Pie Time

Friday was Pie Day here at Heston's. Following the success of the blueberry pie on Father's Day, I decided to experiment with baking a run of similar pastries. I wanted to tweak the temperature a bit, as much as is possible with a wood-fired oven. And I got brave and invited our neighbor Shari to join me. I still have a moment of pause when putting other peoples' baked goods into the oven, especially when it is an experiment like this was. What if I burn them? That always runs through my head.

Shari was game and willing to trust me, so she came over with a rhubarb cream pie, and an apple pie. I had prepared two strawberry-rhubarb pies, and with the left over crust scraps, I made a blueberry tart. When I checked the oven, the surface temp averaged about 500 degrees. We bravely put the pies in, and then sat down to wait with a cold beverage and some chips and salsa. The day had been rainy, but the evening was pleasant. The moisture was done, and the temp held enough to sit outside comfortably. Other neighbors had stopped by, too, and so we enjoyed some lively conversation while keeping an eye on the clock.

After about twenty minutes, we checked the tart. Since it was a smaller, shallower pan, I figured it would be done first. It needed just a bit longer, so we left it in there. Some of the pies were showing signs of quick browning on the crusts. We covered those with foil tents, so they wouldn't get burned. Fifteen minutes later, the blueberry tart was done, and the apple pie, too. Not long after, the strawberry-rhubarb pair was ready, and finally, the rhubarb cream pie was puffing up nicely, and so we pulled it out, too.

My main concern was that the heat from the oven's hearth might burn the bottom crust of the pies. Since we needed to check on that right away, we tried the blueberry tart. I needn't have worried, for it was dry and flaky, and just the right color. We cut the tart and ate it in no time. The blueberry filling was done to perfection.

My rhubarb pies waited til the next day to be sampled. I have to admit that I've never been much of a pie baker....One time, Robert went over to Sharlene's to learn how to make them. I wasn't making pie often enough for his taste, so he took the matter in to his own hands. He came home with a beautiful apple pie and presented it to me as a birthday gift from him and Gramma. Wasn't that sweet? The rhubarb pies from the bread oven were great--just the right balance of sweet and tart that we expect from that particular fruit.

Future plans include a pie day at least once a month, and hopefully a pie social sometime this summer. I'm on the lookout for other interested bakers to join me. I'll do my best not to burn anything...so far so good. Care to join me? Just drop me a note or leave me a comment. I'll let you know the next time the oven is ready!

Paul's Discovery

Awakened by the Baby

In these long days of summer, light gathers around 5 a.m. Rarely do we get up at that moment. But since we choose to not have curtains on our windows upstairs, if loud sounds occur, the combination of the two jar us awake. Today, the baby woke us up.

Wow, it's been a lot of years since I said that. Of course, in this case, it was a baby outside, and it happened to be one of the immature ravens. They have taken the scene by storm, and we are so enjoying observing them. The pair will land in our parking lot, and we'll notice the parents hanging back, perched on a truck bed or up in a tree. The adults observe the little ones and send out a gentle croak now and then. If one strays too far away, the elder will fly off to get it, and occasionally a scolding takes place. Most of the shouting matches come from the little ones themselves, however. They still go up to their mom, and scream--and I do mean Scream--at her with their beaks wide open. Demanding little cusses, I'd say.

It brought to mind the time some years back when our friend Nathan brought his little charge up here one weekend. He had rescued a baby bird that had been abandoned, and brought it into the house. His mom let him set it up in a box, and Nathan took on the task of nursing it. He named him Charlie, I believe, and set about learning the care and feeding of a baby bird. Charlie was a hungry little dude, and Nathan was kept very busy tracking down food for him. He was quite patient through the process, and answered every cry, no matter what time it occurred. When the family was scheduled to come up here, not long after the adoption, Nathan brought him along, hoping that we would take mercy on his plight and bend the no-pets-rule. How could we say no? Charlie stayed not-so-quietly in his box. Nathan continued to get up at all hours of the day and night to feed him. It was a good eye-opener to the clamorous ways of a fledgling.

While these ravens have not set up residence in a box right inside the lodge, sometimes I think they would like to. Yesterday, as I walked down the road, having picked up the mail, Junior was eyeing me up. I stopped, and he approached me. He came within five feet of my side, and then circled to the back. He came closer then, just four feet off, and I pondered the size of his beak. Although I've referred to them as babies and juveniles, in reality, they are nearly as large as their parents. The main difference is that their coloring is still a mottled brown on the upper part of the body. The wing and tail feathers have come in as a sleek black. This guy came so close, I could see that its brown feathers were still the downy baby feathers. It probably won't be long before we can't distinguish the age of any of them.

Greg got up this morning when the ruckus began, and looked out the window to see if the noisy one was visible. I shouldn't say noisy, as he was quietly speaking in that secret raven language that I would love to understand. Sure enough, he was down in front, happily playing with a crushed cedar log. He would pick up pieces, toss them around a bit, nudge them on the ground, and repeat the process. Is this universal? I recall my children doing similar actions. We've watched the siblings pick up sticks and play tug of war, and we've seen them fight over bits of food...those pizza crusts I talked about the other day. It's interesting to see their movements, imitating the actions of the parents, most likely, but in a tentative way. They are learning to use
their feet to hold down an object, while using their beaks to pry it apart. All the time, the parents perch and observe, as do we, I guess. So it's a learning experience for us all.

No sense in naming these guys, as soon they will look like all the other ravens that we see passing by. We do know where they live, in a large white pine near the gravel pit. Time will tell how friendly they continue to be.

*Photo credits to Addie--awesome shots!

Peg's Books

Today, while fact-checking on a name for a friend, I happened upon some things that had belonged to Gramma Peggy. After she passed away, Sharlene asked if I wanted some of her books to put into cabins. These included two written by Justine Kerfoot, an anthology edited by John Henricksson, and a hardcover copy of Snowshoe Country by Florence Page Jaques. All are excellent cabin books--on the shelf or end table, they are perfect for perusing while on vacation in the woods. Some I had read, some I hadn't, and now I am determined to read them all, straight through, just as I am doing with John's book that I recently mentioned.

The nice thing about these books, as John put it to me, is that you can just pick them up and read a chapter at a time. A little slice of northwoods living, written in someone else's words, can be just the thing to put a person into a relaxed state of mind. If one can actually be in the woods at the time, well then, all the better. It makes the experience richer, to look out the window and gaze at the exact same scenery and wildlife as you are reading about. How cool is that? Better than virtual reality, hands down.

Peggy's books from Justine were inscribed to her. I've been in many a used book store, and have seen books similarly marked. Of course, they were meaningless to me, and in a way it seemed sad that a gift like that would end up in such an impersonal location. Yet, I realize that we cannot hold onto everything that we've been given, because we end up with too much. So it is right to send them to a venue where someone new can find them and derive enjoyment from them. That's the whole idea behind reuse and recycle. I just get a little sentimental at times. The memories that we have from giving a gift, or from reading the book, should be enough to hold on to, rather than the object itself.

Actually, I find myself trying to focus on that principle more and more these days. I probably will never get around to re-reading everything that I think that I will. And if I do want to, the internet makes it easy to locate those old titles. In the meantime, I know that it will be a rewarding experience to hold and read the same copy that Peggy once held, as I am reading stories about her woods. And there may even be a mention of her in some of those pages. I
think that I will definitely be keeping at least some of these original copies, as someday my grandchildren--Peg's great-great grandchildren--may want to read them, too.