My Green Thumb

My newly transplanted succulent clippings

Yesterday at the grocery store, I lamented having to buy fresh rosemary. "It was so nice having a spice garden last year," I said with a sigh. The Wrangler looked confused. "Huh? You still have a spice garden." It was my turn to look confused. "I do?" I haven't given a thought to that bowl o' plants on the patio since March. I assumed it was dead. Turns out, my spice garden is alive and well. Thanks to the Wrangler's periodic watering and care. And no thanks to me. I don't think that this exchange in the produce section did much to build the Wrangler's confidence in my lavender farming abilities.

Well, there's no use setting oneself up to fail. I am a rather relaxed, not to say neglectful, gardener. Thus, my latest gardening project involves succulents--water-retaining plants that can pretty much fend for themselves. I bought a collection of succulent cuttings and am planning to plant a living picture as soon the cuttings have settled in. (See the instructions in Sunset magazine.) I'm debating whether to take the easy way out and purchase a living picture planter kit from the Succulent Gardens that includes the frame and cactus mix for the cuttings. Somehow this seems like cheating, though. A true cowgirl would build her own frame...but on the other hand, an urban cowgirl might buy hers online. Why do I feel like I'm at a crossroads?

Heartfelt

Pieces of roving stabbed into a thin piece of artfelt paper

This afternoon a friend and I took an artfelt class at Strands & Stitches, an adorable knitting store just a few blocks away. What is artfelt? Well, as the Artfelt website states, "It's not needle felting. It's not wet felting. It's not fulling." Good to know. Although, I've never heard of any of those things. My rudimentary description: you take various colors of roving (strips of flimsy wool fiber--yes, this is an alpaca tie-in), twist into shapes, and place on a piece of special artfelt paper. Using a barbed needle, stab the pieces of roving into the artfelt paper. To save your table top, be sure to place a piece of foam or tacking board between the artfelt paper and your table.

After it "felted" in the dryer

Immerse your design in water. Cover the top side of your design with a piece of plastic (like a plastic grocery bag), and then place a rolled dishtowel on top. Roll the design into a tube shape (around the dishtowel) and then put the tube into a trouser sock. The process does not ruin the dishtowel or sock. Throw it into the dryer for about 15 minutes, and then unroll. Place your design, paper side-up, in the sink, and pour boiling water over it to dissolve the paper. Rinse and allow to dry.

Finished product: a camera case for my niece

Mouse House

We have a mouse. That's what you get when you leave the patio doors wide open to enjoy the ocean breeze on warm summer evenings. I made the discovery yesterday when I noticed a large chunk missing from a loaf of bread. Don't get me wrong, a mouse in the house is gross. But I've gotten much more relaxed about things like this. I see the barn cat kill mice all the time when I'm at the stables. Rodents are part of ranch life. Of course, that doesn't mean I want one in the house and eating my bread.

The Wrangler is on mouse patrol. He's done this once before, a couple Octobers ago when a mouse broke in and ate all our Halloween candy. I don't mean to criticize my better half, but it must be said that Operation Mighty Mouse wasn't the smoothest or most aggressive campaign. The soft-hearted Wrangler's weapon of choice is the catch-and-release trap, which provided our clever guest with many delightful appetizers (cheese, crackers, candy) but did not, uh, do the trick. After a week of empty traps and stolen bait, the Wrangler was forced to admit that the catch-and-release traps were doing nothing more than just feeding the fellow.

He conceded that it was time to move on to a traditional snap trap. At bedtime, I'd corral the puppies into the bedroom while the Wrangler set the traps in the living room and kitchen. During the next 20 minutes, the puppies and I would hear a SNAP! and then the Wrangler shouting "ouch!" Then another SNAP! and the Wrangler's "arghh!" And yet another SNAP! followed by a "darn it!" (Unlike this urban cowgirl who's been known to launch a few decidedly non-ladylike words on occasion, the genteel Wrangler does not swear.) I kid you not, our late sweet Doberman Como actually turned to me, rolled her eyes, and mouthed the word, "dufus." We weren't sure whether it was the Wrangler or Homer Simpson in our kitchen trying to set a snap trap.

Flash forward to the present. We now are on Night 2 of our ground war. Here's hoping it's over in a...snap.

Viele Köche verderben den Brei? Not in this case.

I've mentioned before that a bunch of us prepare a meal at the Friendship House once a month. We plan the menu, do the grocery shopping, cook the food, and serve it to about 40 residents. The one thing we do not have to do is the dishes! Our gentle leader John takes pride in ensuring that every dish is made from the best ingredients and served with soul. This month we planned a German menu. John bought a feast's worth of wurst and sauerkraut from Mattern, a German deli in the city of Orange. Mattern is one of those places where people stand on line for 45 minutes to place their order. Judging from the sauerkraut, I can attest that it is worth any wait.

It's hard to pull off a German meal. When you're messing around with all that wurst, pickled cabbage, pork, and potato salad, it really can go either way. I admit that I had some misgivings going into this on Saturday. Minutes after arriving at the Friendship House, John put three of us to work peeling peaches and washing berries for the fruit cobbler. The other three started peeling potatoes for the potato salad--using a treasured recipe from John's friend's grandmother. No mayo. Just vinegar, sugar, green onions, and bacon for seasoning. Served warm, of course.

It's hard to gauge which dish was the piece de resistance, but I think I have to go with the bacon-wrapped pork loin. Yeah, you heard me right. We took two pork loins (5 lbs each) and wrapped them unabashedly in bacon, browned the meat, and popped it in the oven. We basted the meat with a syrupy mixture of vinegar, honey, onion, rosemary, and raisins. We thought there would be a ton of leftovers, but there was absolutely nothing left in any pot, dish, or pan.

Dinner always tastes delicious at the Friendship House. It's a combination of our hard work, the fun of cooking with friends, the gratitude from the residents, and truly good food. Next month is Kansas City-style BBQ.

A Bath for Dash

Scrappy Doo was looking and smelling great after his bath tonight...until a certain Wrangler who was supposed to be supervising the pets outside got too absorbed in his guitar and didn't notice that the Russells were chasing baby birds and rolling in dirt in the side yard.

Show Time

I competed in my first horse show this weekend--a practice show hosted by my riding school. My goal was simple: anything but last place. I'm pleased to report that I exceeded my goal. Out of the five riders who competed at the Beginner level, I placed third in the flat class (where judges look at the horse's movement) and fourth in the flat equitation class (where judges look at the rider's position). Not too bad for someone who just started lessons a few months ago, right? Well, my honor demands that I tell you the entire story. A seven-year old and her pony took first place. You can see why I'm concurrently proud and pathetic.

The day of the show, I entered the arena atop the magnificent Miki Moto, a beautiful warmblood gelding who stands 18 hands high. As I trotted past little girls on their spunky ponies (under 14.2 hands), I felt mildly like someone in a scene in a Will Ferrell movie or SNL sketch in which a hulking adult mows down tiny tots to win a 50-yard dash, does an overly exuberant victory dance, and makes an "L" with his thumb and forefinger as he brushes past the kids who lost. Luckily for me, I was never in any danger of soundly defeating all the aspiring National Velvets and thus looking like a Will Farrell character. My young competitors, although still Beginners, have been riding for a year or more. They looked awesome--it certainly wasn't a case of the judges just letting the kids win.

I was fairly nervous before the show. I knew that I'd be the only adult, which is kind of humiliating. Why are there no other adult beginners? And why did I wait until now to start lessons? Even though I wasn't aiming to win and knew that I wouldn't win, I didn't want to--as the Wrangler says--"stall out." (The Wrangler came to one of my lessons and asked why I sometimes "stall out" or, in other words, just stop my horse and sit there for a minute. I'm sure my instructor would like to know the same thing. The answer is simple: sometimes there is too much to think about at once. I'm like a PC that freezes up when it has too many apps running.)

All in all, my first show was a great experience. First, I didn't stall out. Second, I loved shopping at the tack store for my show outfit. Third, there's a cross-stitch sampler-worthy moral lesson in here (maybe something like, "it's never too late," "you have to start somewhere," or "you're not all that"). Fourth, it's good to get my hotshot lawyer ego taken down a notch or 10 (losing to a seven-year old will do that nicely). But most of all, it was just plain fun to spend the morning with horses and people who love them.

I Scream, You Scream

I followed the Wrangler's advice and made a batch of ice cream tonight. The man knows what he's talking about. I just mixed organic whole milk, cream, vanilla extract, and sugar in a bowl, dumped the mixture into the freezer bowl, and turned on the ice cream maker. Twenty minutes later we were scarfing down a nice bowl of homemade ice cream. As I made room in the freezer for the leftovers, I shook a fist at the gelato (a/k/a my rookie mistake).