All posts by Red Dirt Kelly

Favorite Things, Foodie Page, Oklahoma culture

Christmas Music To My Tastebuds: “Woody Candy Co. Is OPEN”

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This sign has magical powers. It makes my taste buds sing Christmas tunes.

Note – we published this post on Dec. 11 last year.  I believe it’s so important that I’m re-publishing it this year…11 days earlier! ~ RDK  This little neon sign holds a special power over me every year. The moment the “on” switch is finally flipped by a mysterious candy maker, an invisible beacon begins to sound across the prairie…over the north side of OKC and across Edmond…until it reaches my taste buds. It’s like Christmas Music, only in my mouth! What is so powerful, so unique and so delicious as to send me swooning around this time of year? It’s Woody Candy Company (Oklahoma’s Oldest & Finest Family Owned Candy Company), going strong since 1927. Their full array of special candy recipes are offered every year to the public ~ from Thanksgiving weekend through Valentine’s Day. After that? Closed again…until the next year.

Find where the origin of the powerful beacon at 922 N.W. 70th, Oklahoma City, OK.

Claude and Lucille Woody set out 93 years ago to do one thing very well: “To make the best candy in the world.”  In MY world, there is no doubt that they succeeded.  I personally think there must be something very special about the name Lucille. I may have to change my super-hero persona to a cowgirl who rides horses, shoots targets with precision accuracy AND makes “the best candy in the world!”

I want to take you there, but I can’t take all of you. There’s not enough room in my car.  So instead, I will take you there with a few photos I “shot” today with my six-shooter (my Canon PowerShot SD970IS).  I hope you can go on your own.  And if you do, tell them Red Dirt Kelly sent you.  This message will confuse them since they have no idea who I am.  But it will be fun for me!  I’ve gone to this store for eight years in a row.  I was introduced to this magical place by my friend Joanne, and now I’m introducing you in case you don’t know about this special secret.

And one more thing…comment on this blog, and I will enter you into a drawing (to be given away next Friday) for your choice of either: 1) A box of Toffle; 2) A box of their version of what you know as Aunt Bill’s candy; or, 3) A box of their delectable “Turtle” candies – caramel, chocolate and Oklahoma pecans. The average price ranges from $15 to $30 per box.  If you’ve never had Toffle, you might not understand what it’s like to have a glimpse of heaven on earth.  Toffee, sweet, salty, crunchy with HUGE pecans…it’s a dream…

Continue reading Christmas Music To My Tastebuds: “Woody Candy Co. Is OPEN” →

Oklahoma Outdoors

Hubby Walks

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“See that cracked asphalt?”

“Yeah. The road’s starting to break down, isn’t it?”

“Well, maybe. But I was just thinking it looks like my facial skin feels after I get out of a hot shower in the morning.”

“Oh. And it also looks like my lips when they get chapped.”

Mick and I were walking and when it’s just you, a country road and 1.5 hours of time together, these are the kinds of conversations that happen.

For the past two days, we’ve walked 4.5 and 4.0 miles respectively. Our paths have been different four square mile routes and we’re discovering quite a bit of brand new information about the area in which we’ve lived for the past eight years. For example, someone close to us sells goats. That was brand new information.

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There is a “Two Bears Creek” on Coffee Creek Road and the owners of the land adjacent to the creek put two baby ceramic bears out by the road, in case anyone needed a smile.

We identified at least three different kinds of animal poo, decided the neighborhood association needs to sponsor a “trash pick up day,” saw some rats, took a peek at the police firearm training facility, checked out some Angus cattle, found a perfectly good sun protector (those kind that fold out and keep your car from turning into a convection oven during the summer), and yelled at a couple of bluejays.

One other thing…I think I asked to stop at least twenty times because for the past two days the sunsets have been amazingly, outrageously, incredibly, georgeously lovely… Continue reading Hubby Walks →

Oklahoma Cooking

A Sweet Secret for your Sweet Potato Fries

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I’m an Oklahoma local cook through and through.  Tonight I made locally grown sweet potato fries to go with our teriyaki grilled beef and cucumber salad.  I roast them by brushing the pan with olive oil, then brushing the thinly cut fries lightly with olive oil once they’re “single-layered.”  I roast them for about 15 minutes, then turn them and sprinkle them with sea salt and freshly ground pepper.  When they’re nicely toasted (about 25-30 minutes at 425 degrees), I pull them from the oven.

Then I usually eat about five of them.  And so does Mick.

So I THEN sprinkle the remaining fries, made for our DINNER, with a light dusting of maple sugar.

The sugar sprinkle is a perfect complement to the savory salt/pepper flair they already possess.  In fact, the sprinkle will make your eyes twinkle when you eat them…probably really fast. Like, I’m talking SCARFING them down because they’re that good.

Like I said.  I’m an Oklahoma local cook through and through, but I’m incredibly glad Vermont gives us maple sugar.

Thank you, Vermont.

Oklahoma culture

Fritos and Raindrops

Tonight I was working with my daughter’s friend on a project we’ve had “in process” for six and one-half years.  We had just finished our last review when a young man she was dating showed up at the door.  He had venison in tow, and they were going to make deer chili for dinner.

I was lost in the world of placing orders on the internet when a piece of conversation rushed through the air and broke apart the mental fog covering my head.

“…well, you could have some Fritos with it, or some cheese…”

“I think I’ll have some Fritos AND some cheese…”

For some reason I can only attribute to my weariness level, I fixated on the word “Fritos.”  I thought about the fact that we have half a bag at home, closed with a rubber band, and that I should probably make some chili too.

Then I thought about a time when I was very young, and I was in a car parked in my grandpa’s pasture beside his farm pond.  We had gone there to fish, and someone – either my grandpa, or my uncle, or someone in my family – was telling me that the fishing was always better in the rain.  They had a bag of Fritos in the car and offered me some.

I felt safe in the car, learning the basics of fishing from someone whom I assumed knew it all.  Me, a family member, a bag of Fritos, and a rainy day….

I snapped out of my day dreaming and smiled.  I don’t know where that memory came from, but I needed it.  I closed my eyes and thought about the raindrops coming down onto the surface of the pond that day.

I love Fritos.

But I really, really love little memories like that one.

Oklahoma culture

I Won’t Tell You One of My Secrets

I sometimes wonder if I absorbed too many of the ideals within childhood novels like “Mandy” and “The Secret Garden.”  I certainly understand the longing of both protagonists to have their own “bit of earth.” Or to discover, clean and claim as their own…. a remote “Seashell Cottage” hidden deep within the woods somewhere.

I think those novels, plus a culmination of my years of being a dreamer influenced me to truly embrace the historical home we bought downtown in 1990. And to truly grieve when we sold it and moved back to Suburbia.

I love old homes; my mind erupts with the possibilities of the lives, conversations, and events that transpired within their walls.  When I walk through one, it’s as if my spirit communes with the ghosts of past conversations still living in the air, in the wood and emitting from the beams or chimneys.

That’s why I take time to walk through a few of them every year.  Sometimes when there’s an open house I’ll duck into it upon a whim.  Other times, there might be one for sale and I just might call the realtor to see if they happen to be visiting the property, and when, and…if I “could meet them there to do a walk-through…and, no, I’m really not interested, but I might be someday…and I might run into someone who is.”

That’s how I found my most recent muse.  It’s my secret house.  But I can’t tell you about it, really, because if I did I might give away all the research I’ve already done on the house. And then if I do, it wouldn’t be my secret world anymore, right?

So, I won’t tell you about a home on Northeast 36th Street in Forest Park, Oklahoma.  I won’t tell you that it’s involved in a long, drawn-out foreclosure process that is taking the maximum amount of time possible so that the poor house is falling into more and more disrepair as each day goes by.  I won’t tell you that the entire police force of Forest Park has taken it upon themselves to keep an eye on the place because they want to protect the property for the person who eventually does buy it.

I won’t tell you that the home sits on a five acre lot right in the center of the Oklahoma City metropolitan area, nor that not only is the house huge but there is a second home on the property that appears to have been built around 1945-1960, based upon the wood paneling and style inside.

I won’t tell you that there are numerous animal cages, sheds, and a ton of junk hiding behind the trees and bamboo growing on the property…and that the cleanup process would probably reach over the $50K mark.

I won’t tell you that if you crawl over the rock wall Continue reading I Won’t Tell You One of My Secrets →

Oklahoma culture

“Your Financial Obligation is to Obey the Speed Limits”

There’s something you should know about me.  I am a very effective driver.

What I mean by “effective” is that I don’t generally speed in vast way, but I always drive at least the speed limit.  I never get tickets, and I haven’t been involved in a wreck since my youthful days.  I turned thirty, and for some reason my need for speed disappeared.  Well, unless I was test driving a really cool car.  And, well, until today.

I’m off work today and one of my tasks was to meet with my doctoral advisor.  We have a laundry list of tasks to complete and I was driving to the university too quickly.  I suppose I just wanted to get to Stillwater, “get ‘er done” and get home.  It’s Thanksgiving Eve, for crying out loud.

Then my husband called while I was en route.  He was headed to the golf course and though he left his prescription eye glasses in my car.  Could I look?

“Oh, sure babe…I’d love too, but right now I’m getting pulled over by the highway patrol.  I’ll call you back.”

“Uh…okay.”

I pulled over in an efficient manner.  I unzipped my backpack quickly, immediately found my driver’s license and insurance card, and had both the drivers and passenger windows completely down before the patrolman even reached my car.

As he leaned down, he was met with the sight of my arm fully extended, offering him my identification and promise that I was keeping myself and others protected with insurance.  He looked like he was about to say something so I just jumped in and cut him off.

“It’s completely my fault.  I was speeding.  I’m going to a meeting at the university and I got in a hurry.  I’m very sorry and this is totally a “NO CONTEST” situation.  You’re right, I was wrong.  Here’s all the information you need.”

He hesitated for about 2 seconds.  Then said, “Uh, ma’am, I clocked you going 83 in a 75 zone.”

“I have no doubt that you did. Continue reading “Your Financial Obligation is to Obey the Speed Limits” →

Foodie Page

Waste Not, Want Not: Sunday Night Quiche Tradition-Building

Last week I started a tradition I think I’m going to like.

We generally go grocery shopping every Sunday afternoon to prepare for the upcoming work week.  But then…there’s the refrigerator clean-out process that comes along with the stocking task.  And invariably, I find forgotten food tucked in the deep corners of our fridge that is generally still good but needs to be used ASAP.

Hence, the birth of my Sunday Night “Empty the Fridge” Quiche.  Last week, it consisted of: broccoli, about 1/3 of an onion, a small piece of smoked cheddar block I had to “de-mold” prior to grating, a bit of buttermilk, and 1/3 container of cottage cheese.  Oh, and eggs.

This week, I found half an old bag of frozen chopped spinach, I had some bacon that needed to be cooked, and I had local pullet eggs going out of date in three days.  I threw in about one cup of good shredded cheddar and I must say, it’s delicious (see the top featured photo above).

So, should you wish to follow suit and have breakfast ready to heat up every work day morning the following week, here is all you need:

1) Use your favorite pie crust recipe.  Make only enough for one crust. Continue reading Waste Not, Want Not: Sunday Night Quiche Tradition-Building →

Faith

One Perfect Day. Or Seven.

Today when Mick and I were driving to church, we spied two hot air balloons floating peacefully toward the ground. The colors juxtaposed against the robin egg blue sky were brilliant, it was 49 degrees with no wind, and the sunlight glinted against everything it struck.

Later today I was power walking down the road in front of our house and I noticed that as my center of gravity lifted with each step, then struck against the asphalt, my hair bounced to a rhythm that best matched the tune to “How do you Solve a Problem Like Maria?” As I step-step-stepped, the tune looped over and over in my head:

Many a thing you know you’d like to tell her
Many a thing she ought to understand
But how do you make her stay
And listen to all you say
How do you keep a wave upon the sand

Oh, how do you solve a problem like Maria?
How do you hold a moonbeam in your hand?

Earlier today we had lunch with my younger daughter. Later this afternoon I cooked a roast. First thing this morning, it was doughnut Sunday at church. Late tonight I pulled a perfectly cooked roast and vegetables from the crock pot for meals this week. Sometime mid-evening an old neighbor of ours stopped by the house and took Mick to the Thunder game for a dude night out; I got to stay at home, code research, and watch three episodes of Alli McBeal on Netflix.

And right now? I’m writing a prayer to God, telling Him how grateful I am for the weather we’ve been having, the leaves that are turning, my legs that can walk, balloons that fly, a church that cares, children whom we love and songs in my head.

Peace to you.

Foodie Page

Five Thanksgiving Menu Solutions for Unexpected Surprises

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Being thrown for a loop during a meal or party preparation is never awesome, but it happens. If there are people involved, and cooking food for those people is also involved, unexpected surprises are almost guaranteed.

Twists or turns for a meal on Thanksgiving are especially tricky because the grocery stores are closed, and you find out about these surprises many times right before meal time.

If a few extra people show up, the solution could be as easy as opening an extra can of corn.

Sidebar: Every time I hear, “Can o’ corn” I think about this scene in The Longest Yard:

[youtube http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pJxQbgiLpks]

However, most Thanksgiving meals are so large a few extra people isn’t usually the problem. But other possibilities DO exist. So, I’ve developed a “crisis management” list for you to handle many of the possible, random or even probable surprises lurking in the wings for the upcoming holiday. Here we go…

1. A few days, or even hours prior to your meal, you get this message: “Okay, truth, no one in our family likes dressing. Can we PLEASE forego the dressing?” Great. It’s your turn to cook. You even called for your aunt’s dressing recipe because that’s what has always been served, and no one likes it? Here’s a great substitute that’s easy, it uses your cornbread mix, the big foil pan you had prepped for the dressing, and (in my opinion) tastes better:

Jalapeno Cornbread

In a large bowl combine four packets of cornbread mix (not corn muffin mix). Quickly clean/core 20 jalapeno peppers and shred them in a food processor. Add the peppers, a small bag of frozen corn [thawed], one extra egg over what the mixes call for, two bags of shredded sharp cheddar cheese (16 total oz.), and use buttermilk for the mix rather than regular milk. Please use about 10% extra buttermilk over what the mix calls for as it’s a little thicker. Mix thoroughly (don’t overmix; just until all the ingredients are wet and well blended), transfer to your large foil pan you had prepped for dressing (make sure and coat with non-stick spray prior to filling), and bake in a 390F oven for about 35-40 minutes. Check at 30 minutes. The edges should be nicely brown and pulling from the pan, and a toothpick inserted in the middle should come out clean. This recipe feeds 25 people easily, takes less than an hour from beginning to end, costs about $8.25, and is about .34 cents or less per serving. One other thing – it’s delicious.

Continue reading Five Thanksgiving Menu Solutions for Unexpected Surprises →

Foodie Page

Why English is Hard, or, “How to Speak Starbucks-ese” in the Mornings

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What are blogs for if not for their authors to share true confessions?

And if that were not the case,

and voyeurism were completely dead,

AND those crafting the entries among said blogs only did so for improving and sharing their holy discipline of writing…

well…then I’d be out of here.

But I’m here, and ready today to deliver a rare true confession: I am a food snob.

Here’s another: I actually like Starbucks most days.

AND YET… another: I make fun of food snobs and those who like Starbucks.

In other words, I laugh at that with which I deeply identify. Take this scene for example. The first time I saw it I felt as though someone had secretly invaded my soul and written the secrets they stole into a script for this particular segment:
[youtube http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cnlm2e3EN78]

As I watched that snippet alongside my c. 1989 hubby, I longed for the world to stop so I could run up, kiss the screen and scream, “THANK YOU. Thank you SO much, Sally, for articulating the choices in my head about the food I eat!” I felt empowered, validated…and, I was prepared to access my new-found confidence.

The very next day, when I ordered my salad dressing “On the Side” rather than digging it out of my bowl or sopping it up with a napkin, I smiled. And then I prayed a second time for the food I was about to receive.

Another true confession: I have been a very particular orderer ever since. Which leads me to my main topic: When I go to Starbucks in the morning and order a breakfast sandwich, it goes something like this between the cashier and I…

“I would like a Bacon Gouda Sandwich toasted open-faced please.”

[I painstakingly make sure the waiter is making eye contact with me while I do this so they can also see that I am holding my hands in front of me, praying style, then opening them as I say the words “open faced” so they understand that I do indeed mean when I said.]

“Okay, that’s a Bacon Gouda…anything else?”

“Open faced, right?”

“Yeah, right. [ pause ] You mean, you don’t want the bun on top?” Continue reading Why English is Hard, or, “How to Speak Starbucks-ese” in the Mornings →

Travel

Barf Bag Throwdown: Delta Delivers, American Airlines Left on the Tarmac

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A gracious traveler in the Minnesota airport allowed me to photograph his shirt for this article.

It’s election day, I’m traveling, and all of the sudden competition and sports metaphors are running through my head like Dez Bryant on an 84-yard tear to the end zone.  Here’s one of my favorite by Candy Crowley written about the 2008 presidential candidate, Fred Thompson:

Candy Crowley: “The bass haven’t been biting because Fred Thompson hasn’t been fishing with nightcrawlers. He’s been fishing with gummi worms, and the voters know it.”

Kudos to the Huff Post for putting a great list together about that particular competition.  And speaking of competitions, yesterday I walked into a doozy I didn’t even realize had commenced: the airline Barf Bag Throwdown.  Ever since my last flight to Atlanta, I guess air sickness bags have move up to a higher priority in my gray matter. Click here for 101 Uses for a Delta Airlines Barf-Bag, #93.

The contest made itself known when I decided to visit the “lavatory” (who SAYS that word?) somewhere in the air between Oklahoma City and Chicago yesterday afternoon.  Thankful I have learned to keep my camera with me WHEREVER I go, I spied this little compartment upon entering the “facilities.”

Hmmmm….an “Air Sickness Bag” compartment!

Well, all of the sudden I felt like one of those nosy people on a sitcom who begins trolling through the bathroom cabinets of the protagonist’s abode.  I had to look!  While I expected to be met with a box of bags, or a nice little neat stack of plastic-coated amenities, here’s what I found instead:

Feminine products? Check. Handi-Wipes? Check. Little bags for disposing of feminine products. Check. Barf bags? Nowhere to be found…

Well, first of all. Sympathies all around to any man who feels like he’s going to hurl, runs to the lavatory and finds THAT stack of supplies! Secondly, the air sickness bag subject had just moved to the tip-top of my gray matter and now I was curious.  I headed back to my seat and began digging.  And digging.  Then I removed the magazines and finally found my own personal barf bag in the very bottom of that oh-so-important seat-back compartment we travelers use for many more things than reading materials.  I pulled it out and heard a little deflating, “bummer-like” cartoon noise in my head: “Wah, wah, wahhhh.”

The bag was wrinkled, worn and the built-in twist-tie topper was tearing on both ends.  I thought back to my experience with Delta.  Their bags were visible, sturdy and in my distorted and biased view because I had been saved by them, the leading competitor in Kelly’s private in-her-head Barf Bag Throwdown.

I narrowed my eyes, wrinkled my nose and stuffed the offending bag back into the seat compartment making sure the tattered top was showing for someone who might need it.  Delta had fished with night crawlers, and American Airlines was just out there messing around with gummi worms.  Score one for the Atlanta-based airline, my clear winner in this unseemly battle.

My look of resolve and deep intrigue was not private, however, because as I settled back with into my seat I glanced around the cabin to find my seatmate looking at me with more than a slight air of concern.  I smiled at her, got out my book and began reading.

My Little Victory Garden

Whistle While You Work…or Cook!

Well, the summer nights are over in Oklahoma and with the onset of freezing temperatures comes…work! Monday evening of this week hubby and I realized we had just a few short nights to finish completely cleaning out our garden. I think our conversation went something like this:

Mick: “I think it’s going to freeze Friday or Saturday night. Or both.”

Me: “That’s good. I’m ready for cooler weather. Wait…when? Wait…Holy Toledo, MICK, we need to clean out the garden!!”

Mick: “Okay, we can do that tomorrow.”

Me: “TOMORROW!?? We need to start now!”

Mick: “Okay, it’s already dark outside, and it’s 9:45 p.m., but if you want to get started go right ahead. Otherwise, I’ll help you tomorrow.”

Me: “Tomorrow sounds great.”

First came jalapeno evening where we picked, cleaned and processed a gallon of fresh jalapenos and 19 half-pints of pickled jalapenos while watching the last presidential debate.

Next came the tomatoes…

 

We experienced a “barely-freeze” two weeks ago and my tomato vines turned brown, but the actual tomatoes were fine! So we picked a couple of gallons of grape tomatoes and yellow cherry tomatoes. They’re still waiting to be processed in our nice cool garage.

I also found one carrot, we cut the pumpkin blossoms, and we found about fifty tiny basil plants that were coming up from seed. I potted about ten baby basil plants and brought them inside. Right now they look pretty happy. I’m not telling them about all their other siblings I sacrificed during last night’s freeze. I can hardly bear to think about it, much less tell their family. Cripes! Continue reading Whistle While You Work…or Cook! →

Politics

Canning Peppers and Watching the Debate

Mick and I worked together on cleaning the peppers, prepping them for canning, and garnering all the jars and lids we could muster. It was going to be a big job tonight.

Obama and Romney said frequently during the debate tonight that, “We’re on the same page.” They also agreed that foreign policy is a complex task, garnering all the professionals and delegates they can muster. They looked like they had prepped for what was quite a big job tonight.

My peppers are beautiful. A grand mixture of red and green, crammed with salt, vinegar water and garlic cloves into glistening jars with shiny rings. They’re now rattling and rattling in the pressure cooker.

Obama and Romney look nice in their suits, their ties a grand mixture of red and blue. Their faces are covered with makeup and their shirts are starched. They’re now rattling and rattling in quite a pressure cooker.

In fifteen minutes, I’ll pull the first five of my eleven jars from the pressure cooker. I’ll be waiting for that glorious “ping” when I know the jars are sealed and ready to be packed away. I’m already looking forward to the first trip to the pantry when I can open a jar for some meal that needs a spicy, vinegary topping…a feast most of the men (and some women) in my family really enjoy.

In twenty minutes, the final debate of three presidential and one vice-presidential contests will be completed. The pundits will put their seal of approval, disapproval or neutrality on the event with a ping or a zinger. I’m already looking forward to the day when the debates are behind us, the election is over, and I can begin to think about our country in a way that I’m used to doing…with a new administration, trying to problem solve and implement policy the best they know how. Some of that policy might be a feast; most of it will probably be famine as we trim our budget and hack away the deficit. Some of it might be a very bitter pill to swallow. But my family will be with me, we’ll get through it, and I hope the whole nation will be better very soon for whatever it is that we need to take…or give.

My Little Victory Garden

Rachel’s Little Winter Victory Garden

We stood in her backyard, surveying the fence line.  Which side got the most sun, or the least? Where would the shade be too much for young plants? What would the soil prove to be worth when we dug under the Bermuda grass?

The answers to these questions came to my daughter and I over the first thirty minutes of our work this evening.  We were starting her yard with a winter garden.  Depending upon the weather, some vegetables like lettuces, spinach or green onions could grow through much of the winter.

When we turned over the first shovel-full of soil, we found a nice dark color, three worms and a couple of rolly pollies.  And we smiled.  In my head, I thought: “It’s wick.  She’s got something to help get her started…it won’t be all from scratch.”

Four bags each of composted manure and cottonseed hull mulch, several bags of seeds, and a good deal of work later, Rachel’s garden is well on its way.  I have a feeling it will be cleared out, built up, seeded and tucked in before you know it.  After all, she is my kid…and her grandparents’ grandchild.

Happy gardening, Rachel.  I promise you…you’re about to witness miracles.

***

excerpt from the Secret Garden

Mistress Mary put her hand on his arm again without knowing it.

“Will there be roses?” she whispered. “Can you tell? I thought perhaps they were all dead.”

“Eh! No! Not them–not all of ’em!” he answered. “Look here!”

He stepped over to the nearest tree–an old, old one with gray lichen all over its bark, but upholding a curtain of tangled sprays and branches. He took a thick knife out of his Pocket and opened one of its blades.

“There’s lots o’ dead wood as ought to be cut out,” he said. “An’ there’s a lot o’ old wood, but it made some new last year. This here’s a new bit,” and he touched a shoot which looked brownish green instead of hard, dry gray. Mary touched it herself in an eager, reverent way.

“That one?” she said. “Is that one quite alive quite?”

Dickon curved his wide smiling mouth.

“It’s as wick as you or me,” he said; and Mary remembered that Martha had told her that “wick” meant “alive” or “lively.”

“I’m glad it’s wick!” she cried out in her whisper. “I want them all to be wick. Let us go round the garden and count how many wick ones there are.”

She quite panted with eagerness, and Dickon was as eager as she was. They went from tree to tree and from bush to bush. Dickon carried his knife in his hand and showed her things which she thought wonderful.

“They’ve run wild,” he said, “but th’ strongest ones has fair thrived on it. The delicatest ones has died out, but th’ others has growed an’ growed, an’ spread an’ spread, till they’s a wonder. See here!” and he pulled down a thick gray, dry-looking branch. “A body might think this was dead wood, but I don’t believe it is–down to th’ root. I’ll cut it low down an’ see.”

He knelt and with his knife cut the lifeless-looking branch through, not far above the earth.

“There!” he said exultantly. “I told thee so. There’s green in that wood yet. Look at it.”

Mary was down on her knees before he spoke, gazing with all her might.

“When it looks a bit greenish an’ juicy like that, it’s wick,” he explained. “When th’ inside is dry an’ breaks easy, like this here piece I’ve cut off, it’s done for. There’s a big root here as all this live wood sprung out of, an’ if th’ old wood’s cut off an’ it’s dug round, and took care of there’ll be–” he stopped and lifted his face to look up at the climbing and hanging sprays above him–“there’ll be a fountain o’ roses here this summer.”

They went from bush to bush and from tree to tree. He was very strong and clever with his knife and knew how to cut the dry and dead wood away, and could tell when an unpromising bough or twig had still green life in it. In the course of half an hour Mary thought she could tell too, and when he cut through a lifeless-looking branch she would cry out joyfully under her breath when she caught sight of the least shade of moist green. The spade, and hoe, and fork were very useful. He showed her how to use the fork while he dug about roots with the spade and stirred the earth and let the air in.

They were working industriously round one of the biggest standard roses when he caught sight of something which made him utter an exclamation of surprise.

“Why!” he cried, pointing to the grass a few feet away. “Who did that there?”

It was one of Mary’s own little clearings round the pale green points.

“I did it,” said Mary.

“Why, I thought tha’ didn’t know nothin’ about gardenin’,” he exclaimed.

“I don’t,” she answered, “but they were so little, and the grass was so thick and strong, and they looked as if they had no room to breathe. So I made a place for them. I don’t even know what they are.”

RDC News & Updates

One Thousand Blessings – The RDC Sends Out Our 1000th Post

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Yesterday when I was sending out my “Starbucks line standing” post, I noticed that we had just hit number “one thousand”… one thousand posts since the RDC was started 2.5 years ago.

1,000 posts, almost 225,000 visits, about 500,000 words and about 18 different contributors over that time period = wow!

I’m not sure how many t-shirts we’ve given away, or how many messages we’ve posted or answered on FB.  I’m not sure how many Tweets have gone out, or how many times the information or essays on our blog have been shared, or ridiculed…we just can’t know.

What we can know, however, is that the mission of the RDC – – to write about Oklahoma culture – – is made better because of you.

Thanks readers and our RDC community.  Even when we’ve waxed and waned with family commitment, school, failed experiments, and sometimes just really cool stories, we have always appreciated you.

Take care –

Red Dirt Kelly, and the RDC Contributor Team from day one until now

Travel

The Human Tolerance Thresholds for Starbucks Lines in the Morning

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As a social researcher, I observe as much of my surroundings as possible.  If I notice a pattern that raises a question in my mind, I start testing it when I have the time.  If my pilot tests begin to pan out, then I spend some intentional time on the same question for a cross-sectional, qualitative investigation.

Such is the case with Starbucks lines in the morning.  Having spent many a day at the back of the line, I’ve been privy to comments such as, “Oh Holy Mother of ____, this line is too long…never mind…” or, “Hey, not bad.  I think I’ve got time to wait.”

Some of the funniest people to me are those whose body language clearly shows conflict between the need for a coffee fix and their next obligation.  I’ve actually seen people almost spin in place – stop, hesitate, mutter to themselves, turn back around…and eventually make a decision.  Sometimes their decision is reversed in the middle of the line.  I’ve even seen a “struggler” decide to stay, then get through half the line, then decide to leave, THEN come back and ask the person she was standing next to if she could have her place back.

Having already observed this line-length tolerance threshold pattern and conducted a few pilot tests, I’ve been using this past two weeks as my actual cross-sectional study.  For this post I’ve included five Starbucks stores in the mornings: 2 in a hotel, 2 in a southern regional airport, and one in a north central regional airport.  Here are my findings:

The range of persons standing in line in these collective sites ranges from 8 to 26.  The shorter lines (8 and 9) were in hotel establishments, the longer lines (15, 19 and 26) were in airport sites.  The tolerance level on length of line seems to be positively correlated with the actual amount of space available.  For example, the areas within the hotels were smaller, one was cramped, and people were in very close proximity.  The line in the Atlanta airport was long, had families and strollers camped out (see my two photos) along the way, and there was no “self-negotiation” going on at the end.  It appeared that people could clearly Continue reading The Human Tolerance Thresholds for Starbucks Lines in the Morning →

Oklahoma culture

Here is Exactly How it Is…That “Student Getting Into Your Heart” Thing

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Somewhere over the Arkansas-Louisiana border at 40,000 feet I was startled out of my daydreaming state by an announcement coming over the cabin microphone: “Kelly from Edmond? Would you please turn on your call light?”

“Cripes,” I thought to myself.  Then I said it aloud. “Cripes!  I probably dropped my wallet or something.”  I was talking half to myself and half to an OSU student I had met who had lots of questions about flying.  She was sitting across the aisle from me grinning.  “Um…” I started.  Then I made eye contact with the flight attendant who was standing in the first class section and waved weakly.  “Here I am…”  My voice trailed off.  I felt like a child.

The flight attendant saw me, smiled way bigger than should have fit a wallet-losing scenario, and began making her way down the aisle.  When she reached me, she held out her hand and offered me a piece of paper that looked like airline-logo-stuff.  “Here you go,” she said.  “The people in seats one and two sent these to you as their compliments.”

I turned the paper over.  Printed on the back were two coupons, good for a snack or a drink.  I glanced up at her, “Um. Well, thanks!  Can I buy a ‘hug coupon’ from you and send it their way??”  She smiled and returned to the front.

The gift was from the parents of a former drama student of mine I taught approximately 18 years ago.  However, he wasn’t just any student.  This was one of those students who wrestled his way into my heart no matter how hard I tried to keep the door shut. He was brilliant, mischievous (okay, he was a real brat), in trouble constantly, and to this day I still hear from him about once a year. As I fidgeted with the coupons, my thoughts drifted backward…

I allowed him to borrow my car once because his was blocked in and I needed someone to pick up pizza for our set construction day.  He did.  He wanted to do something nice for me.  So, he drove my car five miles further than I expected, filled up my gas tank with his father’s credit card, then drove away with the gas line and pump still attached to my car.  This was before they had “break-away” hoses, so he pulled the entire pump over, and my insurance paid out a $6800 settlement six months later.  A week after that, the gas station closed it’s doors.  Go figure.

This same kid attended at least three of my children’s birthday parties, made a brief showing at my daughter’s wedding, came by for my younger daughter’s high school graduation party, and dressed up as a gumball machine for one particular party when they were younger.  He tied a 55 gallon translucent garbage bag around his knees, filled it with all colors of inflated balloons, then taped the top around his neck. Oh, and two days after my hysterectomy I was lying on my couch at home recovering when he and his new bride stopped their “get away limo,” ran into my house, and gave me a hug in their wedding clothes before leaving for their honeymoon.

This is the same kid that stole the 6-foot blue hippo from a car wash on Broadway in Edmond, Continue reading Here is Exactly How it Is…That “Student Getting Into Your Heart” Thing →

Foodie Page, Homestead and Garden

Simple Ideas: Apple Cider with a Breath of Rosemary

A serene view helps the cider be that much better.

This morning’s walk to the Intellegentsia coffee house was interrupted by the Chicago marathon.  Everywhere we tried to walk, our path was blocked with thousands of runners being cheered on my a supportive crowd, offering an endless supply of water cups.  Dance music filled the air to add another layer of, “You can DO it!” attitude to the environment.

So we made a contingency plan, and I’m so glad we did.  Our detour led us to one of the first locations my children had tried during our vacation:  GrahamWich, a Graham Elliot restaurant that offered a light breakfast menu and was right around the corner.  The quiche with Swiss cheese was delightful, and the crust especially flaky and tender.

But the apple cider was amazing.  I took a second sip.  Again, the tangy freshness sat with my taste buds but I couldn’t really distinguish any special notes. “Must be the apples,” I thought.  No, the third sip revealed the secret.  On the back of my palate, right before I was tempted with another bit of quiche I found it: rosemary.  Notes of rosemary danced across my tongue, and I smiled. Continue reading Simple Ideas: Apple Cider with a Breath of Rosemary →

My Little Victory Garden

My Little Victory Garden: Rustic Baked Hen Legs with White Toscana Poached Pears

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Sometimes I think I should change the title of “My Little Victory Garden” posts to “Scrappy Cooking.”  Indeed, the theme is most often: do what you can with what you have.

So this week I once again looked in my freezer for forgotten protein and found…a bulk pack of 14 chicken legs I had purchased on sale for $5.00.  “Okay,” I thought.  “There’s my main dish.  Next, check the garden.”  I couldn’t find my rosemary.  My little plant is only 6″ tall and has been completely swallowed up by my massive pumpkin plant.

Therefore, I used my neighbor’s rosemary.  She had borrowed an egg earlier that day.  I have dibs on her tomatillos she was growing with the seeds I had given her (I pulled my plant up because I thought it was a weed!).  And she’s used my Anaheim and jalapeno peppers no less than six times this summer…okay, you get the drift.  We’re ingredient swappers.  I’ll cherish her forever.

After walking into the house I noticed fruit flies had already started swarming around the lovely D’Anjou pears my parents brought me from Tuttle so I quickly settled on a complementary dish of poached pears and…there! In the back of my refrigerator was a crisp, medium dry bottle of white Toscana (Italian wine from the Tuscany area) taking up space.  I think it has been in there for at least six weeks.  And…that was all I needed to finish my entrée.

If you’d like to cook with me, I’ll share the simple recipe I concocted.  Here we go:

First, mix 1/2 c. olive oil and 1/3 c. balsamic vinegar with 1/2 T. sea salt, 3-4 thinly sliced cloves of garlic, ground pepper to cover the top of the liquid, and one 5″ twig of rosemary.  Strip the rosemary from the twig and mince most of it, careful not to include the tough portions that attached to the twig.  I put in about 25% of my rosemary whole for a pretty look on the baked poultry.

Whisk the marinade together, then put the 7 hen legs plus the marinade in a gallon bag.  Shake, and leave overnight…or AT LEAST for 1.5 hours.

When you’re ready to bake the chicken, arrange in a pan and pour remaining marinade over the meat.  Bake at 375 for 1:15 or 400 for 1 hour.  The skin should be pulling away and darker brown when the meat is done.

While the chicken is roasting it will then be time to poach your pears.  I used all the pears that were ripe and tender, meaning: six.  Therefore, you could probably use about one pear for every two or three chicken legs.

I hardly ever peel my fruit (apologies to all the purists) because I just like to eat pears and apples with the peelings ON…it makes me think I’ve not sacrificed all the vitamins to the compost gods.  So, I destemmed and deseeded my pears then sliced them thinly and as evenly as possible.  It’s important that you try to match the size and density of your slices as closely as possible so they will finish at the same time.

Once the pears were prepped, I skinned and diced one large shallot.  I then sautéed the shallot in about 2.5-3 Tablespoons of butter, until the edges were just turning brown and it had softened nicely.

Next I added the pears and tossed them with the leftover butter, then added about 2/3rd’s bottle of white, med-dry wine to the pan and raised the temperature until the mixture began to simmer.  I added two sprigs of rosemary to the mixture, 1/3 c. sugar, and two slices of lemon and let the mixture cook the pears for about 30 minutes, until the fruit was nicely tender.  I then scooped out all the fruit (as well as the rosemary sprigs) into a bowl and reduced the liquid until a just slightly-thick sauce appeared.

When your chicken is about five minutes from being done, gently place the pears back into the reduction and warm up the mixture.  After you’ve pulled the chicken from the oven, arrange nicely on a platter and dish the poached pears across the top of your meat.

I would suggest serving with some good bread, a mixture of crisp greens and perhaps a side of purple roasted potatoes or a squash medley as your side.  Therefore, your starch, hot, cold, crisp, sweet and savory are all balanced.  Have some chilled Toscana left?  Then you know EXACTLY what to serve with the meal!

One note – the savory/sweet pears are not all that good cold (the shallot & rosemary flavor is a strange combination right out of the refrigerator), so if you’re going to have leftovers, make sure and warm the pears.

I’m glad I had a few moments this evening to share my recipe with you.  How about you?  Have you picked any pears?  Any if so, how have you prepared them?

Take care…Kelly

Politics

Your Personal DNA Mask: Are You Ready for the Big Reveal?

The level of “masking” in the information age is multi-dimensional. 

While personal banking was historically done in person, masks of account numbers and usernames have replaced much of the monetary transactional processes. 

Redditors are known for vehemently guarding the masks behind which their users are cloaked while simultaneously defending the right of free speech. They agree to trust the process of letting their members work out moral and ethical questions as well as decide what is truly funny or agree when an egregious wrong needs to be corrected.

Surveys are now done through links and promises of confidentiality rather than delivered to mailboxes with requests to use return envelopes. News reporting has now (mostly) perfected the computer voice change software so that interviews done with shadow profiles and deep voices lend a mask to what otherwise the interviewee just couldn’t bear to reveal.

And now?  In what seems like the blink of an eye, scientists at the Human Genome Project have gone from embarking upon their massive task to completing the identification of approximately 30K genes and potentially “3 billion chemical base pairs” that make up human DNA.

This process has raised a plethora of new “mask-type” questions: How do we approach fairness in the use of information? What are the psychological and/or stigmatizations of any gene-based revelations? What about laws, patents, commerce, reproductive rights, validity, reliability, mistakes?…The list of questions is seemingly as long as the double helix models embedded in every science classroom across the country.

But what are the answers?  And, what is the answer for YOU?

In just a short period of time, you’ve now been given the opportunity to find out just where the propensity of your historical and/ancestral DNA was derived.  In other words, you can now find out from where you’ve come.  By lifting this mask, thousands of people have now revealed the answers to some of their deepest questions…only to find more.  Or, to find out answers that others wish had remained hidden.

But soon, the “thousand dollar personalized DNA testing” package may become another reality for you. You may now be able to find out where you are going.

Do you want to know what traits you carry and how your genetic makeup is either vulnerable to various diseases or reveals strengths of which you had not have been aware?  Do you want to see your information on an app where you can search through result after result and look up corresponding information? 

Do you want one of your most personalized masks to be removed?  Are you willing to fork over one thousand dollars to pull it off?  What if it were free?  What if it were collected and stored into a national database?  What if you find out something you would really rather never, ever know?

I would imagine that when humans remove a mask…any mask…that decision is preceeded with some degree of anxiety.  Even if that anxiety is only based in thoughts such as, “I wonder if my hair is now messed up or my mascara smeared?” But there is a national, perhaps even world-wide, anxiety about what the removal of our personal DNA mask means.  And it may be time for you to think your opinions through…before someone removes that mask without your permission.

So, are you prepared for the “big reveal?”

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Photo used by permission from ChaTo’s Flickr Account