic chicken broth and a little of the marinade. Every ingredient used in this meal was organic and/or local except for the wine, tamari, and teriyaki sauce! Next time I’ll be ready to use all organic ingredients.

The Greensboro Farmer’s Curb Market is located at the corner of Yanceyville and Lindsey Sts. near downtown Greensboro.

I don’t know how much I will be able to do in the garden today. The spirit is willing but the flesh is attracting mosquitoes. Lots of them. Vicious little black asian tiger mosquitoes. After I got up twice last night to find the hydrocortisone for my bites, I finally put it next to the bed. I am trying this Off botanical lotion that has eucalyptus as the main ingredient, but I think I sweat it off pretty quickly.

The temperature is supposed to go up to 88 today. This may mean that we’ll have to consider turning on the A.C. Since I made the decision to get serious about living simply last summer, we have been trying to do without air conditioning. However, it is medically necessary for me to get a full night’s sleep, and sometimes that means that the air conditioning is medically necessary. It has taken years to get my husband, who would live totally without A.C., to understand this.

One of my weekly tasks is to put down the cardboard and newspapers I have gathered during the week and cover them with straw. These will be my garden beds and paths for next year. I use the cardboard and newspapers to kill the grass and weeds and to attract earthworms. The earthworms till the soil to a depth of about 12 inches. Now, I could just leave it at that and plant through the newspaper when the time comes. That would be the permaculture way. But I like to cover this layer with humus or topsoil when it’s time to plant. It seems to give me a little extra time before I have to deal with the weeds and grass again.

I used to hurt my back almost every year near the beginning of the season. This method seems like a lot of work at first, but building up the beds instead of digging down has been much easier physically because it is much less maintenance later. And you can see by the photos I’ve posted that I am getting a nice little return out of a very small, organic space.

I pulled up most of the pea vines and spinach and arugula that have gone to seed. The rest of my little pepper seedlings will go where the peas were, and green beans are already sprouting where the carrots and arugula were. I have to figure out what to do with my gourd seedlings and the ground cherry seedlings. Gourds, like squash, have been problematic for me. It’s a shame, because I love the idea of making gourd vessels. The ground cherries - I just don’t know. They are listed as weeds and wild food in some books. They should be able to survive anywhere. Last year I grew them in pots, but they needed lots of water. Even missing one day threw them into a sulk.

The carrot curse seems to have lifted! Maybe, just maybe, this is my graduation year to green thumbdom. The proof will be in the squash. I have never ever been able to produce more than one of any kind of squash.

Today we cut down the mimosa tree. Don’t fret, mimosa fans, it will grow back, believe me. This is the second tree we’ve cut down in order to make more room for Mr. Sun! See how much I adore you, Mr. Sun? I suffered in silence while you schemed about nailing Mary Ann.

My day was mainly occupied with pulling weeds since the ground was so wet. I planted ten tiny Kung Pao pepper seedlings in the strip between the sidewalk and the street. The field peas, okra, and green bean seeds are up.

I was completely discombobulated and dismayed to see that the Sopranos is coming on tomorrow night and my HBO is not hooked up. I thought for sure you would let me know in time. You know I don’t have the attention span to watch what passes for TV entertainment these days, so I miss all the commercials. Why, oh why, didn’t you tell me? You know that I can’t handle the knowledge that the Sopranos will be on and I won’t be watching! Maybe I can rent a cheap motel room.