Now, where did I leave that?

Monday, March 12, 2012

Monday, Monday

  I'd like to file a complaint, please. After much experimentation, and ample trials, I've come to the realization weekends are far too short. I'd like to request that they be extended to a minimum of three days. Thank you.
  Saturday was a blur, and Sunday was its twin. Have to say it really felt like I lost an hour this time. Read an interesting article about the 'myth' of Daylight Savings Time, and wonder if it has some real truth to it. Anyway, slept in a little bit (thank you, Yeti & Lola; your moms appreciated you skipping that usual 5 am wake-up call), then we took our time waking up as fire warmed the livingroom and coffee cleared the fog. We had a delightful breakfast courtesy of my friend Cait who shared her 'recipe' with me for this unprocessed, not-too-sweet, no-wheat apple crisp:

4 apples, cored and chopped
2 tbl butter
1/2 cup (ish) rolled oats
1/4 cup maple syrup (the real deal only)
Cinnamon to taste

Pre-heat oven to 350 degrees. Saute the apples in melted butter, tossing with cinnamon, about 5-10 minutes (you don't want them soft, maybe with just a little give). Combine everything in a bowl, toss well, then put in a casserole dish or square baking pan and put in oven. I used a glass baking pan, and in 30 minutes the apples were tender & it was ready to go. This recipe works as a dessert or a breakfast; we ate it with sharp cheddar and it was perfect! Because it uses oats and maple syrup rather than flour and any sugar, it works in my food plan nicely.

  When the temperature warmed up to a balmy 50+ degrees, we headed outside to clean up the raised beds, turning over and amending the soil. Didn't photograph the dirt, but it was rich and dark, already warm enough to work easily. I can't wait to plant in it! And we'll be able to plant next weekend because we built these:


 








Some electrical conduit tubing, painters' drop cloth and galvanized pipe straps have let us make hoop houses (Linda's a genius)! We did two of the beds yesterday and will tackle the third next weekend. For now, it's being protected from cats who use the beds as litter boxes and dogs who subsequently use them as lunch boxes (this is probably why cats assume they're the superior species, and it's a tough supposition to argue with) with two layers of stacked tomato cages. Here are two of the culprits, looking oh-so-innocent:














  We ended the day with a dinner of oat-baked chicken (need to tweak the recipe, but I have now discovered that marinating chicken breasts in buttermilk for a couple of hours before 'oven-frying' makes the most tender, juicy chicken you could ever want) and roasted veggies, and Worst Cooks in America.

  Oh, and long hot showers and a heating pad. We never feel as old as we do that first day in the garden each year!

6 comments:

Jen said...

Sounds like a great weekend! I love your greenhouses and am going to try that apple crisp. Cute dogs!

Michaele said...

Those greenhouses are just too cute.

Robin Larkspur said...

You two are just too too industrious. My raised beds are sitting out there looking pathetic. Love your greenhouses, super idea! Have to say the apple crisp and chicken both sound great. Who says healthy has to taste bad? Thanks so much for your beautiful comment on my blog today, too, Ashling. Hugs.

the wild magnolia said...

the greenhouses are adorable and useful
your work hard for your money
and your fresh garden vegetable
you spin wool
which is way to cool
good job

happy day, happy week, and thank you, for sharing

Shel said...

Okay, I am officially going to live vicariously through you. I felt more relaxed just reading about your day - and I have to show Chip your hoop houses!! LOVE THEM!!

Anonymous said...

gosh I miss those first days in the garden, so much to do and always, I'll just do one more thing, one more thing until you are completely and utterly exhausted but a good exhausted , am I right?? I have no garden anymore but I will follow you in yours, I love those dogs to, they are so much help.