Cloned

Ah, cloning. How I miss my biotech days.



Beyond not being very creative, the only thing I feel I should explain is the plant. I started some seeds a few weeks ago and the cilantro is gorgeous, I have to admire it several times a day.

I'm going to do this again with the kids when we can get outside. Too much fun!

Clones



Does anyone know why google reader is scaling my pictures up (on the reader, not here on the blog), making them look really soft? I'm getting really frustrated about it.

Every year

Winter has become exhausting and dreary here on the frozen tundra. It does nearly every year.



Many of my blogging friends are sneezing and posting photos of tulips and cherry blossoms and green grass. I look out my window and I know they must live on another planet. That can't be real.

We've reached the point where a little sunshine, out of the wind, is starting to feel really good. To all of us. No matter how cold it is outside.



I don't know if we're extra-tough or hardy souls to live here, or maybe we're just insane.

But I do know this...



We'll get our revenge this summer. We do nearly every year.

Best Face of February

I don't know if it's my best. But it's my favorite. I was sitting on my bed, trying to get a decent arm's-length self portrait when this little Bean popped up beside me.



I Heart Faces - "Best Face of February 2011" #263

Funny math

I've never been particularly great with math, but this one has me totally confused.

Every respectable rancher has an accurate total count of his/her livestock. I raise free-range chickens. Chickens are poultry. Poultry is considered livestock. Livestock is raised by ranchers. Argue if you'd like, but I'm gonna roll with it. Today, I just happen to like how it sounds.

You see the mood I'm in? Consider yourself warned.

At the moment, the big question in my mind is not whether I am a rancher, but whether I am a respectable rancher.

Exhibit A: The notebook that holds a very detailed accurate count of my birds.


Once I had all the wrinkles ironed out last fall, I was left with ten Buff Orpington hens, four mixed breed hens, three Barred Rock hens, and a partridge in a pear tree big Red Rooster.

Minus one.

My hefty old axe was not involved this time, and neither was the stupid green plastic handled machete. I swear (usually not on the blog) it's the truth, people.

The plot thickens:

When I closed up the coop after my goofy feathered rototillers put themselves to bed last night, I did a quick count because it was my apparent lack of a count the night before that led to the day's tragic circumstances. (I found one of the hens frozen outside the barn.) Yes, I'm feeling mighty guilty about it, but I'm also blaming the rooster for not keeping track of all his girls.

Ten Buff Orpington hens, four mixed breed hens, two Barred Rock hens, and a Red Rooster.

Huh!? It was a Buff Orpington that had kicked the bucket!

Are you still with me?

In complete disbelief, I counted them again, out loud. Ten Buff Orpington hens, four mixed breed hens, two Barred Rock hens, and a grumpy Red Rooster.

This is kindergarten-level math, for sure, but I had to count them yet again. What on earth!?

I turned to a very annoyed King Red and asked him what the heck was going on in his kingdom. He gave me the stink-eye and demanded to know why the heck I hadn't filled his royal barley bucket yet.

Exhibit B: Rooster with way too much attitude.


I headed back across the yard through -17F windchill weather without my coat (because this was supposed to be a quick trip to the barn). I returned with a five gazillion candle-power (or something like that) flashlight. Don't laugh! This thing is fantastic when you're playing "Where's Waldo" with chickens in the dark. I could probably flag down an airplane with it, if I really wanted to.

The missing Barred Rock turned up in the first place I checked. Believe me, this is not normally the way this game is played. Checkmate! I tossed her into the coop and His royal Highness King Red glared at me.

Ten Buff Orpington hens, four mixed breed hens, three Barred Rock hens, and a Red Rooster who thinks he owns the universe.

Have you been paying attention?

I have exactly the same number of chickens as I did the previous day.

I'm rather confused about the whole matter.

This is not an easy thing to screw up. Honestly. I count them almost every single evening when I close the coop door. Sometimes my sweet husband locks them up for me, and once in awhile even he counts them. And if, if it is somehow possible that one of the Buff Orpington ladies was spending her nights away from the coop, I would certainly have seen her out in the yard on at least one occasion before I let the flock out their palace in the morning.

They tricked me for months. Months!

Whether I'm a rancher, respectable or not, I'm really not sure.

I am quite sure that I'm a mother.

I, uh.... I have three children. At least I think so. Maybe I'd better go count them.

My own backyard

The 2011 North Dakota travel guide landed in our mailbox a few weeks ago. As I began flipping through the pages, quite frankly, I was embarrassed.



They featured so many amazing historic places I have never visited...



...and fantastic cultural festivals I have never witnessed.

Worse still, I fear I might have thrown it into my recycling bin without even peeking at the pages, if it wasn't for one tiny little thing. One of my very good blogging friends is planning a summer trip that just happens to run right through the middle of my gorgeous state.

Did I just say that out loud? Please excuse me while I stick my head out the front door and scream because I am that excited for her visit.

Woooohoooooooo!!!

Okay, so hypocrite or not, I have the honor of suggesting places of interest for her to consider.

My kids have been intrigued with it too, so we're also making a list of our own.

"Mommy, what is this?" "Mommy! What is this!?"

We're definitely going to venture out a bit more this summer. They're old enough to remember it, but young enough that it will still be difficult. I'm hopeful we could survive a few day trips.

What are the must see attractions in your state? My fellow North Dakotans, give me a vote for your favorite sights!

A digital copy of the ND travel guide is available HERE.

English Muffins that pass the test

The first time I made english muffins from scratch, a little person here cried when I served him one. They were the wrong shape. They weren't perfectly round.

Living so far to the wild side of things, like I do, I thought I'd risk it again. Heaven help me.



I'm not a food blogger. Sometimes I like to pretend I am.

I have this handicap that prevents me from being able to follow recipes precisely. Yes, even when baking. That alone should be enough to keep me from putting this stuff online.



I make nearly all our bread myself. I haven't yet mastered tortillas or, obviously, english muffins. During one of our blizzards this winter, I ran out of flour. The last storm? The one before? I can't remember.

What I do remember is that it wasn't a very good thing. I also remember that it was the direct result of me being frustrated with someone, and in my anger neglecting to write flour on my grocery list when I should have.



Being human knocked me flat on my butt once again. Just like it always does. What a curse.

Thankfully, I find forgiveness each time, even if I don't find that extra package of flour that should be in my cupboard.



When the recipe says to "roll out to 1/2" thick" does anyone actually measure that?

No? Good. I didn't think so either.

Check out my super-fancy biscuit cutter! Multi-purpose tools are my friend.



Last time I skipped the part where the biscuits muffins are supposed to rise. I didn't think it was necessary. Anyone who has cooked pitas on a skillet knows how these yeasty types of things rise right up when they get hot.

Maybe, just maybe, I'm not always right.

This time I decided to let them rise for half an hour.



And then I forgot about them for two hours.

When they finally caught my eye again, I was severely tempted to toss one of those squishy little discs up to see if it would stick to the ceiling. Kids, don't try this at home.

Ahem.



Look! I put them on the pan!

It was too hot!

Ack! They cooked too fast!



Apparently I need a larger biscuit cutter than a drinking glass, they turned out a little small. But the bigger failure which made my heart beat faster? They're not absolutely wonderfully perfectly round. I briefly wondered if I should have thrown them all at the ceiling earlier and just walked away.

I split one and it was kind of doughy in the middle. I figured this wasn't a problem because they're meant to be toasted.



Toasted, and smothered in local honey... Now this is what I'm talking about!



But the real test... the kid?

"Mommy, they're so good I'm going to eat ten every day! Every day!"

The recipe I sort of followed is HERE.

Enjoying the warmth

It was one of the warmest days we'd had in a long time. I mean, like, nearly forty degres (F). And in the car, with the sun blasting through the windows? It felt like a summer day.



I'm just not sure what to say about that.

He did take his gloves off.

Sometimes we heard what sounded like a muffled Darth Vader speaking in Spanish. We still have no clue what he was trying to say.