FIRE?

First, a correction: The butterflies mentioned in my last post were not Monarchs! Thanks to a couple of well-informed readers, “those butterflies in the Cascades were likely Tortoiseshell butterflies. Monarchs are obligates for native milkweed. Amazingly native milkweed will grow in the road borrow ditches if not treated with herbicides.” Thanks, Marjorie, and Amy, whom I’m quoting. (And “obligates.” New word!)

So what about fire? On Tuesday of this week, I got a text with the note of a fire just north of us. Multiple farmers there, sirens, and as our “exit being to the north, we should have eyes on it and be ready to go if needed.” Good. The neighborhood watch on duty. We did not see or smell smoke, did hear the sirens, but were certainly on alert. The note went on to say that the writer had crates for our chickens, if we needed help.

That got our attention! Yes, what about our chickens in case of fire? Would we pack them into the back of the SUV as we bolted? Doubtful. But chickens. What about the cows? I sent a note to Ryan (Cow Guy) with the question, observing that he must of course be aware of the fire. He responded immediately — they were certainly aware, and in case of a threatening fire, “they would run the cattle to the north farmland across the road, or cut the fence and let them in the creek.” Hmm. Good. Note that he tells me what “they” will do. Yes, they have been amazingly tuned in to “our” cows, checking on them daily. Don’t worry. “They’re” on it. Good. We don’t have to be.

And the fire was put out, didn’t come anywhere near. Still. Everyone safe.

Last post I described some of the domestic contributions I can make to this project of ours. I didn’t mention the onions. You should see this year’s crop. They’re gorgeous, huge, drying in the sun. Walla Wallas, Red Wings, and Attersons. We are advised to store them in — get this — a leg of women’s nylon stockings. Hahaha. Do women still wear nylon stockings? This one doesn’t, in any event. So last week we engaged on a bit of a goose chase around the town of Sisters, looking for the burlap bags in which the coffee shop receives their beans. We did eventually succeed and came home with 4 or 5 maybe 3×5′ foot bags.

The idea was to create sleeves into which we’d pack individual onions, tying each lump off with twine, to be hung in a cool spot in the shed or garage:

Here’s the finished project. But to make these things, I had to take the cover off my sewing machine and introduce it to the burlap. My machine, a Pfaff, is a veteran of many hours, practically a lifetime, of seamless (hahaha) work, but this burlap! It choked. Kept catching up the rough threads of burlap, tangling them with the bobbin, flinging coffee-bean dust on every surface. Not my favorite project! I managed to produce 9 of these things, currently filled but still lying in the garden to absorb the sunshine.

The main project of the moment is the culmination of Larry’s years of bees. He’s fed them, doctored them, provided the hardware that is their home. Been stung, used up pounds of household sugar making nectar, attended meetings of beekeepers, and cultivated a relationship with the local garden shop, which employs a bee expert. This woman even made a house call last week to advise in the ultimate step, gathering the honey.

The honey is collected in a “super” — a wooden box-like affair which sits on top of the hive. Ten frames where the bees make the cells to hold the honey. Larry took those, cut off the wax caps of the honey cells with a dedicated, heated knife, and placed the frames in the extractor:

The extractor uses centrifugal force to draw the honey out, which is collected, through a strainer into a bucket, seen above. Next will be a waiting period for 48 hours for the honey to settle, allowing any air bubbles and wax to come to the top be skimmed. We’ll fill a collection of jelly jars we’ve found and sterilized.

Meanwhile, the extractor, rented from the garden shop, has to be cleaned, treated with bleach, and returned. This has been a 24 hour project, and we were actually surprised and pleased with the amount of honey. More than we’ll ever use, but which will be useful as hostess gifts, birthday presents, etc. Rather like the eggs we have to find ways to give away. It’s a nice hobby! But going forward? Remains to be seen.

This afternoon we’re planning to attend a neighborhood function, based on an earlier attempt to build community here in our little backwater. It’s at a home down the road, offering BBQ, with the request to bring a side-dish or dessert. Yesterday I prepped some broccoli for a salad I’d planned to offer, but this morning’s glance at the weather report suggests that was a very bad idea. Supposed to hit 100 degrees this afternoon, and a mayo-based salad sitting out on a buffet table? Sounds like an invitation to food-poisoning, at the least. So, alternative? Larry has to take the extractor back, how about a run to the Deli downtown for a dozen of their brownies? Don’t worry, I put the broccoli onto a tray in the freezer, ready for another day.

We’ve been have a week — no more like two weeks — of dining from the refrig, the freezer, with mixed success. The chile, was okay, but not great, and I only have 3 pints left in the freezer. The quesadillas, from the tortillas in the freezer, were okay, using the cheese I’d found at Trader Joe’s. Cheddar cheese with bacon bits? Sounded good, but not. Oh well, used up two items. How about the Southwestern Quiche? Using eggs. Great. Want the recipe? Just ask.

We’re in the mode, household wide, of assessing and disposing of stuff. Not just food. Stuff. That tablecloth I had over at the apartment? Which was pretty ghastly, but, I never want to see it again? I could put it back in the linen drawer, or . . .? That’s just an example. You’d think it was spring. You know, spring cleaning? Honestly, it’s a symptom of getting old, isn’t it? Older. Why does the word “older” seem less old than “old” itself? Anyway, books. Photos. Years of letters from my friends in Germany? Remember letters? My sweet daughter-in-law told me the other day about a similar process she’s living through — wait, important distinction, her process is initiated by changes made in their home after the Altadena fire, and some remodeling — she found and will dispose of some 60 flower vases! Sixty! A lifetime of flowers sent, apparently, and the vases saved. A portrait of our times, and, I guess, our place in them. I’ve just read a book, loaned to me by my banjo teacher, Tim Crosby. “The Dawn of Everything. A new history of humanity.” It’s only 526 pages (!) but how did we get to this place? And where are we going?

Never mind! I’m going to go use up some of that broccoli and make salad for lunch.