Sow There!

Shameless plug

I have an e-mail friend named Perrin who sends me happy notes periodically via e-mail, and encloses photos of the deer that have been visiting her house for generations.
Gardening seems to be one of those things that can easily bring people together.
Being a gardener, Perrin propagates plants and this weekend she’ll have a plant sale at her home in Oroville. Some of her more plentiful extras include jade, scented geraniums, pink lavender, red Russian sage, lamb’s ear, African daisy and spider plants.
She uses the money she raises to help out her son, who is suffering from an illness, and to support PAWS (Promotion of Animal Welfare Society).
The plant sale will be tomorrow and Sunday from 9 a.m. to 1 p.m., 455 Hillcrest Ave. in Oroville, off Kelly Ridge Road.

Posted by Heather Hacking at 04:14 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Wednesday evening I got home from work and the house was empty. I put my vinyl lunch cooler on the counter and saw a note from Tommy that he had left to meet with a coworker and would be home in about an hour.

It's been hot lately and the inside of the house was warmer than outside. The sun had ducked over the canopy of trees and there was some nice shade in the garden.

Knowing I had about an hour to myself, I took the cordless phone outside and sat back on one of the green Adirondack plastic chairs my mother had recently given us.

The lawn had been mowed the day before and Tommy must have watered it earlier in the evening.

Although it was still hot outside, the wet grass made the temperature in the shade just a bit cooler, and the sweet, fresh smell of lawn was relaxing.

I rarely get a chance to simply enjoy the garden like this. I take a tour of the yard each morning in my bathrobe, and every evening when I get home.

My father likes to philosophize that growing a garden should not be a difficult task, but one that takes a little effort each and every day.

It takes less than a minute to pull a weed here or dead-head some flowers there. If done consistently, it won't seem like a chore.

But this evening, I chose not to putz around and just relaxed and took in all 360 degrees of this little patch of land.

The possibilities for what to do this fall were fun to imagine.

Some may think of spring as the time of new beginnings, but autumn is actually the time that the groundwork is made for what will bloom in spring.

Soon, the tomatoes will begin to yellow and will need to be pulled out. Should I plant something new there, or save that patch of the garden for tomatoes again next year?

Should I plant spring-blooming bulbs at the front of that garden bed? Did I remember where I planted bulbs last year? Or did the squirrels munch them?

The lavender bush in the north of my little garden was planted about 10 years ago. It's more than a yard wide now and blooms every year with deep purple.

Maybe its time to divide it. Should I take cuttings and spread them through the yard? Or should I put them in one-gallon pots and give them away to friends?

It's still too hot to put any of these thoughts into action, but I made a mental checklist of how I would like to make changes.

This is the lull between summer and fall, a time to be grateful for what has grown this year and to map out goals for next spring.

I phoned up my best friend who lives next door.

Her house was shut up to keep out the heat and I couldn't persuade her to come outside and sit with me. We chatted for a long time. Some problems are the most easily solved by chatting with a friend while lounging on a chair in the middle of the garden, with the smell of fresh grass and the shade finally darkening the side of the house.

Tommy game home and found me. I was still on the phone.

Being completely comfortable, and lazy, I asked him if he would get me a glass of ice water and some dark chocolate.

He obliged. When he returned he turned on the sprinkler very low to water the garden beds surrounding the lawn At one point in my conversation with my friend, I noticed Tommy had taken off his shirt.

Double yum.

I couldn't help but laugh, and gloat to my friend on the phone.

Here I was sitting in my garden, yakking on the phone, with a shirtless man fetching me things and watering the flowers.

Every once in a while he would walk by with the sprinkler and cool off my feet.

I don't think it could have gotten any more decadent than that, except if he had produced a palm frond and began fanning the back of my neck.

There are moments, perhaps only a few, when one can feel like a princess.

But at least there are a few.

Posted by Heather Hacking at 02:00 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

Gambling is precarious.

It's hypnotic to watch all those flashing lights — melons and bells and Lucky 7s — whirring past.

Part of our brains go back to infancy. Like a mobile hung above a baby's crib, the rhythm of the slot machines creates a hypnotic distraction.

In the casinos you can walk through the aisles with almost total anonymity. Very few people look up from their slot machines to watch those who pass by. Only the occasional presence of a scantilly-clad cocktail waitress will draw a few men's eyes away from the turning wheels of luck.

The men at the game tables are intent upon the cards resting on the green felt. Each decision is weighty.

Invariably there is a bar in a corner where people are lingering. The house band plays dance-able 70s and 80s tunes, and a few couples shake a groove.

Some middle-aged man with a drink in his hand and his wrinkled shirt untucked at the waist will be buying a round of drinks to show off his gambling prowess. His friends are pretending to laugh at his jokes but wondering how they will get him home safely.

There are a few women dressed in silky dresses and smelling faintly of cigarettes and hairspray. They sit at the end of the bar, eyes darting across the room, pretending to hold a conversation with one another.

Then there are the people, mostly men, who walk swiftly through the glass doorways, with worn looks on their faces. These gamblers move in like ghosts, inserting the $20 bill up to the $1 slot machines. One prayer for each turn of the wheels, as their winning or losing combinations click into their final resting positions.

One, two, four, twenty, and the last of their paycheck is gone.

Occasionally you’ll see an older woman in a wheelchair, a plastic tube fitted nto her nostrils, as she puffs away at a cigarette and makes comfy in front of a machine by the aisle.

Mixed among the crowd, with lights from the machines making a strobe-like affect, are the recreational gamblers, couples out for a night to have fun.

They have a plan.

Here’s how we’ve worked it out:

Each person is given one semi-big bill to do with whatever they please. This includes buying a fast-food treat, gambling, eating at the buffet or hiding the money in your pocket.

After that big bill is gone (in this case a sawbuck), that's it. The fun is over.

Check in with the specials at the casino desk where you get one of those gambling cards you put into the slot machines.

The points you accrue while gambling should not be viewed as any kind of bonus. They add up so slowly, and it takes a heart-breakingly large amount of money played in the casino before you have enough points to cash in for a small token of your losses.

However, when you're only playing with $10 it's exciting when you see the readout on the LED screen on the slot machine and it says "17 points."

It's fun to high-five each other and make a big deal about 17 points.

If playing penny slots, big congratulatory kisses should be given when anyone wins more than 20 cents.

If inspiration to be frugal is needed, gaze over to the point totals on the players' LED screens next to you. If you do some math you can estimate how much money the player nearby has "played" to wrack up those thousands of points, push a button like that one, again and again.

We play the penny slots. I figure I could burn two hours losing $10 on penny slots or lose a lot more playing dollar slots. Sure, I'm trading in the potential to win a magical $10,000 or at least enough to pay rent. But with penny slots you feel like a big winner if you spend two hours having fun and walk away winning $2.12.

The key to gambling with a partner with whom you share a checking account:

Never let your partner say "I'll be back in a few minutes. I think I would have better luck if I played on my own."

This sentence means that your partner is either a) sneaking off to pull another $20 out of the ATM, b) going to a slot machine to try higher stakes or c) really stupid to think you wouldn't follow him after about two minutes.

If you're playing to lose only $10, any time you win $5 ahead of what you "invested" in the slot machine, those winnings should be pocketed, preferably in the bottom of the other person's shoe. This way, when the original $10 is gone, there is still $5 at the bottom of someone's shoe.

Near the end, is another crucial part of the gambling plan.

Once it's time to go home, one or the other of the two might have some remaining money in their machine to play. While the other player has nothing left, except for the money stashed in the other person's shoe. At this point it is tempting for the penniless person to draw another bill from their wallet. That's the time to go home and cash out.

No doubt, the whirring of the machine wheels will continue long after you have returned home.

Posted by Heather Hacking at 04:54 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

A while back my niece brought to my attention a seed pod she had found in a tree in her yard. It's pretty funky looking (see link below).

Just for fun, I asked readers to guess what it is.

Joe Connell, UC Davis farm adviser, said it is indeed a seed pod from the Southern magnolia, Magnolia grandiflora..

(Note here, the center of the flower of the Southern Magnolia is the seed pod).

Joe wrote: "The intricate pattern at the base is composed of scars where the flower parts were attached. It's great to have nieces who are inquisitive about the world around them."

Kudos to the readers who sent in the correct responses, and to my friend Syl who couldn't help but write and brag that she lives in Hawaii and sees intriguing plants all the time.

Posted by Heather Hacking at 01:13 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

There’s something with men and barbecuing.
In the past, I thought it was that certain men like to run the Q because they are antisocial and don’t want to hear the rest of the guests prattle on about the exquisiteness of the appetizers or whether there is any business putting hard-boiled eggs in potato salad.
The guy who runs the grill gets to flip, stare at various stages of the coals, flip some more, season occasionally and present a giant platter of meat to the group.
Perhaps it is a primal thing.

Back in history, men were the meat-winners.
Pride and pageantry ensued when our heroes came back to the primitive camp, dust-smeared and haggard after fighting to provide nourishment for the hungry.
Those rituals are mostly gone and have been replaced by the flip, stare, flip, season and serve.
Another thing about barbecuing is that other men, not just the head Q-er, seem to gather around the embers, as if their presence will somehow invoke the meat gods to ensure every morsel is tender and thoroughly cooked.

This same attraction occurs around car difficulties. If someone has a loose spark plug wire in a parking lot, the sight of a raised hood will attract at least three other men. All will be eager to voice their diagnoses and share what was wrong with their cousin Vinnie’s car in 1967.
Thus, I have come to understand that Tommy is the master of his domain when it comes to the barbecue. My input is not needed.

We had several friends over lately for a get-together — a potluck. We emptied out enough frozen animal products from the freezer to feed the entire neighborhood.
With so many people, we decided to use “the big grill.”
All was well.
The charcoal was well on its way, when Mom had a sudden craving for s’mores.
We had chocolate and marshmallows, but someone needed to run to the nearest store and buy graham crackers. Tommy hopped onto that suggestion and set out for “just a minute” to the store.
Why someone else could not have made the errand when an important job such as minding the Q was in process will never be known.
Of course, the coals were at their state of perfection about three of those “just a minutes” after Tommy left.

There was a strange restlessness during the wait. The other men at the barbecue, instinctively sensing that the coals were at their prime, offered to start placing the meat on the grill.
“No,” I stated firmly. “I’m sure Tommy has a certain system he wants to use for the grill.”
Perhaps they understood that one doesn’t mess with another man’s barbecue. The issue was dropped.
More time passed and still no graham crackers.
The men at the barbecue kept giving updates on the coals.
Finally, I made the decision that the chicken quarters would take the longest to cook and it would be safe to put them on.
Tommy arrived, and of course the coals were not adequate to continue on with the marinated chicken breasts, pork and ribs.
A discussion ensued. Four men debated whether or not more coals should be added. I couldn’t hear the conversation, but I assume math was included to calculate the cooking time of chicken breasts vs. chicken quarters.
By this time I was smirking and chatting with the women who were already digging into the potluck items.
“Look at me,” I said to Erin. “I’m officially staying out of this barbecue situation.”
After a while, Tommy and Curious George decided to lift the grill (with the chicken and ribs already on it) and add more charcoal.

This was a precarious procedure. I watched from a distance, proud of my ability not to butt in, and primed my camera. If the meat went cascading onto the dirt, I was prepared to take a photo.
The duo managed the delicate procedure.
However, as soon as the new ready-light briquettes were added, the coals burst into flames. This was not just a spark or two. This was a potentially eye-brow burning event that drew everyone’s attention. Luckily, the flames were just a little shy of the overhanging branches of the maple tree.
A lid was placed on the barbecue and the flames shot out the vent at the bottom.
Needless to say, the ribs were charred. However, they made great treats for Curious George’s dog. Plus, the ribs had been 57 cents a pound and scarcely had any meat on them anyway.
Our organic friend, Chris the shepherd, had an interesting theory that because the chicken was not organic, there was a chemical reaction that occurred that created the flames.
The excitement added to the barbecue experience and everyone agreed that after the charred outside of the chicken was removed, the meat was moist and delicious.
Another barbecue breakthrough is that hosting a potluck is the way to go.
I tend to get stressed about refilling the veggie tray, ensuring everyone is in a fun conversation and keeping the neighbor’s dog off the table.
With a potluck, everyone knows the one dish they can make that is a crowd-pleaser. In addition to the meat with sealed-in moisture, our potluck was like a gourmet Hometown Buffet.
Sally still hasn’t given me her angel-hair tomato and basil salad recipe, but I’ll post it and my own brown rice salad extravaganza on my blog as soon as Sally has a chance to ask her sister if it’s OK to share her secrets.

Posted by Heather Hacking at 03:03 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

The time has come to admit defeat.

Several months ago I wrote about the experiment with the upside down tomato. You take a five-gallon plastic bucket and drill a hole in the bottom. Use the handle to hang the bucket from a tree limb. Plant a tomato plant upside down so the tomato grows toward the ground.

If the tomato looks like it will pop out of the hole in the bottom, use a coffee filter to hold the dirt in.

Top the bucket off with good soil, then water.

We ended up planting a pepper plant at the top of the bucket. Therefore there was a tomato growing out of the bottom and a pepper at the top.

The pepper grew fantabulously and we have harvested many.

However, the tomato floundered.

When planted this way, the leaves reach for the sun, so the thing was interesting to look at. However, the leaves yellowed and there was not a single bloom.

When things go wrong, it's sometimes easier just to ignore them. That's what I did with the disappointing tomato. One day, Tommy got sick of looking at the pathetic thing and took charge. He simply snipped it off with the pruning shears. It was weeks before I noticed.

I've read about upside down tomatoes from several sources. My conclusion is that we must have hung the bucket from a place that does not receive enough sun. Either that, or I am totally inept — A concept I am not currently willing to evaluate.

In any case, it can't hurt to try again. Maybe this time with upside down shade plants.

Posted by Heather Hacking at 07:39 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Bonus coolness points to anyone who properly identifies this plant thingee.

My six-year-old niece lives in the Bay Area.

I don't get down to visit very often, bu she remembers me as Heather, the one who likes purple and the one who likes plants.

Recently she was playing at her house with grandma and noticed a bunch of these things (see photo below) hanging in her tree.

I was really flattered that she thought of me and asked if I would know what the "thing" is.

How clever to be six years old and already smart enough to delegate work to others.

I've already e-mailed Joe Connell at Cooperative Extension to have the plant identified, but thought it would be fun if readers wanted to guess.

Posted by Heather Hacking at 03:40 PM | Permalink | Comments (3)

More on “Survivor”

Last week we rounded up the usual suspects and headed out to Feather Falls Casino. Rambunctious Ryan, Tommy, myself and the rubber chicken were there to see “Survivor,” a band that had big hits when I was a head-banging teenager.
Rock dance moves have a certain style to them.
Some rock star dances can be likened to the chicken dance done by football stars when they catch a touchdown pass.

Other rock dance moves look like someone playing pinball and shaking the machine around.
At times, the keyboardist in survivor was moving his neck in such a way that we were not quite certain whether or not he was actually playing the keyboard with his nose.
The point is, at a concert, the band members take on a new animation of their own. Thrusting a microphone stand repeatedly in the air draws gleeful cheers from the audience.
However, if someone tried to bust a move like this at the Holiday Inn or LaSalles on a Friday night, I’d be one of the first people to wonder aloud “What’s up with that?”

However, Brutilicus Maximus, another fine local group of musicians, has been wowing crowds for decades with their colorful costumes and stage theatrics, and I’d dance with any one of them any time.
The concert was fun and Tommy traipsed up to the front of the stage for a photo with the rubber chicken.
Maybe the evening was intensified by the fact that there is free diet Pepsi served at the casino and for some reason when something is free, I feel the need to get as much of it as possible.
Amped on caffeine, and high from the energy at the concert, we ventured out into the casino.
We were in the mood to dance, and there was a pretty cool house band in the lounge. A few people at the bar had apparently lost track of time and missed the concert, but looked like they had been enjoying themselves at the bar.

I must say their dance moves were far less enthralling than those performed by “Survivor,” however, every groove has a time and place.
And there, at the end of the bar, was the bass player and lead guitarist from “Survivor.”
The drummer was sitting a short distance away.
Several people approached the band members to thank them for the show and to continue some of the need to reach out to an actual rock star which was recently expressed at the edge of the stage in the concert hall.
My rubber chicken was in my purse, his head peaking out precociously. With that, a plan was in action. We were all a little shy about going up to the band members. Especially since they probably just wanted to enjoy a little conversation and not be bombarded by Northern California ‘80s band groupies who happened to travel with a rubber chicken.
But reason prevailed. It’s just not often that one has an opportunity like this.
The bass and lead guitarist were incredibly nice guys and gracious when we shyly asked them to pose with our rubber chicken.
The lead guitarist commented that our chicken looked a little ruffled. I explained that he had sat out in the sun on a picnic and part of his rubber feathers had melted. Chicken had also been kidnapped recently by our friends Jack and Stephanie, and we are still wondering why there are marks on the chicken’s feet.

Posted by Heather Hacking at 01:58 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Risin' up, back on the street
Did my time, took my chances
Went the distance, now I'm back on my feet
Just a man and his will to survive

So many times, it happens too fast
You change your passion for glory
Don't lose your grip on the dreams of the past
You must fight just to keep them alive

Chorus:
It's the eye of the tiger, it's the cream of the fight
Risin' up to the challenge of our rival
And the last known survivor stalks his prey in the night
And he's watchin' us all in the eye of the tiger

Face to face, out in the heat
Hangin' tough, stayin' hungry
They stack the odds 'til we take to the street
For we kill with the skill to survive
chorus

Risin' up, straight to the top
Have the guts, got the glory
Went the distance, now I'm not gonna stop
Just a man and his will to survive
chorus

The eye of the tiger (repeats out)...

Posted by Heather Hacking at 01:36 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Last week we rounded up the usual suspects and headed out to Feather Falls Casino. Rambunctious Ryan, Tommy, myself and the rubber chicken were there to see “Survivor,” a band that had big hits when I was a head-banging teenager. In those days there was not much cooler than wearing bandanas around your left thigh over tight jeans.
The show is a retro show, so the band members had that oh-so-’80s look, especially the lead singer. He had semi-curly black, shoulder length hair with enough goop in it to make it shine like chrome under the lighting system. His shirt was unbuttoned seductively. The length of his shirt was just high enough so that when he raised his hands to clap and rev up the crowd one couldn’t help but notice how tight his pants were.

Long story short, we enjoyed the show. Although the audience was seated, there was a space of about 20 feet where audience members could and did, rush the stage. Women in their 40s, dressed very much like they might have been dressed in 1982, held their hands in the air, waving like grain on the open prairie, hoping to have a single touch or gesture from the lead singer. Other band members were applauded with yearning, outstretched fingers by both men and women standing 4 feet below them.
I must admit, the band sounded good, and did remind me of many a times me and my best friend were drawn to tears by the subtle lyrics and sounds of the “Scorpions.”
At the encore, the band played their most remembered hit “Eye of the Tiger,” and Tommy ventured up to the stage carrying a different type of animal.
It was tough to work our way through the groping crowd, but Tommy just pointed at the chicken. I don’t think people heard him when he inaudibly said “we need to get a picture with the chicken.”
But the rock worshipers must have understood, because the crowd parted as if Tommy was the fire inspector at an oversold event.
Tommy waved the chicken in the air and danced frantically. Heck, he danced so well we should have dressed him in some shiny spandex and put him on stage. As the lead singer was waving his arms at the enthusiastic crowd, I snapped the photo of Tommy and the chicken with the band behind the duo.

Mari go rounds

Now is a somewhat awkward time in the garden with lots of decisions to make, but not much action yet to take.
The summer jalapeño peppers and tomatoes are continuing to do their thing. Perennials have been lackluster for a while, but it’s not yet time to decide whether to divide them or prune them back.
Summer blooms are still doing well, such as salvia, Vinca rosea, zinnia and cosmos.
Gardening is often a game of wait-and-see.
Periodically I buy several six-packs of blooming plants. They usually do well for a while then some fizzle out.
For example, there are some primroses planted in March that are barely hanging on. They’re sort of hidden under the shade of the snapdragon.
While most of them died last year, two managed to make it through the winter and bloom again.
Deep philosophical question: Who am I to decide the fate of those primroses that are obviously making a gallant effort to survive?
Then there are the cosmos that I have loved too much. I recently found out they don’t like to have too much water or fertilizer, so they haven’t bloomed.
After an anguishing process of pros and cons the decision was made to yank out that six-foot, non-blooming, ungrateful monster.
I’m undaunted by this failure. I didn’t know what I was getting into when I planted the cosmos. Obviously, the plants I tried to nurture just weren’t compatible with the part of the garden where I planted them.
I think if we both had to do it over again, we both would have chosen differently. But now it’s time to move on.
Tommy and I marigolds to fill that spot. Again, these might not last more than a few months, but they’re nice and cheery to have blooming in the garden right now. And who knows? They might just survive for a while.
According to Sunset’s Western Garden Book, marigolds will bloom through frost if the spent flowers are picked off.
It’s too early to buy bulbs, but it’s a good time to look around the garden and decide where they might go. And frankly, its a good time to try to search my memory cells and try to remember where they came up last year.
I have several of those iron yard ornaments with a cut-out of a hummingbird, dragon fly or sun. If memory serves, I think I moved those yard ornaments into the general vicinity of where I had bulbs flower last year.
There are just a few other questions to contemplate thoroughly this week.
Case in point: Has morning glory become a weed?
For 10 years morning glories have grown in a trellised area along the driveway. By the end of the month they will have ascended 12 feet up what I call the yucca trees. (I have no idea what these actually are, but they somewhat resemble yucca, only totally different).
The morning glories are delightful, but they take over areas where I have other plans. Morning glories are like unexpected arrivals of people from out of town when you have 18 things already planned for the day.
One problem is that if I don’t make a decision about the morning glories soon, the whole point will be moot because they will have shed so many seed pods that next spring there could be so many vines I may need go looking for my neighbors with a machete.

Posted by Heather Hacking at 11:18 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Wednesday night we went to our first Outlaws game of the summer. Now with the season about halfway over, I’m bummed we didn’t get it together to go sooner.
Things started out a bit poorly because the girl at the front gate wanted to check my purse, which of course was crammed with healthful snacks like carrots, celery and about a quarter pound of dark chocolate. It might have been a tip-off that miniature pom-poms and rubber chicken couldn’t fit inside the purse and were hanging out, preventing the purse from zipping.
Yet, once we went to the car, scarfed down on food, and returned to the stadium, the magic of America’s favorite pastime took over.

(Rubber chicken gets a bird's-eye view of the recent Outlaws game. Who is cuter? The chicken, or the baseball players?)

Our friends Curious George and Uproarious Ryan joined us in the section behind home plate. If I had to choose a favorite professional sport, it would be baseball. That’s for a couple of reasons. First off, baseball games were among the things that Dad and I would do just the two of us when I was a kid. When you’re a kid, those activities are special times, like the times we went sailing on the Carquinez Straits or went to the junk yard.
I also was fond of going with Dad to the dump once every two years.

A minor league baseball club like the Chico Outlaws is filled with campy fun. First, there is Rascal, the kinesthetic mascot who manages to hug half the crowd by the time we sing “Take Me Out to the Ball Game.”
Our seats were several rows back from most of the crowd in section 202, which was fortunate because I think Curious George, Uproarious Ryan and Tommy had eaten too much dark chocolate before entering the ballpark.
Advertising is a big deal at these hometown games. Almost anything that a baseball fan would fixate their eyes upon has an advertisement emblazoned upon it. Our group started making side bets about whether the batter would make a hit toward the real estate company, the local bank or the restaurant.
After a couple of innings, we tuned in to the fact that every time there was a fly ball that sailed out of the park, the announcer proclaimed that the foul ball was sponsored by “our friends at Farm and Orchard.”
This business must be very generous because there were a lot of foul balls that made it into the parking lot, including one that Tommy was able to nab while we were making a trip to the car to nosh on carrots and celery.
Ryan has a voice that sounds like he has had a megaphone surgically implanted near his vocal cords.
After the third inning, every time a foul ball exited the park and the announcer talked about our sponsoring friends, Rambunctious Ryan amplified the acknowledgment by chanting: “Farm and Orchard.”
No, he didn’t stop at one accolade. He repeated it several times. After a while, Curious George and Tommy joined in.
This went on and on, with seemingly endless foul balls batted out of the park.
I was too busy hiding my face under my hands to notice if the people looking at us were smiling or sneering. But then, I shouldn’t have expected to be invisible when I had a rubber chicken in my hand the entire time.
Although the chant never caught on with other, seemingly more serious baseball fans, we did get the attention of the announcers in the press box, within hearing distance of Ryan’s personal loudspeaker.
Near the end of the game, the announcer would say: “This foul ball sponsored by our friends at ....”
And then there was a pause.
My friend picked up the cue of silence and bellowed: “Farm and Orchard.”
I hope our friends at Farm and Orchard realize how much fun we had with their foul balls and how many other times we have shouted their name while retelling the story in the newsroom.
The rubber chicken also really enjoyed the game, with photo shoots including some Chico State police and volunteer security. Rascal, the Outlaws mascot, also outdid himself by posing with the rubber chicken in his mouth.
Two other highlights of the game were the appearance of “Rental Guy” on the baseball field, and my friends dancing like crazed fools to “YMCA.”
Nope. We didn’t call any attention to ourselves.

Cosmic conundrum
I love cosmos and have had great luck with them in the past. They grow about 4 feet tall and have an abundance of blooms all summer. The flowers are saucerlike and cheery. They just make me happy.
In early spring I planted several in peat pots by seed and when the weather warmed up, I put them in various parts of the yard. They grew and grew, this time more than 5 feet.
Then one started to bloom.
This one cosmos is doing great, with literally hundreds of blooms. It looks perfect next to the zinnia, another towering plant with hundreds of long-lasting blooms.
The problem is, I have four other cosmos in the yard. The leaves are attractive, lacy like a dill plant, but no blooms.
Rather than beat myself up for being incompetent, I did some Internet research.
Apparently, cosmos likes punishment, like some of my friends who stay with bad boyfriends. Cosmos will only thrive when grown in dry and fairly infertile soil. The less you water them, the better.
That makes it somewhat difficult, because I planted the non-bloomers with other plants that need nurturing.
I guess there is a lesson here. Different living things need different living situations, and we need to figure out what those are before expecting them to show off for us.
Another route would be to do more research and find other plants that thrive in neglect, and dedicate an entire part of the garden to them. I could paint a sign that says “Do-nothing zone.”

Posted by Heather Hacking at 01:42 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Foxgloves (digitalis) are one of my favorite flowers. They give towering blooms that really make a focal point in the garden. They're billed as biennial which means they bloom every year and a half or so. Actually, I'm not quite certain what biennial means.

My Aunti Pat lives in Fremont and was bragging during a recent visit to the Bay Area about her foxglove. I was inspired so I planted some in peat pots by seed in my window sill. We'll see if they turn out and bloom next spring.

If anyone has any tips, let me know. Here are the photos of Aunti Pat's yard.

(Three total)

Posted by Heather Hacking at 02:34 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

BAKED JALAPENO POPPERS
(http://www.grouprecipes.com/1524/baked-jalapeno-peppers.html)

25 medium jalapeño peppers
3 cups of shredded cheddar cheese
1 (8 oz) package of softened cream cheese
4 slices of cooked and crumbled bacon
1 1/4 tsp. of Worcestershire sauce
Directions

1. Cut jalapeño peppers in half lengthwise; remember to remove seeds. Place peppers in boiling water for approximately 5 minutes.
2. Drain.
3. Add the cream cheese, cheddar cheese and Worchestershire sauce, stir well.
4. Put one heaping teaspoon cheese mixture on each pepper half. Next sprinkle with bacon; Place on a baking sheet.
5. Bake at 400°F for 5 minutes.

FRENCH FRIED JALAPENOS
(http://www.nikibone.com/recipe/jalapeno.html)

1 cup all purpose flour
1 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon ground black pepper
1 teaspoon chili powder
1 teaspoon garlic powder
2 eggs
1 cup beer
1/2 quart vegetable oil
2 cups sliced jalapeño peppers

Mix flour, salt, pepper, red chili powder, garlic powder, eggs and beer together in a bowl. In a deep fryer or large pot heat oil to 365F. Dip the sliced jalapeños in the batter. Place battered jalapeños in deep fryer. The jalapeños are fully cooked when they float to the surface of the oil. They should be golden brown and crispy.

PICKLED JALAPENO PEPPERS
(http://recipes.epicurean.com/recipe/1150/pickled-jalapeno-peppers.html)

2 tbs oil
1 pound jalapeño peppers -- washed/dried
1/4 cup carrots -- sliced
1 medium onion -- sliced
salt -- to taste
garlic cloves -- peeled
1 cup vinegar
1 cup water
olive oil

Put 2 tbs. oil in a skillet and add washed and dried chilies. Cook only until skins blister. Remove chilies and add carrots and onion and sauté until tender/crisp. Peel and pack chilies in standing position in hot clean pint canning jars. Add salt to taste; about 1/4 to 1/2 tsp. to each jar. Add 2 cloves garlic, 4-6 carrot slices and 2 onion slices.

Heat equal parts of vinegar and water; pour mixture over chilies to within 1 inch of top of each jar. Insert a dinner knife on inside of filled jar to remove any bubbles; insert knife in middle of filled jars to remove bubbles there. This is done by moving the knife side to side. Add olive oil to within 1/2-inch of rim of each jar. Cover with lids and caps and adjust. Process in hot water bath for 15 minutes. Remove jars and place on towels away from any drafts to drain.

Let stand 30-45 minutes until lids seal. Test seals after allowed time by pressing lids. If lids stay down they are sealed. If not, store those jars of pickles in refrigerator after they have cooled. Store sealed jars in pantry or under sink or in a cool, dark place.

PICKLED JALAPENO RINGS
(http://recipes.epicurean.com/recipe/2739/pickled-jalapeno-rings.html)

2 cups sliced jalapeño peppers
4 carrot slices
2 bay leaves
2 pearl onions
1 cup distilled white vinegar
1 cup water
1/2 tsp. salt

Pack pepper slices into 2 pint jars. Add carrot slices, a bay leaf and an onion to each jar. Combine vinegar, water and salt in large saucepan; bring to a boil. Pour over peppers in jars.

Seal and cool 1 hour. Refrigerate 1 week before serving.

SIMPLE JALAPENO PICKLING RECIPE
(http://www.jalapenomadness.com/jalapeno_recipes.html)

1 pound jalapeno peppers, quartered
1 pound sliced carrots
clove garlic, chopped
1/8 cup salt
1/8 cup pepper
1/8 cup white pepper (optional)
2 cups white vinegar
Dash of your favorite hot sauce

Bring the white vinegar to a boil in a small pot.
Add the sliced carrots, boil 10 minutes.
Add remaining ingredients. Simmer 10 minutes.
Remove from heat. Pour Contents into a jar, screw on jar lid, and let cool.
Refrigerate.

Posted by Heather Hacking at 06:03 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Below is a list of Chile peppers and their Scoville Heat Units.

Heat Range

Sweet Bell: 0
Pimento: 0
Cherry: 0 to 500
Pepperoncini: 100 to 500
El-Paso: 500 to 700
Santa Fe Grande: 500 ~ 750
Ancho: 1,000 to 2,000
Pasilla: 1,000 to 2,000
Anaheim: 500 to 2,500
Jalapeno: 2,500 to 8,000
Chipolte: 5,000 to 8,000
Hot Wax: 5,000 to 10,000
Hidalgo: 6,000 to 17,000
Serrano: 8,000 to 22,000
Manzano: 12,000 to 30,000
Tabasco: 30,000 to 50,000
Cayenne: 30,000 to 50,000
Piquin: 40,000 to 58,000
Thai: 50,000 to 100,000
Devil Tongue: 125,000 to 325,000
( I just really love the name of this one).
Orange Habanero:150,000 to 325,000
Scotch Bonnet: 150,000 to 325,000

Posted by Heather Hacking at 05:56 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

My friend and coworker Roger was bragging this week about his wife Susan and a crabapple jelly she had whipped up.

Crabapples are a tiny version of an apple — generally too small to mess with. They're also very tart and found unpalatable by people.

However, people over the years have managed to come up with culinary ways to use them.

Roger brought in some of the jelly Susan made, along with some home-made biscuits, which was a yummy combination. He liked the fact that if you took a spoonful of the jelly, and then returned to the container later, the jelly would have shifted to even out, as if the jelly had not been sampled.

Our professional taste test team at the Enterprise-Record agreed that Susan's crabapple jelly was indeed yummy and a rare treat.

Susan's recipe:

1. Juice the crabapples. (I have a steamer/juicer -- makes it easy.)
2. Measure equal parts crabapple juice and white sugar into a large saucepan.
3. Cook until the mixture "thickly coats" a metal spoon.
4. Pour into sterile jars and seal with two-part sterile lids.
5. Process in water bath. (I usually just turn them upside down for 5 minutes, then turn them over again.)

Extra cooking tips:

The syrup jells better when batches are kept small. A mixture of 4 cups juice and 4 cups sugar is about as much as I'd recommend cooking down at once. Then again, since it doesn't have to be stirred or tended while it's cooking, doing several small batches is as easy (maybe easier?) than one large one.

Posted by Heather Hacking at 05:54 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Here we are.

Now is the pinnacle of the fruit and vegetable season. Most people who are semi-serious about gardening have way too many fruits and vegetables than their families can eat.

This week has been the prime of peaches. Sally at work brought in a big box of fuzzy fruit. Near the end of the work day I went over to the picked-over box and said I was going to take a giant bag of them home unless anyone had concerns.

Roger chirped up and said that I should go easy, because he wanted to bring several home to his wife, who, like me, has been having fun coming up with recipes for which to use available fruit. (See crabapple recipe above.

As Roger was defending his territorial right to some peaches, Sally perked up and said we shouldn't worry. She has a tree full of peaches at home. Now that she knows her coworkers are interested, she will bring another big batch, she promised.

The problem is, there's so much bounty right now, my freezer is getting filled.

It's about now that people become creative about cooking with garden vegetables and fruit. Zucchini is a prolific producer and about this time of year, many people are sick of adding zucchini to each and every recipe. One can only eat so many zucchini squash or make so much zucchini bread.

Roger joked that people should analyze their ability to make friends if they find themselves mid summer buying zucchini from the grocery store.

Inspired by Sally’s generosity, I brought in a big bag of jalapeño peppers.

We only have four plants jalapeño plants in the garden. Over weeks, we delighted as they flowered, and later started to grow the leathery green peppers.

I've made salsa and spaghetti sauce spiked with jalps. But the peppers are so hot that only one or two are needed for each recipe.

That meant more to share. Right?

My bag of peppers just sat there on the desk at work where various reporters and (sometimes) editors bring treats to share. After a while, they started to ripen and turn red.

I understand that not everyone enjoys eating the type of peppers that secrete oil that makes your hands feel like you’ve scalded them on a tea pot. Likewise, not everyone’s pallet can handle eating them without developing tears and a runny nose. (See blog entry about heat content of peppers).

However, maybe folks would eat more and become accustomed to jalapeños if they realized that hot peppers provide the chemical capsaicin, which stimulates the nervous system and produces endorphins. The effects can last for hours and some folks even become addicted to peppers.

This week I attended a rather groovy event organized by Jeremy Miller. On Wednesdays, Jeremy organizes a garden swap event where people bring their excess vegetables to share with one another.

The vegetables were splayed out on a table including several varieties of tomatoes, squash, onions, herbs, eggplant, plums, peaches, and others I might not be remembering right now.

Walking up to the share table, I was giddy, much like it might be like for someone with a shoe fetish to visit Saks Fifth Avenue.

http://www.saksfifthavenue.com/main/ProductArray.jsp?PRODUCT%3C%3Eprd_id=845524446138832&FOLDER%3C%3Efolder_id=2534374306417457&ASSORTMENT%3C%3East_id=1408474395222441&bmUID=1186088069006&SECSLOT=LN-DESIGNER+SHOES

Nibble event

Don’t miss this one

A tomato taste-off is planed Saturday from 3-6 p.m. at the Chico Community Environmental Gardens, behind Costco.

Forty varieties of tomatoes will be available to sample. The event is free, but donations are happily accepted.

This is the kind of event put on every year by folks like the editors of Sunset Magazine. So while you’re gnoshing on Chico-grown tomatoes you can feel smug about how you don’t need to face traffic to indulge in high culture.

The event is on Silver Dollar Way, off Martin Luther King Jr. Parkway.

Jeremy plans to send out e-mail posts to let people know where the event occurs each week. To add your name to the list, drop him a line at jeremy@jeremymiller.org.

The gardeners are also on the prowl for people to host the events in the future, so drop Jeremy a line if you’re willing.

While at the event, I brought up my growing issue with the excess of jalapeños to one of the nice women who was sharing veggies. She suggested pickling them.

Here’s a simple recipe I found online. I also hunted down several other jalp recipes. (See more above).

SIMPLE JALAPENO PICKLING RECIPE
(http://www.jalapenomadness.com)
1 pound jalapeño peppers, quartered
1 pound sliced carrots
clove garlic, chopped
1/8 cup salt
1/8 cup pepper
1/8 cup white pepper (optional)
2 cups white vinegar
Dash of your favorite hot sauce

Bring the white vinegar to a boil in a small pot.
Add the sliced carrots, boil 10 minutes.
Add remaining ingredients. Simmer 10 minutes.
Remove from heat. Pour Contents into a jar, screw on jar lid, and let cool.
Refrigerate.

Don’t miss this one
A tomato taste-off is planed Saturday from 3-6 p.m. at the Chico Community Environmental Gardens, behind Costco.

Forty varieties of tomatoes will be available to sample. The event is free, but donations are happily accepted.

This is the kind of event put on every year by folks like the editors of Sunset Magazine. So while you’re gnoshing on Chico-grown tomatoes you can feel smug about how you don’t need to face traffic to indulge in high culture.

The event is on Silver Dollar Way, off Martin Luther King Jr. Parkway.

Posted by Heather Hacking at 04:15 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)