Thursday, June 16, 2005, 16:48
So Near. . .And Yet, So Far. . .
Every June for the past 10 years, the black raspberries along the dirt road north of our house have grown, bloomed and developed berries.
One of the things I really like about black raspberries is that they ripen earlier than other wild berries, usually around the end of June. Wild red raspberries (when we can find them) don't ripen until sometime in July. And blackberries don't ripen until toward the end of August. Wild black raspberries are excellent to eat fresh, and they make delicious jars of jam.
Unfortunately, I hardly ever get to pick the wild black raspberries that I watch over so carefully, hoping against hope that *this year* they will survive. That's because just about the time the wild black raspberries are ready to pick -- the township comes through with the boom mower and chops them all down.
Boom mowers are all the "rage" now among townships for clearing out the right-of-way along the roads. The mowers come complete with an arm that allows them to reach far down into ditches and high up on banks and even to chop limbs off trees.
I was hoping, since we live in a relatively sparsely populated township that is far from wealthy, as townships go, that we would not ever be able to afford a boom mower. Somehow the town board managed to scrape up enough money to buy one (and were so proud of themselves for doing so, too) (you can bet I'm not ever going to vote for any of *them* again).
The neighboring township bought a boom mower years ago.
So, between the two townships, I have watched my wild black raspberries chopped down, and I have seen my wild plum trees chopped down. I have also lost chokecherry trees, red raspberries, low-bush blackberries (dew berries), wild grapes, and a few wild black cherry trees.
This has got to stop! What are they *thinking* -- destroying all of those lovely sources of wild fruit? People lament the fact that they've lost touch with nature. Talk about "losing touch" with nature. How I can touch nature (or pick the fruit) if it's chopped to smithereens before I have to a chance to get to it?
Maybe, if I'm really lucky this year, gas prices will be so high that the township will not be able to afford to mow the right-of-way. And also, if I'm lucky, we will receive the right amount of rain, no hail storms to pulverize tiny, green fruit, and no 100-degree heat to shrivel everything before it can ripen. . .
LeAnn R. Ralph
Tuesday, June 14, 2005, 22:29
Half the Cake -- Twice the Frosting!
You would never know it to look at my husband -- all 6-foot-2-inches and 160 pounds of him -- but he adores frosting. So, I wasn't surprised when Randy developed a new philosophy toward birthday cakes: "Half the cake -- twice the frosting."
Since it was Randy's birthday on Monday, I made a birthday cake for him with -- you guessed it -- half the cake and twice the frosting. I started out by baking an angel food cake from scratch. What *else* am I going to do with the egg whites that I accumulate from mixing kitten formula for the kittens in the barn? But, since I did not have enough egg whites to make a full recipe of angel food cake, I made 2/3 of a recipe. The result was an angel food cake about five inches high. Then I made a full recipe of whipped cream frosting and frosted the cake.
"Happy Birthday to you. Happy Birthday to you. Happy Birthday dear Randy! Happy Birthday to you!" I sang as I got the cake out of the refrigerator and held it up for my husband's inspection when he came home from work.
"Hey!" he said. "Look at all the frosting!"
For a long time, I have known that if I want to lift my husband's spirits, all I have to do is bake a cake and put lots of frosting on it.
After we had eaten supper, when I cut the birthday cake, put a piece on a plate and set it front of my husband, he was even more appreciative.
"Now that," he said, " is what I call a piece of cake!"
He dug into the cake and popped the first forkful into his mouth.
"Mmmmm," he said. "This is really good. I love my wife -- and my wife loves me!"
Maybe the old saying, "The way to a man's heart is through his stomach" isn't so far off at that.
LeAnn R. Ralph