Tag Maple Festival

All Stuck Up

Michael 7 Comments

It’s time for me to come clean. I don’t have a favorite mayonnaise. Hellmann’s or Kraft is ok with me. I couldn’t tell the difference between a store brand and Duke’s. Whether regular, light, or olive oil based, I don’t care. Once I even made my own. For all the work involved, any advantage was lost on me. Sorry. Mayo is mayo and as long as it’s thick, white, and has a little tang it fills my mayo need.

On the other hand, every other condiment in the world has gone through extreme testing and I have strong preferences. These fall into two categories. Those I like and use and those I would rather do without. Rather do without. That doesn’t mean I don’t bend if I have to. If I’m at friends’ house and they are serving one of those other mustards at their cookout, I won’t turn my nose up and whip out my brand from a handy condiment belt. I’m not a snob. Except …

Except for honey and syrup. You might say that when it comes to honey and syrup, I’m pretty much stuck on what I like. I got to thinking about this because I just used the last of my honey this past Sunday when I made the glaze for the Easter ham and the last of my syrup on this morning’s breakfast pancakes.

(If you have a good memory you know in my last post I mentioned that we went out for our Easter dinner. That’s right, we did. But that didn’t stop me from baking a ham.)

(Some traditions die harder than others.)

(We now return you to your regularly scheduled blog post.)

I may have even mentioned before that I can be a honey and syrup snob. There aren’t specific brands of either that I have hitched my wagon to. Rather there are specific sources. Local sources. Local is always better. Think about last summer and the green beans you got at the farmers’ market versus those you got at your snow bound mega-mart’s produce section on your last shopping trip. I prefer the summer stock also, but that doesn’t stop me from eating green beans in January. But honey and syrup. Those are two different stories. If I can’t get local, I don’t get.

Fortunately, our local maple festival is this weekend. Those little plastic bottles of refined tree sap will soon fill my pantry! Honey isn’t a big seller at a maple festival. In fact, it’s not a seller at all at this one. Fortunately, right outside the park hosting the festival is a farm store where the natural nectar fills the shelves. So it looks like in one smooth motion I’ll be able to restore honey harmony and syrup snobbery to my kitchen.

And I, for one weekend, will be the most stuck up guy in the country.

 

Bridge for Sale

Michael Leave a comment

Labor Day has come and gone and you know what that means. No more white shoes or Seersucker! Uh, no. It’s the start of a new season. I don’t mean the change from unofficial summer to unofficial fall. What with meteorological autumn and astronomical autumn and autumnal equinox and the fall TVseason the last thing we need is any unofficial season. No, the period after Labor Day is the beginning of a new festival season.

Ok, those of you who have always suspected that I’m closing in on batty it’s probably official – or maybe even unofficial. I’ve been marking the seasons by the changes of festivals for years. Winter heralds holiday festivals, spring brings my beloved maple festivals, summer is the season for arts festivals, and fall is the time for covered bridge festivals. This should be nothing new for regular readers of RRSB. I’ve brought up the local covered bridge festival before. (See “Passages of Fall,” September 15, 2014.) (Come on, give me a little break. I’ve been doing this for almost five years. We’re going to revisit some things every now and then.)bridgeforsale

But let’s digress here for just a moment. Festivals have morphed terribly from the traditional definition. That is, “a day or time of religious or other celebration, marked by feasting, ceremonies, or other observances.” Modern festivals often include feasting, otherwise the corndog and kettle corn industries would be in shambles, but around here they’re known more for jamming as many hand-made and/or ersatz hand-made crafts, foods, clothes, and furniture into any open field and for the greatest concentration of the Square point of sale app per vendor per acre.

And that’s what I love about them! You can buy anything at a festival – and I have. Chain sawn eagle yard ornament? Bought one. Framed, numbered, signed pencil sketch? Bought one. Metal sculpted snowman family. Bought one. Commemorative newspaper front page parodying offspring’s eccentricity? Bought one. Hand-hammered silver jewelry ensemble featuring recycled place settings? Bought one.  Hand-made left-handed wooden kitchen utensil set? Bought one. Full scale carved wooden Jack-o-lantern? Bought two!

Oh sure, you can buy maple syrup at the maple festivals and real art at the arts festivals and traditional Christmas decorations at the holiday festivals. But you can get that stuff at lots of places. But where else can you find a four foot, hand carved, wading flamingo carrying a surfboard under its wing? What can I say? I live for kitsch.

That’s what I think. Really. How ‘bout you?

Now See This

Michael Leave a comment

We’ve made it through the first full week of the new year. Already I’ve come up with some observations.

Happy Trailers
The Oscar nominations come out later this week. Over the past several decades I have seen hundreds of movies. I think two of them have been Oscar winners. I guess my tastes don’t jive with the nominating committee. How do you decide what movie you want to see? If you’re like most of the world you let the trailers be your guide. The thing about trailers is that they are about as relevant to the movie as a cover blurb is to a book. They make everything sound exciting but they have little to do with the movie. Then you go see the movie and get disappointed. I say, stay with the fluff. If you go into it with no expectations you can’t be disappointed.

Snow Business
As I write this it is snowing. That shouldn’t be surprising considering how far north I am. But this year there hasn’t been any snow. Well, there has been very, extremely very, almost as verily very as you can get, very little snow this year.  Last month I spent a week in New Orleans, about 1,100 miles south of here and it was warmer here than there then. Some people might say that I should quit complaining and enjoy the unseasonal warmth, especially when you consider the harshness of last year’s winter. It’s just that I sort of like the snow. It makes it pretty out there.

Dance With Me
It’s time again for my state’s annual farm show and that means tractor square dancing. First you have to wrap your head around having a farm show in January where it’s usually so cold that I just questioned the lack of snow. I don’t know. I’ve lived in the city my whole life but they’ve been doing a winter farm show here for 100 years now and it seems to work for them. Anyway, it’s my one chance to get to see tractor square dancing on TV. It’s so bizarre you can’t help but watch it. (I even devoted an entire post to the phenomenon. See “Swing Your Partner” from Jan 22, 2015 for more. Go on. You know you want to.)

A Sticky Situation
I’m out of syrup. I finished it yesterday. That might not be a big deal to some people. Go to the store and get some more. Can’t do it. I have to admit, I’m a syrup snob. I have only had local syrup bought at a local maple festival for years. The first one of three nearby fests doesn’t happen until April 2. I suppose I have to do a search of farm stores and locally owned corner markets to find some. Don’t judge me. Some things are best when made closest to home. Maple syrup and wild flower honey are two.

Wise Guy
To add to my list of sayings I’d like to see hanging on my wall, as seen recently on a t-shirt (I told you it was warm here), “It’s Not Broken. It Just Needs Duct Tape.”

It’s going to be one of those years.

That’s what I think. Really. How ‘bout you?

 

If You Give a Teen a Penny

Michael 3 Comments

This weekend we finally got to it, the annual Maple Festival where we picked up a trinket or two, saw grain being milled into flour, and bought a year’s supply of locally produced maple syrup. It was a success.

One of locally produced items we weren’t able to get at the festival was local honey. Another one of our food extravagances. If you’ve never had locally produced honeys, syrups, relishes, and such you are missing something special.  Spend the extra dollar and spoil your taste buds.   But we digress. One of locally produced items we weren’t able to get at the festival was local honey. Fortunately we found a farmer’s market just a bit outside the grounds where local relishes, piccalillis, mustards, and yes, honey are available. We stopped in and explored the greenhouses. Then we perused the shelves, made a few selections, and dropped them off at the counter while we continued our search of local treasures. After a while we were set to finalize our purchases and move on to lunch.

She went first, splitting the bounty on the counter in front of the cash register which itself was in front of a brand new, first day on the job, high school student and part time helper. She already was a little confused (she the helper, not She of We), and asked if everything wasn’t all together. Her mentor explained that it appeared we had separate piles and would be checking out separately. And so she began to ring through Pile #1, collected the debit card from She, punched the requisite buttons, generated a receipt, and bagged up the bounty. And all went well adding to the success of the day.

Next up was He. It wasn’t difficult to determine which pieces were his since they were those that remained from Pile #1. Pile #2 was soon rung into the register and a total announced. $15.76. He dug into the pocket and pulled out a twenty dollar bill and a penny, offered them to the brand new, first day on the job, high school student and part time helper and watched her turn into the proverbial deer in the headlights. High beams even. She stared so intently at the cash in her hand it brought to mind the Amazing Kreskin and can she bend the penny with her mind. Apparently her mind wasn’t up to the task. The penny stayed as it was, where it was, until she asked, “What’s the penny for?” Her mentor suggested that He didn’t want to walk around with a pocket full of change. She suggested she punch $20.01 into the cash register and see what happens. He shook his head trying valiantly not to call the brand new, first day on the job, high school student and part time helper a dolt. (Somehow he succeeded but it gave him a headache.)

Somewhere along the way we’ve read in papers that standard test scores for reading and math are improving at staggering rates and today’s high school graduates are even more prepared to enter the world than those of say, 30 or 40 years ago. Apparently somewhere along the way math questions have eliminated all to the right of the decimal. And with it, went our pennies.

If you give a teen a penny, she’s going to ask what it is for. When you tell her what it’s for she’ll not believe you. She’ll check a nearby mirror to make sure she isn’t frowning. She’ll refresh her makeup and then remember she owes you change. Chances are she’ll still have that penny and ask what it is for.

Now, that’s what we think. Really. How ‘bout you?

 

Use As Directed

Michael Leave a comment

Here where we are it is maple syrup festival time.  That’s one of our favorite times.  The only unfortunate part of it is that sometimes festivals overlap and we have to pick one. This year is such a year and we are picking the one with more variety and more vendors to maximize our festival festivities.  It so happens that the festival we selected is one where we have purchased a great deal of arts and craft items, not the least of which was a 5 foot wooden palm tree, a 4 x 5 foot painting, and a tricked out boogie board.  All in the same year if we recall correctly.

It also so happens that quite very recently, He of We changed cars.  No longer is there a large SUV with oodles of cargo space.  Now there is a simple mid-size sedan with a more modest payload.  It was early yesterday morning when He started wondering what we would do without the oodles of cargo space.  Apparently He wondered this out loud because Daughter of We picked that time to remind him, “But Dad, you once took a tree home in the Miata.”

And she was right.  This was not a five foot wooden palm tree but a four foot, live, ornamental flowering peach which now graces She of We’s front yard.  It was transported from store to home, about 12 miles, sitting on the floor in front of the passenger seat of the little two seat convertible that spends its summers being our get-away vehicle.  She spotted the tree and knew just where it should go.  Not having a proper way to transport it did not deter us.  We understood perfectly well that not having a roof means you can carry almost anything.  In the right orientation.  So, into the car it went, behind it on the seat She went, and altogether we went with She holding on to the trunk (of the tree, not the car) to its ultimate destination.

And what does this have to do with anything, other than it surely brought questions to the minds of passing motorists along our journey.  What it has to do is how often we do the opposite of what should be done and still come out just fine.  (That would be the Queen’s We, not necessarily just the us We.)

For example, Every recipe in the world that requires an oven somewhere during the process begins with, “Pre-heat oven to blah-blah degrees.”  Really?   Or does one turn on the oven, do whatever prep is necessary, toss in whatever is going there and says “Close enough, I’ll add 15 minutes at the end.”

Or how about vacuuming the stairs with the large, heavy, upright vacuum cleaner rather than looking for the hose, the extension wand, and the attachment, and then remembering how to put it all together.

All owner’s manuals and most gas pumps warn against “topping off” the gas tank.  Has anybody actually ever seen anybody else calmly pulling out the nozzle when the automatic shut off shuts off?  It we did that how would we ever be guaranteed an even dollar amount at the pump?

Just because we have gotten away with these doesn’t mean you should make it a practice of ignoring the safety rules.  So don’t!  But if you ever see a little red Miata motoring down the highway with a tree sticking out the top, that might not be the best time to remind us to do the same.

Now, that’s what we think. Really. How ‘bout you?