Letting Butter Talk (Part 4)

C'mon, Julie.

It's Friday afternoon. Why are you still working? We're supposed to be outside playing right now.

Don't try to ignore me! I mean right now.

If you think I won't sit here and paw at you until you play with me, you're crazy.

Cowboy Boots

As a little girl, I rode horses. We even had a few horses of our own over the years—Rose, the sweet mare who spent her fair share of time in arenas with the steers and cowboys; Brownie, our precious pony (who, unfortunately, lived a short life); and my very own horse, Too Classy Gypsy, who had a beautiful painted baby I named Way Too Classy.

I even participated in a few rodeos—barrel racing and pole bending with the other kids—and rode in a coupla cattle drives in my day.

But I refused to wear cowboy boots.

Time out. That's not completely accurate. For a short time I coveted—and eventually received—a pair of bright red lace-up boots. They were all the rage then and I just had to have a pair. Of course, after I wore them about two times I realized cowboy boots—even shiny new red lace-ups—weren't my thing. So they sat in the garage after that and I went back to wearing my sneakers when I rode.

And, other than that, I refused to wear cowboy boots.

So why are these on my feet?


Because when I went back to Montana last month for my grandfather's memorial service, I realized as we were wandering around downtown that I needed them. Or, at least, a pair of cowboy boots to wear with my dress to the memorial service. (It was at the fair grounds, people. It was necessary.) And so off we went to Don's Western Wear (where else would you get cowboy boots?) to find a pair. And find them we did. These beauties right here, which are actually kids' boots in case you're wondering.

Man oh man were they a hit. And Auntie S even gave My Sister her old shit kickers (pardon my language, but that's what they're called!) so she could look the part too.

Now, roughly 20 years after those red lace-up boots, I've finally warmed to the idea of cowboy boots. And I'm just itching to wear these again. Maybe to Cousin J's wedding next weekend in Montana? Yes. Then again, maybe out to dinner in L-Town sometime soon too. Why not?

Life in L-Town

Rest assured, when you live in a relatively small town like ours, interesting happenings and sights are bound to crop up from time to time. And I'm not just talking about the world's largest covered wagon or the replica of the watermelon Lincoln used to christen the town (although stay tuned, because I'll take you on a tour of these and other quintessential L-Town sites soon). I'm talking those day-to-day occurrences that leave you chuckling. Case in point: Conservative Boy captured a photo of this sign yesterday and, I'm not exaggerating, laughed about it for hours.


Sign #1 you're in a small town: Creative advertising.

Buttermilk Pie

Can't say I'd ever have thought to make buttermilk pie, but Conservative Dad requested it for Father's Day. And, well, you just can't turn down a father's request on his day. (Plus I don't think I am capable of turning down an excuse to make a pie. Ever.)

So I went a-searching online for the perfect buttermilk pie recipe to make. Having no idea what a buttermilk pie looked like, let alone what ingredients went into it, I decided to trust Emeril's advice since it's a southern thing. So I settled on this recipe. But then I decided I wasn't so sure how I felt about the lemon zest, so I looked a little more and found one with vanilla instead. Much better.

Here's the recipe I used. It's super easy and the results were pretty darn delicious. Although I will warn you, I discovered yesterday that this pie tastes much better when it's cold. We ate it on Sunday when it was cool, but not cold. Yesterday afternoon's pie and coffee break proved that a night in the fridge did this pie some good. Anyhow, I digress. On to the recipe (I went for the sweeter version, by the way—what a surprise).

Buttermilk Pie
3 eggs
1 cup sugar
2 tbsp flour
1/2 cup melted butter
1 cup buttermilk
1 teaspoon vanilla extract

Preheat oven to 325 degrees. Beat eggs slightly and add sugar and flour. Add melted butter and mix well. Add buttermilk and vanilla. Mix.

Pour batter into pie shell (use a premade 9-inch shell to speed things along like I did), then bake at 325 degrees. The custard should be set in the middle (it takes about an hour).

Enjoy with fathers, mothers, siblings, or whoever is around.

(Oh, and sorry. No pictures. I thought of that after Conservative Boy ate the last piece. Oops.)

A New Blog

When I went to write a new blog post last night, I could help but click the featured link on the Blogger home page: Gardening While Intoxicated. How can you not, with a blog name like that?

If you have any interest in gardening, I recommend that you check it out too. From what I've seen so far, you can expect lovely writing (the blogger is a magazine editor and freelance writer like me!), equally lovely (and real-life) gardening photos, and more. And no, you don't have to be drunk to enjoy it. (Although I'll admit, when I stumbled upon it I was finishing my chardonnay with dinner before heading out to check on my pots. Intoxicated? No. Inspired? Yes.

Dining Alone (Almost)

Between the time when I graduated from college and when moved to L-Town, I lived alone, which means that quite often I dined alone. There was nothing pathetic about it—I often dined out with friends or shared dinner with Conservative Boy and his roommates, mind you. But living alone typically means you dine alone fairly often, and so I did a few times a week.

That's why, when Conservative Boy went off to play golf tonight (yet another evening when it's "no girls allowed" on the golf course—harumph), I decided it was time to enjoy dinner alone like I used to in my apartment. What does that entail, you ask?

1. Cooking dinner. Nothing fancy, but real dinner. (As in, no PB&J.) One of my faves this time of year (and something Conservative Boy probably wouldn't eat because there's no meat involved): Zesty Zucchini Spaghetti with a salad. It's quite easy. While you're cooking the spaghetti noodles, combine one minced chipotle chile from a can of chipotles in adobo sauce with a tablespoon of the sauce and some minced garlic. Saute in olive oil over medium-high heat for about a minute, then add a couple of cups of shredded zucchini. Saute another four minutes or so, then toss with the spaghetti once it's cooked. To complete the dish, add a generous helping of freshly grated cheese (mozzarella and lots of Parmesan are my faves), some salt, and pepper. Serve with your salad. Easy. Delicious.

2. Listening to NPR.

3. Drinking a glass of white wine (tonight, it's chardonnay).

It's the perfect way to wind down after work.

As for the (almost)? That's because, of course, when I lived in my apartment I didn't have a happy dog looking for a bite drooling all over my leg while I ate. Alas, I'll take Butter over eating alone any day, even if I do have to go wipe said drool off.

More Gardening

I just wrote a post for The Home Know-It-All about how much I love container gardening, so I figured it was a good time to revisit how things are going in my own container garden.

Here's what my flowers in the planter looked like before. Now:


They're filling in nicely, aren't they? My dahlia pot is doing pretty well too, even though the aphids have been nibbling on the leaves:


Here's what my tomato plant looked like before, and here's what it looks like now:


No tomatoes yet on this one, but I do have a cherry tomato plant in the grouping of pots below that's already showing off a few green orbs. I can't wait!


What else do you see here? All sorts of treasures. There's a green pepper plant, a geranium, some marigolds, a cucumber plant, a random assortment of vines and leafy characters, some lettuce that's trying really hard to grow even though I probably planted it too late, and herbs.

Herbs! Besides the oreganos and parsley sitting by the dahlias, here I've planted rosemary, thyme, basil, and mint. The mint is going crazy, so come on over and I'll make you a mojito.

I also have a few pots hanging from this nifty little creation in the backyard:


Kind of cute, eh?

Oh, and in case you're wondering what Butter does while I tend to my pots, here's your answer.


He especially loves watching through the window (and drooling all over it) when I water everything with the big green watering can.

Vacationing in Georgia

I've been MIA for the past couple of days because we're on vacation in Georgia with my parents and aunt and uncle. Plus, Conservative Mom and Dad are down here so we got to spend some time with them too (and they gave us a ride to Georgia--how nice!).

It's been hot hot hot here. But we still managed to fit in some golfing on some terrific courses (including my parents' new course, Cuscowilla), a couple of days at beautiful Lake Oconee (boating and tubing? yes, please), and a peek at the Private Escapes place where Conservative Parents are staying this week (fabulous, as usual). In fact, when it comes down to it, I'm thinking I won't come back. Really. Someone needs to keep an eye on the lake house, the renters in the condo my parents just bought, and my uncle when my aunt is working. And it might as well be me.

Part of the reason I'm tempted to stay forever? This sunset over Lake Oconee.

And while I'm at it, here's one more. The boat on that dock is the one we took out for a pre-sunset cruise last night. Fun stuff.

Now it's time for yet another fabulous dinner. (Food is, of course, a key component of any vacation, right?) More soon ...

Talking to Climate Change Skeptics

Whether you're like me and you're faced daily with trying to talk to climate change skeptics (yes, I live with one) or you're a climate change skeptic yourself, I'd advise checking out "How to Talk to a Climate Skeptic" on Grist.org. (Speaking of which, if you're looking for environmental news with a sense of humor, spend some time reading the other stories on Grist or signing up for their daily newsletter while you're there.)

I haven't had a chance to read it all yet, but I'm sure there are great tidbits of info to add to my arsenal ...

Strawberry Rhubarb Pie

There must be something about this strawberry rhubarb pie recipe that people can't resist.


I saw it on one of my fave food blogs, Smitten Kitchen, not long ago and immediately flagged it as one I had to make. So, when big, beautiful red stalks of rhubarb appeared at the farmer's market last week (and when I learned Conservative Dad loves strawberry rhubarb pie), I decided the time was right to try the recipe.

And I'm not the only one—my good friend Cara made it just the other day too (and hers is much prettier than mine so you better check it out).

No cooking or baking endeavor in my kitchen is without adventure, and of course this instance was no different. First challenge: I had the crust all ready to go before I realized I don't actually own a pie pan. Funny, considering how much I love to bake pies. Guess I always make them at other people's homes. So I raced to Kroger to buy one of the glass ones I saw for sale there, only to discover that with their remodeling they got rid of all the Pyrex cookware in favor of those disposable tin versions. Ack. Needless to say, I made my pie in one of those little metal pie pans. Which led to the next near-disaster: When I pulled the pie from the oven, the flimsy pie pan tipped and sent hot, sticky strawberry-rhubarb juice all over the floor (that I had just mopped). That's why I went ahead and skipped the egg white and sugar on top. It's a good thing too, because I needed that time later when I tried to put the cooled pie away and spilled again.

Despite these misadventures and the fact that my pie isn't all that beautiful (who's for pies with character?), I have to say this recipe is delicious. Even Conservative Mom and Conservative Boy thought it was good–minus the rhubarb, of course.

Understanding Butter's Tongue

Man. This tongue.


Sometimes, when it's hanging out like this, I sit and wonder what this tongue says about Butter.

Beyond being his means for cooling down and slurping up water, I think this tongue is a way Butter expresses himself. Although he's an expressive guy anyway (when he's puzzled, you can see it in the way his face wrinkles; when he's sad, you can see it in his eyes; and when he really likes me, he even winks), his tongue really gives him away.

When Butter is sitting at his window, absolutely engrossed in what's going on outside, he sits perfectly still, except his tongue keeps falling farther and farther out of his mouth. (Here he just sat down, so it's only beginning its descent.)


Of course, when he's hot, he plops down on the coolest floor he can find and lets it hang. (This was after our walk to the farmer's market yesterday.)


And when he's feeling sweet? Just the very tip of his tongue comes out to give you soft little licks on your chin or arm. That, of course, is my favorite.

The L-Town Farmer's Market

Butter and I took a walk down to the farmer's market Saturday morning. Having long loved the Des Moines Farmer's Market, I knew this small-town version wouldn't come close to comparing. But as long as there are fresh, in-season, local fruits and vegetables and a few other things to choose from, what's not to like?

The first couple times I went to the market, there were three tables set up in the park: One elderly couple selling baked goods; one young woman selling a few plants, some fresh coffee in little paper cups, and some yummy cinnamon rolls; and a man selling a ton of herb plants and some asparagus. (I bought some of everything, by the way.)

This week, the market doubled in size! It was terrific. The three original vendors were there again, but they were joined by a couple hawking cherries, new potatoes, and some baked breads; another woman selling gourmet breads and dips; a couple of guys selling rhubarb, spring lettuce, and spinach. Here's what I came home with:


Some spring lettuce, rhubarb (so I can make Conservative Dad a strawberry-rhubarb pie), asparagus (of course), and cherries. The cherries may not be in season right around here yet this year, but they are growing in other parts of the state. And man, these ones I bought are good.

Of course, Butter was more interested in the people there than what they were selling. He was showered with attention by most, but those few people there shopping for farmer's market fare who weren't interested in having a panting, slobbery dog standing beside them really puzzled Butter. What? he asked when I pulled him away from them. But why wouldn't they want to pet me? I didn't have the heart to explain to his little puppy ego that not everyone loves dogs, but fortunately the guy who sold me my cherries loved him and rubbed his belly so then he forgot all about the mean ladies who didn't want to shower him with adoration.

Expect frequent updates on the state of the L-Town Farmer's Market, which is held each Saturday and Wednesday morning. And I expect to try out some other central Illinois farmer's markets later this summer too. Got a good one you know about? Let me know.

Oh, and here's a handy tool: If you want to know what's in season in your part of the country, just select your state and the time of month here and you'll get a list of what to look for. Pretty handy.

Practicing Yoga Again

I used to be able to do this.

And this.

And a ton of other poses—tricky arm balances and advanced variations—as if they were nothing.

And then I moved.

I knew before I even started packing boxes that leaving Des Moines was going to change my yoga practice. I'd looked and looked at what options were available in L-Town, in Bloomington, in Springfield, anywhere within an hour's drive. And right after I moved, I explored some of these options. I even made repeat visits to a few.

But none of them compared to the yoga practice I got at H(om) in Des Moines (sadly, since closed). Nothing compared to practicing with a teacher who pushed me further than I'd ever been pushed before (and who was probably even more enthusiastic about the strides I made than I was), next to yogis who were some of my best friends and inspirations on and off the mat. Walking the couple of blocks to practice a couple of times a week became one of the highlights of my time in Des Moines—I'd never felt more limber, healthier, happier. My back hadn't felt so good in years.

After the move, I tried to continue practicing on my own. And at the places I ventured to in Springfield and Bloomington. It worked for a while—enough that, when I visited my yogi sister in D.C. and made it to a few classes, I still felt good in my skin. I could keep up. I had it yet.

But then there was winter weather. And basketball games to go to instead. And an unhappy Space Turtle. And so going to yoga fell by the wayside. And somehow I managed to go months—months!—without practicing.

I made it back to my mat (in the middle of our not-so-big kitchen, mind you) a few times recently, and I'm amazed at how much my body has changed in the relatively short time it's been since I practiced regularly. Everything I worked so hard to build up—the strength to stay up in complicated arm balances, the stamina to hold deep poses just one more breath longer than I thought I could've—is all gone. Tonight when I practiced, I felt like I was inhabiting someone else's body. My limbs were stiff even in poses I'd done a hundred times. Bending forward was much more laborious than I remembered. So was backward. And even more so sideways. My ribs felt compacted, as if they were stacked one on top of the other with nothing in between. My spine was crunched together, and I could feel it from the base of my skull all the way to my sacrum. Where I would normally move smoothly from one pose to the next, would flow effortlessly, would immediately go into binds, I found myself wobbling, sticking with the basics, pulling out of poses early. Who is this person? I wondered. When is she going to bring my body back?

At the same time though, I noticed something happening. An awareness of my body returning, even if it was just to point out the cracks and creaks and knots. An awareness of the poses and how my body felt in them. An awareness that wow, just holding Warrior 2, just standing in Mountain Pose, can be intense.

I regret that my yoga practice fell to the wayside in the first place, and I regret that it took this long for me to come back to it. But at the same time, this is good for me. Now, I can spend a couple of times a week in my kitchen, building up the strength I used to have. I can go to yoga classes that, when I first moved, seemed so boring and uninspiring I didn't even want to return. So what if there aren't many arm balances or inversions? I don't need them yet. Not until I figure out what form this new yogi in me might take.

Orzo with Roasted Vegetables, Basil, and Feta

How about another recipe? This is one of my favorite springtime meals.

Of course, when Conservative Boy is around it's not called a meal. It's a side. Because in order to be a meal there has to be meat involved. But when I make this on a night when he's golfing until later? It's a meal. Now, without further rambling ...

Orzo with Roasted Vegetables, Basil, and Feta
(adapted from Delicious Living)

1 small red bell pepper, cut into 1/2-inch pieces
1 small yellow bell pepper, cut into 1/2-inch pieces
1 small orange bell pepper, cut into 1/2-inch pieces
6 thin stalks asparagus, cut into 1/2-inch pieces
1 pint red grape tomatoes, halved
1 large shallot, minced
2 gloves garlic, minced
2 tbsp olive oil, divided
Kosher salt
Freshly ground black pepper
1 cup orzo
1 1/4 cups low-sodium vegetable broth
1/2 cup lemon juice
1/2 cup crumbled feta cheese
1/2 cup pine nuts, toasted
2 tbsp sliced fresh basil (preferably from your pots on the front step)
1 tbsp grated lemon zest

1. Preheat oven to 425 degrees. Toss bell peppers, asparagus, tomatoes, shallot, and garlic with one tablespoon olive oil in a large baking dish. Season with salt and pepper.


Roast for 25 minutes, turning once or twice with a spatula.

2. While the veggies roast, heat remaining 1 tablespoon of olive oil over medium-high heat in a large saucepan. Add orzo and stir until lightly browned, 2-3 minutes. Add vegetable broth and season with salt and pepper. Lower heat, cover, and cook for 12 minutes, until liquid is absorbed.

If you haven't already, this is a good time to toast those pine nuts. Just don't get distracted like I did, or they get a little too roasted.


3. Add roasted vegetables to orzo. Add lemon juice and toss lightly. Let cool to room temperature and add feta, pine nuts, and basil. Top with grated lemon zest.


NOTE: This dish tastes best when it's eaten outside in your backyard with a glass of chilled wine. Really. I wouldn't make something like that up.

Letting Butter Talk (Part 3)

Remember me? My name is Butter. Julie asked me to talk to you today because she's been too busy to write on here lately. As if she had to remind me she's been too busy. I already knew that.

My friend Conservative Boy was gone all weekend so it was a Julie-Butter weekend. I thought it would be really fun, because she's usually a big softy. But she spent most of the weekend sitting there proofreading. Proofreading! Do you know how boring that is? It's really boring. Trust me.

It's a good thing I was there to keep an eye on things while she was working so much; otherwise, the whole house might've fallen down. Seriously. I really had to keep things in line. It was hard work. That's why I'm laying here right now. I'm not being lazy. That's just the best position from which to guard the door ... er ... dining room table.


Now, I can't complain too much, mind you. Julie did let me have a slumber party with my buddy Walker one night. That was pretty fun. And she took me for lots of walks and even a run too. But you know what, that running is hard work. So, of course, as soon as I let my guard down and tried to catch my breath ...

She went back to work. Lame. Isn't she supposed to be trying fun things? With me? Maybe someone should leave some comments here about what things she should try. If you're not sure, I could help you out. New bones, maybe. More time outside. Leaving more food on the plates that go into the dishwasher so I have more tasty nibbles to lick off. Those all sound like great things to try soon, right?