Running with the Deer

A few years ago on my way to Gogebic Airport in Ironwood, Michigan, under a bright sunshiny day, a cloudless blue sky and the grass waving waist high in nearby fields, I saw a doe with triplets peaking up over the grass. "Do you suppose that doe had all three fawns?" I asked, "Maybe she adopted an orphan?" With a quick smile and a knowledgeable nod, my forester friend told me, "I've seen triplets before, but it is rare." I'm sure that not everyone gets as much pleasure as I do seeing these three little ones in the most perfect setting, but for me, it is always lucky to see deer.

My cottage at Little Girl's Point is about a 20 minute drive to Ironwood, Michigan, the nearest town. Usually I would come home after dark. Everyone warned me to watch out for deer. It seems that deer hit cars on a regular basis in the UP (upper peninsula).

My car's speed drops from fifty-five miles an hour during the daytime hours when deer doze, to thirty-five mph from twilight on. I did see a lot of deer and felt fortunate when these majestic creatures would look at me from the side of the road, then flap their huge white tail and bound away.

One night on Lake Road, I had slowed down to twenty-five mph to make a sharp turn when a large doe jumped from nowhere right by the driver's side of the car. I didn't know whether to stop or hit the gas, so the car sort of did a little dance of indecision while to my surprise, the doe ran right alongside the car. It was magic looking eye to eye with her as we ran together down the road for what seemed like a very long time.

Since then, I've been told that fox and bear will also run beside a car. My, oh my!

Lake Superior in the Fall

Lake Superior is calling me. I can feel the nip in the air. Fall is coming soon. I've got to go back. The leaves start their neon color parade soon. They are so bright in the sunshine then flutter with shadows of blinkling lights under the canopy of hardwood trees. The hue is so intense, it actually hurts your eyes with flaming reds, oranges, green halfway to yellow. You won't believe it, but look closely at the photo on the right. I actually found trees with leaves turning pink!

It's a magic time for me. The smell of leaves falling down to the moist dirt below, turning into dank mulch. My eyes seem to see the forest, a wildflower, more sharply, more clearly. Ears on alert as a hawk shrieks overhead, or a twig that breaks under my feet. The touch of a loved one's hand in yours, a finger running along your check that follows down to a sweet kiss on soft lips.

There's a cottage at Little Girl's Point where I usually stay. A tiny white cottage that sits in a stand of trees with a panorama view of the Lake - Madeline Island to the west and the Porcupine Mountains to the east. Every morning as soon as it's light, I race to the big picture window in the kitchen to see what the Lake is up to. Some times, it is a shinny mirror broken only by a few whistling swans making their "V" ripple in the water. Other times, the wind whips up waves reminiscent of my California beach days. Every now and then I see off in the distance iron ore ships going toward Duluth, a fishing boat or two. I'm so homesick.

Something's Cooking in Georgetown

It's getting closer. Everyone's coming. There's a song in the air. Beer Garden with brats. People dancing. Full skirts swirling. History everywhere. Food's sizzling. You've got to be here!

The Dutch oven has a history all its own. The early Colonist wouldn't be without one. It was on swinging on the outside of covered wagons going West. On those long cattle drives, every chuck wagon had one or two tucked away. Today, campers know just how great food tastes when cooked outdoors - in their Dutch oven.

On Saturday, September 19, Historic Georgetown Inc., is hosting their first Dutch Oven Cook-off celebrating 150 years of Mining History in Clear Creek County. The contestants will offer a Miner's Stew, Bread, and/or Dessert cooked on-site to the celebrity judges. Tastings can be bought by bystanders, too.

The Dutch oven cooking starts at 9 am. Live entertainment happens all day long. From dulcimer and country singers, square dancing and storytelling, old fire company hose carts and mining exhibits, to the exiting Awards Ceremony at 4 pm, Georgetown, Colorado is the place to be.

A short 30 minutes from Denver or Summit County, take I-70 to exit # 228 and come on downtown.

We're getting ready for you. Come join us for a great end of summer celebration.

Yippie Ti Yi... A Shepherder's Wagon

My mind wanders back to a summer at Duck Lake, Colorado, near the top of Guanella Pass. The owner of Alpendorf Alpine cabins shows me her European style cabins and her honest-to-goodness wooden sheepherders wagon that she's restored and uses for her guests. Here at 11,000 or so feet, one can spend a romantic night and dream of days gone by.

In nearby Geneva Park, our government still issues permits to use the public land for cattle and sheep grazing. Today, Sheepherders can be found working in Montana, Idaho, New Mexico, California, Utah, Nevada and Colorado.

In the 1800s, the sheepherders were mostly boys from our South. Later, the Basques came over from Spain to tend the sheep. Today, Peruvians have taken over the job. They hire on for three years, sending every penny to their families back home. The sheep graze by the hundreds, sometimes by the thousands, watched by the sheepherder and their dogs. The early sheepherder’s wagon, its water barrel latched tight on the outside, pulled by a horse, had an oh so interesting interior. Equipped with a wood-burning stove for both cooking and warmth on those cold mountain nights; built-in cupboards, a fold down table, a kerosene lantern, and a wonderful bed tucked in the back made this small space comfy cozy. Think of it as the first ancient RV model.

The Alpendorf's wagon is just too wonderful. Perched between fragrant spruce and pine and swift running creek, you overlook the lake. So quiet, except for the winds murmuring soft songs. I want to stay.

I’m thinking back in time and how lonely the sheepherder's life would be. All alone in those high mountain valleys, surrounded by snow covered peaks. It's just you, hundreds of sheep, a dog or two and a close-up view of our amazing nature. Tons of white clouds racing against a deep blue sky, tiny wildflowers everywhere you look. At night, a million stars surround the different phases of the moon. And the quiet… except for a couple of bleats from the sheep now and then and the munching of a horse grazing nearby.

Was it here on a mountain top that one shepherd concocted the Shephard’s pie in the light of a beautiful golden pink sunset? He would use lamb, surely, not beef. Yes, he would have onions, canned vegetables and potatoes. Or … could it be that this dish was named after a man whose surname was Shepherd … from New York City?

But that's another story.

Teaching an Old Dog New Tricks

No, not those kinds of tricks. Get your mind out of the gutter. Wait, maybe I should reconsider.

At the Candy Factory, I was hired to work in the office three days a week for about six hours a day. They needed someone to help with their website using Photoshop. I love computers and really looked forward to it.

The job entailed a lot more than office work. When you work in a mama/papa business, it's important to help out. Just hope I can do all the other stuff they have asked me to do. I love bagging caramel corn, hard candy and boxing chocolates. When I leave work, I bring all those great smells home with me. Ah, it's a heavenly aroma that surrounds me and stays on my clothes for hours.

They know I'm not physically strong, so thank heavens I don't have to help lift the very large, heavy brass pot full of scalding hot boiling sugar and dump it onto a sugared table. Scooping ice cream is not for me either. Even some of the really young employees tell me how their back and arms start to hurt when its busy.

Every thing was just great until the bosses asked me to man the cash register during the 4th of July celebrations when they just get slammed. No problem. Glad to help. After a quick 15 minute instruction one day and a quick recap just before we opened, I'm on my own.

Now for the new tricks. Doors open and people are streaming in, line goes out the door and down the sidewalk. Great for business. The Candy Shop does have an excellent reputation and a lot of repeat customers that come back every time they are in town. Some even do a regular mail order after visiting.

Okay, okay, on with the story. Feeling very useful, helpful and smart to pick up this cash register thing so fast, (never ever ran a cash register before) I'm getting the line through, weighing taffy, bagging stuff like coffee cups and tea pots, stuffed animals, boxes of chocolate, punching in prices for ice cream cones, punching in related codes, doing credit cards, giving change. I'm on a roll. Until....

One group changed things up. Oops. I saw a cancel button and hit it, thinking that would cancel the transaction and I could start over. I was getting muddled, these people were taking things back, adding more stuff. Eeks. Okay, I hit the total button. What!!! $4,256.00. Something is really wrong and the customer is not amused. There is a young teenager working there who comes to bail me out. But she pushes me aside like stale bread and delves into the tape on the cash register. I try to thank her for helping, she shoos* me away like I was irritating her to the max. So I step back.

She says problem fixed. I try to cash out another customer. Oh, no. It's still saying an ice cream cone and box of candy is in the thousands of dollars. This time another employee tried to help. Even then after a successful couple of customers, it starts again with the big dollar totals. Now the owner comes over because the computer is frozen. Quietly I tell him, I'm not doing the cash register, but I'll be happy to help bag candy.

As I leave, I hear that snotty little teenager, telling everyone how stupid I am. That's it, I'm going to be her worst enemy now.

Bagging candy and caramel corn goes on the rest of the day and I know that I've contributed —just not at the cash register. This old dog knows now that she can't be taught new tricks.

Page two: Once after my retirement, I was offered a job in the bakery of a food market in Mercer, Wisconsin. I'm a foodie and thought it would be a blast to work there part-time. It was early morning work, but hey, I'm an early morning person. Got there on time, punched in my time card, filled out all the tax stuff. Then went to work.

Heavy pans, heavy flour, heavy sugar. No time to have a break. Sweep the floors, bag the bread. No bathroom breaks. Stock the floor, push the heavy tray holders, wash the dishes in a huge machine. Quick break for lunch. Did go outside in sunshine for 10 minutes and ate my sandwich. Back to work. Eight hours of hell. Had a headache, arm ache, feet ache.

Back again the next day. NOPE! Called in when I got home and told the boss the work was too hard for this old lady. QUIT. And for all that work, he never paid me. I called a number of times, he always said he would mail it. Guess what, he never did.

This old dog is enjoying sleeping in the sun, dreaming of old times, eating great meals, doing just what she wants, having fun working a couple of days at the Candy Store... knowing that at this time of her life, she has limitations. No more new tricks for her.

*Shoo, shoos - definition: used to get animal to leave; wave away

Raging Dance with Raccoons

Late last night as I was watching the News, out of the corner of my eye, a movement on my deck. My little dog Luc, at full alert, ears straight up, rushed over to the door and started to bark. OMG There was a raccoon eyeing my tender pansies. I clicked open the door, only to have Luc push through and start to chase the raccoon who fled behind the outdoor teacart for safety.

In another flash, down the deck, the clicking toes of Luc were making staccato music to his barking. Trying to see in the dim amber glow of my rope lights, Luc was in the far corner and singing and dancing furiously. At first I couldn't see anything, but as I walked down the deck, up on the rail, there they were, not one, not two but three huge raccoons snarling their own chorus down at Luc. Yelling for Luc to come to me, I also caught those nasty bandits glaring eyes. They have no fear. They continued to snarl and hiss at Luc and me.

After Luc finally came to me and into the safety of the house on my stern command, I turned my attention to those pesky rodents. Yep, they were now challenging me. Each of these "Three Amigos" must have weighed as much as a large dog - 30-40 lbs at least, maybe more. They were getting bigger and nastier by the minute. I picked up the first thing I saw, my loveseat pad from the chair and swung it at those mean spirited devils. Even though I hit all three of them with the heavy pad, they hung on, increasing the volume of their protest. I was in the fight now, and finally I landed a blow that caught one of them off guard and down he went, another one scampered away, the third lost his balance and I could hear the branches of the bushes breaking under his weight. No KOs, but Dawn, the victorious and brave fighter, WON that round.

Yep, there's more. Round Two. Breathing a sigh of relief, I turned to check on Luc who now was cowering in the house. I guess he thought I was mad at him from the excited and loud tone to my voice when I sent him into the house. What was that? Nooo. Not another raccoon. Smaller and quieter, I hadn't noticed him huddled in the corner behind the teacart. I tried to threaten him, but he wouldn't move. I ran into the house and grabbed a broom. He hasn't moved. Poking him with the end of my broom just seemed to annoy his haughty supremacy, but with continuing poking and yelling, he finally sauntered off the deck and down to safety. My beautiful flowers, patio tomatoes and English peas are safe... for awhile.

With all that commotion, I looked out at my neighbors' houses, no one came out to witness the fight, no cops came to check out the domestic disturbance. Just another night where the Georgetown population of 989 hid or slept in their houses while the army of raccoon, 28,532 in numbers, continue to plunder and destroy their town.

Tonight, one resident won the fight against the ever increasing invaders. Round three is coming...

Battleground photo above!

Sourdough? That is the Story.

Way back when, I wrote a column called "Panhandle Polly" for the American Sportsman Magazine. Knowing nothing about sourdough, I asked my readers for recipes. So many responses came in, I was overwhelmed. Certainly sparked a life-long interest in sourdough stories and recipes.

Although some form of wild yeast leavening has been around for a long time, it is the Alaska sourdough pancakes or the San Francisco sourdough bread that most people talk about. Have you heard how the Alaska sourdough got started?

Picture a burro loaded with traps, mining equipment, pick axe, pot/pans, coats, tents, food. Old grizzled man standing in front of his crude log cabin in the deep forest. Off they go, not only in search of gold, but to trap beaver, fox or whatever finds their way to him. With one last look behind to make everything is secure, he heads out knowing he wont be back for at least a month.

It's a good trip for trapping, but no luck with gold. The money from the fur pelts, however, will carry the man through the rest of the year. Finally back home. He hurries in and builds the fire. As the cabin warms up, he's thinking about making a hard bread biscuit. Opening up the flour barrel, he found a puddle of bubbling goo in the middle. The roof had leaked and water had dripped onto the flour while he was gone. As he scooped up the mess to throw it out, he was struck by the wonderful yeasty smell. Hmm.

The trash missed out, for he put that bubbling mass into a bowl, added a part of it to more flour, and left it to rise overnight. In the morning, after several hours of unpacking, putting things away, gathering firewood, he checked the dough. Wow, the dough had double in bulk. He punched it down again arranged small rounds of dough in his Dutch oven to rise again. Can't you just see the excitement in his eyes and his mouth watering at the thought of a light yeast bread?

Putting the cast iron pot on the morning coals and adding more coals on top of the lid, he waited as the smell of fresh baked bread permeated the room. Thus the first sourdough starter was born.

My high school friend, Kathleen Hall, told me that she makes sourdough bread, or did until her husband thought it smelled bad and threw it out. She hasn't made any starters since.

Sourdough pancakes are the lightest, airiest ones you'll ever eat. After adding eggs, salt and a little sugar to the a couple of cups of starter, turn on your griddle and wait until it is hot. Then at the last minute add the soda to the sourdough pancake mixture. Once that soda hits, a chemical reaction occurs. In just a few minutes, it will bubble furiously and increase to twice its size. Then and only then do you pour half-dollar size dollops onto your griddle. They cook fast, so don't go far.

Dab of butter, maple syrup, and be surprised how many you eat.

Hey, I make a killer sourdough chocolate cake that you eat warm with butter instead of icing. It is soooo good. Want the recipe? Just ask.