Sixteen hands

Big Tobey

There is something about the outside of the horse 

that is good for the inside of the man.

Winston Churchill

Tobey is part Quarter-horse and part Thoroughbred. I think he has a sweet, thoughtful face and what we call nice "ground manners." That means he stands still while you groom him, doesn't push into your space, pull you along or (heaven forbid) kick or bite.

In the movies horses are always rearing up and whinnying, which is shockingly bad behavior. So bad that I've rarely seen it happen at any barn.  In reality, horse barns are usually quiet except for the sound of an occasional snort and endless chewing.  There's nothing horses like more than eating. Barns should feel peaceful.

Tobey has an odd quirk for a Western Washington horse: he doesn't like the sound of rain on the metal roof of the arena.  The noise makes him nervous if you are trying to work with him inside.  Although I noticed he has no trouble standing quietly in the barn eating while rain is falling noisily on the roof.  Hummm...until we get to know each other better I won't argue.  I'll be a fair weather rider.

At 16 hands, Tobey is also the biggest horse I've ever ridden. A "hand" is 4 inches, so Tobey is  5'4" tall at the shoulder. That's big.

The legend goes that ancient horse traders needed a method of measuring horses and stacking one man's fist upon another was the simplest system. This is how horses came to be measured by "hand."

Happy sightings

The Plum Tree, by Katherine Ace, Source: A Study in Contrasts

When I woke up around 4 this morning, the robin was already making so much noise I didn't even try to go back to sleep.  I lay there and listened for a while until I started wanting coffee and got up.  For a little city lot, we have a surprising variety of birds, especially in the spring.

We hear the birds more than see them, because they like to hang out in the overgrown holly tree and laurel hedge. It takes real persistence to identify them, except for that sudden flash of yellow which can only be the American Goldfinch. The Goldfinch is Washington's state bird, and Birds of Seattle says they are "common" here in the summer months.  I wish they were a little more "common" because it's always a big deal to see one in the yard, and we had two sightings this week.

So what's on for the weekend? It rained every day this week, and the lawn (and the weeds) grew amazingly. But I'm headed out to the foothills to spoil Tobey this morning. Salmon for dinner tonight on my wonderful new grill. We're half-way through a bad movie. Tomorrow we'll see some old friends in the afternoon.  John probably has important knife sharpening chores in the basement.  Nothing exciting going on-- just quiet, good stuff.  I hope you have a great weekend.

Photo by Ken Thomas, Source: Wiki

Dig, Dig

This is my new Hori Hori garden knife. Hori Hori  means Dig Dig in Japanese, not to be confused with Hari Kari. I ordered it from the Duluth Trading Company catalog, known for their heavy work clothes and tool pails.

The knife cost about $30, which seemed expensive until it arrived and realized  this was a serious Japanese tool.  When I brandished it John looked alarmed and said in a grim voice, "Be careful." He knows a real knife when he sees one. It has a serrated and a plain edge with a deadly-looking point. It is very sharp.  I have a couple of cheap, rusty garden knives I've been abusing for years, but I'll have to treat this one with the respect it deserves.

Hori Hori knives are useful for rough jobs, like dividing perennials, sawing through root balls and whacking dead plants off in the fall. In Japan they use them for more dainty chores like digging out hundred year old tree specimens to make bonsai.

It comes with a belt sheath so you can look like a guerrilla while you work in the garden. In fact, I just read that Japanese farmers in the 16th century needed garden tools that could double as weapons. I'm glad the Shogun days are over.

Speaking of Japan, you may have heard on the national news that debris from the April 2011 tsunami is reaching our coast. I wonder if anything will make it's way into Puget Sound and wash up on Alki?  It's fascinating and grim to think of people's everyday stuff floating across the ocean for over an year, just to become beach trash on the other side of the world.

National Pretzel Day

April 26th is National Pretzel Day.  Pretzels have been around a really long time, but did you know they have religious significance?  A popular legend says pretzels were invented by an Italian priest in 610 AD as a reward for good children who learned their prayers.  Strips of dough were baked to look like arms crossing the chest, called 'pretiola' or little rewards.  And pretzels made with only flour and water could be eaten during Lent. They were once associated with strict fasting and prayers before Easter. Not beer and football.

This illustration from the 1100's shows a king and queen with a pretzel on the table. According to Wikipedia, this is the first depiction of a pretzel in art.  I don't know what the king is pointing at, but she's ready to grab the pretzel.

I remember when pretzels came in big cans that are now antiques on Ebay.  I love pretzels (I know, mostly empty calories and sodium) but if there's a bag in the house, I can't keep my mitts out until they're gone.  Maybe it's genetic?  German immigrants (the Pennsylvania Dutch) introduced the pretzel to America and delicious handmade pretzel bakeries made them extremely popular.  In Philadelphia, a few miles from where we lived, pretzels are considered not just a "little snack" but cuisine. The average Philadelphian eats 12 times the national average. We don't think of pretzels as Italian, but the large number of Italian immigrant bakers in Philadelphia played a role in their popularity there.

Real German pretzels are soft and bread-like.  According to region and local tradition, they come in every imaginable shape but they're always consumed on the same day they're baked. Hard pretzels originated in 1850 at the Sturgis Pretzel House in Lititz, Pennsylvania. Unlike soft pretzels, these could be stored in an airtight container and snacked on at will.  As I well know.

If you're from eastern Pennsylvania and claim you've never eaten a fried baloney sandwich or pretzel sticks with ice cream, you're lying. That combination of sweet and salty is especially addictive if you grew up on it. At least that's my excuse.  Happy Pretzel Day!

The magic of Radiola

What a cozy advertisement from the 1929 Saturday Evening Post.  Now we have the magic of television. In this house, that means red envelopes from Netflix while they struggle to stay in business, and when the Clearwire gods are favorable, streaming Netflix movies.

We've been on a Bleak House kick (seriously) and just watched the excellent 2007 Masterpiece Theater version a second time.  You will not find more fascinating character development and fine acting on any production from the Emerald Isle.  Then we watched the original 1985 Bleak House mini-series starring Diana Riggs as Lady Deadlock. Also good Masterpiece Theater stuff, but darker and more difficult to follow.  Perhaps back in 1985, more people read Dickens and already knew the complicated story.

Last night we watched War Horse, a Spielberg movie based on a 1982 book by Michael Morpurgo. The story was also adapted into a 2007 play that was an instant hit.  The movie is about an English boy's beloved horse "Joey" that was sold to the calvary and shipped to France in WWI. Many, many terrible things happen to "Joey" before he is reunited with his owner at the end.

For a horse lover, this could be painful to watch, but I soon got distracted trying to spot all the different "Joey" actors used to make the movie (there were 10 horses.)  You think a little equine makeup can fool me? I'm sure John got tired of my blurting out, "there's another one!" as the long movie wore on.  And it was easy to remember this was just a movie when "Joey" got completely entangled in barbed wire and came out without a scratch.  So many bad things happened to people and animals you were almost numb by the end.

Poster from the "War Horse" play

I don't mean to make light of this most awful period in Western history. Human suffering aside, did you know over 8 million horses died in WWI?

Old Farmer's Almanac

Old Farmer's Almanac, 1818

Today is the birthday of Robert B. Thomas, the founder of the Old Farmer's Almanac. The booklet has been released on the second Tuesday in September since 1792, making the Old Farmer's Almanac the oldest continuously published periodical in North America. The cost was originally about 4 cents.  They drilled a hole through the Almanac corner so subscribers could hang it from a nail or a string.  The most popular place to hang it (you guessed) was in the farm outhouse, giving families entertaining reading material and TP at the same time. The motto of the Almanac is:   
Useful, with a pleasant degree of humor.

In the 1990's the editors decided to stop drilling that hole because it cost them $40,000 a year.  Subscribers were so opposed they changed their minds and put it back.  Where people hang the paper Almanac now is a mystery but it still sells, even though you can go on-line for a free daily Almanac report.

The hole is still there

In making his original weather predictions, Robert Thomas studied solar activity, astronomy and other atmospheric woo-woo to create a secret formula.  The Almanac claims they still use it, although the current forecasting also relies on modern meteorology. The Almanac boasts that its long-range weather forecasts are 80% accurate, but like those astrology blurbs in the newspaper, the forecasts are so vague it's often hard to tell.

Scott Sistek, one of our local TV weathermen, did an analysis on his excellent blog about how accurately the Almanac forecasts Seattle weather.  Click HERE for a link.

Three perfect weekends

Tidy and ready for summer

Oh gee, so sorry to hear about your bad weather back east :-) We've had three nice weekends in a row, and so far April has been nothing like the soggy, cold, miserable one last year. We're finally dryer and warmer than usual, and today the temperature might reach 70 again, the first time we've had back-to-back warm days in seven months.  Which gives reason to believe the weather Oracles are correct, and La Nina finally met a miserable end out in the Pacific Ocean.

We didn't stray far from home and got plenty done outside.  John mowed, I weeded and spiffed up the bonsai collection.  Nothing exciting-- just good, light work and simple pleasures.

Hen and Chickens
The "Hen" is in the' garden,
And the "Chickens" are there, too;
They've traveled far to get here,
Across the ocean blue.

Of course, they do no scratching,
The reason is they can't;
They're not like other chickens,
For they are just a plant.
-JOHN CARROLL

Earth Day, April 22

Official logo for the 1970 Earth Week

The first Earth Day was organized on April 22, 1970. The ecology movement is mainstream now and Earth Day wasn't even mentioned on the news this morning. But back in 1970, "Save the Earth" was a fresh, new idea. The event was founded by Senator Gaylord Nelson after the horrific 1969 oil spill off Santa Barbara. Nelson proposed that schools should set aside one day a year as an environmental "teach-in."  At the time, dozens of oil rigs dotted the horizon just off the coast in southern California-- a disaster waiting to happen.

I'm trying to remember where I was on April 22, 1970.  We were living in Oxnard, California in a tiny beach apartment. I'd just graduated from high school and was a student at a pretty community college in Ventura. There was free tuition for California residents in those golden days. I remember demonstrations on Earth Day, but there were always protests happening on campus.

1969 Ecology Flag

Earth Day marked the beginning of the American environmental movement. Individual groups that had been fighting against oil spills, pollution, pesticides and loss of wilderness suddenly had a common cause, and a national movement began.  But ecology really starts in each backyard.  An old hippie has arrived to tend the organic fairy garden.

A walking antique

"Nothing is so painful to the human mind as a great and sudden Change."

Mary Shelley, Frankenstein

For ten years, I worked for a software company that relentlessly broke perfectly good products so they could be fixed again. Or I should say, improved.  There's nothing wrong with this, otherwise there wouldn't be progress and the world would still be puzzling over the DOS interface or tapping away at Microsoft Word, version 1.1. 

Change happens whether we want it or not, and the first response is usually panic followed by the fight or flight reflex.  Such was my reaction when I logged on to good old Blogger yesterday to write a post, and was confronted with a mystifying and complicated new set of screens.  Google, in their great wisdom (or maybe lack of better things for the geniuses in Mountain View to work on) redesigned the our beloved and familiar Blogger user interface to enhance "dynamic views" and "mobile blogging" from smart devices. 

Being an old-fashioned, sit in front of the PC type of writer, these improvements won't make my life any easier. Instead I'll be struggling to learn again what had become blissfully automatic over three years of writing Feathers and Flowers.  Bear with me if things are not as tidy as usual. This is behind the scenes angst that will hopefully be invisible to my dear readers. Except when I decide to vent my frustration on an early Saturday morning.  I did a little Google search, and there is a great howl of frustration going up on the Blog-o-sphere right now.  Apparently I'm not the only walking antique who hates change.

All good

A New Day
by Henry Margetson

I've had a wonderful week without even trying. Another reminder that striving for happiness, or anything else for that matter, often has the opposite effect. The good things (and sometimes the bad) slip in the back door when we're not expecting them. Nothing dramatic happened, but everything was sweet and special: visits with old friends, lunches, funny emails, satisfying work, a volunteer appreciation event at MOHAI, shopping at Trader Joe's and a new fairy garden outside the kitchen window. Exercise class, good health. Lots and lots of brilliant tulips blooming in the garden. Yes, it's still raining, but it has to stop eventually, doesn't it? In fact it might actually hit 70 on Sunday. No concerts, no operas-- this weekend will be about garden work.

Oh, an extra bit of good news yesterday. I've been taking occasional dressage lessons on a fine horse named Toby out at Black Nugget Ranch, and have arrangements now with his generous owner to ride him on a regular basis.

Toby and Casey

April sunsets

In the Spring, Harold Knight

"Yet with these April sunsets, that somehow recall
My buried life, and Paris in the Spring,
I feel immensely at peace, and find the world
To be wonderful and youthful, after all."

from, Portrait of a Lady
T.S. Eliot

A fairy garden

The land of fairy, where nobody gets old and godly and grave, where nobody gets old and crafty and wise, where nobody gets old and bitter of tongue.
William Butler Yeats

The nice thing about being grandma is you have a built-in excuse to do and buy things you always wanted as a kid. "Oh, Nova will LOVE this." I guess trips to Disneyland fall into that category. I'd enjoy a day at the Magic Kingdom tremendously until about 5 o'clock (wine time) but I admire any grandparent who can spend 12 hours there without falling down from exhaustion.

Now, doll houses and miniatures are my secret weakness. Browsing around at the fancy Sky Nursery the other week, I spotted this darling set to make a container "fairy garden." I will tell you, that box was not cheap considering what was in it, but little did I know it was only the tip of the iceberg. There was a special pot and soil to buy, and then websites full of tempting little accessories and paving stones, and oh yes-- the tiny plants. Just like a full size garden, with a fairy garden you are never "done."

But designing a real, tiny garden from scratch is fun! And I finally found a home for my old collection of Red Rose tea box figurines.
It's still a work in progress-- I'll let you know when fairies move in.

A few of my favorite things

From Trader Joe's:

1. Chicken potstickers
2. Frozen blueberries
3. Dijon mustard
4. Champagne citrus vinegar
5. Vegetarian egg-rolls
6. Wine
(And that French pear tart that jumped in the cart.)


Oh happy day. The long-awaited, West Seattle Trader Joe's opened on Friday after years of anticipation and months of construction delays. I breezed in and out yesterday on my way home from exercise class. The customers were giddy with happiness; the employees were smiling. I know, this sounds like some sort of shopping cult. Well? I helped myself to a mini cup of free coffee, gobbled a sample of cinnamon coffee cake and had my cart filled with favorites in no time.
And look at these wide glistening aisles, just like a real supermarket. This is a TJ store like no other, and practically in our backyard.

A mixed bag

It wouldn't be Monday morning without a postmortem report on the weekend weather. In a word: beautiful. The tulips are coming into their peak and there are more than ever. I think I planted some new bulbs last fall, but the memory is hazy. This is what happens when you get old. On the other hand, if you're going to have a surprise in life, then extra tulips is a nice one. It's raining again this morning which is also nice, because it's finally warmer and the flowers will soak it up.

We ignored the sunshine and went to "The Met" on Saturday morning. I love saying that, because it really is the New York Metropolitan Opera which happens to be showing at a shopping mall theater. It's a wonderful world-- that is, if you're up early and have your act together to get there by 10 am.

The opera was La Traviata and this weekend was the last live broadcast for the Met's HD series until October. Verdi's La Traviata (the story of the dying courtesan Violetta and her doomed love) is one the most popular operas in the repertoire. But-- the theater just had the usual sprinkling of old folks and ladies carrying large handbags. Am I starting to recognize faces in the audience? Anyway, there was plenty of room to spread out and relax with our home-brought snacks during intermission. The singing was excellent, especially my favorite baritone, the hunky Dmitri Hvorstovsky.


The La Traviata production was new, so I'm going to be an opera critic for one paragraph. The stage was bare except for a few leather sofas. The costumes were modern: a short red cocktail dress for Violetta and unisex business suits for the chorus. There was an enormous clock twirling in the background, just in case you didn't realize time was indeed running out for Violetta. I'm never sure why artistic directors feel the need to remove a story from the original time period-- I suppose to showcase their own genius and hit us over the head with "universal themes of life, love and death that transcend time and place." But it's hard to improve upon Verdi, or for that matter, ruin him. After much vocal anguish, Violetta dies as usual in the final act. They didn't give the poor diva a bed or even a hard sofa, so she had to fling herself down on the bare stage in her petticoat. As John said when we were leaving, what a tribute to Verdi that his music shines above all those distractions. The End.

But wait! There was still more entertainment for the culture vultures on Sunday afternoon. We went to Beyond the Score at the Seattle Symphony, the last concert in this series -- you may remember this is produced by the Chicago Symphony Orchestra with a live multimedia presentation. The program was Tchaikovsky's Symphony No. 4, an emotional work written at the pinnacle of his unhappiness. Poor Tchaikovsky, born a hundred years too soon. On the other hand, all that suppressed angst resulted in magnificent music. If he only knew...

Loveliest of trees

Katsushika Hokusai, 1834

"Loveliest of trees, the cherry now
Is hung with bloom along the bough,
And stands about the woodland ride
Wearing white for Eastertide."
A.E. Housman

Eastertide is the 50-day celebration from Easter Sunday until Pentecost. It is the most ancient and beautiful church season, corresponding with the time of blossoming trees, warm days and open windows (hopefully clean ones.)

Late in the afternoon I'm starting to see hard-working, persecuted city bees. It makes me cringe to walk through Home Depot past aisles of pesticides. So-- they have their dangerous work ahead, pollinating the old city fruit trees. Speaking of which, I see our plum has a few blossoms now, despite the whacking I gave it.

The plum tree has been a thriving aphid factory for the last few summers, which sorely tempts a person to indulge in the poison section at the nursery. Instead I tried some "environmentally safe" (is there such a thing?) dormant oil spray this winter, and we'll see what the year brings in the way of critters and fruit.

The Oracle has spoken: Spring

It's official. Our Northwest weather expert Cliff Mass has declared the La Nina pattern over, ending two years of abnormally cold, wet, snowy weather. What is the new normal with the weather? Who knows...but The Oracle says it's "highly unlikely" there will be three La Nina winters in a row.

A few days this week have approached 60 degrees and we're starting to un-hunch our shoulders and wipe the rain spots from our glasses. Neighbors are emerging from their houses. The upcoming weekend looks beautiful, although as luck has it, we'll be spending a good part of it sitting in dark places listening to music.

Here's a little gallery of Spring art to celebrate the new season.

Promise of Spring
Sir Lawrence Alma Tadema

Spring
Edouard Manet

Spring Blossom
Sophie Anderson

Spring
Alfonse Mucha

La Primavera
Henry Ryland

Spring
Henrietta Rae

Gather Ye Rosebuds
John Waterhouse

Cloister Lilies
Marie Spartali Stillman

Shepherd Piper
Sophie Anderson

Spring End
Arthur Buckland

Roasted tomatoes

Some cooks really like those sun-dried tomatoes from a jar, but honestly we think they're overrated. They're usually leathery/chewy and floating in old oil, not to mention expensive. I learned from a magazine not long ago how easy it is to make fresh oven-dried tomatoes at home. With hardly any work, you end up with a luscious, versatile product. Roma tomatoes are the best for drying, but I've also had good luck with the little Campari tomatoes when they are very ripe.

Just cut them in half and lay cut-side down on a cookie sheet covered with parchment paper or heavy duty foil. Be sure to line the pan, or else they will stick like glue. Put them in a low (200-250 degree) oven and be patient, because it takes at least 2 hours for most of the moisture to bake out. The sweet flavor condenses as they slowly shrink down, and you eventually wind up with something that looks and tastes like tomato taffy:

I try to make dinner without meat twice a week or so, and roasted tomatoes are perfect for a light but rich tasting pasta dish. I browned garlic in olive oil, added a pile of chopped roasted tomatoes and some dried Greek olives left over from last summer's Olive Pit spending spree. A pinch of Italian seasoning and red pepper flakes.
Then I tossed in cooked penne pasta and Parmesan cheese. The tomatoes were gooey and intensely flavored, so it made a really satisfying dish (even without Isernio sausage!)
Oven-dried tomatoes would also be delicious on pizza or sandwiches. Imagine a grilled BLT with roasted tomatoes instead of fresh? I had one at a restaurant once. But if you love tomatoes, it's hard not gobble them down like warm candy, right out of the oven.

Oh-dear-me

Golden-crowned Sparrow

My Birds of Seattle book describes the song of the Golden-crowned Sparrow as a plaintive "Oh, dear, me!" They are only found on the West coast, and stop by Puget Sound in the Spring during migration to breeding grounds in Canada and Alaska. We always look for them, but some years they don't come at all, which is strange and sad.

Last week I noticed several were hanging around the yard. Their habit is to ground feed on the dropped seed, so you usually see them first under the bird feeder. The yellow head patch on the male is a vibrant yellow and hard to miss-- the females and juveniles are more drab.