Welcome to Hotel Twisp

Oh, that fine line between pleasure and pain...

"And I was thinkin' to myself, 

this could be heaven, 
or this could be hell." 

Eagles

Hotel California

Holy cow!

What a beautiful morning in Seattle, not a cloud in the sky, although it will certainly be too hot for many people by the end of the day.  It's been a busy week, with way too much time spent on Seattle freeways. A quiet summer weekend at home sounds good.

Here in the Urban Village, "quiet" is a relative term.  Sometimes with the window open late at night (for us, about 11:00 pm) I hear the constant, background din of the big city surrounding us.  What is it?  Cars racing by, people talking on the street, sirens, trains on Harbor Island and always, airplanes.

By August, I usually have a few batches of chutney already up on the shelf, but I'm falling down on the job.  Canning is more motivating when the plum tree is dripping with fruit, but this year we have nothing but a big crop of aphids.  So I went over to the McPhearson's produce stand on Beacon Hill and bought some not-so-great plums for $2 a pound (that was painful) and local (meaning Eastern Washington) peaches that were hard as rocks.

I don't know why I shop for bargain fruit for canning. I suppose it's genetic.  I should buy the best there is, forget the price, because it's so much work.  Well, I'm not giving up on those peaches yet, but I can always buy nicer fruit later next week.  I'm going to Twisp to take care of the girls for a couple days while Amanda is at work, and really looking forward to it.

But it will be very hot in the Methow Valley.  The fire danger is high, but fortunately this year has not turned out anything like the last two disastrous summers.

Sweet August birthdays

Amanda and "Cowboy"

Where do the years go?  I'm sitting a few steps from where this picture was taken, almost 35 years ago. Happy birthday to our Amanda today.

Nova and "Georgia"

And Nova got a special present on her birthday yesterday.  A surprise trip to the Wenatchee animal shelter for a new kitten.  I'm not sure who looks happier?

Lazy Day

 Before

August 10 is National Lazy Day, so please plan accordingly. It's a day to stop tearing around organizing things and enjoy some down time without feeling guilty about it. There's been nothing lazy about this summer so far.

This week, Richie from the Miracle Finish Company refinished our shabby-looking bathroom tile and tub surface.  The bright white is actually a sprayed on permanent coating.  Or I should say, semi-permanent, because this isn't the first time we've had this done.

Richie did one of the better jobs though; he only "missed" a tiny spot. What a nice change!  I actually picked out those muddy-looking tiles over 20 years ago when we first remodeled. Once they were up, I never really cared for the color.  (You know how that goes.)  So last night it was like taking a bath in a brand new Marriott Hotel.  Everything looked so clean!

The big downside to tub finishing is it stinks to high heaven for the first day. Which is why you do it in the summer, with all the doors and windows open.

Today, some fresh air. With Spanky laid-up, Dolly and I have been seriously riding-deprived, but I'm driving out to North Bend this morning to see her new rescue horse. 

After

Nova's birthday

Nova is seven years old tomorrow.  I think she might be a little excited.  She just opened a birthday card from Nana and Grandpa.

Alligator Snapper

Snapper
by Ken Craft

Atop the ridge near the driveway,
small ramparts of sandy
dirt behind her, a snapping
turtle lays her eggs
at dusk. Her eyes,
heavy-lidded, blink with boredom
at her audience. Supreme
in her ill-chosen spot,
her helmet of stink,
the algae like wet war ribbons
clinging to her carapace,
she appears exhausted
with ancientness. Behind
lies the dark tale
of her reptilian conscience;
in front, the set jaw
of resignation, resolve.
“It’ll be gone tomorrow,” I tell
my son. “All of it.”
The next morning, in place
of the snapper, a hole well
dug and white leather
casings—hollow
remnants of raccoon
rapture—and somewhere,
down in the bog, mud
and indifference.

From The Writer's Almanac

We were channel-surfing to avoid election news the other night, and stumbled on a PBS cooking show called "Hooks, Lies, and Alibis: A Taste of Louisiana."  The talkative Chef John Folse travels the countryside, visiting sportsmen and cooking up local delicacies.

From the Northwest, the backwaters of Louisiana seem like a foreign country. It's an entertaining show, although I wouldn't care to cook (or eat) most of the food Chef whips up.

For example, turtle soup.  Cooking reptiles is gross. American recipes for turtle soup turn out like thick, brown gravy. I suppose it helps if you don't know what you are eating, but I'll take the Mock.  In China, they make a lighter version with whole chunks of meat and vegetables, an expensive delicacy.  They say there are "seven kinds of meat on a turtle." All of them tough.

In most states, turtle soup is illegal now because many species of turtle are endangered.  In Louisiana, the good old boys still hunt the Alligator Snapper for meat.  Hunting is tightly controlled, but of course the game wardens can't watch every swamp and bayou.

There is something about this poor creature that makes grown men want to catch, tease and torment them like bad little boys. (Google: alligator snapper pictures.)



The species was almost wiped out; hunters blame the raccoons, the conservationists blame the hunters.  The Alligator Snapper is as old as the dinosaurs. They look fearsome, but don't attack unless people bother them, or wave things in front of their mouths to see what they will do.  Surprise!  They bite.  But it's a myth that snapping turtles "never let go" until you cut their heads off.  Turtle jaws are "only" about as strong as human jaws.

Like most reptiles, Alligator Snappers are languid, non-aggressive, and want to be left alone. They feed by laying motionless under the water with their big mouths open, waving a little worm-like appendage on their tongue, waiting for fish to swim in. Then the trap snaps shut. This has worked for over 100 million years.

Alligator Snappers can live for 150 years and weigh 200 pounds.  Sorry, Chef Folse, it just seems wrong to slurp one down in a few minutes.