Applesauce

Applesauce
Three bushels of apples are now off my counter and in my freezer. About half of the apples I sliced, fried in butter, and stirred in brown sugar and cinnamon. We will use these as warm side dishes or as toppings for pancakes (especially the gingerbread pancakes) or ice cream.

With the rest of the apples, I attempted applesauce. I was up until 1 am making it one night this week and it turned out runny - like pulpy apple cider. I stuck it in fridge and went to bed. The next morning, I strained it through cheesecloth and all was well. When I served the applesauce and apple sauce juice last night (with spinach quiche), my family raved. So I ended up with about $5.00 worth of applesauce and juice and it only took me seven hours. Tell me again why I'm doing this?

Katherine Hilliard Bennett Young

Katherine Hilliard Bennett Young
Or Kitty as her brother John called her in the Rondeau just posted. She is my paternal great-grandmother. I cherish my grandmother's locket that has a picture of Kitty (her mother) and Lawrence (her son and my father) in it. I framed a newpaper article Kitty wrote for the Buffalo Courier interviewing a female drummer (traveling salespeople).

I also have several of her books with correspondence and clippings stashed inside. Inserted in one of the books, Wild Earth and Other Poems by Padraic Colum, are several letters from the poet including some interesting discussion of the unrest in Ireland and how his friend (whom my great-grandmother admired) was executed for treason. The poet inscribed the book with the following blessing:

May the Olden
One whom Fairy
Women nurtured
Thro' seven ages,
Bring you seven
Waves of Fortune!

For Katherine Hilliard Young
Padriaic Colum
April 1921

To Kitty - A Rondeau

To Kitty - A Rondeau

"And after partaking of Sunday eatables he was bidden to write." - G. Innesly

You bid me try, Dear Kit, to write

An impromptu, at once, to night!

A rondeau, too, with thirteen lines,

And with the choice of just two rhymes;

Think of the task! at best - not light,

But when the muse, that nimble sprite,

Be stuffed with turkey, it is quite

Beyond my pen, and yet - pass lines!

You bid me try.

But still I strive; I'm in a plight;

Ah! Curses be on appetite,

And woe to him that overdines,

His verse with humor never shines,

And though my form "twill blast and blight,

You bid me try.

From John M. Hilliard, Medina, N.Y. Christmas,
1901.

Carnival of Recipes

Check out the Carnival of Recipies.

Syrian Nutmeg Cake

Carnival of the Recipes
I submitted my first recipe to the Carnival. This is a favorite from my childhood that I took with me when I established my first kitchen many moons ago. It is an easy and elegant dessert and always gets raves. The bottom crumb layer forms a crunchy crust for the moist cake, unless you pat the crumbs down and then it becomes rockhard. I use the 9 inch pan and I find it usually takes a lot a longer to bake than indicated.

A friend made a similar cake but used almonds and added orange zest to the batter. She didn't use nutmeg, but some other spice that I simply can't recall (cloves? ginger?). It was very good.

Look for other great recipes this Friday when She Who Will Be Obeyed hosts the carnival.

Syrian Nutmeg Cake
2 cups brown sugar
2 cups flour
1/2 cup butter
1 egg
1 tsp. nutmeg
1 cup sour cream
1 tsp. baking soda
1/2 cup chopped walnuts

Cut butter into sugar and flour until finely crumbed. Sprinkle half of the crumb mixture in a well-greased 7" springform pan (do not pat!). Mix baking soda and sour cream and add to the remaining crumbs along with egg and nutmeg. Beat until smooth. Pour batter over crumbs and sprinkle with nuts. Bake 1.5 hours at 325 degrees or until center is set. Can also use a 9" square pan and bake at 350 degrees for 35 to 40 minutes.

Serve warm or cold, with or without whipped cream.

River Party

Fall River Party
Saturday was the tenth annual Bishop gathering at the St. Joseph River. Not having a rain plan, I was pleased to awake to blue skies and sunshine, and the cool air made it a perfect fall day.

At 2:00, 25 of us gathered - from 18 months old to 81 years old. We cooked Beef Gascon in a large kettle over the open fire while the rest of the family brought side dishes and desserts. Tim brought bushels of apples from his trees, which has become part of the fall ritual.

In the afternoon, part of us went up to the Highlands and part of us stayed at the Property. (Yes, we own two river properties in addition to our home - which makes for LOTS of mowing.) In the barn at the Highlands, Mom was giving away some of her stuff she couldn't fit in her new apartment. The brothers and sister and I were reluctant to select anything in case others may want it, but the grandkids had no such compunction. (My son Ron has been reading Dad's WWII training manuals all week.) Tim brought his black powder musket and made some loud noises shooting the targets while the teenagers played a game of football.

Back at the property, Steve gave rides on the riverboat, even after night fell. The teenagers also took the canoes out; luckily no one fell in this year. Last year, Caecilia fell in after her canoe was rammed by her brother. I never saw anyone move so fast for shore as the canoe floated downstream.

The stew was done so we gathered to eat after praising God for our family and the day. After we took the kettle off the fire, Jennifer fried some bacon and mush for entertainment as the bacon grease caught on fire. Sated, we sat around the fire and told scary stories. One story made even the adults shriek in horror: President Kerry. We hid in the dark to scare the returning nighttime river boat riders. However, Grandma hid in her car and had trouble with her automatic headlights, etc.-our sides were splitting watching her antics. Andy's title is still secure though-the kids said that no one at the river has ever hidden and scared them as much as Andy once did. Then the storytelling started again as Mike softly played his guitar with Jennifer on harmonica with 3-year-old Morgan helping her. Each story outdid the previous one until Jenny capped off the evening with a thinly disguised Stephen King tale adapted to the Saint Frances Bass Mansion.

Gardener of My Soul

Be the Gardener of my Soul

I was exchanging e-mails with a friend from church this morning and she shared this prayer with me which I'm sharing with you.

Spirit of the living God, be the Gardener of my soul.
For so long I have been waiting, silent and still -
experiencing a winter of the soul.
But now, in the strong name of Jesus Christ, I dare to ask:
Clear away the dead growth of the past,
Break up the hard clods of custom and routine
Stir in the rich compost of vision and challenge.
Bury deep in my soul the implanted Word,
Cultivate and water and tend my heart,
until new life buds and opens and flowers.
Amen.

UPDATE: I tracked down the author - Richard Foster. In his book "Prayers from the Heart" he says he is indebted to Carol Mullikin for the image of God as Gardner of my Soul.

Ricky's Rant

Ricky's Rant
The twins had their 6-month dental check-up yesterday with their pediatric dentist. Ricky needs work on his permanent teeth that the pediatric dentist is not comfortable doing. He released Ricky and referred him to a dentist who treats adults. (I first wrote "adult dentist" as if they've been going to a child dentist.) For some reason, the switch upset Ricky mightily. Can you believe that both Dr. Olinger and I teared up? We've been through so much with the boys and I also saw it as another sign of my boys growing up too quickly for my comfort (although sometimes they are not maturing fast enough for my comfort.)

So on the way home, Ricky starts talking about the switch, getting more and more upset and not listening to any reason. His emotional outburst then extended to the recent switch in medical doctor due to HMO changes. Ron tried to get him to stop, but I wanted to hear what Ricky was thinking. Here's Ricky's conclusion:

"And it won't be long before we are going to school dirty, wearing rags
with oozing sores all over our bodies and no one will want to be our
friend."

Mainstream Media Reformation

MainStream Media Reformation
This article (via Instapundit) elegantly captured my opinion about the mainstream media. I thought you may enjoy it also.

Volunteer Army

Volunteer Army
Ron has decided to volunteer for the Army when he graduates high school. This is more than idle chatter. He has talked to new recruits, only checks out war books in the library, researched it on the web. Halfway through the presidential debates last night, he turned to me and said, "If Kerry wins, I'm going to wait until he is no longer commander-in-chief."

If Kerry is elected, the volunteer army may be in trouble if other young men feel the same way about the danger of being under Kerry's leadership. So return of draft may be a self-fulfilling prophecy.

Gambling Update

Gambling Debt
Quick update on Ricky's gambling debt. I asked him about it tonight and he said that the boys were just joking with him and he doesn't owe them anything.

So I hope he learned several lessons from this episode. Time will tell.

Still can't get the image out of my head of 1950s bad boys rolling dice in the back alleys, leather jackets, white t-shirts with cigarettes rolled up in the sleeve, ducktails.

Essence of Teenage Boys

Essence of Teenage Boys
After school, Ron dropped the mail on the table and handed me a catalog. He had studied it as he slowly walked down the driveway and decided that I'd better throw it away, because this and this and this, pointing to specific pictures, was inappropriate. The catalog? Victoria's Secret.

Then after the normal uproar over homework (if it's not due tomorrow, it doesn't have to be done), they went to the girls soccer game at the high school. Home again, a little more study, a little more attitude. One boy is practicing his sarcasm (from the word sarka`zein - to tear flesh like dogs). So Steve and I played tag team working with the boys so neither one of us would wear out. Finally it is their bedtime and Rick looks at me tentatively, "Mom, I have a little problem at school."

Before school started this morning, he played Texas Hold 'Em, lost, then discovered the boys were playing for money. He has been forbidden to play poker, since we know that there is a gambling epidemic in the school system. Too many boys with too much time and too much money with too little supervision.

"How much, Ricky?"

Deer in headlight look. "More than five dollars."

"How much more?" I never did get a clear answer. "Who was playing?" He didn't want to say. "Isn't poker forbidden at school?" No answer.

His father told Ricky it was his problem so Ricky had to come up with the solution. Ricky offered two solutions: welsh on the bet or rat to the principal. Steve and I exchanged incredulous looks and explained to our oh-so-un-streetsmart son why those may not be good solutions. I then suggested to Ricky that he could pay it out of his allowance over the next few weeks.

"What?!!" slamming his open palms on the table, "That's MY money."

book recommendations

Books
It's about time for my book club to choose books to read next year. I'm always on the prowl for good books. Does anyone have a recommendation? Fiction or non-fiction. New releases or old favorites. Any genre. I'm open to all ideas.

Fall Garden

Fall Garden
It's been a while since I've written about my garden, because it's been a while since I've spent any time in it. I do miss it. It grounds me. This is true even though the pun is weak.

A month ago I wrote about the mid-summer doldrums in the garden. I solved some of the problem by filling clay pots with yellow, purple and white end-of-season, drastically-reduced-in-price annuals and strategically placed the pots in the bare spots. I also aggressively cut back many of the perennials. The pots are now lush with growth and the perennials sprouted fresh foliage.

The Autumn Joy, having provided structure in the earlier garden, is flush with dusty pink flowers. These are complemented by the simple dusty pink rays of mums with their yellow centers. The yellow is picked up by the Stella D'Oro daylilies amd moonbeam coreopsis putting on their final display. The last roses of summer are blooming, pink and cream, with a spicy fragrance. The toad lilies are still blooming although slightly past their peak. A few yellow rudbeckia and white cleomes have decided to continue their blooming. This is crowned by the sway of the blooming grasses. In a few weeks, this display will change as the foliage changes and seed pods add interest.

This has been a strange year, weather-wise and otherwise, so I'm not too surprised to see late spring plants blooming now - especially my foxglove and forget-me-nots.

My poem

My Poem
Here's my poem, written by an Aardvaark, based on my blog, my prize for winning the baby pool:

Earth Girl
She keeps an online journal where bits of her peek through
She has a loving husband and a teen-age boy ( X 2! )
She left behind her corporate job and the luxuries it afforded
To spend her days in other ways (for which she's been rewarded)
She likes to bake and cook and sew and always seems to think of others
Playing 'monster tag' in the dark, I know she's not your boring sort of mother!

She often tells us of her pond
And other things of which she's fond
Like sunrise and the morning dew,

Lilies, butterflies, blackbirds, cherries
Fireflies, iris, fresh blueberries
These are just to name a few

The way she writes of growing things
Displays the inner joy they bring
Creation in its verdant glory
And as they grow up all around
You sense with sight and smell and sound
The things she tells of in her stories

I'm glad she lets us tag along to see the world through eyes so kind
When Earth Girl's in her garden, contentment isn't far behind.
// posted by LittleA

My husband smiled when he read it and then said, "I used to write you poetry." I nodded. He did..when we were dating. I suspect I shall get another one soon.

I think LittleA hit it pretty close, except for the sewing part. I have a recessive craft gene and haven't sewn since high school. Ever since I left the corporate world, getting my sewing machine fixed has been on my To Do list but it has never Been Done.

While I left behind my corporate job, it was not of my choosing. I was ignobly, unjustly kicked out on my kiester. The best thing that ever happened to me.

And the monster tag reference said as much about LittleA as Earth Girl. I suspect the idea of running around in the dark, with the moonshadows of trees being "safe", appeals to his sense of childlike fun. That is a good thing and I wish it on all of you, my three readers.

So those of you who know me well - 20, 30, 40, or 50+ years - can you add a verse or two to round out this portrait?

Dogs

Beauregard
This is National Dog Week, so I'm going to honor one of my favorite dogs ever - Beauregard. Goofy. I can't deny that Beau was a supremely, exquisitely goofy dog. Anyone who spent time with Beau used that term - goofy. I prefer the term "character." Beau was a character and he had character.

Beau was a mixed breed with a lot of blue tic hound dog in him. In fact, this picture looks a lot like Beau. He was strong and muscular - cut like a body builder. His coat glistened and he had that special light in his eyes.

He had free rein of the woods, swamp, and fields around our house. He never ventured into the road or other people's property, preferring his solitary roaming. I once saw him sail over a high fence from a stand still, gracefully touching the fence with all four paws, kissing it for balance.

One of his favorite sports was counting coup with groundhogs and opossums. Once he cornered a bobcat, intending to engage in his favorite sport. Not a scratch on him, but his howling and the cat’s snarling woke us up to investigate.

In his old age, his sport of choice was frog hunting. He would spend hours and hours circling the pond, knee deep in water with his white tipped tail straight up and nose down. The frogs joined in the game, jumping over his back as he passed by them. At the splash, he would look over at the sound, with no idea what it was.

Of course, he treed raccoons his whole life. Once he had three raccoons treed- one in each of the three wild cherry trees next to the shop.

My father, when slowed down by heart failure, would sit with Beau next to our pond, patting his head and telling Beau in a soft voice, "I know what your mother was and I know what that makes you." Beau would thump his tail in ecstasy.

He had distinctive barks for friend or foe, animal or human, wanting out, wanting in, and of course for the hunt. But unlike most hound dogs, he did not howl all night long, only for a purpose.

He was the runt of the litter and would quiver at loud noises or around people - after barking like crazy. Once he hid under the truck hood, scared of thunder. We never could figure out how he got 70 pounds of dog up through the wheel well and under the hood.

He was gun shy too. My husband was shooting mice with .22 shot shells. Beau came and hid by him, not knowing that he had the gun. Of course, standing next to the shooter may be an indication of how smart he was.

He finally grew old, suffering greatly and we said goodbye to him. Even the vet cried as she put him to sleep. Several weeks later, we received notice of her significant memorial gift to Purdue University in his memory.

I won!

I won the baby pool!
And I am waiting for my poem. Another great reason for you to daily check out the Little Aardarks. Congratulations, Lenise. Jordana, I hope I don't win your pool since my weight guess was very high.

Say a prayer for the Aardvarks, especially Mrs. A as she has taken on the care of her ailing mother. We just moved Mom into the "yellow retirement apartments" and I am so thankful that she is in good health, sound mind, kind heart, and witty mouth.

Cross Gender Dressing Day
Today is designated Cross Gender Dressing Day at the high school, part of the silliness of homecoming week. One son wanted nothing to do with it, rolling his eyes in disdain; his twin thought it would be great fun to wear a sports bra stuffed with kleenex. We absolutely refused to let him do it. I know, I know, teenage boys dressed up in drag when I was in high school for huge laughs, but it's a different world today.

On the way out of the house, though, he did grab my brightly flowered baseball cap. I let him wear it.

I wonder if some misunderstood transgender student will contact the ACLU and sue the school?

Grape Juice

What's in your freezer?
One third of my freezer is very colorful. Red and blue and purple. Cherries and blueberries and concentrated grape juice. Oh and two gallon freezer bags of blackberries. The Montmorency cherries came pitted and lightly sugared in a large tub from the Southside farmer's market and all I had to do was separate it into freezer bags. The Blue Ray blueberries were picked by the boys and I, cleaned, individually frozen on cookie sheets and bagged. The Concord grapes came from my in-laws and I spent Sunday afternoon cleaning them, slowly cooking the grapes, straining them, reducing the juice into a concentrate, adding a little sugar and pouring into freezer boxes. The blackberries are from my bushes, prepared the same as blueberries.

Since leaving the corporate world, I've started preserving fruit. Berries from the grocery store in winter - whether fresh or frozen - are totally unsatisfactory compared to the fruit I freeze. Even the teenage boys notice the difference. And Welch's grape juice tastes like colored sugar water compared to the intense grape flavor produced from boiling down your own grapes.

I know the same is true of vegetables and perhaps next year I'll venture into corn and green beans. There is no way to cost justify the effort. A can or bag of corn from the store is less expensive than home-grown and preserved even without considering labor. The only reason to do this is the taste. And the satisfaction of admiring your freezer contents.

How the Garcia Girls Lost Their Accent
Book club was at my house this morning and we were underwhelmed with this book. Easy read, but odd structure. And the characters were confusing so it was hard to empathize with them. Next month, I'm leading the discussion on the book I suggested, "Good King Harry." I loved it, but it is different from the other books we read. I'm not sure everyone will be willing to slog through the bloody war scenes.

So my house appears clean. Only I know about the very tall stack of papers beside my bed and the magazines stacked next to it. Oh and the laundry room is piled high. Wish Mrs. Aardvaark was here to sort and wash those clothes. (Scroll down to the "Soundtrack" entry.) I sat on the couch during book club, looking east through the bay window. Sunshine was trying to stream through it but the window attracts spiders. I didn't have time to wash the windows when I was cleaning, so I swiped the duster across the outside windows. I was dismayed to see that my efforts resulted in smears. I decided to ignore it and enjoy my women friends and the discussion.

Why didn't I have time to clean? I recently accepted a freelance job requiring an intensive amount of work over four weeks. And I am going to Mom's next week for five days to help her with the final packing and move. Actually all five of her kids are helping plus one spouse. And grapes and more grapes and even more grapes will be delivered by my in-laws this weekend, so I have to work in some jelly/juice making before I leave.

So much for all those projects I was saving until Fall when I would have lots of time with the kids in school.

End of Summer
We closed the pool yesterday. There will still be days we wished it was open, but we have too many trees nearby and it is hard to keep it clean. The walnut tree has been depositing its tiny leaves for several weeks now.

As we sat on the back deck, it sounded like a car was crunching down our gravel drive. Then the sky turned black with a flock of grackles.

The Autumn Joy and Sweet Autumn clematis are in bloom. The tomatoes look worse for wear. In the meadow, the butterfly weed pods are bursting open and the wild asters are in bloom.

The sky is bluer than it was a few weeks ago.

The males in the house leave every morning for school.

I don't need a calendar. Fall is here.

Walking in the Rain

Walking in the Rain
Steve walks at least a mile every night. I join him about once a week. Several days ago, it struck me that it was very foolish not to walk with him every night. Besides the obvious health benefits, I enjoy his company. Night walks are intimate; our conversations or companionable silences are deeper than during the day.

Tonight it was raining during our walk, a soft gentle rain at the end of a hot day. The rain and the darkness seemed to intensify smells. The fragrance of our Sweet Autumn clematis that drapes over the meadow fence was the most enjoyable. The smells that did NOT need to be intensified were wet dog (Samson) and skunk.

3(ER) + Exploding Brakes = My Week

As I pulled up to the stop sign on the way to Bible Study last Tuesday, loud metallic clangs came from the left front of my car. I limped the half block to church; found a ride home; and had the car towed to the garage. Their report: Your left front brake rotor exploded. There was no warning. I'm just glad it happened when and where it did. In two weeks I'll be traveling 600 miles to Mom's house on superslabs. The almost $800 bill (brakes, door bushings and short in the electric locks) wasn't so good.

Then Thursday afternoon, I decided to cut down the thistles in the meadow before they went to seed. I love the purple flowers but I know they will take over if I'm not diligent. Samson, our yellow lab, was romping around the meadow and ran right into the thistle I was cutting. I ducked my head to minimize damage, but part of the thistle went into my eye. Friday morning it was still there, so I drove to the ER. They took out a small piece but 12 hours later it was getting worse. So back to the ER to finish the job. The eye is fine now.

Then this morning, we made another trip to the ER with Ricky who has an ear infection. Antibiotics and pain medicine will cure him quickly.

Not from my parents who weren't even nominally superstitious, but somewhere I heard that bad things come in threes. I've always wondered when you start and stop counting. And once you hit three, do you start counting again?

No other word for it but slaughter
There is nothing I can write to address this horror. Mark Steyn addresses the failure of the print media to address this situation, but I saw a grieving mother knocked a TV camera aside.

Link via Instapundit.

Gingerbread Pancakes

"Whoa"
"Next time, double the recipe"
"Let's have this more often"
"Exactamentally what Dad said."

Thanks to Jordana for a new recipe that was a hit in our house. Being one who cannot make a recipe as written, I added raisins.

Monarch

Caterpillars at Last!
For five years, I have been letting milkweeds, THE favorite food of monarch butterfly caterpillars, grow along the pond, but I've not attracted any until this year. I just discovered two caterpillars! I've been tempted to clean up the growth because the pond is smack dab in the middle of our front lawn (though separated from the road by a small woods and the meadow. I'm glad I didn't do anything more than cut back brambles, goldenrod and other unwanted verge vegetation. Of course, the muskrat helps control the vegetation.

Student Council

Don't Give Up
Ricky's on Student Council for Carroll Freshman Campus. This is something he has wanted for so long - he's very social, loves to have fun, likes to make plans, and is interested in politics (usually expressed in political ranting). He tried in 6th, 7th and 8th grade and didn't make it. Finally! The first meeting was this morning and I can't wait to find out how it went. It sounds like a good group of kids and, as all parents know, peer groups are so critical for teenagers. So Student Council and Show Choir are two good activities for this son.

His twin, Ron, is struggling to find his place. He's interested in the baseball team, but I'm not sure he understands how competitive it is. Most of the high school players have been on travel teams and have devoted more effort to the sport. He is enjoying his martial arts class and has become obsessed with the Armed Forces. It started with 9/11 and then the coals were fanned after doing a report on D-Day last year. He has been watching a lot of WW2 programs, including the final segment of Band of Brothers last night. He plans to join the Army after high school, even talking about the program where he can take basic training between his junior and senior year. I'm not so sure this stubborn, authority-challenging son will do well in the Army, but it might be a good thing. I sure have mixed emotions - pride for his thought process and fear as a mother.

Three years ago, God gave me this verse for my sons:

{For I am} confident of this very thing, that He who began a good work in you
will perfect it until the day of Christ Jesus. Philippians 1:6

So I continue to lift them in prayer, but with faith that God knows the desires of this mother's heart for her sons and will continue to work in these boys.

Missed the Bus

"Missed the Bus, Mom"
This is the phone message I retrieved when I got home yesterday, about 15 minutes before the bus was due to drop off the boys:

Mom, this is Ricky. I missed the bus. I'm going to a friend's house who lives near the school. See ya!

I know no one who lives near the school. Where is my son? Why didn't he stay put if he missed the bus and I would pick him up? Why didn't he call my cell phone? Why didn't he at least give me a name and number?

I call my husband who is on the way home from school. I'll stay by the phone and Steve will drive by the school. Ron gets off the bus and informs me that Rick did not "miss the bus" but made a conscious decision not to get on the bus. Ron thought about it but decided it would be best to come home. Good decision by one son. Bad decision by his twin. Ron thought Rick went home with Mike, or perhaps his name is Steve. Little help there. Ten more tense minutes and the phone rings.

Mom, this is Ricky. I'm on my way home. Steve's mother is driving me home.

It seems that Ricky passed his Dad's car and decided he better get home.

So Ron's grounding ended yesterday and Rick's grounding started. He's grounded because of the lie - "I missed the bus." I've read that the frontal lobe isn't fully connected in teenage boys' brains (girls connect earlier than boys), but can we survive until those neurons start popping?

We had just talked to both boys about staying put if they are "lost" after a friend's 12 y.o. nephew wandered downtown Chicago from 2 PM until 3 AM. He must have had a whole flock of guardian angels because the police stopped searching for a lost boy around midnight and began treating it as a criminal case. The boy just kept walking, "Gotta find Mom." If he had stayed in the vicinity, the police and their bullhorns would have been effective. Of course, Rick didn't think he was lost. He knew where he was.

Dividing Irises

Divide and Multiply
I spent Saturday morning at the church dividing the bearded irises. The task was long past due and the rhizomes were so overgrown they looked like cobblestones. Luckily a recent rain softened the ground without making it muddy.

At 8:30 it was just me and an elderly gentlemen who had to rest quite often because of a failing heart. Bless his heart, it isn't failing in the most important sense...it is loving and giving. Not only does he joyfully volunteer for church but he's caring for his wife with Alzheimers.

Then three other faithful gardeners showed up and we divided the work - the other man dug up the irises and the rest of us split off the spent rhizomes and trimmed the foliage of the healthy rhizomes for replanting. There are three beds at the church with overgrown irises and we almost finished one bed. As the morning passed, we quit digging them up properly; we just dug holes out of the cobblestone rhizomes and trimmed the tops.

Why is it called dividing plants when the result is multiples of the original? We transplanted 30 plants and are giving away two huge tubs of iris starts. If you want some lavender bearded iris starts, stop by at Huntertown United Methodist Church.

Recipe - Onion and Cheese Pie

Recipe - Onion and Cheese Pie
My menfolk don't love onions the way I do, so I took the opportunity to make an old favorite when hosting my Women's Group last Friday. Lots of rave reviews, so I thought you may enjoy this recipe.

10" unbaked pastry crust
10 oz. cheese - half Swiss and half Gruyere or however desired.
2 T flour
2 large onions, sliced
4 T butter
1 tsp. chopped basil
2 large firm tomatoes, sliced
2 large eggs
3/4 cup cream

Melt butter in skillet. Add sliced onions and saute for about half an hour.

Toss grated cheese with flour and spread 1/3 of cheese on bottom of pie. Spread onions over cheese.

In the butter that is left in the pan, heat the tomato slices with the chopped basil for a minute or two. Arrange tomatoes over the onions and cover with remaining cheese.

Beat eggs with cream. Pour over cheese.

Bake at 350 degrees for 35 to 40 minutes or until top browns.

Cool slightly but serve warm.

Variations that work: Sprinkle top with shredded Parmesan Cheese. Saute chunks of red pepper after onions and before tomatoes. I sliced the tomatoes very thick since they weren't firm.

Variation that didn't work: mushrooms - they tasted good but made the pie much too runny (or maybe it was the juicy tomatoes from my garden). Next time I may saute in separate pan and not add the mushroom juice to the pie or perhaps I will use more flour for extra thickening.